

#  ALSO BY

ANTHONY AARON RICHARDS

BOOK ONE

A Transfer of Vengeance

The Journey

The Switch Pops

The Devil's Breath Cometh

The Switch Pops

VOLUME 3 OF THE VENGEANCE CHRONICLES

ANTHONY AARON RICHARDS

#  Copyright © 2020 Anthony Aaron Richards

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed "Attention: Permission Request Coordination," at the web address below.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, places, events, names, and incidents portrayed are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover design by Rose Miller

Interior design by Anthony Aaron Richards

Editing by Isabelle Felix

Printed in the United States of America

www.aarichardswrites.com

#  Dedication

'I'm a dreamer. I have to dream and reach for the stars,

and if I miss a star then I grab a handful of clouds.'

— Mike Tyson

To the Didn't Make Its...

All the women and girls who we have lost

to the carnage of human trafficking and abuse.

To everyone who has helped me

through the years...

Believe me, putting this adventure together

has been a wild ride.

To my wife...

Thank you for putting up with me

and the writing life.

To all my children, all six of them,

and my family that reads this...

Yes, I can count.

Justin, Joshua, Josh, Jake, Mariah, and Jesse.

Without them and their inspiration,

I couldn't have written on,

and let's not forget Shayla,

the daughter with a tail.

To my editor...

I'm sending many smiles out to her.

She has really kicked me in the ass and

gotten us over the mountain and into the future.

# Contents

ALSO BY 1

 Copyright © 2020 Anthony Aaron Richards 1

Dedication 1

Chapter 1 1

Chapter 2 10

Chapter 3 17

Chapter 4 25

Chapter 5 31

Chapter 6 41

Chapter 7 48

COMING JULY 2020 1

ABOUT THE AUTHOR 1

AUTHOR INTERVIEW 1

# Chapter 1

The New Queen of New Orleans

"It is the dim haze of mystery

that adds enchantment

to pursuit."

— Antoine Rivarol

Lady Justice and her eponym, with such blindfolded eyes and a supposedly balanced scale, would've said to hand Collin over to Jack, since justice is truly blind... But for me to just hand Collin to the law, to let them slap him on the wrist, to let him eat, sleep, and breathe in prison, wouldn't have brought justice to the Didn't Make Its. No, I was going to hunt him... learn him... play with him... See the difference?

At that moment, though, I still needed more time and space to set up what I had planned.

I slipped out the side door of my house, evading the patrol car sitting across the street, then disappeared. Of course, setting things in motion meant I had to call in a favor first. Jean-Paul would need to help me again, if he could. When he didn't pick up, I probably should've taken that as an answer, but...

Delicious smells drifted out of the Haitian deli. I looked through the window to see if Maximus happened to be there. He was. I smiled as he moved along the food cases, examining them.

A split second later, the hairs on the back of my neck stood. I shivered and slowly glanced over my shoulder, seeing nothing and no one in particular on the street as the morning sun bounced off the cars in front of the deli. But you could never be too careful, right? I kept my face relaxed and felt for the letter opener in my stockings, just in case.

"Maximus." I didn't shout his name, nor did I whisper it as the bell to the deli jingled and the door squeaked. Hopefully, it was OK to say his name at all.

He looked at me with a puzzled stare. As a few customers checked out the freshly baked bread displayed on some shelves, and another customer tipped his cup to me, I put on a smile and stepped closer to speak to Maximus as low as possible—trying not to look like a suspicious idiot. "I need to get a hold of your brother. I'm the lady who was with him last night...

"Remember? He brought me to eat outside in the back, and we had food and some of your scotch. I don't have my makeup on, or my gothic outfit, but it's me. Sara's sister." I glanced around before I added that last part.

Maximus welcomed me, then, and whipped out his cell. "Ti fi komik ki te la yè swa, li retounen. M'panse ou gen rezon, gin you moun kap swiv li. Fè m'konnen sa ou bezwen," he said before he pushed the phone into my hand.

It must've been Jean-Paul on the other end, and oh, did I have some things to say to him. "So much for always being a phone call away. Why weren't you picking—"

"Don't take a step out the deli. Don't go near any windows. Just stay put. Understand?" He told me he'd explain when he got there. "Hand the phone back to my brother."

I did, wide-eyed, then dropped into a chair next to the food cases, bending over with my suitcase at my feet and my head in my hands. Had I been found out? Were Jack and the Marshals working together now? I clenched my jaw, not sure what next move would be the right one. By the time Maximus stopped beside me and asked if I was hungry, I didn't hesitate to let him know I was starving. For all I knew, it could've been my last meal before I was taken into custody—all my plans and games for Collin shot to hell.

"I put a sandwich and coffee in the back room," Maximus said with a pat on my shoulder. "You could eat back there and stay out of sight."

I looked into his brown eyes, and he gave me a soft smile.

It could've just been my nerves, but after I went to the back room, it seemed to be taking Jean-Paul way too long to show up at the deli. Of course, for all I knew, he could've been driving down from Canada, but the point was I couldn't sit still. I fidgeted and moved to the edge of the doorway to peek around the corner. From that spot, I had a decent view of the deli area and the front door. Still no sign of Jean-Paul. What I didn't see, though, was the man lingering in a BMW across the street, or the other car with tinted windows parked just outside the deli.

Maximus ducked away from the nearest food case and came up to me. "Follow," he whispered, leaving no room for protests. "You can't go out the front—they're waiting for you."

My stomach dropped. "They're really here? The FBI?"

"Ha, if you were only so lucky. No, the Romanian Mob tracked you and my brother here from the other night. Word's out to find you and return you to them... in any condition..."

My heart skipped, and my toes curled. "Is that so? Well, there's nothing like being famous and having groupies wanting a piece of you, right?" I was the only one who laughed.

"Jean-Paul is going to meet you down the way at the corner. I'll show you." Maximus took me through a door that led to the empty building next to the market and then to another, then another until we reached the end of the block at Barracks Street.

Jean-Paul was standing next to the side door of the building. I can't describe the level of relief that spilled into my chest at the sight of him, but anyway. He motioned for me to come out before he tugged my arm and shuffled me into the backseat of a new car. At least it was a car I'd never seen. "Get all the way down on the floor and cover yourself with that blanket." He clapped his brother on the shoulders, holding on for an extra beat, before he got in.

Were we going to die? I mean, of course the Mob didn't appreciate me shoving a knife into their boss' shoulder, but he did deserve it, and I was pretty sure he had survived it. Still, what would they do to me if they caught me? Turn me into one of their little pets like Gin Gin? Or...

Jean-Paul took another minute to look around, then sped off heading north on Barracks Street.

"What's going on?" I blurted, needing the exact details.

He just reminded me to stay down, or so I had thought at first. "Two things. One, under the present situation, I got rid of the phone you were trying to call earlier. Two, you made an impression at the club the other night. Now, those guys want you. Well, their Boss does, and he'll probably kill you for disrespecting him in front of his people—or he may just want to play with you."

Those three words...

