Deadly Justice (29 page)

“She's smart and she's trained.  The woman works for The Agency, bro.  Keep it together, and let's figure out where he'd take her.” 

“Right.”  He spun and slammed his fist through the drywall with a resounding crunch and a flare of pain shot through his hand.  Dust and debris floated to the ground at his feet.

“Feel better?” 

He huffed out a laugh.  “Hell, no.  Call the team and get 'em back here ASAP.  The cops and Secret Service can cover security at the convention center.” 

Jean-Luc made the call while Carpenter paced, his mind racing.  Had his backup plan worked?  Nobody on the team knew he'd set up a secondary security measure, but he liked to cover all his bases, even those so far-fetched they were implausible.  While they'd followed their intel, converging on the convention center, his gut had shouted they were making a mistake.  Damn, sometimes he hated being right.

His phone rang and he answered before the first peel ended.  “Tell me you got him.” 

“I don't have
Webster
, but I followed the two goons who snatched your girl.”  At Max's words, Carpenter's whole body deflated like a popped balloon, and he slumped against the wall.  Yet a spark of electricity fed the excitement building inside.  “Where are you?” 

At his answer, Carpenter started laughing.  It bubbled up from deep inside and he couldn't stop it, the irony of the whole situation screamed Richard Webster.   

All his planning, scheming, and machinations weren't going to work this time.  Richard Webster had made one fatal mistake. 

He'd underestimated The Ghost. 

A
ndrea squinted her eyes against the sudden brightness.  The blindfold which had been over her eyes for the last hour was tugged free.  Her abductor clamped a beefy hand around her wrist and tugged her out of the SUV, slamming the door closed behind her. 

She stumbled as her vision adjusted from the pitch blackness to the late afternoon sunlight, but she wasn't given time to figure out where she was before she was unceremoniously dragged onto a rough wooden porch and inside.  But from the brief glimpse she got, the rundown building reminded her of the backwoods cabin from old Beverly Hillbillies black and white reruns.  The irony between where she'd been, in Samuel's elegant penthouse to this ramshackle and worn cabin, wasn't lost on her.

Andrea yanked her elbow free of her abductor's grip and he motioned her toward an overstuffed armchair.  It was covered with a threadbare pale blue sheet to keep off the dust and debris, and he tugged it free.  She eased down onto the seat, looking around.  So far, there wasn't much to help figure out where they were.

After she'd been snatched from Samuel's apartment, they'd wrestled her into the back of a black SUV and slapped a blindfold over her eyes.  Kidnapper number one drove, while kidnapper number two sat beside her in the back seat.  She knew, even without sight, he'd kept his gun trained on her the entire drive.

They'd driven around for nearly an hour.  Probably a lot of that was to disoriented her and keep her unsure of what direction they'd headed.  It worked.  She didn't have a clue how far away they were from New Orleans proper, but when they'd removed the blindfold she'd been outside a rundown old cabin that was little more than a shack.

Well, maybe shack wasn't the right word, but it wasn't anything on a grand scale.  Most likely, it was somebody's get-away-from-the-city and get-back-to-nature refuge.  It boasted a living room and kitchen, another door which led to a bathroom, she assumed, and another that probably housed the bedroom. 

Think, Andi.  Pay attention.  What do you hear?  What about smells?  Assess the situation like an agent, not a victim. 

Without a doubt Webster was behind this.  He'd led Samuel and his team on a wild goose chase, while she'd been the actual target.  She wasn't stupid—he planned to use her to get to Samuel.  She'd be the means to the end.  If he only knew how wrong his assumptions were.  Samuel wanted Webster with an intent bordering on obsession, and he wouldn't stop until the man was behind bars.  Catching Webster meant more than anything else, including her. 

“Where's Webster?” 

Neither man answered, not that she'd been expecting an answer.  Kidnapper number one stood glancing out the slightly ajar front door, his arms crossed across his massive chest.  Brawny arms and thick thighs proclaimed he definitely kept in good shape, though she might be able to outrun him.  Kidnapper number two remained beside her chair, arms hanging loosely at his sides, the pistol still gripped in his right hand.  These guys were definitely hired muscle, right down to the bad attitudes. 

“Can I use the restroom?” 

