Driven by Fire (4 page)

“I’m perfectly calm and relaxed.” Her defensive voice was pitched just a bit too high.

Soledad smiled sweetly as she turned on the taps. Instant hot water responded with a blast of steam. She turned back. “May I help you undress? Your pretty clothes—I do not know if I will ever be able to get them clean.”

“I told you before, Soledad, you don’t have to do things like that! I could send the suit to the dry cleaners but I don’t think I ever want to see that thing again.”

She began unbuttoning the stained silk jacket, then stared down at her bloody hands. Shuddering, she looked away.

“We may have to go back to the house to find me some clean clothes. I don’t trust Ryder—he’ll probably find a Mardi Gras costume or something equally disturbing for me to wear.”

“I think Mr. Ryder will be taking very good care of you, Ms. Parker.”

There was a faintly teasing note in Soledad’s voice, one Jenny chose to ignore. Soledad’s English might be flawless, but that didn’t mean she understood the nuances. “I doubt it,” she said wearily. Ryder disliked and distrusted her, for all his decent attempts at taking care of her. Once she got Soledad settled she’d have no more reason to see him, which was a very good thing. He was far too suspicious for her peace of mind, and she suspected he wasn’t the type to let anything go. She needed to get as far away from him as she could.

She had no doubt at all the bullet that had hardly grazed her scalp had been meant for him. After all, he was the one who dealt with terrorists and international criminals—she was simply an immigration lawyer, and a pro bono one at that.

She felt strange stripping off her ruined clothes in his house, stepping into his deep bathtub. She might as well enjoy it while she could—her narrow shotgun house had only a rusty stall shower, and the luxury of a bath like this was not to be taken lightly. With a sigh of decadent delight, she slid down into the warm, faintly scented water and closed her eyes.

Chapter Four

Ryder stared at the computer screen, scrolling through the images impatiently. There was no angle surrounding the house that wasn’t covered by surveillance cameras, and it had taken Jack, the best hacker in the business, no more than fifteen minutes to isolate the car driving by, the shadowy passenger in the hoodie, the almost imperceptible circle of a gun barrel pointed at the old house. A gun that size shouldn’t have been able to reach the front door, the first and possibly most important conundrum, the second being the identity of the shooter. It hadn’t taken Jack any longer to trace the anonymous late-model sedan to a stolen car report, and he had little doubt it was already abandoned on the edge of the Ninth Ward.

Ms. Jenny Parker, Esquire, could have been right and the bullet was meant for him. After all, no matter how discreet they’d been, the underworld would become aware of their location sooner rather than later, and he had enough murderous enemies to fill a 747.

But his instincts, the ones that had kept him alive to the ripe old age of thirty-seven in the most dangerous life imaginable, told him that the bullet was meant for one of his visitors. The question was, which one? And why?

“So you’ve finally got Parker in your clutches,” Jack drawled from his spot in front of the bank of computer screens. Jack Abbott was one of the Committee’s greatest assets, though he seldom left the computer room. “You figured out whether she’s involved or not?”

“If I had proof she was part of the sex trafficking, she’d already be dead.” Ryder’s voice was matter-of-fact. “I just know she isn’t who and what she says she is. She acts twitchy around me.”

“Anyone with any sense will act twitchy around you, Ryder,” Jack said dryly. “You’re a lethal weapon and maybe she’s smart enough to see that. I would have thought you would have managed to get a read on her by now.”

Ryder frowned. “Easier said than done. She was trying to get the last girl from the boat into our household, and now she’s wormed her way in here as well. Good thinking for an enemy.”

“She said she wants to be here?”

“She’s too smart for that. I’m thinking that bullet wasn’t meant for anyone. I think it was just an excuse to get us to keep them here, where they think they can find out what we know. Hell, maybe Parker plans to murder us in our sleep.”

“Doesn’t seem the type. Doesn’t seem the type to be involved in an international sex-trafficking ring either.”

“You forget she comes from a family of gangsters,” Ryder said grimly. “We’ve got a complete background on her, down to the tiniest of details.”

“True enough,” Jack said. “But as far as I can see there isn’t any connection between them and the Corsini family or their front man, His Eminence. We cleared up that nest of spiders, and the shipload of human cargo brought up from Calliveria was probably just the tail end of the Corsinis’ operation. And there’s no connection with Jenny Parker at all. Apparently she’s a perfect Mother Teresa.”

“Except that she’s been there from the beginning, making certain the hostages got taken care of, sent off someplace safe where no one could ask any questions. She’s done a great job of covering up, whether she meant to or not.”

“Well, don’t kill her until you’re sure she meant to,” Jack warned him. “And what about the girl who’s with her? If she’s one of the bad guys, why would she bring a possible witness in with her?” Jack spun around his chair, ignoring the screens for the moment.

