Chapter Five
Raissa pulled into the dimly lit parking garage and slipped through the shadows to the back door of her store building. Her mind raced with all sorts of things, none of them good. What Spider had told her was the absolute opposite of what she’d expected to hear. If Monk Marsella was really at the bottom of the Mississippi and had been for six months, then there was no way he could have kidnapped Melissa Franco. Which meant either that she’d been wrong nine years ago when she’d pegged Monk for the kidnapper, or someone had picked up his work with the exact same MO nine years after the fact.
Neither were very plausible explanations.
She gave the alley and garage a quick scan, an old habit but a practical one, and was relieved to see that neither Zach or any of Sonny’s guys were lurking around corners or trash bins. She unlocked the back door and hurried up the stairs to her apartment. No way had she been wrong about Monk. She’d seen the evidence firsthand in Monk’s house, and the only person besides her with a key to that closet was Monk. If only she’d been able to get the evidence out before he came back and caught her snooping.
That proof that she’d pursued but not collected had cost her two years of undercover work and nine years of her old life. But if Monk hadn’t kidnapped Melissa Franco, then who had? It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence that the MO was exactly the same. Certain details of the case had never been released, so an unrelated copycat wasn’t likely. The only other answer was that Monk had a partner. Someone who’d been in from the beginning and knew how to create the same setup.
But who, and why wait nine years between kidnappings? It made no sense.
Neither did hitting on Detective Blanchard.
Raissa unlocked the door to her apartment, trying to block her mind from the earlier scene at the bar. The fingerprint wasn’t an issue. Sonny was well aware of where she was, so hiding was no longer a concern. The FBI would likely perk up considerably when Zach ran the print through the database, especially as Raissa knew the bureau had presumed her dead years ago when she’d fled protective custody and they’d been unable to find her.
I told him to bring handcuffs.
Raissa groaned and stepped into her apartment, a cold drink and a cold shower the first two items on her to-do list. She stopped short when she realized she had company. Maryse and Sabine sat at her kitchen table, staring at her as if they were waiting for her to pull a rabbit from a hat. Or maybe her cleavage.
“Do you give tarot readings in that outfit?” Maryse asked. “Or do you have another occupation you forgot to mention to your best friends?”
Her friends’ obvious disapproval at her less-than-forthcoming behavior washed over her as if she’d been doused with a bucket of cold water. The good part was, she didn’t need the shower any longer. The bad news was, it looked like the drink was going to have to be a triple. She tossed her keys on the kitchen counter, pulled a bottle of scotch from her refrigerator, and set three glasses on the table. Maryse raised her eyebrows at Sabine, but neither of them said a word.
Raissa poured a splash of scotch into each glass and added a couple of ice cubes, then slid into a chair at the table with her friends. She pushed a glass across the table to each of them and downed a good portion of her own. “I was a bartender in college,” she said finally. “Got big tips for pulling the caps off beer bottles with my teeth. Took me two years of working at the FBI to pay for all the dental work I needed.”
“You know that’s not what we mean,” Maryse said.
Raissa shrugged. “I might also do a little security work for corporations.”
“What kind of security work?” Sabine asked.
“Companies hire me to test their system’s security.”
Sabine’s eyes widened. “Companies pay you to hack their computer network? How do they even know how to find you?”
“Word of mouth on the Internet. Word goes out that a company is looking for me. I contact them on a secure computer with a new e-mail address, so I can remain anonymous. I get the particulars, hack their system, and point out where the weaknesses are.”
Maryse leaned forward. “That is too cool, but how do you get paid if you have to remain anonymous?”
“Wire transfer to an offshore account.”
Maryse stared. “You’re kidding.”
“I never joke about money.”
“Just how much money are we talking about?” Sabine asked. “I mean, if I’m not being entirely too nosy.”
Raissa smiled. “Anywhere from ten to fifty grand a job. Don’t worry—I pay taxes on all of it. God knows, I don’t need any more trouble with the government.”
“So what happens if they don’t pay?” Sabine asked, clearly fascinated with the entire thing.
Raissa laughed.
