Authors: Marion Faith Carol J.; Laird Lenora; Post Worth
Tags: #Fluffer Nutter, #dpgroup.org
TWO
J
osie checked her rearview mirror several times to make sure she wasn't being followed. Normal Saturday-night traffic streamed along the interstate.
She bumped up her speed, her pulse zooming along with the vehicle's high speed. Why was she so worried anyway? Connor could handle himself. He knew all the tricks of survival.
But...Connor Randall was almost legendary around the bureau, so maybe Armond considered him more valuable alive than dead right now. If anyone could charm a snake, it'd be Connor Randall. She didn't want to think about how he could turn a woman's head, too.
She hadn't decided if the debonair Mr. Randall had finally mended his ways or if he was just working on one last big con. They'd had several conversations, or as Connor liked to call themâinterrogations. She asked questions, and he either answered with a cool disregard or said nothing at all. She'd pulled him in earlier today to get a better handle on tonight's mission, and the man had waltzed in wearing a custom-made tuxedo and a custom-made smile.
Get that out of your head,
she told herself. So he was handsome and debonair and...still a criminal in her mind.
She only wanted to get Armond and him out alive and make sure Armond lived up to his side of this bargain. Her career needed a serious boost. If the Mafia lord was running scared, they'd never get the truth out of him.
Josie made a few turns to check any tails. She got off an exit ramp and looped back around to where she'd started, zooming as fast as she could.
There! She spotted another car behind her, doing the same loop. This time, she stayed on the interstate but zigzagged between other vehicles and took a different exit. When she felt sure she wasn't being followed, she exited again and took the back roads that followed the Mississippi River.
No other cars were in sight, so she breathed a sigh of relief. Whoever had been behind her was gone now.
Or maybe they were just waiting.
Connor might be right after all. Maybe this went deeper than just someone trying to take down Armond. Maybe someone was also after Connor. The list could be long and far-reaching. Which meant they might be watching her, too.
* * *
Located about forty-five minutes north of New Orleans and set back off a narrow country road near the Mississippi River, the Armond estate consisted of a stunning antebellum house that was well over one hundred and fifty years old and set in the middle of an acreage that rivaled Versailles.
Stately columns surrounded the big stucco house. Massive mushrooming live oaks that had been planted over three hundred years ago lined the long drive leading to the double front doors. A high black iron fence and electronic gate surrounded the whole thing, while armed guards and nasty watchdogs patrolled the perimeters.
Connor paced out on the downstairs gallery, walking from column to column while he waited for Josie Gilbert to arrive. A guard stood near the big double doors, making sure Connor didn't venture too far. Every now and then Connor would touch a hand to the still-warm eggshell-white patina of the old stucco. This house had good bones and an aged, distinguished history. When he'd first seen what was now called Armond Gardens, Connor thought this was exactly the kind of place he'd always dreamed of owning. But it hadn't taken him long to realize a mansion didn't make a home. A lot of criminal activities and nefarious comings and goings went on behind this tranquil, elegant facade. He didn't want to live here now. But he sure didn't want to die here, either. Not tonight.
Now he had a reason to live. He hoped to give his sister, Deidre, the kind of home she deserved even if he never lived there with her. His sister, just a few years younger than his thirty-two years, deserved a home of her own, and she deserved some peace of mind. He'd changed his ways for that purpose and he intended to see it through to prove to Deidre that he'd turned back toward the Lord.
His cell buzzed.
It was Armond, huddled up in the back of the house. “What is the holdup?”
“She's on her way,” Connor said and then ended the call.
The man was seriously agitated, to the point of calling Connor himself rather than ordering a guard to carry a message. Someone had just murdered his young girlfriend, and he knew he might be next. Plus, he knew if his wife returned from New York and heard this, she'd leave him. Mrs. Armond had warned her philandering husband several times but Louis Armond thought he could get away with everything from murder to infidelity. Another great example of the criminal mind.
Somehow, he now expectedâno, demandedâConnor to fix this. Kind of ironic, considering Connor had a target on his back that had been put there because he'd been associating with Louis Armond. Was this payback time, or had Louis understood that Connor had witnessed part of the shooting and might be willing to tell all? Including the fact that Armond could have possibly been the shooter or hired the shooter. If Armond hadn't killed the woman, then who had? Connor wondered. And why had Armond been all alone on the street, without any of his guards?
