Too Wild to Hold (15 page)

He didn’t respond. He’d read the official record and the newspaper clippings outlining how a rogue cop had gone against orders to investigate a death during Katrina that had been attributed to the storm, but had actually been a case of domestic violence. While Claire had never publically spoken out about the case, the parents of the victim had. They’d called her a hero. They’d lauded her dedication to the truth, even if it meant disobeying her superiors and losing her job.

“Because you care more about justice than you do about procedure?”

Her mouth dropped open a little in surprise, but she recovered quickly. “That about sums it up. We’re cut from different fabrics, Michael. You’re FBI—and thank God you are, because you’re fighting the big fight, protecting women like me from being victims of some sicko whose mommy didn’t love him enough or who was born without a sanity gene. But your way can’t always save the world. Sometimes, people like me, the ones who don’t drink the Kool-Aid, can do some good, too.”

She winced when he tightened his grip on her arms. “I haven’t had any spiked fruit punch, Claire. I believe in what I do.”

“I know,” she said, squirming until he loosened his hold. “And I swear to God, Michael, I respect you for it. But, at this moment, your way isn’t getting the job done. Maybe the guy across the street was watching me. Maybe he called. But maybe he’s not the Bandit. And we don’t know if he has Josslyn. You need proof before you can execute a warrant—or compelling evidence that will convince a judge to let you in. If you let me go, I’ll get that and you won’t have to sully your hands or risk your career.”

“My career isn’t as important as your safety,” he confessed.

“My safety doesn’t mean anything if he hurts someone else instead. If he gives up on me, you’ll have lost your only chance to stop him. I’m not going into this blind, Michael. I’m actually good at what I do.”

He released her. She ran her hands up his chest, still bare, and pressed her cheek against his heart.

“From the moment you spirited me away from
Nouvelle Placage,
I’ve trusted you to do your job. Now, trust me to do mine.”

He curved his body over hers and watched his father’s ring catch a glimmer of light from a passing car. Under the influence of his family’s legacy, he’d broken more rules than he could count, most in the last twenty-four hours. Could he really keep her from doing the same, particularly when what she might discover could help their case?

He released her. “You have ten minutes. Don’t touch anything or move anything. If you see something that can help us, come back and let me know. If you contaminate any evidence, he’ll get off. But you know all about that, don’t you?”

Claire’s entire face lit up in a smile. She gave him a saucy wink, and then snatched a bag she kept beside her bedroom door—one he suspected contained the tricks of her trade. A camera. Latex gloves. Booties for her shoes. More ammo.

“Thanks for trusting me, G-man. I won’t let you down.”

“W
HAT DO YOU
mean you lost him?”

Claire buried her face in her hands, the snap of latex chafing her skin. She ripped off her gloves and tossed them across the entryway. Michael slammed his hand against her banister, and even though she was sitting right below him on the bottom step, she barely flinched. If she wasn’t so numb with fury, she might have kicked right through the drywall.

She’d done exactly what the FBI had needed her to do and they’d dropped the ball. The man who’d been across the street watching her make love to Michael with the night vision goggles she’d found dangling on a peg beside his windowsill had escaped.

Breaking into his apartment had been ridiculously easy—her first clue that he wanted to be discovered. Inside, she’d found a spy-shop worth of surveillance equipment, a refrigerator full of red roses and a handwritten diary that catalogued her every move over the last month. Since Michael had only allotted her a mere ten minutes to verify that the man who’d been watching them was indeed the Bandit, she’d used her remaining time to reset the clock feature on the guy’s video camera, backing it up fifteen minutes or so, then she pointed the lens directly into her window and left.

Another tactic Michael would never have authorized, but she’d already tampered with the equipment, so he could do nothing but use it to his advantage.

The FBI needed probable cause to execute a search warrant. She’d given it to them by running home and ordering Michael to stay downstairs while she finished the last act in her operation of lies. After ditching her gear, she’d stripped down in the hallway, flashed on her bedroom light and run to the window, where she made a show of noticing the camera.

The whole set up had lasted all of fifteen minutes. By backing up the time feature, she’d synchronized the unsub’s last phone call with his watching her in her bedroom—and provided Michael with the impetus he needed to get a warrant.

But while his superiors had worked on getting a judge to sign off on their search, Ruby’s team had lost sight of the Bandit in a crowd on Bourbon Street.

“Did you at least get a good look at him? Enough to put together a sketch? A picture with your cell phone? What the hell, Ruby? We can’t lose him now.”

Rage radiated from Michael like fire banked in the belly of a dragon. Ruby was probably just as pissed off at herself as he was, but apologies could wait for another day.

Josslyn was in more danger than ever. Even if the FBI went through every inch of the lunatic’s apartment, Claire was certain they wouldn’t find anything to lead them to her.

