Deadly Justice (31 page)

Andrea's heartbeat ratcheted up, pounding in her chest like a prisoner trying to escape.  Adrenaline shot through her bloodstream.  If he'd finished talking, her time was up, literally and figuratively, because he wouldn't leave her behind. 
Not alive anyway
.  She'd become one more loose end to tie up, and her death mimicked a two-edged blade—taking out a potential witness and striking a blow at Samuel.

“What happens now?” 

He stared at her, his gaze roaming from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and back again until he finally met her eyes.  “It's a shame really.  We could have been good together.”

“We still could.”  Acrid bitterness burned her throat as she uttered the bald-faced lie, but desperation won out over everything else.  She needed time.  As long as she was alive and breathing, she had a chance.  “You said you wanted to rescue me.  Well, you have.  I'm not an idiot.  I'm a realist.  I've never believed in fantasies of happily ever after.  You hold the position of power—and I've always liked power.”  She gave him what she hoped was a sultry smile.  “I've got connections too.  I can be useful, if you take me with you.” 

She knew playing the femme fatale or the weak-kneed little princess in need of rescue wouldn't work.  Maybe appealing to his avaricious side would gain her a few brownie points.  Make him believe keeping her alive held more benefits than leaving her corpse rotting in a backwoods shack in the bayou, where she might never be found. 

“Do you know who my brother is?” 

Webster's eyes narrowed and he jammed his hands into his trousers' pockets.  “Don't you mean your stepbrother?  Yes, I'm well aware of your relationship with Zachary Bennett.”

“Then you know he adores me, and he'll do anything to keep me safe, including paying a huge ransom for my return.” 

Please, please, take the bait.  You're not stupid, but you are greedy. 

He shook his head slowly.  “Andrea, Zachary Bennett is first and foremost a businessman.  The first thing he'll do is call in the feds, and they'd never allow him to pay a ransom.”

“You don't know my brother.  He'll pay anything to get me back.  Trust me, he'd never involve the government—especially if I begged him not to.”  She stood and took a step forward, placing her hand on Webster's chest, fighting to hold back the bile inching up her throat.  “We can make this work for both of us, Richard.” 

His hand came up and covered hers, and she could feel his heartbeat speed up beneath her fingers.  A good indicator he was interested in more than just her proposal.  The thought of his hands on her made her skin crawl, but she'd do anything, say anything, to stay alive.  Because alive, she had a chance to bring Webster down.  Dead, the game was over. 

“Let's contemplate your scenario, my dear.”  A cynical smile spread across his lips.  “What would you consider you're worth?  Fifty million?  A hundred?  What would Zachary Bennett's breaking point be?  And then there's always Sammy.” 

She huffed out a laugh.  “Samuel Carpenter was a means to an end.  The entire time he thought he was playing me, I used him to get what I needed.  Information to get to you.  And it worked.”  Taking a step back, she turned away from Webster, not able to look at the man one minute longer.  She'd been such a fool, but she'd find a way to stop him—for Samuel—because he was all that mattered.  She couldn't let Webster take down the man she loved with all her heart and soul.  She'd lie, cheat, and manipulate Webster in whatever way necessary, whatever worked, to keep him from harming Samuel Carpenter. 

Stepping forward, she leaned up and whispered in his ear, “Let's make a deal.” 

T
he sounds of the night felt eerily quiet.  Carpenter knew he'd come far enough into the bayou the sounds of nature should have enveloped him.  Instead, even the wildlife seemed to understand the gravity of his task and quieted their normal nocturnal serenade. 

Carpenter's men would follow every instruction.  And they only had a single objective—get Andrea out alive.  She'd become priority number one.  More important than anything else—including capturing Richard Webster. 

The huge full moon shone down on the uneven ground, and illuminated the landscape enough for him to make his way up the gravel-lined drive.  Hopefully, he'd delayed long enough for his team to cover the half mile trek from their rendezvous site to the outskirts of the cabin, because he wasn't waiting another second. 

Slamming his foot on the brake, the car fishtailed before he corrected it, shooting a spray of gravel in its wake.  He shoved the gear into park, and eased from behind the wheel.  With a bravado he didn't feel, he strode forward, knowing there'd be at least one gun trained on him the second he stepped from the car. 

