Love Inspired Suspense June 2014 Bundle 2 of 2: Forced Alliance\Out for Justice\No Place to Run (14 page)

“I called a friend who works as a chef in one of my favorite restaurants.” He pointed to the counter. “We have pecan-crusted trout and a side salad, too.”

Josie let out a yelp of joy, then quickly dived into the fish, taking a nibble with a low moan of appreciation. “You do have connections.” Then she turned FBI again. “This chef, can we trust him?”

“Yes. He owes me.”

She figured a lot of people owed him, and she did not want to ask why. “And dessert?”

“Of course. Caramel crème brûlée.”

She had to hold on to the shimmering steel counter. “I could stay with you forever just based on the food.”

When she realized what she'd said, Josie looked up at him there across the counter from her, her mouth opening in shock and awareness.

Before she could change her comment to something more reasonable and not so adoring, Connor stalked around the long counter and pulled her into his arms.

The kiss was demanding and sweet, a contradiction, just like the man. He pulled her hair through his hands and pressed his palms against her head. “Josie...”

Josie lifted her lips away, her gaze holding his. “We can't do this, Connor. We can't—”

“Says who? Is there some rule in the FBI handbook about this?”

She searched for her next breath. “Lots of rules, and we're breaking all of them.”

“I don't care.”

“But I do.”

She backed up, pushed at her tousled hair. “I do and I'm sorry.”

“What if I wasn't me and you weren't FBI?”

“Things might be different then.”

He moved away, leaned back against the deep sink. “I've changed, Josie. I'm on the right side of the law now. I pray for forgiveness but I want acceptance.” Shoving off the sink counter, he started covering the food. “I long for you to...accept me. I've tried to be honest with you. Do you hear me? This is not one of my cons.”

Josie wanted to believe that. But they had so much between them. “We have a job to do, Connor. You're all tied up in this case. I'm your handler, the person you have to report back to, the person who's supposed to watch out for you and advise you and protect you. Nothing about this makes any sense because you don't have any information and neither do I.”

“You think I'm playing you, right? You think I'm faking all of this and that I'm still in cahoots with Armond?”

“Yes,” she said, wishing she didn't think that way. “I trust you with my life, but I can't trust you to tell me the truth.”

He hit a hand on the counter, jarring the crystal goblets sitting on a silver tray. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me everything you can remember about being on the inside of Armond's organization. We can't keep running.”

She let go of the counter and stared out the big square windows covering one wall. The city twinkled around them and the sound of music echoed out into the night, a lone saxophone playing. Probably Harold down at the Café du Monde. The Mississippi wrapped like a dark velvet blanket through the city on one side, while the St. Louis Cathedral shone in an abiding light off to the left.

This was the kind of night that could mess with a woman's head. The soft, soulful music drifting up into the sparkling stars, the river following the tide, the food, this room, this man. That kiss.

She turned to find Connor staring at her, his eyes a deep, burning blue. “I think you're the one who needs to be honest, Agent Gilbert. I can feel how you feel when you're in my arms, so you can't hide that. But you need to be honest with me and you need to be honest with yourself.”

“What could I possibly be hiding?”

“Everything,” he said. Then he turned and went back up to the loft.

Josie wanted to call out to him to come back. Instead, she put the tempting shrimp back in the refrigerator. Then she moved closer to the window and wondered who out there wanted both of them dead.

And she also wondered if she'd ever know the real Connor Randall.

SIXTEEN

H
er dreams were mixed in swirls of clinging tropical vines and dark raging waters twisted into moments of running for her life through the swamp. She tried to move her legs, but thick brown mud held her down, pulling her closer and closer to a black spinning hole. She had to get through the swamp, but she couldn't pull herself up to run to the place where she knew she'd be safe. Connor was waiting there. Waiting for her, his hand outstretched.

“Josie?”

She came awake, the sound of his voice calling to her in her dream merging with his gentle whisper.

He was standing over her with coffee and leftover crème brûlée. “I thought you might be hungry.”

Josie sat up and looked for her watch. Seven o'clock on Sunday morning. Had it really been only a few days since this nightmare had begun?

She took the coffee but shook her head at the rich, creamy concoction in the ramekin dish. “Thank you.”

“I can make toast.”

She drank the coffee, willing herself to wake up. “I'm fine. Not hungry.” Setting the cup on the glass side table, she whirled off the bed and stood. “I need to get to work. I want to talk to Louis Armond.”

“I'm going with you.”

She glared up at Connor, shaking her head again. He looked sleep-tossed, too. His dark hair was mushed and messy but his eyes seemed to see everything she needed to hide. “No. You need to stay here and stay out of sight. I have to do this on my own, Connor.”

He shoved the tray onto the bed and followed her as she paced in front of the window. “Why? Because you don't trust me? Because I withheld information? Josie, that stuff about the other son is just a hunch.”

“We've gone out on less,” she retorted. “I wanted to trust you and believe you and cheer you on, but you should have divulged everything up front. Everything. That's how I do my job. I get all the facts and then I use those facts to make a case. I've got nothing, Connor. Nothing.”

