Relentless Pursuit (29 page)

Carpenter plopped down sodas next to each of their plates, and Carlo mumbled his thanks, his mouth full.  Isabella never stopped shoveling food in.  If she didn't slow down, Carlo thought, she might choke.

“I had a friend contact Branson before I called, and explain our dilemma, so he wasn't surprised at my contact.  By the way, they uncovered the rat in his department.  Branson's clean.”

Well, that took one worry off Carlo's list.  Branson had never out and out given him a reason to doubt him, but then again, he'd never exactly been the most forthcoming with info or intelligence, either, when it would have helped.  Still, he was glad he wasn't on Dubshenko's payroll, though he doubted he'd ever become best buddies with the guy.

“Where's the meeting?”

Carpenter took a sip of his coffee before answering.  “The DEA is coordinating with the FBI and the local authorities to retrieve the information you've got.   Pretty smart hiding most of it around the city.”
  “Well, Dubshenko didn't suspect me until this last SNAFU.”  He glanced over toward Isabella, oblivious to everything except the burger she was shoveling into her mouth.  “I never really had enough concrete evidence until I stumbled upon him meeting with…” He broke off abruptly, his eyes shifting to Isabella.

Carpenter nodded, understanding the unspoken words.  They wouldn't say much in front of Isabella.  They trusted her, but she was still a kid and might unknowingly say something to her father once she was returned.  Better safe than sorry.

“I'm worried about Jinx though.  I left her a coded message only she'd understand on her voice mail.  If she's even got it.  N.O.P.D. has a cop watching her.”

“Got a name?”

“Yeah, Remy Lamoreaux.  I haven't had time to check him out, but what little I know about him, he's a pretty good cop.”

Carpenter pulled out his phone and began typing.  Within seconds, he sent the text and smiled.  “Give me five minutes and we'll know everything there is to know about Remy Lamoreaux.”

“Your guy's that good?”  Carlo was impressed.  Whenever he needed info, the DEA pencil pushers took forever.

“She's the best.”  There was an undercurrent of something in Carpenter's voice, but Carlo didn't have time to try and puzzle it out.  They needed to get Isabella back to her father, and Vladimir Dubshenko and his partner behind bars.

They ate in companionable silence for several minutes when there was a beep on Carpenter's phone.  He answered, listened for several minutes, then hung up.

“Lamoreaux's clean.  Good cop, trusted by fellow officers and a favorite of the division's captain.  Whole family seems to be squeaky.  Brother's a former cop, now a P.I.  Future sister-in-law runs one of those woo-woo shops in the French Quarter.  She's a supposed psychic, and apparently a pretty good one.  Worked with the cops on several cases.  Has a good track record.  Father is retired military.  Mother worked as a nurse until she quit to travel with their father.”

“That's good.  So Jinx should be safe for now.”

A knock on the door interrupted them.  Carpenter pulled out his Glock and Carlo retrieved his Smith and Wesson.  He motioned for Isabella to stay behind him, as Carlo opened the door just enough to talk to the person outside.

After a few words were exchanged, the door swung open and Branson walked inside.  Carlo huffed, but eased down on his weapon.  Carpenter said Branson had checked out.

“Marucci, where the hell have you been?”  Branson marched straight up to him, and surprised the hell out of him when he pulled him forward, slapping him on the back.  
What. The. Hell?

“I believe the FBI and N.O.P.D updated you on the information Mr. Marucci uncovered with regard to Dubshenko?”  Carpenter shoved the Glock back into his waistband, and picked up his salad.  Carlo almost snorted at the look of surprise on Branson's lined face.  His brows shot up beneath the wire-rimmed glasses, and not for the first time Carlo thought he looked like a bookworm instead of a man capable of running the entire southeastern division of the DEA.

“Besides, I called you and set up this little meeting, didn't I?”  Carpenter shoved a forkful of salad into his mouth, and Branson was speechless.  Carlo raised a hand across his mouth to hide the smile threatening to break free.

“That's another thing.  Who the hell are you?  I got a call to deal with you directly, but nobody gave me any information.  They wouldn't even tell me your name.”  Branson stood with his hands on hips, trying to be intimidating and failing miserably.  He might be great behind a desk, but in the field he was a total washout.

“Didn't I introduce myself?  Names Carpenter.”  Another bite of salad slid between his lips.

