Deadly Justice (21 page)

“Got one.”  Nate beckoned them over to the corner, where a chunk of red brick had been pried loose, and sure enough, there was a miniature camera hidden in the recess. 

“Got another one.”  Max yanked it free before tossing it to him.  “Guess that answers the question of whether he knows you're here.” 

And raised a few more
. 

 Carpenter's hands fisted at his sides and he fought the urge to pound them against the bricks.  “Do any of those have sound?”  His stomach cramped at the thought of Webster listening to him telling Andrea about his sister's descent into drugs and their conversation about Webster himself. 

Nate and Gunner examined the two cameras, going over every inch.  “Doesn't look like it, boss.”  Nate handed him the thin snake-like units they'd removed from the wall.  Carlisle could probably tell him the make and model, and its range.  He'd get him on that in a minute, but he couldn't get the thought of Webster watching him with Andrea out of his head.  They'd made love up here, under the stars, shared something special, and now it was tainted and perverted by Webster's voyeurism.  He just hoped he didn't upload the recording, because the last thing he needed to deal with was a sex tape of him and Andrea floating all over the internet. 

With a nonchalant shrug, he tossed the camera back to Nate.  “Get Carlisle on it, see if he can trace it back to Webster, though I'm sure he's covered his tracks.”

“With all the renovations, I doubt you'll be able to find out who planted it.”  Max glanced over the side of the roof, and pointed to the fire escape ladder attached to the side of the building.  “Plus anybody could have gotten to the roof from here without being seen.” 

“Okay, I'm tired of chasing this bastard.  We need to figure out his next move, and stop him.  He implied it's not drug related or gun-running.  What else could he have gotten his greedy paws on that could bring him the kind of money he could retire with?”

Each man was stone-faced as they contemplated his question, while trudging down the stairs.  When they got to the conference room, Carlisle was seated at the table, his fingers already dancing across the laptop's keyboard.

He stopped typing long enough to glance up at Carpenter and the assembled men.  “Jean-Luc's gone to check out a lead.  He'll call you.”  After that pronouncement, he went back to typing. 

Carpenter ran a hand over his face.  “Max, Remy, I need you to check your local sources.  Nobody's going to talk openly with me, I've been gone too long.  But they know you.  Somebody might have heard rumblings of something big in the air.”

“We'll check.  I agree, it has to be happening either here or nearby.  Why else would Webster still be in New Orleans?  He could jab at you from anywhere.  No, he's making this up close and personal.”  Max's eyes met his, that intense gray stare boring into his, like he could read every secret, every thought. 

“I'll check around, see if there's word on the streets about any shipments.  Gotta be honest, people are playing their cards close to the vest.  A lot of 'em don't trust cops so much right now, since we had that big internal scandal after the whole Dubshenko thing,” Remy added.  A huge smile spread across his face, and he nudged Carpenter aside and stood with his arms spread wide. 

“Well, now, if it isn't my favorite person.  How are you, Ms. Willie?”  His arms wrapped around the older woman, and Carpenter chuckled.  The Lamoreaux brothers knew Ms. Willie from when he'd lived here as a kid, and became reacquainted again a few months earlier, right after he'd hooked up with Carlo Marucci on the missing kids' case.  He'd stuck around New Orleans for a couple of weeks, and she'd come down to help out, which really meant take care of him. 

“Mr. Remy, it's good to see you.  And Mr. Max, too.”  She smiled at the taller man who walked over to give her a hug.  “Mr. Samuel, why didn't you tell me you were having guests?  I would have brought something down…”

“It's a business meeting.  You don't need to keep feeding all the strays.”  He said it with a mock growl, knowing she'd see beneath his gruff bluster.  The woman lived to take care of others, and feeding his team was one of her favorite things. 

“Nonsense.”  She patted Max's cheek.  Pink color flooded his face and Carpenter almost laughed aloud.  Let his buddy get a taste of what he put up with every day—though he wouldn't change it for the world.  Ms. Willie was the heart of his home and he didn't know what he'd do without her. 

She shook her finger at him.  “Give me fifteen minutes.”  With that admonition, she bustled out the door.  Without a doubt, he knew she'd be back with a serving tray loaded down with an array of gastronomic delights.  How she'd manage it on such short notice, he had no clue, but she did it every time without fail.  There were times where he really did think she performed magic.

