Target (21 page)

N
ick pulled the Audi into his carport. A few hours could change a lot of things, a man's mind for one thing. The confrontation with Matt had caught him off guard, but he had already rethought how he intended to handle dealing with Colin Fox. The first step would be to draw him out. Then he had to be tricked into making a mistake. When that happened, Nick would be ready.

Going into the lab that afternoon, after several days' absence, had felt spookier than he'd expected. He had looked out of his windows at the rose beds where Baily had died. Bunches of flowers had been left on the ground and several staff members stood around, apparently in silence. He thought back over his brief relationship with Baily. Outside work, music was her passion and she could be fun, but her need to cling had suffocated him.

If he'd made the parting less complete, would she still be alive?

He got out of the car and bumped into Joan Reeves.

“Excuse me,” she said and stepped back. “We forgot to make a date for another meeting.”

No, I didn't.
“Excuse me, Joan. I can't stop now.”

“You have an appointment somewhere else?”

She didn't mean any harm, he reminded himself. But she did irritate him. “We can't talk today,” he said, nodding, and stepping around her.

“You're the ideal ‘now' guy to write about in relation to Place LaFource,” she said. “This is going to be a fun book, Nick. We hope it'll bring positive interest to this part of the country. There's no other place like it and I want to make more people want to come here. I've got good media connections and I know I can get the publicity bookings.”

He noticed the roots of her hair needed a touch-up. She wore less makeup than usual and looked hastily put together in a yellow shirt with one side of the collar twisted in and a short fringed skirt that looked wintry.

“There aren't many people like you,” she said. “Not that I've been able to find. But this project will be nothing but positive. Don't you think it's your responsibility to help?”

He wanted to ask when her ambitions were supposed to have become his. “This isn't a great time, Joan.” He tried to go around her again but she moved to cut him off. “Look, get back to me in a few days. Then we'll see.”

“Just answer a couple of questions,” she said. “How long ago did the Board family move into Place Lafource? What made Delia choose Pointe Judah as a permanent home? You lived with other relatives for a few years when you were a kid. In San Francisco. Then you got together with your family in Savannah. How did you get all the way from the San Francisco area to Savannah when you didn't have much money?”

Nick gave her all of his attention. She didn't have everything quite right, but she was close. “How do you know I went to Savannah? How did you know I used to live in San Franciso? And how much money I did or didn't have? Where did all that come from?”

She looked blank, then shrugged. “I read it somewhere, I guess.”

Fortunately, little had ever been written about him. “I don't think I've got anything else to say yet,” he said. “People experiment—with all kinds of things. Go back to reading, hmm? Focus on what you're trying to do, then maybe we'll talk.”

“Don't be like this.” She caught hold of his arm. “I've sold my idea, now I need a little help. Let me take you to dinner tonight.”

“Not tonight, but thanks.” He smiled at her. Desperation in another embarrassed him.

She dropped her hand and nodded. “You're right.” Her laugh sounded unaffected. “Forgive me. I can taste this one, and writers can get a bit desperate when they think they've got something good on the hook. That's not your problem.”

“It's okay,” he said. She was guilty of lousy timing, not that he knew if there would ever be a right time to delve into what he didn't understand himself. “Take care, okay?”

Joan nodded again. “I'll do that. You, too.”

Nick left her in the driveway and went into his condo feeling faintly guilty. She had no way of knowing what he and the people he cared about were dealing with.

He was due to see Finn Duhon. Since he didn't want more subterfuge, he'd told Delia, who grudgingly gave her blessing.

The meeting with Finn had been postponed from late morning to midafternoon. The guy had been decent about it, reacting as if he didn't have anything else to do but wait around for Nick.

He had made a decision he didn't like and went into his bedroom. Aurelie had knocked his socks off with the casual way she'd shown up with her Glock. He couldn't afford to be unarmed, either, not now.

The Sig Sauer was also 9 mm but whereas Aurelie had described her gun as “pretty,” Nick's had a blunt, businesslike elegance. He knew how to use it. He checked it out, loaded, and slid it into the back of his belt. The nylon windbreaker he put on top of his shirt was too warm, but it was also necessary.

He went into the bathroom to use the toilet. When he tried to flush, the tank ran, but little water swirled into the bowl.

Damning the extra waste of time, he took off the lid and looked inside—and laughed. He got the message. Nick Board was vulnerable and he ought to be afraid.

He wasn't.

A fatty foot, recently cut from a chicken carcass, rested between the tank ball and the valve seat.

He leaned against the wall and laughed till his stomach hurt.

 

An elevator behind the grand staircase in the old Oakdale Mansion rose directly to Finn Duhon's office suite. Nick got into the car swiftly, grateful that the entry hall was empty, including the reception desk. He saw Finn's hand in the deserted area and admired the man's attention to detail. Nick hit the button for the top floor.

From choice, he would have preferred this meeting to take place on his own turf but, as Finn pointed out, in his office they could control interruptions.

The elevator sucked smoothly to a halt on the top floor. The doors opened into a wide hall where an old, black mahogany console table rested its brass feet on broad wood planks, just as dark, that reflected the piece of furniture. A large, gilt-framed painting of a woman in early 1800s riding garb sat sidesaddle on a black horse, gazing out at nothing. On top of the console, fine old pieces of blue Severs and a matching pair of Masan urns begged for closer inspection.

