Showdown in Mudbug (16 page)

“Are you sure?” Maryse asked, drily.

Raissa nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. He was spooked that night we talked. I can usually tell when someone’s holding back, but Hank just looked clueless. Whatever he knows, he doesn’t realize how important it is. Or maybe he doesn’t know or remember at all. Either way, he’s not safe. I need to call and warn him.”

Maryse nodded. “So if the Heberts didn’t take that girl, who did?” Maryse asked.

Raissa looked at Maryse, a million thoughts—mostly bad—rolling around in her head. “I have no idea, but apparently Sonny thinks I can find out.”

“I don’t understand. If Sonny told his guys to leave you alone, then who’s been trying to kill you?”

“That’s a really good question.”

It was close to midnight when Zach let himself into the Mudbug Hotel. He half-expected to find Raissa already in bed—or at least he hoped—but when he pushed the door open, it wasn’t exactly the scene he’d envisioned on the forty-five-minute drive to Mudbug. Raissa was in bed, but she was wearing more clothes than he’d imagined, and he hadn’t counted on her being surrounded by paper, either.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, realizing she was so engrossed in whatever she was doing that she hadn’t even heard him open the door.

“Crap!” Raissa jumped up from the bed at the sound of his voice. “Why are you sneaking up on me?”

Zach laughed. “Are you kidding me?” He waved one
hand at the rows of computer equipment. “You could have seen what I was wearing as soon as I drove into town if you were watching your security. Unlike your ghostly friend, I cannot walk through walls, nor am I invisible.”

“That’s a good thing, or you’d be dead.”

“True. Speaking of dead people, she’s not in here, right?”

“Helena? No, why?”

“Well, I was sorta hoping you’d have on fewer clothes, so I thought maybe she was here.”

Raissa laughed and jumped up from the bed. “I promise to have on fewer clothes later, but first I have to show you what Maryse and I found.”

Zach’s mind immediately shifted from carnal thoughts to the case. No way Raissa was this excited over nothing. “What did you find?”

Raissa grabbed a bunch of papers off the bed and sat at the table, spreading them out in front of her. Zach pulled up a chair next to her, ready for the show. “Maryse and I spent the afternoon going through the FBI files, trying to make a connection among the girls.”

Zach placed his hands over his ears. “I’m not hearing anything about hacking.”

“Wimp.” Raissa said and pulled his hands down. “I wanted to find the common denominator in the abductions. I’ve never believed it was on looks alone. It just doesn’t feel right, you know?”

Zach nodded. He thought there was far more to it than they had been able to discern. “So you found something about the girls?”

“No, their parents.”

“Like what? They lived in different places, had different jobs…No reason their paths would cross.”

Raissa smiled and handed him a stack of papers.
“Unless they were all in the military. Check those papers. Three of them were stationed at Myrtle Beach.”

Zach looked down at the first sheet. “Facebook? You’re hinging a kidnapping investigation on Facebook.”

Raissa shrugged. “I wanted to hack the Social Security Administration. Maryse’s way was safer.”

Zach gave a silent prayer of thanks. “And legal. Remember legal?”

Raissa waved a hand in dismissal. “Forget that. Don’t you see—they were all at the same base. The last guy doesn’t have a Facebook account, but what do you want to bet he was stationed there, too?”

“Were they all there at the same time?”

“No, but within the same year, seventeen years ago.”

“And the FBI never caught that before?”

Raissa shook her head. “They wouldn’t have looked that far back initially, and when the lead investigator died, it got shuffled around a bit. There was a lot of terrorist activity going on then and most of the agents were redirected.”

“Then it went cold.”

“Yeah. They probably figured whoever did it was dead or in prison, and the reality is, the predators who don’t return kids alive are a higher priority than the one guy who returns them all seemingly unscathed.”

“So he got conve niently off radar and no one noticed a connection.”

“Until now. And guess who else just happened to be present on the base during that time?”

“Please don’t tell me it was the mayor.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you, but you need to check this bio we pulled off the City of New Orleans Web site. The mayor spent his last year of service as an instructor…”

“…in Myrtle Beach. Shit.”

“Guess who else was there?”

“I’m afraid to ask?”

