by Mallory Kane
Jones rounded on Seth. "I hope you've got your priorities straight, Lewis."
Seth faced Jones. "You're welcome to request another assignment, Jones, if you don't want to work with me."
Burke stood. "That's enough. Jones, I believe Seth is right about Arsenault. Are you willing to give him backup or do I need to assign someone else?"
Jones's pleasant face turned red. "I'll do my part, sir." He nodded at Seth. "I've got your back."
"Good." Burke sat back down. "Now let's go. Every minute counts. Keep in contact. We've got readiness teams around the clock. Once you find the lab, notify me immediately."
Seth left the Mercedes parked in the Crescent City Transports parking lot and took the streetcar to his home where he lived with his three sisters. There, he dressed in a pair of jeans and a faded black T-shirt and picked up his ancient Mustang. He and Jones worked out a plan. Jones parked a banged-up truck owned by Confidential and lettered as a painter's truck a couple of houses down from Senegal's ostentatious mansion.
Seth parked his Mustang on Prytania Street across from the St. Louis Cemetery, ready to pick up the tail if Jones gave him the word.
They weren't in place two hours before Jones called Seth.
"Arsenault just drove into Senegal's driveway. I almost missed him. He's driving a different car."
Seth's pulse hammered. "Yeah, he does that. Be careful. He's liable to leave in a different vehicle, too. Senegal's got a stable of cars in that garage on the second lot."
"That whole building is a garage? Damn."
Seth slouched behind the wheel of the Mustang as he waited. Even with the windows down it was hot as hell. Not much of a breeze in August in New Orleans.
Waiting gave him plenty of time to think. Today was Adrienne's arraignment hearing. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel and glanced at his watch.
She'd be coming into the courtroom about now with Brad Guilford. Had they put her in shackles? He slammed his palm against the wheel as his brain fed him an image of her delicate wrists and ankles weighed down with iron.
The idea of her there, alone, maybe even looking out over the roomful of people searching for him was unbearable. He wiped his face, sat there for a couple more minutes, then opened the Mustang's creaky driver's door and got out. His muscles cramped from inactivity and tension.
After checking his cell phone to be sure it was on, he stuck it in his pocket and walked along the sidewalk, as if he were interested in the aboveground vaults and crypts that were so typical of New Orleans.
In his mind, he played out Adrienne's arraignment. Her Not Guilty plea, the judge's request for a bail recommendation, the prosecution's argument that the discovery of the drug and the large amount of cash proved that Adrienne was a flight risk. She had refused to allow Guilford to mention her mother, so Seth was certain the judge would refuse her bail.
That meant she would almost certainly be sent to St. Gabriel, considering the overcrowded conditions of the municipal jails.
Seth's hands curled into fists. He wanted to pound something—or someone—so badly. He thought about taking out his frustrations on one of the trees that grew along the cemetery's fence, but that would just bloody his knuckles and attract attention.
He turned on his heel and started back toward his car.
His cell phone rang. He jumped.
"Yeah?"
"Seth, it's Guilford. The arraignment went as expected. Ms. DeBlanc will be transferred to St. Gabriel tomorrow."
"Can I see her?"
"Doubtful." Guilford paused. "She's here now."
Seth thought about Jones, and whether he might be trying to reach him. Just a few seconds. "Put her on."
"Seth?"
She sounded like she'd been crying. "Hey, princess. How're you holding up?" He heard the difference in his own voice, how it softened when he spoke to her. Man, he had it bad.
"I'm okay," she said tremulously. "My mother?"
"I talked to the nurse assigned to your mother. She's doing okay. She's eating a little bit, and she's less agitated."
"Thank you."
Seth heard the unshed tears in her voice, and the fear.
"Seth, will I see you before they take me to St. Gabriel's?"
"I don't know. I'm tailing Arsenault. He doesn't know it but he's going to lead me to the drug lab."
She gasped. "Seth, please don't underestimate him. He's a monster."