“Just sit there and shut up.”  This from kidnapper number two.  It wasn't dark yet, but it would be before long.  She rubbed her hands along her upper arms, and regretted wearing a sleeveless top.  It had been warm during the day, but now the chill of the evening brought goosebumps to her skin.  If she were honest, they might partly be due to fear, because she was scared half to death. 

“Look, I'm not fighting you guys.  I'm unarmed, and I need to go to the bathroom.”  She deliberately raised her voice with each word, ending on a high pitched wail.  Most men couldn't stand to hear a woman yell.  Maybe these two buffoons were no different.

“Take her to the bathroom,” kidnapper number one said, never turning around.  “Stand outside the door.”  He did turn his head and look at her then.  “Don't lock it or I'll break it down, and you won't like how I handle disobedience.” 

She walked into the bathroom and closed the door with a soft snick.  Flipping on the light switch, she looked around the tiny space.  Barely big enough for a toilet and sink, a cramped shower occupied the majority of the space.   Looking at the window, she grimaced.  It was barely a foot across, and maybe seven or eight inches tall.  There was no way she could get out through the narrow opening.  Not unless she could shrink herself down to the size of a Barbie doll.

A quick survey under the sink revealed nothing useful for escaping either.  Heck, the most dangerous item under there was a disgusting toilet brush, and she wasn't touching that thing with a ten foot pole.  The medicine cabinet yielded nothing but a half used tube of toothpaste, a nasty comb with three teeth missing, and an empty prescription pill bottle.

She picked up the bottle and looked at the name, and the corners of her lips tilted upward.  Damn, but Richard Webster had a sadistic sense of irony.  With a shrug, she stuck the pill bottle in her jeans pocket. 

“You almost done in there?”  The gruff voice on the other side of the door didn't sound happy and the last thing she needed was for the moron to bust down the door. 

She twisted on the water in the sink.  “I'll be right out.”  One more quick perusal of the room yielded nothing more than it had the first go through, and her shoulders slumped.  She wasn't giving up though, not by a long shot.

Pulling open the door, she stomped back to her chair and plopped against the cushions. 
Wonder how long it'll be before Webster gets here?
  There wasn't a doubt in her mind he'd be showing up.  The set up was too perfect. 

Kidnapper number two flicked on the overhead light and she got a better look at the cabin.  The furniture was worn, though not torn or ravaged by critters.  It wasn't high end stuff, but still good quality, the kind of furniture that held up over time and use.  The floral patterns weren't particularly pretty with browns and tans and rust colors, but she'd seen the same pattern hundreds of times before.  It was kind of a throwback to the fifties and sixties.  The pole lamp in the corner behind the sofa was definitely vintage, straight out of the sixties, with the three colored light covers definitely not sharing a color scheme with the rest of the stuff.  Blue, green, and yellow did nothing to blend in.  It was hideous, and she kinda wanted it for her apartment back in Texas. 

Except, I might never see my apartment again.

A flash of light peeked through the slit in the drapes, followed by the purr of an engine.  Oh, crap.  Webster had arrived. 

She rubbed her palms against the legs of her jeans, trying to whisk away the dampness.  Her stomach clenched into a twisted knot, and she had a really bad feeling she might throw up.  Wouldn't that be the topper for her craptastic day? 

Battling back the nausea, she leaned against the chairback, assuming a casual position.  She'd be damned if she'd let the bastard see how scared she felt, even if her brain screamed over and over with terror.  The monster who'd invaded her nightmares ever since John's death would walk through those doors any second, and she was unarmed and helpless.

Kidnapper number one pushed open the front door, and there he stood. 
Richard Webster
.  The larger-than-life boogeyman wore a charcoal gray Hugo Boss suit and maroon striped tie, his apparel totally inappropriate for the cabin's less than chic ambience.   He looked exactly the same as the last time she'd seen him, at John's funeral. 

Rotten bastard
.

“Angela, my dear.  Good to see you.  Oh, I'm sorry, you go by Andrea now, don't you?”  The grin on his face never reached his eyes.  They were cold, calculating, and soulless.  Nobody sane lurked in their icy depths.  She read her demise in his frozen stare. 

“Andrea will do.”  She needed to stall, find out how he wanted to play things.  Maybe buy a little time, because she knew Samuel would come.  The only question was if he'd be too late. 

