Phantom in the Night

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  "Come in."

  Josie sat next to Philborn's desk with her chair turned so that she could swing the shapely leg she had crossed. How did that woman work in tall strapless heels? She wore a trim aqua-blue linen skirt suit with a low-cut black shell top and crisscross patterns on her dark stockings.

  But her most unnerving asset was the victorious smile she hardly tried to smother.

  "Have a seat, Mitchell."

  "What's up?" Terri sat down, feeling a little frumpy in her khaki pants, tweed jacket, and basic white buttondown blouse.

  "Lab reports came back on this bag." He lifted the Ziploc that now had dust residue on it. "DEA went through the Drake house and dusted everything that had been used or could have been handled. Where did you get this and what are your prints doing on it if this is a piece of evidence?"

  The DEA must have gone in after Terri broke in.

  Josie's grin widened.

  She really hated that woman, but Terri would never come to a fight unprepared. "My grandmother happens to live a couple streets over from the Drakes. Grandma is blind and likes to walk all over the place. That's how she met Lydia Drake, who would bring her ice tea her son made when Grandma came by."

  "Nice home and hearth story." Josie flicked her hair when she turned her head. "I don't have all day. Explain the bag. There are reports all over town about Nathan Drake. Are those his fingerprints?"

  "Why are you asking me? I thought the lab already confirmed they were his prints."

  "Don't be coy." The true Josie surfaced, with claws showing. "Since we don't have a body to confirm identity, we believe Nathan Drake is alive and threatening people, which means he faked his own death."

  Terri couldn't resist mocking her. "And maybe fat flying fairies ate the rest of your blouse, which explains why so much of it's missing. Did it not occur to you that Brady might have been wrong about the body ID?"

  "He wouldn't have made that mistake."

  Josie supporting Brady worried Terri. Or was it just a matter of how a family fights among themselves until one of theirs is attacked, then they close ranks?

  "I heard this Drake guy or the phantom, depending on what you believe, was threatening criminals," Terri defended.

  "The law doesn't condone vigilantes, regardless of who they kill," Philborn interjected. "Back to the bag."

  "I don't condone vigilantes, either," Terri clarified quickly, annoyed anyone would think she did. "As I was telling you, my grandmother walked over to see Lydia before she died, said she was very frail. While there, Grandma missed a step and bumped her head against the doorjamb. Lydia's son brought her an icepack, which she carried home, I tossed it in the freezer in case we needed it again and forgot all about it until this week. I just thought I'd see if his fingerprints were on the bag so that we'd have a good set of prints for identifying the body once we found it." Had to be one of the worst stories she'd ever made up, but that's all she had on short notice.

  "Why weren't your grandmother's prints on the bag?"

  "She was walking right after Christmas. Grandma wears gloves all through the winter."

  "Next time, inform me when you think you have evidence on a case," Philborn said with his standard tone of dismissal.

  "Yes, sir. Sorry for any inconvenience I might have caused you." Terri popped up, not minding the pain of moving so quickly this time. She headed for the door.

  "Wait a minute," Josie stammered. "She's hiding something."

  Philborn stood up, his next sign of dismissal. "Thought you said you were busy. We wouldn't want to waste any more of your valuable time."

  Josie's eyes narrowed to slits. "When do we get the container? The DEA wants to see the contents before everything is distributed among your officers."

  Terri started to speak, then caught the mean glint in Philborn's droopy eyes. "Our business here is finished. The DEA will get access to the container when I say so. Right now, it's a crime scene in our jurisdiction."

  "I've got some paperwork to do, but let me know if you need anything, Captain." Terri gave him her best good-girl voice.

  "That's fine." Philborn was already sitting back down.

  The venomous stare Josie sent her way should have poisoned the air. She caught up to Terri at the door. "I don't know what kind of crap you're pulling, Mitchell, but you won't have much longer to play these games. Just let me find out you've been helping Brady and you're cooked. I'm close to finishing this investigation and plan to wrap it up in the next few days. I can't wait for you to see my thorough report."

