by Hinze, Vicki
“Yeah,” Fitch said. “This is her second round. So far, we’re hopeful.”
“I’ll keep her in my prayers.”
“Thank you.”
Gabby didn’t have to ask if he believed the man about the threats against him and his family. It showed in every line in his face. “How did he get into the building?”
“He said he was picking up a personal item for you. Convinced security downstairs that you needed something you’d left at the office. He had ID, of course.” Fitch lifted his hands and let them drop to his sides. “I’m sorry, Blake. We all thought he was legit. He knew all about your dad and everything.”
She nodded. “Okay. Write it up for the boss and I’ll sign-off on it, too.”
Fitch looked relieved. “Thanks, Blake.”
“You were trying to help me.”
“Who was that guy? What’s he after?”
She checked her watch. Nearly midnight. “You don’t want to know.”
Her phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket and checked Caller ID. NOPD? “Gabby Blake.”
“Miss Blake, this is Sergeant Falco, NOPD. Are you driving?”
“What?”
“If you are driving, could you pull over and stop, please?”
“I’m not driving. I’m in my office at work.”
“Good.” He paused. “Miss Blake, I understand that your father recently passed away. Was anyone living in his home?”
“No.”
“Is anyone there this evening?”
“No. No one is there. Well, no one should be there.”
“Any pets in the home?”
“No.” What was going on? These weren’t idle questions.
“So as far as you know, the house is empty then?”
How bizarre. “Yes.”
“Good.” Relief etched his voice. “Could you meet officers at the property as soon as possible then, please?”
“At my father’s house? Why?” Her stomach knotted. “Sergeant Falco, what is this all about?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Miss Blake. “Your father’s house just exploded.”
Chapter Eight
Wednesday, December 9, 12:16 a.m.
The activity on her dad’s street surprised Gabby. Fire trucks lined up in front of his house—three of them, nose to end—and a handful of police cars and emergency responders stood parked on both sides, barricading the street. Gabby pulled in behind the lot of them near the next-door neighbor’s driveway and then exited her Mustang.
The acrid smell of soot and ash hung heavy in the air, burning her nose. She stopped at the foot of the driveway blocked by yellow crime-scene tape stretching around the perimeter of the property, and just stared at what had once been the house. Heaped rubble, bits and pieces of still glowing embers, littered the ground. A short stone stack likely part of the fireplace was the tallest structure to survive. Even fairly distant trees were scorched and singed, leafless and charred.
Agent Bain was speaking with Detective Marsh, the silver-haired homicide investigator. Marsh turned to talk with a uniformed officer, and she caught Agent Bain’s eye. He stepped over stretched water hoses spewing water and walked over to her. “Miss Blake.”
“What happened?”
“The fire marshal hasn’t made a determination yet but, from experience, it looks like an intentional explosion.”
“But why?” She didn’t get it. Why would they want to blow up the house now? She’d given them what they wanted.
Bain touched a hand to her arm and led her away from the cluster of people coming and going down the driveway. “Remember the confidential informant I mentioned to you earlier?”
She nodded.
“We heard from him again a short time ago. Actually, I was on the phone about him when I had the locals call you to meet me here.”
The streetwise and connected confidential informant. “He knew this would happen before the explosion occurred?”
Bain nodded. “Warned us to get you out of the house.”
“So, this was an intentional act.” She absorbed the gravity of that. “Medros ordered it?”
Again, Agent Bain nodded. “He considers you a loose end. Medros doesn’t tolerate loose ends.”
“So he wants me dead?” She asked, but it wasn’t a question really. Everyone in New Orleans who followed the news held strong suspicions of that about Medros. Witnesses disappearing, committing suicide, having fatal car accidents. That kind of thing can only happen so many times before it begins to stink to high heaven and points fingers.
Still Agent Bain answered her. “Yes, I’m sorry to say he does want you dead. Apparently, he’s concerned your father had the thumb drives and additional backup copies of his information on the premises.”
Or that she had backups. Gabby’s stomach sank. No help for it. She was obligated to tell Agent Bain the whole truth now. “There were. I had copies made of the thumb drives I gave you. Before you came to the house to get them, another man showed up pretending to be your partner. I let him in.”
“Pretending?”
She nodded. “Two had already been murdered in the house in the middle of the day. I didn’t want to be the third victim, so it was safest for me to give him the lie and let him pretend.” She paused and dragged in a settling breath. “I gave him the originals. They belong to him . . . Well, to his boss, after all.”
“How do you know he wasn’t my partner and he worked for Medros?”
“You’d have told me if your partner was coming instead of you. You didn’t. And the suspect pool isn’t that large. So far as I know, Medros is the only one in it.”
“Fair points,” Bain agreed. His expression relaxed. “Then what happened?”
“Then he left.”
Bain’s voice deepened. “Who was he?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, he told me he was your partner. I gave him a couple of openings to tell me his name, but he never said it.” She paused and thought back. “Well, he might have told me when he was on the porch, but if he did, the door muffled it and I didn’t catch it.”
“If you saw him again, would you recognize him?”
“Yes.” She hiked her handbag strap on her shoulder.
“Did this man in any way threaten you?”
