Deadly Justice (30 page)

Andrea knew that name.  Samuel mentioned Chavez when he'd talked about Webster's betrayal and murder of his teammates.  They'd been staking out one of Chavez's drops. 

“It was a very profitable relationship.  Chavez moved the drugs and guns, and I made sure the passages were clear for him.  Money flowed like wine, it was so simple.  Soon, Chavez was working for me.  I called the shots.  I had the power.  And it felt good.” 

He took a deep shuddering breath and turned back around to face her. 

“What happens now?”  She hated how her voice cracked on the last word.  Appearing weak in front of him—nope, she refused to be a coward.  She'd known what she was getting into when she started hunting him, and now it was time to pay the piper. 

“Now we wait.  As soon as the money is transferred, upon delivery of the C4, we,” he gestured to himself and the other two men, “will be long gone.” 

“You're planning on taking them with you?”  She nodded toward goon number one.  He maintained his rigid stance by the front door, not even bothering to glance toward Webster. 

“Of course.  They are my good and faithful employees.”  She knew better.  The utter lack of anything behind his eyes told her more than words that the two men would never leave the bayou.  Not alive anyway. 

“And what about me?” 

His eyes slid once again along her body, lingering on her breasts before he met her gaze. 

“That, my dear, is entirely up to you.” 

“C
an't you drive any faster?”  Carpenter braced his feet against the floorboards as Jean-Luc hit another pothole on the rutted dirt road.  It seemed to be taking forever, though it was only a thirty minute drive normally.  The way Jean-Luc drove, they'd make it there in fifteen.  Every minute that ticked by meant another minute Andrea was in Webster's hands, and the thought chilled him to the bone. 

“Calm down, you're not going to do her any good if you go in half-cocked, man.”  Jean-Luc swerved around another huge hole, and Carpenter made a mental note to have the road repaired.  It had fallen into neglect, since coming out to the old family camp hadn't been high on his list of priorities—his obsession with Richard Webster had consumed every waking minute.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd been out to the old camp.  Nobody had, as far as he knew.  Which made it the ideal hideaway for Webster.

The irony of the situation clawed at his gut.  The family's old fishing camp, the place where he'd spent weeks with his grandfather, hunting and fishing, was a sacred place in his memories.  How in the world had Webster even found the place?  The title to the property was buried under a layer of corporations, just to keep the public away from it. 

“I have to give him credit.  He's at the last place I would have looked.”  His cellphone vibrated in his pocket and he yanked it out, putting it on speaker.

“Remy?  What's up?”

“I called the ATF, told them about the C4 and gave them the tracking information.  Carlisle's busy monitoring its movements and relaying the info straight to their team leader.  Once we found the convention center clear, I had to bring them on board.  It was too big a risk, because who knows where the hell Abe is heading with the shipment.  Good news though, Gator's on the boat with him.”

“Damned fool, can't keep his nose outta business that don't concern him,” Jean-Luc muttered.  Carpenter knew he'd worry about his daddy until he heard that Gator was safe.  They might butt heads from time to time, but he loved the old goat. 

“That works.  You heard from Max?” 

“No, why?”  Remy drawled out the question, a wary tone in his voice.

Carpenter's gut tightened, and he glanced over at the speedometer.  Jean-Luc was pushing the car as hard as he could under the circumstances.  “Webster grabbed Andrea.  Ms. Willie's in the emergency room.  Can you—”

“I'll check in with the ER now and make sure she's okay.  I've got a couple of good men who owe me a favor.  She'll be kept safe, I promise.  Go get your girl, bro.” 

Carpenter closed his eyes.  “Thanks, Remy.  I owe you.” 

He hung up and braced his hand against the roof when they hit another deep groove in the pockmarked dirt.  Yes, he was definitely paying to get this damned road paved.  Bile rose in the back of his throat at visions of what Webster might be doing to Andrea.  He'd once thought he knew the man like a brother, but he'd changed.  Who knew what he was capable of anymore? 

“Just a few more minutes, boss.”  Jean-Luc's eyes stayed focused on the road, but the white-knuckled grasp on the wheel belied his calm tone.  They'd agreed to rendezvous with Max a half mile away from the cabin and trek in on foot.  When he'd been younger, he'd known this area like the back of his hand, could have walked it in his sleep.  But more than a few years had passed since the last time he'd been here, long before his stint with the DEA and Webster.

