Hard Candy Saga (36 page)

Tuck picked up his phone in a huff. He was so annoyed that he almost ran off the road.

“Carlisle, where the hell have you been? Where are Elaina and the kids?” he belted out before he could even stop to listen. He had been trying to reach her all night.

“You lied, Agent Tucker,” a strange male voice filtered through the phone.

“Who is this?” Tuck yelled. His voice surged up a few octaves. He was all over the road again. “Shit!” he cursed as he nearly sideswiped an SUV.

“Who is this?” he screamed as he threw on his hazards and pulled his car over. He looked at his phone screen one more time, just to make sure he had seen it right.
CARLISLE
,
the screen flashed. He was right; it had been her phone that had called him.

“We had a deal, Agent Tucker, but you lied. Did you think we wouldn't be watching you? You said you would bring her to us, but then your lovesick, pussy-whipped ass just let her go.”

Tuck shut his eyes tightly. Regret filled up inside him. He clenched his fists.

“Stokes! Where is Carlisle?” Tuck was out of the car, pacing now. Cars whizzed past him. He looked like a stranded motorist, walking the side of the highway in the rain.

There was laughter on the other end of the phone. “You have the nerve to ask me questions,” the voice said snidely.

“Answer me! Where the fuck is Carlisle? My kids?” Tuck asked, his voice cracking as he nearly lost his grip on his cell phone. He was soaking wet from the pounding rain. He didn't even care.

“I guess you didn't really want to protect your family, Agent Tucker,” the man continued.

It wasn't Stokes. Tuck would've recognized Stokes's voice by now. This man was younger; his voice was stronger.

“Where is my family?” Tuck screeched, feeling like someone had punched him in the solar plexus.

“Daddy! Help us!” Tuck heard his baby girl shout in the background of the call.

“No!” he screamed, falling to his knees. He looked up into the angry sky and pleaded for mercy from above. Only divine intervention could save his family right now.

* * *

The throngs of news reporters and policemen lining the outside of the Ponce Funeral. They swarmed like angry bees, waiting to grill the former reputed drug kingpin, who was now burying two sons. The reports on the news had varied: Some said his sons had been killed as a result of an ongoing drug war with another borough; others said the crimes were revenge killings for DeSosa's past indiscretions. Police investigators were examining these incidents closely to see if the two murders were related. On the surface the MOs did not match at all.

Candy laughed at the circus that DeSosa was now forced to be a part of. She certainly enjoyed her role as the ringmaster.

The large crowd made the perfect cover and distraction. Candice made up her mind; she'd get in and out like the Grim Reaper. One fast sweep of blackness to finish the deed—the thought made her feel powerful, yet sad. What would she do when she no longer had revenge to fill her days?

Candice hadn't given that much thought to the future; she was still so consumed with the past and the present. She shook her head. No time to get fucking emotional right now.

Candice checked herself in the small driver's-side visor mirror one last time. An assassin in pink lip gloss; she had to giggle at that. The black wide brim hat, black oyster shell oval shades, black elbow-length gloves and nice fitted black sheath dress made her look very much the part of a high-class mourner. It was a look that suited her well.

Candice thought this funeral get-up might be her signature look. Going to these funerals was starting to give her a rise. She knew it was sick, but it was satisfying, all the same.

Candice picked up the oversized black purse, checked for her weapon of choice and stepped out of the rental car. Her heels clicking on the pavement sounded off like gunshots. She liked that too.
Power. Power. Power
.

Candice looked down the street at the burgeoning crowd. They had no idea that in a few more minutes they'd all be in harm's way; she planned to come at them with a fury. A no-holds-barred display. Her last hit. She checked her little timer.

If she had timed everything correctly, DeSosa, Cyndi and the kids would be arriving soon. Candice couldn't miss that now, could she?

