Stop at Nothing (20 page)

And now he had to get his ass moving so he wouldn't miss his plane. He called again on the way to the airport, praying that maybe she'd check her voice mail sometime soon. If Curtis Maxwell was still alive, that added a whole new spin to the sick and twisted drama the man was starring in…

* * *

Abby checked the screen of her phone again and held it above her head, turning a little in search of the elusive signal before heaving a frustrated sigh and returning her gaze to the woods that framed the little lake behind the cabin where Tyler was fishing without much luck.

“He'll call.”

Abby turned away from the idyllic scene to gaze at her sister lounging in a chaise on the opposite side of the deck and offered her a grateful smile. “I should've told him sooner, Em. I don't blame him for being angry about it.”

Emma shrugged as she took a sip of her coffee. “What's done is done, Abby. You just have to move forward.”

Abby studied her sister for a long moment, impressed to see the newly defiant lift of her chin. Maybe she'd be okay after all… “Still, I shouldn't have let him leave like that.”

“Didn't really have much of a choice from what it sounds like,” Emma told her. She rose from the chaise and walked to the railing to watch her son more closely. “I'm sure he got home safely.”

Abby nodded but didn't speak, glancing at her phone once more. She hadn't slept at all. She'd tossed and turned, replaying her conversation with Kyle and unable to forget the look of betrayal in his eyes. Finally, feeling trapped and claustrophobic inside the cabin, she'd given up and had come out on the deck. She'd been sitting there since dawn, listening to the birds and the other sounds of morning for several hours before her nephew and sister had joined her, bringing out a tray of brunch.

Emma hadn't even asked about why Kyle wasn't there. She'd just seemed to know. When Abby had teared up, Emma had sent Tyler down to the boathouse for the fishing gear so that they could talk.

“We really should invest in a phone line out here,” Abby mumbled, glancing down at her phone again. About the only thing it was good for was telling the time. It was well past noon now, but the hours couldn't pass quickly enough to suit her. She grumbled, “I feel so cut off from everything without any cell service. What if there's an emergency?”

Emma turned to give her an amused grin. “We spent a great deal of time here as kids without any mishaps, Abby.”

Abby got to her feet, suddenly antsy. “It only takes one.”

“Hey,” Emma said with forced enthusiasm. “Do you want to go for a boat ride? We haven't taken the boat out in ages!”

Abby laughed, picturing the rowboat that she had been surprised to find still in the boathouse when she and Kyle had gone down there for their heated make-out session the day before. “That old thing is probably half rotten! There's no way you're getting me in that boat.”

“A walk then,” Emma suggested. “Just the three of us.” Abby started to decline the offer, but paused when she saw the hopeful look on her sister's face. Maybe she wasn't the only one who needed to keep her mind off things.

“Alright,” she relented. “But we're not going far. You know I'm not a fan of these woods.”

“Tyler!” Emma called down to her son. “Come on up, buddy. We're going for a walk.” She then drained her coffee and hurried toward the door to the house, her enthusiasm contagious. “I'm going to go change my shoes. Don't go anywhere.”

Abby laughed. “Where am I going to go? There's nothing around here for miles.”

Emma winked at her, then disappeared inside. Abby frowned as soon as her sister was gone, wondering if Emma was as okay as she appeared to be. The sudden change in her personality, the cheerfulness in spite of what she'd gone through while she was missing, were great to see. But Abby didn't quite trust it. She'd been there during every one of her mother's breakdowns, and each of them had started with a period of what appeared to be joy and contentment. But then the depression would descend with a vengeance.

She sighed, hoping she was worrying for nothing. Even so, she silently sent up a prayer that nothing would destroy this fragile happiness that Emma seemed to be enjoying.

“Ready?” Emma chirped, emerging from the house just as Tyler joined them on the deck carrying his fishing gear.

Abby forced a smile and tucked her phone in her back pocket. “You bet.”

As Kyle made his way to the gate for his flight, apprehension about leaving Abby at the cabin without additional backup began to make him twitchy. Luckily, they'd already begun preboarding when he found an open seat in the crowded waiting area. He dropped his overnight bag at his feet before squeezing into the narrow vinyl-covered chair to wait until they called his row. The sooner he could get to New Orleans and back to Abby, the better.

“Headed to the Big Easy?”

Kyle frowned and glanced around in confusion before he realized the man across the aisle had spoken to him. “Sorry?”

The man offered a friendly smile. Clearly he was an extrovert. Awesome.

“I was just asking if you were heading to New Orleans.”

Kyle eyed the guy up and down with a quick glance, subtly sizing him up. He looked like he could be everybody's favorite neighbor—ordinary, nondescript. The guy who kept his lawn nice and trim and waved to all the cars driving by.

“Yeah,” Kyle said, offering a curt smile in return.

“Business or pleasure?”

Kyle suppressed his irritation at being engaged in conversation and said, “Business.”

“Me too.” The guy's smile widened. “What kind of business you in?”

