Vito really needed to burn in hell. This was federal. International.
Brack called Nichols and told him what they found. And he suggested Nichols get here fast in case the bikers were already on their way. Before any motorcycles showed up, Nichols arrived with ten uniformed officers. Five minutes behind him, Darcy brought her film crew and set up camp. Brack knew that if the contents of all the crates were similar, this was big news.
What would become the largest find of illegal ivory outside of the Atlanta airport made the headline news. And Darcy got the scoop. Further, for what Brack and Tara thought would create good public awareness of the global crime—along with great fundraising possibilities for the local Piedmont Preserve—Darcy interviewed Tara on the spot. The crates of tusks stood behind them, an ominous backdrop. Nichols neglected to press any charges for breaking and entering. As far as he knew, Brack and Tara had found the door open.
With its newfound publicity, not to mention the public outrage that would reverberate around the globe for the next several months, the Piedmont Preserve needed Tara there. So directly after her filmed debut was finished, she took a cab back to her apartment, got her vehicle, then headed to work.
Well into the next day and more than two weeks from when Brack had arrived in town, Darcy and one of her administrative assistants at the network pored over a list of assets they’d compiled from Vito’s businesses. It was Darcy who found a listing for a home on Lake Lanier, about sixty miles northeast of the city.
When she met Brack at Mutt’s house later that night, she handed him the forty-five, which he’d left under the seat of Justin’s Range Rover.
Nichols called ten minutes after midnight.
“There’s nobody at Vito’s penthouse,” Nichols said. “Same with the one in West Paces Ferry.”
“What?” Brack said.
“Nobody. I got a judge to sign the warrants based on the disappearance of Cassie and the ivory we found. I have a dozen officers at each place. That’s two jurisdictions involved. And now I’m going to be on the short list for ball washer at the next Brave’s game.”
“Neither Cassie nor Regan were there?”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Nichols asked. “Nobody. Nada. Zilch. Both places are deserted.”
“Darcy just found out there’s another house on Lake Lanier.”
Nichols said, “There’s no way I can ask for another search warrant in yet another jurisdiction. Not after being zero for two, plus twenty-four officers on overtime.”
“You know what this means?” Brack asked.
“Yes. It means before I get fired I’ll have to clean up another one of your messes.”
“Don’t be so negative. You’ve already caught the man himself. Beat it out of him.” Brack wanted to slam the receiver, but that was before expensive iPhones.
Darcy said, “He can’t get a warrant?”
“No.”
She grabbed her handbag. “I guess it’s you and me.”
“You better call what’s-his-name.”
She stopped in mid-motion. “Excuse me?”
“Call Justin. Tell him where we’ll be.”
“I don’t work for you,” she said.
Brack said, “Get your uptight feminist panties out of the bunch they’re in and call your fiancé.” He walked past her toward the Mazda. Without turning to look at her, he continued, “I don’t like the guy one bit, but he deserves to know where you’ll be.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Cassie sat in a chair overlooking Lake Lanier and watched her sister. Two men who’d escorted them from the mansion in West Paces Ferry to here stayed in the room with them, both with guns in holsters under their arms.
Regan paced back and forth. “What would ever make you think I’d wanna come back wit you?”
On a table in front of Regan lay a small mirror with two lines of white powder and a small straw on it.
Cassie said, “Because you’re my sister.”
Regan stopped. “I was your sister. Now look at me. Thanks to your friends I run this whole thing.” She leaned over the mirror and did a line of the powder.
Cassie asked, “What do you mean?”
Regan raised her head. “Who you think got Vito to check into that fancy hotel suite with someone who looked like you? You know, someone short an’ fat.” She approached Cassie and put a hand on her shoulder. “An’ your friends come a runnin’. We wanted that dumb Marine to get what was comin’ to him. I had four men there with guns waiting for him.” She tilted her head back and sniffed the air as if to capture any escaping cocaine.
“You set up my friends?” Cassie realized for the first time that Regan was truly crazy. She’d tried to ignore all the signs before. But now crazy was looking straight at her.
Regan said, “My finest plan yet. I figured either way I won. This way though—ha! He put me in charge with nothin’ to stop me now.”
“Why’d you have Nina killed?” Cassie asked.
Her sister smiled. “You should have done a better job of pickin’ people you could trust.”
“She worked for you too?” Cassie felt nauseous.
“Let’s just say Nina had a little problem with oxycodone and needed someone to help her with it.”
Before Cassie could respond, something beeped.
Cassie saw one of the men check his phone, then show the message to his partner.
“What?” Regan asked.
At that moment, a young woman entered the room. Cassie recognized the sniveling little snit as Regan’s assistant. She’d been the one who let Cassie in Vito’s mansion and then locked her in a room for Regan.
The snit whispered something in Regan’s ear.
Cassie saw that whatever she said really upset Regan because her light-skinned face reddened.
To the men, Regan said, “You know what is going on?”
One of them nodded yes.
Regan yelled, “Then get over there and stop them! We already lost three stockyards. I ain’t gonna lose them tusks too.”