As soon as she reached the funeral home entrance, she felt her damn cell phone ringing inside. Only one person had her cell phone number, and that was Tuck. She really wasn't in the mood to speak with him right now. The phone stopped ringing and started back up, almost immediately. She didn't need to draw any extra attention to herself right now. She fished the phone out of her bag and hit the ignore button. Nothing could interrupt this moment.

Candice hadn't even made it to the edge of the crowd when the phone started to vibrate. Fuck! This time she felt a thunderbolt of anger spark in her chest. Candice stopped midstride and whirled around angrily. She was going to pick up that fucking phone and curse out Tuck.

“What do you want?” Candice said gruffly, but low enough as not to attract any undue attention.

“Candy! I need you!” Tuck cried out in pain.

Candice was struck dumb for a second; her body went stiff. Was he really crying?

“Tuck?” she whispered. Her eyebrows folded down onto the bridge of her nose.

“They have my family! They're going to kill my family!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

His words snatched away Candice's breath. She made a hiccup noise and swallowed hard. A cold feeling shot through her body like somebody had pumped ice water into her veins. She gripped the phone tight and whirled around, her emotions on a collision course. She looked around wildly.

It was time.

Tuck was talking incoherently. He needed her to meet him right away. His family was in danger. His words were a confusing jumble in her ears.

Pandemonium broke out near the funeral home. Candice turned toward the commotion. Reporters started rushing in all directions; loud voices erupted from the crowd. Candice felt like someone had kicked her in the chest.

Rolando DeSosa had arrived at his sons' funeral and Candice had missed her shot.

* * *

A bloodcurdling scream bounced off the walls of the long hotel hallway.

“Help! Help! Help!” the housekeeper screeched, running down the hall, her arms flailing.

Several nosy hotel patrons emerged from their rooms to investigate the noise. Within ten minutes the police were swarming the hotel.

The first uniformed officer to arrive on the scene had called in what he had observed: “Two DOAs, one white female, one black male, causes of death unknown. Both appear to have been dead for some time.” Then he rushed into the bathroom and threw up. He knew he had probably contaminated something at the crime scene, but he couldn't help it. His stomach couldn't hold up to the smell of death that permeated the room.

When Candice prepared to turn onto the block of her hotel, she was stopped by a uniformed police officer. Confused, she rolled down her window like a dutiful citizen.

“Oh my goodness, Officer, what's going on?” She let her eyes dart to the police tape and all of the patrol cars and emergency service unit trucks that were parked haphazardly down the street.

“Ma'am, this street is blocked off. . . . Crime scene investigation is going on. You're going to have to come back later or use another route,” the officer said perfunctorily.

“May I ask what happened?” She used her throatiest sex kitten voice. She could see the officer's face soften a bit. He looked like he knew better, but he was going to give the beautiful woman with the expensive sunglasses and voluptuous body the information, anyway.

“Two dead bodies in a hotel room is all I know,” he answered, tapping the door of her car. Candice's surprise was genuine. She pushed her glasses back up to cover her wide-stretched eyes.

“I better get out of here then,” she replied.

“Yes, ma'am, I'd say that's a good idea,” the officer agreed.

She skidded away from the crime scene as quickly as possible. Her phone began to vibrate. Tuck was calling her again. “Shit!” she cursed under her breath. Her fucking nerves were really rattled now.

She reached over with one hand and snatched up the phone from the cup holder. He was supposed to meet her downtown, someplace crowded. BBQ's he had offered up as a meeting location. Candice had to change that now. She didn't have time to change her clothes or put on a new disguise. They'd have to come up with someplace that afforded a little more privacy.

“We need a different place to meet. Police are swarming all over my hotel. Your call,” she announced. “Text me the address,” she instructed before hanging up the call.

Candice busted a U-turn and headed in the opposite direction.

