He'd have expected less creativity and more posturing from a Fed.
And to have a partner.
What the hell was she doing out here alone, breaking and entering in this neighborhood? Didn't she realize how reckless that was?
Nathan cast another look at her before she vanished into the shadows. She smelled like a spring day when flowers start to bloom. Like nothing he'd breathed in for the past two years.
Like something he'd wanted to feel next to him in a bed at night. His body stirred to life again, hard and wanting, just pissing him off more.
First woman he'd encountered on the outside and she thought he was going to rape her. Not bad enough he was an ex-con and deserter, now he'd sunk to true scum-of-the-earth level.
Great, just great. The only thing to make him a worse asshole would be to kick a puppy.
Nathan scowled at her and himself. He had no time for women right now. Getting hot and bothered over one connected to law enforcement proved he didn't have a discerning ounce of blood in his loins.
He lifted the yellow note he'd snatched off the refrigerator.
She'd read the note on her way in. He'd dismissed her interest in it as her just nosing around, but she'd paused to look for the slip of paper again on her way out. Why would she care about Jamie's note?
The one he'd left for Nathan yesterday when he was still alive. Twenty-four hours earlier and he could have saved Jamie.
A rush of anger cleared the lusty fog. Nathan needed information and bet the skirt that just left knew something.
* * *
CHAPTER THREE
"What's the holdup?"
Duff maintained his calm, but answering this puffed-up lobbyist strained his patience. "New Orleans customs is sitting on a stack of shipping containers. I was told the package would be accessible by now, out of customs, so the holdups not on my end."
"Look, mate, we have a great opportunity here, both of us. One that might not ever come again. I need everything in place in a few days. This next Tuesday is not a soft date. Not like I can just reschedule this."
Few people understood the importance of timing as much as Duff, certainly not this groomed and spoiled Aussie who made his living pulling the strings on powerful men. Parker's only concern was leveraging a vote in the Senate for his client Zolono Pharmaceuticals, one of the largest in the world… that wanted to be the largest. Small potatoes compared to what Duff had to handle.
"I'm well aware of your schedule." Duff paused before dropping his next little bomb. "It's why we'll have to go to the backup… plan B." Duff glanced at the monitor on the desk next to where he stood. The live feed from Parker's D.C. office shared more than a videophone call would where the person on the other end of the line would know they were being observed.
Parker had been pacing since the minute he'd answered Duff's call. Now he stopped at his window with arms crossed. Bluetooth hooked to his ear, he gazed out over a distant view of the Mall that stretched from the Washington Monument to Capitol Hill. Duff knew the view well. He'd checked out the entire office when he'd inserted the hidden camera feed. Parker wouldn't be enjoying his plush lifestyle much longer if he didn't swing the pharmaceutical deal. For that, he needed Duff, because Parker's only weapon was charm.
Duff checked his watch. Time waited on no one. "I need to make a move."
"I never wanted any part of plan B. We discussed that. Marseaux will go crazy if you touch his shipment."
"Marseaux assured everyone he'd have that container available by now, that he could get his drug shipment past customs without a hitch. He dropped the ball, so what can he say?" Not really Marseaux's fault, but the drug lord owed favors and his loss in this would balance out another debt.
"You have a point, but it's not like he knows the real reason behind the drug shipment, right?" A little note of insecurity crept into Parker's normally confident voice.
"He knows as much as he needs to. Your call. Say the word and I'll contact one of my people to get the ball rolling." As if Parker had a choice? Duff fingered his cell phone, wishing he had his Bluetooth, but the fratelli didn't allow those in meetings.
Duff glanced across the elegant hotel room where his superior, Fra Bacchus, sat in a crimson leather chair, patiently waiting for him to finish the call.
And watching his every move.
"Once the New Orleans PD gets involved, you'll have Marseaux on your doorstep," Parker reminded him.
"I can handle Marseaux." Duff checked the monitor.