"I know exactly what he is. Don't worry about me. You just be careful. Anyone around you could be connected to Senegal."
He heard voices in the background.
"I have to go. Seth, I—"
Seth gripped the cell phone tightly. Her hesitant voice sent shards of pain through his heart. "I know, princess. Me, too. You be brave, okay? I'll see you soon."
"Lewis?" Guilford was back on the line.
Seth looked at his watch. "I'm almost out of time. Listen, man, thanks."
"No problem."
Seth clicked off the phone and climbed back into the Mustang. She was losing hope. He could hear it in her voice, and it nearly undid him. She'd been so brave, giving a statement to the police about Arsenault and Senegal. She'd provided a lot of information about the two of them and their dealings with various city officials, even as high up as District Attorney Primeaux. But without evidence, it was her word against theirs.
He had to find that evidence, so he could prove that she had no knowledge or involvement in the drugs or the prostitution. He had to get her out of there.
There was no doubt in his mind that Senegal had people on the inside. Every moment she stayed in there, her life was in danger.
He keyed in Jones's number, surveying the area around him, including the cemetery.
"Jones. Anything?"
"I was just calling you. A black Town Car's coming your way."
"I see it now. Is it Arsenault?" Seth slouched down in his seat again, pulling his New Orleans Saints baseball cap down to shadow his face.
"I think so."
"Got him. I'm on him. You follow me. I'm leaving the line open."
Seth rose up in his seat and lifted the cap enough to catch a glimpse of the driver's profile through the darkened windows. He'd recognize that beak of a nose anywhere. It was Arsenault.
With the thrill of the chase hammering in his blood, Seth cranked the Mustang and pulled out to follow Arsenault.
"Heading east on Prytania," he said for Jones's benefit. "Whoa." Arsenault put the brakes on. For an instant, Seth was afraid Arsenault had made him, but the Town Car turned right.
"What is it?" Jones's voice was sharp.
"We're turning right onto Washington."
"Gotcha. I see you."
"That was a short trip. Wonder what the deal is?"
"Do we know where Arsenault lives?"
"Nope. He must live under a different name. Okay, here we go again, turning right on Annunciation."
"He's going to spot you in that red Mustang. I'll take over for a minute. If he stops I'll drive past."
Seth pulled over and in a moment, Jones's truck passed him. "Give me every move he makes, Jones."
"He's stopping at an old house. Damn." Jones whistled, the sound shrill and distorted through the cell phone.
"What?"
"This place looks abandoned. It's fenced, and all overgrown with shrubs and vines, but a gate in the fence opened automatically, and Arsenault just drove right in."
"Drive back around and park behind me. I'm going to take a look."
"You wait there. We need to call Burke."
"I will, as soon as I've gotten a look at whatever's in there."
"Lewis."
"Trust me on this, Jones. All I want to do is take a look at the house."
Seth looked in the rearview mirror as Jones's truck pulled up behind him. He cut the cell phone connection, got out of his car and walked back to the truck.
Jones was frowning. "This is what I was afraid of. You're going off half-cock
ed because you've got a personal beef with Arsenault."
"Give me some credit, Jones," Seth growled. "You think I'd risk blowing this whole operation because of something personal?"
Jones looked him straight in the eye. "Yes."
"Funny you didn't mention this when Burke asked you. Can I depend on you or not? Because I can do this alone."
Jones stuck his jaw out pugnaciously, but his eyes assessed Seth. "I keep my word. I've got your back. I just hope you don't get us both killed."
Seth leaned on the window frame. "I've got experience in stealth operations. I can get in there and see what's going on inside that abandoned house. And I can do it alone. But I'd rather know you're backing me."
Jones nodded. "Like I said, I keep my word. But, we don't have probable cause."
Seth looked down at the ground, then back up at Jones. "What about that anonymous tip?"
Jones frowned. "What anonymous—oh." His face relaxed into a grin. "Oh, that anonymous tip. The one I'll get if you see anything interesting."
Seth smiled and nodded.
