Unlucky (26 page)

Jake shrugged. "Guns get into the hands of criminals every day. What the hell difference does one more exchange make?"

"It's not that simple." Brad ran one hand through his hair and scanned the room again. "Look, these guys aren't selling pistols to a bunch of street rats. We've been tracking them for almost six years and couldn't pin anything on them until now. Their distribution in the U.S. is the largest known network, but this latest deal is the one we're worried most about."

"How's that?"

"The deal originated in the Middle East with people who make our street gangs look like a boy's choir. They've ordered everything from fully automatic weapons to much, much worse."

Jake lowered his sandwich to his plate and stared at Brad. "Worse how?"

"Maybe biological. And you didn't hear that from me." Brad rose from the table and looked down at Jake. "There could be millions of people at risk if this exchange happens. So you need to ask yourself if knowing where one man's grave is located is worth all that."

Silas Hebert watched as the two dealers talked and one left the dining area. It was obvious they had disagreed. About what? Silas was tired of questions with no answers, of suspicion when there was probably something simple going on between the two men--like fighting over a woman.

Still, the play today hadn't gone as he'd expected, and there could be only one explanation for it. He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and excused himself from the table. As he stepped onto one of the private balconies off the dining area, he pressed a speed dial number and waited.

The man on the other end picked up on the first ring. "Yeah."

"I need you to check something in my closet," Silas said. "Top shelf--the shoe box all the way to the right. Tell me if the doll is still inside."

There was a pause while the man made his way to Silas's room. Then Silas heard the sound of the closet door sliding open and the rustling of boxes and paper. "It's empty, boss."

Silas nodded and stared out over the bayou. "I figured as much." He stepped away from the balcony and turned back toward the casino. "I'll need another doll. You know who to call. And tell her I need it this evening. You'll drive to New Orleans and pick it up."

"No problem."

Silas flipped his phone shut and stepped inside the casino, wondering where on earth Mallory Devereaux had gotten her balls--because he knew it hadn't been from her father.

Mallory sat on the roll-out couch in her living room, legs fully extended along the length of the mattress, sipping a beer and pretending to watch television. Who, exactly, she was pretending for, she had no idea since there wasn't anyone else there, and T.W. couldn't see or hear the TV anyway. Not to mention, she'd picked the seat on her roll-out couch rather than her normal recliner, because it offered her a view of the road.

The afternoon play had started so similar to the morning that she had to admit it hadn't been a temporary swing in luck--something was definitely up. She'd managed a touch to Jake while taking the drink order that afternoon, which had helped take the edge off him running the table completely, but the day had definitely been his.

She'd felt Silas looking at her again and knew the jig was probably up. If he didn't already know, he'd be sure to check his closet tonight and find the missing doll.

And then what?

And that was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. If he'd gotten the first one made and delivered so quickly, it wouldn't be any big deal to get another.

And then what?

They were back to the same question: Did the doll make a difference? Maybe the day before had been a fluke--when Silas had been immune to her bad luck. Or maybe he'd been cheating, as Jake suspected, and hadn't wanted to risk it today. She stared up at the ceiling and sighed. The whole mess was confusing.

Then there was that yearbook photo of Silas and her mother. She'd barely controlled her emotions enough to shut the book and place it back on the shelf without giving anything away to Amy. She didn't understand what she'd seen and wasn't ready to discuss the possibilities with her friend, especially not when they were most certainly grim.

As soon as she could face her uncle without looking away or blushing, Mallory was going to have a serious talk with him.

But for now she sat in her living room, glancing out the window every two seconds, hoping to see Jake's car pull into her driveway. The guilt for taking the doll was overwhelming, and even though she knew he was going to be angry, she had to get it off her chest. So while one part of her wanted desperately to see Jake--and she was fairly certain exactly which part that was--the other part of her hoped he had a flat tire, or a dead battery, or anything non-life-threatening that would keep him from making contact with her tonight like he'd said he would before they left the casino.

The clock on the wall rolled to eight, and she was just contemplating making a sandwich when she saw Jake's car come out from behind the trees and pull into her driveway. Her pulse quickened at the sight of him climbing out of his car, even as her heart dropped, knowing what she needed to tell him.

She waved him into the cabin as he approached the front door, and he stepped inside, a serious look on his face.

"Is something wrong?" she asked. Had he found out about the doll? Surely Amy hadn't told anyone.

"Just frustrated," he said. "I asked for a search of the addresses we found. I kind of hedged exactly how I came about them, and they covered all but one of them today."

"Which one did they leave off?"

"The apartment complex, which was my favorite of the lot." Jake ran one hand through his hair. "They made arrangements with the building owner for a meeting this evening, but there was a kidnapping in New Orleans and everyone got pulled for the case."