The man who’d nodded at her watched his phone. “It’s too late. I’m watching Pelton make a phone call on replay. The police will be there before we will. It’s over.”
Regan screamed, “We need that shipment!”
Cassie said, “Don’t look like you can handle it, you ask me.”
Regan looked at her sister. “What you say?”
“I said you’re out of your league.” Cassie folded her arms across her chest. “Thanks to you, Nina’s little children have no mother. Mutt’s in the hospital. Good people are risking their lives for me. And for you. You always been beautiful, but you sure are dumb. And you ain’t worth a pot to spit in. I’m ashamed you ever was my sister.”
“If that the case,” Regan said, “then I ain’t gonna worry about what I do next.”
Cassie realized, too late, that Regan really was crazy. Before she could react, Regan’s hands were at her throat. Cassie tried to fight her sister off, but she was in a rage. Cassie couldn’t breathe, the pressure on her windpipe was painful. She gasped for breath, but no air could get in. Her head pulsed. Then she blacked out.
Chapter Forty-Five
Wednesday, dusk
The sixty-mile trek to Lake Lanier gave Brack and Darcy time to plan. Assuming most of Vito’s employees would have skipped town after he got busted, Brack thought they had a chance of getting to Regan and Cassie.
The three-story residence stood on a five-acre plot with plenty of lake frontage. A black fence made of steel bars protected the immediate grounds. From what Brack could see through the fence, the house itself was surrounded by a tall row of holly bushes. He and Darcy stopped at the gate and he pressed a button on an intercom. Silence.
“Maybe no one is home,” she said.
“They’re here.” Brack could feel it.
He
got out of the Mazda and looked around. The sun was low in the sky, but wouldn’t set for another hour or so. The house had no lights on that he could see. The gate was chained, so he used his new bolt cutters to remove the lock, and the chain dropped to the ground. After swinging the gate open, he got back in the car and drove to the house. Since the property was in the name of Vito’s company, and Vito was currently detained by the Atlanta Police, anyone here—Brack, Darcy, even Regan—was trespassing.
Fifty feet short of the house, he stopped the car.
Darcy asked, “What’s wrong?”
“We’re sitting ducks in this car. We need to separate and spread out. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
She pulled a thirty-two-caliber pistol from her purse. “Yes. You want the front or the back?”
For some really stupid reason, a question came to mind. Not one he should be asking given the circumstances currently facing them, but another one. So he asked it. “What is PC industries?” The business she’d registered her car under.
She smiled. “PC stands for Pirate’s Cove.”
The Pirate’s Cove. His bar in Charleston. If she’d been using the name for the past year, Brack didn’t know what that meant. No time now to pursue the issue. He shook it off. “I have a feeling Regan has Cassie tied up in there. I’m not sure what her game plan is, but this ends today. I’ll take the front. Cover me until I can get inside. After you hear me fire my gun, head to the back.”
She nodded and stood off to the side, using a tree for cover.
He walked to the front door with the pry bar in one hand and his pistol in the other. At the last minute, he decided to announce his presence and used the pry bar to ring the bell.
Again, silence. Brack slipped his gun into his waistband and tried the door handle. Locked. He slid the pry bar into the door jamb, put some pressure on it, slid his hands to the end of the bar, and pulled with all his strength.
At first nothing happened. Then he heard a splinter. The door popped open and Brack fell inside the house. Two men with guns were waiting for him. Darcy fired four shots at them. They scattered—which gave Brack a chance to recover. He dropped the pry bar, grabbed his pistol, sighted one of them, and hit him with a chest shot at ten feet. The second gunman tried to aim at Brack. Brack got another shot off before the goon could. That goon fell too.
Sighting in the entryway from his position on the floor, Brack saw no one else at the moment. Only two large sets of stairs, one on each side of the room. He got to his feet and, aiming his pistol in front to shoot anything that moved that wasn’t Cassie, made his way through the first floor rooms to the back door. But instead of opening the back door and risking getting shot by Darcy, Brack unlocked it, then retraced his steps to the main staircase in the entryway.
The house was dead silent. And dark. The marble stairs uttered not a creak as he climbed them, pausing at the first landing where the stairs split. He kept the forty-five trained in front of him, aiming wherever he looked. The second-floor corridor was empty. He turned a corner. A flash of light lit up the darkness, followed by the explosion of a gun firing, followed by pain. He’d been hit.
Chapter Forty-Six
At the back of the house, Darcy tried the door. Unlocked. She guessed that Brack may have unlocked it for her and was now somewhere in the house. She moved from room to room until she found two downed men and a marble staircase that led to the upper floors. Another gunshot went off, this one sounding different from Brack’s cannon. A feeling of dread came over her. Creeping up the stairs, her pistol held in front of her, she made it to the second floor. As she turned a corner and entered the first room, she saw a young woman, arms cradled in front of her chest, crying.
Darcy kept her guard up. She aimed her pistol at the woman and said, “Who are you?”
The young woman swayed back and forth. “They’re all gone.”
“Who’s gone?”
“Regan. Cassie. They’re gone.”
“How long ago did they leave?”
