by Cassie Miles
Smoothly, he guided Alyssa into an open storefront packed with colorful souvenirs: postcards, scarves and T-shirts. He pretended to admire a bottle of Tabasco sauce. “Check out the men on the corner.”
“I see them. Sunglasses at night are a dumb disguise.” She dangled a string of Mardi Gras beads from her fingers. “They’re just standing there, not moving.”
“We should double back.”
They didn’t have to wait for a distraction. A casual four-piece brass band, including a tuba, marched down the sidewalk, pausing to give a shout every few steps. Gotta love New Orleans. Rafe tugged her hand, and they went back the way they’d come.
Though he didn’t actually see Woodbridge, he felt the pursuit as surely as a chipmunk senses the approach of a hawk. On these streets, people were watching them and listening for the sound of their voices. They needed to escape the French Quarter.
Rafe directed their route closer to the Bourbon Street hotels, where he had no problem hailing a black-and-white cab. He told the driver to take them to Louis Armstrong Airport. When the cabbie—a woman with curly red hair and a derby hat—set out, he watched through the back window, trying to spot suspicious characters on the street and the sidewalk.
“Why are we going to the airport?” she asked. “Are you going to look for Charlotte?”
He was still too angry to face that woman. “I want to get away from the crowd in the French Quarter. On the open road, we’ll be able to see if we’re being followed. I expect to change cabs at least twice more before we go to your parking facility.”
In his mind, he laid out a grid of the city, fitting together the unique parishes of New Orleans like pieces of a puzzle. In addition to the residential streets and areas dedicated to business and commerce, there were historic structures and government buildings. Throughout this map of irregular shapes were slivers of the tourism industry, restaurants, art venues and an amazing selection of music, ranging from smooth jazz to Samoan war chants. Visitors had a wide choice of activity, and the people who lived here had it all.
He gazed through the window as the streets unfolded around him. His city. He never wanted to leave again. Somehow, he needed to convince Alyssa to stay here with him.
After reversing their route to the airport, he directed their taxi to the neighborhood around Tulane, where he’d grown up, then to a Marriott on Canal Street. Anyone following them would be confused. The red-haired taxi driver told him that he was couyon, crazy.
He heard Alyssa’s ringtone. She took her phone from her backpack and checked the identification. “Anonymous,” she said. “It’s not the same number Charlotte had before, but I’ll bet it’s her.”
He agreed. When Charlotte stole the Mercedes, she had recommitted to her life on the run. The first thing she needed was a new disposable phone. “Put her on speaker.”
Alyssa answered. “Who’s this?”
“I need to explain something,” Charlotte said.
“If you’re planning to make some kind of lame excuse for taking the car, don’t bother. That was just plain wrong. It’s not even our car.”
“I’ll get the car back to you.”
Rafe didn’t believe a word that woman said, not a word. He could have warned her that Chance was the kind of guy who had electronic alerts installed on his Mercedes. At the stroke of a few computer keys, he’d know her location.
“Are you at the airport?” Alyssa asked. “We could come and pick you up.”
Slowly, Rafe shook his head from side to side. No more favors for Auntie Charlotte.
“Listen to me,” Charlotte said. “Remember when I told you about that forger who had evidence about a murder?”
“I remember.”
“This evidence is actually one of the reasons I wanted to find you in New Orleans. It’s important, sweetheart. I guess I should start by telling you that this guy isn’t a great forger, but he’s an excellent tattoo artist.”
“How would you know?” Alyssa asked.
“I’ve had some work done. There’s an angel on my heart and a butterfly on my bottom. Also, this guy has a reputation for doing amazing custom paint jobs on fancy cars.”
Rafe felt himself being drawn in to her story. Angry as he was at Alyssa’s aunt, he admired her ability to spin a web of deceit. She’d have made a good undercover operative.