Parker drove fidgety fingers through his hair and paced the length of his sprawling office. Up until two years ago, he'd been the envy of lobbyist on Capitol Hill, the man with the power, until one big deal fell apart after another. His golden touch had tarnished to cheap brass and would quickly turn into shit if he didn't give Zolono Pharmaceuticals the votes they needed to approve a bid to take over a struggling midsize firma monopoly venture, no matter how he colored the proposal.
Duff frowned when Parker picked up a file on his desk, his face relaxing with a forced calm before he spoke. "By the way, Duff, my contacts in New Orleans said the NOPD has a consultant working with them, prior DEA. A sheila is focusing on high-profile drug operations in the city, specifically Marseaux."
"She won't be a problem. If she is, I'll deal with her." Duff fingered the focus on the monitor, enlarging the screen until he could see the file in Parker's hand. Mitchell, Terri. He heaved a deep breath, maintaining his control. Had to. He lived under a microscope.
"But, what if she"
"Don't. Worry." Duff had given this clown more leeway than he deserved. "What if the world ended tomorrow? What if you got laid? 'What ifs' bore me. Let me do my job. I'll get the product in place as promised. We still have plenty of time to hand the serum to my people. But we can't release any of it until I know for sure we have all the antidote and that the serum will indeed work. You just have to assure me payment is ready for the next step."
"Payment will be as agreed." Parker dropped the file on his desk and pinched his brow. "I guess we go to plan B and hope the fallout from Marseaux can be managed. I just… we need to limit the deaths, even if it is for a good reason."
"Having an attack of conscience? I didn't think that happened in your line of work."
"Regardless of what you think, lobbyists play an important role. If I get the votes Zolono needs, they'll be able to acquire a potential vaccine against breast cancer from a struggling company without the resources to make it a reality. They could change the future of women in this world."
"Hot damn, you are good. I like how you slide right past how this Senate vote and hostile takeover will catapult Zolono into an international entity that can outpace any competition once the vaccine is turned into a household name. Your CEO buddy kills thousands to save millions. Cherry deal."
No comment.
Duff glanced at the monitor where Parker was gritting his teeth and shaking his fist at an invisible adversary. Some people just can't take pressure. "Don't get your backside up. We'll move ahead as planned and Zolono's CEO will never know his role in all this."
One flick of a control and the camera zoomed in tight on Parker's face. Sweat beaded across his creased forehead. But the little prick stretched his neck, an obvious stab at relaxing, and managed to sound like he had the world by the balls when he spoke.
"I should hope so, since you came highly recommended for a discreet operation. And, I don't want Marseaux coming to D.C."
Discreet. Hell of a way to describe a covert operation for mass execution. "Anton Marseaux is a businessman. He won't like what happens, but he'll understand. He has no knowledge of you, so no worriesright, mate?" he mimicked. "I'll have your product in place by this weekend, in time for Tuesday. Have your next installment ready."
"That's cutting it close, but this weekend should work. I've got a meeting with the client on Friday. I'll have the funds ready to wire after that."
"One more thing, Parker. Don't contact people to c
heck up on me. It just pisses me off. Not a smart move on your part." Duff cut a look at the monitor in time to see Parker yank on the collar of his pale blue silk shirt. Baggy eyes had turned his thirty-two-year-old face into a man closing in on middle age.
"Fine. Just keep me informed."
Parker hung up, then swiped his desk clean of files and pens. Temper, temper. Duff punched a button, ending the transmission.
He closed his cell phone and turned to Fra Bacchus.
His short but dangerous superior sat in a reclined position, as at home on the top floor of New Orleans finest five-star hotel, as an eagle perched in its nest above the world. Gray hairs invaded the short brown hair on his head. One eye drooped slightly, giving him a perpetual look of not quite getting what someone said, which was far from the truth with this genius.
"Parker's snooping in New Orleans," Duff informed him.
