by Mallory Kane
They climaxed together. After a few moments of languid touching and nibbling in the afterglow, Rick lay beside her and pulled her close. She lay with her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest, and felt so safe and warm and loved that she was almost too afraid to believe it.
After a while, despite her longing to lie awake in his arms as long as she possibly could, she fell asleep.
*
When Lusinda awoke the next morning, she was alone in the bed. She sat up, her heart beating painfully in her chest. Rick was gone. Then she saw a note on the nightstand.
It read, Gone to B’s for noon shift. Go home and rest. Stay away from B’s. He’d signed it with an expansive R.
Lusinda didn’t know whether to be insulted because he hadn’t woken her before he left and had reverted back to ordering her around, or just thrilled that he’d left her a note. She took a quick shower, but before she finished dressing she got a phone call. The number was blocked.
“Hello, Ms. Sin Stone? This is Anastase Beauregard. I wonder if I could see you in my office at Beauregard’s at eleven-thirty. I believe you know where it is, since you have worked here.”
Lusinda felt as though she’d been slammed in the belly with a bowling ball. Beau wanted to see her? How could she refuse? She couldn’t.
“Of course, Mister Beauregard,” she said. “I’ll be there. How do I find your office?”
“I’ll send a car.”
“You don’t need to—”
“Goodbye,” he said, then hung up.
“…send anyone,” she muttered. She finished dressing, putting on the red leather skirt and black long-sleeved shirt. She was waiting on the sidewalk when the car arrived. The driver got out and opened the rear door for her. When they arrived at Beauregard’s, he did it again, but instead of escorting her through the front door of the club, he took her to a side door and opened it with a key.
“Here you are, ma’am,” he said politely, standing back for her to enter. “First door on your left.”
The door was heavy and ornate. Lusinda knocked on it, but no one answered, so she turned the handle and opened it. The room was large, with a poker table in the center, a beautiful polished wood bar, and an exit door on one side and a sofa, three easy chairs, and another ornate door on the other. Lusinda crossed the room and knocked on the second door.
“Come in.”
Lusinda jumped. She hadn’t expected anyone to answer her knock. Her hands shook as she turned the handle and peered into the room, which was dark except for a banker’s lamp on the large desk.
“Ms. Stone.” The voice belonged to a very large man who was sitting behind the desk. He tipped the glass shade of the lamp until the light shone on her, leaving him in shadow. The bowling ball slammed into her belly again, leaving her shaky and nauseated. She wanted to turn and run.
“M-mister Beauregard?” She squinted and held up a hand to block the glare.
“Oui,” he said. He tilted the lampshade back into position. “You are the waitress who almost died with my dear friend Carlos.”
“Yes,” Lusinda said, the word catching in her throat. She hadn’t expected this. She’d been prepared for him to tell her she was fired, or that she still had her job. She’d even figured he might want to talk to her about Rick. But Carlos? She tried to see past the lamp’s light, to study his face, but it was still in shadow.
“Have you recovered from your experience?”
“I’m fine, thank you. Carlos was your friend?”
“Yes. For many years. Sit. Please.”
Lusinda sat. Beau had a hint of the rhythmic, pleasant accent of the Cajun French, but as nice as he seemed, she suspected that he could have her escorted to the street or shot right there in his office and it would be all the same to him. In fact, if even half of what she’d heard about Beau was true, she could disappear and no one would ever know what happened to her. “Poor Carlos. He was a good man. We had occasion to work together many times. He was also a friend of yours?”
“I didn’t know him very well, but he was the partner of Jack Adams, the attorney.” She could barely discern Beau’s features, but not well enough to see his reaction to Jack Adams’s name.
“Ah, yes. Jack Adams. He died of an overdose of heroin, I heard. A great tragedy. It is always sad to lose someone whose calling is to aid children.”
“Mister Beauregard, you wanted to see me about something?”
“Yes, I did. I know that you worked here for several weeks prior to the incident with Carlos. I also know that you are a police officer.”
