Best Laid Plans (48 page)

Juan interrupted. “Understood. Get to his house. He has a wife and two children. I’ll call SAPD and send backup.” He hung up.

“Tobias is cleaning up. Whatever this game was,” Brad said, “He’s starting over.”

“Not until he gets his money,” Lucy said. She hoped. If he didn’t care about the money, then the Everett family was already dead.

They rushed out of the hospital and Barry called headquarters for Everett’s home address. He sped out of the parking lot and toward James Everett’s Alamo Heights home. Because it was nearly nine on Wednesday night, the streets were relatively clear.

“What makes Tobias tick?” Lucy wondered out loud. Elise was a killer—she understood killers better than drug dealers or gun runners.

“Power,” Brad said. “A man like Tobias lives on his reputation, which is built on power and fear. If his enemies see that he let Adeline get away with keeping money that belonged to him, that emboldens his opposition. So he has to take a stand. Kill her husband. Pressure her.”

“And when she didn’t cave—oh, no.” Lucy realized Adeline’s mistake. “If Contreras is working for Tobias, he knew that Adeline was talking to us, and once we got her into FBI headquarters, she might tell us everything. So he killed her and ran.”

“He must have planned it from the beginning,” Brad said. “Tobias is not spontaneous.”

“He put Contreras in her organization to keep an eye on her. For years.”

“Or he recruited Contreras,” Barry suggested.

“True,” Brad said. “Either way, he must have figured out the FBI had an undercover operation. He had access to everything—her house, her finances, her friends, her campaign information.”

“What if,” Lucy said, “Contreras became suspicious of Harper? Contreras lived in the house. What if he saw the change in Harper’s demeanor? But he took it more seriously than Adeline and had him followed. He could have known he’d gone to the FBI in May. What if they thought Harper was the FBI informant? And didn’t know about Dunbar’s operation?”

Barry nodded. “At first I didn’t see where you were going with this, but now it makes sense. If they suspected Harper was working with the FBI, they would follow him, and that’s how they found out about Gary Ackerman. Harper needed someone he trusted, and the only person he could be certain wasn’t involved in Adeline’s criminal enterprise was an old friend from school with a loyalty to their mutual friend Roy Travertine.”

“So Ackerman helped Harper put together the details. Because of Ackerman’s work with Travertine, he’d know more about campaigns and campaign finance law than Harper, but Harper knew about money and numbers, and together they figured out what Adeline was doing.”

“It still doesn’t explain why Harper flew into San Antonio just to meet with Ackerman.”

“If Tobias knew about Ackerman and Harper, he could have figured out how they were communicating and sent Harper a message to meet. We know they met in different places each time,” Lucy said. “Ackerman was paranoid, so the request for a spontaneous meeting might not have seemed odd to Harper.”

When they pulled up in front of Everett’s house, the lights were on and an SAPD police car was parked out front. The three of them got out of the car. Barry showed his badge and introduced them.

“We checked on the family. There’re three people inside, Mrs. Everett and her two children, a teenage boy and a young girl.”

“Where’s her husband?”

“Mrs. Everett said he was working late.”

“Can you stay out here and watch the house? One of Mr. Everett’s associates was murdered, and we have reason to believe the killer may be after Mr. Everett,” Barry said.

“Yes, sir.”

Barry stepped away from the police car and said to Brad and Lucy, “We need to go to his office.”

“I want to check on the family first. Mrs. Everett might know more than she told the police,” Lucy said.

“You think she’s part of it, too?”

“I’m not making any assumptions. But we need to talk to her, find out what she knows.”

“Go ahead. I’ll call Juan and send a couple of agents to Everett’s office, then check the perimeter, make sure the house is secure.”

Lucy and Brad walked up the path to the front porch. Security lighting around the house showed neatly trimmed bushes and trees. The house itself was a two-story brick structure on a large double lot, but it had a cookie-cutter feel to it and looked like most of the other two-story brick houses in the area. Lucy loved the custom house Sean had found for them; it was unlike any other in their neighborhood.