That wasn't to be. Finn Duhon, big, dark and dynamic, strode to meet Nick. They looked eye-to-eye and Nick felt a mutual sizing up. “Good to see you,” Finn said, offering a broad hand. “I hope my call to you didn't stir up a nest of snakes with Delia.” One size of his mouth jerked downward.

“I assure you it did,” Nick said with a short laugh. “But I think you know Delia Board well enough to expect that. I was surprised she was happy for me to come without her this afternoon.”

“Come on in,” Finn said. “I've got someone I want you to meet. Delia called me about an hour ago.”

Nick shook his head. “I'm afraid to ask why.”

“Just to make sure I wouldn't be too hard on you about interferin' with her arrangements.”

They both laughed.

“How's Emma?” Nick asked of Finn's wife. “Aurelie sees her, but I can't remember the last time I did.”

Finn's expression softened. “Emma's just fine,” he said. “It's hard to hold her back from taking on too much but that's her way.” He hesitated, then added, “We expect our first child in a few months.”

Nick thumped the other man's arm. “Congratulations.”

Finn broke into a huge smile.

The room they entered through an archway had walls the color of tangerines, and a mix of animal-print fabrics on big, comfortable furniture.

“Meet Angel,” Finn said, and a man detached himself from the spot where he leaned on the wall near broad windows. “Christian DeAngelo. An old friend of mine.”

Nick took a measure of the man in khaki shirt and pants. Impressive. Another firm handshake brought them close enough to give him a good look into expressionless gray eyes. Angel probably wasn't what his enemies called him. His shoulders and arms looked unlikely to dent if you hit them with a pick.

Angel nodded and Nick did the same.

“If you can call what's going on with you and the family good timing, then this is good timing,” Finn said. “Angel's got itchy feet and he's looking for something new to keep him occupied. I'm trying to get him to stick around with me, at least for a few months. There are a lot of elements about the building industry that need someone with a strong hand—and a brain. That's Angel. I want him as my head of field operations. He's still deciding.”

All interesting, Nick thought, but what did any of it have to do with him?

“Angel knows about negotiating with folks who don't want to listen,” Finn said. “But that's just one of his talents.”

A fleeting thought that the guy sounded like someone in collections for the mob didn't amuse Nick. He put his hands in his pockets and tried to relax. He wished he knew what Delia had told Finn she wanted from him.

“Once I left D.C. I hadn't planned to do much of what you and your Delia may need,” Angel said. He inclined his head toward Finn. “But for this guy I could be persuaded to make a brief exception.” He looked steadily at Nick. “What's on your mind?”

Caught without a response, Nick said, “I was thinking I can't imagine you kicking back with the boys to knock down a few beers.”

Angel's grin changed his austerely arresting face. Still arresting, but amused, he laughed a little. “You might be surprised.”

“Some years in…special services can make it hard to relax,” Finn said. “So I'm told.”

Angel's grin vanished.

“According to Delia, you need a bodyguard,” Finn said to Nick. “Angel's the best there is.”

Nick gave the guy another good looking-over. “Special services” could be code for CIA. “I don't doubt it. What I need is someone to back me up.”

He accepted a Scotch and when they were settled, he unloaded every detail of his story, including the break-in and his theory that Colin Fox was somewhere around. At one point he grimaced and said, “How do people stand going through therapy? I've got to be boring you, spilling all this stuff.”

“Uh-uh,” Angel said. “I'd like to know what happened to the ruby.”

“Me, too,” Nick agreed. “If I had it, I'd find a way to offer it to Colin Fox just to get lost.”

“That wouldn't work,” Finn said. “He doesn't want you around, any of you. You're too dangerous to him.”

“I know that,” Nick said. “I'm going to have to let Matt Boudreaux know about the chicken foot. He's frozen me out for not being quick enough to contact him.”

“They need to go over your place,” Angel said. “Did you check to see if anything was taken?”

“Not in detail. Nothing of value that I could see, though. The point was the severed foot—chopped, snapped, whatever.”

“The amateur dramatics never quit surprising me.” Angel crossed his substantial arms. “These people are arrogant. At least we've been lucky so far, though.”

“Lucky?” Nick asked.

“He's leaving chicken feet rather than bodies,” Angel said. “Unless he's Baily's killer.”

“All true. Finn, did you tell Delia you wanted all of us at Lafource? Staying there, I mean.”

“So you can be sitting ducks together?” Angel asked.

“I didn't suggest anything,” Finn said. “I think you should all be in your own places.”

“We're going to be,” Nick said. “But I can't watch all three of them at once.”

“No,” Angel said. “Evidently this Ed isn't going to be much help.”

“I feel a bit guilty about him,” Nick said. “I think he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Delia had felt better having him and Sabine with her, so I think they should stay. That way it doesn't look as if they were frightened off. Aurelie's setup isn't so bad. There's an alarm and she's got a dog the size of a small bear. Also, she doesn't live far from me.”

“So you can handle anything she needs?” Finn asked.

“Good,” Angel said without waiting for an answer. “I'll need to meet the other two so they don't start screaming if I show up.”

“Right,” Nick said. “Where will you be?”

Still, Angel's expression didn't change. “I'll let you know. And Finn will come in if we need him. Who watches you, Nick?”

Rarely did Nick feel like throwing a punch, but he did now. “I think I'll manage, thanks.”

“I think you will, too,” Angel said. “Just wanted to give you the option. Something puzzles me. Your sisters. They weren't with you when you were at that place. The Refuge. Were they already with Delia?”

“I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourselves for now,” Nick said. “Sarah and Aurelie are sisters. They are not related to me.”