Armond could have killed Connor several times over, tonight or any other night. They were out here away from the city in a fortress full of big-muscled bodyguards and a state-of-the-art security system. He'd be dead and buried in the river by now if Armond wanted him that way. The man knew Connor had worked with the FBI to take down Frederick Cordello for attempted art theft and murder. When Connor had shot Cordello to protect Princess Lara Kincade, Armond had witnessed the whole thing, but Connor had smoothed that one over by explaining the FBI had forced him to cooperate.
Which happened to be the truth.
That persuasive conversation, and Connor delivering on his promise to Armond, had saved Connor. For now. He'd found the famous Benoit paintings that technically and legitimately belonged to Armond. Armond already knew Connor had no love for the FBI. If he played the hand he'd been given, Connor might be able to stay alive long enough to be free from both Armond and the FBI.
Finally.
Or he could be dead before morning.
“But you've got lawyers, people,” Connor had reminded the man after Armond had jumped into his car and they'd hurried out of New Orleans. “I just happened to come along at the wrong time. I saw you standing there and I reacted.”
“You were in the right place,” Armond replied, a hint of fear coloring his nervous appreciation. “We have to keep this tight. No one can know I was associated with that poor girl. I can't call the lawyers or anyone else. Too dangerous.” Then he'd turned in the seat, waving the weapon he still held. “You owe me, remember?”
So now Connor was being held as a “guest” in the Armond fortress. He'd wanted to get closer to the criminal, but not this way. Armond could turn trigger-happy and shoot him on the spot.
To keep building up to the rapport they'd once had, Connor asked the Mafia boss why he'd thought it a good idea to bring his girlfriend to the opera while his wife was out of town.
“She wasn't supposed to be there,” Armond retorted. “I told her never to acknowledge me in public. But she showed up, scared and shouting at me to do something.”
Armond thought he'd been set up by someone who wanted him dead. Someone who'd killed the girl just to show him they were serious. “I'll be next. That's how this works.” He'd included Connor in his fears. “They know you were my close associate, so now they might know I'm in cahoots with the feds.”
The scared bully had centered on Connor the way a newborn lamb might center on the human who'd fed him a bottle. Attachments such as this could only lead to more trouble. Connor was in so deep now, he wondered how he'd ever get out of this. But he could use this latest development to his advantage, at least.
Armond came out the door, sweating and ruddy-faced, surrounded by armed guards. “This womanâare you sure she can take care of this?”
Armond didn't know Josie. Up until a couple of weeks ago, Connor's handler had been a by-the-book veteran of the FBI. But John Burgess had abruptly decided to retire, and just like that, Josie Gilbert had walked into Connor's already-complicated life. That could work in their favor now, however. Armond technically didn't have any choice. He had to trust Josie, and he didn't have a clue that she was FBI.
“Yes,” Connor replied, trying to piece things together, since he knew Josie would question him with a heavy-handed attitude. The newest FBI special agent to hit town did not approve of Connor's methods. But they were stuck with each other until he could prove his merit and finally go free.
Right now, he had to get his facts straight regarding this bizarre turn of events.
The parking attendant had watched in surprise as Connor got back in his car and took off. He might have seen the whole thing, and by now the police and the FBI were probably swarming around the crime scene. The attendant could have given them Connor's license-plate number and a description of his car, too, but Sherwood obviously would already know Connor had been on the scene. Since the FBI kept tabs on his whereabouts, he understood they'd see him as a suspect. He had to have the story straight. And he was hoping Special Agent Josie Gilbert would agree with him on that.
“She's good, Louis. She has experience in these matters.”
Or at least he hoped she did. If Josie would think beyond her distaste at having to work with Connor, she'd realize they had Armond. The man would do anything to stay out of the limelight and keep this nasty business from his irritable wife, or he could decide he no longer wanted to talk.
“Is she ever gonna get here?”
A car pulled around the curve and waited at the gate. Since Armond had already told security to let her in the minute she arrived, the gate swung open.