"I won't let you find out which," Jean-Paul continued. "We have to make you disappear for a while and let him cool off. Where do you want to go?"

I slid up a little and popped my head out of the black blanket, just my eyes and nose though. Jean-Paul had no idea what I was really up to. I hadn't told him, not fully. I didn't know if he'd understand or turn me in himself. Especially now that he had such great options: the FBI, the police, the Mob... I shook my head and told him what had happened with the Marshal, adding more to the list. And as Jean-Paul actually laughed, I willed for him to feel my scowl.

"I'm in a serious pickle!" I said.

A few chuckles still escaped him. "The vegetable? The fruit? I don't know this saying."

It was my turn to laugh, and it felt good for a moment. I explained that the phrase meant I was stuck in a difficult situation. I had nowhere to go and none of my problems had easy answers.

"Unfortunately, you're correct about that." He frowned through his words. "But think over this—you changed into a normal attire. They only know you as the white-haired lady." He did have a point there, but the back of my neck was still prickling.

"Before I went into the deli, I could've sworn someone was looking at me."

"They were. But they were watching every single person near the deli."

"Right... So, basically, you're telling me not to feel too special."

He snorted. "Something like that."

My head knew he was right. I did look night and day, and those bozos only knew me as night... The floor of the car bumped against my head as we started down a bridge that seemed like it would never end. Plus, it was getting really hot and stuffy under the blanket.

"I love this bridge," Jean-Paul said. "I drive it any time I can on my way to Mississippi." He went on, maybe to distract me with how many trips he had taken just to drive over Lake Pontchartrain.

He took a right and told me about a place in Biloxi, Mississippi, just an hour and a half from the French Quarter. "Nice places to stay and plenty of people to hide with." Biloxi was one of those cities people went to forget, get lost, and be someone they weren't—the kind of place that could make you in a minute or break you forever. How perfect, right?

But if we were really hitting the road like that, I needed him to make one stop. Sara's apartment. Some way, somehow, I needed to grab the suitcase I had hidden in Sara's garage, on the chance that Jack and his team would've shown up.

"No," Jean-Paul said flat-out.

His hard dismissal threw me, but I quickly recovered. "You don't have to tell me it's risky. I know that, but remember how I told you—"

"No."

My jaw clenched. "You're not even trying to listen, even though I've been listening to everything you've said. I'm still under this damn blanket, and you—"

"I already had someone retrieve your special suitcase. It's waiting for you at the Golden Nugget Hotel and Casino."

"What?"

"There will also be champagne."

"Champagne?" My brain was still trying to catch up.

"Yes, and a balcony."

Well... color me blush, then.

* * *

Free from the blanket, I stared out the car window as more wooden power poles flipped by. They—yes, the poles—wanted me to forget, to dream of better times, times my dreams had me playing a different role in life. Just a kid back then. A stupid kid who never would've imagined adulthood being this much of bitch.

All because of Collin. The pretty-boy real estate developer by day and sister-killer by night. No, scratch that. He probably killed all types of women at any convenient hour. What was it that Jean-Paul had said? That the last time he'd seen Sara was when he had dropped her off at the Bayou, and Collin had been waiting there? But was it that night or the next morning that Collin had done the deed? And why had Sara's red Bug been there? Maybe she had left it at the Bayou days before, or maybe something else.

My mind raged with more questions, like what was driving Collin to kill? Did it really matter? I was going to end his life either way, and then...? I shrugged. If I was still alive after that, and not in prison, I'd have to figure out a new normal from there, right...? A knot twisted in my stomach, and yet, the poles kept passing by without a care.

* * *

The hour-and-twenty-minute trip gave me plenty of time to think, watch more poles, sigh at the light reflecting on Lake Pontchartrain, smile at the coastline on the way up, and sleep, hopefully dreaming of good stuff.

The next thing I remembered was Jean-Paul telling me another story, this one of his mother.

"Boy, can my manman cook. Maximus? His food is five stars. I know that, you know that, New Orleans knows that. But our manman?" He kissed his fingers with a loud pop. "People come from all over the country to taste her food, lose money at that casino, and then cry themselves to sleep." He laughed, and I was right there with him.

"That sounds great to me," I said, not knowing this single trip would start a completely new wave of life for me.

The Valet from the hotel walked over, and Jean-Paul spoke to him in Creole. The Valet nodded and ran to the outside desk, made a call, then waved over to us.

Jean-Paul smiled down at me. "Just follow my lead and everything will be fine. Understand?"

Two more Valets came out from the hotel and shook Jean-Paul's hand. As they all spoke Creole, one took my suitcase and the other led me into the hotel, up to the front desk. Jean-Paul stayed a few steps back, behind a pillar and a plant, as if not wanting to be seen but still making sure I was OK. That was when a beautiful woman dressed in a chef's jacket and hat came up behind him, grabbed his arm, and hugged him. She must've been his mother, a smaller woman than I had thought. He looked over at me and smiled.

I turned back to my two Valets. They were talking to another Haitian woman who was behind the check-in desk. She reached out and took my hand in hers, then smiled reassuringly.

"You are in good hands," she said before she gave me a brochure.

At first, I had no idea why she thought I would care about Sea Shells of the Coast, but inside read the words, 'Do not trust the hotel staff, just us, and you will be safe.' She handed me a room key with another smile, and off we—as in, me and the Valets—went down a long hall. At the end of it was a window looking out onto the waters of the shimmering Gulf. I tried to only focus on that view while riding the service elevator. Yes, the service elevator. Strange, I know.

Even stranger, I didn't see Jean-Paul after that.

The Valets led me out onto the ninth floor, heading down another long hall to its end. I was anxious. I'll admit that, but... the suite turned out to be gorgeous. It even had a full view of the Gulf from large open windows across the entire front of the room as well as three sets of floor-to-ceiling glass sliding doors that opened onto a balcony. I must've been in a dream. That's the only way it could've made sense.

The two Valets unpacked my clothes. Then, one of the men popped the cork on a bottle of champagne, while the other placed my special case on the desk next to the window. Talk about spoiling a girl.

"If you need anything, call any of the numbers here." There were three, all written on a piece of the hotel stationary.

The other man then handed me a small flip phone. "Only call these numbers, not the desk—for safety purposes, of course. And only use this phone."

"Yes, Jean-Paul has set everything up for you. You will be treated as per his instructions." They smiled and let themselves out.

I tried not to be overwhelmed by all of this. When my heart didn't settle after a minute or two, I walked around the suite, breathing it in. I even stepped out on the balcony and allowed the wind to take my hair. It pushed against me. That feeling of its power was something else. I couldn't help but wonder about my own power in all of this. Did I really have any, or was I fooling myself?

I eventually wandered back inside, and upon finding the king-sized bed, I flopped down face-first. The last thing I remembered that night was taking a deep breath. I needed the rest, or should I say my head did. I woke about two hours later to my burner phone ringing. I was almost afraid to pick up. When I finally did, I stayed quiet, until Jean-Paul spoke.