Things change in the bayou.  Water levels rose and fell with the changing seasons.  Tree roots spread out in all directions, changing remembered routes and pathways. 

Rounding a curve, the car's headlights illuminated a dark shape in the middle of the narrow roadway—holding a P90—pointed straight at them.  Max.  He stood in the center of the road, the faint outline of his car farther back in the trees, covered with a camouflage tarp, barely visible in the darkness.  He relaxed and lowered the gun when he spotted him and Jean-Luc.   Carpenter barely waited for Jean-Luc to come to a complete stop before bounding from the car.  The scents of the bayou welcomed him with open arms, familiar and comforting with its brackish water, the moldy mildew scent tinged with a tang of salt.  The darkness enveloping them was only broken by the headlights from Jean-Luc's car. 

A pile of gear sat at Max's feet.  He counted a long coil of rope, a backpack containing emergency supplies, and a flashlight.  Jean-Luc popped the trunk and began unloading their equipment.  Once they'd headed out from his apartment, they hadn't stopped, but Jean-Luc was a good ole Cajun boy and a former Navy SEAL.  The man was prepared for just about any emergency situation.  Within minutes, a second pile of gear was stacked next to the first. 

“Update?”  Carpenter looked at Max, knowing he'd have answers. 

“Two men came out of your building with Andrea, and hustled her into a black SUV parked at the curb and took off.  One drove, one in the backseat with her.  I followed.  They drove around town for about thirty minutes before heading out here.  Only one place this road leads to, so I parked here and went in on foot.  Webster showed up about thirty minutes ago.” 

“Was Andrea okay?”  Carpenter forced the words out, feeling the lump at the back of his throat constrict his breathing.  If Webster had already killed her, he had nothing left to live for except revenge. 

“She's fine.  The woman handles herself like a pro.  They were sitting and chatting like old chums when I left to meet you.  From what I glimpsed, there are only the two goons and Webster, so the odds are fairly even.” 

“Good.  Remy called the ATF, so the C4 situation is handled and all the contraband will be confiscated.  Unless Webster's got a stash here, which I doubt because he's not stupid, we're dealing with guns, probably automatic weapons.  Maybe knives.”  He stared at Max.  “You're out.  Go home.”

“What the hell, bro?”  Max straightened from his relaxed stance against the car.  “You're not cutting me out.”

“Max, you've got a wife waiting at home.  I'm not dragging you into the middle of my problem.  Theresa would castrate me, and I really don't want to sing soprano.  We,” he waved a hand between himself and Jean-Luc, “can handle it.” 

“I don't think so.”  Max smirked and nodded down the rutted road toward the oncoming headlights.  “I had a feeling you were going to try and go all Lone Ranger on me, so I called in reinforcements.” 

Oncoming headlights illuminated the road, and three more vehicles pulled up on each side of the pot-hole and pockmarked dirt, its worn grooves apparent in the headlights' bright glow.  Gunner, Nate, Carlisle, and Remy spilled from the vehicles, along with the other three Boudreau brothers. 

Looking at the men assembled around him, a knot formed in the back of his throat, nearly overwhelmed by all the emotions coursing through him.  His friends, his brothers not by blood but by choice, surrounded him and he knew they'd do everything in their power to rescue his woman.

“Okay, guys, here's the plan.” 

# # # # # #

“I'm surprised you knew about this place.” 

Andrea couldn't help taunting the man seated across from her.  She'd been surprised when she'd spotted the name on the pill bottle she'd discovered in the dilapidated bathroom, but it made an ironic kind of sense.  What better place to hide out than right under Samuel's nose?  From all outward appearances, the old family fishing cabin obviously hadn't seen use in a long while, and delivered the perfect slap in the face to the man she loved.  It would gnaw at him that Webster had been right under his nose, on his family's property, and he hadn't had a clue.

“Sammy's smart, I'll give him that. One of the most intelligent men I've ever worked with.  But he's not
clever
.  There's a difference.  He's too focused on petty revenge.”

“Petty?  Only somebody with your overinflated ego would consider annihilating an entire team of DEA and ATF agents, shooting them in cold blood, petty.” 

