Relentless Pursuit (26 page)

“We all need to leave.”  Carlo replied.

“Sports car only holds two.”  Carpenter shot back, before grabbing up the shotgun lying beside Foster's prone body, and laid it on the floor.

“Never get past them, not on that crappy driveway.  If they're smart, they'll block the end and we'd be sitting ducks.”  Carlo slammed the front door shut, flipped the deadbolt before shoving the hall table against it.  Wouldn't hold for long, one good shove and they'd be through. 

“Excuse me.”  Isabella's voice stopped him cold.  He turned to her, waiting.

“We should take his truck.”  When Carlo stared at her, she shrugged.  “Mr. Foster, he has a pickup truck behind the house.  The keys are on a hook by the back door.”  When Carlo continued staring, she rolled her eyes.  “What, did you think I sat around eating cookies all day?  I looked for a way to escape.  Then when he came,” she jerked her head toward Carpenter, “I decided to take a chance, see if you would really return me to my father.  But I'm not stupid, so I made sure I had a backup plan.”  Turning, she sprinted down the hallway toward the kitchen.   Carlo heard Carpenter chuckle before both men raced after her.  With a pickup truck, they might have a fighting chance to get away from Gregorski and his goons.

Isabella waited by the back door, tossing the keys up and down.  Carlo snatched them on one of the up tosses, before handing Carpenter's Glock back to him.  Bending, he reached into his boot and pulled out his Smith and Wesson.

“Don't I get a gun?”  Isabella pouted.

“No!”  Both men answered at once.

“Spoilsports.”  Seems like her English had improved dramatically, Carlo thought.

The screech of brakes from the front galvanized him into action.  Peering through the glass panels on the back door, he didn't spot any movement.  He tossed the keys to Carpenter, silently acknowledging the man's better driving skills.  With a flick of his wrist, he flung open the door, gun pointed toward the wide open back yard.  No trees or bushes close enough to provide decent cover, it also meant nobody was hiding, waiting in ambush.

There was a dusty black Ford, parked about twenty feet beyond the door.   It seemed like miles of open space, but their options were slim.

“Ready?”

“I've got your back.”  Carpenter spoke from behind him, and Isabella patted his shoulder in a clumsy motion.  He had a hard time remembering she was just a kid.  A kid he needed to protect and get home to her family.  She'd handled herself better than most adults would've in the same situation, thinking on her feet and staying one step ahead, pretending she couldn't speak English.  That alone had been pretty darn smart.

“On three.”  He silently raised one finger, then two.  On the third, he burst through the open back door and raced toward the pickup, Isabella directly on his heels.  Carpenter dashed past, climbing into the driver's seat and shoving the keys into the ignition.  Carlo opened the passenger door and shoved Isabella through before scrambling in beside her.

Carpenter threw the truck into gear, peeling out from behind the house, dirt spewing from beneath the tires in a spray of dust and grass.  Foot to the floor, they rounded the side of the house, heading for the drive.  Shouts in Russian filled the air, and the sound of gunshots.  The distinctive ping as bullets hit metal.  Carpenter wove in and out across the pitted driveway, never driving in a straight line.  Leaning out the window, Carlo aimed at the tires of the black SUV parked in front of the house, but his shot went wide.

Ivor Gregorski's blond head was clearly visible above the roof of the SUV, where he stood, his gaze meeting Carlo's through the back window of the pickup.  With a cool nod, Gregorski stood there immobile, while his men scrambled around him, firing wildly.  Yet Gregorski himself never moved, only that single nodded, a brief inclination of his head once.

They were too far away now, but Carlo could have sworn the look that crossed Gregorski's face as they pulled onto the street and away from the Russians piling into the SUV was one of respect.

As they roared down the blacktop away from Gregorski and the Russians, Carlo's mind spun a million miles an hour.  Instead of getting into the SUV and giving chase, Gregorski stood, delaying his men from leaving.  What the hell was going on?   It almost seemed like he'd wanted them to get away.

Once again he wondered what the bloody hell was going on?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

D
ubshenko wiped the bead of sweat from his forehead.  This infernal heat.  He hated living in the Deep South, especially in the summertime.  Instead he longed for the colder climates of his Russian homeland.  Staring at the woman currently kneeling at his feet, he remembered there were some perks of living in America.