“No.” Careful. Not too much. She couldn’t risk getting Fitch or his family hurt by telling Bain that part. “He just took the thumb drives and left. He said he had an emergency. I suppose he didn’t want to run into you, though that is total supposition.”
“Likely a good one,” Bain said. “If I show you a couple photos of known Medros associates, will you see if you recognize the man?”
“Yes.” Medros wanted her dead. How could she refuse to do anything that might hinder him and help keep her alive?
Agent Bain pulled out his phone. Detective Marsh joined them. “I’m sorry for your troubles, Miss Blake.”
“Thank you.” She nodded. Unlike Bain, there was a sincerity about Detective Marsh that appealed.
“The officers have been canvassing the neighbors,” he said.
“Did anyone see anything?” she asked. Toward the house, a spray of sparks lifted in the wind.
“No one yet,” the detective said. “Agent Bain has briefed me on events. Considering this,” he waved a hand toward the now-collapsed house, “I think you should seriously consider entering a protection program.”
Agent Bain frowned. “That’s a little premature and extreme, Marsh.”
He frowned at Bain. “For you maybe, but not for her. We both know we can’t protect her. Not from him.”
Him being Medros. Gabby’s stomach fluttered. Bain was looking to make his case. Not to protect her. Marsh seemed to have her safety in mind, and he clearly didn’t consider the police or the FBI able to provide for her safety.
Dipping his head, Marsh looked over at her. His silver hair caught the amber light from the streetlamp. “Where were you tonight?”
“Work. We had a s
ecurity breach. I had to go in and help secure the system.” And that was absolutely all she intended to say about it. Fitch’s activities and the goon intrusion couldn’t be shared. For her and Fitch, but also for Handel. A security provider being infiltrated? If that leaked—and it would—it could irreparably damage the company’s reputation. She wouldn’t have that on her shoulders as well. “Has anyone checked on Lucy’s family, Detective Marsh?”
“We have. No incidents occurring there.”
Further evidence Lucy was collateral damage, and this was all related to her father and now to Gabby. “Good.” Finding something to be grateful for wasn’t easy, but at least Lucy’s family appeared to be safe, and Gabby was grateful for that, and that there wasn’t more guilt heaping onto the considerable pile she’d already accumulated.
Agent Bain passed his phone. “Here are photos of a half dozen known Medros associates. Do any of them look like the man who came over here earlier today?”
Gabby paused to fix his image clearly in her mind. While she did, Bain told Marsh about the pretender and the thumb drives.
She reviewed the photos on Bain’s phone. One through four, nothing. Five—Five was him. Her instincts alerted her to keep that information to herself. She hesitated, heeded them, and then flipped on to the sixth photo. “Sorry.”
Bain’s disappointment etched the lines in his face deeper and his jaw tightened. “Can you describe the man?”
Knowing they couldn’t protect her and wanting to survive, she slightly changed her description. “Late forties maybe, over six feet, and a bad hairpiece—brown. His eyes were brown, too. His nose was wide, likely broken at some time, and his shoulders were really broad. He was a big man. Much bigger than my father. And fit.”
“You’re absolutely sure none of the photos I showed you are him?”
She hiked a shoulder, reluctant to dance around the truth again to avoid lying to him. Shadow Watcher would find out the man’s identity. Him, she trusted more than anyone else, and he did have her protection uppermost in mind.
“That’s it then.” Detective Marsh stepped in. “You can go home now, Miss Blake. We’ll finish up here. Do consider witness protection. In your situation, it offers you the best odds for remaining safe.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
Bain interjected. “You’ll have to testify, of course. If charges are brought based on the material on the drives.”
“Testify to what?” she asked, then reminded him and informed Marsh. “I’ve never seen the information on the drives, and I know nothing about my father’s business.”
Bain blinked hard. “Chain of custody on the drives.”
Bait, she thought. So Medros would think she knew more than she did, and she would lure him to Bain. “I see,” she said. Her instinctive feelings that she had better protect herself, that Bain was out to make his case at her expense, were proven in that comment. Anger flared inside her. Gabby stuffed it down. “No problem,” she said, watching Detective Marsh. He bit his lower lip but didn’t say anything. “You can arrange that, correct?”
“We can and will,” Bain assured her.
Marsh shot her a warning look.
“Great. I’ll sleep on the witness protection thing and let you know what I decide tomorrow.”
“No rush,” Bain assured her.
Detective Marsh snagged her attention. “The media’s arrived.” His gaze swerved to a Channel 3 truck pulling up to the curb across the street. “Let me walk you to your car, Miss Blake. Guide you through the gaggle.”
A cluster of people gathered on the sidewalk and street stood watching. Presuming they were neighbors, Gabby nodded. “Thank you.” She fell into step at his side.
When they were out of Bain’s earshot, Marsh dropped his voice to a whisper. “Don’t do it.”
She didn’t glance his way. “Witness protection?”
“Testify.” His gray hair curled at his ear. He swiped a hand over his mouth. “They’ll kill you, and Bain knows it. Medros and his people are untouchable, Gabby. If there’s a high place, he has friends in it. And I’m not talking about just New Orleans. Medros’s interests stretch far and wide and really high.”