“Our friend Dr. Spencer.”

Zach ran one hand through his hair. “Did he have that listed on his Facebook page, too?”

Raissa grinned. “No. We called and asked.”

Zach stared at Raissa, unable to wrap his mind around everything she’d just told him, much less what any of it meant. “You’re sure?”

“Yep. Dr. Spencer is ex-military and did a part-time stint on the base when they were short on medical personnel. A lot of the boys had returned from the Gulf War and needed care. He flew up there two weeks a month for over a year.”

“And the military just gave you this information because you asked?”

“Not me, Maryse. She explained who she was and the project she’s working on—she has government funding, you know—and besides, the officer who worked in records is from New Orleans.”

“So he gave out information over the phone to a stranger because she has government funding and he used to live in New Orleans.”

Raissa nodded. “I was impressed with Maryse, too. She explained that she was considering him for work on her project, as he’s a cancer specialist, but wanted to make sure he was telling the truth about his work with the military, since she has the utmost respect for military personnel and didn’t want him sneaking in the door with a lie. She didn’t ask for details, more like job-reference sort of stuff—what he was there for and when.”

“You think Spencer knew the victims’ parents?”

“I can’t prove anything, but I think it’s far too big a thing to be a coincidence.”

Zach shook his head. “I agree, but what does it tell us?”

Raissa sighed. “I have absolutely no idea. That’s why you found me sitting in bed with stacks of paper—my back hurt from the chair. But I still haven’t made sense of it. It’s all fascinating and can’t possibly be irrelevant, but for the life of me, I can’t come up with anything that fits.”

“This case just keeps getting stranger.”

“And that’s not all.” Raissa told him about the conversation between Sonny and Rico.

“Do you know this Hank?”

“A little. More secondhand than anything else. Apparently he owed the Heberts money and did a few jobs to pay off his debt.”

“But you don’t think he’s involved with the kidnapping?”

“I don’t see how. He’s not the kind of guy you’d trust with delicate work.”

Zach nodded. “I don’t like the Hebert angle of this one bit. I don’t care what Sonny said to night. He could just as easily change his mind about you tomorrow morning and alert his guys by cell phone. You won’t have any idea he’s coming.”

Raissa waved a hand at the computers. “That’s why I’m always prepared.”

Zach ran one hand through his hair, his emotions warring inside of him. Finally, he said, “Maybe you should talk to Agent Fields. See what the FBI is offering.”

“No way.”

“But—”

“I’m not cutting out of here until this is over.”

Zach could have sworn his heart stopped beating for just a moment.
Moron. You always knew she’d have to leave.
But had he? Had he really given any thought to what would happen to Raissa when the case was over? And when had it become important? He was attracted to her, and he admired her, and worried about her, but that was all. Right?

“Zach?” Raissa’s voice broke him away from his thoughts.

“Huh.” He looked at Raissa. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

“Obviously. You didn’t hear the last two things I said. Well, did you figure anything out during all that thinking?”

“No,” Zach said, “not really.” Except that he’d complicated his personal life right along with his career, all with the same woman. It had to be some kind of record.

“Well, I say we call it a night and start on this again tomorrow when our brains aren’t fried.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Raissa gave him a sexy smile and started unbuttoning her shirt. “So let’s see what I can do about that ‘fewer clothes’ thing you mentioned earlier.”

“Raissa, what exactly are we doing here?”

Raissa stopped unbuttoning her blouse and looked directly at him. “I thought it was obvious.”

He stared at her—the black lace of her bra peeking out the top of her partially unbuttoned blouse—and his mind warred with other parts of his body that were far more powerful. “You’re right,” he said, and took over on the buttons where she’d left off. Raissa knew exactly what he was asking, but she’d intentionally avoided the question. For that matter, he’d allowed
it. He opened her shirt and pushed it over her shoulders.

But they were going to have to talk about it sometime. Sooner would probably be better than later.

Bright and early Friday morning, Chuck and Lila stood in front of the clinic. Chuck punched in Hank’s cell-phone number for the fourth time in the last ten minutes, but Lila could hear the call go straight to voice mail.

“I’m sorry,” Chuck apologized. “I just don’t know what’s keeping Hank. He’s usually so punctual, and he always calls if anything comes up.”