The timbre of his voice changed.
Searing panic flooded Lusinda. “I don’t understand. I’m not—Why would you think that?”
“Please don’t try to deny it. I’ve been in this business for a long time. I wouldn’t still be alive if I was not very good at reading people. It’s almost impossible for an officer to leave behind the training, the habits and the reactions that make him—or her—a good officer. Those things that make an officer good at their job also make them easy to identify.”
“I swear to you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was hoping you called me in to give me my job back.”
“Maybe it would help if I called you Officer Johnston, or Lusinda.”
Lusinda was struck dumb. He knew her real name. She stared at Beau’s glittering eyes, feeling the terror rising to the back of her throat like an un-uttered scream. “H-how?” was all she could manage.
“Mine is not a two-bit organization. I probably should be cautious about telling you my secrets. On the other hand, there won’t be anyone for you to tell. I have a lot of resources and I know how to use them to best effect. I have cameras everywhere. Directly above the computer where you enter your orders and tips, behind the bar, in the storeroom and dozens of other places.” He smiled, his bulging cheeks shiny in the lamplight. “I have very specialized staff who spend a lot of time doing background checks on employees. They have instructions to run facial-matching software on every employee and DNA matching if possible.”
Beau tilted the lampshade again, and Lusinda’s hand shot up automatically to shield her eyes. “I hope I’m not boring you with all this technical information,” he said.
All Lusinda could do was wince at the harsh light. She couldn’t speak. She was barely holding in the screams. A small corner of her brain wondered if she could take Beau, but she was sure there was a third person in the room. She’d either heard or sensed him. He was probably a bodyguard and was almost certainly armed.
“Do you see where I’m going with this?” Beau asked, and when she didn’t answer, he barked, “Do you?”
He tilted the lampshade back down and picked up a piece of paper from his desk. “This.” He held it out. “Take it.”
She reached out and took the sheet of paper. It was barely discernible in the light of the lamp, but she could tell that it was a printout of two photos of her. She didn’t recognize the one on the left, but the photo on the right was from her personnel file at the Baton Rouge Police Department.
“Now do you see?” Beau’s tone was harsh and impatient. “Didn’t I tell you my staff is very specialized?”
Lusinda figured she wasn’t going to survive this day, but if she did, she wanted to absorb as much information as possible about Beau’s operation. She cleared her throat and hoped she could talk. “You do this on everybody?”
She saw Beau’s benign, disturbing smile. “Yes, I do.”
“So you can tell me about Richard Easton?”
The smile faded. “Your boyfriend? Absolutely. But why? Do you know something about him?”
She shook her head. “That’s the problem.” She had no reason to believe that she would live through this day. Based on what Beau had just told her, Rick was probably doomed as well. So, she decided to take a risk that could cost her and Rick everything. She owed it to the people who had died from the bad dope. Especially Carlos. If she hadn’t completely lost her professional in
tegrity and gotten involved with Rick, Carlos might still be alive.
She took a deep breath. “I can’t figure Rick out. One minute I think he’s working for you. The next minute I think he’s working for T-Gros.” She waited. If Beau knew that Rick was a cop, it was all over. But if he didn’t…
“Your goal is to figure him out?”
She did her best to look frightened but determined as she nodded. It wasn’t a huge stretch.
“I don’t suppose it will hurt to tell you what I know. My people seem to have run into a dead end with him. He doesn’t appear to be from here. We have feelers out in Chicago, but nothing has been confirmed yet. But I have run out of time and patience. I need to take action before things get out of hand. Your boyfriend works for T-Gros Grossman.”
“What?” Lusinda spoke before she could stop herself.
Beau laughed. “Not what you expected? Yes. He’s been spying on me for that little rat. So, Officer Johnston, have you met Mr. Grossman?”
“No.”
“Would you like to take a ride out to his club in Metairie? He’s there this afternoon.”
She shook her head.