“Carpenter?”  It took a full minute before Carlo saw the light bulb, ah-ha moment flash across Branson's face.  “Samuel Carpenter?”

“Yep.”

“How'd you get involved in this? You're not DEA anymore.”  Branson's chest jutted out like a banty rooster, and Carpenter rolled his eyes.  Carlo didn't blame him.  Branson always seemed to think of himself as being above everyone, which endeared him to no one.

“Not important.  What is important is this—Dubshenko is going down, and it's happening soon, maybe in the next twenty-four hours.  You can either be in or out.”

Branson glared at Carpenter before turning to Carlo.  Before he opened his mouth, he spotted Isabella, arms wrapped around her middle standing right behind Carlo.

“Who's she?”

“She's part of the key to bringing down Vladimir Dubshenko.  The final straw that breaks the camel's back.  Meet Isabella Sokolov.”  Branson's eyes rounded behind his wire rims, so big the whites shone all the way around.

“Sokolov?  As in—”

“Oh, yeah.”  Carlo chimed in.  “That Sokolov.”

He could practically see the gears turning in his brain.  Branson might be a wimpy little bugger, but he had a brilliant mind.  He'd connect the dots without any explanation.

Branson puffed out his chest.  “Let's all sit.  Finish your meals.  We've got some planning to do.”

“We know.  That's why we called you.”

Chapter Thirty-One

J
inx snuggled closer to the warm body spooned around her back.  The strong arm across her middle tightened, and breath stirred the hair beside her ear. 
Remy.

They'd spent the entire day making love, only stopping long enough to grab some food from Theresa's stocked kitchen.  When she'd remarked on all the fresh produce, Remy laughed and said Theresa probably knew they'd show up there, and didn't want them to starve.

“Morning, sweetheart.”  His raspy greeting was accompanied by his lips nuzzling against her nape, and she tilted her head giving him greater access.   The arm draped across her shifted, and his hand cupped her breast.  This was perfect.  She'd give anything to wake up like this every morning for the rest of her life.

“Hi.”  Wow, was that throaty growl her voice?

“Yes, good morning.”  Jinx yelped, and Remy's arm across her tightened.  The voice had come from the end of the bed, though she didn't need to look to recognize it.  Dubshenko's massive bodyguard lounged against the wall with his arm across his enormous chest, a SIG Sauer resting easily in his right hand.  The perpetual scowl from his scarring had her stomach pitching and heaving, and she slammed her lips closed against the instinct to heave.

“Mr. Dubshenko would like to see you—both.”  Her skin crawled as his gaze raked her from the top of her head to her toes, pausing to linger on her exposed breasts.  Remy yanked the sheet up, thankfully covering her, and glowered at the giant.

“We're not going anywhere.”

“Detective, I believe you and the lovely Ms. Marucci will accompany us,” he motioned with the gun to the three other men positioned in the doorway, “or your brother and his lovely fiancee will take your place.  Trust me, you don't want their fate in the hands of Mr. Dubshenko.  He's not a happy man when he doesn't get what he wants.”

Remy flopped over onto his back rubbing a hand across his face, and Jinx felt bereft when his arms were no longer embracing her.  There was no way to get out of this room, not with four armed men and only one door, which they were currently blocking.

Come on, Jinx, think.  What would Pop-Pop do?

Her eyes darted around the cramped bedroom, searching for answers.  Hands gripped the sheet tight when she spotted the cell phone.  They'd remembered to plug it in yesterday in between their bouts of lovemaking, but something didn't look right.

She swung around to Remy, and he shrugged and kept his mouth shut. 
The louse
!  Didn't he trust her at all?  That wasn't Carlo's phone in the charger.  Somehow, during the night he'd switched it for the burner phone he'd carried all day yesterday.  Damn him!

Obviously Dubshenko's comrade-in-arms, A.K.A. Mr. Scarface, had followed her gaze because he walked over to the phone, unplugged it from the charger and placed it into the inside pocket of his jacket.  He laughed, and the darkness in the sound caused the little hairs along her arms to stand on end.  

“Thank you, Ms. Marucci.  Mr. Dubshenko will be very happy to have this.  Of course, he'd be happier if he had Carlo as well, but this will suffice.  For now.”