"Where did you go?" I pressed, fully awake now.

"To check on things... as we discussed... during our drive..." he explained, probably thinking I had drunk too much champagne or something.

I sat up straighter. "Did you remember my email? Was there anything from my firm?" I swallowed my last question, what was happening to the Section 9 rebuild and the River project? I could only hope both were fine and in a holding pattern.

"Your partner Neal messaged you. He and his wife send their well wishes for you to stay safe, and they invited you to dinner at Domenica whenever you get back home." That was Toni's favorite spot in town. "As for the new project you mentioned at the gala—"

"Sanctuary Street?"

"—Neal already started working on it. He's going to scout areas and properties while he waits for the Board to approve it." Neal had always been one to move fast while the iron's hot, and he wasn't failing me now.

"Was that the only email?"

"No... Your partner Norman informed you of a lawyer who stopped by and left an envelope for your eyes only. Norman said he put the envelope in your top drawer for when you return."

Who was it from—what was in it—all of that raced through my mind. Maybe Sara...?

"Norman also mentioned two detectives or 'FBI people' who were at the firm in the beginning."

Jack and Oliver, no doubt, or maybe those women. Either way, I needed to see what was in that envelope.

"I hope you don't mind, but I already thanked Norman and told him you'd send someone to pick up the envelope on your behalf. I also asked him to be discreet and to place the envelope in his safe for the time being. The person who comes in your place will have a code. 'Dinner at Domenica.'"

I fell back into the balcony lounge chair with an air of mystery about whatever could be in that envelope. I shivered and gulped down an entire glass of bubbles in one tip... "You don't need to worry about Norman. He'll respect my wishes. Guess that's what a real friend is, right?"

"Sure." Clearly, Jean-Paul just said that to tell me what I wanted to hear.

But was his reservation over not trusting anyone as far as he could throw them, or over us treating Norman and Neal more like manipulative pawns than my friends? Maybe I needed to give Mary a call, 'cause I really couldn't tell the difference anymore.

# Chapter 2

The Port, The Leak, and Mr. Gardner

"The battleline between good

and evil runs through the

heart of every man."

— Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

"We're hitting the Port now. Move! Everyone's on go, you hear me? Shut it down and find me this guy—alive!" Engines buzzed all over the Port going under siege as Jack checked his Luger's full clip. "Did that bastard make a call from that cell?"

Domingo focused on his laptop, hitting the keys as their SUV rocked side to side. "Looks like he made two calls, one to the Port area and the other to New Orleans proper. If I have this right, the first call was to a cell in the Port Authority office, and Jack, the phone is active right now."

"No ifs. Do you have it right or not?" Jack didn't mean to bite off the computer whiz's head, but time and doubt weren't luxuries they could afford.

"The number is 337-243-0099. You heard me, right?"

"No, he didn't hear you, but I did." Lizzy smacked the steering wheel, muttering "That bastard," as they sped to the Port. Jack was next to her listening to the other team's movements.

Domingo didn't linger on that, instead opting to work frantically on the other number. Much sooner than later, the SUV stopped in front of Bayou Rigs Inc.

Jack hit the ground running, heading straight for the door with the Swat team and Lizzy following close behind. The Swat team broke off into two units and began filtering around the building. Jack narrowed his eyes and called out on his radio, "Put the choppers over the river and the backside of the Port for any runners, close down all water traffic, and watch for anything going up river also. Do you copy?"

A click sounded, and a voice rang out, "We're a go for the river and water shutdown. Hot for infrared cameras, which are up, and yes, we sent a chopper to the backside where the highway is... Copy—this is Chopper 1. We have activity on the south end of the Port. I repeat, we have two small boats entering the water and heading into the grass. We're in pursuit, and the water craft teams are ready. They ain't going nowhere—copy that!"

On the other side of the Port, Jack barged into their main target's office with Lizzy at his back. He swung left, she swung right, but there wasn't anyone anywhere. Absolutely nothing and nobody. A Swat officer looked back at Jack from an open door at the rear of the office, then gave the FBI agent the 'all clear.' They were in a shadow office, for sure.

Jack and Lizzy nodded to each other, then hurried back to the truck. All the while, Jack was getting reports on his earpiece, second by second, from all the teams on the ground.

PD reported they had stopped two semi-trucks on a back road with two undocumented men driving them. Meanwhile, CRT, along with EJ herself, clicked in that they were holding four containers as well as nine gunmen pinned down in one of those containers; the gunmen were unidentified until further notice. Up in the sky, the choppers were pushing the two small boats right into the hands of the Coast Guard Special Teams Unit, who were ready in air boats set up in the grass across from the Port.

Bobby chose that moment to let Jack know they had control of the Port Authority office. He said, "No calls going out, and we're watching the monitors for anything moving."

The agent was happy to hear that, and he gave the leader of the CRT his Jack-Bode smile. "We're off to a good start, then." His words rang out over the radio, stirring a contained buzz throughout the Port.

"Yes, well..." Bobby scratched the back of his head. "We have the Port Office, but—does anyone have eyes on Immigration? They're not active on the radio. We've actually got nothing from them."

Jack looked at Lizzy.

Lizzy looked at Jack. "I'll get Swat over there and check it out." She walked off with the units, mind set on checking out the situation before anyone jumped to conclusions.

Knowing how quick and thorough Lizzy was, Jack didn't bother following Bobby into the Port office just yet. Sure enough, Lizzy sounded on the radio to what felt like thirty seconds later.

"Not good. Immigration is empty. These fuckers really cleared out fast."

After hearing that, Jack called for EJ to forget protocol and check those gunmen at the containers for ID now. "Report back if they're our missing Immigration officers." That would've made his day.

But it seemed like the day was hellbent against him, for more local officers and FBI agents soon arrived, rushing in on the main road, as "backup." At that point, Jack cursed and ordered for a total report on all activity.

"Teams," Jack said, gripping the radio, "with local PD and more of our agents showing up on scene, it's obvious that word must've gotten out to the press. You need to be more vigilant, and keep those rats out. I mean it—keep a blanket on the Port!" He was about to say more, until Captain Pitchley from the Criminal Interdiction Unit called back.

"Agent, what the hell is going on at the Port exactly?"

"Sir, this is an ongoing investigation. We will brief later, thank you." As Jack blew out a breath, a squawk came from the radio.

"We got our jobs the same way you got yours, Jack, so relax," came the Coast Guard. "Your guy's right here. We got him, and not just that. Another boat full of cash and two women. Where do you want them?"

Jack opened his mouth, but then local PD jumped in with, "We've got the two trucks that were heading out on the north side. They're filled with guns and drugs, big time. What do you want us to do with them?"

EJ, on behalf of the CRT, shouted out with, "We're still working on identifying the gunmen on the east side. But, Jack, one of the containers we found is full of women and children, mostly female, and another container is full of, well, everything you'd need for an overwater getaway. I'm talking, food, water, wine—good wine—money in different currencies, two cars, gold, drugs—coke, X, heroin. The front is set up like an apartment, with freakin state of the art satellite hookups. I'll send you images. EJ, out."