Looking down, she said, “I don’t know.”
“Who are you?” Darcy asked.
“I work for Regan. I’m her assistant.”
The rear window was open, long curtains swaying in the breeze. Darcy sidled up to the opening to see if they might have climbed down some escape to the ground. No sign of anyone.
She heard a sound behind her and turned. The assistant and another woman Darcy swore was Regan rushed toward her. Before Darcy could react, the two of them pushed her out the window.
Darcy hit the bushes hard, their prickly leaves puncturing her skin in a million places. The stout shrubbery and its thick branches acted like a giant spring, compressing with the force of impact, then catapulting her up and onto the ground. She landed with a thud on her belly.
When she came to her senses the first thing she felt was really pissed off. The holly bushes had broken her fall, but she hurt all over from crashing into them.
The second thought that came to mind was to roll under the prickly things as much as possible to avoid being targeted from above.
Gingerly she got to her knees and assessed her condition. Aside from a pretty good-sized cut on her left arm and plenty of smaller pricks and cuts, plus a stiffness forming in her lower back and shoulder, she was better than she could have been. After all, she could have hit the hard ground.
Her pistol was nowhere to be seen.
Rising to her feet, she brushed twigs and dead leaves from her clothes and hair and used a napkin she had in her pocket to apply pressure to the cut on her arm. She knew what she needed to do next. She needed to finish with those two women.
As she crept around to the front of the house, unarmed, she realized she was acting exactly like Brack, wherever he was. He would be doing the very same thing—a frontal assault. Kick the door down. Shoot all the bad guys. Carry the damsel in distress over his shoulder like a barbarian. That’s what he was—a barbarian in god-awful cargo shorts.
She shook her head clear of Brack. He was a riddle wrapped in Samsonite luggage. Meaning baggage. The absolute wrong guy for her, she reminded herself for the millionth time since she’d met him. And he was inside this house. Maybe dead already.
The front door stood ajar. The two guards Brack had taken out still lay on the floor where she’d shot at them the first time. Darcy searched them for weapons and hit the jackpot. Each carried a nine-millimeter pistol. She slid one down the back of her walking shorts, found three extra clips, and put one in each of her pockets. Picking up the remaining pistol, she made sure the safety was off.
A figure appeared in the hall from behind the stairs.
Darcy raised the pistol, recognized Regan’s assistant with a gun in her hand, and shot her. The assistant’s pistol clanged to the floor and she collapsed to her knees, clutching her chest. Blood pooled through the front of her dress.
For a second, the shock in the woman’s wide-open eyes startled Darcy. Then the woman fell forward and lay still. Darcy stepped over the body, training the pistol in front of her the way she’d seen Brack do.
The large entryway of the home was interrupted only by the stairwell she’d previously climbed. Darcy took the stairs again, pivoting her sightline from side to side. On the first landing where the stairs split, she took the right side. One of the benefits of marble stairs that she registered was no creaking. The home, she had to admit, was gorgeous. But very cold, and not only in the temperature sense.
Reaching the second floor, from the top of the stairs, she saw light at the far end of the hall. It was coming from the only room with an open doorway.
Darcy took a step toward the room.
A voice behind her said, “You is the dumbest white girl I ever met.”
It had to be Regan.
In that moment, Darcy knew her life was over. Knew she’d made a terrible mistake. Unlike Brack, she did not
have nine lives. Maybe two. Three at the most. But they’d already been used up. Now she was dead.
Darcy said, “Where’s Cassie?”
A laugh. “My sister thought she could change me. Got me to move here and play like we was good friends. I hated that bitch. She come here talkin’ about how I needed to stop this foolishness and come home. I figured it wasn’t gonna stop ’cause her gettin’ beat up didn’t stop her neither. So I killed her.”
“You must be crazy,” Darcy said.
“Yeah? Well, I’m not the one who got pushed out a window and came back for more.”
She had a point.
The loud click of a cocking revolver hammer echoed across the marble.
This was it.
The explosion was both exciting and mortal. And loud. Darcy flinched. But she still stood. Uninjured. Regan must have missed. But she wouldn’t miss a second time.
Darcy dropped to the ground for a last attempt to save herself. She heard Regan give a bloodcurling scream, then something clanged to the ground followed by a dull thump.
Darcy turned to face her executioner and saw Regan on the floor.
Brack stood over Regan’s body, his forty-five in his hands. He slid the revolver away from her with his foot, a useless precaution. The way Regan had fallen, her eyes—still open—looked blankly toward Darcy.
Darcy felt no empathy. Regan had eagerly chosen her lifestyle. And she’d chosen to die trying to keep it. She must not have thought she’d actually depart this life. Darcy guessed the girl, and Vito for that matter, had underestimated Brack. A mistake even Darcy made from time to time. A lot of people did. And a lot of people had lost their lives because of it.
Just like Regan.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Brack turned to look at Darcy standing ten feet away staring at Regan’s dead body. This was the first time in a long time that he’d killed a woman. As with the others, he hadn’t been given an alternative. Because Regan had already chosen death for others, that’s what he’d given her.
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