Witness on the Run

by Cassie Miles

  She allowed another aftershock to chase through her body. Getting her feet solidly back on the ground was going to take a few minutes. “I can compare Chance’s data with a copy of the accounts and inventory from the last few months before Frankie was killed.”

  “You have these accounts?”

  She nodded. “There’s a thumb drive in my safe-deposit box. I turned over the original to the feds, but it seemed prudent to keep a copy. I’ve studied the list but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “we will compare this paperwork.”

  “And tonight, what will we do tonight?”

  He traced his finger across her lips, leaned close and whispered in her ear. “I want to thoroughly investigate every inch of your body.”

  She liked that plan.

  Chapter Sixteen

  They stayed in the bedroom until the sun set and the streets were dark. Rafe could have spent many more hours lying beside her—naked, happy and fulfilled. He laced his fingers with hers and brought her small, slender hand to his lips. She was lovely, delicate. Her apprehension was gone, erased by a sexual compatibility that surprised him. He hadn’t expected them to be so good together.

  Yes, she lacked experience. But she was graceful, enthusiastic and energetic. Alyssa held nothing back. She made him feel like he’d invented sex.

  Cradled in the crook of his arm, she gave him a contented smile worthy of an otherworldly angel, then she reached up and booped the tip of his nose. “I’m hungry. What should we do for dinner?”

  “I wish we could go out,” he said. “New Orleans has incredible restaurants, but we don’t want to risk the exposure.”

  “I guess that means we’ve got to cook.”

  He tossed aside the spread, rose from the bed and stretched his arms over his head. “Come with me to the kitchen.”

  “Whoa, podnah. You’re not planning to make dinner in the nude, are you?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “There’s no reason for either of us to wear clothes.”

  “Oh yeah, I can think of a few negatives, like not wanting to get grease spatters on the delicate parts of my anatomy. And we’re still in danger. We should be prepared to run at a moment’s notice.”

  He liked her intelligence and her wit. “You always think ahead.”

  “Which is why I’m still alive,” she said. “Meet you in the kitchen.”

  He charged down the hallway to his bedroom, where he put on a pair of jeans, a black polo shirt and running shoes. He hadn’t been planning to go out tonight, but it didn’t hurt to get all the way dressed and ready to run. He even fastened his holster to his belt. Earlier tonight, he’d brushed his teeth but hadn’t shaved. His stubble was heavier than usual. A shower would have felt good...a shower with Alyssa would be better.

  In the kitchen, he took a couple of rib eyes from the fridge and threw brown rice in the cooker. On the table, he set up the laptop for Alyssa and loaded the thumb drive Chance had given him. After he made a marinade for the steaks, he gathered ingredients for a tomato and cucumber salad.

  Alyssa seemed to be taking her time getting to the kitchen. When she finally strolled through the door, dressed in a coral blouse and shorts, he noticed her damp hair. He kissed her forehead and inhaled the peachy fragrance of her shampoo. “You took a shower,” he said. “I would have been happy to join you.”

  “Not surprised.” She stroked his jawline. “It’s okay with me if you don’t shave. I kind of like the unkempt look.”

  He knew that he couldn’t spend every minute of every day fondling her and he should set boundaries. But he couldn’t resist another kiss. He yanked her tightly against him and realized that she hadn’t bothered to put on her bra. Though tempted to sweep everything off the table and make love right here, he put on the brakes.

  “Did I tell you how beautiful you are?”

  She looked uncomfortable. “You don’t have to compliment me every minute just because we, you know, did it.”

  “Not an obligation, it’s my pleasure. But you are correct. Unfortunately, we have other concerns. Voilà! Here is the computer.”

  She sat in front of the screen, tapped a key and smiled when a row of numbers appeared. “Is this the data from Chance?”

  “Ready and waiting for you.”

  While she scrolled through the pages, he finished preparing their meal. Though he wasn’t a great cook, the arrangement pleased him. He liked taking care of her.