Connor's heartbeat slid into fast gear, the way it always did when he was on a big case. Or maybe tonight it was the added thrill of working with Josie Gilbert. Could he help it if he had a secret crush on her? He'd have to put all of that aside while they tidied up things. Now he had a niggling doubt regarding the newest addition to the New Orleans bureau. There was the Dallas incident that no one wanted to discuss.
“Go back inside, Mr. Armond,” he suggested. “I'll update her and bring her to you.”
Still dazed, Louis Armond nodded and hurried past two bodyguards into the big drawing room to the left of the central hallway. Connor nodded to one of the guards and shut the doors. He needed to prep Josie Gilbert.
Now the fun part. Had she trusted Connor enough to come alone? He prayed she'd been wise enough to know they had Armond cornered and scared. He also prayed they could use this little dustup to their advantage. If so, he might be able to finally shed Louis Armond's iron-tight grip and the halo of death that came with being in a forced alliance with a beautiful, determined female FBI agent.
That would, however, depend on how this night's work went, and whether he and Josie would live to see another day.
THREE
J
osie checked her gun and got out of the unmarked car, then took in her surroundings. The big antebellum house stood stately and quiet in the moonlight. It was beautiful, but tonight it held a sinister aura of death and destruction.
Nice digs, Mr. Armond.
Sure that the original owners of this gracious old mansion would turn over in their graves at the sight of several armed guards with snarling dogs and three blacked-out luxury SUVs and the new name of Armond Gardens, she wondered exactly how much money it took to own such a showplace.
And how much of that money had been ill-gotten?
She ignored the shiver of unease that chased down her spine. She hadn't seen anyone following her since she'd left the main road, so she needed to relax and get on with this. But she had a bad feeling, a kind of fluttering in her stomach that indicated this whole setup felt wrong. Shaking it off, she did one more visual and prepared to get on with her work.
As she approached the wraparound porch, a man stepped out of the shadows, causing her to also wonder why she'd agreed to come out here to help someone she'd only met a few days ago. She was glad she'd reported her whereabouts back to the New Orleans bureau in spite of Connor telling her to keep quiet, and that she'd warned Sherwood that things might get dicey.
“Bring him in, Gilbert. Nothing dicey about that.”
Did he mean Louis Armond or Connor Randall? Sherwood didn't care for the charming informant. But Joseph Sherwood didn't seem to care for anyone around him, for that matter.
“Sir, I can't do that.” She explained on the way out what Connor had told her. “Armond refuses to let him leave. So he's set me up to help with the situation. Alone. Armond doesn't want the feds anywhere around this estate. Let me go in and see what I can find. Randall and I will figure out how to handle this, and I'll try to keep you posted. But I need your permission to go dark if necessary.”
Sherwood had reluctantly agreed. Now she had to show him she knew her stuff. Her boss already gave off an air of disdain whenever she spoke to him. Maybe he resented having to take on an agent who'd messed things up in her last assignment.
Just one more reason for Josie to make this one work.
Connor Randall met her at the low steps onto the brick-floored porch. Glancing toward the two-ton guard at the door, he pulled Josie aside. “You did come alone, right?”
She wanted to say,
“No, actually, I brought the whole New Orleans bureau with me.”
But she was too intrigued and too hopeful that she could corner two rats at once. Tonight's operation had her rattled. She was out here on her own, with no backup, making this up as she went. She wouldn't admit that part of the shake-up inside her soul had to do with this man, who sure looked good in a tux.
“I'm alone,” she replied. Then she lowered her voice. “But I did report in, since my SAC told me to bring you both back to town, so I can't hold them off for too long. The news of a dead woman near the opera house has already hit the airwaves.”
She didn't need to explain that the FBI and the NOPD already had forensic teams on-site at the crime scene. The locals would take the lead, then turn things over to the FBI.
Connor's expression turned dark and hard to read. “Has Armond's name come up?”
“Not yet to the public. But I'm to get you both to a safe house immediately.”
Connor's surprised look changed to a resolved one. “And you managed to hold Sherwood off for a while?”
“Yes, but he wasn't happy. He wants to go by the book on this one so Armond won't bolt.”
“Any mention of a black sports car on the scene?”
She shook her head. “Only a dark car. That's the official word.” Tired of the interrogation, she said, “I need to be briefed, and don't leave anything out.”