Her long blonde hair and blue eyes reminded him of his sweet Jennifer.  This woman was a pale imitation, a facsimile of the real thing, but she'd been available and Jennifer—well, soon enough she'd be his.  It was a shame he wouldn't get to keep her for long.  He'd promised Carlo his sister would pay the price of betrayal, had explained in exquisite detail all the things he planned to do to the sweet innocent beauty.

She'd sparked his interest from the beginning.  Her voluptuous curves and sparkling personality intrigued him.  First things first, though.  Carlo had to be found and the damning video destroyed.  If that footage came to light everything he'd worked so hard for in the last ten years went up in smoke.  Plus, Sokolov would put a bullet in his brain, if his American partner didn't beat him to it.

The damned American.  What had Sokolov been thinking, getting in bed with the foreign devil?  Hadn't he kept everything running smoothing in the southern region?  Now he had to answer to some politician with delusions of grandeur.

It wouldn't be long now, though.  He'd show both Sokolov and that upstart American politician who craved power exactly who held the real power in America.

He reached forward and patted the head of the girl still on her knees before him, head bowed.  She hadn't murmured a word since being brought into his bedroom, only an occasional sniffle.  Fear—it was a beautiful thing.

A sharp knock on the door interrupted.  He called out to enter, not bothering to stand or dress.  Bubba had seen him naked before, and nobody else would dare disturb him.

“Mr. Dubshenko.  Carlo was spotted in South Texas.”  Bubba's deep rumble echoed.  His hulking frame intimidated many, but Dubshenko knew where his loyalties lie.  It's amazing the power some judicious old-fashioned blackmail could wield.

“Where?”  Dubshenko stood, pulling on the robe, ignoring the woman at his feet as though she were invisible.

“Ivor Gregorski received a tip from an informant.  Carlo killed the informant and escaped with your package.”

“He has her?”

“He never lost her.  She's been staying with the informant, the one who called Gregorski.  By the time he and his men arrived, Carlo and the girl along with an unidentified male got away.”

Dubshenko frowned, pacing the floor beside his massive four poster bed.  “Why didn't Gregorski recover the package?”

“Apparently there was an exchange of gunfire, and in the chaos they got away.  They chased after them, but lost them in the town.”

Dubshenko cursed in Russian, and Bubba stood silent, a statue in the doorway, unobtrusive but present.

“I want him found.  Now!”  Dubshenko slapped his hand against one of the bedposts.  “Double the reward.  He's to be captured and brought in immediately.  Keep him and the girl alive.  She's still our best bargaining chip with Sokolov.  We're running out of time.  He will be in the States tomorrow.”

Bubba cleared his throat.  “Sir, there is more.”

Dubshenko froze.  “What?”

“The Marucci woman was spotted here in New Orleans.”

Here? 
Oh, this was priceless.  Capturing Carlo was top priority, but having the sister too, would be the final nail in his former employee's coffin.  If he got his hands on Jennifer, Carlo would do anything he wanted, including turning over the cell phone. 
That damned video was ruining his life
.

“She and Detective Lamoreaux went to a city park.  Three other men were there, one of them his brother.  When our men tried to shoot her…”

“Shoot her?  Were my orders not clear?  She is not to be harmed.  Kill Lamoreaux, but the girl is
mine
!”  Dubshenko took a deep breath, visibly calming himself, fisting then unclenching his hands.

Was it possible, both Marucci siblings within his grasp?  If he dealt with Carlo and his troublesome sister and retrieved pretty little Isabella, blackmailing Sokolov would be a piece of cake, as these Americans say.

But the icing on this particular cake would be never dealing with the American upstart again.  The politician who would be king would die in a blaze of glory at his hands, and the whole world would know that ultimate power belonged to Vladimir Dubshenko.

“The shooter has been dealt with appropriately, sir.  I have men tailing Lamoreaux as we speak.  We'll soon know exactly where they are and we'll get her back.”

“Excellent work, my friend.”  A sniffle from the floor drew Dubshenko's attention and he grimaced.  He was finished with her.  A poor imitation of the real prize, she'd been adequate at best, but still she deserved a reward.