He turned her to face him. “It's too dangerous for you to go anywhere alone. Don't you see? Whoever this is wants me dead and...because you've been seen with me and they know you're FBI, they want you dead, too.”

“I'm always on someone's list,” she retorted. “I can get Armond to talk, to tell us what was so urgent the night he called you to meet him. I should have had first crack at him anyway, but I abided by my supervisor's orders.”

“What makes you think he'll talk to you?”

“I don't know. Maybe because I tried to help him. Maybe because deep down, he respects you?”

“And that matters to you?”

She couldn't deny her feelings but she could put up a wall to protect herself. “Keeping you safe and alive matters to me because it's my job. But you need to be completely honest with me, and...you weren't. I can't get past that.” She set down her empty coffee cup and started toward the bathroom. “I'm going to headquarters to file my reports and then I'm going to call Sherwood to ask him to take me to see Armond.”

“Without me?”

“Yes.” She forced herself to ignore the wounded expression in his eyes. “Yes. You can stay here and think back over everything, maybe do more digging on anything that might trigger a memory regarding Armond and his secrets.”

“How will you get there?”

She certainly wouldn't hitch a ride in Armond's souped-up car. “I'll call an FBI escort. No problem.”

His expression hardened while he stood there staring at her. “Why are you so stubborn?”

“This has nothing to do with me being stubborn,” she replied. “We need some time apart, Connor. This situation has brought us together, but if I can't count on you, then I need to investigate this for myself.”

“I thought we were a team.”

“You thought wrong.” She hated seeing him like this—defeated, dangerous—but she had to guard her own heart, and her job. “I'm just the person who's supposed to keep you alive.”

“For information, you mean. For the FBI—at your beck and call?”

“Isn't that what you signed up for?”

He nodded, stared out the window. “Yep, I guess so. I sure didn't sign up for this—worrying about you, trying to show you I care, trying to convince you to work with me and not against me.”

“I could say the same about you.”

She waited for him to leave so she could get ready. But before he did, she turned back. “A young girl died. In Dallas. She was one of my informants, and she was terrified about going in wearing a wire. I told her I'd keep her safe. We set up a sting, but we didn't know that a drug dealer had his own informants in the neighborhood. They found out she'd been spying and they tortured her and murdered her. Her body was there when we raided their meth lab. They were all gone, but they left me a definite message.”

Josie sucked in a breath and leaned her head against the bathroom wall. “This job is not easy, but I'd never seen anything like that. It was horrible, and for a while I think I lost my grip on reality.” She lifted her head to stare over at him. “Whether you've gone legit or not, I can't have your death on my head. Not after what I've just been through. I can't have you lying or withholding information, either. I need to know every thread, every thought, every move, so I can make the right call.”

The look of compassion in his eyes held her. “Josie, I know how this works. I'm always careful. I want to do the right thing, too.”

“We all want to do the right thing,” she replied. “But sometimes, even that is not enough. I just need you to be honest with me. That's what I need right now.”

“I'm not schooled in being honest,” he admitted, his head down. “You're...you're new territory.” He started toward her, then stopped. “Maybe I'm waiting for the right time, a time when
I
know I can trust
you.
”

“We befriend and betray in this job,” she said. “Neither of us can pin our hopes on the future, Connor. We can only rely on each other right now, in the moment.”

Connor didn't speak. He came over to her and pulled her into his arms. “I'm not a teenager, Josie. I've been at this for most of my life. You can rely on me, no matter what.”

She stepped back to touch a hand to his face. “But aren't you tired? Aren't you weary of always having to be on the run, of always looking back to make sure you won't wind up dead in a ditch or left in pieces in the swamp?”

Connor tugged her close again. “I'm completely weary. I want to be the kind of man my sister can respect and admire. I want you to understand me and know I'll always have your back. I want to be a faithful, good man.”

“You don't have to prove anything to me,” she said, her heart bursting with a feeling she couldn't put a name to. “You only need to prove it to yourself. You have to want it badly enough to make it happen, and that means you have to be open with me.”

“I'm trying to come clean,” he said, frustration deepening his words. “I need to see this through to the end, this thing with Armond.”

“And I need you to give me some space,” she replied. “Just for today, just for a little while. I'll get in touch with you as soon as I know something.”

* * *

Connor didn't believe her. She was angry and disillusioned, and in her mind, he'd failed her. And maybe she was right. He had failed to be completely honest with her, but he had no way of proving his suspicions regarding Armond and the possibility of a secret son. He just went with his gut on these things.

But this time, his gut instincts weren't helping very much.

Except when it came to Josie. He couldn't let her finish this without him. He had a vested interest in ending Armond's long-standing criminal reign but he had another, more important reason, too.

He had to protect Josie, at all costs.