Lizzy told all the other teams to bring everything to Port Authority. "We'll set up there. Local needs to keep all access roads closed to all traffic out or in, and keep an eye on any in-coming vehicles that may look suspicious. Under no circumstances are you to let any press in or near here. That means no press until we're ready. I want them camped off the Port. Actually—position them in the lot off 86, where we set up this morning. Yeah, that parking lot. Hey, local, make that happen.

"As for the choppers, they need to keep eyes open for any after-activity, and remember to shut out any press choppers. I can't stress this enough, how crucial that was! The whole purpose of us using radios was to eliminate outside traffic! But, you know what? We're still moving forward. Do your assignments, do them well, and make Momma proud."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Roger that."

"Cool Beans."

"Easy enough, Lizzy."

Jack and Domingo entered the Port office and headed over to Bobby, noticing right away that he had Lieutenant Colter in a chair, zip tied. Upon Bobby's order, the Port comptroller was still in his office, waiting for further instructions.

Within minutes, Jack's second-in-command and many others from his team arrived and started setting up the offices into a control center. The two rooms on the far right were equipped for interrogation, using CRT as in-house security, for obvious reasons. About that time, more FBI supervisors and local PD chiefs, including Captain Pitchley, were rolling in from other field offices as extra backup.

But the Police Department Unit chiefs were not happy looking around, having no idea what the FBI was doing shutting down a Port—let alone an International Port, at that. Jack, Bobby, and Lizzy paid no mind to the fuming Unit chiefs, though; they were too occupied at one of the desks, deliberating.

Domingo had taken control of the terminal computers by then, and was already running checks on all their systems.

"EJ," Jack called, after making sure all the other radio channels were shut down. "I want you and your Swedish accent to tell me good news, OK?"

"That I could do, Boss—those gunmen? Turns out they were the Immigration officers." EJ smirked when Lizzy cursed under her breath. "They tried to play it off, making up some grand story about how they just discovered the containers themselves. But the funny thing is, two of the men had the keys and the codes to open one of the container's inner compartment... It's not looking good for them. And to think we had found them smoking cigars. I mean, really."

Lizzy nodded in thought. "Well, that explains why we haven't heard any radio chatter from your end, or gotten any calls for backup."

Jack considered those fools. "Every single last one of them is to be treated as hostile."

He glanced over to Domingo, who had been listening to all the other radio chatter running through his ear piece, just in case something went sideways or flipped upside down on the ground. At Domingo's "You got the 'all good,'" Jack refocused.

"EJ, you're still there?" he said.

"Yes, Boss."

He briefed her along with the rest of his team, starting with a breakdown of the plan, step by step. "First, I want every cell phone that has been confiscated to be placed in front of their owner. Second, I want Lieutenant Colter cuffed in a chair, not zip tied, right in front of the interrogation room."

"Right, Gardner will see we have his inside guy," Lizzy said.

"Exactly." Jack looked over at Domingo. "Do you have that other number yet? Please say yes..."

Domingo puffed out his chest and walked over to show his screen, pointing at the number and the associated name. "It's still active, and it's here in the office."

"Him? No. There must be a mistake," Bobby whispered sharply after seeing the name.

Jack shared a look with Lizzy and Domingo that could bend steel.

"You don't understand. I've worked with him for years. His kids go to the same school as mine. There's no way an upstanding guy like him would be involved with this."

Jack clenched his jaw and called out to Captain Pitchley, who was huddled with the other chiefs. "Can you help us with a little something? What I'm about to ask is not the usual, but if you could brace yourself and help us out, it would give us the upper hand."

The captain stood straighter in wait as curious faces glanced between the two men from all around the office.

"Let me lay it out for you, sir," Jack continued. "We have the top-ranking members of a smuggling operation here at the Port. They're on their way to this office now, and I need to show them we have a high-ranking officer in custody, to get them sweating and talking. Can we use you as a decoy for the operation?"

"What do you need me to do, agent?" asked the captain.

"All you'd have to do is sit in this chair next to the lieutenant, as if we have you in custody. That's all," quipped Jack, holding back a smile.

Every eye in the room was glued on their exchange, and at that point, it would've been suspicious for the captain to refuse—which he didn't. Like the upstanding guy Bobby had described him as, Captain Pitchley helped Jack cuff one of his hands to the chair and remove the gun from his holster.

Lizzy couldn't help but watch Jack like he had lost his mind. But when he asked the captain if the cuff was too tight, Captain Pitchley just shook his head no. Jack smiled in pure satisfaction and patted his shoulder.

"We owe you one," Jack said before he made his way back to the desk across the room, to further brief the others on what was about to happen.

Lizzy, Bobby, Domingo, and a radioed EJ were the only ones who were permitted to gather within ear shot.

"Again, Domingo will call both numbers, then we'll see who wins the shit prize here at the Port. I want Lizzy already standing next to the captain before his cell rings. She'll grab it when it does, and that'll confirm he's one of our guys."

Bobby pulled a face, but didn't protest this time. At least not out loud.

"When the other cell rings," Jack went on, "that person will be immediately forced into another room for questioning. Keep them all separated from one another—with the blinds open for everyone to see. We especially want the other players to see we've taken down their inside men. Thanks to Domingo and his magic fingers, by the way. This is how we'll get somewhere. Three rooms, Lizzy in one, EJ will have another, and Bobby and I will work the third, Gardner... We'll switch every thirty minutes and compare statements."

Lizzy lifted a brow. "My money's on the lieutenant breaking first, even if he was the leader of the local Swat. But, Jack, you should know something... I sent a chopper to get Justice about twenty minutes ago. They'll be on the ground shortly."

"Have we worked with them, or are they new to us?" Jack asked, concerned with trusting any outside players, which he had already explained.

Lizzy might've had her reasons, but she nodded in apology.

Seeing how no one else was jumping in with an answer, Jack radioed the chopper, telling them they needed fuel and a maintenance check. "Do you copy?"

"Roger that, Jack. It's your ass, man, but we've got you."

Everyone dispersed with their orders, including Jack. Until Lizzy stopped him from taking another step. "We're getting real deep in this."

"I know."

"Do you? Then, how is any of this related to the murder at the Bayou—or are we just in some total other shit? Because it's starting to look like we're losing focus. I don't want that, do you?"

Jack stood at the nearest window and said nothing. He knew things were a little crazy at the moment, but he really didn't have an answer for his second-in-command.

Bobby, sensing the mood between the two, took his time walking over. "Jack... you know Justice is coming to shut you down, right?" He scrunched his face, having been through this many times before. Not only with Jack, but with other teams that had walked a little too much on the wild side.

Jack narrowed his eyes. "How will they have time to shut us down if they'll be chewing on statements, from all involved, right from the second they get here...? We'll even give Justice all the credit for the operation, and they'll have to be happy with it because as soon as they step off that chopper, the first thing they'll see is a reporter standing on that spot, ready for their close-up on the Port situation."

