Deadly Commitment: The Deadly Secrets Series

by Kathy Harris

  “You’ll be interested to know he’s also an accountant.” Caleb continued. “He tried to scam the fed for millions of dollars.”

  Danni relaxed a bit. How dangerous could an accountant be?

  “He works for Valentino Ramirez.”

  “Oh.” Her heart took another plunge. “That’s not good, is it?”

  “Not really, no. It means you’re definitely being watched by Ramirez.”

  After Caleb left, Danni took a long, hot bath, reset her alarm for an extra hour of sleep, and went to bed. Before turning out the light, she paused to say a prayer of thanksgiving for Jamie’s—and her own—protection in the explosion. Then she added a prayer for Rachel, as she had promised she would. And a prayer for Angela, who was responsible for helping turn around so many lives.

  Finally, she prayed for Caleb. That he would have the wisdom and the strength to see his case to the end. Whatever that meant for Rob. And whatever that meant for her.

  I just want the best for those who are doing the right thing, God. Please help me to do the right thing too.

  As soon as she turned out the light, Sophie jumped into bed. The dog rarely cuddled with her. She usually slept on one side of the bed while Danni slept on the other, presumably to stay cooler.

  But tonight Sophie lay right next to Danni with her head between her paws.

  “What’s wrong, girl?” Danni brushed her hand across the dog’s wide muzzle. “Were you worried about me tonight?”

  The dog listened but didn’t move.

  “You’re keeping an eye on me, aren’t you?” Her instinct had to be telling her Danni had been in serious danger. “I appreciate your keeping watch for me.”

  With that, Danni turned over on her side. Despite two cups of coffee, she had a good idea she wouldn’t have any problem sleeping.

  CHAPTER 31

  Sharing a night with a complete stranger made everything more exciting. No commitments. No rules. No holds barred.

  He did enjoy a challenge.

  “Rob.” The beautiful magazine reporter brought him back to the present. “Can we continue the interview now?”

  Robert Evans smiled, dismissing his fantasy. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

  She flipped on her tape recorder. “We talked about Nashville yesterday. Now I want to ask you about life on the road.”

  “I find it to be accommodating.” He winked and settled into the leather sofa in the front half of his bus.

  “Once again, thank you for giving me so much of your time for this interview.” She made a point of taking in the luxurious surroundings. “And for the opportunity to see the inside of your home away from home. Thank you for the tour. How many days a year do you travel in it?”

  “Last year, I was out for more than two-hundred days.”

  “Really? Is that typical for an entertainment manager?” She opened her pad to take written notes, along with the recorder.

  He smiled. “It’s not even close to being typical. I do it because I love it, and because it gives me empathy for my artists.” Gesturing to the driver’s compartment and kitchen galley, he added. “How can I ask them to live in such a confined, although accommodating space, when I’m not willing to do it?”

  “I admire you for that, of course.” Her eyes twinkled. “But I suspect there is more.”

  “You’re very insightful.” He cleared his throat. “It also gives me a better perspective about the audiences who pay to see my acts. I’m out here with them. I see what age groups are coming to the shows, what songs they react to the most, and I calculate that information into my managerial plan.”

  “Calculate. An interesting word choice . . .”

  “As you know, I have a degree in business. I love numbers. Especially big ones.” He smiled.

  She jotted down his words.

  “It’s not only rewarding to see the satisfaction my acts give to their fans. It’s financially rewarding to know what works and what doesn’t.” He paused and studied her for a reaction.

  “So money is the bottom line for you?” She poised pen over paper.

  “In the end it is, because—and follow me here, as I was trying to say earlier—if the audience is happy when they leave, they’ll come back again. They’ll buy a T-shirt and the album. They’ll request your songs on the radio. And in the end that’s what provides a good living for my acts.” He settled back into his seat. “And a very good living for me.”

  She scribbled and nodded before looking up. “And what about your family? Don’t they miss you?”