“Okay, let's focus, people.  Max and Remy are going to deal with their local contacts, rattle a few trees and see what shakes loose.  Jean-Luc is checking out another lead.  Carlisle, you keep digging.”

“What about us, boss?”  Nate gestured between himself and Gunner. 

“After you fill that bottomless pit, head over to Little Havana Harbor, and stake out the place, inside and out.  I doubt Webster will show there again, but we'll keep it covered for now.” 

Ms. Willie trotted through the door within the fifteen minutes she promised, with a feast for “her boys,” and Carpenter rubbed at the throbbing ache between his eyes.  He knew exactly what he had to do and damned if he was looking forward to it. 

He needed to find out about Angela Wakefield, the name Webster had tossed out, dangling it like a carrot.  Whatever Andrea knew, she'd better be ready to spill the beans, because this time he wasn't going to let up until he had answers. 

A
ndrea heard the front door open and turned to see Samuel walk in.  Stalked might be more accurate though, because he moved with a predatory grace most men couldn't possibly match.  There was a fine tremble to her hands and she automatically finished adding creamer to the cup of coffee she'd just poured.

“Want some?”  She held up her cup. 

“No.”  He continued that loose-limbed stride across the hardwoods until he reached the kitchen, standing directly in front of her.  A scowl marred his handsome face, which should have tipped her off right away something bad had happened.  But she wasn't firing on all cylinders, since she hadn't started her second cup of coffee yet.

“We are going to talk, and this time you're going to answer all my questions, or I'll turn you over to the FBI for hindering an investigation.” 

Her stomach bottomed out and the mouthful of coffee she'd just swallowed threatened to make a return trip.  Had he found out?  It wasn't that she'd wanted to lie.  Hell, she'd withheld information he didn't really need to know—not yet anyway.

“Who is Angela Wakefield?” 

At his abrupt question, her legs did an impression of limp, overcooked noodles, and she locked her knees to keep from collapsing into a heap on the floor.  How'd he find out about Angela? 

“I don't—”

“Do not lie to me, Andrea.  Carlisle is downstairs gathering intel at this moment.  I'd rather hear your side of things first.  Cooperate and I promise I'll put in a good word for you.”

He sounded bitter, like last night never happened.  As though she hadn't spent the night in his arms.  In his bed.  Hadn't experienced the most mind-blowing orgasms of her entire life.  This cold man standing before her acted like a complete stranger. 

The knot in the center of her chest squeezed tighter, because she knew this was the beginning of the end.  He'd know she lied about everything from the very beginning—and there wasn't a chance he'd forgive or forget.

“I need to make a call first, then I'll answer all your questions.”

“Who?”  The suspicion in his voice compounded the knowledge she'd screwed up big time.  Somewhere along the way, though she'd been so careful with every word, every action, she'd done something to give herself away. 

“My brother.” 

“Bennett?  What does he have to do with this?” 

“I'll explain everything after I talk to him.”  

Her gaze met his, sure and steady, and she swallowed down the lump of fear.  The bitter taste in the back of her throat felt an awful lot like defeat.  Deep down she knew whatever tenuous connection they'd built had evaporated.  An icy determination filled his eyes, none of the affection or tenderness he'd shown the previous night. 

“Call him, but make it fast.  I don't have time to waste.”

She picked up her cellphone where it lay on the countertop next to her coffee mug.  She'd planned on checking her messages with her morning brew, but had become lost in remembering the previous night's lovemaking and gotten pleasantly sidetracked.  Nothing like a cold dose of reality to bring you crashing back down to earth.

At the top of the screen the voicemail icon was lit. 

“I've got voicemail.  Mind if I check it first?”  She showed him the screen. 

His jaw clenched, and she was surprised she didn't hear the clank of his teeth gritting against each other.  Dang, but he was really pissed.  “Go ahead.”  Though the words were spoken softly, there was an underlying command she couldn't ignore.  She'd better make this short and sweet. 

Her finger tapped the screen and the message began to play.  With each word, she literally felt the blood drain from her face.  The phone tumbled from her numb fingers onto the counter even before the message fully played out.