“This artist,” Charlotte said, “came into possession of a couple of paint chips from a custom job on a Beamer that had been in an accident. The front end was all caved in. At the time, my artist friend was working in a chop shop where they break down stolen cars and—”
“I know what a chop shop is,” Alyssa interrupted.
“So you understand when I tell you that the car was completely refurbished and is unidentifiable as having been in a hit-and-run accident.”
Like the accident that killed her mother. The blood drained from Alyssa’s face. Her arm went limp, and Rafe scooped the phone off the seat of the taxi. Alyssa stared straight ahead, clearly devastated.
If this was some kind of scam, he’d have to revisit his revenge fantasy about shooting Charlotte. He kept his voice low. “What else do you know?”
“By the way, Rafe, I really do feel bad about taking off with the Mercedes.”
He didn’t believe her. “Tell me about the paint chip.”
“I can do better than tell you,” she said. “Is Alyssa all right?”
“She’s in shock.”
“I’m glad you’re with her. She needs someone to support her.”
He wasn’t going to let himself get thrown off track by Charlotte’s phony concern. “When did the tattoo artist find this paint chip?”
“About five years ago.”
That fit the time frame for her mother’s death. “Where did he find it?”
“The chop shop belongs to Diamond Jim. I can’t say for sure who was driving, but Davidoff has information that I’m guessing he never shared with the police.”
In itself, a paint chip—even an exact match to the hit-and-run vehicle—didn’t prove anything. “I need more information.”
“How about this for a headline—Alyssa has the chip. It’s in a plastic baggie, and I tucked it into her backpack. That’s why I called. I didn’t want her to accidentally throw it out.”
She still wasn’t telling him everything. Pulling information from her was harder than wrenching a snack from the jaws of a snapping turtle. “Why do you believe this is evidence?”
“I forgot the most important part.” With some frustration, he imagined her sly, Cheshire cat grin. She was playing with him. “There’s blood on the paint chips. I didn’t have a way to test DNA, but if someone had friends in law enforcement, they might get those tests done, which would give the identity of the victim.”
And provide a link between Davidoff’s chop shop and the victim of a hit-and-run from five years ago... Alyssa’s mom. “That’s good stuff.”
“Damn right,” she said.
“I might have to forgive you, after all.”
“Essentially, I’m a good person. Give my niece a big hug and keep me posted.” She made kissy noises. “Adieu, Rafe.”
“Au revoir, crazy lady.”
He gathered Alyssa in his arms and held her without speaking while he sent the cabbie on another wild ride through the Treme parish and up to Gentilly. The music from the radio was oldies and Elvis. The ride wasn’t unpleasant.
Finally, Alyssa spoke. “I should be pleased. I might find out who killed my mom. But I feel...empty.”
“You need time to think,” he said. “Here’s a new plan. Instead of hanging around in the city, trying to piece together clues while the bad guys are after us, we leave town. From a distance, I might be able to work with my FBI contacts and find someone we can trust.”
She nodded. “Maybe that’s for the best.”
&n
bsp; After returning to Canal Street, they disembarked, picked up another ride and went on a circuitous route before switching to yet another cab outside another hotel in the central business district. Tucked into the rear of that taxi, he kissed her cheek. “Are we close to your parking garage?”
“Less than a mile away.” With her thumb, she stroked the leather surface of the voodoo gris-gris. Her eyelids drooped, and she yawned. “I’m so tired.”
He might have pushed her too hard. “If you want, we can stay at this hotel.”
“I’d rather get this done.” She sat up straight and shook herself. “We have a plan, and I want to follow through.”
In the warehouse district near the docks, they left the taxi outside a parking garage with a straggly palm tree and a vertical neon sign that said Park. The homely four-story blond-brick structure with windows marching in horizontal lines on each floor reminded him of her storage warehouse near Café du Monde.
He asked, “Do you have a thing for ugly brick buildings?”
“I spent most of my life in cities, so I guess the answer is yes.”
