“Is this crisis interrupting your beauty sleep?” I asked dryly.
“A, it’s four in the fucking morning. And B, the wife got me up for a 6:00 a.m. yoga class today… Yesterday. Not all of us run on no sleep and the tears of frightened children,” he pointed out.
“You got up before dawn because your wife asked you to. Hugo said I had forty-eight hours to deliver everything the feds had on him or he’d start with Sloane.”
“Start with as in…” Lina trailed off, and we all turned to look at the little librarian who was sitting on the floor frowning over fanned-out paperwork.
“I’m not letting that happen,” I said.
“Does Blondie believe you’re in it for the long haul yet?” Nolan asked as Sloane shoved her glasses up her nose.
“Not yet. But if it takes killing a man in cold blood to prove it, I’ll do it.”
“Let’s keep that as option B,” Lina said. “I hear they’re not as lenient with conjugal visits anymore, and judging from Sloane’s sex hair, you two have a lot of ground to make up.”
I left them and crossed the room to her.
She looked up at me as I crouched down. “You have that line between your eyebrows you get when you’re concentrating,” I observed, running my finger over the spot in question. “You should get some sleep.”
“And miss all the fun?”
“When this is over, I’m taking you to a private island where we can drink pi?a coladas naked on a beach so I can teach you what fun is,” I decided.
Sloane grinned at me. “Since when is Lucian Rollins an expert on fun?”
“Since he almost came in your mouth when you were on your knees.”
“Very flattering. But I need you to put away your party hat for a second and get out your broody-master-of-the-business-and-political-universe beret for a second, Lucifer.”
“What do you need?”
She wet her lips and glanced down at the papers in front of her. “Something Hugo said tonight has been bothering me.”
“Everything the asshole said should have bothered you.”
She shook her head. “The thing about the fire. About me not learning my lesson from the arson. At first I thought it was just him letting us know he’d been watching me. But I started thinking what if he was connected somehow?”
I sat next to her and helped myself to a swig of her lukewarm root beer. “Connected in what way?”
“We think the fire was retaliation for me working on Mary Louise’s case, right? I was threatened by Cinnamon Man, who specifically mentioned her name on the same day Mary Louise was attacked. Mary Louise dropped it, but I kept pushing. You got her moved to a new facility where she’d be safer and got Allen protection. I kept digging. So someone decided to let us know they weren’t happy by setting fire to the library while I was in it.”
Her recap of the situation was raising my already dangerously high blood pressure. “What’s the connection? Why would a sociopath crime boss in DC care about a wrongfully convicted female prisoner?”
Sloane bit her lip. “What if it’s the prison?” She handed me a sheet of paper. “Fraus Correctional Center is a private prison owned by a corporation called Civic Group, which is owned by two other corporations. Which then made me think about all your sneaky underhandedness hiding grants and donations in entities named after cherry trees. And while I was thinking about your sneakiness, this one caught my eye.” She tapped the page above the words Rex Management. “Rex is Latin for king,” she explained.
“Which Hugo fancies himself to be,” I mused, following her drift.
“Exactly,” Sloane said, beaming at me. “So I did a search for other private prisons in Virginia, Maryland, and North Carolina and found three more facilities owned by Civic Group. All rundown. All with overcrowding and understaffing complaints. But all providing profits to Civic Group and its owners. I can’t tell what kind of profit we’re talking, but each place has a contract with the government providing them money for each inmate housed. The more people in the facility, the higher the profits.”
“When I threatened to have Duncan Hugo moved to another facility, he panicked,” I recalled, scanning Sloane’s research. “He said he wouldn’t be safe.”
“Was it one of these three?” she asked, rising to her knees in excitement.
I pointed to Lucrum. “That’s the one.”
Sloane threw her arms around my neck. “I knew it! I did good, didn’t I? Two-time convicted felon Anthony Freaking Hugo is part owner of four private correctional facilities. That’s got to be seriously illegal.”