Authors: Marion Faith Carol J.; Laird Lenora; Post Worth
Tags: #Fluffer Nutter, #dpgroup.org
They'd be leaving at dark, starting with a pirogue ride through the swamp and moving on to a pickup truck hidden in some bramble somewhere on the other side of the bayou. This place had a system of getting people in and out and gone before any lawmen or angry men could find them. And Connor had already lingered too long. The shadows stretching toward the water could hold people who were willing to shoot all of them.
“So we have a plan,” Josie replied when she came back to the table. “We have to start at the beginning, which means the main estate and the garage. You think we might find something on the silent partner there?”
“Yes. He closeted himself in the office there a lot. We start back at the mansion on the river, move to his penthouse in New Orleans if we need to, and we might have to take a quick jaunt to Europe.”
“The bureau won't let you leave the country, Connor.”
“But you might.”
“Hey, we're not that comfortable with each other. I can't allow that, so don't even tease about it.”
“I am teasing,” he said, not teasing. He'd do whatever he had to do to get out from under the yoke of Armond's weighty pseudo-friendship. He had to think of Deidre, and now he had to think of Josie. She wouldn't like that, but it wasn't his nature to put women in harm's way. An old-fashioned notion but one he couldn't break. He should have been there with his mom the night she died, but he'd been out looking for a good time.
Too late to make up for that mistake.
Never too late to learn from that mistake.
And as Mama Joe would tell him, never too late to pray for forgiveness and start all over with a born-again attitude.
Could he start fresh? He planned to do just that once this case was solved.
But first, he had one more question to ask Josie.
“What happened in Dallas?”
She dropped her buttered corn-bread muffin and sat openmouthed. “What does that matter now?”
“You obviously had to get out of Texas. I need to understand why.” He'd wondered about that all day. They might get into some heavy stuff before this was over. He wanted her to be prepared. He couldn't have her falling apart on him.
His common sense told him that wouldn't happen, but he needed to put up a wall between them so he wouldn't get distracted.
Right now she looked aggravated, her expression heating up with a mad shine. “Is that a deal breaker, Randall? Do you demand a clean working record with all your handlers?”
“It might be an issue. I can't have you choking on me.”
She glared at him over her sweet tea. “Are you serious? I mean, I've pretty much forgiven you all of your shortcomings, not to mention sticking my neck out to help you with Armond. And I trusted you not to leave me out here in this isolated swamp, and now you decide to interrogate me?”
“I just want to know,” he said. “Nothing to do with this Armond stuff. Just what happened.”
She gave him a look that caused the butter on her muffin to slide right off. “I don't have to explain that to you.”
“Defensive, aren't we?”
“Seriously, are you messing with my head for a reason?”
He leaned forward, twirled his straw in his tea. “Yes. You have my file, so you know my weak spots. C'mon, you answered when I asked about your mother, so I know you've overcome that. This has to be something else.”
“And you have to know this right now?”
“You answered about your mother right away. But you didn't say much about your daddy. The one who's in prison.”
Her skin paled. “Because you know about that. And you probably know about Dallas, too.”
He wouldn't lie. “I was about to do some digging when Armond stepped back into my life. Now here we are.”
“I don't want to talk about Dallas,” she said, dropping her spoon. “Let's get on with our plans. I have to brief my supervisor.”
So Dallas was a sore spot. He'd find out, one way or another. He'd be more discreet next time he brought up the subject. “Let's get going, then,” he said.
He turned to gather their empty plates to take inside. He'd made it to the screen and held it open, waiting for Josie to cross the big porch, when the first shots came whizzing through the air. One of the shots hit a plate he held and shattered it.
And the next one hit the table where Josie had been sitting. But he didn't see her anywhere.
NINE
J
osie's side hitched as she slid onto the deck of the boathouse and plunged through the screened door. Her gun. She'd left it in the bedroom. Scooting on her knees, she grabbed her weapon and unlocked the safety, then checked the ammo. Then she slid to the window and stared out into the growing dusk.
Connor? She didn't know where he'd gone. When she'd heard the first shot, she'd gone into automatic mode and had ripped through a side door off the porch, bullets blasting all around her. Then she'd followed the cypress trees toward the boathouse, glad for the draping moss that served as a cover in the shadows.
Now she had to get back out there and protect Connor. When she heard several more shots echoing through the thicket of cypress trees, she did a visual of her surroundings, but in the dimming light, she couldn't tell which shapes were human and which were nature.
Josie inhaled a deep, calming breath, the sound of bullets hitting across the way forcing her to stay down.
Then everything went silent. The whole place had gone eerily quiet. Even the trees didn't move.
A creaking groan hit the deck of the boathouse. Josie sucked in a breath and held herself still, her back against the rocking wall. Holding her gun out, she steadied her finger on the trigger, ready to shoot.
Footsteps dragged through the boathouse, slow and quiet. The swamp became deadly silent. Not a bird chirping, no splashes in the water. No music in the dance hall. No more shots deep in the woods. Silent, still, holding its breath.
In the same way she was holding hers.
Where was Connor?