  Apparently, she’d reached a stopping point, because she stepped away from the computer, helped him load the plates and placed them on either end of the table while he poured the chilled Chardonnay. “I can’t believe Chance got access to all this info. Not only are there ledgers and receipts, but he found personal correspondence and FBI stats. He even tapped into a psychologist report about me. Guess what the guy said.”

  He sipped his wine and sliced off a juicy bite of rib eye. “Tell me.”

  “He claimed that I had abandonment issues because my father ran off when I was a little kid. Also, he called me fearful and tense and suggested that I might have some kind of anxiety disorder. Well, of course I was upset. A man died a violent death in my arms, and I’d been whisked into WitSec. Still, he should have noticed that I’m resilient, strong and brave.”

  “And sexy,” he added.

  “That goes without saying.”

  She dug into her food with her typical enthusiasm. Their conversation was replaced by a series of appreciative moans, which were not unlike the sounds she made in the bedroom. Finally, she paused to take a drink of her Chardonnay.

  “Here’s what I’m wondering,” she said. “Obviously, some of Chance’s data was uncovered through illegal hacking. Is there any database he can’t get into?”

  “I’ve never known him to be stumped.”

  “That’s disturbing.” She gestured to the computer and the kitchen and the house at large. “We’re protected by your surveillance and computer firewalls, but there has to be someone—a hacker who is as talented and smart as Chance—who could break through and find us.”

  “I built this surveillance system using my FBI training and state-of-the-art equipment. Plus, you’ll be happy to note that Chance added his very own special mojo to anticipate every kind of attack.”

  “Chance did that?”

  “That’s got to make you feel better. My podnah used his superior technology to make this place nearly impregnable and invisible.”

  “Any fortress can be broken into,” she said, “because of human error.”

  “And so, we can’t make mistakes.”

  He wanted to believe that was possible, but Rafe knew better than to count on perfection. Sooner or later, they might get careless. After they finished eating and cleaned up the dishes, they went into the small front room and had a cup of chamomile tea while they made tentative plans for the following day. Another glass of wine would have been nice, but that was an easy mistake to avoid. He needed to stay alert. In the morning, their first stop would be at her bank, where they would pick up her thumb drive and compare her data with the information Chance had provided.

  “Then we should get my second car,” she said. “The key is in the safe-deposit box.”

  “We could have gotten the car at any time, cher. I might not actually know how to win a Grand Prix race, but I know how cars work. I could have hot-wired the ignition.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind in case things go south at the bank. There are tons of things in the trunk of that car—a computer, clothes, shoes, cash and credit cards in a different identity.”

  He hadn’t forgotten how resourceful she was. “We can use all those things. With Davidoff coming to New Orleans, the city is even more dangerous than before. Moving somewhere else might be wise.”

  She sipped her tea and licked her lips. “Before we
go, I want to figure out where the missing millions are hiding. Finding the money is the only way I’ll be truly safe.”

  She seemed to be ignoring the threat from the families of the men who went to jail because of her testimony, but he didn’t remind her. One horror story at a time was enough. Besides, her odds for survival were greatly improved because he would be at her side, constantly protecting her and ever vigilant.

  His cell phone rang. The caller ID showed the call was from Sheila Marie. Rafe suppressed a groan, recognizing that she’d be calling with new information and they’d have to leave their cozy nest. He put the call on speaker.

  After a quick hello, Sheila Marie said, “I done found Missy Charlotte with the silver hair. She’s at the Corner Oak Tavern on Bourbon Street.”

  He heard a bluesy saxophone wailing in the background. “Is she singing with the band?”

  “Not a bit of it. This lady is slumped down and drinking hard. She looks sad.”

  “Keep an eye on her,” he said. “If she leaves the Oak, let me know.”

  “Got it, boss man.”