“Webster!”  His shout reverberated and echoed through the stillness of the night.  “We need to talk.” 

For long, interminable seconds there was only quiet.  A deafening silence.  No visible movement inside his family's cabin.   The glow of lights through the slit in the curtains showed somebody was there or at least had been. 
Am I too late?
 

“Sammy, I wasn't expecting you quite so soon.”  Webster's voice wafted across the night air, laced with charm and charisma, sounding for all the world like this was some chance encounter in a crowded café, and not the reality of a life and death situation. 

“You left enough breadcrumbs a blind man could have followed that trail, old man.” 

He heard a bark of laughter from inside.  “Indeed.  Come in, but keep your hands where I can see them.  We wouldn't want any unfortunate accidents, would we?” 

Holding his hands loosely at his side, he walked up the two cement steps and through the front door.  A large muscle-bound goon, well over six feet, patted him down, taking the SIG tucked into his waistband.  He had to give him credit, the guy was good, also finding the knife sheath and blade attached to his left ankle. 

“I'm glad we'll get a final chance to talk, Sammy.  Clear the air before I leave the country for good.”  Webster motioned to the sofa in front of the large window.  With a nonchalance he didn't feel, Carpenter leaned back against the cushions, and propped an ankle atop his knee.  He slid his arm along the top of the couch, reclining like it was the most comfortable seat in the place.  Yet his mind was ever active, scoping out the fact there were only two men visible with Webster.  So, three against one.  Not great odds but he faced worse.  Two against three, since Andrea wouldn't sit idly on the sidelines.

Plus he had backup if things got ugly.  Knowing Webster, things might get dicey pretty damned quick.   

Andrea sat in one of the two armchairs, and he noted she wasn't tied up or secured in any way.  “You okay?”

She nodded, not uttering a word.  That bothered him.  It wasn't like her not to talk.  Hell, she never had any problem tearing into him when she felt he was in the wrong, or being a jackass.  Yet now she remained mute. 

“Andrea and I have been having a lovely chat, haven't we?”  Webster moved to stand behind Andrea's chair and placed a proprietary hand on her shoulder.  Carpenter noticed her barely contained shudder, almost imperceptible, but her eyes couldn't hide the revulsion she felt at Webster's touch. 

“What'll it take, Richard, to let her walk away from this?”  He knew whatever the cost, he'd willing pay it to keep the woman he loved safe. 
Even if that price means my own life.
  Nothing else mattered.  No amount of money would fill the void if she was gone.  No, the price of revenge was too steep. 

Webster ran his hand along Andrea's shoulder, smoothing it along the naked skin of her upper arm.  His eyes stayed glued to Webster's every move, though he maintained his casual posture.  It wouldn't do to tip his hand too soon.

“Andrea, my pet, why don't you tell Sammy about our discussion?”  Webster's hand tightened on Andrea's upper arm, his grip tight enough to leave white indentions around his squeezing fingers.  Her grimace of pain quickly morphed into an indulgent smirk, and she raised a hand and laid it atop Webster's. 

“Samuel, I've decided to go with Richard.  We're leaving the country tonight.” 

What?  She hates the man's guts, and now she's thrown her lot in with him?
  None of this made sense.  The woman he'd spent days with hunting down the bastard standing behind her despised Richard Webster nearly as much as he did.  What had changed? 

“Andrea?  Sweetheart, what's going on?  I don't understand.” 

She laughed, the sound bitter and ugly.  “You are such a fool.  I needed to find Richard and you were a means to an end.  Richard and I had unfinished business, and now that we've reconnected,” she rubbed her cheek against Webster's hand, “he's helped me see there are other options besides revenge.”  

Webster leaned down and placed a kiss against the top of her head and Samuel exploded off the sofa, his blood boiling with rage.  His only coherent thought focused on choking the life out of the man who dared touch his woman. 
His
.  He loved her with all his heart, and knew deep in his gut she felt the same.  Strong hands latched onto his arms, one of Webster's flunkies on each side. 

With a well-aimed blow, he kicked to the side, his heel landing against the kneecap of the guy on his right.  He heard the sickening sucking sound of the kneecap dislocating.  Down went threat number one.

