Against the Rules (21 page)

Up and down the City Road,

In and out the Eagle.

That’s the way the money goes.

Pop! goes the weasel!

He hummed the tune as he loaded Chantel into the back of the SUV and headed into the city.

* * * *

“Sir, I think we’ve retrieved the cell phone Chantel used to call you. So far, there’s no sign of her.”

“Put out an APB on Reese McCormick and Chantel.” It was a gamble. The cartel had fingers in every pie. If they made the connection between Reese and four-six-two, he might be putting Chantel in even greater danger and writing a death warrant for Teague. “Make it clear, they’re wanted for questioning. Questioning only. Concerning a kidnapping. I don’t want anyone getting trigger happy.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.”

“I pushed her to do this, didn’t I?” Donley couldn’t help but feel that this was his fault.

“Sir?”

“She’s in love with him. I know that look. Her mother had it for me, though I never deserved it.”

Sid looked terribly uncomfortable. He probably didn’t have any idea what to say. Not that it mattered—Donley talked because the silence was screaming at him.

“Her family was loaded and I didn’t have a penny to my name. I was in the service and damn glad to be there.”

The chief stared at the wall, reliving the past. Sid stayed behind the desk, looking over Donley’s right shoulder.

“Her sorority was sponsoring some charity drive, for the local kids, I think. Ed and I had just finished SERE—survival, escape, resistance and evasion—training. God, it was tough, but we made it. We thought we could save the world. Just the two of us. We could take on anything. And just like that—” He snapped his fingers. “We were felled by two sorority girls.” He smirked.

“Shannon’s parents owned half of the Carolinas. They were furious when they found out. I couldn’t blame them. I wasn’t a good bet. Aside from the vast differences in our financial situations, I was an adrenaline junkie back then. I volunteered for every mission. The more the odds were stacked against the operation, the quicker I’d sign on.”

“I’ll never forget when Dorothy, Shannon’s mother, showed up on the base demanding to see me. I’d asked Shannon to marry me the night before.” He remembered it like it was yesterday. “I was sure Dorothy was there to try and scare me off.” He shook his head. “She was a tough old bird, full of piss and vinegar. By the time she left, I’d asked my CO for a transfer to MP training. She said her daughter wasn’t going to be a camp follower and if I was going to be with their daughter, I had to settle my ass down and grow roots.”

“I never quite managed that, but we stayed in the States. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out Dorothy had been behind the Bureau’s knocking on my door. She was an amazing woman. As far as I know, she never tried to knock sense into Shannon. She voiced her concerns and, honestly, they were valid. But she never laid down the law.”

He hung his head. “She knew better than to butt into our affairs. The old lady would have boxed my ears for trying it with Chantel. Hell, I knew better when I was doing it. What was I thinking? Of course she would run to him. Shannon would have done the same thing, and Dorothy knew it.”

Sid tapped his fingers on the desk. “So, you and Ed were in the military together?”

The sound of Sid’s voice pulled Donley from his memories. “Yeah, we went through boot camp together. I wouldn’t have made my silver wing without him. Damn night jumps.” He ran a hand through his hair. Worry was eating him alive. “You ever jump out of a plane at night, Sid?”

“No, sir, I’ve never had the pleasure.”

“Ed loved jumping. Day, night, it didn’t matter. He talked Jasmine into it. On his off time, they’d jump together.” He shook his head. “Crazy.”

“Does he still?” Sid asked.

“No.”

“What happened?”

The chief looked at Sid, debating whether it was his place to divulge personal information about Ed. Donley made the decision.

“I’d already transferred over to the MPs and was talking to the FBI. Ed thought I’d lost my mind. Jasmine loved that Ed was in the military so he stayed put. He went out on another mission.” Donley still carried the guilt of not being there when he had been needed.

“It went bad. He took a bullet in the leg and they flew him back to Bragg.” He felt a helpless impotence every time he thought about the bad turns Ed’s life had taken. “He was about to be released from the hospital when we got the news Jasmine was missing. Her body was found about a month later. It’s still unsolved. No leads, nothing.