  “Wait for me outside. I’ll be there in a minute. Is there a place you can take Alyssa where she’ll be safe?”

  “No prob. I got a dozen hideouts.”

  He believed her one hundred percent. Sheila Marie knew the city better than anyone. “Merci beaucoup. See you in ten minutes.”

  Alyssa was on her feet. “Do I need a disguise?”

  “Keep it simple.”

  He watched her dash down the hallway to her bedroom. Bringing her along might be a mistake, but he had no choice. She couldn’t stay here by herself.

  * * *

  IN MINUTES, SHE joined him in the Mercedes. Instead of the fancy pink outfit, her disguise was to go minimal: no makeup and slicked-back hair tucked under a black baseball cap with “Mardi Gras” written across the front in letters of purple, green and gold. From a distance, she’d be unrecognizable. He had no disguise, only a blue windbreaker over his black shirt. They didn’t have time for anything more complicated.

  As she buckled her seat belt, she said, “Thank you.”

  “For what, cher?”

  “Meeting with Charlotte. I shouldn’t worry about her, but I can’t help it. We need to get her to safety, which means far away from New Orleans.”

  His reasons for seeing her aunt weren’t completely altruistic. She’d been in on Frankie’s smuggling scheme from the start and might have helpful information. She had contacts in the criminal world. Someone considered her useful enough to pay her bills for ten years. Rafe welcomed the opportunity to question her without having her sympathetic niece standing by.

  He approached the location of the Corner Oak and spotted Sheila Marie standing under a streetlamp. On a Sunday night, there were still tourists milling around but not a crowd. He pulled up to the curb.

  His favorite confidential informant climbed into the back seat. With her long dreads, an embroidered turquoise blouse and a long paisley skirt with swirls of red, green and yellow, she was an explosion of color. The first thing she did when she got into the Mercedes was stroke her fingers—polished half red and half yellow—across the upholstery.

  “Leather,” she said. “Man, you oughta keep this fine ride.”

  “It belongs to Chance.”

  “Oh yeah, I like that boy, even if he does live on a plantation.” She flicked her hand toward the windshield. “Go straight, turn on Bourbon Street and then left. We be paying a visit to Jolene’s voodoo shop.”

  He knew the place. “Alyssa, wait for me there.”

  “Take your time,” Sheila Marie said. “Alyssa should have a reading. Jolene can see the future. Dat’s good, yeah?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I went to a psychic in Chicago after my mom died. She didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know, but she made me feel better.”

  Dropping her off in a voodoo shop felt like a bad idea, but meeting with Charlotte had the earmarks of a trap. He wished he could take Alyssa home where they’d be alone and safe. But there were unavoidable hurdles they had to jump to reach the truth.

  Before she left the car, she leaned across and kissed him on the lips. “Take good care of Aunt Charlotte.”

  “I intend to.” He couldn’t wait to get that woman out of town.

  In moments, he’d returned to the Corner Oak Tavern, parked illegally and entered the dimly lit jazz club. The four-piece band followed their own jam, shifting from drums to piano to guitar and sax. A woman with bright red lipstick swayed and murmured a sad song about being left by the only man she’d ever loved.

  Charlotte should have been on stage; she had a better voice and more presence. But she sat by herself at a small round table in the audience. Her two-tone rum cocktail looked like she’d barely taken a sip. When he pulled out a chair and sat, she shot him a sidelong glance, and he knew this would not be a friendly interview.

  “Ten years ago,” he said, keeping his voice low, “you were in love with Frankie Leone. The two of you ran a smuggling scam using the pawnshop warehouse.”

  “Who sent you? Was it Jessop? Or was it my snippy little niece?”

  “Someone else could be looking for you.”

  Her head snapped up, and she stared. Now he had her attention. She spoke in a trembling whisper. “What are you talking about?”

  Though he was tempted to tell her that Davidoff was on his way to New Orleans, Rafe didn’t want to give away too much information without getting something in return. He gestured toward the stage. “I expected to see you singing.”