  “I’m single right now.” He thought about dismissing the question. “It takes a special kind of person to be married to an entertainment professional. I wouldn’t expect someone to go into it blindly, so I’m pretty much what you see is what you get.”

  She laughed. “Oh, so there are no secrets on the road?”

  “Of course there are. But if I revealed them, they wouldn’t be secrets, right?”

  “You’ve got me there.” The dimples on each side of her mouth deepened.

  “No, seriously.” Rob wasn’t about to let her go on that one. “The road life is like anything else. We eat, work, and sleep, just like every other American worker. We just do it in a different place every night.”

  “Do you ever get bored?”

  His phone rang. It was Ramirez. “Excuse me.” He stood to walk to the back of the bus and closed the door behind him.

  “Our guests are here.”

  Ridge summoned Caleb to the conference room early the next morning for an impromptu meeting with the Evans case team. When he arrived, Mack Brown and Danny Parker of the DEA and Sam Wiley of the FBI were seated around the table.

  It appeared Wiley and Ridge had been verbally jousting. Both men guffawed. A sign they had news. Good news. Evidently the case was going well from the FBI’s perspective.

  “As I said before, our insider has paid off.” Wiley handed Ridge a thumb drive.

  His boss turned and passed it along to Caleb.

  “Good to see you Agent Samuels,” Wiley grinned.

  Caleb was now certain that good news awaited. “Likewise,” he acknowledged each of their guests. “Shall I play this?” He brandished the drive.

  “Please. I think you’re going to enjoy it.”

  Caleb inserted the drive into the conference room computer, followed the prompts, and turned up the volume.

  “—what’s going on?” It was Robert Evans’s voice.

  Silence.

  “Phone call?” Caleb mouthed.

  Wiley nodded, then mouthed “Ramirez.”

  “I told you, my girlfriend has nothing to do with this.”

  He had to be talking about Danielle.

  “Explosion? What? Is she—?” Pause. “Yes, I—I understand . . . No!” A longer pause.

  “Yes, sir.” His final words were followed by what sounded to be a door closing.

  “Who’s your insider?” Caleb addressed Wiley.

  “Actually, we should have two to tell you about soon.” The FBI agent smiled. “I’m not ready to divulge the second, but the first is our agent, Cassia Kennedy. She’s posing as a reporter by the name of Cassia Noelle, and she’s been traveling with Evans for a few days.”

  “This is her work?” Ridge asked.

  Wiley nodded.

  “So we now know for sure Ramirez was behind the explosion.” Ridge looked at Caleb. “We had already figured as much. Everything pointed to him.”

  “Where did you plant the device?” Caleb directed the question to Wiley.

  “Near the back of Evans’s bus.”

  “Great work. This case is moving quickly.” Ridge continued. “We have extra security on the girlfriend. From the sound of that call, it appears she may be in imminent danger.”

  Wiley sobered. “I agree. I think she’s going to be very useful.” He addressed Caleb this time. “We need to keep her healthy.”

  Caleb’s heart plunged to his stomach. “I’m . . . we’re doing the best we can,
sir.”

  The absolute best we can.

  CHAPTER 32

  Midmorning the same day – April 17

  The headlines that morning didn’t mention a car bomb explosion as Danni had expected. There was only a small report on the radio news about a vehicle fire in West Nashville. Perhaps, as Caleb said, it was because the investigation hadn’t yet been completed.

  Caleb called as Danni pulled her Escape into a spot behind Amoré. She’d said a prayer before starting her car this morning and had been grateful to see Agent Matheson standing in the shadows of the underground garage. She suspected he had watched the car all night. He’d tipped his cap to her as she unlocked her car door.

  During their quick call, Caleb told her he had stepped up her security and to expect new faces watching her twenty-four hours a day—in the restaurant, on the street, and in and around her condo building. He said they would introduce themselves discreetly and to be aware if she saw someone suspicious. He also inferred Ramirez had been officially connected to the bomb, or at least that the TBI was leaning in that direction.

