Witness on the Run

by Cassie Miles

  “As I mentioned before, it stands out.” He parked the SUV. “Voilà!”

  She sat up and stared. The Fournier tomb was, as promised, spectacular. Made of pale marble and rising several feet taller than either of its neighbors, the sepulchre had two slender columns flanking the double doors. The sword-wielding angel on top was ferocious with muscular arms and a mane of long, curly hair.

  “That is some kind of tomb,” she said as she emerged from the back seat.

  “My great-great-great-great-aunt, who commissioned this monument, was red-hot furious when the priests excluded the descendants of the pirate Jean-Pierre Fournier from Cemetery Number One. She was determined to make a statement.”

  “She succeeded. Who’s the angel on top?”

  “Nana Lucille told me it’s the archangel Rafael, my namesake. But I always thought it was Saint Peter. He had more to do with sailors.”

  She could easily imagine Rafe in the role of an avenging angel, diving into the fray with his flaming sword. If only she could trust him, life would be so much easier. But there had never been a time in her life when she had someone to lean on and be sure they’d support her. No doubt Rafe was as irresponsible as all the rest.

  On the wall beside the door of the tomb, she noticed two vertical rows of engraved metal markers; there must have been more than thirty. Each marker had a name. “What do those names mean?”

  “Those are the people buried in the tomb.”

  “Wait! You said nobody was in there.” A flash of panic exploded inside her skull. “You promised there were no coffins.”

  “That’s true.”

  “But all those people are buried in there.”

  “Try not to think about it, cher.” He took her arm and moved her toward a poplar tree. “Stand here and act natural so I can take your picture for Davidoff.”

  “First, you need to explain.” Her misgivings about entering the tomb had quadrupled. “After the coffins are removed, what happens to the corpses?”

  “Nature takes its course,” he said. “A body in a coffin sealed in a tomb and baking in the sun decomposes in a year or two. There’s nothing left but the bones. In our family, we put the bones in a bag and return them to a marble ossuary at the back of the mausoleum.”

  Her throat closed, and she squeaked. “They’re still in the tomb? Are we talking about the remains of thirty-something dead people?”

  “You have nothing to fear, cher.” He gestured for her to stand by the tree. “Don’t look in my direction.”

  “I don’t want to be locked up with a bunch of ossuary bones.”

  “Let’s get this photo.”

  Inhaling a deep breath, she tried to ground herself. “Why don’t you want me to turn toward you for the picture?”

  “Davidoff doesn’t need to know that we’re working together. I’ll frame the photo so none of the tombs are visible and the location isn’t obvious.”

  She placed her hand on a low-hanging tree branch and gazed into the distance—a pose that was typical of a senior photo in a high school album. Lifting a slight smile onto her lips, she tried to look like she wasn’t with Rafe and wasn’t in a graveyard. His mention of Davidoff was a distraction from the unreasonable terror of being locked up in the tomb. Diamond Jim gave her a very tangible reason to be scared. He was interested enough in her to hire a bodyguard, and he seemed to want her to feel comfortable in the copycat bedroom. But why?

  Davidoff had to be after the money. Like everybody else, he probably believed that she had a clue. But she didn’t. The fact that she didn’t have the secret knowledge that would lead to the missing millions was a problem more terrifying than if she could hand over a map showing the location of the treasure. If she was caught by any of these other thugs, she had nothing to give them, nothing she could use to bargain her way to freedom.

  “The picture is taken,” he said. “Now, come with me. It’s time to hide.”

  “There’s only one reason I’m going along with this plan,” she said as she walked toward him. “Jessop might have useful information, and I’ve got to figure out what’s going on. I also have questions for you, starting with an explanation about Davidoff and the weirdly decorated room.”

  “But of course.”

  “I hope you’re taking me seriously,” she grumbled. “Promise you’ll tell me.”

  “Shall I cross my heart? Pinkie swear?”

  “Listen up, Mr. Pirate or Avenging Angel or whoever, if you want my trust, you’re going to have to start telling me the truth.”

