Relentless Pursuit (30 page)

Remy alighted from the vehicle first, and reached inside to help Jennifer out.  Ah, ever the gentleman, Dubshenko thought.  He truly is the white knight.  Too bad he will not win the fair maiden.  Bubba and his elite crew stood beside the couple, weapons drawn.  After all, you can never be too careful around the police, even when they are unarmed.

Without hesitation, Remy marched forward, Jennifer's hand wrapped around his arm.  Dubshenko noted the tremble in her fingers as they gripped the other man, and a moue of distaste crossed his mouth before he let all emotions drain away.  It wouldn't do to tip his hand too soon.

He could play the gentleman, show Jennifer the good detective wasn't the only one with perfect manners.  “Remy, Jennifer, good to see you.”  He waved a hand at the other seats at the table beside him.  “Won't you join me for some coffee?  It's an excellent chicory blend.  There's also croissants and rich butter.”

“No, thanks.”  Remy's tone was blunt.  “Let's get this over with.”

“Hey, speak for yourself.  I'm hungry.”  Jennifer moved around the table, sitting in the chair across from where Dubshenko sat.  “I'd love some coffee.”

“Of course, my dear.”  Dubshenko snapped his fingers, and the naked girl nobody had noticed cowering in the corner ran over and began filling the coffee cups.

“What the…” Jennifer broke off and sat silent, which was good.  Dubshenko smiled at her.  She was a quick learner. That might help her in the short term.  How he wished he could keep her.  He frowned though, when he finally noticed her hair.”

“What have you done to yourself?”

“What?”

“Your lovely hair.  This,” he gestured toward the unruly hair piled atop her head, “is an abomination.”  Something would have to be done.  Her buyer had been very specific, long blonde hair.  This reddish atrocity would negate the sale.

“It was the best I could do under the circumstances.  You try coming up with a disguise while running for your life.  Let's see how you look.”  She flung herself back in the chair, coffee cup raised to her lips.

“Still insubordinate, I see.  We'll fix that.”  Dubshenko loved seeing the slight stiffening of her body as his words sank in.  Ah, yes, now she was getting the full picture.

Bubba walked forward and placed the cell phone onto the table beside Dubshenko's coffee cup.  “They had this.”

“Excellent.”  He left it on the table without touching it.  Watched Remy closely.  The man was always so calm, so cool.  Let's see him sweat—know that his life was about to end.

“It's been a good game, Remy.  Unfortunately, you lose.  I have won.  I told you in the beginning you could not best me.”

Remy reached for the cup of coffee the girl had filled, and took a sip.  “Dubshenko, you haven't won anything.  Maybe I won't be the one to take you down, but someone will.  Captain Hilliard, Carlo.  Could even be Max.  But your days running New Orleans are over.”

“Without this,” he touched the phone with one fingertip, “the authorities have nothing.”

Remy shook his head and took another sip of his coffee, not saying a word. 
Damn it, why wasn't he breaking?
  Dubshenko had waited months to have him like this, at his mercy.   The cop wasn't playing the game by the rules.

“Admit it, detective, without Carlo's so-called evidence, which I'm assured wouldn't stand up in a court of law since it was obtained illegally, what do you have?  Nothing.”

A beep sounded from the front of the warehouse, and Dubshenko's face lit with another smile.  Ah, yes, the rest of the party was here.  Time to get the show on the road.

“My dear, Jennifer, I hope you'll excuse me.  I have a bit of business to attend to, and then we'll finish this conversation.”  Taking her hand, he lifted it brushing a kiss across the back.  Yes, indeed, they'd finish what they'd started, and then she'd be leaving the country, never to return.   She'd probably not enjoy her future accommodations, but, then again, business was business, and she'd bring him a small fortune.

The doors slid open and a black Lexus drove inside, its tinted windows obscuring the occupant.  Right on time.  He did love punctuality.  He left Bubba standing guard over his two visitors, and walked toward the newcomer.

The tall, dark-haired man alighted from the driver's side and stretched to his full height.  Dubshenko heard Jennifer's gasp of surprise when she recognized their visitor.  It didn't matter though.  Neither she nor Remy would be telling anyone about Mr. Caine's visit.  They wouldn't be around long enough to spill the beans.

“Why the hell did you want to meet in this godforsaken spot, Dubshenko?  I've got a press conference in under an hour.   The election is in the bag, but appearances still need to be kept up for the paparazzi.  People need their 6 p.m. sound bite to feel like they're part of the campaign.”