"He will find nothing more than any average person who noses around, because he is, after all, only average." Narrow fingers on one hand tapped against the Fra's robe-covered knees. Hands Duff had been on the punishing end of until he'd proven himself a top general for the cause. He suppressed a shudder at how strong and invasive those fingers could be.
"Of course, Your Exalted." Duff crossed the room to refill the Fra's wineglass. "I may have to… remove the Mitchell woman."
The Fra stopped tapping his knee. Duff held his breath. Had that been transparent?
"I'll let you know if that is necessary."
Duff nodded and allowed his lungs to release a tense breath. No unnecessary deaths. Committing one was a serious infraction the Fratelli took painful measures to prevent.
"Is everything in place?"
"Yes, Your Exalted. I have forwarded the tip on the drugs to a snitch in New Orleans who is probably already counting his wad of cash from an NOPD detective." In a few hours, law enforcement would be crawling all over stacks of metal containers in the shipyard, searching for drugs they would locate in the one next to where the Drake body had been found.
That would draw the attention of the Mitchell bitch.
Good. Duff smiled to himself. He liked blondes.
His favorite shade of fear.
"Very well. You may go, Duff."
When Duff reached the door, the Fra called to him.
"Yes, sir?"
"Please don't disappoint me, Duff. You know how I hate that."
Duff caught himself before he cursed. The Fra always used those specific words right before he'd commerce with the "punishment proceedings," as they were called. Duff's palms sweated with memories of being tied spread-eagle against a wall.
"No, sir, I won't disappoint you." I'd slit my own throat first.
* * *
Nathan finished closing drawers in the house. Jamie wouldn't have left him a note anywhere this obvious, but he couldn't risk not checking. His throat muscles clenched to the point he couldn't breathe. First Mom, now Jamie. He'd let everyone down.
He should have taken the beating in prison so he would have gotten out two months ago.
Had he done that, Jamie would be alive now.
Damm it. He should have done a lot of things, but second-guessing decisions had never been of any use. He could accept his mom's death to some degree, but not Jamie's. Someone was going to pay for getting his brother involved with the Marseaux family again. Nathan knew that bastard had drawn Jamie in somehow. His brother's note on the refrigerator had said "If I don't make it by tomorrow A.M…" Jamie knew he was supposed to be at the prison in the P.M. and they'd used that same code of initialsA.M.for Marseaux during the trial. Nathan wouldn't fault Jamie, because someone had duped his brother. As clueless as Jamie could be, he wasn't that stupid. Someone caught Jamie when he was vulnerable and hurting after their mother had died.
Nathan winced from anguish tearing through him again at the thought of his brother not being here to greet him. At the thought of his brother lying dead on the ground like disposable trash…
His grief turned to rage. The bastard who shot Jamie had made a dangerous mistake and he would pay for it tenfold. In blood and with his flesh.
Nathan stared around the room where moonlight spilled in. Where was Jamie's personal hiding place in this house? When they'd played as kids, Nathan had found Jamie's secret stash of possessions when he picked the same spot for concealing his personal booty. After that, they just shared any hiding place since one would never take anything from the other.
Knowing his brother, Jamie's new spot would be well concealed.
Nathan checked his watch. Twenty minutes after elevenhe was out of time. He had a half-hour drive to make and didn't want to be late.
After locking the front and then back door, he went to the garage, where two vehicles sat side by side. A six-year-old Chevy Lumina that had once been a shiny cinnamon red had lost its polish. Now it looked more like a well-savored Tic Tac.
The second car was hidden beneath an all-weather beige chamois cover. And the instant he saw the shape, he knew what it was, even as his mind denied the possibility. His breath caught as anticipation filled him.
Nathan approached the cover reverently so that he could touch it again. His fingers sank into the supple chamois, which was like touching the finest velvet. Only a woman's skin was softer, but not by much.
Soft as the skin of the B&E artist he'd just touched… and wouldn't again, unfortunately. Forget the woman. Nathan traded the frustrating thought for an endearing one.
