by Linda Ladd
Novak smiled again. He was not a smiley person, but Claire did that to him. “So how’s the future daddy handling all this?”
“Ever heard of cloud nine? Black’s been spending a lot of time floating around up there.”
Novak laughed. “I am not surprised. How about you? You feel okay? Any morning sickness?”
“I feel a hundred percent wonderful—no, two hundred percent. Black treats me like I’m made out of crystal. Like a fragile little figurine that he’s got to hold on to so I don’t trip over my own two feet. But it’s sweet. He’s so excited that it’s reached the ridiculous point. He’s buying all kinds of stuff for Rico and the baby. He’ll need to buy another plane just to fit in all his presents. He’s got something for you, too.”
They spoke about the coming baby for a few minutes longer and then hung up. Claire sounded good, even better than usual, but she had good reason. Novak was glad to see her happy. She and Black had been through some terrible things when she worked homicide at Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri. He’d worked a few of those cases with her, and they’d faced some hair-raising stuff. Claire deserved time off with her family. She probably wouldn’t have taken it, however, if Rico’s adoption hadn’t been hanging in the balance.
After the call to his partner, Novak concentrated on driving. When he hit the outskirts of Houston with its masses of intersecting highways, he headed for the Northwest Freeway that would take him close to the FBI offices on Justice Park Drive. When he was almost there, he put in a call to her office to make sure she wasn’t out of state on assignment. The receptionist informed him that Special Agent Taylor had taken the day off. So Novak continued northwest to her home in The Woodlands. He hoped she still lived in the same place. She probably did; she loved her house out there. It was still early, the morning sun glinting fire into his eyes. He poked on his sunglasses, hoping she was sleeping in since she didn’t have to work.
Leslie Ann Taylor’s home was in a quiet neighborhood with broad avenues lined with oaks and elms and lots of expensive suburban homes. Her house was a modern facsimile of the Victorian era, painted a soft sky-blue with double white verandas and about a thousand yards of fancy curlicues. Leslie was a woman who required all the modern conveniences, including the kidney-shaped grotto pool in her backyard. Maybe he’d get lucky and she’d be making breakfast. She could cook just about anything to perfection. She hailed from Birmingham, Alabama, and preferred Southern cooking, just like him, including the ever-present pitcher of sweet tea. They had gotten along famously for a time, in bed and otherwise.
After about fifteen minutes of waiting and watching her house, he strolled up Leslie’s front sidewalk and tapped a knuckle on her cut-glass door. He hadn’t expected anybody to be following him or even know who he was, and he’d been right. He had not picked up a tail; he’d made sure of that. He would take advantage of his unknown persona while it lasted, which probably wouldn’t be very long. Nobody answered the door. He pressed the doorbell a couple more times, heard the muted tinkling of chimes inside, and a few seconds later glimpsed a movement through the milky glass cut with floral designs. He readied himself because he was pretty sure she wouldn’t be thrilled to see him. The door opened a bare crack, and there she stood. She had on a short black silk kimono with red and yellow Chinese dragons and no shoes. Her long black hair was piled atop her head and held in place with some kind of silver clip shaped in the form of a conch shell. She looked shocked to see him standing there, and then she shut the door in his face. Novak stopped it with his foot.
“Just give me a chance, Les. I just want to talk to you for a minute.”
“I don’t want to talk to you. This is my day off. I’ve got plans, and they don’t include you.”
“This won’t take long, I swear.”
“Let me guess. You need my help.”
She knew him well. “Yeah, I do, but not like last time. Nobody’s going to get hurt.” That was probably not true. In fact, it might be the understatement of the year, but she probably already knew that. “C’mon, Leslie, talk to me. I won’t stay long. This’ll probably get you a nice promotion if we handle it the right way.”