She knocked on the door. A moment later, a woman answered.

“Yes?”

She showed her badge and Brad flashed his. “I’m FBI Special Agent Lucy Kincaid. This is Agent Brad Donnelly. We’re looking for Mrs. Everett.”

“That’s me,” she said. “The police were already here.” She looked over Lucy’s shoulder. “Oh, they still are.” She frowned. “I just spoke to my husband, and he said he’ll be home soon. Now I’m getting worried.”

The woman in front of her had short, stylish brown hair and blue eyes. She was taller than Lucy’s five feet eight inches, and looked about thirty. She was certainly not Mrs. James Everett—not the woman Lucy had seen in the photograph in Everett’s office.

She would have walked away then, except there were two children in the house. That meant they were in danger.

“There’s no reason to be alarmed,” Lucy said. “Would you mind if we came in and sat with you until your husband returns?”

“Why?” she asked.

“We need to talk to him.”

“Why does the FBI need to talk to my husband? What’s wrong?”

The woman was a good actress. Lucy would take her down now, except she wasn’t confident that there wasn’t someone else in the house with her. Until she knew the children were safe, Lucy had to go along with this charade.

“Ma’am, we understand your concern,” Brad said, taking Lucy’s cue, “but I can assure you that we’re only here to help.”

“Thank you, but I think it’s best if you wait outside.”

Lucy put her foot inside the door. “Mrs. Everett, where are your children?”

“Upstairs. Sleeping, of course. It’s after nine.”

“I’d like to check on their well-being.”

That stumped her. She recovered quickly, and said, “What on earth for? I’m not going to have you wake up my kids.”

Brad said, “Mrs. Everett, there’s been a verifiable threat against your husband and we’re here to check on you and the children. Other agents are checking on your husband at his work.”

She stared at them, as if searching her mind for an answer.

There was a distinct cough from the dining room, which Lucy could only partly see from her vantage point. She put her hand on her gun.

The fake Mrs. Everett pushed the door all the way open.

Now Lucy could see that the boy—about twelve or thirteen—was tied to one of the dining room chairs. He was the kid from the family photo in James Everett’s office.

A familiar man stood behind him, a gun aimed at the back of the kid’s head. It only took Lucy a second to remember where she’d seen him.

“Peter Rabb,” Lucy said.

“Hands up, step in and close the door. Or he’s dead, then the girl will follow.”

Lucy didn’t see the younger daughter. She couldn’t assume that there were only two hostage takers.

Lucy stepped in.

“You too, Donnelly,” Peter said.

As soon as they’d stepped inside, the woman shut and bolted the door.

“Move apart. Hands up.”

Lucy moved toward the dining room. Brad didn’t budge.

“Joyce, disarm first Donnelly, then Kincaid. His gun, his phone, check for other weapons.”

Joyce complied. She was definitely scared of Peter, but she wasn’t a complete novice. She found all their weapons and put them on the dining table in front of Peter.

“Where’s Mrs. Everett and her daughter?” Lucy asked.

“They are none of your concern,” Peter said.

Lucy stared at the boy. He was scared out of his mind, but he kept glancing at the large, curving split staircase that branched off the foyer.

Either a third bad guy was upstairs with the other two hostages, or the girls were restrained.

“Are they okay?” Lucy asked.

“For now,” Peter said. “Agent Donnelly, your reputation precedes you. Not so tough, really, not in person. Please have a seat.”

“I’ll stand,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Sit.” Peter motioned to one of the dining chairs. “Now.”

Slowly, Brad sat.

“Joyce, take those cuffs,” he gestured to where she’d put them on the table, “and put them on Agent Donnelly.”

The woman complied as if she were used to taking orders.

“Peter,” Lucy said, “you now have two federal agents as hostages. Let the Everett family go.”