Ryder considered it. “Maybe Soledad is part of the whole mess as well. Just because she looks like a Madonna doesn’t mean she’s not evil.”

“You don’t trust anyone, do you?” Jack said.

“No. Not if I have even the slightest reason to doubt them. And Parker’s been just a little too busy with the refugees to satisfy me. We know there’s at least one person at this end that we haven’t caught yet. It may or may not be Parker, and I’m not giving up on her until I’m sure.”

“And if you find out she’s the local connection . . . ?”

“I suppose it depends what Peter Madsen says. He can make the hard decisions—it comes with the territory. The smart thing to do would be to get rid of her,” he said coolly. He could do it, of course, if ordered to. It wouldn’t matter that he didn’t want to.

Jack shook his head. “How do you think her family would take to that?”

“You think I don’t know how to make people disappear? I’ve never been squeamish about any of the less savory parts of my job, and that’s not about to change,” he said quietly. “Either Ms. Jenny Parker is a bleeding-heart liberal who enjoys throwing her time and money into a lost cause, or she’s a member of a ruthless cartel that traffics in women and children. All she has to do is slip up, just for a moment, and I’ll clean up the mess.”

Jack shook his head. “She doesn’t give off that kind of vibe.”

“You haven’t even met her face-to-face. I have and I still can’t read her.”

Jack watched him out of quiet eyes. “You ever made a mistake?”

Ryder froze. “What kind of mistake?”

“You ever killed an innocent?”

“No one’s innocent,” he said flatly. “If she’s the target then someone had a reason to shoot at her, so she must have pissed someone off, big-time. Apart from me.”

“You gonna tell me why she pisses you off?” Jack said, spinning back to look at his computer screens full of data.

“What the fuck do you mean by that?”

“I think there’s more going on than you’re aware of, and I don’t want you jumping to conclusions just because she makes you feel uncomfortable.”

“If I were the type to jump to conclusions, she’d be out somewhere in the bayou, served up as alligator food.”

“You’re a sick bastard, Ryder. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yup,” he said.

Jack punched in a few numbers on the computer before turning back. “Look at it this way: the Gauthier family has enough enemies—she might just be the target of a mob war. Taking out a relatively innocent member of the family could always deliver a crippling blow.”

“Maybe. The big-eyed waif with the mysterious background might have been the target as well. After all, Parker’s looking for protection for her, so there must be an interesting story behind that Madonna expression and passive demeanor. Either way, with the two of them in the house I’ll figure out what’s going on. If it turns out she’s innocent, I can push her off to Remy or even one of the junior operatives—it’s a simple enough issue compared to what I usually deal with. Speaking of which, where is Remy?”

“On his way back from Oklahoma City,” Jack said briefly. “Weapons transport.”

As usual the information was succinct, without any human interaction. As far as Ryder was concerned, Jack was part machine himself, no emotions, no social niceties. It made work more efficient—right then Ryder thought he’d be happy if all his coworkers were the efficient, deadly machines Jack was.

“Emery, Johnson, and Duvall?” Ryder demanded of his favorite machine.

“Emery’s downstairs in reception, Johnson’s awaiting orders, Duvall’s with his wife.”

Ryder made a muffled sound of disapproval. “Why the fuck did he have to go and get married? Women are nothing but a complication.”

“So are men,” Jack pointed out absently, typing something into one of his many keyboards.

“Call Emery, will you?” Ryder demanded. “I’ve got a job for her.”

That was enough to make Jack turn around, and once more Ryder was startled by his face. Jack was almost unnaturally beautiful, with long straight black hair, and an Asian tilt to eyes of an impossibly blue color—some trick of genetics Mendel would be hard put to explain. He had long lashes that could effectively hide his expression, high cheekbones, and a mouth he’d been told by Emery was luscious. With a face like that he’d be excellent at undercover work, particularly in third-world countries where his mixed-race beauty would blend in, but so far he’d been much more valuable gathering intel on anything and anybody.

“Something I can do? I’m just running facial recognition and that takes time.”

It took forever, even with Jack at the helm, and Ryder knew it. He also knew what had prompted Jack to make the offer. He didn’t like having anyone up on his floors, near his computers, if he could help it, and that seemed to go double for Emery.

“Secure the third-floor work areas and show Ms. Parker’s little waif to one of the guest rooms while I take our lawyer friend home. And look a little deeper into the Gauthiers. Just because we haven’t found anything so far doesn’t mean they’re clean in this deal. The trafficking run by the Corsini family had to have been public knowledge among the criminals in the city, which includes the Gauthiers. Check again to make sure none of them was involved. There are three brothers besides the old man, aren’t there?”