Staring at him a moment, she eventually heaved out a heavy fake sigh and let him in. She did not look pleased, but he hadn’t expected her to. Novak walked inside the front hall, and she shut the door behind him. It didn’t look much different than the last time he’d been there. The hallway stretched back all the way to a rear porch. The ceiling was high and chandeliered, and impressionist paintings lined the crisp white walls like inside an art gallery. Each painting had its own little brass spotlight. She couldn’t afford the real things on her salary, of course, but she enjoyed these priceless paintings anyway, a lucrative inheritance bequeathed to her by her wealthy grandmother. Thus, she had installed an extremely formidable home alarm system that Novak knew enough not to trip.
“I’m having coffee out back this morning. I guess you can join me. But you’re not staying long, understand me, Will? You’re going to make this fast, whatever it is. Is that clear?”
“No problem. Let me have my say and then I’m gone.”
He followed her through a spacious navy and white kitchen and out through a tall set of white French doors to the glassed-in portion of the back gallery. A wicker table had been set up with a silver coffee urn, also bequeathed by said rich granny. A Blue Willow platter was filled with giant cinnamon rolls, displayed artistically as if for a summer brunch at a ritzy seaside hotel. That was Leslie in a nutshell. Even when alone, she made things look like a million bucks. He remembered those rolls. They dripped with white icing and smelled fabulous. The coffee smelled good, too. It was hazelnut, and its faint and pleasant scent hung in the air. There was an antique creamer and sugar bowl made of silver. The chairs were fancy white wicker but had wide seats and arms. Novak hated wicker furniture with a passion. He always feared it would collapse or crunch to kindling under his 240 pounds. All of it should be burned.
Fortunately the chair held him. Leslie allowed a small smile at the gingerly way he took his seat. “My, Will, aren’t you looking old and haggard,” she said to him, sipping from her Blue Willow cup. Her Alabama drawl sounded like music to him, and she held the saucer in her other hand because she was a Southern lady and former debutante who had been taught correct etiquette for every occasion. “Maybe you should get more sleep,” she added.
“Thanks. You’re looking as lovely as ever.” For some reason, Leslie Ann Taylor did not age like normal people.
“Stop already, Novak. Flattery’s not going to work on me this time. It played out its course last time and is dead as a doornail now. I know you only too well. Please don’t try to play me; it doesn’t suit you.”
Novak recalled their problems, all right. They’d been lovers when he was stationed at Brownsville for a couple of years. It had been a long time ago, and they’d had one hell of a good time until he brought her in on a private case and got her in some serious hot water with her SAC. Everything went sour after that and in about fifteen seconds. “I’m sorry about your demotion. I had no idea things would go south as fast as they did.”
“Not just a demotion, Novak, you got me a three-month suspension and a desk job for a year. I’m just now back on track in my career, and here you are, returned to destroy me again. At least, that’s why I assume you’re here. Can’t think of any other reason you’d drop by.”
“I’m not here to cause you trouble. Like I said, maybe this will settle that score in your favor this time.”
Leslie glanced up from pouring coffee into his delicate blue and white china cup. Two gulps and it would be gone. Novak felt idiotic picking it up by the tiny little handle and sipping it as if he were some burly extra in Gone with the Wind. It held ten tablespoons, maybe, at the most.
His companion was observing him, well aware of his discomfiture. “You’re saying you can get me back to where I was in t
he Bureau’s pecking order. Well, I’ll listen to that speech. Go ahead, get yourself a cinnamon roll. I can see you’re drooling over them.”
Novak shrugged. “I skipped breakfast. They smell good.” He picked up the biggest one on the plate and took a bite. “It is good. You made them, right? I remember your buttermilk biscuits, too.”
“Yes, of course I made them. So tell me, how exactly do you plan to get me a promotion?”
“Ever heard of Calvin Locke?”
She arched a brow, interested. “The esteemed judge from Galveston, the one who’s as dirty as a three-dollar bill in a dumpster? Oh yeah, he’s been on our radar for years. Can’t seem to pin anything on him. Too rich, too tough, too smart, and too connected.”
“Maybe I can help you bring him down.”