  “I could say the same to you.”

  Taken aback, she masked her reaction. Did he know her secret? No way—he couldn’t possibly know. She hadn’t told the FBI or the US marshals or anybody. As long as she was on this tightrope, balancing for dear life, she wouldn’t give away her safety net. She watched Rafe bound up the two wide stairs to the door of the tomb. When he fitted the old-fashioned key into the lock, twisted and pushed the door open, she could have sworn that she heard an ominous creak.

  “Is this really necessary?” she asked. “Why can’t I hide in the back of the car?”

  “Inside this marble monument, you’ll be safe. Nobody can reach you.”

  She swallowed hard, trying not to think of every horror movie she’d ever seen about being buried alive. “How do I get out?”

  “You’ll have this.” He held the antique key toward her, and she noticed the skull and crossbones in the design at the top loop. “Not one of the originals, but it works just fine.”

  To illustrate, he leaned hard against the door on the left side. The carved wood appeared to be old and weathered enough to be part of the original 1856 construction. Sneaking around in this very old monument to the dead struck her as being somewhat irreverent.

  Reaching into the pocket of his suit coat, Rafe lured her closer by holding up her cell phone. “You can have this back. I replaced some of the software and added encryption to make it impossible to trace your location. Don’t turn it on unless you have to.”

  With a sense of satisfaction, she tucked the phone into the shoulder bag she’d brought from the car. Though she wasn’t a person who spent every minute on social media, she’d felt naked without her phone. “Thank you.”

  He ushered her into the tomb and quickly lit three votive candles. The flickering light streaked against the roughened walls, where more than a century of dirt had accumulated. A small stained glass window in the rear wall depicted a sailing ship on the high seas. There were wrought iron candelabra and statues of saints and urns, but her full attention was captured by the carved stone ossuary where the bones of ancestors had found their final resting place—men, women and probably children, because the infant mortality rate was high in the mid-to late 1800s during the yellow fever epidemic.

  She clenched her fingers to keep from trembling. “Did your family lose anyone in Hurricane Katrina?”

  “We were lucky,” he said. “Our only loss was property and belongings.”

  “It’s hot in here.”

  “When the sun beats down, it’s like an oven. You won’t be in here for long.” He took a step toward the door. “I will leave this open a small crack. If you see Jessop coming toward you or have any cause for alarm, give a shove and twist the key in the lock.”

  When he stepped through the door, her heart leaped. Her panic returned full force. She didn’t want to be in here alone. She struggled to hang on to her dignity. No reason to be scared—this was only stone, marble, stained glass and...bones.

  The door closed, but not all the way. A pencil-thin sliver of light cut through the darkness. She pressed her face against the ancient door and peered into the cemetery, where she could see Rafe leaning against the front fender of his SUV. The view was too narrow to be useful, but she could hear people outside talking and laughing. If she stayed here and remained unnoticed, she could ea
vesdrop on Rafe and Jessop.

  How long? Every minute seemed like an hour. She tried to count and take slow, steady breaths, but the thick, muggy air clogged her lungs. Generations of pallbearers had entered this tomb to bid their final farewells. She wondered if Rafe would be buried here.

  Stepping away from her listening place, she paced to the rear of the tomb and back again. Damn, it’s hot! She peeled off her denim jacket, fanned her hand in front of her face and wiped away the sweat that had gathered at her hairline.

  When she looked through the crack again, she saw Jessop saunter up to Rafe and shake his hand. The blond special agent matched Rafe in height, but Jessop was heavily muscled. He wore an untucked cotton shirt, snug across his well-developed chest and loose around his hips to hide his gun holster. He removed his sunglasses and asked, “Where is she?”

  “Somewhere safe,” Rafe said. “Never follow me again, my friend.”

  “Why not? What are you going to do?”

  “A high-speed chase would not end well for you.”

  Jessop gave a short laugh. “I heard that you drove race cars in Florida.”