“Maurice runs their shady law firm, Tonino is involved in shipping, and the youngest one, Billy, just graduated from college and is off in Europe,” Jack rattled off instantly.

“Tonino is the obvious one, if he’s connected with shipping. Shipping what?”

“Cheap souvenirs from China, with stolen artwork and drugs on the side, though they’ve been raided a couple of times and nothing was ever found.”

“A couple of times? Someone’s making hefty payoffs.”

“That’s how business works in New Orleans,” Jack said cynically. “You think that bullet was meant for Parker and not the Madonna?”

“Why not me? There sure the hell are enough people who hate me.”

“You’re hard to kill,” Jack said. “So why are you thinking Parker’s the target?”

Ryder shrugged. “Instinct, and those instincts are why it’s so hard to kill me. She’s hiding something, and I intend to find out what.” Jack had already turned his back on Ryder, staring at the screens, dismissing their conversation from his consciousness. “Keep checking,” he said.

Jack didn’t respond, his straight back a reproach to such an unnecessary order, and Ryder turned to deal with the lying Parker.

He shoved the door shut behind him, closing Jack into his domain, and slid the bookcases across the entrance, camouflaging it from any nosy visitors. He turned and almost slammed into his quarry.

She was watching him with no more than casual interest. “That seems awfully low-tech for a super spy agency.”

“We’re not a super spy agency,” he said irritably, taking in her appearance. When he’d seen her before, she’d worn her short hair in a professional sweep across her forehead. Now it was a rumpled mess, a halo of curls around her face, curls she’d always manage to keep under strict control, and he found himself wondering what else she kept under strict control.

She was wearing the clothes he’d left out for her. His jeans fit her—she filled them out much better than he ever had. Not that he gave a damn, but he couldn’t help but notice she had a delectable butt. He immediately put it out of his mind.

His old T-shirt clung to her, and a bloody stain was spreading from her bra into the white fabric. For some reason he’d had no idea how curvy she was beneath those businesslike suits she wore like Southern armor. He had a hard time dealing with Southern women—the charm seemed to cover a deadly determination, though in most cases it was simply a lethal determination to get their own way.

The woman in front of him had succeeded, as she presumably knew she would. He made a noncommittal sound. “That’s why we don’t like having guests. But don’t worry, Parker,” he said, his use of her name deceptively friendly, “you’ve won this round. We’ll keep the two of you here for the time being until we ascertain whom that shot was meant for. In the meantime your little one is already settled in”—at least he hoped she was—“and I’m taking you home to get your things.”

She bristled immediately. “I don’t need anyone to take me home, Mr. Ryder. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of it myself. And you’re mistaken—I’m not staying here. I have a perfectly good house, and there’s no reason why anyone would have shot at me.”

“Yeah, that’s what the bullet graze on the side of your head is saying.”

“No one wants to hurt me. It’s Soledad they’re after, not me. I told you she needed protection. I’d rather have your resources spent on her than wasting your time with me.”

“And what makes you think I give a shit about your preferences?” he said.

She gave him something just short of a glare. “Then surely you can send someone else home with me if you’re suddenly smitten with concern for my welfare.”

“No one else is available,” he said with a blatant disregard for the truth. “Your waif is under lock and key, and the sooner you can get your things, the sooner I can dump you and get back to my work.”

“I’m fine on my own,” she said, and he controlled his instinctive snort of exasperation. Of course she’d be convinced she was safe, no matter what she was hiding. Her old man, Fabrizio, would make certain she was protected at all times. So much for turning her back on the family business, which was all well and good until she needed protection or a favor.

They wouldn’t provide protection from him. There was something going on with her, something inexplicable. The tension between them was palpable, but it wasn’t simply a matter of dislike. More women than he could remember despised him—some he’d wanted, some he hadn’t—but there was a hidden thread of . . . something between them, something he didn’t want to look at too closely. There was definitely more to her than met the eye. For all she looked like an auburn-haired pixie, he wasn’t fooled into thinking the surface had anything to do with the real woman inside. She had secrets, and he never trusted a woman with secrets. Especially not the daughter of one of the most corrupt political families he’d ever seen.

He didn’t have time to waste on her. She probably wasn’t a major player, and the sooner he could clear her, the sooner he could get back to business.

Giving her a deliberately impatient look, he started forward. “You coming?”

“What makes you think it’s safe to walk out the front door? Your enemies might still be out there.”

He mentally counted to ten. “We haven’t decided whether they were shooting at me or you or your supposedly endangered waif, which is why we’re holding on to both of you. Once we know she’s safe we’ll get her settled in some anonymous city, and she can go on to live the American dream. In the meantime our computer hacker is checking the surveillance tapes in the live feed. The facial-recognition software should give us an answer sooner or later, and in the meantime Jack will let us know if the coast is clear.”