"What?" Lizzy gasped.

Bobby's eyes widened. "The press? But you said—"

"I know what I said, but our dear Department of Justice and IA will have no other choice but to smile and take it..." Jack smirked. "That'll be in ten minutes, people. Someone better find me a reporter they'd vouch for, now!"

# Chapter 3

Anonymous...

"On wrongs

swift vengeance waits."

— Alexander Pope

The doorbell rang at 7 am, followed by two knocks, then two more. I staggered to the peephole and saw a woman dressed in the hotel's uniform, just as Jean-Paul had said I would the night before. So, I had no problem opening the door while she stood in the hall with a tray of coffee, orange juice, a water bottle, and two small steaming towels that smelled of jasmine? I didn't try to cover the puzzled look taking over my face.

"Blessed morning. I'm Hialeah—with the spa. It's time for your massage and hair replenishing." She smiled with her high cheekbones. "Just throw on your hotel robe and slippers, then follow me."

To take the sharp letter opener with me, or not to take the sharp letter opener with me... That was the question.

We took the service elevator, this time to the sixth floor where the spa appeared as soon as the doors slid open. The jasmine-and-vanilla-scented space had a breathtaking view of the Gulf as well. Hialeah walked me into a small room and opened those sliding doors to let the sound of the waves in. Goosebumps immediately rushed over my body.

"Lay face down on the table."

I had barely heard her, or any other technician or beauty therapist, past the onrushing swells of the Gulf in the distance. That, and the smell of vanilla really filling the whole spa... I closed my eyes, breathing it in, beginning to drift, but then I heard it. Shouting.

It didn't seem to be close. I stopped and listened for it again, but I couldn't make out where it was coming from. Then, it stopped.

"Did you hear that?"

At Hialeah's pause then slow head shake, I tried to listen one more time, even while I laid myself down on the table to take it all in—the pampering, I mean. I was there for at least two hours. Then, after my hair was done, they walked me to a cushy lounge chair where other women walked up with bathing suits for me to try on.

Heck, at that point, I just went along with everything. But I didn't let my guard down. Well, maybe just a little. I changed into a tiny orange bikini and followed the spa women down to the pool. They set me up in a partially enclosed cabana across from the outdoor bar, with a ceiling fan and a full backdrop of tropical trees and foliage lying behind me for more privacy and serenity. A nice touch, for sure, and I could see everything from that sweet, safe spot.

At my grateful request, I had a tray of poached eggs and toast placed before me in Biloxi, Mississippi, with the breeze caressing my skin and other guests having the time of their lives. If I wasn't careful, I, too, could fall deep into the fun of being as anonymous as I needed to be.

Of course, leave it to Jack and his team to snap me back into a harsh reality.

"This is Pace Crews from KLWB New Iberia reporting from the Port of Iberia. A Gulf Coast Cajun Connection? Or a place of organized crime? The FBI, led by Agent Jack Bode, has seized complete control of the entire Port. What could this mean for locals?" A shot of helicopters with gunmen hanging out the open sides replaced the reporter on my cabana TV.

The Port... why was Jack and his intense blue eyes down there, and not in New Orleans? How did the Port fit in with anything? Or was Sara's case old news to him now?

A very loud, screaming man sitting across the pool, near the bar, on a daybed enclosed by the chlorinated water, broke my attention from Jack and the news. I watched the man and his big mouth draw attention to himself like a two-year-old having a fit—and, to top it all off, he was wearing French-cut swim trunks and a gaudy gold watch, not a good sight.

The asshole had two beautiful yet scared-looking children who were sitting next to a woman who seemed absolutely embarrassed and exhausted. Their decked-out daybed with in-pool ledge loungers should've evoked a calm contentment, but somehow it didn't stop the man's mouth from running foul. Everyone around the pool glanced over at least twice, but no one got involved, not even the hotel staff.

Flashes of those greasy VIP men grabbing Gin Gin at the club shot through my head. Then, Sara hanging in that tree. I shivered and got to my feet, telling my brain to keep it together. I clenched my hands and stepped towards the pool's edge. As the yelling got worse, I sat with my foot in the water and wrapped my arms around my knees. How could that man speak to his family like that? And his wife, her shoulders hunched, like if she folded in on herself enough, he would stop sooner.

I slid into the pool and swam in that direction, keeping my eyes just above the water. My mind flashed with Sara again. Had she fought to her last breath, or had she lost the strength against Collin and hated herself for it? I grabbed onto the side of the pool, shaking. And as I looked up, my eyes met hers, Karl's wife. I could feel the pain underneath her fear, and it broke my heart. It was at that moment that I realized I didn't know what to do to best help her or her children. I floated back to my side of the pool, feeling sick.

I climbed out and walked off, towards the deck area. Someone called out, "Hello," but I didn't turn around; I kept moving past open and closed cabanas, all the way down to the edge of the deck, where I stared out at the Gulf waves rolling in with the sun in full force. I squeezed my eyes shut and lifted my face to the sun, just listening to the waves for a minute, then another, and another. Nice...

Until the yelling started again, ten times worse. I whipped around just as he slapped his wife and sent her cowering against the ledge lounger closest to their daybed. One of the kids rushed to her side, while the other pounded the man's leg with their tiny fists. The man's face turned blood red, and he grabbed the kid by the arm and literally threw him in the pool.

Shit. What the hell was I witnessing?

I called the nearest attendant. "Do something! Get help!" Damn my choice of not bringing my letter opener.

The attendant just shook her head. "This must be your first time at the Golden Nugget Hotel and Casino. Beyond this matter, how are you enjoying your stay?"

I cut her a startled look. "What the hell are you talking about? Someone needs to help them."

She frowned with complete sympathy. "His name is Karl Agarwal." She waited a few beats like that name should've explained everything... "He owns two or three of those shopping center gambling places, where he cheats people out of their money?"

"Okay...?" I darted my gaze between her and the asshole who was now pacing.

"He never stays here at the hotel—he's too cheap, so he just uses the pool area to show off. None of the staff likes him, and we've tried to help his poor family on numerous occasions, but his wife always finds a way to get him released and right back here."

I opened my mouth, but the attendant cut me to it.

"Management tried not to let them back in, but Karl must have some kind of in with corporate. Now, it's like no one can touch him. Not legally, anyway." She glared at the asshole, probably imagining a hundred ways to get rid of him.

"Not legally, huh?" That got me to thinking, of course. No, not just thinking. I yanked my burner phone from the string of my bikini and called one of the three numbers the trusted Valets had given me.

"Yes, ma'am?" It shouldn't have surprised me that someone picked up, but the sound of the Haitian man's voice still shocked me.

I straightened up, clearing my throat. "I need my special case brought down to the cabana directly across from the bar."

"Not a problem. Will that be all?"

"Err... I could use extra eyes and ears. Please and thank you," I added.

"The attendant you were previously engaging with is Daphne. She can assist any friend of Jean-Paul's."

How they already knew I had been talking to the attendant with a high bun was a bit nerve-racking, but at the same time, it comforted me to know someone was watching my back. Just in case.