Leslie observed him over the rim of her cup some more and then handed him a white napkin with small pink rosebuds embroidered all over it. Novak felt as if he was in some Alice in Wonderland tea party bad dream. Leslie smirked as if she could read his thoughts. But her cinnamon rolls were worth it. He took a second one.
“Pray tell, how are you going to make me a hero to my superiors? Not an easy task.”
“Locke’s holding his own daughter and her two small children against their will. Most likely at his River Oaks estate or the beach house he owns down on Galveston Island. His daughter has informed a trusted friend that she’s ready to hand over incriminating evidence against him to the FBI in exchange for witness protection. Evidence that will put him away forever. I thought maybe it would be a good idea if she handed it over to you, and you set the whole thing up and made the arrest and got yourself some serious kudos from your higher ups. My way of making up for what happened last time.”
“Horseshit.”
“It’s not.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“Ever heard of Timothy Hennessey?”
“That man is certifiable but also crafty enough to stay out of prison. Acid attacks and beheading is what he does for fun. Usually he chooses Mexican illegals that have no way to fight back.”
“According to Judith Locke, he works with her daddy dearest. Thick as thieves, they are. She can get us proof of that and only wants witness protection for her and the two kids in return. So? You interested? Or do I have to go to someone else in your office with my offer?”
“Hell, yes, I’m interested. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Tell me what you know about Hennessey. He’s sort of the wild card here. This friend of Judith’s? She claims to know the judge intimately and has passed me information about his homes and his business dealings. She doesn’t know Hennessey all that well. So he’s my blind spot.”
“Intimately, as in intimately? Wife? Lover?”
“Not sexually. She’s Judith’s best friend and has spent time with the family. She knows them better than most and has been allowed inside their inner circle for years.”
“Hennessey’s based here in Houston. He’s as criminally insane as you would think, but he doesn’t run with the big boys. That would be Jonathan Wagner’s syndicate. We’ve got Wagner under constant surveillance for drugs and prostitution and gambling, but he’s a smart and savvy modern businessman who runs a tight ship and kills anybody he even suspects of betraying him. We haven’t been able to infiltrate his operation, either. Hennessey’s just the opposite. We think he’s mostly into sex trafficking of young girls, twelve to fourteen usually. The way we’ve seen it is he finds good-looking young guys to woo and seduce the girls with free drugs and flattery, and then they drug the girls, kidnap them, and move them from state to state so frequently that nobody can ever find them again. That makes it hard to crack down and put them behind bars. We’ve heard rumors of white slavery going on, too. Mostly in Middle East countries.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“They put their girls up in quiet suburban neighborhoods and make sure everything looks normal to neighbors. Sometimes we’re lucky enough to get wind of some poor child who’s managed to escape. She’s usually too terrified to name names or tell us anything about her captors. They just want to go home and hide out in their bedrooms and never come out again. Besides that, Hennessey threatens to behead family members if they ever contact the cops. One girl told us he brought her little brother’s disfigured severed head in a bowling bag and dumped it out in front of her. As a warning. It worked. She shook like a leaf the whole time I was interviewing her.”
“Get ready. He’s about to go down as hard as I can make it happen. He made the mistake of taking the kid of a friend of mine.”
“What friend?”
“Frank Caloroso.”
“Oh my God, you’re not talking about little Lucy?”
Novak nodded. “Frank’s going nuts. Thinking the worst, of course.”
“He has good cause, Novak. What is she now? Twelve, maybe?”
“Thirteen. She’s an important pawn in this case, so I don’t think they’ll hurt her. Frank was helping the girl I told you about, Judith’s friend. He’s good at what he does, knows this city inside and out. They knew he’d be trouble and how tenacious he is. So they took Lucy to warn him off. On top of that, Judge Locke signed a bogus warrant on Frank so he has to lie low. I want Lucy back, and I want Judith out, and I want to bring both those guys down and make them suffer.” Novak stared hard at Leslie. “Can you help me make any or all of that happen?”