  “Perhaps,” Rafe said. “Tell me about your connection with Charlotte.”

  “She’s something else, isn’t she? Don’t let the silver in her hair fool you. That is one hot, sexy lady.”

  Alyssa tried to suck air through the crack between the doors. The tomb seemed to be sapping her energy. Quietly, she dropped to her knees, conserving her strength. Rafe and Jessop talked about the logistics of getting in touch with Charlotte and bringing her to New Orleans. Davidoff was involved. Her aunt’s stated goal, according to Jessop, was to appeal to her niece and get her to open up.

  Their plan was ill conceived. Anyone who knew Alyssa would tell you that she was extremely guarded and slow to trust. Having her lying, cheating, supposed-to-be-dead aunt pop up after all these years would strengthen her resolve to stay silent—not that she had anything to say.

  She heard Rafe ask, “Do you think Charlotte has something to do with the money?”

  “Not Charlotte. If she had millions, she’d be living an extravagant lifestyle. Alyssa is a different story.”

  “As a federal agent, you’d be obliged to turn that money over to the government.”

  “I deserve a taste.” Jessop cursed and then he laughed “Don’t get me wrong—I don’t expect to be taking a bath in hundred-dollar bills, but there ought to be a nice little payoff for me.”

  Rafe asked the most important question. “What do you and Davidoff want from Alyssa? What do you think she knows?”

  Jessop glanced to the left and right as though looking for someone who might overhear. “I went over her files a dozen times and had the forensic accountants explain the details of the triple-entry system she and Horowitz used. Did she tell you about that?”

  “Keep talking,” Rafe said.

  She appreciated that he wasn’t giving anything away. Jessop didn’t seem evil, but he was greedy. Under her breath, she murmured, “What does he think I know?”

  “The reason everybody wants to talk to Alyssa,” Jessop said, “is simple, and it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with the accounting. Old man Horowitz wasn’t smuggling, and his activity as a fence was minimal.”

  She was relieved to hear that her former boss wasn’t a criminal. Her judgment about him had been accurate. He was a decent person.

  “I’m losing patience,” Rafe said. “Who was responsible for siphoning off the millions in cash?”

  “You, more than anyone else, should be able to guess. You remember what happened in Florida when your undercover career was shot to hell by the Leone family. That’s why I thought of you when Davidoff was looking for someone to be a bodyguard. You’ve got a reason to hate the Leones, and Frankie Leone—the warehouse foreman—was involved in the theft.”

  An involuntary gasp escaped her lips. She should have guessed. Frankie was involved in all the large transactions. He handled the inventory.

  Rafe asked, “What does this have to do with Alyssa?”

  “She held a dying man in her arms. With his last breath, he could have told her his secrets.”

  But he didn’t. She struggled to suppress a sob. If Jessop overheard, he’d charge at the tomb and take her into custody. She pushed the door closed and twisted the key in the lock. Her only proof of innocence was her word. Why would anybody believe her? Through no fault of her own, she’d been condemned...might as well crawl into the ossuary and wait for her flesh to rot. Hopeless, she sank to the floor and wept.

  Chapter Twelve

  After confirming an appointment with Chance Gregory on his cell phone, Rafe watched Jessop walk down the aisle toward the wrought iron gates. The set of his shoulders and his athletic stride demonstrated the confidence befitting a federal agent. With his easy grin and the sunlight glinting in his blond hair, Jessop didn’t appear to be a bad guy or a traitor, but Rafe could not consider him an ally. Jessop’s motives were as tangled as the roots of the mangrove trees in the marshland. He liked his career as an agent but didn’t mind getting dirty for the right payoff. He freely associated with Davidoff, a known criminal. Jessop didn’t intend to hurt Alyssa but wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice her if she got in the way.