Her heart pounded so loudly, she was sure someone out there was listening and following the beat. She was trapped in this stifling little room. All she could do was wait and hope that everyone was safe. That Connor was safe.
But she wouldn't go down without a fight. She held her gun steady and remembered her training.
The partially closed door creaked in protest as it swung open. Then a big dark man wearing overalls stood there with what looked like a souped-up shotgun.
Josie stared up at him, her gun trained on his forehead. “Stop or I'll drop you right where you stand.”
The big man put a finger to his lips. “Shh. I'm Toby. Mama Joe sent me to find you.”
Josie staggered up the wall, her gun still drawn. “How can I be sure?”
He held the shotgun down. “'Cause if I don't fetch you back to the meetin' place, Mama Joe will put a load of buckshot in my backside.”
She stood but didn't let her guard down. “Well, when you put it like thatâ”
“C'mon,” he said, the shotgun still pointed down. “We got some unwanted visitors. But we got it under control for now.”
“Where is Connor?” Josie asked, her eyes adjusting to the growing darkness. She could make out the trees and the water, but the whole swamp was shrouded in gray shadows that danced like skeleton bones around the boathouse.
“Follow me,” Big Toby replied without giving her any answers.
He didn't take her gun away, so that was good. She'd shoot him if he turned on her. But the giant didn't turn on her or try to harm her in any way. Instead, he took her through a path that didn't begin to look like a path. He swatted palmetto fronds and cypress limbs and climbed over knotty cypress knees then helped her through.
“We're going the wrong way,” she tried to point out. “The Crooked Nail is right by the boathouse.”
“We on the right path, lady,” he said through a grin.
The woods grew cooler in the gloaming, but the bugs grew bigger and bolder. Josie slapped at her skin and longed for air-conditioning and a good shower. She didn't even want to consider snakes and alligators. “Where are we going?”
“Shh.” Toby held her behind him, then whistled.
Josie waited, glad for the cover but confused about what exactly they were doing in this soup bowl of humidity and humming, hungry creatures.
An answering sound echoed over the still woods.
“Let's go,” Big Toby said, still protecting her with each step.
Finally, they reached a clearing, and she saw what must be the pirogue Connor had told her about earlier. “Where is he?”
“I'm right here,” Connor said from the shadows. “Hurry.”
Josie mowed around Toby and hurried to the boat, relief washing her in a hot glow. “Are you all right?”
Connor stood behind a giant cypress tree. A few yards away, two more men stood guard with Mama Joe. Even though she had her own big gun, too, Mama Joe stepped forward with a package. “Your clothes. I cleaned them.”
Apparently, the swamp had its own code of justice and a washing machine, too. Josie didn't want to ever be on the bad side of these people. But right now, she thanked God for them.
“I'm fine,” Connor said as he pulled her close. “I was worried about you but then I figured you'd gone for your gun.”
“Yes.” She still had the safety off. Suddenly, she didn't trust anybody. “Yes. I'm okay.”
He reached out and brushed damp hair off her forehead. “Don't ever scare me like that again, Agent Gilbert.”
Josie swallowed, tried to breathe. The humidity was doing strange things to her. She felt hot and faint and disoriented.
Or maybe it was the way Connor was looking at her. His eyes held hers, roving, searching, sending her some sort of message.
“Let's go,” she said, trying to find her business persona again. Trying to stop her heart from jumping out of her chest.
“We've got supplies and we're ready,” he said. He guided her to the squat little boat and sat her on a narrow bench seat. “We have an escort waiting at the next pickup site.”
“How will we get out of here?” she asked, glancing around. The water and woods were already drenched in darkness. The big live oaks and cypress trees loomed like gray giants standing in a cluster.
“By memory,” he said. Then he took a long wooden pole and pushed it off into the murky black water, a tiny battery-powered light rigged at the front of the boat his only guide. Josie sank down on her seat and saw Big Toby standing on the shore, watching them. He waved to them. Josie waved back, then saw Mama Joe on the shore.
“We'll pray you home,” Mama Joe called, her hand up in farewell.
That gave Josie some comfort while she sat there wondering how Connor would ever find his way out of this inky, wet blanket of darkness.
* * *
A few minutes later, Connor turned the boat down a narrow channel. He knew this route by heart, but it was still hard to see much past the bow of the boat. A light off in the distance beckoned. The next pickup point.
“We're almost there,” he told Josie. She'd been quiet. Too quiet.
“Who were they?” she asked, her mind obviously putting things back together.
“Two armed men, dressed in camouflage. They got a little too close, but Mama Joe's guys tracked them. Got off several shots before they got away.”
“They got away?”
“Yep. The boys had them cornered up by the road. But they managed to escape through a heavy thicket of trees. We heard an engine roaring, so they had a truck waiting.”
She let out a frustrated breath. “So we don't have any evidence and no way of identifying them.”
“No. And no reliable eyewitnesses, since it was dark and they blended in with the swamp.” He moved the long pole back and forth. “What we can assume is they weren't here for the social hour. They knew we were here and they came to kill us. And one of them is a bad shot or I'd be dead right now.”
“I thought you were,” she said, her words hollow and quiet.