She took a sip of coffee and watched him from over the rim of her cup. “I’d move heaven and earth to get Lucy away from those sickos. She’s such a sweet little thing, just beautiful with all those red ringlets. It sickens me to think of her anywhere near that Hennessey creep. He’s as cruel as they come. I hope the judge is holding her. He’s an evil son of a bitch but he’s not crazy.”
“Okay, if we’re on the same page, let’s get this thing going. How fast can you set up negotiations for witness protection? Think you’ll run into problems with your SAC?”
“No, I think my SAC will be in hog heaven if he gets the dope on either of those rotten criminals. He’s as much a jerk as the last one. But he cuts me slack when I need it to get a job done. Sometimes more than he should. I don’t trust him entirely, but he’ll go for this, I think, because it’s going to win him kudos at Quantico. But I’m going to need more information before I lay it out in writing and get his stamp of approval. Do you have any idea where Lucy is? Maybe we can get a Federal warrant and go in and get her first? I want her home with Frank.”
“Me, too. It’s my top priority. I’ll find that out today, if I can. Tonight at the latest. My gut’s telling me that Lucy’s somewhere under Locke’s control. Same goes for Judith. I think he’s got them both at one of his houses, which are set up like fortresses, by the way. Another option is a stash house that he uses for the girls he traffics. I’ve got to take time to set up surveillance and hope I get lucky and find them fast.”
“Do you need our help with that?”
“Not now, but I may later.”
“When you bring us in, I hope I don’t have to clean up a lot of dead bodies, Novak. You know, like before.”
That’s probably exactly what she’d find, but she didn’t need to know that until it happened. “I just want those two women out of danger and somewhere safe. Can you arrange protection, or not?”
“Of course I can, but I can’t go in and take them out of a sitting judge’s house without cause.”
“I know. I’m bringing Lucy to you, and Judith and her kids. Can I trust the Feds to protect them? Will they put them in a secure place? I don’t want any screw-ups.”
“Of course. You know better than to ask that.”
Novak rose, ready to go. He stared down at her. “I’ll keep you posted by phone. It’s going to take some time to find them, but I’ve got a plan. You know how that goes. I’m going to need some luck on my side.”
�
�I do, indeed. Suspension, demotion, embarrassment, humiliation. Not going to happen again, trust me. I’m going to watch you like a hawk.”
“This is on the up and up. We need to get Judith out before Frank and I can come down hard on them about Lucy. Lucy’s their ace in the hole. I don’t want you involved in that. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find Lucy when we go in after Judith Locke.”
“If Hennessey’s got Lucy, she’s probably long gone, already far away in some other state. If they’ve got her, with her red hair and white skin, she’ll be a prized piece in the overseas sex trade.” She shook her head. “Is Frank going to get through this okay? He dotes on that child.”
“Frank’s trying to keep himself centered, but you know how emotional he is. If he loses it, he’ll take a lot of them out before they can put him down. You think your guys can understand a father’s grief, if it comes to a murder or two.”
“A murder or two, you say? Wow, Novak, just wow. That depends on the circumstances, and you know it. Make sure you whitewash anything you two do that’s illegal. I’m not throwing everything away for you again, huh uh, not this time.”
“No problem. I understand. I appreciate what you did last time. You saved lives and you saved my hide.”
“Yeah, I know. My hide took a severe flogging, though. I haven’t forgiven you, so don’t think I have.”
It got quiet. Novak knew she hadn’t and probably never would. He broke the silence. “Okay, I get it. I’ll be in touch. You got a new number?”
She told him her private cell phone number, and Novak committed it to memory, then turned and left her sitting alone on the sunny gallery. The birds continued to sing, the ornate iron fountain down in the grass continued to tinkle, and the cinnamon rolls still smelled good. He left by the front door and crossed the street and got into the Jeep. Despite her snarky attitude, Leslie Taylor would come through for him. She always did.
Chapter 9