“I'll explain everything,” he said.
“You'd better. I'm risking a lot, coming here on my own.”
Too late, she realized she was also locked in. The high iron fences and the army of guards told the tale of illegal comings and goings. What if Armond refused to let either of them leave? She'd read dossiers about torture tactics and worse, especially regarding agents who'd been caught. And she knew firsthand what could happen to informants who got caught. Putting those images out of her mind, Josie gathered her thoughts.
“Armond might pretend to be ready to cooperate, but someone scared him silly tonight. He's desperate and that can be dangerous.” The threat of death made people do desperate things.
Connor cleared his throat and whispered close, “But we've got him right where we want him. He believes you're here to help us. And...he's kind of holding this over my head, if you get my drift.”
“How did you get involved, anyway?” she asked while she did another visual of the well-lit gardens and the too-dark tree line. Even with guard dogs, someone with criminal intent could get in here. “He and you should have been inside, finishing up with what we hope is the information we've all been waiting for.”
“I was on my way in when this happened. I'd just turned into the parking garage.” He glanced back at the double front doors. “I saw Armond standing there with his mistress. Which was so not like Armond. Then I saw the woman fall to the ground. I backed out of the garage and floored it to Armond. He was leaning over her in shock, a gun in his hand.”
“You saw him shoot her?”
“No. I saw him leaning over her with a gun. But when he looked around and glanced up to the rooftop above them, I figured a sniper had done it.”
“So you stopped to chat?”
“I stopped and called out to him to get in my car. His guards hurried to surround him, but he turned and came around my car and jumped inside. Told me to drive.”
“Why did you take that chance?” she asked, wondering if he'd thought this through. “You should have called me right away.”
“He seemed especially grateful to have a getaway car, and his guards scattered, so I had to do something. Then he held a gun to my head,” Connor replied. He shrugged as if this whole affair was nothing much. “Two thoughts entered my mind. One, he wanted me to get him out of there, and two, he was so erratic, he might decide to shoot me if I didn't do his bidding.”
Ignoring his cool explanation, she asked, “And you didn't think to call this in to 911?”
“Look, I've been tailing him when I could. I know I'm supposed to stay out of sight but I was so close to getting him for good last year. And tonight, well, I thought this would finally be over. This was supposed to be the last time I had to deal with the man.”
He put a hand against one of the colossal columns and gave her a blue-eyed stare. “I didn't think. I just went after him before he got shot, too. If he gets himself killed, we'll never get the information and evidence we need to get to the real power behind his empire.”
“Great. So now I'm an unofficial accomplice to two of my informants leaving the scene of a murder?”
“He didn't kill her,” Connor replied. “He was with her, but he didn't kill her. The kill shot hit her clean and right between the eyes, and I didn't hear the shot. That means it came from a distance and it was silenced. He did pull out his gun, so someone could have seen that and misinterpreted it.”
She doubted him already. She wasn't confident in the plan to come out here, since Connor had been the one to mastermind it. Josie liked to be in control, so her first few weeks on the job at her new assignment were not going as she'd planned. She couldn't afford to mess up another big case with a wanted suspect. And yet, she'd gone way beyond the call of duty by convincing her boss that she needed to see this through. Now, why was that?
Maybe it had been the hard-edged request from Connor over the phone, or it could now be the serious glint in Connor's storm-blue eyes. Why did they seem so much darker in the moonlight? And why in the world should she trust this man?
Well, the higher-upsâexcluding Sherwood, of courseâseemed to dote on him and praised his services, assuring her that Connor Randall had turned over a new leaf. Since she didn't always believe in second chances or quick change-of-heart turnovers, she found that hard to swallow. She was about to test that theory.
Could she be sure?
Lord, grant me wisdom.
“What do you expect me to do, besides haul you both in?”
Connor gave her that steady, level stare that worked on most other women. “I expect you to do your job. We have one of the most notorious mobsters in this country in there waiting for us to help him out of a sticky situation. And we don't have much of a choice, the way I see it.” He leaned close, his smile as enticing as the moonlight. “And we could both use a break, don't you think?”
Josie pushed at her hair, rattled that he knew her history about as well as she knew his. Okay, so they both had trust issues. And the need to clear a few bad marks. “Yeah, there is that.”