Shannon had been devastated. They’d been friends for years. A senseless killing. Like all violent actions, the ripples had affected countless others.

Ed had never been the same. His life had gone down the shitter. He’d taken a hardship discharge. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. He was too fucked up to go out on any missions. He was a danger to himself and others. Several times, he’d talked about eating a bullet. Survivor’s guilt.

Ed had applied for the Bureau, but had failed the psych exam. Not surprising considering everything he’d been through. Donley had urged Ed to try again once he’d gotten his head clear. He wouldn’t. His pride got in the way. Ed couldn’t hold a job. Alcohol became a problem for a while. Eventually, he’d cleaned up, sobered up and had been with Donley ever since.

“You might look over the evidence and see if you can make anything out of it.” Before Sid had been recruited from the FBI, he’d been a cold case guru. His success rate bested some of Donley’s agents with current cases, those with the benefit of fresh evidence and improved investigative techniques. With a few keystrokes on the computer, he sent Sid the information he had access to. Donley knew that Sid had his own sources. Once set on the trail, he’d find something.

“Sure, Chief. I’ll get right on it.”

“No, Sid. Chantel first. We get her home, then, when you have time, you can look into Jasmine’s case.” He’d love to solve it. Donley hadn’t been much more than a fresh recruit when it had happened. At the time, he hadn’t been privy to the details of the case. Because of his personal interest, the Bureau hadn’t wanted to risk a procedural error or a defense attorney insinuating bias. As the years had gone by, Donley had reviewed the data, but he just couldn’t bring himself to look at the photos. He knew from experience that once seen it would be impossible to ever un-see them.

Ed had needed the closure, though. He had never sustained a relationship since. The chief knew that Ed blamed himself. If he’d settled down, he would have been there for her. Perhaps he could have changed the chain of events leading to her death.

Ed had to let it go. The path of woulda, coulda, shoulda will kill a man. As it was, Ed would disappear for days, sometimes weeks. He’d escape to the mountains and fish or hunt until the demons got off his back.

“Yes, sir.”

Knowing that until Chantel called or they caught a break in the case, there was little to do but wait, Sid opened Jasmine’s case file and began a cursory look at the investigation. Jasmine Duveaux, twenty-three, dark hair and complexion, exotic-looking really. Not at all what he’d expected. Ed was an odd bird, and rough around the edges. Sid had imagined him with a buxom blonde, with generous features, chomping gum and drinking beer from a long neck. Jasmine was ninety pounds soaking wet, refined features and from old money. Her father, Louis Duveaux, was the sole heir to a textile fortune.

It would have made more sense for Ed to have mysteriously disappeared than Jasmine. Sid doubted that Duveaux’s parents had welcomed the match. Maybe he was allowing his own negative feelings toward Ed to color his thoughts. He made a note to investigate Ed’s injury. Was it possible that Duveaux’s parents had been making sure their daughter made a better match? Maybe a double cross had occurred. The parents had been angry at the botched job, had threatened to cause a stink and the would-be hit man had struck back at their daughter. Her injuries were excessive, a brutal punishment. It had taken hours, perhaps longer, for her to die.

He took a deep breath and started going through the crime scene photos. They always shook him up. No matter how analytical he tried to be, he felt like he was moving through an oily sludge he never quite managed to wash off.

The body had been moved and the actual murder scene hadn’t been discovered. DNA detection hadn’t been as sophisticated at the time of Jasmine’s murder. He made a note to check and see if the evidence was still viable. One photo caught his eye. Her bare torso had bruising, lash and teeth marks. He kept going back to it again and again. Something looked familiar, but he couldn’t put a finger on what.

Police looked to those closest to the victim, especially in cases showing such brutality. Ed had been in the hospital just as Donley had stated. Her parents were in New York City on a working vacation. It would be interesting to get a look at their financials for that time period. He made another note to see if they were available.

Continuing to scan through the file, he got to the autopsy report. He knew immediately why he had been drawn back to the photo. The odd bite marks matched those from the Weasel victims. Could Jasmine have been his first? If so, what did it mean?