  Before he hung up, he reminded her they would get through all of this one day at a time. Just hearing his voice gave her courage. But she braced herself for what could lie ahead.

  Halfway been the back door of the restaurant and Danni’s office, Jaycee ambushed her with a game of twenty questions. Thankfully, she had a lot she could share about the rehab center, keeping the topic of the explosion off limits.

  “I had no idea something like the Hope and Grace Resource Center existed,” said Danni as she dropped her bag onto her desk. “We need to look into hiring a few of their graduates. I met one woman who really touched my heart.”

  Jaycee listened intently while Danni told her about Rachel and her dream of being reunited with her daughter.

  “I told her I would pray for her.”

  A slow smile spread across Jaycee’s face. “I’m sure that meant a lot to her.”

  “I hope so. I know how much your prayers have meant to me.”

  Jaycee blinked away moisture in her eyes and swallowed. “You’ve got them, from now until forever, my friend. It’s what friends do for each other.”

  The restaurant business was slow that day, likely because of the rain that continued to pour from bottomless dark clouds that had taken residence over the city. The forecast didn’t offer much hope for relief during the next twenty-four hours. When a front stalled over the geographic bowl that encompassed Music City and its surrounding area, it could sometimes settle in for days. This particular storm was reminiscent of one that had brought flooding, devastating many parts of the city a few years after Danni moved to the area.

  At Jaycee’s insistence, Danni left for home earlier than usual that night. The clouds hung low, obscuring the half-moon that should have lighted her drive home, and by the time she took Sophie out for her walk, only the streetlights and the headlamps from passing cars provided illumination.

  The unrelenting rain was coming down hard and, because the big dog loved water, Sophie managed to find every sinkhole and pothole on their usual circuit around the neighborhood. Her outer coat of fur was saturated by the time they returned to the front walkway of their building.

  Water poured from Danni’s umbrella as she folded it and stepped beneath the shelter of the narrow dark green awning. She tugged on the heavy brass door, opening it wide enough for both her and Sophie to enter the lobby. Without warning, the big dog started to shake—starting at the big Newfoundland’s head and traveling to the tip of her tail.

  “Sophie!” Danni jumped back, but it was too late. She was already drenched. Well, more drenched. And a small pool of water now covered three square feet of the Italian marble floor of the lobby.

  A man in grey overalls, who worked silently a few feet away, scowled at them. He eyed the dog and then Danni, finally picking up his mop and bucket and heading their way. He shook his head as he stared at the mess on the floor.

  “I’m so sorry.” Danni held the Newfoundland on a short leash.

  “No te preocupes,” the man said. “This is all I’ve done for two days. It’s not your fault. I’m not sure if the rain will ever stop.”

  “I know. I can’t remember when we’ve had so much at once.” Danni thanked him for cleaning up her mess. “I hope your night gets better.”

  He nodded and went back to work.

  Danni escorted the dog across the lobby and engaged the elevator button, hoping Sophie would hold off shaking again until she could towel her dry. When they exited on the seventh floor, she led the Newfie quickly to her condo and unlocked and opened the door.

  She had just stepped inside when her phone rang. Grabbing a towel from the coat rack, Danni threw it over Sophie in an attempt to stave off immediate damage. She dug the phone out of her pocket and looked at it. Jaycee’s number was in the caller ID.

  “What’s going on?” Danni blocked Sophie from the living room.

  “We have a problem.” Her friend’s voice was thin, almost unrecognizable. “The restaurant is flooding.”

  “Flooding? How can that be?”

  The big dog began to shake again. Danni launched herself across her, holding on with her free hand to keep the towel in place.

  “We’re already wading in three inches of water in the kitchen.” Jaycee shrieked. “It’s awful. It’s coming in from the alley in the back.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Danni unsnapped Sophie’s leash. “Let me change clothes. Do you need me to bring anything?”

  “Just your office keys.” Danni heard fear in Jaycee’s voice. “We need to move everything out of there before the water gets to that point.”

  “Is there anyone helping you?”