He must have sensed her doubts. “Look, I appreciate this. You're with me. You're safe.”
“I don't need you to keep me safe,” she retorted, touching the gun strapped to her belt. Her whisper was for his ears only. “I'm a big girl, Mr. Randall. I was top of my class at Quantico.”
He held her arm. “Before we go in there, you need to understand something. Being top of your class at anything doesn't matter to these people. They are the worst kind of scum, and they would sooner butcher you than look at you.”
Blood-soaked images flashed through her head. She'd been undercover during a drug raid in Dallas and...she'd messed up big-time. Her informant, a young female recovering junkie, had been tortured and left for dead because of one slipup. Josie's slipup. She couldn't let bad information be her guide ever again.
Somewhere off in the bug-infested woods, an owl hooted. Then she heard the flutter of powerful wings.
Another shiver of apprehension went down Josie's spine, but she shook it off. “Got it. I'm good.” She stared over at him, took a breath. “I'll do whatever it takes to bring this man down. If we help him tonight, we'll have leverage, and hopefully, that will convince him to give us the goods on his operation.”
“Exactly,” Connor said as he ushered her to the big front doors. “He hasn't executed me yet because I'm the only witness and my testimony can save him. And he's kind of blackmailing me into helping to save his hide. See, we do think alike.”
“For now,” she replied, thinking a jury wouldn't trust either the Mafia don or the good-looking man in the tux. She sure didn't, now that he'd told her he
was
doing this to save himself. What a noble concept. “But, Randall...don't take me for granted, ever.”
“Wouldn't dream of it.”
* * *
Once they were inside, the elegant warmth of the old mansion shimmered in hues of tasteful art, glittering crystal and aged bone china. The place looked untouched, like something out of another century. But the creepy factor echoed in the garish glowing yellow lights and the scent of too much aftershave.
“Swag,” she whispered to Connor. “By the way, let's start with first names only unless I have to tell him I'm also FBI.”
It still smarted that her new supervisor had kept her so out of the loop on a lot of things regarding Louis Armond that she'd been forced to tug information out of Connor instead. She was surprised Sherwood had let her take point on a one-woman stakeout tonight. But Sherwood had warned her he'd also have a team of other agents out and about, too.
Fat lot of good that had done Armond.
Before he could respond, two big men came up the hall. “We need to check for wires or weapons,” one of them growled.
“I have one gun,” Josie offered, lifting her jacket to show her weapon. “And if you expect me to help with this little problem, I'm keeping it.”
Connor gave a slight nod to the men. After patting her down and checking the gun, they seemed satisfied. But they also followed on her heels.
He turned her to the left and motioned her inside the big, antique-filled drawing room, then closed the aged pocket doors. “Mr. Armond, this is my friend...Josie.”
“Does your friend Josie have a last name?” Armond asked, clearly in control of himself now that help had arrived.
“Just Josie for now,” she replied before Connor could come up with a name. “You only need to remember that.”
“I see, Just Josie.”
Armond sat in a brocade high-backed antique chair, a cup of coffee steaming on the table beside him. His salt-and-pepper hair was crisp with some sort of pomade but his olive-colored skin was pale against his white tuxedo shirt. Did everyone around here wear tuxedos?
Armond gave her a thorough once-over. “So, Connor has briefed you on the situation and...you can take care of this?”
Ah, there was that bit of fear and doubt she'd expected. “Yes, he did, and I can, sir. The good news is that no one has come forward stating they saw you with the girl. So far Connor is your only witness and he can vouch for you. The bad news is that, yes, she's dead and, yes, the NOPD is all over this.”
“So my name hasn't come up?”
“Not so far. The only news right now is that there's been a shooting near the Quarter.” She pulled out her cell. “I'm checking any trending right now.”
“Trending?” Armond looked confused.
Connor stepped forward. “Why don't we sit down?”
Josie sat beside him on an exquisite butter-yellow brocade sofa. “Trendingâit means news of your mishap might be all over the internet or evening news by now. We'll check for any witnesses, any mentions of your name, any videos streaming about a woman being murdered.”
Armond's face twisted. “Lewanna. That's the woman.” Then he changed his tune. “Isn't that dangerous, checking on your phone?”