“Too bad. You’re going anyway.” He gave a short nod and the man Lusinda had known was waiting in the dark came forward.
“Goodbye, Officer Johnston. It’s been nice talking to you.”
The bodyguard took her arm and pulled her up out of the chair. “Wait,” she said.
Beau lifted his hand. “Let me make something clear, Officer. If you show the slightest hesitation about getting into the car outside, if you sneeze or toss your hair or make a gesture, no matter how vague, something very bad will happen to your friend Nina. I know you wouldn’t want that. She’s has a mother who is very ill. It would be a shame for something to happen to her mother or her, now wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, fine. Please don’t hurt Nina.”
“It’s up to you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Rick was furious with himself. He’d lectured himself about staying away from Sin. He should have known that going to her apartment was a bad idea, especially when he was already feeling a migraine headache building in his temples.
Damn her. Damn her for getting under his skin and staying there. Not that it was her fault. He’d gone willingly. He’d let her care for him when the migraine hit. He’d even asked her to stay beside him in the bed. Of course, he hadn’t expected the headache to go away, since he was without his medication.
But for some reason the headache had faded on its own. When Rick had woken and seen Sin lying there next to him, he’d felt as though he was home. Making love with her in the pallid glow of predawn was the most sensual, erotic thing he’d ever done. And the stupidest.
He’d left her that curt note because he didn’t trust himself to write anything more. He couldn’t let himself think about her or how good they were together. The two of them would never work. He was too screwed up, too set in his ways. He just hoped he could let her down easy. He’d never had a case he couldn’t crack, a tail he couldn’t spot or a woman he couldn’t get with a few well-chosen compliments, or blow off with an insult or two. And he had never broken his own code of honor. He’d never slept with a woman while on an undercover assignment. Until now.
But he’d never met anyone like her. He knew what the difference was, or at least one of the differences. Technically, to her he wasn’t undercover. She did not think he was someone he was not. She knew him, knew who he really was, knew just about all there was to know about him. So what was his problem?
Okay, that was an easy question. His problem with her was that she’d betrayed him. In this case, she’d been the deceptive one and he’d been the innocent. He almost laughed at the notion of him being the innocent in any situation.
“What’s so funny?” Nina asked, looking up from the computer screen.
“Nothing, why?” he responded. Her order popped up. He started mixing it.
“You were smiling. I’d have thought you might be more upset after your little lover’s spat with Sin.”
He frowned. “We’re not lovers.”
Nina harrumphed. “Please. The two of you crackle when you’re within a few feet of each other. So don’t tell me you haven’t—” She made an unmistakable gesture. “I saw her outside after y’all talked. She looked awful. I heard she could have died from that drug, so how come you made her cry?”
He shrugged.
“Nice,” Nina responded sarcastically. “That’s what a girl likes to hear.”
She picked up her tray and walked to the front, then turned around. “Hey, Rick,” she called, gesturing toward the windows. “There she is now. About to get into a car.”
Rick looked. Sin was standing next to a black town car. Her back was stiff and her head was down. Rick recognized one of Beau’s security men standing with her. He opened the rear door for her.
What the hell? Why was Sin getting into one of Beau’s cars? There was no good answer to that. “I’ll be right back,” he said, then jumped the bar and headed out the front door. By the time he got out there, a security guy was folding himself into the other side of the rear seat. There were two cabs behind the town car, waiting to get by. One of the cabbies blew his horn.
Rick pushed through the front doors in time to see the vanity plate on the back of the car.
He ran to the cab that had been honking and jumped inside. He was already dialing his phone, calling Police Dispatch. “I’m a detective,” he said to the cabbie. “Can you keep up with that town car that just cut you off?”
“Yes, sir!” the cabbie replied and peeled away from the curb.