  “Not my gig.”

  “It could be. If you unleashed that voice of yours, people would clamor to hear more.”

  “That’s a nice fairy tale, but talent doesn’t get you far.”

  He added bitterness to the long list of her negative traits that included lying, cheating and stealing. “You know the business.”

  “I’ve got more talent in my pinkie toe than that singer has in her whole body, but singing doesn’t pay my bills. That’s why I’m sitting here, waiting for Jessop. He’s half an hour late.” She looked down into her cocktail and muttered, “He knows where I’m staying. I don’t know why he wanted to meet here.”

  Rafe had a pretty good idea why Jessop would stage a meeting outside her room. “He wanted you out of the way so he could search your place.”

  She sipped the drink and set it down on the table. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”

  “Neither are you,” he said. “You didn’t leave anything for Jessop to find. Being on the run for ten years means you know how to think ahead. Here’s the irony. Your niece is the same way. She wanted me to come here to warn you.”

  Charlotte didn’t bother to pretend that she was dumb or innocent. “What’s the warning?”

  “You need to give me something first. I’m pretty sure that Frankie didn’t come up with the logistics of a lucrative smuggling operation, double-crossing his criminal family by using forgeries and fences. Frankie Leone just wasn’t that smart.”

  “He wasn’t, bless his heart. My Frankie was funny, sexy and devoted to me. But he was no genius. I came up with the basic plan, and I’d be happy to jot down the names of my contacts. Not that those names will do you any good.”

  “Why not?”

  “It was ten years ago. My list is dated.”

  Unfortunately, she was right. “Anything you can tell me might help.”

  “Use your brain, sonny boy. There’s only one name you need to know, only one person who can explain everything. That person is Max Horowitz. He knew everything that went on in his pawnshop and warehouse. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he partnered up with Frankie after I left town.”

  Similar thoughts had occurred to Rafe. Siphoning off millions of dollars could be part of a scam to avoid paying taxes. Horowitz had something to hide. Why else
would he skip town after the murder? He pushed back his chair. “Take me to your hotel room.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “Davidoff is on his way to New Orleans, and you need protection. Jessop can help and so can I.”

  The arrival of Davidoff was good motivation for her to move fast. She gathered up her huge purse—probably filled with the necessities of her life—and they left the Oak.

  On the street, he didn’t waste the effort to engage in conversation. She was Jessop’s problem. For Alyssa’s sake, Rafe would keep her aunt safe until she could be taken into protective custody. As they walked through the crowd, he scanned for threatening people who mingled with the cheerful tourists and bar hoppers. He spotted a pickpocket and a sinister drunk who yelled at anyone who crossed his path.

  Her hotel was small but charming, located only a block off the main route. Instead of being trapped in the rickety old elevator, he climbed the staircase to her second-floor room. On the landing, he motioned to her. “Which room?”

  She pointed to a door that stood ajar. Before going forward, Rafe pulled his weapon from the holster on his hip and held it ready. Charlotte stayed behind him, moving silently. Her attitude told him that this wasn’t the first time she’d walked into danger.

  Entering her room, he flipped on the overhead light. Everywhere was chaos—overturned chairs, drawers pulled from the dresser, clothing scattered on the floor. The mattress had been pulled off the box spring. In the tiled bathroom, he found Jessop, lying on the tiled floor in a puddle of blood. A head wound matted his blond hair.

  Rafe squatted beside him and felt for a pulse. Jessop turned his head and groaned. He wasn’t dead.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Death comes close. He carries a sword. He rides the white horse.” Jolene, the owner of Dragon’s Blood Voodoo Emporium, held the tarot card toward Alyssa and jiggled the edges so the skeletal death figure looked like he was dancing. “He comes for you.”

  Sheila Marie reached over and patted Alyssa’s hand. “Doncha worry, hon. Dat card is not so bad.”