"Let's switch to mobile transmitters and cut the cell phones. That way there's no way we can be placed here or have our calls traced." Jones handed Seth a small box.
"Good idea." Seth cut the power on his phone and accepted the mobile transmitter from Jones. A specially designed earpiece with microphone allowed them to hear each other.
Seth sent Jones a small salute and walked to the end of the street, then turned the corner. He started down Jackson Street.
"Which house?" he muttered.
"Third on the right."
Seth spotted the fence covered with wild, overgrown vines. It stood out next to its neatly maintained neighbors. Upon a quick inspection, Seth discovered that there was a sunken break in the sidewalk right in front of the gate. With luck and a few scrapes, he should be able to crawl through.
But what would he find on the other side? It wasn't impossible that he would come up staring into the barrel of a gun.
A vision of Adrienne in shackles rose in his mind. It would be worth it.
"I'm going under the gate."
"I'm calling Burke."
"No," Seth whispered. "What if Arsenault is at home scrambling some eggs or watching a movie? We'll blow our chance and dp him off."
Jones was silent a moment. "Okay. But please give me something soon. The suspense is killing me."
Jones's complaint brought a smile to Seth's face as he glanced around the street, then crouched down to feel under the gate. The bottom of the gate was smooth. At least he wouldn't wind up caught on stray wire.
Aware that he was possibly crawling into a situation he might not come out of, Seth quickly dropped flat and shimmied under the gate, all senses alert.
He came out exposed, on a driveway. Quickly he rolled to his left, into a bank of tall grass, and then crawled behind a shrub.
"I'm in," he whispered. "I'm about twenty feet from the house." He glanced around. "Arsenault's car is pulled up behind a panel truck. The windows on the first floor are all boarded up. The second floor has drapes."
"Lewis! A truck is driving up."
Just as Jones spoke, Seth heard metal screech against metal. The gate was opening.
At the same time, Tony Arsenault opened the front door of the house and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him. He watched the gate swing open, and waited as the truck entered.
Seth crouched behind the bush, hoping its foliage was thick enough to hide him.
As the gate swung closed, Arsenault's gaze swept the overgrown lawn. He turned his head and stared right into Seth's eyes.
Seth froze, looking down so his eyes wouldn't glint. He could feel Arsenault's gaze pinning him like a laser sight on a rifle. The shrub he'd crawled behind was fairly thick and lush, and his jeans and T-shirt were faded to a nondescript color, but his Saints baseball cap was deep purple and the logo on the front was a bright gold.
He breathed slowly and shallowly, concentrating on not moving a muscle. Most people's eyes would scan right over him without noticing, as long as he didn't move. Special Forces operatives knew a lot about hiding in plain sight.
But Arsenault wasn't most people. If this was the location of the drug-refining lab, then the sadistic killer and everyone involved would be paranoid.
"Hold it!" Arsenault's voice rang out. "Who are you?"
Seth's heart rate tripled and he couldn't keep his muscles from contracting, doing their best to shrink away from the bullet he fully expected.
"Don't move a muscle. Where's the regular driver?"
Without fluttering a leaf on the bush, Seth let out a silent breath. He forced himself to relax his clenched fists as he observed the exchange between Arsenault and the new driver.
Arsenault was holding a gun on the man. "Remy!" he shouted.
The front door to the house slammed as Remy rushed outside.
"Yeah, Tony?" The red-haired thug went to stand by Arsenault.
They conferred quietly, while the pale driver waited, his hands glued to the steering wheel.
Apparently, whatever Remy told Arsenault satisfied him, because he nodded. Remy directed the driver to get out of the truck and start unloading the delivery. He kept his gun on the man the entire time.
The delivery consisted of boxes labeled AcmeChem Chemical Supply.
"Lewis?"
Jones's whisper came through Seth's headset. He didn't answer until the driver was done unloading the last box and he and Remy had walked back toward the front of the truck.
"Yeah."
"Damn!" Jones's breath whooshed out. "I was afraid they'd gotten you."