It took me a couple of minutes to find the same attendant from before. She was folding towels by the time I reached her. "Sorry. Daphne, is it?"

She put down the towel and lifted her brows. "Hi, again. Is there something else I can assist you with?"

"Well, you see, I have some work to do and I need someone to play lookout. I was told you help Jean-Paul and all his friends."

Her face changed in a split second, to a darkened distressed look, as if she were afraid.

"Daphne? ...Are you OK?"

"Y-Yes, ma'am," she said, yet she looked down at her feet. I wracked my head, trying to understand why she would or could be scared of Jean-Paul.

"I don't know what's going on," I said, putting my hand on her shoulder, "but you could talk to me. I promise. If there's something I should know about Jean-Paul, I'd rather find out now instead of later when it's too late."

She winced and looked me in the eyes. "He's a very important figure from where we're from." She glanced around us like her life depended on it, then motioned for me to sit down with her. "Jean-Paul Achilles was above all the military generals, and only answered to the president, until the overthrow. Things got bad, and many tried to leave, but a lot of them were killed, quietly."

Apparently, by the time Daphne and her family got to the States, Jean-Paul had already set up his new group, The Faksyon. Her family answered to that group, getting jobs and places to really live, not just survive, along with being protected twenty-four seven.

"Please understand. We don't pay them anything—it's not like that. We answer to them for whatever they need. Nothing too illegal, I think, but the stories and memories of what Jean-Paul is capable of won't ever leave."

I wondered what she would've thought of me if she had seen or heard of me plunging that knife into the shoulder of that Romanian mob boss. Or the way I'd been dreaming of killing Collin and hanging him up in the Bayou.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Karl's wife hugging their kids.

"Is the Faction—"

"Faksyon."

"—yes, them. Are they only in Mississippi and Louisiana?"

"No, think more on the scale of the Deep South as well as the Coasts. But you didn't hear any of this from me."

I waved my hands no. "Don't worry about that. My lips are sealed."

She nodded and glanced around again. "So, you said something about me playing lookout?"

* * *

Someone had truly and anonymously brought my special case to my cabana, and even closed all the curtains for me. I had slipped in and found the case propped against the farthest chair. So—as Daphne "worked" nearby—I surveyed my options and pulled out a red wig instead of the white one with black tips.

I didn't have any bathing suits packed, so I went for the least outrageous bra and panties and slipped on a hotel robe, keeping it untied. With a pop of my sunglasses, and the click of spiked heels, I hit the door. Well, more like I gave Daphne the signal for her tray of glasses to kiss the pool deck. I waited for the sound of the distraction, then slipped out the back flap of my cabana.

Hardly anyone had batted an eye at the woman who'd been in the orange bikini. But the redhead in heels and a robe barely covering her underwear?

Karl was at the bar, probably needing a drink after his asshole performance, so I slid up beside him

"Bloody Goose," I called out.

It didn't take long for Karl to look me up and down, never really making it to my face, let alone my eyes. "Pretty lady, don't you know how to order a proper drink? Need Daddy to show you how?"

Gag me.

I turned with a throaty purr of a laugh and faced this less of a man, and no, I didn't mean his five-foot-two height. Him putting his hands on his family, I wouldn't be surprised if he dangled money over his wife's head just for her to be able to feed her own kids. Or brought all his sleazy friends over to get drunk and hit on her in her own home. I put my finger on his forehead and pushed his head back, staring down into his eyes. "Does a line like that really work with women, Daddy?"

Before he had a chance to do more than smirk, I ran my nail down the side of his face, to his neck, digging in. He groaned deep in his throat. Disgusted, I drew him away from the bar and sauntered towards the restroom. No one seemed to care enough that the asshole was trailing after a woman who clearly wasn't his wife. This probably wasn't the first or fifth time he had openly cheated on her, right?

On the door of the women's restroom was a 'Closed for Cleaning' sign. A great cover by Daphne, no doubt, so in I went with Karl, and he smacked my ass!

The flat of his hand didn't as much sting as it made me want to spin around and knee the piece of shit in his goods. But I stopped myself, I played nice... just wagging a finger.

"Oh, pretty lady." He licked his lips as I circled him. "There's more where that came from."

"Really? You promise?"

He panted and snapped the sides of his swim trunks with his thumbs.

I made my way behind him and put my breath to his ear. "Take them off, fast and rough." The last word had barely left my tongue when his French-cut trunks hit the floor.

I wrinkled my nose and landed the point of my heel in his ass crack, sending him face first to the floor, moaning in pain.

"Karl, can you hear me? Karl...?"

He clutched his bloodied nose and kept groaning. Apparently, the asshole couldn't take what he dished out for his family, after all.

I knelt beside him and slipped off my heel, tapped it three times on the gross wet floor. "You know something? I don't like how you're rough with your wife and kids. I don't like how you treat them or people in general—did you hear that, Karl? You really need to, Karl. You need to tell me you heard me."

His squeaky moans filled the empty restroom. I grabbed his black sweaty hair and yanked his head up while holding the point of my spiked heel at his right eye.

"Did you or did you not hear what I just said?" I could feel him trying to nod against my grip. "And does that mean you're going to be kind to everyone you meet from now on—a saint of a man?"

He tried to nod again.

I pushed the point of my heel closer to his eye. "If I see or am told by any of my people that you've been a bad boy, then all your little gambling stores will burn to the ground and I will personally come for you. Karl, touch your wife or kids again, or go to corporate about this, and you'll feel more than my heel in your eye. You better remember this conversation, because I will. Do you know what that means?"

He kept both eyes shut, blood still trickling from his nose.

"You'll never hear me coming, so do you need me to leave you with a little reminder, Karl? A little something for you to see every day when you look in the mirror?"

That got him moving, wheezing, mumbling out, "No, you crazy."

I shoved my heel into his eye, just to the side of his socket. He screamed as the heel carved a half moon into his flesh.

"Karl, I only give a person one chance... Just one!" I let go of his head and watched it fall to a small pool of blood that grew around his head.

The flashes of Sara, her blood in the water of the Bayou... I lurched away from Karl and left the restroom.

Daphne was still outside, guarding the area at a distance. As I passed her, I said something about needing to clean the evidence, never stopping. I didn't breathe until I dropped myself into the chair of an open cabana.

My eyes stayed closed for a long moment, but it wasn't shame, disgust, or panic rushing through me. It was pleasure, shivers after shivers of electricity running all over my skin. I sat up quickly and threw a cup of ice water—that was somebody else's—over my head, jolting me back to reality. I was supposed to be laying low, not making bad men bleed. And who was to say that asshole would truly change for the sake of his wife and kids? Who was to say his family wouldn't end up being three more Didn't-Make-Its anyway?

Screams filled the air as a group of kids did a cannonball, and as I locked eyes with Karl's wife from the other side of the pool. Note to self, the next time I decide to help another woman out, I should involve her so she won't think I'm some dirty-ass, homewrecking whore.