Jinx's heartbeat tripped over in her chest, beating faster at his words.  Dubshenko didn't have Carlo!  If he was still searching for him, that meant he wasn't dead.  She felt the imperceptible stiffening of Remy's body beside hers, and she tugged the sheet tighter and higher.

“Get dressed, now.  Mr. Dubshenko is waiting.”  The muscular giant nudged a pile of clothing with his foot, a look of distaste crossing his face. 
What, he didn't like people making love on possibly their last night alive?  Well, too stinking bad.

“Wait in the hall while she dresses,” Remy barked, his face hard, his tone intractable.

“You don't give the orders here, Detective Lamoreaux.”

“How will Vladimir feel if he knows you've seen her naked?  I'm pretty sure he plans to keep her all to himself, and from what I've heard he doesn't share.”  Remy flipped back his portion of the cover, and stood tall and nude, unashamed before the gun-wielding mobsters.  “She hasn't done anything to earn your disrespect.  Wait outside the door and let her dress.  We're coming with you—it's not like we have any choice.”

Remy bent and picked up the clothing off the floor, tossing Jinx the wrinkled shirt and pants she'd worn the previous day.  Crap.  She'd planned on raiding Theresa's closet and finding something fresh to wear, but beggars can't be choosers, at least not while a pistol is pointed at you.

“Um, can I use the bathroom?”

The three men had left the room, leaving only Dubshenko's bodyguard still remaining, though she knew the others could be back inside in a heartbeat.  There was no way out except to comply with his demands.

Remy had dragged on his jeans while she hadn't been looking, and now yanked on his shirt, ignoring the fact it was inside out.  He sat on the edge of the bed and slid his feet into his runners, and just like that he was ready to leave.  How like a man, she thought.

“I'm sorry, but I've got to pee.”

“Go, but make it fast.  Take too long and…” The gun pointed at Remy's head centered between his eyes.  Yeah, she got the message.  Yanking the sheet from the bed, she wrapped it around her nakedness. She fisted the clothes in her hand and with the dignity of queen, strode across the floor to the bathroom.  The same bathroom where she and Remy shared intimate moments.  Had it been only yesterday?

She raced through taking care of her personal business, and tugged on her clothes.  It didn't matter how she looked, she had a pretty good idea how things would end.  Bayou bait.

In less than ten minutes she'd gone from secure and safe within Remy's arms, to huddled in the back seat of an SUV headed toward a meeting with the man who, when all was said and done, would end her life.

Yep, today totally sucked.

# # # # #

Dubshenko didn't even try to hide his smile as the naked dark-haired girl presented the tray with his breakfast.  This day kept getting better and better.  After a night of mindless sex with the stunning creole beauty, he'd gotten word lights were seen in the shop above Theresa Lamoreuax's French Quarter shop.

He'd had the place watched, knowing instinctively the good detective would figure it was a safe hiding place.  After all, his future sister-in-law's place had already been searched when he and Jennifer first disappeared.  Other than bugging the phones, which they had done, why keep an eye on a place where nobody lived anymore?

No one could ever accuse Dubshenko of being stupid.  He was a master manipulator, and looked at life like a chess match.  Always stay at least three moves ahead of your competition.  Remy Lamoureaux had become his adversary long before he'd interfered in the life of Jennifer Marucci.  But he'd loved the cat and mouse nature of their encounters.  Enjoyed making the good detective look the fool at every turn.

He'd made a mistake, though.  Underestimated the good detective's white knight impulse to protect the damsel in distress.  Taking a sip of his chicory coffee, he sighed.  This was one of the many things he loved about being in a position of power.  All the finer things in life were available at a snap of his fingers, or for the right price.  For him, the price was always right.  People knew that or people disappeared, and somebody else took their place who realized the foolishness of crossing him.  No one did it more than once.

He'd sent Bubba to retrieve Remy and the lovely Jennifer.  While he'd admired the chase they'd given him, they should have known they couldn't win.   He was powerful, and when his candidate won the upcoming election, his power base would increase exponentially.

The metal doors of the warehouse slid open with hardly a sound, and two black SUV's pulled into the empty bay.  Excellent, his quarry was within his grasp.  He remained seated.  Make them come to him.  Soon all the players on the chessboard would be in place, and the game finally concluded.  He so looked forward to tipping the final piece, proclaiming “checkmate” and claiming his prize.