So he’d left some equipment behind. If he’d recorded her, Claire hadn’t found the files. A cursory look around, which was all Michael had given her time for, had not resulted in the discovery of a laptop or any other computer. The Bandit had abandoned what he no longer had use for.

He was leaving—which meant Josslyn’s time was running out.

“Ruby, hold on. I’ve got a call. It’s unknown. Could be our unsub.”

At this, Claire jumped to her feet. She motioned for Michael to engage the speaker-phone feature, and to her surprise, he complied.

“Murrieta,” he answered.

“You know, you really should have Alex show you how to say that correctly. You need to roll your r’s.”

Michael growled. “Damn it, Danny. I’m in the middle of a case. I thought I had my agents put you on a plane to California.”

“In their defense, they did indeed provide me with a comfortable ride to the airport and even escorted me to the gate. But what they failed to do was walk me through security and forcibly buckle me into my seat.”

“I’ll make sure to be more specific next time,” he grumbled.

“You do that,” Danny said. “But I suggest you try it on someone else.”

In the background, Claire heard the familiar thump and beat of a bass guitar—not the kind that came out of a stereo or juke box, but live music. Club music. Jazz club music endemic to the Quarter.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Claire, my darling. I’d hoped I could count on you to cut to the crux of the matter. I’m at a righteous bar on the far end of Bourbon Street. The music is phenomenal and the women are getting drunker by the minute, and yet, am I taking advantage? Spending my last night in the Big Easy drunk on wine, women and song? No, I’m calling my brother.”

“And why the hell would you do that?” Michael asked.

“I’m wounded,” Danny said, his laissez faire attitude crawling underneath her skin. “Can’t I just have missed you?”

“No,” Claire and Michael barked in unison.

Danny chuckled. “You’re right. I don’t miss either one of you. In fact, I don’t miss much at all. That’s probably a big part of the reason why I’m so damned great at my job.”

“Stealing things?” Michael snapped.

“Usually, though in this case, finding things. You see, first I found you tonight at Claire’s. Nice little show in the window, though from the rooftop across the street, I couldn’t see much once you killed the lights.”

Michael went to disengage the speaker phone feature, but Claire stayed his hand. She didn’t give a damn if Michael’s brother had seen her completely naked and in the throes of a glorious orgasm—he’d called for a reason.

“Too bad for you,” she shot back. “Your brother’s quite the stud. You might have learned something. So you found us. Is that it?”

“Not by a longshot, darlin’. First I found you. Then I spotted Ruby trying to follow someone down the street in a car when he was on foot. I mean, honestly? Is that any way to operate? So I decided to help her out. Help
you
out. I hope you remember this.” Danny had to raise his voice to overcome the applause that had just erupted behind him.

Claire met Michael’s incensed gaze. Danny was stringing them along for his own amusement, but they both read between the lines. He’d followed the same guy Ruby had followed—their suspect. But unlike the FBI agent, who’d been trapped in her car, he’d been on foot.

Danny wasn’t calling just to give his brother and Claire a hard time. That was just the icing. The cake was that he’d found their unsub—and knew precisely where he was.

M
ICHAEL LEFT ONE
agent at the unsub’s apartment and had the other three, including Ruby, meet him at the Bourbon Street bar. Danny waited for them inside, sipping a draft beer while he kept an eye on the staircase that led to the upper floors. He’d done a quick sweep around back, and while he’d discovered an old, rickety fire escape leading down from the third floor, the seasoned criminal had quickly determined that no one had used it in half a century.

And lived.

Still, the first thing Michael did was post a local cop to watch it from below.

The second thing he did was try to send Claire home.

He really didn’t know why he’d bothered. She’d refused police protection, and since she knew the property owner of the bar where Danny was staked out, Michael decided she was more useful with him than fighting him. She’d already texted the building’s owner and learned that the current tenant of the third-floor loft had been some kind of recording artist who’d put a layer of soundproofing on the floors at his own expense and had spent quite a bit of time shopping for antiques on Royal Street.

If the tenant was the Bandit, he’d created a perfect lair for his fantasy seduction.

Nice guy the man had texted. Quiet until lately. Pays cash.

Until lately? Claire had texted back.

The property owner replied quickly. Had a complaint from my cleaning staff this morning about what sounded like a woman screaming, but I went up and checked. Everything was in order.

A woman screaming? Josslyn, perhaps? Hidden where the landlord couldn’t find her?

Michael checked his sidearm. “You stay here,” he ordered Claire, before commanding Ruby to remain behind with her.

“I don’t need a babysitter and you need Ruby to watch your back more than you need her to watch mine,” she argued.

“I’m not leaving you out here in the open. For all we know, he’s planned this. He’s led us here just so he can get to you.”

“Now you’re being paranoid,” she sniped.

“Maybe,” he replied. “But I’m not taking any chances with your life.”

“But you’ll take chances with your own? That’s noble. And stupid.”

Ruby cleared her throat. “There is another option.”