Webster shook his head, giving her a sad-eyed look.  Clearly he thought she had the intelligence of a two-year-old.  “You don't understand.  Sammy wouldn't give a damn about the people lost.  He understands the risks.  There's always some kind of collateral damage.  No, his pride took a beating because I got away and he never once suspected his mentor of being the mastermind of the entire South Texas smuggling ring.” 

She shook her head.  “Don't tar him with the same brush as yourself.  It's not his pride you have to worry about, it's his determination.”

Webster laughed, throwing his head back as peels of mirth poured forth.  “Sweetheart, I've stayed four steps ahead of him for the last three years.  If Mitchell hadn't made a careless mistake, I wouldn't be on Sammy's radar and he'd still be chasing his tail.” 

“But you weren't off mine.”  At her words, he sobered quickly, his face a blank mask.  She stared at him, letting him read the hatred and loathing she'd kept bottled up inside since John's funeral. 

“I have to admit, you surprised me when you showed up in Mitchell's office.  He didn't tell me he'd hired you to be his executive assistant, not until it was a
fait accompli
.  I let it slide, because it made things easier.  Keeping tabs on you was simple child's play after that.”

She stiffened at his words, both feet planted firmly on the ground now. 

“That's right,” he continued, “Even though you changed your name and altered your appearance, I recognized you.  The poor grieving fiancée of the cop slain in the line of duty.” 

“Is that why you had Lawrence killed?  I know you were behind his apparent suicide.”  Her eyes never left his face, looking closely for any clue, any sign of emotion.  This interminable waiting for her knight in shining armor to arrive was getting old fast.  Outnumbered, even with her Agency training, made taking on three physically larger males really lousy odds.  But if a chance presented itself, she'd willingly take it.  She just needed to stay ready and focused. 

“Mitchell was a fool.  The idiot couldn't keep his grabby fingers out of the shipments.  Why can't people do the jobs they're hired to do?  Move the product and collect your payment?  No, he constantly whined about needing more.  More money.  More pot.  He'd become a liability.” 

“You thought killing him at my apartment would make me the prime suspect, right?  Only you didn't know at the time I wasn't in Dallas.” 

The corner of his lip curved up in a tiny smile.  “True, I hadn't anticipated Sammy working so swiftly to snatch you away.  To be honest, I fully intended to ride to your rescue.”

She felt the blood drain from her face.  No, she couldn't possibly have heard him correctly.

“You, my dear, have fascinated me since the first moment I laid eyes on you, pale and grief-stricken, yet carrying yourself with such dignity and grace.  I had plans for you—yet like everybody else, you succumbed to Sammy's charms and fell into bed with him at a snap of his fingers.  Oh well, plans change.”

The icy coldness of his tone sent shivers down her spine accompanied by the realization she couldn't wait much longer for the cavalry to arrive.  Samuel might not even know she'd been kidnapped or that Ms. Willie was injured.  She was well and truly on her own.

“What are your plans now?  Samuel knows about the C4.”  She threw out the taunt, hoping to divert him, keep him talking.  The longer he spouted his grandiose nonsense, the better chance she had of getting out alive.  It was pitch black outside, but she'd rather take her chances with the snakes and alligators than with this soulless monster. 

Webster sighed and leaned back, a tiny smirk on his lips.  “Moving so much C4 at once was a risk, especially since I had to hire outside help.  Good help is so hard to find these days.  There's just no sense of loyalty to your employer.” 

“I'm curious.  Were you planning on selling it or using it?  I've gotta admit, I think Carpenter's team was wrong on this one—they thought you'd hooked up with some local yokels to use the C4 at the televised debates.  Are they right?  I mean, that would be a ballsy move.” 

“Really, my dear?  I don't give a damned about politics.  The United States has been going to hell for the last two decades.  I gave them my loyalty and dedicated service, and how did they repay me?  Lousy pay and even lousier benefits.  No.  I don't care who wins this election. I won't be around to watch.  And as far as hooking up with radical extremists, I've never seen the need.”

“I knew it.  The C4 is part of your last big score, isn't it?” 

Webster chuckled.  “You might say that.  It's on its way to a buyer who paid a pretty penny for that much in one shipment.  That's the key.  Supply and demand.  I told Sammy that in the beginning, but he didn't get it.  It's the way this world works.”  He stood and straightened his jacket, buttoning the two buttons with deliberate movements.