* * *

“Police are investigating the discovery of two dead bodies in a Brooklyn hotel room. A hotel housekeeper found the bodies when she went to clean the room earlier today. She reportedly told police, the person renting the room never asked for housekeeping services, and today was the first day the door was missing the Do Not Disturb sign,” the anchorman stated. “When the housekeeper went inside, she found the body of a black male, mid to late thirties, and that of a white female in her early thirties. A police source that has asked not to be identified reported that the woman was wearing some sort of federal law enforcement badge around her neck. Police are not releasing information about the person who rented the room, but they say they have a lead in the case. In other news, the double funeral for the sons of reputed drug kingpin Rolando DeSosa was held in Brooklyn today. DeSosa, who arrived under a shroud of security, is the reported ruthless operator of a drug business that brings tens of millions of dollars' worth of crack cocaine to the streets of New York and L.A. Both of DeSosa's sons were murdered in separate incidents just in the last week. Police would not comment on whether they believe the family was being targeted.”

Tuck sat in his old booth at the back of the small hole-in-the-wall, pub-style greasy spoon restaurant.

He waited anxiously in the cramped booth for Candy to arrive.

Candy entered the small eatery and slid in across from him in a flurry. Candy looked beautiful, but he could see fear in her eyes.

Tuck looked tired. His eyes were still red-rimmed and puffy from crying. For some reason this did not make Tuck look weak in her eyes; a man who felt that passionate about saving his family was actually a trait worthy of admiration.

“Candy, you're the only person who can help me now. They've got my family, and they killed the DEA agent who tried to help me,” Tuck confessed, his voice cracking again.

“Who are ‘they,' Tuck?” Candice whispered.

Tuck hung his head. He knew if he confessed the truth, she might tell him to fuck off and then he'd be screwed.

“The CIA,” he croaked out. He couldn't even look at her.

Candice curled her hands into fists. She leaned into the table. “Why the fuck does the CIA want to hurt your family, Tuck?” she whispered harshly. The wheels of her mind were already turning with ideas.

“Look, I made them believe I would help them find you so that they would leave my family alone. But I never had any intention of helping them. If I did, I would've led them to you yesterday when I gave you the file. I would've turned you over and walked away if I didn't care. I was trying to protect everyone involved, including you. You have to believe me, Candy.” Tuck laid it all out there, not even taking a breath between his words. He didn't want to give her a chance to walk out on him.

Candice leaned back, feeling the busted-up leather of the booth digging into her shoulder. “You made a deal with the CIA, even after you knew what they did to my family?” Candice asked with all the condescension she could muster. How could he be
that
stupid?

“I told them to fuck off until they shot at my wife and kids,” Tuck confessed. The words “wife and kids” rang in Candice's ear like a shrill alarm. She swallowed hard. Her sexual fantasies involving Tuck evaporated into thin air.

Fuckin' bastard
.

“So you were going to hand me over to them until you realized you needed me more than they did? Fuck you, Tuck,” Candice said as she moved to scoot out of the booth.

Tuck was out of his seat in a flash. He grabbed her arm. Candice whirled on him so fast—he didn't even have time to react. Her gun pressed into his chest bone.

“Fuckin' dare me,” she taunted.

Tuck lifted his hands. He could see some of the patrons looking at them uneasily; though Candice was pretty careful not to brandish her weapon quite as openly.

“C'mon, Candy. You're not going to shoot me in the back of a fuckin' greasy spoon with eyewitnesses. Rock taught you better than that. Hear me out. I'm on your side. Right now, I bet those two dead bodies were found in your hotel room, which means, even if you used a fake name, the surveillance cameras will pick you up in that same outfit. There are cops fanned out all over the city looking for you right now,” Tuck pleaded his case.

Candice inhaled and exhaled. She lowered her gun back under her hat, where she had hidden it on the seat next to her when she arrived.

“Sit down and let me tell you what I know. We have to work together. We can save my family, give you the man you really want to get, and then we all can get the fuck out of here.” Tuck was trying to get her cooperation. He took her silence to mean consent.