"And you can't go yourself because of the risk of being seen by Silas or one of his men," Mallory concluded, now understanding his frustration.

Jake stared at her for a moment. "I'm not
supposed
to search for myself."

"You were going to anyway? Is that a risk you want to take?"

Jake blew out a breath. "I don't know. Yes. I guess I do or I wouldn't be thinking this hard about it, but on the way over here I got this idea."

"What idea?"

"That maybe I could meet with the owner--she's expecting an FBI agent--but if you went with me then maybe if anyone else saw us they'd just think we were a couple looking for a unit to rent. I doubt Silas has passed out photos of us to his crew if he only suspects us of fixing a card game."

Mallory looked at him and laughed. "You're asking me to pretend to be your live-in? What do I get out of the deal?"

Jake looked her up and down and smiled. "We could probably work out repayment when we get back."

Mallory grinned. "Then what are we waiting for?"

The apartment complex was just off the highway on the outskirts of Royal Flush. Another fifteen miles up the highway was the hotel of Jake and Mallory's infamous breaking-and-entering adventures, and another fifteen miles after that was New Orleans, home to more infamous adventures than you could shake a stick at.

The redbrick apartment building was probably more than fifty years old, but it was maintained well with a new coat of bright white paint on the trim and pretty, flowering bushes lining every edge of the structure and the driveway. There was a midsized SUV parked in front of the manager's office, which she figured belonged to the owner.

Jake pulled in beside the SUV, glanced at his watch, then looked over at Mallory. "The owner's name is Glenda. She's expecting FBI, so you're going to have to pretend to be an agent when we're talking to her."

"Gotcha--agent with Glenda, live-in honey the rest of the time." Mallory grinned. "What an exciting life I lead."

"Just let me do all the talking." He jumped out of the car and looked over at her. "And try not to touch anything."

Mallory laughed and followed him out of the car and into the manager's office.

A bell above the door signaled their entry, and a feminine voice shouted from down the hall, "Be right with you." Mallory looked around the small office, not really sure what she was supposed to be looking for but figuring she couldn't help matters if she didn't bother to try. She was studying an old photograph of the building construction and had just placed her finger on the glass, trying to trace the angle of the roofline when she heard Jake gasp and a voice sound behind her.

"You must be the FBI agents."

She removed her finger from the photo, dismayed to see a single crack in the glass, following the exact same trail she'd traced with her finger. Turning from the photo, she expected to find the manager behind her, but had to drop her gaze a good two feet before the woman came into view.

"Oh, my God." The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them, but even without the leather mask and matching whip, there was no mistaking the tiny woman in front of her. Behind her, the photo on the wall crashed onto the floor.

The woman glanced at the photo and frowned, then took a hard look at Mallory. A couple of seconds later, a blush began to creep up her neck. "Well, this is embarrassing."

Mallory looked at Jake, who had been standing in the far corner when the woman entered the room. His expression was one of pure disbelief, but then he'd probably had an overdose of that since coming to Royal Flush.

"Reginald never told me his niece was an FBI agent," the woman said, "although I guess that would explain you bursting through hotel rooms and jumping out windows."

She waved a hand at the office behind her. "My name's Glenda. You may as well come in and have a seat."

"I'm sorry for the other night," Mallory said once they were all seated. "We didn't mean to barge in that way, we were just... well, we were sort of in a hurry."

Glenda smiled. "I bet. You had half a hotel of men chasing you as far as I could see--half feds and half the bad guys. Reginald almost passed out when you jumped over the balcony."

Jake stared at Glenda, clearly surprised. "How do you know half of them were feds?"

"Oh hell, I know all about Reginald's trouble with the ATF. You think I've been seeing the man for twenty years and he doesn't tell me stuff?"

"You're dating Reginald... for twenty years?" Mallory stared at Glenda in shock. "But everyone said..."

Glenda frowned. "I know the rumors, and they're damned offensive, but Reginald won't let me correct them."

"But why not?" Mallory asked. "Why is your relationship a secret?"

Glenda sighed. "My family comes from old money--I inherited this building and stand to inherit several others that specialize in subsidized housing for the poor, the elderly, the disabled. It's my life's work, helping these people, and Reginald knows if my relationship with him becomes public knowledge, then people will start to poke into his business a bit more than he'd like. My family would probably be the first in line."

"I see," Mallory said. "Reginald is worried that your family will cut you off if they know you're involved with him."

Glenda nodded. "Yeah. The worst part is, he'd finally decided to go legit--after all these years--and damn if the ATF didn't come in and mess everything up."