“I worried about you, too,” he said. He'd never admit how his heart had stopped and his chest had tightened at the thought of what these people would do to her if they caught her.
“We have to go back to Armond's mansion,” she said, all business now. “We should have searched the place more when we were there. And we need to find out if he's out of the coma so we can question him.”
“He could be talking already.” Connor thought about that. “I wonder if Sherwood and all the different forensic teams found anything.” He wondered, too, if they'd cooperate with each other. This was not the time for the different law-enforcement divisions to go territorial.
Josie's response was low but firm. “If we ever get back to civilization, I can find out.”
“Armond could tell us, if he'll talk at all.”
“Or he could be dead.”
Connor managed to calm himself into thinking ahead. When he'd heard those shots and looked up to find her gone, his mind had swirled with deadly scenarios. He didn't like these protective feelings. She could take care of herself, and yet, he wanted to take care of her. He'd never felt like that with anyone except his sister. He'd never let things go too far with anyone, with any woman. New territory. New challenges.
“That was close,” he finally said. “But now we don't have to wonder anymore. They want us, too. Preferably dead.”
“Too close. I had to get to my gun.”
“I know. Instincts.”
“Yes. And survival mode.”
“It's okay. We're here now.”
He drifted the pirogue up onto the shoreline, his work as silent as the veiled trees. Those goons had escaped, but they could be lurking about. They'd found Josie and him somehow.
But how?
Who would know how to get to this isolated end of the earth?
Somebody who knew his movements and had anticipated that he'd come here first? Armond didn't know about the Crooked Nail. Very few people did.
Had someone put a bead on Josie, a tracker on her phone maybe? Or was someone besides the FBI following his every move? He'd believed even Sherwood and his team wouldn't find Josie and him out here. But somebody sure had.
He'd have to talk to Josie about that later. Right now, he needed to get them in that truck and out of this swamp. He secured the boat, then helped her over onto the bank. “Let me check the vehicle and our escort first.”
She held her gun with both hands, her whole stance on high alert. “I'll be right here.”
Connor crept up the bank and whistled. After an answering whistle, a lone gunman walked out of the woods across from the truck.
“All clear,” the man called. “We'll lead you outta the swamp.” Then he disappeared back into the shadows.
Connor went to the waiting truck and tugged at the palm fronds. Then he reached under the driver's-side front tire and found the key. “Josie, it's okay.”
She emerged from the trees and went around to the passenger side. Soon they were both in the old truck.
“What now?” she asked, fatigue circling her words. She probably didn't like having to rely on him.
Connor waited until he saw taillights up ahead, then cranked the truck and turned toward a bumpy dirt lane.
“We find out if Armond's alive and talking. If he is, we go back to New Orleans and see if he'll talk to us. If he's not alive, we go to the mansion and dig through his files.”
“Sherwood will want me back in New Orleans, either way,” she whispered. “He'll want both of us back to file a report.”
“So you'll obey him blindly?”
“I didn't say that,” she retorted. “He might have information from the explosion. Or we might have to figure this out on our own.”
Connor smiled into the darkness. Josie was her own woman, no matter who tried to control her. That could be a good thing, since he wondered if their problem stemmed from someone within the FBI.
* * *
Josie tapped End on the call she'd just had with Special Agent Sherwood and turned to Connor. “The only other bit of evidence they found at the mansion was the source of the bomb. Enough C-4 to blow up the bed, using the lightbulb in the lamp to do the job. Someone managed to get inside that fortress and set up that bomb and possibly plant the money and the shipment receipts. I'm thinking it had to be an inside job.”
Connor turned toward the window. They were in a hotel room high above the city, waiting for word from Sherwood on how to proceed from here. From this view, Connor could see the Mississippi River below. A steamboat full of tourists plowed through the muddy water right next to a barge bulging with imports. A couple holding hands strolled along the Moonwalk.
As usual, he was trapped in a prison of his own making.
He glanced back at Josie. “Which means we have to go out there and look around. With new eyes.”
“Connor, Sherwood was firm. They covered every inch of the mansion and brought in a laptop and several electronic pads. The few files they found on those were clean. What they found in the safe is it. Armond obviously has most of his dirty work hidden. And whoever tried to kill him, well, they didn't leave any tracks but they did leave that load of cash and that stack of invoices.”
“So you don't think that was Armond's stash?”
“I can't be sure until I talk to Armond, but I'm guessing no. The whole explosion thing would have brought the authorities even if we hadn't been there. They got in, left the evidence and set up the bomb. No tracks, but plenty to stew about.”
“There's always tracks,” he replied. “And I'm the kind of person who knows every trick to hide those tracks. I used to hide mine. If I'd had more time, I would have eventually found Armond's hiding places.”
“And that's why we keep you close now,” she reminded him.
Connor turned back to the view. “I've always loved this city,” he said. “The first time I came here as a kid, I knew I wanted to live here.” He put his hands in his pockets. “My mother lived here before I was born and we only came back for a few months when I was around ten years old, but she never talked about it much.” He kept his back to Josie. “She had a place here. Owned it free and clear. It's mine now.”
Josie got up and came to stand by him. “Where's your apartment?”