Jonathan Caine looked spotless. The dark, charcoal-gray suit and burgundy, striped tie was the perfect picture of the next Lieutenant Governor.

“Mr. Lieutenant Governor, in a few more days you'll practically be running the state.  We'll have very little time to meet then.  Besides, I wanted you here to greet the people who've ensured your election.”  Dubshenko gestured toward Remy and Jennifer, in their rumpled clothing.  Remy sat unshaven, and Jennifer's hair looked like a giant ball of fluff on top her head.  Together they presented a picture of debauchery, an example of life lived in excess.

“These two?  How did they ensure my election?”

“Come, let me show you.”  Dubshenko led Caine to the small bistro-like table where his prey sat, still sipping coffee and snacking on fine French pastries.

“Mr. Jonathan Caine, this is Detective Remy Lamoreaux of the New Orleans Police Department.”

“He's a cop?  What the hell is a cop doing mixed up in this, Dubshenko?”  Caine narrowed his eyes, staring at Remy.  “Is he on your payroll?”

Dubshenko let out a full-throated laugh at his words.  “Remy, on my payroll?  Oh, that is rich.  No, no, Caine.  He's so clean he squeaks.  Nobody could bribe this one.  But he was instrumental in returning something important.  You need to see this.”

Dubshenko picked up the cell phone, activated the video app and hit play.  Silence filled the air before the small screen filled with Remy's face.

“Hello, Dubshenko.  I guess you finally caught us if you're looking at this video.  Much as I hate to burst your bubble, old friend, I'm sure if you're watching this you've realized this isn't Carlo's phone.”  Remy's huge grin on the screen had Dubshenko gaze locking with his in reality.  Remy just shrugged and took another sip of coffee.  The video continued playing.

“I knew you'd catch up to us at Theresa's place.  That's part of the reason I chose it.  You're not stupid, I knew you'd have the area staked out.  Still, I had enough time to put a few plans into action.  The phone you've been searching for, desperate enough to try and kill an innocent woman for, well right now it's in the hands of the FBI.”

“No!”  Dubshenko's howl of denial echoed through the warehouse.  Remy gestured toward him with his cup.

“Keep listening, jackass.”  Jennifer reached up and swatted Remy on the back of his head.

“Stop antagonizing him.”

“I used this burner phone, had Max make a few other calls for me.  Wanna know a secret, Vlad?  Carlo Marucci, your employee, the one who recorded you and Jonathan Caine conspiring to assassinate the governor following the election—he works for the Drug Enforcement Administration.”

Dubshenko heard Jennifer's indrawn gasp of surprise.  So even the traitor's sister hadn't known about his extracurricular activities. 
Bastard
.

The video droned on.  “You're done for, you son of a bitch!  The FBI and DEA now have all the evidence they need to throw you in prison for the rest of your natural life.”

Dubshenko drew his arm back, ready to throw the phone across the space.  Remy tsk'd from his seat at the table.  “You don't want to do that yet.  There's more.”

Gritting his teeth, Dubshenko hit the play button again.  “If Mr. Caine is there, and I'm sure you called him to gloat in your victory, let him know he's under arrest, too.”

“What!”  Jonathan Caine screeched loud enough to pierce Dubshenko's eardrum. 
Why had he surrounded himself with such stupid people?

“Remy, I don't think you are in any position to arrest anyone.  After all, you are unarmed, and at my mercy.”

Remy smiled.  “I never said I was arresting you.”

The doors to the warehouse exploded open, and dozens of people in black uniforms raced through, guns in hand.

“This is the FBI, everybody freeze.”

“Drug Enforcement Administration. Hands in the air!”

“New Orleans Police Department, put down your weapons and nobody gets hurt.”

Pandemonium ensued as people were rounded up without a single shot being fired.   Dubshenko watched his hired men, the men he'd paid to protect him, surrender without any struggle or fuss. They laid their weapons on the ground, knelt down and put their hands in the air.  Even that snake, Bubba, put his SIG Sauer on the table in front of Remy, and twined his fingers behind his neck, surrendering to the feds.

Within minutes everyone was surrounded, handcuffed and led from the building.  Finally, only Dubshenko, Caine, Remy and Jennifer were left.  Fury roiled deep in his gut—how could he have been betrayed by those he trusted?  Didn't they know who he was?  He was the king, the chess master.  No one defeated him.