They both turned to her, Michael with a glare and Claire with a grin that cemented their friendship for life.

“And what the hell is that?”

Ruby shrugged apologetically, as if she knew that what she was about to suggest was not going to go over well. “Danny.”

“Someone say my name?”

Startled by Danny’s approach, Michael clutched at the cell phone in his hand, nearly cracking the casing.

“Jumpy nerves,” Danny said, tsking disapprovingly. “Bad sign, bro.”

“I thought you were our eyes inside?” he asked.

“With all these prettier eyes out here? Besides, I saw one of your guys move in. He’s practically sitting on the staircase. Your suspect isn’t going anywhere.”

“Good.”

Michael watched his brother give Claire a sideways glance, one that was a little more appraising than he’d like. While there was a chance that the unsub was upstairs in his soundproofed lair with Josslyn Granger, there was also a chance he was lurking somewhere nearby, waiting for Claire to be alone so he could grab her. Michael couldn’t risk having her so vulnerable, even if that meant leaving her with his brother.

Her phone buzzed. She looked at the LCD screen, and even in the blinking neon lights outside the jazz club, he watched her face go white.

She flipped the phone so he could see.
Unknown Caller.

He dug his hands into his pockets, retrieved his keys and shoved them into Danny’s hands. “Get her out of here.”

“What? No!” Claire objected. “I’m not in any danger down here. You, go do your thing, but don’t make me leave.”

Danny wrapped his arm protectively over Claire’s shoulder for a split second before she shrugged him off. Michael didn’t trust his brother as far as he could throw him, but he did trust Claire. And though Danny was a selfish son-of-a-bitch with delusions of grandeur, he had helped them out.

He pointed his finger in Danny’s face. “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Macho point taken. Go get the bad guy. I’ll take care of the damsel in distress.”

Michael waited until Claire launched into a full-blown attack on Danny’s misconceptions about the state of her distress before he motioned for his team to follow him to a quieter location so they could formulate a plan of attack. He suddenly wasn’t worried for Claire, but his brother was another story entirely.

“O
KAY
,
OKAY
. I surrender!” Danny said, holding up both of his hands. “My jaw still aches from the last time you proved you didn’t need anyone to protect you. Just consider me an extra set of eyes, okay. I’m yours to command.”

Claire walked to the other side of the car, her gaze locked on Danny, who might have thought he was looking all magnanimous, when he really just looked like a jerk. She was starting to understand why Michael wasn’t his half-brother’s biggest fan. Daniel Burnett was tall, dark, handsome and charming—but he was also smug, condescending and full of himself.

“You love pissing people off, don’t you?” she asked.

He grinned and leaned on the hood of the car. “I do, I really do. My profession normally doesn’t allow for much human interaction. So when I’m in the company of men—or women—I like to make the experience memorable.”

“Even if it’s in a bad way?”

“I take what I can get,” he said proudly.

“Literally and figuratively.”

He gave her a small half-bow. “Touché.”

Danny held out his hand to her, and with a smirk, she decided to join him. His side of the car had a better vantage point. She chafed at watching Michael from a distance, waiting on the sidelines while he and his team planned their next move without her input.

She ached to be a part of whatever was going down, but as much as it killed her to remain behind, she had to let the professionals do their jobs. She tried to alleviate some of her pent up adrenaline by bouncing on her toes, but the action only annoyed Danny. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

“You need a drink,” he assessed.

“I need to see Josslyn Granger walk out of that building safe and sound.”

“You really think there’s a chance of that?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly…maybe a little too quickly. The fact that the Bandit had tried to contact her again, but this time had not left a message, was prickling at the back of her neck.

“Are you sure the suspect couldn’t have gotten out of the building without you seeing him?”

Danny shrugged. “Not unless he has some secret exit no one knows about.”

Claire yanked her phone out of her back pocket and started texting the building owner just as Michael and his team headed into the building. She tapped her fingers nervously on the screen of her phone while she waited for a reply.

Then it came.

Used to be a staircase that came out next to the bakery on Dumaine. Stairs crumbled years ago. Sealed it for building code.

Unfortunately, seals could be broken.

Michael and his team were out of sight, going into the building when there was suddenly a chance that the Bandit wasn’t inside.

Claire started across the street.

“Where are you going?” Danny asked, close at her heels.

“Checking out a lead.”

“Not a good idea.” He made a swipe for her arm, but she dodged him.

“Says you,” she replied, lowering her voice as they approached the back alley. The corner property was an old bakery which had closed over a decade ago. Longer and wider than the club, the building created alleys and a courtyard not easily visible from the street.

She accessed the flashlight app on her cell phone, then slid through a dark passage, turning and twisting around garbage cans and abandoned crates until she found the narrow break between the two buildings. She searched for marks in the wall that might have once covered a door, but the brick had been repaired in so many places, it was hard to see any suspicious grooves.