  “George and Trevor. Everyone else has gone home for the night.”

  “I’ll see you in a few minutes!” Danni set the phone on her entry table, quickly towel-dried the dog, and then hurried to her closet to pick out a change of clothes.

  After pulling on a pair of navy-blue sweatpants and an Iowa State sweatshirt, she swept her hair into a makeshift up-do and secured it with a hair tie.

  “I’ll be back in a while, Soph.” Danni slammed the door behind her.

  Punching the elevator button, she ticked through a mental checklist. She had her rain boots and her office keys. What was she forgetting?

  Her umbrella. She fumbled with her keys and reentered the condo, grabbing the umbrella from the stand near the door and then relocking her door.

  Should she drive? If the street was flooding, it might be hard to find parking. Besides, she could jog to the restaurant just as quickly as she could deal with the maze of one-way streets. Downtown Nashville’s never-ending reconstruction and realignment often left even its residents confused as to which streets were open. Once they were finished with the cleanup at the restaurant, Jaycee could drop her back home.

  Caleb slammed the door on his truck and started the engine. He loved to hear the purr of his 350. At this point in the day, it sounded much more relaxed than he did. Working twelve-and fourteen-hour shifts would eventually kill you, or at least wear you down. That was his theory, especially after a long day at the Bureau headquarters.

  Walking the street all night was easier than staring at a computer screen, as he’d done today. But if researching the global narcotics ring that financed Valentino Ramirez’s operation would put him, Evans, and their associates behind bars, it was worth the effort.

  Caleb glanced at his watch. It was early enough to call Danni and check on her. He would think of some flimsy excuse to justify the call as business. But the truth was, he just wanted to hear her voice. To make sure she was okay.

  He’d had a nagging feeling in his gut since the afternoon that something was wrong. Then again, maybe it was just his stomach complaining about the ten cups of coffee, two donuts, and half a tuna salad sandwich he’d called lunch—and dinner.

  By his estimate, Danni should be at home or walking in the door by now. He spe
ed-dialed her phone, mentally drafting an excuse for the conversation.

  His call rolled into voicemail. Interesting.

  She could be walking the dog. But why wouldn’t she have her phone with her? He tried again, but it proved to be another futile attempt.

  If she wasn’t home or available by phone, she had to be preoccupied, in the shower, or still working. That wouldn’t be unusual. But a quick call to Amoré would put his mind to rest.

  After the restaurant phone rang three times, Caleb was about ready to hang up, when it was picked up.

  “Yes?” It sounded like Jaycee Alexander, Danni’s chef, was out of breath.

  “This is Agent Samuels. Is Ms. Kemp still there?”

  “She’s on her way.”

  “From home?”

  “Yes.” A curt reply, which based on the tone of her voice, translated to, Yes, now, go away.

  “Is everything all right, Ms. Alexander?”

  “Well, actually, no, sir. Our restaurant is flooding, so if you’ll excuse me, I have to—”

  “Is that why Danielle is on her way back to the restaurant?”

  A long sigh. “Yes.”

  “She’s not answering her phone, and I’m concerned—”

  “I just talked to her—” the chef paused, presumably to look at her watch—“not more than fifteen minutes ago.”

  “As soon as she walks in the door, would you have her call me?” Caleb was beginning to understand why his gut had been nagging him.

  “Absolutely.” Jaycee’s voice quivered. “Now you have me worried.”

  “I’m sure everything’s okay. Get back to your cleanup. I’ll check on her.”

  “Thanks.”

  Caleb ended the call. Something was wrong.

  He rerouted his truck, easily enough done on his way home. Danni’s condo lay directly between TBI headquarters and his house on the West side of town. If she wasn’t home, he would scour the five blocks between there and Amoré to find her.

  And, in the meantime, he would pray.

  With a wave to the night guard, Danni rushed out the front door of the Rutherford. A quick scan of the local landscape revealed a tired looking beat cop in deep discussion with a hobo standing beneath a Metro bus stop.