“This isn't over.  I'll beat this, you know it, and I'll come after you.  It's not over, I tell you!”  Dubshenko needed to make sure Remy and Jennifer knew they weren't safe—they'd never be safe as long as he still breathed.

“Oh, it's over, jackass.”  A voice called from the doorway.

Carlo Marucci walked through the door, and Jennifer launched herself into her brother’s arms.  Dubshenko struggled against the cuffs, his hands secured behind his back.

“Traitor!  I'll kill you!”

“Dubshenko, I'm the least of your worries right now.  Remember the package you had me pick up in Houston?”  All the blood drained from Dubshenko's face.  “Ah, good.  I see you do remember.  That package has been returned to its rightful home.”

Carlo walked up to stand face-to-face with Dubshenko.  He leaned forward to whisper, “If I were you, I wouldn't worry about Remy or Jinx or even me.  Daddy's coming and he's pissed.  You better watch your back.”

“No!”  Dubshenko repeated over and over, as he was led away in handcuffs, with Jonathan Caine trailing behind.  Looked like the election was over—and he'd lost.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I
t was over.  It had been three long, tortuous days of interrogations, paperwork, dealing with the FBI, more paperwork, consulting with the DEA, and still more paperwork.  Remy sat behind his desk at the police station, feet propped up on its worn, battered surface.  They'd finished processing Vladimir Dubshenko, Jonathan Caine, and debriefed every single alphabet agency regarding the whole sordid nightmare.

Who'd have thought this one case would burgeon into massive corruption that reached the Governor's mansion, and if unchecked all the way to the White House.  Not to mention the kidnapping a minor, who just happened to be the daughter of one of the biggest crime czars in Russia, transporting her internationally and having it land smack dab in the middle of the Dubshenko investigation.  Remy rubbed his hand over his face.  Damn, he was tired, surviving on pure adrenaline alone—well, that and coffee.

Jinx and Carlo finally left the station earlier that morning, after their own endless rounds of interviews.  He wanted to see her desperately, hold her, but knew she needed time.  Time to process everything.  Time to make decisions about their relationship, if they had anything to build on.  It wasn't every day you find out your brother worked undercover for the DEA, have to run for your life, get kidnapped by the Russian mob and find out the man you're sleeping with kept you in the dark about his plans.  Even if those plans kept her safe.

“Lamoreaux.”  Remy jumped to his feet at the sound of his name.  Damn, he was still jumpy.  Probably would be for a long while.

“Cap.”

“My office, now.”  Hilliard turned and strode down the aisle, now cleaned of all the debris from the explosion.  Repairs were well under way, but at least cases could be still be handled, the day to day operation of the station kept right on chugging along.  After all, crime didn't stop because the walls got blown down.

Hilliard stood outside his office door waiting for Remy to catch up. 
What's going on?

“There are some people inside who want to talk to you.  Your choice whether I come in or not.”

Remy gauged the captain's words trying to read him, but he was inscrutable.  “I'd rather you be there, sir.”

Hilliard snorted.  “Don't start that sir nonsense.  Listen to what they've got to say.  Then we'll talk.”

Remy was even more confused.  Hell, it didn't matter, he was so tired nothing made any sense.  Might as well get it over with.  He pushed open the captain's office door to find several suit-clad men inside.  One he recognized instantly.  He immediately straightened to attention.

“Sir.”

Governor Bradley stepped forward, offering his hand.  “Detective Lamoreaux, it's a pleasure to meet you.”  He indicated the other men in the room.  “Agent Branson, DEA.  Special Agent Richards, FBI.”

“I thought I'd answered everyone's questions.  Was there something else you needed?”

Agent Branson stepped forward.  “Detective Lamoreaux, Carlo Marucci explained how you risked your life not only keeping his sister safe, but retrieving crucial information and keeping it secure and out of Dubshenko's hands.  That evidence along with other vital information obtained by Mr. Marucci will put Dubshenko behind bars for a very long time, with any luck the rest of his life.”

“I was just doing my job, sir.”

“Which you did very well.  The DEA is very impressed.  You'll be receiving an official commendation.”  Branson stood straighter, smoothing his tie before adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses.  “If you ever decide you'd like a change, contact me.”  He handed Remy a business card that he took automatically.  “I looked into some of your past cases, when Carlo first mentioned your name.  Your ability to blend in is an asset which would serve you well in the Drug Enforcement Administration.”