So while he waited for her to get dressed, he sat with another cup of coffee and went back over his notes. Had he seen anything unusual while working with Armond? Anything that could give them a hint on what the man had wanted to tell him that night? Had Armond been ready to turn or had he been trying to warn Connor?

He thought about his time embedded at the Armond mansion. He'd made his way into that shady world by pretending to be a crooked art dealer. He'd conned Armond by fencing several rare pieces—coins, paintings and relics that belonged in museums or with the descendants of the original owners.

He'd helped Armond find the Benoits and was as surprised as everyone else when Armond's papers proved that he did indeed own the three priceless paintings. Primitives of the early Acadians in Louisiana, mixed in with a dreamy kind of real arcadia.

What else?

Pictures. He'd taken pictures, mostly of documents and mostly with a tiny camera that he hid away whenever he had to pass through scanners or stand through being frisked. Most of the pictures hadn't yielded anything concrete. But he had turned in a few to the FBI so they could slowly build a case against Armond.

Connor grabbed his laptop and pulled up the picture files he'd saved from the originals. Just in case. He couldn't think of a better time to revisit those shots. Maybe he'd find something to give him a clue. He planned to go after Josie, but he wanted to take something significant with him when he did.

* * *

Josie called Sherwood from her bedroom to let him know she was on her way to the office.

“Gilbert, it's Sunday. You're supposed to be resting until tomorrow.”

“I'm fine, sir. Just going into the office to file some reports from my notes.” She peeked through the bedroom door to see where Connor was. Still across the big open room, poring over files. “I called for a car. I needed a ride.”

“Okay, so that's good. Where's your sidekick?”

“He's going to stay at his apartment. I wanted some time alone to think this through.”

“Understandable. Should I put a man on him, just to ease your mind? If you tell me where you are...”

“He's locked in tight. Good security. And he can take care of himself.”

“So you've seen the real Connor Randall at last?”

Surprised at the venomous tone of that observation, Josie cleared her throat. “I've seen enough to know he's caught up in something he'd like to be done with. But...I can't quite trust him. Anyway, I'll check on him once I'm done at the office. Oh, and the reason I called. I need to speak to Armond.”

“Negative.” Sherwood let out a breath. “I told you he's not talking, and his location is classified for his safety and for yours. He's doing fine. Recovering from his wounds. I think by the time he's able to go home, he'll also be ready to cop a plea and give us anything we want.”

“And what about Lou and Vanessa?” She wanted to question both of them again, too.

“They're in town at the Armond apartment. We've got guards watching them day and night.”

“Have they seen Armond?”

“Briefly. Look, I've got to go, but you go in and get your work caught up. Let me handle Armond.”

Josie wasn't going away that easily. “If you just give me five minutes with him, I might be able—”

“No, Gilbert. And that's an order.”

The call ended before she could respond. She didn't even get to tell him about Connor's suspicions regarding the other son.

“What is going on?” she mumbled, her mind whirling with unanswered questions. She'd take care of her files, pull up more background information and ask around.

But one question stood out in her mind. Why was Sherwood keeping her away from Armond?

* * *

Connor waited for Josie to leave. He pretended to be busy, so he scrolled through his file of secret pictures. No one knew he had these, not even the FBI. But then, there'd been nothing of interest in this file, and no one other than the FBI knew he lived in this dilapidated old warehouse. He'd only kept the pictures as insurance in case he ever needed to get reacquainted with all things Armond. He'd kept the laptop hidden in a small space behind a mock cabinet. Not even the cleaning lady knew the files were here.

Josie emerged, fresh-faced and buttoned up. “I called another agent. He'll park down the street two blocks so he won't bring attention to your apartment.”

Connor nodded. “Thanks. This place is pretty hidden and I'd like to keep it that way.”

She nodded. “I'm going. I'll call in after I get there.”

“Good idea.” He got up and followed her to the elevator door. “Be careful, Gilbert. Call me with a fail-safe if you need me.”

“Easter Bunny?” Her smile was full of sarcasm.

“How about Cupid?” His thoughts were full of hope. “And only you and I will know it means Help.”

“Cupid it is.”

He put her on the elevator, then checked all the building monitors to make sure no one was lurking about. But he couldn't stop there, so he went down the elevator and tailed her on foot for two blocks. When he saw the official black SUV, he breathed a sigh of relief and watched her get into the back of the vehicle. Then he went back to his work to finish up so he could follow her and make it to the FBI building just behind her.

Checking his watch, he hurried through the picture files. Nothing. Just Armond conducting business—in a legitimate way most days. Then Armond in a rare moment with his son at a Christmas gathering.

Connor studied one picture. Armond was laughing with Vanessa as they watched their son opening presents on Christmas Eve. That had been over two years ago. Lou rarely came home, but they'd all been in good moods that year. Connor had been invited to share dinner with them but he'd stayed out of the way while they opened presents.

He did remember the hostile glances Lou had given him that night. But other people had been at that dinner, too.

It struck Connor as odd that criminals could even have such loving, common moments while all the time they were destroying lives and bullying people into doing their bidding.