* * * *

The compound—what little he could see of it—was enormous. Double gates hid the armed gunmen patrolling the inner area from the public. If the general populace had any idea what went on behind the handcrafted stone walls, they would demand that law enforcement tear it down boulder by boulder.

Teague fought to keep his breathing calm as the van pulled to a stop. He realized that his plan had some gaping holes in it. While he had enough weapons to get the job done, he couldn’t survive a full-out assault. How in the hell was he going to escape the barrage of men this place held?

His conscience still beat him up too. He’d never known a man who needed killing as badly as G., but doing so would sever their ability to rescue a smattering of the kids that had landed in this hellhole.
Shit.

Would they be able to re-establish their window once the inevitable power struggle eased? He didn’t bother trying to fool himself into believing that killing G. would end the illegal activities. It would only slow them down for a short time and get his head off the chopping block, thus keep Channy from danger.

The van door slid open, spilling sunlight into his eyes as he cringed and huddled in the corner. Non-threatening wuss was the look he was going for. A total computer geek afraid of a hangnail.

“Get over here, asshole,” a goon ordered, as they pulled him through the door.

Teague landed on the ground, his wrists and ankles bleeding again from the ties cutting into his skin. Two men cradled assault rifles loosely aimed at him and Foster. Teague continued to lie on his side, his head resting in the dirt. He refused to draw attention or move without permission. His only goal at this point was to get back to Channy. During the four hours he’d been stuck in the van, he’d begun to have a really bad feeling and it had nothing to do with him. His gut was churning. Panic threatened to override all else. She was in trouble. He just knew it. Over the years, he’d learned to trust his instincts. Something bad was going down. Painful though it was, he pushed her from his mind. He couldn’t help her from here. He just had to finish this and get back to her.

Foster scrambled to his knees, cursing at the men until they kicked him in the ribs and he fell over backwards. Again, he rolled onto his side and rocked until he was sitting. The men laughed at his attempts and kicked him over every time he succeeded.

Teague was content to save his energy. Through hooded eyes, he got a feel for the place. It was going to be a bitch getting back out of here. He’d seen less armed men at some military installations. At least he knew they weren’t as well trained.

Sammy walked out of the building straight toward them. “Take ’em down to bunker T-three.”

“Cut their legs loose, man,” Marco suggested.

Teague grunted from a kick to his stomach.

“This son of a bitch is too heavy to carry that far and I ain’t waiting all day for him to hop.”

One of the goons reached into the van and pulled out a pair of diagonal cutters.

“G.’s expected this evening. It’ll be your ass if these dickheads aren’t waiting for him,” Sammy cautioned.

Marco obviously gave that some thought. People who pissed off G. ended up dead. Sometimes it took a long time, sometimes a shot to the head. But dead just the same.

“Fuck it! Drag his sorry ass.” Marco motioned toward Foster. “He’s a scrawny little shit and more trouble than he’s worth. This SOB is too heavy.”

Teague felt the tie wrap tighten before it sprang loose. A foot in his ass landed Teague face first into the gravel.

“Try anything and I’ll shoot your balls off myself. Now get up. Slowly,” Marco ordered.

Teague pulled his legs underneath him before sitting up, each move slow and deliberate, feigning stiffness and taking two tries before he stood. He kept his head down, seemingly resigned to his fate, yet seeing as much as possible. The guards on top of the building were going to be a problem.

He might have to take Foster out with him. Nobody could caterwaul as well as he could. Every eye in the place was on him. He was a great distraction.

One of the goons opened a side door and ushered them through. The storage room had wooden crates lining two of the walls. A card table was set up near the center. By the far wall, another man leaned down and pulled a throw rug off a hinged door in the floor.

A wave of his weapon sent Teague down a steep wooden stairwell. He was about halfway down when Foster was tossed through the opening. Teague, with his arms still bound, couldn’t stop their descent. Foster skidded along and over Teague’s back, crushing his ribs into the wooden steps. The goon squad laughed hysterically and slammed the door shut behind them.

Foster landed on the floor, quiet for the first time all day. Teague hoped that he wasn’t dead. He wanted that pleasure for himself. The bastard.