“What does the garage look like inside?”
“Totally organized. The exit ramp is in the middle, and cars are parked on each side. Mine is on the fourth floor.” She pointed to the double entrance and exit with wooden arms blocking each side. “The night watchman’s booth is over there. We need to check in with him.”
She paused to dig through her backpack, mumbling something about her alias for this garage. “Don’t call me Alyssa or Lara. This car is in the name of Wanda Wilson. I need to show her ID to the guard.”
“The name doesn’t fit, cher. I think of Wanda as a taller woman, maybe a blonde.”
“You’re wrong,” she said. “When I choose my aliases, I usually stick to something related. Lara is short for Larissa, which sounds like Alyssa, which led to another fake name of Alice. Wanda came to me by surprise. I don’t have friends or family named Wanda, don’t know anybody named Wanda. Wanda Wilson reminds me of a mermaid. Am I babbling?”
“A bit.”
“I’m excited, Rafe. This is almost over, which means we have a chance to try a normal life.” She hesitated. “Is that something you want?”
He didn’t think life with Lara/Larissa/Alyssa/Wanda would ever be considered normal. “When this is over, I want to be with you. We don’t need a label. It doesn’t have to be normal or exotic or anything else. Just you and me.”
She planted a quick kiss on his mouth then dug deeper into her pack and pulled out the plastic baggie containing the precious chip of evidence. “It’s hard to believe this little scrap of old paint could change my life. I want you to hold on to it, then you can give it to your DNA people.”
The chip had been protected by bubble wrap before being placed in an envelope and tucked into the baggie for safekeeping. He tucked the small package into the inner jacket of his windbreaker, hoping it could actually be useful as evidence. Off the top of his head, he could think of dozens of reasons a defense attorney would object to a paint chip that had been passed from one person to the next without maintaining chain of evidence. But it was a starting point for reopening the investigation.
Retrieving her Chevy station wagon presented no particular problems. The twelve-year-old vehicle didn’t have the horsepower or the luxury suspension of the Mercedes, but it was a decent ride. He drove carefully onto the city streets. At this hour on a Sunday night, the traffic was light, and he was ninety-nine percent sure that they weren’t being followed. “I’m tempted to get on the highway right now.”
“We need to wait until morning when I can go to the bank,” she said. “I need the cash and credit cards from my safe-deposit box...and the thumb drive.”
Though he wasn’t anxious to pursue the investigation any further, he knew she wouldn’t be safe until they found the missing millions. “We’ll go early tomorrow, à demain.”
When he drove the Chevy onto the street where the safe house was located, he didn’t feel the sense of relief that usually accompanied a return to home base. A lamp in the front room was lit, and the porch light was on. That was the way he’d left the house, and he hadn’t received any security alerts on his phone.
He parked on the breezeway and unlocked the back door. As soon as he stepped inside, he smelled freshly brewed coffee. Something was wrong.
Alyssa charged past him. “I should unload some of the boxes from the car, but that can wait. Right now, I want to rest.”
He turned on an overhead light in the kitchen.
Three men with guns drawn stood in the corners of the room. They had the drop on him. He couldn’t react without putting Alyssa in mortal danger.
Sitting at the kitchen table, and cradling a mug of coffee in his beefy hands, was Viktor Davidoff.
Chapter Twenty
Her heart stopped beating. Alyssa felt her lungs shut down. Drained of strength, her arms and legs went limp, and yet she remained standing, held in place by invisible strings while she stared into the face of the man who had probably killed her mother. She barely knew Davidoff, had only met him once or twice before. He hadn’t made much of an impression on her. Though his grooming was sheer perfection from his shaved head to his neatly trimmed black goatee and tailored suit, he had the rough, thick hands of a peasant farmer.
His lips were moving. He seemed to be talking, but the inside of her head filled with a static buzz, and she couldn’t hear his words. I have to answer, can’t just stand and wait for these people to kill me. I have to be smart.