“Oh,” Sabine said, her face clearing with understanding. “I guess if you just hacked their system, that wouldn’t be a good idea, right? Talk about guaranteed payment.”
“Holy crap.” Maryse sighed. “Nine years, Raissa. In nine years of knowing us, you never once thought you could trust us with all this?”
“Hell, yeah. Jesus, all of this had nothing to do with trust. I didn’t want to get people involved—especially with something that might put them in danger. Why do you think I keep my security testing anonymous? Even corporations can be convinced to provide information if the right person is asking. Surely, the two of you can understand that.” Raissa frowned, knowing she was hitting below the belt a little. Well, a lot.
Maryse and Sabine had both recently gone through their own life-threatening crises and had tried in the beginning to get through it without involving anyone they cared about. In the end, it had taken everyone to make things right, but both still carried the guilt of how badly things could have turned out.
Maryse lowered her eyes to the table, and Sabine’s face flashed with a look of guilt, then sympathy. “When you put it like that…” Sabine said.
“Bitch,” Maryse said, and gave Raissa a small smile.
Sabine swatted at Maryse. “That’s not polite. My God, you are never going to learn manners, are you?”
Maryse put on an innocent look. “Hey, for all I know, that could be her real name.”
Sabine frowned and looked at Raissa. “Did Beau know who you really were?”
Oh shit. Raissa’s mind raced for a way out of this one. Beau, ex–FBI agent and Sabine’s new husband, had finally remembered seeing Raissa talking with an FBI assistant director in Washington, D.C. Despite the plastic surgery she had to change her appearance, he’d still recognized her, but promised to keep her secret. Apparently, he was a man of his word, but that might not score him many points with the woman he’d just married.
“Raissa?” Sabine prompted.
“Uh-oh,” Maryse said, and scooted her chair away from Sabine’s.
“Well,” Raissa began, “he didn’t remember me at all…at first.”
Sabine narrowed her eyes at Raissa. “But then he did?”
“Yeah. That night at the hospital with Mildred, something made him remember, but I made him promise not to tell.”
Maryse laughed at Sabine’s frown. “Kind of a catch-22, huh? Your man has honor and integrity, but since he was FBI, that means he’ll always be keeping things from you. Welcome to my world. Could be worse. At least you knew what Beau was when you met him.”
Sabine’s frown relaxed. “That’s true.” Maryse’s husband, Luc, an agent for the Department of Environmental Quality, had been working undercover when Maryse met him. In fact, he was undercover investigating Maryse. Not the smoothest way to start a relationship, for sure.
“So,” Maryse said and grinned at Raissa, “is that your official FBI undercover investigating sort of outfit? Because I have to say, it’s kinda hot.”
Raissa smiled. “Actually, I was at a confession.”
Maryse hooted. “And what did they confess to?”
“Nothing I was hoping to hear, unfortunately.”
Maryse sobered and nodded. “You’re looking for that little girl, right? Have the police been giving you trouble since you handed them information you shouldn’t have?”
“Just one,” Raissa replied, and felt a blush creep across her chest and up her neck.
“Oh, no,” Maryse said and poked Sabine in the side with her elbow. “I’ve seen that look. What exactly does Just One look like?”
Raissa sighed. “Hot enough to melt rubber.”
“That sucks.”
“You’re doomed.” Maryse and Sabine spoke at the same time, shaking their heads in sympathy. After all, they’d already been there, done that.
“You can’t let him find out who you really are, right?” Maryse asked.
“Well…since Sonny knows who I am, there’s really no use hiding any longer.” Her mind flashed back to the bar—her fingertip pressed against Zach’s face and every square inch of her body screaming for her to make it more.
Maryse snapped her fingers in front of Raissa’s face and brought her back to reality. “Earth to Raissa,” Maryse said. “Where did you fade off to exactly? Oh, no, you like him.”
“I barely know him.”
Maryse and Sabine gave each other knowing looks. “But you’d like to jump him,” Maryse said.
“Jeez,” Raissa said, “you’re not long on meaningless conversation, are you?”
Sabine laughed. “Especially not when she happens to be right.”