Lila frowned, trying not to think of all the wrong reasons for Hank to be late for their meeting. She didn’t want to believe his change was temporary. Surely, something had delayed him, and he’d be there soon. “That’s okay. Maybe we should just start the walk-through without him. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

Chuck nodded and reached for the door. He stopped short when he realized it was already unlocked. “What the heck?” He turned the knob and pushed the door open. “Hank? You in here?” He looked back at Lila. “Let’s go check.”

They stepped inside and Chuck called out again, “Hank? Where are you?” Nothing. Chuck walked down the hallway of the clinic, checking in the rooms as he went. Lila followed behind.

“Chuck?” A voice yelled from the front doorway.

Chuck turned around and saw his assistant foreman, Jimmy, standing in the doorway. “Yeah, Jimmy, we’re back here. Looking for Hank. You seen him?”

Jimmy walked down the hallway to join them. “Nah, but I just got here. Had a flat on the truck this
morning. Musta picked up a nail.” Jimmy pointed to the back of the clinic. “Hank was working on a set of cabinets in the last office when I left yesterday. He’s probably got his iPod playing and can’t hear you.”

“Maybe so,” Chuck agreed, and headed for the back office.

Lila hurried after him, hoping the explanation was that simple and that benign. Chuck stopped short in the doorway. Lila inched to the side of him and peered into the room. It was empty, but something was wrong. She took it all in—the tools left out on the floor, the table saw that was still plugged in. She started to take a step into the room and her foot brushed against something on the floor. She looked down and realized it was an open can of stain.

“This isn’t right,” Lila said.

“No. It feels all wrong,” Chuck agreed. He nudged the can of stain with his boot. “That stain has been open for a long time.” He pointed to the top of the ladder in the corner. Hank’s wallet and keys were perched on top where he always placed them. “Jimmy,” Chuck called out. “You see Hank’s truck out there?”

Jimmy opened the back door and looked outside. “Yeah, it’s here. Same exact place it was yesterday. Weird.”

Chuck backed out of the office and motioned for Lila to follow him. “We’re going outside, and I’m going to call the police. Don’t touch anything, okay?”

“Chuck, what in the world is going on?” Lila felt the blood drain from her face and she stumbled in the hallway. Chuck grabbed her arm and steadied her, guiding her out of the clinic and onto the front lawn. Lila took a deep breath, then looked at Chuck. “What is it? You know something.”

Chuck pulled his cell phone from his pocket and
dialed 911. He told the dispatcher he wanted to report a break-in and possible missing person. “They said someone will be here shortly,” he said and closed the phone. “There was a guy parked across the street yesterday talking to Hank. It didn’t look like a friendly sort of conversation.”

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know. Hank tried to play it off that the guy wanted directions, but I didn’t buy it. And I didn’t like the look of the guy. Now this. There’s no way in hell Hank Henry left this clinic with power tools plugged in, stain uncovered, and his wallet and keys still on that ladder—not voluntarily, anyway.”

Lila covered her mouth with her hand, worry and fear washing over every square inch of her body. “Oh, no.”

Chuck looked Lila in the eye. “I know about all that doctor-patient-privilege stuff, but if you know what Hank was involved in before he went into rehab, I think I need to know. I think the police are gonna need to know.”

Lila nodded, not concerned in the least about the ethics of the situation. All she wanted was Hank, safe and sound and staining cabinets at her clinic. “He got into trouble gambling. Owed the wrong people money. He worked it off, but never gave me details as to how, exactly. He only said that work is what sent him to rehab.”

“What people?” Chuck asked, the fear in his eyes clear as day.

“The Hebert family.”

Chuck closed his eyes and blew out a breath. “Dear Lord,” he whispered.

Even though it was every bit of eighty degrees outside, Lila shivered.

Zach was still sound asleep when his cell phone started ringing. He reached for the nightstand, but all he found was air. Confused, he opened one eye, and that’s when he remembered that he wasn’t home—he was in a hotel with the hottest and most dangerous woman he’d ever met.

He hopped out of bed and dug through a pile of hastily discarded clothes scattered across the hotel-room floor. Finally, he located his pants and pulled the phone from the pocket, managing to answer the call just before it went to voice mail.