Speaking of business, Kyle wanted to tell the guy to piss off and mind his own. But for some reason he found himself continuing to answer the man's questions. He had to give the guy credit. He had a way of drawing out information. But Kyle was a pro at evading. “Government work,” he hedged, keeping it vague.

The guy nodded. “Ah, gotcha.” He looked at Kyle expectantly, clearly not willing to end their conversation there.

Kyle suppressed a sigh. “What about you? What kind of work are you in?”

“I'm an independent contractor,” the guy said with a shrug. Then he gave Kyle an amused grin. “I've worked with some government guys before. Who knows? Maybe I've even done a job for one of your bosses.”

Kyle's brows twitched together briefly. “I doubt it.”

The guy laughed. “Hey, it's a small world. You never know.”

“Are you from New Orleans?” Kyle asked, trying to change the subject.

“Nah,” the guy replied. “Just passing through. How 'bout you?”

Kyle shook his head. “Same.”

A woman's voice suddenly filled the area, the words garbled and crackling, but Kyle could understand enough to know that his row was being called to board. He got to his feet, glad to be moving again.

“That you?” the guy asked, gesturing with his thumb toward the ceiling as if the gate attendant was some divine voice calling the passengers to their final destination and not the harried-looking woman behind the podium with the edge of her uniform blouse coming untucked.

“Yeah,” Kyle said, shouldering his carry-on. “It was good talking to you. Have a good trip.”

The guy extended his hand. “You, too…?”

It took a moment for Kyle to realize the man was waiting for Kyle's name. For a second he thought about giving a fake name, but why bother? It wasn't like he and the guy were likely to cross paths again. “Kyle,” he supplied. “Kyle Dawson.”

The guy shook Kyle's hand with a hearty grip. “Kyle? Good to meet you. Take care now.”

Kyle gave him a curt smile and headed toward the growing line of passengers at the gateway. But he'd only gone a few steps before he paused to turn back to get another look at the guy. “You seem familiar for some reason. Have we met before?”

The man laughed a little. “I get that all the time. I guess I just have one of those faces. I look like everybody. And nobody.”

Kyle nodded slowly. “Guess so. Well, see you around… Sorry. Didn't catch your name.”

“Fielding.” The guy's smile widened. “Greg Fielding.”

Kyle raised a hand in farewell. “See you around, Fielding.”

Fielding gave him a nod. “Yep. You bet.”

As soon as Kyle had boarded and stowed his carry-on, he took out his phone and called his brother.

“Aren't you supposed to be on a plane?” Tom quipped by way of answering the phone.

“I am,” Kyle said in a rush. “And I only have a few minutes before they make us turn off our phones. I need you to do me a favor.”

“This is becoming a habit, baby brother.”

“I'll owe you one.”

“One?”

“Okay, a shit-ton. Could you just do this for me?”

“Alright. What?”

“I need you to see what you can find on a guy named Greg Fielding. He's an independent contractor who's done some government work. I don't know anything else about him.”

“Seriously? This is what you're giving me to work with? That's not exactly an unusual name.”

“Fine,” Kyle snapped, holding up his index finger to indicate to the flight attendant that he needed just a minute longer. “Give it to Gabe. He loves this kind of down-the-rabbit-hole shit.”

“Is this related to the case?” Tom asked.

“No, just a hunch,” Kyle admitted. “I met this guy in the airport a minute ago and there's something off about him.”

Tom laughed. “Jesus, Kyle. Are you kidding me? If I ran a check on every guy I came across that seemed a little off…”

“Humor me, will ya?” Kyle said. “I'm going to be on a plane with this guy for the next two hours.”

“I won't have anything before you take off,” Tom reminded him. “Won't do you much good if I find anything on him.”

“Trust me, I'm aware of that.”

“Sir,” the flight attendant was down in his face now, trying very hard to be pointed but polite. “We're preparing for departure. I need you to stow your phone until the pilot gives the okay.”

Kyle gave her his most charming smile and nodded and said into his phone in a rush, “Just text me what you find, Tom.”

* * *

Fielding settled into his seat a few rows back from Kyle Dawson, trying not to frown as he mulled over his meeting with the FBI agent who was screwing Abby Morrow. What in the hell was the agent doing on a flight to New Orleans when Deputy Morrow was clearly still in danger? Didn't they get his fucking text?

Figured.

That's what he got for trying to be a nice guy and even the odds a little.

Still…

As much as it irritated him that his attempt to warn Abby Morrow had gone unheeded, the thought of those pricks hurting her made his stomach lurch. Maybe he'd send another text, make sure Deputy Morrow got the idea. He certainly had a few that could get the point across. Or maybe he'd just let things run their course. It's not like he had any skin in the game. And unless something showed up in the papers, he'd never know about it anyway. Not where he was going to be luxuriating for the foreseeable future.

Anyway, it didn't matter. He'd already confirmed that fifteen million from his employer had been wired to his account, as instructed. Boy, that bastard was going to be pissed when he realized Fielding had taken the money and skipped out on him without offing the deputy and her family. But clearly his employer was desperate. And desperation often overrode sense and reason.