"Me, too, for a minute there," Seth whispered.
"What's happening?"
"Give me ten minutes and I'll have something for you. Meanwhile, stop the delivery truck as it comes out. That driver knows how to open the automatic gate. We'll need him."
The gate opened and the truck backed out as several boys who looked no more than sixteen or seventeen hurried out of the house and carried the boxes in through the front door. All Seth could see through the door was darkness.
The red-haired man Arsenault had called Remy took one last look around, then went inside and closed the door behind him.
Seth had to get a look inside that house. He studied the perimeter of the lot. Huge gnarled branches from a tree in the next yard hung over the roof of the carport.
He slid backwards under the gate and slipped into the neighbor's yard. No one was home. Within seconds, he had shinnied up the tree and crawled out onto one of the sturdy branches that extended over Arsenault's carport. There were heavy curtains on his second-story windows.
Using all the caution taught to him in Special Forces, he lowered himself silently onto the carport roof and crawled over to the roof of the house. The window nearest the carport was stuck, probably painted shut. Seth took out his pocketknife and ran the blade between the window and the sill. Then he tried again to open it. It resisted, then gave, the sound of wood scraping wood deafening in the afternoon silence.
As soon as he had enough room, Seth rolled through the window and onto his feet, his gun drawn, ready to take out anyone who threatened him.
The room was empty.
Seth breathed an audible sigh of relief, knowing his luck wouldn't last. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he heard voices outside the door. They were young voices, male voices, probably the boys he'd seen moving the chemical supplies.
Standing behind the door, he listened. The boys were speaking Spanish. Their voices faded and Seth heard footsteps descending a staircase.
After a couple of minutes, he moved to the other side of the door and eased it open. The stairs were directly in front of the door. There were two other rooms along the upstairs hall. Their doors were open, and Seth heard nothing. The upstairs seemed to be empty.
"Jones?" he said quietly into his headset.
"Yeah?" Jones sounded like he was stretched to the breakin
g point.
"I'm in. Just a few more minutes."
"Lewis, I'm calling for backup."
"Two minutes."
He heard Jones's frustrated sigh as he slipped out the door and over to the head of the stairs. Just as he did, Arsenault's voice floated up to him.
"Oui, Jerome. Double shifts for everyone. We just got a delivery of acetone. There will be enough in two days."
Seth heard a door open and close, and Arsenault's voice was cut off.
Enough in two days. Arsenault was talking about refined drug. Seth knew the lab had to be somewhere in the house. He surveyed the downstairs, which was dark except for a bright sliver of dusty light coming from around a set of double doors beside the staircase.
He carefully slipped down the stairs and over to the doors. Arsenault's muffled voice sounded from another room, apparently still on the phone.
Seth knew he had no more than a minute or two, at most. The neglected house had settled, leaving a half-inch gap between the two doors. Seth put his eye to the gap, almost coughing at the dust that hovered around the door.
The sight before him started his heart to hammering. Young men and teenage boys, dressed in nothing but undershirts and undershorts and wearing surgical masks, were working at a table. The entire room was white, white paper on the floor, white cloths on the table, white dust on the men's shoulders and floating in the air.
Gotcha. A deep, satisfying relief cascaded like a refreshing shower over Seth. He took a deep breath and had to fight to hold back a cough. His eyes watered, and to his dismay, he began to react. He shifted uncomfortably as his arousal pressed against his jeans. It was the drug. He had to get out of there before he got distracted.
He spoke into the microphone of the mobile transmitter. "Jones, we got 'em. Tell Burke—"
A circle of cold steel pressed against his neck.
"Tell him goodbye."
Chapter Eleven
"Arsenault." Seth said the name for Jones's benefit. His heart pounded as he froze in place.
"Shut up." Tony Arsenault pressed the gun into Seth's neck. "Keep your hands where I can see them. This is a damn big gun and it'll blow your head right off. Although if I have time, perhaps I'll use my machete. It will be more satisfying, eh?"