  Terri stared a hole through her. Josie wasn't bluffing, which meant someone had concocted hard evidence against Terri that would hold up in court unless she got to the bottom of this first. "I have two words for you."

  "Oh, yeah?" Josie smiled, a toothpaste ad for the devil.

  "What-ever—"

  "That's one word."

  "—bitch."

  Josie snatched up her purse and stalked from the room.

  Philborn chuckled, a deep rumbling noise that shook the room. "I like that. Wish I'd thought of it."

  Terri smiled. "Is that all you need from me?"

  All the fun rushed out of his face. "No, close the door."

  Her heart slid south. She shut the door, then sat down to face him. "What's wrong?"

  "Sammy's missing."

  She frowned at his dire tone. "What do you mean, missing? Late for work?"

  "No. He went to guard the container last night. When the next shift showed up this morning, he wasn't there. They found some drops of blood on the ground."

  Terri clutched her throat as fear gripped her. "Not Sammy."

  "It's worse. I can't turn that container loose anytime soon. We lost some of the contents last night. I think whoever came after something in that container did Sammy serious harm. I just don't know why they would take him with them. We found a casing, so we think he was shot. If they wanted to kill him, why not leave the body there?" Philborn shook his head and stared at nothing in particular. "I don't know, maybe he's alive."

  Being tortured probably. What other reason would someone have to keep him breathing? Terri's heart wrenched at the thought of sweet Sammy hurt. "Do we know what's missing?"

  "My men couldn't tell for sure, but I do know some of those teak tools are gone." Philborn watched her for a minute. "You don't look surprised, so I'm guessing Sammy told you about Taggart lifting some parts. I can't say much to Taggart now that the rest of it has been ransacked, but that old codge shouldn't have touched a thing there. I put a call in to him, but haven't heard back yet. Why would a thief want those?"

  "I've got to see the container again. Maybe I'll be able to tell if anything else is missing and what the thief was after." Terri stood up.

  "We got a team of three guarding it, but you be careful. I'm starting to think this thing is hexed."

  "I will be. I've got to make a couple calls first, then I'm heading over. Please let me know as soon as you hear anything about Sammy."

  She couldn't believe she'd just been talking to Sammy last night and he might be…

  Think positive. He was alive and they'd get him out.

  Terri checked her watch. She'd told Nathan she'd stay here another three hours, but she hadn't really sworn she would. It wouldn't take her that long to go to the yard where the container was stored and return. Besides, she didn't have Nathan's cell phone. If he wanted to share, he could start with sharing his damn cell phone number.

  * * *

  Nathan angled himself so that he could see anyone come into the small cyber cafe in the French Quarter. These places had probably seen better days before Wi-Fi was offered free citywide.

  At the moment he shared the cyber bar with three whispering teenage boys hunched around one computer and a woman dressed in scrubs next to them. The only other person in here was the young woman working behind the counter, who'd accepted a hefty tip to stick an out of order sign on the two monitors closest to Nathan to make sure no one sat down beside him.r />
  He shoved the key into the USB slot and opened documents in order of dates in each name. The first several were scanned shipping forms, then the next was a Word document with pasted e-mails between Marseaux and someone listed only as V.

  Jamie had been a wizard on the computer before now, but to hack his way into Marseaux's personal e-mail? That was talent.

  Lost talent that could have done so many great things.

  The sick ball of pain in his gut rolled around. Nathan shoved his misery to the side and kept looking. Didn't take long to figure out that Jamie had known the shipping company where he worked belonged to Marseaux. The next questions were why had he gone there and what had he stumbled upon?

  Nathan scrolled through the list until he found "Hi Nate."

  He paused, realizing this would be a letter from Jamie, then clicked on the document. Pain slashed through him over the surreal moment, to read a letter written to him by someone who was gone.