The feel of a gun barrel against the back of his head froze him in place.  Very slowly he raised his empty hands to either side of his head, palms out.  Thug number one still rolled around on the floor, groaning in pain.  The gun he'd dropped lay a few feet away on the floor, so close and yet it might as well have been miles away for all the good it did him. 

“Let her go, Webster.  This is between you and me.”

“Wrong as usual, Sammy.  Andrea made herself a part of this with her vigilante-style crusade to find me after her fiancé died.  Don't you think she should be rewarded for her diligence and single-minded determination?  She's hunted me almost as fanatically as you, Sammy.  Both of you are misguided fools, with an outdated view of good and bad.  There is no right or wrong anymore.  It boils down to who holds the power and money.  That's the only thing that gets you anyplace in the world.”  He chuckled.  “But you'd know that, since you've got more money than Midas.” 

While he spoke, Carpenter barely paid him any heed.  Where was his team?  Jean-Luc or Ranger Boudreau should have found the hidden entrance by now.  His granddaddy had been a smart man, but also a paranoid one.  He'd kept a secret hidey-hole even in the depths of the swamp, a secret escape route, because as he said, you can never be too careful. 

He doubted Webster knew about the hidden crawlspace leading from the guest bedroom closet underneath the house and out into the depths of the bayou, but the Boudreau brothers should've been able to find it.  Hell, he'd practically drawn them a map with a giant X marks the spot. 

The gun barrel at the back of his head eased away slowly, and he drew in an unsteady breath.  The guy whose knee he'd dislocated had crawled over to lean with his back against the couch, and groaned in pain, his hands wrapped around his rapidly swelling joint.  The gun he'd dropped was halfway across the room.  Which meant it wasn't all that close to the goon either. 

He knew Webster carried a piece, even if he hadn't pulled a weapon yet.  The man never went unarmed.  In the dense blackness outside, it was impossible to see whether his team moved in closer to the cabin, or whether they still maintained their distance.  Remy was coordinating them since Carpenter couldn't from inside the cabin, and he was a damned fine cop.  He wouldn't let any of the men go off half-cocked. 

“So this is all about money?  Hell, I've got money.  How much do you want?” 

Webster's eyes narrowed and his mouth turned down in a frown.  “With this last shipment, I've got enough socked away to last the rest of my life.  I don't need yours.  What I do want is your head on a pike.” 

Faster that a striking snake, Webster's hand wrapped around Andrea's throat, the fingers of one hand squeezing, while the other pulled a Glock from out of nowhere.  Carpenter's stomach dropped at the sound of her indrawn breath, choked off by the squeezing fingers.

“Don't move.”  Webster's hand tightened, locked around Andrea's neck and her eyes widened in panic.  Her fingers clawed at Webster's hand, but couldn't break his hold. 

“You want me, you son of a bitch?  I'm right here.  Let her go and I'll do whatever you want.”  Carpenter held both hands out in front of his body, his empty hands silently promising no threat.  “Do you want me to beg, is that it?” 

He dropped to his knees, arms thrown out to his sides.  Where the hell were his men? 

Webster rubbed the gun against the side of Andrea's face, the black finish a stark contrast against her pale skin.  One wrong move, even a twitch, and he knew Webster would shoot her.  Hell, he was going to shoot her anyway.  There was no chance he'd let either of them live, because he knew Carpenter wouldn't give up.  He'd hunt the sorry son of a bitch to the ends of the earth to see justice served. 

Thug number one groaned loudly, and Samuel cut his eyes toward the man.  He noted the slight jerk of his head toward the opening leading to the hall.  Hope flared in his chest when he spotted Ranger Boudreau's face peer around the corner before disappearing back behind the wall. 

They'd found the underground opening, which evened the odds a bit.  Still, he couldn't take a chance, not with Webster's gun so close to Andrea's head. 

“Hey, Samuel, you almost finished in there?”  Max's voice echoed through the silence, and it sounded like it came from right outside the window. 
What was he doing?
 

“Who's that?”  Webster glared at him, and Samuel chuckled, knowing it would drive Webster crazy. 

“Just a friend, something you'd know nothing about.  A little insurance, in case you proved to be unreasonable.”  Rising from his knees, he straightened to his full height and smiled at Andrea.  “You ready to leave, sweetheart?”