“You look lovely, my dear.”  Webster tossed back the sheet covering the matching armchair and sat, looking for all the world like a king on his throne. 
Guess that means I'm the peasant.
  “I'm sorry we had to meet again under these circumstances.  My intentions were much more civilized.”

“Civilized?  Frick and Frack here killed somebody when they snatched me.”  She didn't have a problem spitting out the lie.  Let Webster think his goons left behind a mess that needed cleaning up. 

“Really?”  He turned toward kidnapper number one and raised a brow.  “I believe I said no violence.”

“Didn't have a choice.  The old broad jumped me.” 

Webster's body stiffened, the look on his face growing icy cold.  His expression sent a shiver down Andrea's spine.  “The old broad?  I sincerely hope you're not referring to Carpenter's housekeeper?” 

Kidnapper number one shrugged.  “Ain't got a clue who she was.  She was in Carpenter's apartment with her,” he gestured toward Andrea, “and latched onto me like some crazy spider monkey.  I thought she was gonna break my damned neck.” 

Webster leaned back in his chair and tapped a finger against his lips.  “I see.  I suppose discovering poor Ms. Willie's body will distract Sammy for a bit.  Oh, well…”  His voice trailed off and he glanced once again at her.

“That's all you have to say?  Oh, well?”  Andrea shook her head and deliberately crossed her legs, trying for a casual pose.  Webster's eyes zeroed in on her movement like a heat-seeking missile and she fought the urge to squirm in her seat.  “Damn, you are one cold bastard.” 

“I'm a reasonable man.  I just don't bother letting foolish scruples get in the way of what I want.”  The look in his eyes, the blast of heat, felt almost like a physical caress and made her skin crawl. 

“What do you want, Richard?” 

“Besides Sammy's head on a pike?”  He chuckled and tugged on the cuffs of his shirt.  “Money and power—and once the wire transfer hits from the sale of all that lovely C4, I'll be in the wind and nobody, not even the United States government, will be able to touch me.” 

She racked her brain to come up with a way out of this debacle.  How could she stop him?  Three against one—the odds weren't stacked in her favor. 

“Was it worth it?”

“Hmm?”  He cocked his head, contemplating her question. 

“The money.  The deaths you've caused with the drugs and the guns.  Did you ever consider the price too high?” 

He leaned back, his legs crossed with one foot swinging in a casual arc, a faraway look in his gaze.  “When I first started, years ago, I was a good soldier.  Believed in all the right stuff.  Mom, apple pie, and Uncle Sam.  I was fighting the good fight, knowing what I worked for, bled for, made everybody safer.”

“What changed?”  She whispered the question.

“The world changed, my dear.  People changed.  Human life became less valued than a ten cent toll on the highway.  I got tired of seeing my comrades gunned down without conscience because of the almighty dollar.  I learned quickly that money is the only thing that people understand.  Those without it want it.  Those who have it want more.  Nobody ever has enough to be satisfied.”

Andrea didn't utter a sound, afraid if she spoke he'd stop talking.  And she needed him to keep talking, buying her time.  She wouldn't give up, it wasn't in her nature.  There had to be a way to stay alive, because as long as she drew breath, there was a chance.  A chance for rescue.  A chance for revenge for John.  A chance she'd see Samuel again one last time.  Because she didn't want to leave this world without telling him how she felt. 

“I learned firsthand that people with money hold all the power.  They say money corrupts, but that's only partly true.  Money and power go hand-in-hand.  Power is fueled by wealth and vice versa.  You can't have one without the other.  When an opportunity presented itself, I grabbed it with both hands, and found I liked it.  No more living from paycheck to paycheck, struggling to keep a roof over my head on a lousy government salary.  All it took was turning my back for a few minutes.  That's all.  Letting a shipment slide past me without stopping it.” 

He stood and walked over toward the window, pushing aside the curtain and staring out at the blackness beyond.  Unable to see his face, she instead noted where the two goons were.  Their attention was focused on her, not Webster.  Too soon to try to make a move—yet. 

“It got easier.  Take some money and forget to inspect some boxes.  Funny thing, the more I turned my back on doing my job, the faster I got promoted through the ranks at the DEA.  Then I got approached by a man named Enrique Chavez.”