I licked water from the corner of my mouth, wishing, more than ever, that it was Jan's secret Cucumber Gin Smash.

# Chapter 4

A Date with a Killer!

"Security is mostly a

superstition. It does not exist in

nature, nor do the children of

men as a whole experience it.

Avoiding danger is no safer

in the long run than outright

exposure. Life is either a daring

adventure, or nothing."

— Helen Keller

Evening came, and I found myself near the hotel's Grand Ballroom thanks to Jean-Paul who would be back tomorrow to pick me up. Surely, the invite-only shindig filled with the smooth sound of the Blues would beat staying in my room, alone, again. Besides, this would be the perfect opportunity to test out another identity. From the immaculate Gothic Queen to Lady Red to this, a classy eat-your-heart-out Noir. I didn't know which face would be the last thing Collin would see, but I needed to hone my playing skills and be ready.

As I stepped out of the elevator, it was as if I had walked out onto a red carpet premiere. Except for this Blues event, the carpet was, well, blue, of course. The people heading into the ballroom were all dressed to the nines, with the newly arriving guests and other tourists standing outside the roped-off entry, staring or snapping pictures like paparazzi. They added the perfect touch of energy that I needed as I lingered outside the ropes, watching the fun unfold.

A hand brushed my lower back just then, before the man glided past me with a smooth "Hello." That voice... He entered the doorway of the ballroom, but only after glancing back with a smile.

Collin?

It was Collin.

Here.

Something I hadn't taken into consideration was that he was a hunter, not just a killer of chance and opportunity. Had he been following me ever since our run-in at the gala? Did he have people here just like Jean-Paul did? I'd been so busy with the FBI, the Marshals, and the Romanian Mob... I hadn't considered Collin would be tracking me down like that as well, which was probably stupid and dangerous. Shit.

But how had he recognized me? I was wearing a pure black straight cut wig, makeup, and gloves. I didn't look like Raven Rousseau, not really. So, maybe, just maybe, he didn't realize I was the same woman? How hilarious that would've been.

I took a deep breath and headed right for the bar. A drink was absolutely necessary, especially when Collin wasted no time. One second, I was leaning against the bar, then the next, he was standing right beside me with two champagne glasses.

"Have we met before?" he said with a half-smile.

I forced myself to take one of the glasses and sip. Hopefully, it wasn't laced. "Yes, I believe we have. Last night, while I was tangled in my sheets, you were whispering to me in my dreams. How sincere of you to remember."

His lips stretched wider in appreciative amusement, then he took the glass from my hand while pressing his other on my lower back. "Shall we?" His breath ghosted my ear as he eased me right out onto the dance floor. He was smooth, this guy, too smooth... And, of course, he could dance. I wouldn't have expected anything less. The way he moved against me, with me, so hard, yet so gentle, I had to remember he was the one who had killed Sara and I was the one who'd return the favor.

"So, Toni tells me you love good music and great wine, or is it great music and good wine?" He shrugged and dipped me, looking straight into my eyes. "What she didn't mention is that you're into playing dress-up... Unexpected, but nice. Red suits your face. So does black." He whipped me back up and spun me out. "I happen to have an unpublished cut from Eric Gale's next album in my room, with an excellent bottle of wine chilling at this exact moment. Would you be interested?"

He yanked me back towards him, pressing us close, nose to nose. Creepy, and sexy, and damn. What the hell was this? He had followed me here somehow, which meant he could've seen Jean-Paul as well, and on top of that, he had noticed my change earlier, from Raven to Lady Red. Too fucking careless. But I couldn't panic. I had to play this right, keep his attention, and definitely not disappear into his room.

I looked up at him. "You're naughty."

He smirked and suddenly lifted me up, spinning us around. "Let's be naughty, then." He set me back down and nibbled on my earlobe, soft and light, sending prickly chills down my back. He was so self-assured that he could do this to me, so confident.

I gripped his shirt, pulling him even closer, but then pushed him away! "No."

"No?"

"Breakfast," I breathed out, my mind going off in a million directions.

"Breakfast?"

"We should... meet up tomorrow morning... say seven...?" I could see he didn't like that at all. He even looked away like he had already lost complete interest. Not good. My heart pounding, I leaned in and kissed his cheek, then his neck, sucking on it.

He let out a soft gasp and slid his hands down my back to my ass, but I pulled away, just enough. The look in his dark eyes was carnivorous. I smiled and walked towards the door, not looking back, hoping he wasn't following me—and thank God, he wasn't! Once in my room, I locked every lock on the door and even pushed the desk up against it for good measure.

After shutting the curtains, I had to take a shower and wash his evil off me. You know that sense you get, that something just wasn't right about a person? That was Collin. I could see how women would fall for his moves... how my own sister had fallen for them... but I had to be different. Not better, just different, right...?

I made myself several cocktails from the mini bar, tried to call Jean-Paul, no answer, but soon after, I was out like a light. Luckily, I managed to get my ass up when my phone rang at 6 am.

"Good morning, ma'am. This is your scheduled wake-up call from the check-in desk."

I groaned and hauled myself all the way up so I could be packed and out the door ahead of Collin. Mother never raised no fool. Well, mother had hardly had the chance to raise me much at all, but the point was I needed to be at breakfast long before Collin could arrive first.

The trusted Valets from my first night took my baggage down to the front while I found a nice seat in the middle of the dining hall. I would've gone to Jean-Paul's mother's much-talked-about restaurant in the hotel, but I didn't want to risk bringing evil in there.

The morning news played on the TV above the food bar, talking about a newly built fire station, then a murder that had happened overnight near here, really near here... A young female jogger, whose identity would not be released until further notice, was found along the Gulf shore, beaten, raped, and tied upside down on the walkway railing. Her arms had been stretched out, in line with the Gulf, and her legs were left dangling on the other side of the wooden railing. The police had no leads at that time.

Of course, my mind went racing right to Collin. The timing, the close proximity, the elaborate display, and I had turned him down the night before! Dancing in hotels, killing women, negotiating land deals, leaving without a trace... Just another day for Collin, right? That poor woman, another Didn't-Make-It in the Deep South, and nobody had put any of this together.

Except for me. I just needed proof. Then, I could throw the evidence at Jack.

Wait a minute. Jack had nothing to do with me going after Collin, not anymore. I was in this for one reason, and one reason only. Sticking to that plan had become my sanity, my way to get full justice for Sara. And that jogger. And the many others that fucker had done this to; I was certain there were plenty more. All those women, and their families... It was time for Collin to pay up.

My head throbbed, and no wonder. Killing someone, or planning to kill someone, wasn't normal shit. But I had to think about this as if it were a war against a common and relentless enemy. A bad person who would never stop, and keep getting away with it. I had to fight.

7:22 am. He still didn't show. I guess killing that poor woman must've tired him out. Either that, or he might've been testing me...? I let the urge to glance around pass, refusing to give in to it. Still, I couldn't wait around much longer.