Raissa groaned. “Nine years of avoiding men because I can’t afford to get anyone involved with my situation—for my sake and theirs—and my body’s in overdrive for a man I should be avoiding like the plague. Not to mention, I find out that the very people I thought I was hiding from know exactly who I am and probably have for a while, which adds to my general confusion in about a million different ways.”
Maryse nodded and wrinkled her brow. “It is strange. I mean, if the Heberts know who you are and where to find you, I’d figure you for keeping Helena company, you know?”
“I know. That’s the part that confuses me the most. There is no love lost between me and Sonny Hebert, and as soon as the FBI gets a line on me, they’ll rush him to trial and have me testify. There’s a ten-year statute of limitations on racketeering, which is the biggie. The limit runs out on what I know in six months.”
“Wow!” Maryse said. “So do you think them asking Hank to kill you was your cue to get the hell out of Dodge? Why bother now?”
Raissa frowned. “I’m just guessing, but there’s only six months left that my word is any good in court, unless I turn up dead. If the government can prove conspiracy, then the statute would start on the date of the last conspiracy act. I put the police on my track when I told them about the girls. The FBI won’t be far behind, applying pressure as only the FBI can do.”
“I get it. No statute of limitations on murder, and they might crawl all the way up Sonny’s butt, especially over an agent.”
“Exactly.”
“Still, that’s not going to stop the feds from coming to collect you as soon as they know where you are. How much time do you have before Just One sets off the alarms?”
“My fingerprint is going to hit the national database—it’s probably going in as we speak—and before you know it, this building will be surrounded by local FBI, all wanting to lock me up or spirit me off to Kansas to be a chicken farmer.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” Sabine asked.
“It is if I want to catch Melissa Franco’s kidnapper,” Raissa said. “I know I’m close. I can feel it, just like last time. If Sonny hadn’t made me as an agent when he did, this would all be over already. The FBI can’t force me to do anything, but I’m sure they’ll send someone to try anyway.”
Maryse looked over at Sabine, who nodded. “All the more reason to get you out of here and hidden in Mudbug,” Maryse said. “I don’t suppose it will take the FBI long to track you down there, but it might buy you a day or two.”
Raissa downed the rest of her scotch. “I’m hoping the presence of more FBI in New Orleans, especially around my shop, will spark whoever took Melissa Franco to make a move they hadn’t planned. I’m sure someone will be checking there. I just have to hope that they report to Sonny, and that Sonny is somehow involved, and that he gets word to whoever…What a mess.”
“And you didn’t even mention the part where you can see Helena. Not sure which is worse, her or Sonny Hebert.”
Raissa sighed. “Thank you for reminding me. I guess the least of my worries is a sexy detective?”
Sabine shook her head. “The understatement of the century. But the first thing we’re going to do is get you out of here and into the Mudbug Hotel, where at least you’ll have people around looking out for you, and hopefully it will take the feds a while to catch on.”
“And your choice of many, many hotel beds, just in case the sexy detective finds you first,” Maryse said and winked at Raissa. “You’d better get to packing. Throw in something slinky, just in case.”
Sabine wagged her finger at Maryse. “You are supposed to keep her out of trouble, not get her in more.” Sabine looked over at Raissa. “Give me a hug and wish me well. I’ll be going straight to Beau’s place from here, so this is the last time you’ll see me before I get back.”
Raissa rose from the table and gave Sabine a hug. “Have a wonderful time. And don’t worry about anything here. I’ve got it handled.”
Sabine released Raissa and nodded, but didn’t look convinced. She gave Maryse a hug and left the apartment.
Raissa headed to her room to pack a bag. This might be her last chance to catch the kidnapper. Her last chance to stop another family from going through the agony and grief of losing their child, then the hundreds of unanswered questions that had followed every return. Hiding in Mudbug wasn’t her first choice, but Maryse and Sabine were right. She wasn’t going to get much done with the FBI—or Zach Blanchard—hounding her.
Maryse’s comment about beds flashed through her mind. Who was she kidding? If anyone was going to hunt her down in Mudbug, she couldn’t help hoping it was Zach.
Maybe it would be easier if Sonny Hebert just killed her.