He almost hated to leave and miss all the fun when his employer realized he'd been double-crossed. He almost felt sorry for the moron. Which is why Fielding had agreed to take this last job when Mr. Smith had called that morning. Apparently, there'd been a development and there was another million in it for Fielding if he'd take care of a little problem down in New Orleans first.

It was a shame that his final job before an extended vacation wasn't even remotely interesting. Disposing of a body, of all things. Shit work. To have to end his career where he'd begun was like getting busted down from general to private.

But apparently these jackasses couldn't be bothered to even do that much on their own and were willing to pay out the ass to keep their hands clean. And a million dollars could buy a fuck-load of humility. So here he was on a plane to New Orleans.

Whatever amateur they'd hired to off the guy in New Orleans was going to leave the stiff in some abandoned warehouse for Fielding to get rid of it. He was thinking acid was probably the way to go. Then again, the bayous offered a nice alternative with the population of gators that were always looking for a free lunch.

Fielding settled back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. As the plane taxied down the runway, he closed his eyes and began counting back from one hundred, determined to get some shut-eye before he arrived in New Orleans. It was going to be a long night, and he needed to have his wits about him.

Before heading to the abandoned building, he was planning to tag along with Agent Dawson and find out what he was up to in the Big Easy. He actually kinda liked the guy.

Aside from the little display outside Deputy Morrow's house the other night in the storm, which Fielding couldn't help but admire, Dawson seemed like a decent investigator. The way Dawson had been studying him from the moment they made eye contact, he could tell the agent instinctively sensed something off about him.

He'd come across quite a bit of information about the famous Dawson family when he'd read up on Abby Morrow, but he hadn't had the opportunity to see one of them in action on the job. Until today. Now he understood why their names got bandied around by law enforcement and criminals alike with a mixture of rage, jealousy, and awe. Hell, if Fielding hadn't been used to constantly watching for tells that someone had made him, he never would've noticed that the guy was assessing him, judging him while they'd chatted. Dawson was just that good.

It'd be a damned shame if their jobs happened to intersect…

* * *

Kyle slung his carry-on over his shoulder and took out his phone, turning it on to see if he had any text messages from his brother—or Abby. But he still hadn't heard from either of them. Impatient, he tried calling Abby again but only got her voice mail. He didn't even bother leaving a message this time.

Then he tried Tom. Surprisingly, he didn't get an answer there either.
What the hell?
Tom
always
answered his phone. He hung up and was getting ready to try again when Gabe's number came across the screen.

Frowning, Kyle answered. “Hey, Gabe. What's up?”

“Tom asked me to look into that guy you were asking about,” he said.

Kyle started walking down the crowded corridor, heading for baggage claim to grab the duffel bag in which he'd checked his gun. “Yeah? And?”

“Well, there are about a hundred guys with that name,” Gabe informed him, “but none of them are contractors of any kind, not that I could find.”

“Maybe the guy was lying to me about what he did,” Kyle suggested.

“Got me,” Gabe replied. “I just know I couldn't find shit on anyone meeting your criteria. You got a physical description of the guy?”

Kyle slowed his stride. Hell, he wasn't sure how to even give a description of the man. “Uh…mid-forties, maybe? Brown hair. Brown eyes. He just looked…ordinary. No distinguishing characteristics of any kind.”

“Well, thank you, Agent Dawson,” Gabe drawled. “That description is immensely helpful. You just described about eighty percent of the population, numbnuts.”

Kyle's mouth hitched up at one corner, glad his brother was teasing him again. That was definitely a good sign. “Sorry, man. That's all I've got. What can I say? The guy doesn't stand out in any way.”

“I don't know what to say then,” Gabe replied. “The guy's a ghost, Kyle. There's nothing on him anywhere.”

Kyle came to a halt, causing the person behind him to slam into him. He threw a glance over his shoulder as the man sent an irritated epithet his way. He mumbled an apology and returned his attention to the conversation with his brother.

“Thanks, Gabe,” he murmured, his brows furrowed. “I appreciate you taking a look.”

He hung up his phone and stood there, lost in thought for a moment before he finally continued on his way to baggage claim. By then, the area was a flurry of activity with passengers milling around the carousel.

Kyle saw his duffel bag come around and snatched it up. When he turned, he found himself face-to-face with Fielding.

He gave him a curt nod in greeting and started to go around, but he'd only gone a few steps when he heard Fielding call out, “Be seeing you around, Agent Dawson. Take care of that pretty little deputy of yours.”

Kyle whirled around in an instant, his heart pounding. “What the fuck—?”

But Fielding was gone.

Kyle frantically searched the crowd, but Fielding had vanished.

Like a ghost.

Kyle let out a string of furious curses, earning a horrified look from more than one passerby. He raked a frantic hand through his hair.

God
damn
it!

He didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. As he swiftly strode toward the airport exit to catch a cab, he called Abby again.

“Abby, baby, please call me when you get this,” he said in a rush. “I need to talk to you right away. Please call me, sweetheart.”

The next call he made was to Peterman. “I'm here.”