  Nate—Guess you figured out where I hid the memory stick, huh? I couldn't risk leaving it in the house since I figured someone would eventually go through the place, but they might not think of going through the car. I had to sit in the driver's seat of Big Black for a while until it hit me to use the 8-track tape case.

  Nathan stopped reading when his vision blurred. Reading this was tough, like having his brother sitting next to him talking, but not being able to say anything back. Nathan wiped the corner of his eye and continued.

  First, I have to tell you. I am NOT involved with Marseaux. I wouldn't have gone near him if I'd had a choice. The DEA said they had an offer I couldn't match anywhere else. Well, it was more of an ultimatum I couldn't refuse. Those guys got their negotiation training at Semantics U. Anyhow, this agent approached me when Mom was getting worse, three weeks before she passed. I was tore up and trying to find a hospice that would take her. She fought hard, but the cancer beat her down.

  This DEA guy who came for me said he wanted me to go undercover at Marseaux's shipping company and see what I could find out. He said it was a matter of national security. Had a list of things for me to look for. He thought I was you, with your Special Force skills (boy, did he pick the wrong one, huh?).

  Nathan smiled at Jamie's macabre humor, but he'd like to get his hands on that DEA agent. How had the DEA found his brother?

  I have to tell you the truth, bro. I told him no, even though you would have done it for your country. I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with Marseaux. That my brother was doing time because Marseaux set him up. He told me that wouldn't happen and he'd assure my safety. He said if I did this for the DBA he'd get Mom into a hospice right away get you out early to see her…and…

  Wait for it…

  Clear your record. Hot damn. I was excited, except for one thing—I didn't have your Special Force skills and let's be real honest I'm not brave like you. Wish I was, but I'm not. I got a few more brain cells than most, but no real guts in the deal, so you can imagine how terrified I was of going undercover even with him guaranteeing my safety. But if he really could get you out soon so you could see Mom, I was ready to do anything. He didn't give me an option of saying yes or no. The last part of this special offer was the poison pill. If I didn't do what they wanted, he would make sure you spent another 5 years in prison.

  Nathan clutched the monitor and fought the urge to pitch it across the room. Who the hell had done this to Jamie? The bastard had better be wearing his knees out in prayer that Nathan didn't discover his name.

  His heart slammed his chest with each painful beat, feeling his brother's fear in his words. Whoever was responsible for his death would pay and the devil in him would demand double the interest.

  Like I said, I'm not a brave guy or a hero like you, Nate, but I'm trying to pull this off. Of course, if you're reading this you'll know I didn't make it. I've thought about that a lot in these last few weeks and I'm sort of okay with it. Doesn't mean I'm not scared of dying. You know how I hate cemeteries, but I can't live with you and Mom both gone. You always said you'd rather be lucky than good. I hope I'm lucky, but considering my past history I'm not betting on myself.

  I wish you would walk away from all of this when you get out so you can have the life you deserve, but I know you too well. You always did what you felt had to be done, always stood up to do the right thing. That's why I've tried to get you as much information as I can. I gave the DEA guy some, but I could tell the last time we met something was wrong. He didn't think I noticed, but I did. I found out there's more going on than drug shipments, but I'm not sure what. With your background, you'll figure it out. I left you the logo on the note in the kitchen in case you didn't find this. (Yeah, what was I thinking, huh?)

  That image matches the logo on one of the scanned letters. I think the design is really an F and S, but I couldn't find anything that fit. One of Marseaux's e-mails to this V person said he wanted to be protected before "the" day. V sent back a note getting on Marseaux's butt for saying anything specific in e-mails and there was no such thing as protection, only a neutralizer (I can just see these two doing a secret handshake when they meet in person). This all sounds like a terrorist attack to me, but I searched everywhere for that date and there's no big event or anything I can pinpoint. My guess is some kind of chemical release or biological warfare. I listed all the international groups we shipped with on another file you'll find. Maybe with your army intelligence training you'll recognize something that jumps out at you.

