Stolen by Allison Brennan Page B

said she was calling specifically for you.”
    JT was RCK’s law enforcement liaison. JT had built the FBI relationship through his close friend Rick Stockton.
    “Did she say which office?”
    “No. Caller ID has her in a New York City area code. Manhattan.”
    Duke’s stomach burned. Lucy had told Duke that Sean was in New York, though Duke hadn’t been able to track him there.
    “Send her through.”
    Duke let the phone ring three times before answering. “Rogan.”
    “Mr. Duke Rogan?”
    “Yes. Deanna Brighton?” That name sounded familiar now that he said it. He typed it into the RCK database while they spoke.
    “Special Agent Deanna Brighton from the New York City field office. White-collar division.”
    Duke’s stomach burned hotter.
    “What can I do for you?”
    “I need to speak to your brother Sean.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m not at liberty to say.”
    “I’m not at liberty to share information.”
    “I understand that he’s no longer employed by Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid Protective Services.”
    “That is correct.”
    “But he was a principal in the company. How did that work? Can he just walk away?”
    “I don’t believe that is of concern to the FBI. Why specifically do you want to find Sean?”
    “Do you know Sean’s associate Colton Thayer?”
    Dammit, Duke had known Sean was in over his head from the minute he learned that Sean had hacked into a pharmaceutical company for Thayer. Sean thought he could manage anything that came up, but Colton Thayer was dangerous because he was an ideologue. His causes might be just, but his methods were criminal.
    “Yes.”
    “When was the last time you saw him?”
    “Special Agent Brighton,” Duke said, “I’m not answering questions unless I know why they are being asked.”
    “I’m not at liberty to say,” she repeated. “Generally, when someone doesn’t speak to the FBI it’s because they are hiding something. Where is your brother? Are you protecting him?”
    There was an RCK file on Brighton. That meant either they had worked with her or she’d come up in one of their investigations. Duke opened it. He didn’t need to read more than the first note to know exactly who Deanna Brighton was. It was dated twelve years ago:
     
Deanna Brighton, FBI special agent out of the San Francisco office, arrested Sean for illegal computer hacking and hindering a federal investigation.
    She’d been the agent Sean embarrassed when he exposed his professor at Stanford. Brighton had been furious, and justifiably so. Sean had enjoyed big, public exposures. But that time he’d gone too far. It didn’t matter that he’d been party to stopping a sex offender who had a penchant for prepubescent girls; Sean had embarrassed Stanford, the FBI, and Deanna personally when he remotely took over her cybercrime symposium.
    “I don’t know where Sean is,” Duke said.
    “You’re telling me you don’t know where your brother is living? Where he is working? I’m having a hard time believing you.”
    Duke bristled. He didn’t say anything, ready to terminate the conversation.
    Deanna asked, “Do you have a current phone number for him?”
    “No.”
    “You’re lying.”
    Duke didn’t like anyone accusing him of lying. “I have work to do.”
    And a flight to catch.
    “Your brother is in trouble, Mr. Rogan. It’ll help both you and him if you come clean.”
    Duke rose from his chair. “Is that a threat?”
    “I’m stating a fact. I’ll find him, and this time I will put him in prison for the rest of his life.”
    She slammed down the phone.
    Vendetta. Duke heard her rage through the phone lines.
    “Sean,” he muttered, “what are you mixed up in?”
    He called JT. “Agent Deanna Brighton in the New York FBI office called me. She knows Sean is working with Colton Thayer. She’s investigating them.”
    “Shit, Duke. You’ve got to get your brother in line.”
    “Maybe it’s time to bring in Rick.”
    “If Sean is back in the game, Rick won’t do