He laughed. “Right. Sure. You don’t have the control here. No one is leaving until I get the call. Understood?” He glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “Quarter after nine. It shouldn’t be much longer.” He smiled. “But this really is a coup. Both of you here together.”

“You work for Tobias.” Lucy needed to keep him talking. Not just to learn information, but to buy time. Barry would soon figure out that something was wrong. And when the agents arrived at Everett’s office, they would know he was under duress.

Peter didn’t say anything, so Lucy asked, “Where’s Elise?”

“Not here.”

“Is she with Everett?”

Peter didn’t answer. A thump came from upstairs. He frowned and said, “Joyce, check on them.”

Joyce picked up one of the guns and went upstairs.

That told Lucy there was no one with the mom and daughter. Just Joyce and Peter.

Peter hadn’t told her to sit down, so she remained standing in the middle of the foyer. She caught the Everett boy’s eye and tried to reassure him, but he was shaking.

Peter pulled out a phone. He sent a text message, probably to Elise or Tobias announcing that he had Lucy and Brad at gunpoint.

This was just getting better and better.

Joyce returned a minute later. “They’re fine,” she said.

“What made the noise?” Peter asked.

“The headboard against the wall,” Joyce said. “I triple-checked them. I swear.”

Lucy was trying to assess Peter. She thought back to when she’d met him at the hospital, when he came in asking about Elise’s welfare, like a good citizen. In hindsight, he’d been too interested, hanging on every word. He wasn’t the leader—he was smart, but not like Elise. He wasn’t as shrewd or calculating. She made a judgment call and said, “Peter, Elise isn’t coming back for you.”

“She’s not coming back at all,” he said. “Do you think she’s stupid? She said you’d come here to check on the family as soon as she disappeared from the hospital. I don’t know how she knew it, but she was right.” Peter glowed like a proud lover. Did he think that Elise actually cared about him?

Lucy was surprised as well. Such a deduction showed not only intelligence, but keen psychological interpretation. Far beyond a normal sixteen-year-old.

But nothing about Elise Hansen was normal.

“She didn’t know about him, however,” Peter said, glaring at Brad.

“What I meant to say is, as soon as Elise gets what she wants, she’s going to disappear and you’ll be left here with five hostages.”

“You know shit.” He glanced at the clock.

He was definitely waiting for something. Probably for Elise to call. Then he would either kill them all and disappear, or tie them up and disappear.

Except Elise wasn’t going to call. Elise was using Peter Rabb just like she’d used Robert Garza and James Everett and even Mona Hill. Lucy understood her much better now—and her growing knowledge terrified her.

“Peter,” Lucy said, “let the boy go.”

“Sure,” he said.

Lucy almost breathed easier.

Then Peter burst out in laughter. “When pigs fly.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Elise Hansen sat in the chair and played with the knife. She was ambidextrous, which helped, but she preferred her right hand. But it would be a while before she’d be able to use her arm, and she didn’t even have mobility with the broken wrist.

It sucked.

But if she wanted, she could still throw the knife at the fat sniveling perverted asswipe and pierce his heart.

When he was done transferring the money.

She yawned. “It’s been forty minutes, dumbass. Are you fucking with us? Because if you are, I’ll call Pete and he’ll kill your boy.”

“Don’t. Please. I’m doing everything you want.”

The turd was sweating. Seeing him sweat and squirm and beg had been fun at the beginning, but now she just wanted to be done with him.

She looked over her shoulder. “Jay? How much do we have?”

“Three point one million.”

She sighed and leaned forward. Her body was sore from when the fed had knocked her down, “saving” her life. And Toby was mad that Elise hadn’t known she was wearing a vest! How was she supposed to know? Was she supposed to feel her up?
Right.
And even if she
had
known, how was she supposed to get that tidbit of information to the idiots Toby had hired to kill the bitch? Why didn’t they shoot her in the head? She didn’t have a bulletproof
skull.