  With these many contradictions and complications, nothing was certain. Rafe didn’t know what to believe, but had to admit that Jessop was right about one thing: one of the reasons he’d agreed to work for Davidoff was a hint about the possible connection with the Leone family. Until Alyssa told her story about Frankie’s murder, Rafe hadn’t known how entwined she was with the family. He’d spent nearly a year working undercover with them and had never heard her name or any mention of the pawnshop in Chicago. His investigation had fallen apart, and he’d left too many questions unanswered. His time in Florida had ended in tragedy.

  The Leones were not a topic he wanted to discuss with Alyssa, but he couldn’t gracefully sidestep the issue. She’d been eavesdropping on his conversation with Jessop, and she’d demand an explanation, even if the story made him look bad.

  As soon as Jessop was out of sight, Rafe climbed the marble stairs of the Fournier tomb. He kept his movements casual, trying not to betray his tension to other people who were walking in the cemetery. He tugged at the door handle. Locked! At some point during his conversation with Jessop, Alyssa had closed the door. Something must have spooked her. He called to her, “You can open up now, cher. He’s gone.”

  He didn’t hear a sound, not a peep. If he’d been the one sealed up in that cold, dank space, he would have gone mad. Alyssa was stronger, but she’d undergone a number of difficult situations in the past days, both physically and emotionally. Had she fainted? Was something wrong with her? His grip tightened on the handle, and he yanked hard. The old wood strained and jiggled but the door remained locked. He should have kept the key.

  “Alyssa.” He spoke into the place where the two doors met, hoping his voice would reach her. “You must unlock this door.”

  Logically, he knew she wasn’t hurt. The time she’d spent in the monument was less than twenty minutes, not long enough to suffocate. The oxygen level was high enough to keep the votive candles lit. She was alone in the tomb. Nothing could harm her. Still, an unreasonable fear churned in his gut. He’d seen how nervous she was before he left her inside. Unmindful of the other people parading in the cemetery, he drew back his fist and hammered against the wood...once, twice, three times.

  When he heard the sound of the metal key scratching against the lock, relief trickled through him. Silently, he assured himself again that she was all right. The door opened. He rushed inside and found her sitting with her bare legs sprawled out in front of her. Sweat glistened on her chest above her T-shirt. Her complexion had gone pale. Gasping, she said, “Frankie didn’t say a word...just died. I tried to stanch the blood but couldn’t help him.”

  “Don
’t worry, cher.” She looked so miserable that he would have given the entire seven point six million bucks to make her feel better. He lifted her in his arms, carried her into the sunlight and sat her on the stairs. “Everything is going to be all right.”

  “Don’t you understand?” Her green-eyed gaze searched his face. “I have nothing to tell Jessop or any of the others. I don’t know what happened to the money, but they don’t believe me. And they’re going to keep coming after me until...”

  “I won’t let them hurt you.” Rafe took the key and returned to the darkened tomb to lock up from the outside.

  “You can’t stop them,” she said. “They think I’m holding out on them. But when they find out that I really didn’t hear a dying declaration from Frankie Leone, I’m no use to them.”

  If these treasure hunters had been reasonable, he might have convinced them to leave her alone. But greed had transformed them into frenzied gators chasing swamp rats and gulping them down in one bite. If they questioned Alyssa and didn’t learn anything new about the missing money, they’d demand revenge. And she would pay the price.

  “We need a plan,” he said. “First step is to get away from here. Can you walk to the car?”

  She staggered to her feet, aimed a determined gaze at his SUV and lurched forward. “I’ll make it. Crank up the air conditioner full blast.”

  * * *

  BEFORE HE DROVE down the aisle toward the exit gates, Rafe glanced into the back seat, where Alyssa was curled up on the floor so no one could see her. Her T-shirt clung to her body, and her shoulders hunched. She looked like hell, and he didn’t want to add to her woes, which meant he didn’t tell her that if anybody had been observing them in the cemetery, her location had already been pinpointed. Plus, Jessop wasn’t an idiot. While they talked in the cemetery, the fed had cast many suspicious glances toward the tomb and repeatedly asked about her whereabouts. He could have figured out that Rafe and Alyssa were together.