“Take her home and make sure she's well compensated.  I won't need her services again.”  With a wave of his hand, Dubshenko turned his back, knowing his orders would be carried out.  Bubba always did exactly what he was told, never more and never less.  Dubshenko liked that.  A man with no ambition was a man easily led.

“Now, I think I'll have a little fun.”

Picking up his phone, he started dialing.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“I
don't suppose it's safe to go by my house and pick up some things?”  Jinx's half-hearted question had Remy wince.  Crap.  When they'd first taken off, he'd been too concerned with getting her out of New Orleans and keeping her safe.  Once they were on the road, hiding from Dubshenko's goons, he'd forgotten to tell her about her house.

“About that.  Jinx, I'm sorry.”

“What?”  She'd been slumped down in the seat of the car, but straightened at his words.  “My house?”

“The night we left, it burned to the ground.”  At her sigh, he faced her.

“Was anybody hurt?  My neighbors?”  Wasn't that just like her, concerned about others before herself.  One more thing he loved about her.  And he freely admitted it, he loved her.  Wasn't sure how he'd live without her once she was safe and he didn't have a reason to be in her life.

“All your neighbors are fine.  We know Dubshenko did it, we just haven't been able to prove it yet.”

“There's nothing left, is there?”

“I'm sorry, babe.”  What else could he say?  Comforting words wouldn't bring back her home, or the cherished memories it contained.  It broke his heart to see her so desolate, so hopeless.

“It's not your fault.  Damn Dubshenko.  He's taken everything away from me.  For what?  We don't even know what's on the cell phone Carlo hid.”

“Maybe I should call Captain Hilliard, and get the ball rolling on that.”  Remy reached into his car's console and picked up the cell phone they'd retrieved at the park, still wrapped in plastic.

“Should we check it out ourselves, Remy?  I'm sorry, but I don't know who to trust at this point.”  She stared up at him, gently touching his cheek.  “Besides you.  I trust you with my life.”

Remy's heart swelled at her words, hope burgeoning inside.  Maybe they'd have a shot once the smoke cleared and life returned to normal.  Or as normal as it could for a cop and a former grifter.

“Thank you for your trust, babe.  I promise you'll never regret it.”  He hated what he was about to do, but lives depended on finding Carlo's information and getting it into the right hands.  Unwrapping the plastic from the cell phone, he powered it on.  Barely five percent power, but it turned on.  He scrolled through it, leaning toward Jinx so she could see what he saw.

Nothing in the contacts that was unusual.  No incriminating e-mails.  Calendar had nothing.  Pictures, photos, nothing.

“What's that?”  Jinx pointed to an icon in the upper corner of the screen.  Remy squinted at it.

“Looks like a video icon.”

“Well play it, let's see if there's anything there.  Although it better not be Carlo and one of his girlfriends.  Uck!”

Remy laughed before tapping the icon.  The video played and Dubshenko's voice filled the sedan.  The quality wasn't the best, but there was enough there to be admissible in a court of law.  Dates, times, meetings, distribution runs.

A second figure, a dark-haired man, came into the frame, but was only visible from behind.  Taller than Dubshenko, he was clearly giving the orders and Dubshenko just as clearly wasn't happy about it.  Remy hit pause and stared out the windshield.  Who was the other man?

“Is it enough, Remy, to put Dubshenko behind bars?”

“It's a damn good start.”  He tapped the button to continue playing, but the phone's screen went black and abruptly cut off.

“We need to get this charged and see the entire thing.”

“Okay, I've got to ask.”  Jinx toyed with a piece of her red hair, and once again Remy wished it was back to its natural color.  “Did you recognize the man with Dubshenko?”

“He's familiar.  It's like I've seen him, but I can't place the voice.  Unfortunately, we didn't get to see his face—yet.  We'll get the phone charged and watch the rest of the video.  If we're lucky, Carlo got a shot of his face and we'll know who Dubshenko's boss is, who's really running the New Orleans syndicate.”

Remy turned on the ignition and pulled the car out of the parking garage they'd been hiding in, and drove out onto the street.  “First thing, we need to get hold of Captain Hilliard.  Let him know that somebody else is behind Dubshenko's reign of terror.”

Jinx's expression didn't change, she just twirled that piece of hair around her fingertip, her eyes had a far-away look in them.  “There is something so familiar about that other man.  Where do I know him from?  I swear I've seen him before.”