“Damn it, Blanchard!” the captain yelled. “What the hell took you so long to answer? It’s eight thirty, and your ass was supposed to be at the station at eight. You got ten minutes to get here before I demote you to dogcatcher.”

Shit! “Uh, that’s not going to be possible…”

“It’s possible from anywhere in New Orleans.”

“I’m not exactly in New Orleans.”

“Well, where the hell are you?”

Zach paused. “Uh…following up on a lead?”

He heard Raissa laugh and covered the speaker part of his phone.

“Did that lead require you to spend the night? Oh, no, do not tell me that your ‘lead’ involves crystal balls.”

“Of course not, sir.” His balls were absolutely not made of crystal. “I’ll be there in forty minutes. I promise.”

He snapped his phone shut and shoved it in his pocket along with his wallet. Then he grabbed his keys off the dresser. “I can’t believe you let me sleep this late.”

“Late? Good Lord, please don’t tell me you’re a morning person.”

He looked over at her lying back in the bed, all
rumpled and sexy. “I could probably be persuaded in that direction, but not today. The captain’s in one of his yelling moods. I need to go take some abuse.” He gave Raissa a quick kiss. “I’ll call you as soon as I run Spencer through the database.”

It was forty-two minutes later when Zach pulled up in front of the police station and hurried inside. He’d deal with parking in a tow zone as soon as the captain got done yelling.

“Blanchard!” the captain sounded off before he’d even gotten completely through the doorway. “My office—now!”

Zach saw Detective Morrow smirk as he rushed past his desk, but for once, he didn’t even care. He had far bigger fish to fry. Hell, he had the whole Atlantic Ocean of fish to fry. He hurried into the captain’s office and closed the door behind him.

The captain was pacing the length of his office and Zach almost ran into the man when he entered the office. “We’ve got trouble.”

Zach felt his pulse rise. The captain’s voice was different from when he’d talked to him at the hotel. Something was up. “What kind of trouble?”

“Another missing person.”

Zach felt a rush of blood to his head. “You’re kidding me. That’s not the MO.”

“It’s not another girl. This is an adult male.”

Relief washed over Zach. “Then it’s probably not related.”

“I know. Likely this has nothing to do with the Franco case, but it’s the second goddamned missing person in a week. I’m catching hell all the way around here, Blanchard. I hope that psychic woman was able to give you a lead.”

“Nothing solid yet, but there’s a couple of things I want to look into.”

The captain nodded. “You tell me as soon as you have something. First, I need you to check out this other case. Make sure it has nothing to do with the Francos.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’d be wasting time when I could be looking into those leads.”

“I know that, but you’re also the only one in contact with the Bordeaux woman. I want you to see the crime scene so you can relay the details to her. Make sure there’s not something in the FBI files that was missed or that we weren’t given. I don’t want that information second- and thirdhand.”

“No problem, sir. I’ll get on it right away.”

He took the sheet of paper with the crime-scene address on it from the captain and hurried through the station and back to his car. At least he hadn’t been there long enough to get towed. He pulled away from the curb, his tires squealing. This was a colossal waste of time. If the captain hadn’t been insistent, he’d have found some way to get out of it. He glanced down at the address and turned right at the red light.

Ten minutes later, he pulled up in front of a construction site. An older man and a woman stood out front with a patrolman. They both looked worried. Zach crossed the lawn, displaying his badge as he approached. “I’m Detective Blanchard. What’s going on here, B and E?”

The patrolman shook his head. “No sign of forced entry, and nothing missing but the cabinetmaker.”

“Maybe he’s sick or didn’t want to do the job any longer.”

“No way,” the older man said. He extended his hand. “I’m Chuck Daigle. I own the construction company building this clinic.” He waved a hand at the worried
woman. “This is Lila Comeaux. She’s the owner of the clinic. We both know the man who’s missing, and neither of us thinks this is in character. In fact, we’d swear to it.”

Zach held in a sigh. He’d heard that all too often. “Any signs of a struggle?”

“No,” the patrolman answered, “but there are some irregularities that make me think these two might be right. Let me show you.”