“This is Detective Rick Easterling,” he said when the dispatcher answered. He kept it official for the police radio, even though he recognized her voice. Her name was Mo, for Maureen, Green. She was a single mom with a toddler. “Trace a vanity plate for me. It’s ABEAU36. It just left Beauregard’s. Can you GPS it?” He knew that the department had tracers on some of Beau’s cars. He prayed that this was one of them. The cabbie was doing his best to keep up with the town car, but it had over a block’s head start.
“I’ve got it,” Mo said. He could hear her typing on the keyboard. “Currently heading west on Tulane Avenue.”
“West on Tulane,” he said aloud for the cabbie as he put the phone on speaker. “Can you track it, Mo?” he asked.
“Just a moment, please.” He heard other dispatchers in the background and heard Mo taking calls and requests from other officers. “Rick, I can patch your phone in so you can see the car’s route.” Rick heard his phone ping. “Got it. Easterling out.” He called out street names to the cabbie as the blue arrow on his screen moved and turned. Looking through the windshield, he saw that they were gaining on the car. “Good job,” he said. “Take Veterans Boulevard. Hang back enough that he doesn’t spot us.”
When the town car slowed down, Rick cursed. He knew where they were going. He didn’t know why, but the answer couldn’t be good. “Hold back,” he said to the cabbie. “They’re stopping at Grossman’s Cocktail Bar. Stop here, and thanks.”
He paid the driver and gave him a large tip, then headed on foot toward Grossman’s. He approached the large white-pillared building with caution. He didn’t know a lot about the club, but he knew that the bar and the dance floor were downstairs and that there were offices and storage rooms upstairs. A quick search for its website told him that the club didn’t open for business until seven o’clock.
As he got closer, he saw two men standing outside the entrance to the club. They looked familiar, but it was possible that security guards everywhere in New Orleans, not just at Beauregard’s, were essentially FBI Agent or Secret Service Agent clones. Their dark suits, pockets heavy on one side, paired with their occasional unconscious touching of their fingers to their ears were classic.
Once he was close enough to make out their faces, he recognized the one who’d put Sin into the car. What the hell? Were Beau and T-Gross working toget
her?
Knowing the guards were armed, Rick circled round the back of the building, where a tall fence separated the manicured grounds of the club from the untended overgrown vacant lot on the other side. He surveyed the area, but there were very few buildings nearby with windows that opened in that direction. He was relatively well hidden as long as he was careful.
He sneaked up to the fence and parted the tall grass so he could see the back of the building. There was a guard on this side, too. What the hell was going on in there that required armed guards both inside and outside?
He couldn’t see inside from his vantage point, so he sneaked around to get a better view of what was going on inside. If he couldn’t see from behind the fence, he’d have to come up with another plan, because one way or another, he would find Sin.
Once he finally got into place and settled just to the right of center, so his line of sight was not obscured by the fountain on the back terrace, he was able to see inside the large, uncovered casement windows and French doors. He didn’t have binoculars, so he had to make do with his naked eye.
From what he could see, the room beyond the windows was large, with pale wood or tile floors, white walls and very sparsely furnished. It could be the dance room. The shapes and shadows indicated that there could be a staircase, probably spiral, toward the back.
But as soon as his eyes focused on the occupants of the room, panic churned in his stomach and a surge of adrenaline hit his chest with the impact of a bullet. He saw Sin’s red skirt. In the pale neutrals of the room, that skirt stood out like a beacon. She was sitting in a chair, and from his vantage point, it looked as though her hands were tied behind her back. He saw the bulk and the pale face of T-Gros Grossman, who also appeared to be tied up. Grossman struggled and Rick watched as a man stalked over to him and stuffed a gag into his mouth and taped it with duct tape.
Rick had to get closer. He surveyed the grounds. About twelve feet inside the fence to the west was a large outbuilding, probably for mowers, blowers and other tools and supplies for maintaining the grounds. He wouldn’t be able to see Sin and T-Gros from there but it was the only way he could see that would put him inside the fence without being seen. From what he could tell, nobody was guarding that side. He noticed a decorative fence that hid it from view.