Matteo was the lead on the investigation into Tara’s disappearance and the death of the agents. Initially, he’d deferred to me, but I told him I was standing down.
“We’re checking in with informants and running as much security footage as we can,” he reported. “So far, nothing.”
It was just after one in the morning when Doc, Tackle, Striker Ellis, and Razor Sharp walked into the farmhouse on the Valentini estate. Matteo Casavetti and the rest of his team had left a little after ten, promising to be back at eight the next morning.
“There’s another vehicle behind us,” said Doc, stepping aside to let Tackle greet me first.
“How are you holding up?”
“I fucked up big time, man,” I mumbled, turning my back to the other two guys.
The front door opened again. Gunner Godet and Mercer Bryant, along with his wife, Quinn, Razor’s wife, Ava, Aine McNamara, and Penelope Ramsey walked in.
“I don’t know about the other two, but both Ava and Quinn threatened their husbands with divorce if they couldn’t come along,” said Tackle, who stepped aside as, one by one, the four women hugged me.
“Have a seat, Halo,” said Doc. “We’ll bring you up to speed on what we’ve learned.”
The last thing I wanted to do was sit, but I followed Doc’s orders anyway.
“Two things,” said Razor. “First, we have reason to believe Tara was taken by men working for the ’Ndrangheta crime syndicate.” He looked over at Ava, who was crying.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m okay. Go on.”
He sighed. “They’ve all been briefed,” he said to me. “This isn’t news to them.”
I nodded. “Is there more?”
He tossed a couple of grainy photos down in front of me. One image made me feel more nauseous than I had in my life. It was of Tara, being carried into a building, blindfolded, bound, gagged, and more than likely drugged.
“Is this her father?” I asked, pointing to the photo of a man who appeared badly beaten. The question I wanted to ask, I wouldn’t. Not with Tara’s four best friends in the room.
“Tackle?” said Doc.
My friend stood, picked up his laptop, and sat beside me. “Your hunch about the half-sibling was dead-on, Halo. Tara doesn’t have any full brothers or sisters, but her father did have a child with another woman before he married Tara’s mother. My guess is he kept that kid’s mom and maybe even the kid himself, paid off for years. He doesn’t go by Emsworth. The name is Brando Ripa.”
Tackle opened several images on the screen. “This was taken a few years ago when he graduated from the Art Institute of Chicago. Before you ask, it is known more for being a museum, but there is a college attached to it. They call it the School of AIC. It’s considered one of the best art colleges in the world.”
He moved the image on the screen so it was side by side with the one I took of the man I saw with Tara in the casina. It was impossible to tell for sure, but it could be the same guy.
“He left the States shortly after college and took up residence in Europe.”
“You think he’s the forger?”
Tackle nodded. “Not only that, I’m not entirely certain that Papa Emsworth knew what his son was up to.”
He opened another document that looked like a bill of sale. “This lists four of the paintings that were reported to be forgeries.” It was easy to see that Richard Emsworth had paid a hefty price for the originals. “There’s provenance included with the invoice for every one of the pieces of art. We have more of these that also show provenance.”
“We need to get on the move if we wanna get in and out before daylight,” said Gunner, motioning with his head.
“Halo, the choice is yours. Stay or go,” said Doc. “Either way, every one of us will back your decision.”
“Go,” I answered without hesitation. There was no fucking way I could stay here while the rest of the team attempted to clean up my mess. The other thing was, if it came down to it, I wouldn’t hesitate for a split second to give my life to save Tara’s.
“Eighty-eight, Razor, you’ll stay here. Relay as much as you can find out about Ripa. Everyone else, gear is in the vehicles. Suit up. AISE is sending a team to meet us.”
We were close to Florence, on the outskirts of where AISE’s informant had said Tara and her father were being held in an abandoned warehouse, when I finally got the balls to ask. “Tara?”
Gunner, who was in the front passenger seat, turned and looked back at me. “First of all, we don’t think the ’Ndrangheta family believes Tara had anything to do with this. What we do think is that the father is refusing to give up the whereabouts of the son.”