Desperately, she wanted to survive, to escape this situation in one piece and bring Rafe along with her. After all they’d been through, they deserved a chance.
She inhaled a huge gasp of air and immediately started coughing. Trying to keep from falling, she grabbed the back of one of the kitchen chairs and collapsed onto the seat. A glass of water appeared on the table in front of her. She took a sip and looked over the rim at the man who sat opposite her. He wore a dark blue suit with a yellow ascot fastened in place with a flashy piece of jewelry—a diamond pin for Diamond Jim. His wristwatch was platinum. He wore one large ring on each hand, probably to inflict maximum damage when he was beating on some poor soul who dared to cross him.
She forced herself to keep looking at him, hiding her disdain. He didn’t deserve pretty things. This man had played a part in killing her mother—he didn’t deserve to live. Dark thoughts hammered inside her skull. She hated him, wanted revenge. Whatever she had to do, she was ready. He wasn’t going to beat her.
“I almost fainted.” She kept her tone low, soft and nonthreatening. Since she didn’t have the power to threaten Davidoff, she wanted to get inside his head. “I was shocked to see you, surprised and happy.”
Like a grizzly bear watching his prey, he cocked his head to one side and focused intently. “Explain yourself, girl.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Rafe, who was handcuffed with armed guards on either side of him. Anger clenched inside her, but she pushed it aside. “Please don’t be upset with my bodyguard. He didn’t mean to tell your secret, but I begged. I can be very persuasive.”
“What is this secret?” Davidoff demanded.
“You know,” she said, daring to be flirtatious. Her ploy was to be cute and seductive and make him like her enough to let her and Rafe live, at least until morning. “All my life, I’ve dreamed of this moment when I’d meet the man my mom loved so much that she left her beloved home in Savannah and moved to Chicago. I can’t wait to get to know you, Father.”
One of his thugs grunted in apparent disbelief, and she bolted to her feet to confront him. “You don’t believe me? Well, let me show you the room he arranged exactly the way I like it. My father was worried about me. He hired a full-time bodyguard. That’s true, isn’t it?”
“She is correct,” Davidoff said.
Gritting her tee
th so she wouldn’t vomit, she took a step closer to him. “May I embrace you, Father?”
He opened his arms. “Come to me.”
When she touched him, her stomach curdled. Not only was the man a disgusting liar, but he wore too much aftershave. “Now that you’re here,” she said, “we can work together to find the missing millions.”
“And how will we accomplish that?”
“Rafe can tell you our plan,” she said. “Please take off the handcuffs.”
Davidoff gestured, and his minions did as he indicated. The cuffs were removed, and Rafe was welcomed to the kitchen table. If there hadn’t been three men with guns plus Davidoff, she thought Rafe might have lashed out. But he was smarter than that. In a few words, he explained how they needed to go to her safe-deposit box at the bank and compare her accounting data with the other information they had.
“What was your source for the original data?” Davidoff asked.
“Let’s just say that I still have friends in the FBI.”
“Friends like Jessop?”
“He was on your payroll,” Rafe said. “Now he’s in the hospital.”
“Not on my orders,” Davidoff said. “I was pleased with Jessop. He’s a skilled agent, and there’s always room for such a person in my organization. He managed to do the impossible and find this safe house.”
“How?” Rafe asked bluntly.
She knew how proud Rafe was of his supposedly impregnable security. He had to be curious about how Davidoff and his thugs had found this place and managed to get inside without setting off the alarms. When she recalled the events of the day, she realized that Rafe’s first encounter with Jessop was at the cemetery. Could he have planted a tracking device on Rafe’s SUV? Even if he had, it wouldn’t matter because they’d left that car with Chance before they returned to the house. If not a tracking device, then what?
She spoke up. “Can I guess?”
“You?” Davidoff sounded amused. “A pretty girl like you has no need to know about equipment and electronics.”