“How high?”
“All the way high.” Marsh shook his head. “Don’t do it.”
She’d drawn the same conclusion. “What should I do, Detective?”
Marsh paused at the door of her Mustang. “If you were my daughter, I’d tell you to vanish. Tonight. Just go.” He looked around, then spoke softly. “These people don’t stop coming, Gabby. They’ll never stop coming. And they could be anyone.”
Medros would likely hire an outsider. Someone distant and unconnected. Marsh’s warning was sincere and offered out of concern for her. That touched her. “Thank you.”
“Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Don’t contact anyone here once you’ve left. Ditch your phone, close your accounts—whatever you can do tonight—and start fresh far, far away.”
“I could remind you that you’re the police and you’re supposed to protect me from criminals like these.”
“If I could, I would. But I can’t protect you against them. No one can. I told you, they’re untouchable.” His tone was frank and sober. “I’m being realistic and honest. Take it for what it’s worth. I am trying to give you the best advice I’ve got for you to stay alive.”
She measured the man and saw no conflict between his words and what was in his eyes. Marsh was doing his best. “Thank you, Detective Marsh.” She meant it sincerely.
He nodded and opened her car door. “You’re not safe at the apartment, either, Gabby. Actually, you’re not safe so long as you’re anywhere they’d expect you to be.”
“I understand.” In a rare moment of open honesty, she let him see the truth in her eyes. Relief washed through his, and she closed the door, mouthed a final silent “Thank you” and then followed his hand-signals to leave the tangle of cars and headed out of her father’s neighborhood for the last time.
Two blocks away, she formulated a plan and checked her watch. Nearly two in the morning. Well, Shadow Watcher had offered to help, and he had said “anytime.” She was in way over her head and smart enough to know it. She needed serious, competent help. In this minefield, serious, competent help she could trust.
She pulled over at an all-night grocery store and slid into a parking slot between two trucks, then grabbed her phone and texted Shadow Watcher.
In her crazy life, the irony of most trusting a man whose name she didn’t know wasn’t lost on her. But considering the majority of those who did know her name were out to kill her, contacting him didn’t seem crazy at all. It seemed sensible and sane.
“Help. I need you.” She sent the text.
His response was immediate. “What’s wrong?”
“Complicated. Can I phone you?”
“Yes. Burner?”
Did she have a burner phone? She did not. She looked up at the all-night grocery store. “Fifteen minutes.”
“Safe?”
“At the moment, I think so.”
“Fifteen.”
She bought a burner phone, returned to the car, then activated it and called Shadow Watcher. Her stomach was in knots. Male? Female? She had no idea what to expect.
“Hello.”
Deep, husky voice. Definitely male. “It’s me.”
“What’s going on?”
She quickly filled him in on events from Bain’s visit to her apartment to Medros’s man pretending to be Bain, then Bain getting the copies of the thumb drives. She relayed details of the breach at work by a man threatening Fitch, to her father’s house exploding. Then she told Shadow Watcher about meeting Agent Bain and Detective Marsh at what had been her father’s house, and what each of them had told her. When she’d relayed all she could remember, she added, “I was on my way back toward the apartment, to throw off anyone who might be following, but I can’t go back there.”
“Is anyone following you?”
<
br /> “I haven’t seen anyone, and I’ve been looking.”
“Wise to stay away from the apartment,” Shadow Watcher said. “Definitely shouldn’t go back. I hate it that you can’t collect personal items.”
“It’s just stuff,” she said. “Well, except for a book of handmade soap recipes that belonged to my grandmother. It’s all I have of her.”
“Nothing of your mother or father’s?”
“No. Just the soap book.” An empty ache crept through Gabby’s chest. Silly, she supposed. She’d never met her grandmother, but she’d treasured that book. Long aspired to make every one of her soaps. Those she had made, she had loved. The lotions and oils, too.
Shadow Watcher paused, then changed the subject. “You realize, of course, Medros learned about the thumb drives way too fast.”
“He did,” she agreed. “I figure he tapped the house phone or bugged the house itself.”
“Or Agent Bain told him.” Shadow Watcher grunted. “Actually, my money is on Bain. He’s all about making his case, and he indirectly contacted you about the explosion, too. Not Marsh.”
“That’s right.”
“Odd. I can see a cop on the desk catching the call and phoning Marsh, but phoning the FBI? That should have taken longer.”
“Bain said a CI contacted them. While on the phone about him, Bain had the local call me. A Sergeant Falco, if memory serves.”
“So, Bain knew about the explosion before the locals did?”
“That’s my understanding. The CI warned him to get me out of the house.” She remembered the photos. “Bain also showed me some photos of known Medros associates. The man who pretended to be Bain was in them.”
“Did you tell Bain that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
He sighed relief. “Give me a brief description. I’ll dig and send my findings to see if we can peg him.”
She reeled off a description of the man. “The guy who pretended to be Bain’s partner, Medros’s guy, asked me if I knew Rogan Gregos.”
“Do you?”
“No, I don’t,” she said. “He wanted to know if Rogan Gregos had been one of my father’s clients or if they’d had a childhood relationship.”