Carpenter moved like a blur, fast enough she barely saw him.  Pulling her against his body, his arm secure around her middle, he held her firm and steady, though her entire body trembled on the edge of panic.  Her already wobbly knees felt ready to collapse, and she gripped his biceps hard, trying to stay upright. 

“What's wrong?”

“You need to listen to it.”  She pointed a shaky finger toward her phone.  “It's Webster.” 

He snatched the phone off the counter and hit the speaker icon.  The recording had obviously reached the end and all he heard was dead silence.  Punching a key, the message replayed while she studied his face.  The muscles in his jaw tightened, and she watched the thump, thump, thump of a vein throbbing in his temple.  It was the only indication the words had any effect.   Too bad they were already burned into her memory.

“Hello, Andrea.  It's been a while.  Are you having fun with Sammy?  He's a tricky one.  You'll have to stay on your toes if you're going to stay one step ahead of him.  I'm sure he's already gotten you in the sack, because that's his M.O.  He sweeps the ladies right off their feet and between the sheets before they know what's hit them.  Besides, I've got video of the two of you.  You know, it's amazing the detail you get from state-of-the-art equipment these days.  I almost regret not springing for the cameras with sound.” 

She burrowed her head against his shoulder, wishing she could block out the smarmy tone of Webster's voice, but it played on. 

“You are as lovely as I remember.  Such milky white skin, it looked so perfect in the moonlight.  I hope you got enough information from Sammy to make your case.  Of course, you were probably too preoccupied to dig for answers.”

The bands of steel that had been wrapped around her loosened, and Carpenter took a step back, his hands falling to his sides, while the taunting recording played on.  A trickle of fear slid along her spine, though she knew he wouldn't hurt her—not physically anyway. 

“Everything will be coming to a head soon, my dear, and then I'll be coming for you.  We've got unfinished business we need to deal with before I retire.  Keep an eye out for me, sweetie, because you owe me, and I always collect—just ask Sammy.”

Webster's obscene chuckle echoed through the phone, and the skin along the back of her neck felt like it wanted to crawl off her body.  Goosebumps popped up along her arms, and she rubbed at the offending things, wishing she'd never gotten involved in this entire nightmare—though she'd never really had a choice.  She kept her eyes lowered, refusing to meet Carpenter's demanding gaze, felt his intense stare boring into her. 

“Oh, by the way, I told Sammy about Angela.  Don't be surprised if he's on the warpath.  That boy hates being lied to.  Maybe he'll take care of you before we meet again—but trust me, you're next on my to-do list.”  There was a pause, one that seemed to last an eternity, before he finally came back on the line.  “I left you a present back in Dallas.  You'll have to let me know what you think.  Don't worry, sugar, I'll be in touch soon.”

The voice mail prompts began playing, asking if she wanted to hear the message again.  Hell, no, she didn't want to hear it again.  She wished she'd never heard it the first time.  Wished she'd never gotten dragged into the entire mess with Richard Webster. 

With exaggerated care, Samuel set the phone back onto the countertop, before his hand balled into a fist.  Not for an instant did she think he'd use it against her, but she wasn't so sure about the drywall.  His face was expressionless, devoid of emotion, a blank unreadable mask.  She swallowed past the gigantic lump that seemed permanently lodged in the back of her throat. 

“Start talking.”

“Why?  You're not going to believe me, so what's the point?'

She watched his back stiffen, the movement so slight it was almost imperceptible, but she noted it, the same way she noted everything about him, right down to the tiny tic of his left eyelid.  His feet were spaced shoulder's width apart, an immovable object in her path.  She wasn't getting past him, not until he had the answers he demanded.

“I need to call Zach.”

“Dammit, Andrea, why'd Webster call you?”

“I don't know!”  She yelled her answer, a riot of emotions coursing through her.  “Sam, I swear, I don't even know how he got my number.” 

“Start at the beginning, and tell me everything you know about Richard Webster, and I swear if you leave anything out this time, I'll have you arrested so fast you won't know what hit you.” 

He pointed toward the sofa, and she walked across the hardwood floor, grateful when she finally landed with an unladylike flop against the cushions.  Her time was up.  No more hiding.  No evading his questions.  If she didn't tell him the whole truth now, he'd follow through on having her arrested, and the last thing she needed at this juncture was sitting in a jail cell.  Nobody was going to keep her from taking down Richard Webster—nobody.