  Now here's the kicker. I hacked into the shipping company's accounting department and pulled up cell phone bills. I found one that had a similar number sequence to the one I'd been calling—the DEA dickhead aka JB. I didn't like JB, in case you haven't noticed. That's when I started holding back information. All JB knows is that I found the link to this F-S group, but no address. I didn't tell him about the DEA cell number. I called it from a payphone (I felt like a regular 007 that day), but it was routed to a no-name voicemail. I bullet listed everything I found at the end of this, whether it made any sense to me at all.

  That's all I have, big brother. I miss you more than you'll ever know. I sit behind the steering wheel in Black Death sometimes just to feel you with me. Momma missed you/me bad. She never believed any of those lies in the paper. I told her what had happened as if you had told me. I think she might have figured out that I was pretending to be you, but she didn't press me for the truth. She prayed for you to come home every day and made me swear I'd tell you how much she loved you and that our daddy would have been proud of you.

  Like I said, I'm scared, but I'm going to do my damndest to make you proud. I lost a piece of my soul every day that you sat in a prison cell doing my time. If I die, I won't go whimpering like me. I'll go with honor like you, since Nathan Drake would meet death as a man.

  No one will ever call Nathan Drake a coward. Ever.

  It would make me happy and feel like this was all worthwhile if I knew you were safe from whatever is going to happen and could have a real life finally. You've covered my butt my whole life. This one time I wanted to step up and cover yours. Wish I could see you one more time.

  I love you, bro,

  Jamie

  Nathan couldn't see the bottom notes. Tears ran down his face. He leaned his elbows on the desk and buried his face in his hands. The pain was brutal. After all he'd been through to protect his family in the end, Jamie had been sacrificed for him.

  Grief clawed his insides, shredding his heart. How could he live knowing what Jamie had done?

  The three boys howled at something and slapped high fives all around.

  Nathan sat up, jerked his mind back to the present, sniffled, and closed the files. He removed the memory stick, then went into the bathroom to wash his face. His hands shook with fury. JB. He had to find the DEA son of a bitch who walked his brother into a snake pit at gunpoint.

  Outside the cafe, he climbed into his car and glanced at his watch. Terri should be at the precinct for another hour, but
it wouldn't hurt to check on her. Besides, he'd like to hear her voice.

  Needed to know she was safe.

  He waited while the phone was transferred from one wrong desk to the right desk. Someone finally picked up. When he asked for Terri Mitchell, the woman said, "She just left. I don't know when she'll be back."

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Nathan rammed the car into gear and sped away from the cafe. He dug for Terri's card in his pocket and punched in her cell phone, then narrowly missed clipping a can.

  Three rings and it rolled over to voicemail.

  He called Stoner next.

  "What'd you find out?"

  "Too much to share now." Nathan doubted this was a secure line. Dark clouds hovered over the city in a canopy of gloom.

  "Got it," And he knew Stoner did.

  "Where are you?"

  "I-610, near the airport. Where do you want to meet?"

  With no other place to start, Nathan gave Stoner the address of the container and hoped like hell Terri had gone there to dig around some more. "Do me a favor and stop by the precinct to see her. Say that she asked you to stop by. See if you can find out where she went."

  "Got it. I'll be in touch."

  Nathan tried her cell phone again. Voicemail. He gunned the accelerator.

  * * *

  Whitecaps frosted the choppy waves in the channel. Duff idled his twenty-three-foot Pro-Line out, glancing over his shoulder like a good boatman to check behind. Bloated clouds hovered over the New Orleans skyline. The squall building would follow him.

  Perfect weather for this boat trip.

  The salt air fingered his hair and filled his nose. He loved living so close to the Gulf of Mexico. New Orleans was the perfect place to live.

  He liked storms, found comfort in the powerful lightning and thunder. That's why he'd joined the fratelli at nineteen when a general for Fra Bacchus had approached him. He hadn't realized until then how much he wanted to be a part of a dominant group. To share in creating a world run by brilliant men with a vision for the future and the resources to assure the success of that vision.