He couldn't believe his brother had kept this…
A 72 AMC Javelin. Even though his father had told him to never covet a possession, this car was everything to Nathan. Sliding the cover back, pleasure filled the empty pockets of his battered soul as he saw the gleaming black paint. Even in the dim light, his baby shined and beckoned him like a lover. There wasn't a piece of this car that he hadn't held in his hand at some point.
Not a single part he hadn't cradled when he'd done his frame-off restoration.
His breathing ragged, he finished removing the cover to expose the gleaming blower that jutted out from the hood almost a foot high. Unlike the side pipes, which he'd ordered in matte black, this was the only part of the car that stood out against the stark black. And when he held the throttle open, this machine rumbled like thunder. It was so deep in sound that he could feel it all the way to his bones.
That sound of power, that unique feel of raw, unbridled potential…
With perfect, clean lines and a chassis built for speed, this was the car his father had bought as a teen but never had the money or time to restore.
Nathan had told Jamie to sell this for the money it would bring.
Thank God for once his brother hadn't listened to him, and the fact that Jamie hadn't brought a sting to his eyes. His brother had known what the car meant to him and he'd saved this one piece of Nathan's former life for him.
His gaze blurring, Nathan glanced around the unfamiliar garage until he found a tall cabinet next to a workbench. Without a doubt in his mind, he strode over and wiped his hand over the top left edge until his fingers bumped a key on a leather ring.
He and Jamie had always left the car keys where they could find them easily. Searching thin drawers on the tool chest, he located a stash of wire ties long enough to work as handcuffs. Four folded shop rags sat in a stack at the end of the workbench. He grabbed the stack. On the way back to the Javelin, Nathan opened the Chevy doors and stuck his head in to retrieve the garage door opener.
White Shoulders cologne danced through his nostrils.
His mother's favorite. He and Jamie had never failed to buy that for her birthday after their dad had died. Unimaginable pain and guilt speared him as he remembered the past. He longed to see her pretty face full of life one more time. To hear her tinkling laughter.
To tell her he loved her and was sorry he'd failed to keep Jamie safe. Two years of hell in prison was nothing compared to coming home to an empty house and knowing all that truly mattered to him was gon
e. He'd given up his freedom, his career.
Jamie had given up his life.
Rage punched its way past the hurt and pain to remind Nathan why he was here and what he had to do.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and snatched the plastic garage door opener from the visor. Paybacks were hell and, in this, he was the devil out to collect that bill.
He shoved the car door shut and climbed into the Javelin.
One turn of the key and his baby fired up without hesitation. Jamie wasn't a half-bad mechanic in his own right. He'd kept the battery charged and the engine tuned. Throaty mufflers rumbled as low and predatory as a black jaguar stalking its mate, owning the night and anything in its path. The vibration in the seat made his heartbeat race.
He pressed the small black box and the garage door raised.
The engine revved softly. His pulse vibrated with the feel of freedom and the power now his to control. He shifted the car into gear and drove slowly out to the street, closing the garage door behind him. When he reached the next block, the engine was warm, oil flowing through the valves, and the road was clear.
Nathan stomped the accelerator and dumped the clutch, laying a strip of rubber for fifty feet as this bitch screamed with power. Adolescent, but he didn't give a damn right now. He needed to hear this car purr and roar.
Nathan shouted, drunk with exhilaration. He was finally in control again. His life was his own. No guards or anyone else telling him what to do and when to do it. No one shouting orders or insults.
Time to ruin a few peoples lives, the way they'd ruined his and Jamie's.
He navigated the streets of New Orleans with ease, then parked his car down a deserted street connecting a maze of alleys in the Warehouse District. After locking the car, he shuffled between buildings squeezed so close together a rat would get claustrophobia. Two blocks over he emerged next to a Dumpster that reeked of rotting food. Best place to wait since the smell alone would drive others away.
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