"Good morning, beautiful," came his smooth voice at 7:36 am. "Sorry I'm late. The shower wouldn't heat up, then this woman with four spunky rugrats was having trouble wrangling them together." He waved at said woman and her grinning quadruplets who were excited about the various food selections. The warmth he aimed towards them made my stomach turn.

I smiled at him anyway. "You owe me a Bloody Mary, sir."

He chuckled and waved over one of the kitchen staff for two specially-made orders.

I didn't know where this was going, but I eased back in my chair. "So, you're starving after last night's adventure?"

His glance was sharp, and he didn't answer.

"Are you saying you didn't dream of me?" I lifted my brows, earning a smile. "Seriously, how was your evening, after I left you so abruptly?"

"You mean after you teased me?" He caressed my knee under the table, making me cringe and shiver. "You left me no other choice but to run it off—of course, before dreaming of you, that is."

"Oh, of course." I smirked. He smirked. "Does that mean the police already spoke to you?"

His hand paused from sliding up my thigh. "Excuse me?"

"Look." I nodded my chin to the TV. "It's all over the news. Some girl was killed last night while jogging near here."

Collin held his expression as if he had no idea about the murder. But his vein, his carotid vein, pumped like an oil gusher. Not enough of a confession, though, so I changed the subject to put him at ease.

"How is that land deal coming along? The one you mentioned at the gala."

His hand kneaded the flesh of my thigh, warm and soft, before he pinched me hard. I yelped, then clamped my mouth shut, but the sound had already escaped.

He smiled. "It's actually a casino project based here in Mississippi."

Too much of a coincidence, but I didn't interrupt.

"I'm calling it Waterside, and I already have a buyer." At the genuine interest that I let cross my face, he continued with his mouth and his massaging hand. "We'll break ground in the fall."

"Why the fall?" I asked, trying not to groan, or throw up, or both.

"I have another project in Sarasota. I'm heading there tomorrow." His hand inched up too high, and I eased away.

"My gosh, Collin!" I said as a cover-up. "I've never been to Florida. I understand it's nice?"

He narrowed his eyes at me for a moment, tilting his head from one side to the other.

"Maybe I'll build there someday," I added to break the tension. "Who's doing the project?"

The attendant came over with our coffees and breakfast. Collin sipped his Sunrise blend and finally began telling me that his firm had contractors that they'd been working with for years and were very satisfied with, but he could still put in a good word for my firm to do some designs.

"But you haven't seen my work yet," I said cagily. Not to mention I didn't want my firm or anyone else to know I wasn't in Europe.

"You haven't seen my work either." Collin let those six words pass his lips.

"You're wrong. I have seen your work." My voice was flat, repugnant.

He sat there, showing no emotion, just a blank face. Blank! He nodded slowly, to what I didn't know, pulling out his notebook to jot down an address and phone number. "That's my personal cell"—he probably had many numbers—"and that's the address of the airstrip I'll be flying out of late tomorrow at three. If you want to see Florida, be there."

I stared at the paper in my hand. "Can you keep a secret, Collin?"

"Hmm." He waggled his brow and leaned forward on the table. "Do tell."

"...I don't want you to contact Neal or anyone from my firm. They think I'm out of the country, and I'd like it to stay that way."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Well, how lucky for me." He smiled wide.

But he was wrong again. The luck was all mine, getting a date with this killer.

# Chapter 5

New Orleans

Queen of the Dead

and the Mob

"There are only the pursued,

the pursuing, the busy

and the tired."

— F. Scott Fitzgerald

"Lizzy, I haven't lost focus, or forgotten Sara or Raven, far from it. The trail from Alligator Bayou led us to Gardner who led us here to the Port, and I want to see if any of this shit is related to our case."

Lizzy tried to cut in, but Jack stopped her.

"If it is related, then good for the Bureau, but my main focus is and will stay on finding Sara's killer—who, according to your own theory, might've been targeting women for years... By the way, has Raven checked in with us lately? Asking anything?"

"Jack, that girl was hit fucking hard at the scene... She won't be right for a long while, and she probably doesn't want to hear anything from us but, 'We caught the guy.'" Lizzy kicked at the door to a small observation balcony of the Port Authority office to get some air.

Jack sighed heavily. "There's no other way to put it. I fucked up with Raven." No matter how many times he had said or thought this, it didn't seem like enough.

Lizzy stuck her head back inside. "Well, they're here. It's show time."

Three black SUVs pulled up outside with all the Port players in cuffs. EJ, along with the CRT squad, surrounded the trucks with their guns up and ready. They did a visual check of the area before dragging the men out of the vehicles. Bobby positioned himself in the rear of the squad to watch for any movement. He had two of his snipers positioned high and out of sight, just in case. They didn't know who they could really trust, but his team was ready to take anyone down if they made a move.

EJ led the men up towards the entry of the Port office. As they all filtered along each step, EJ kept an ear for her radio. She knew what Jack needed her to do, so she grabbed Gardner by the arm, fully intent on bringing his smug ass to a separate room—but a shot rang out, hitting the window of the main door. Glass shattered into EJ's face. Everyone hit the ground and returned fire, at what? They didn't know.

Bobby called to his snipers to see who had the gunman. A single shot sounded a second later, then Bobby heard, "Shooter down, sir. You're in the clear."

He yelled to the squad now. "Move—get them inside!"

EJ burst through the door, dragging Gardner like a dog, straight to the room they had readied just for him. As they rounded the corner, the smugly bored look that had been on his face cracked, for the two officers cuffed to chairs were now in full view. Gardner dropped his head and slowed his steps, trying to resist, but EJ, still bleeding from the shattered glass, grabbed his neck and pulled him close.

"Can you feel your butthole tightening, dumbass?" She smeared her blood to the side with her sleeve and shoved Gardner into the room. "Let's be clear here. That bullet was meant for you, buddy, so the way I see it, you're already as good as dead."

Gardner stared off into the direction where the team had cuffed Captain Pitchley. That was, until EJ forced their prime suspect into the chair, slamming him down so rough his head hit and bounced off the table. She winced at the sound, but she wasn't about to apologize to this asshole. No, instead she cuffed his ankles to the bottom of the chair, reached up, and wrenched both of his arms behind him, to cuff them to the back of the chair as well.

She left him with a "Sit tight, rat," before walking out and giving Jack the nod. But EJ didn't stop there. She marched across the room, gestured for Jack to join her off to the side, then pulled out a notebook from her flak jacket. "A gift, from one of Immigration officers who wouldn't shut up about no one being safe anymore. Keep this with you, yeah?"

Jack leafed through what turned out to be a ledger, his eyes widening. "How the hell...?"

"He wanted to give us good faith in exchange for protection, not freedom, protection... But we found the ledger in the wall of the third container, just like he said we would. Now, if you'll excuse me, Boss." Some of the bad guys were still waiting just outside the bullpen door, so EJ gave Jack another nod, then went to fetch them.

For something like the ledger to just be given away... full of names, dates, and networking details... for protection, not freedom... that sent a prickle down the back of Jack's neck. What the hell had he gotten himself and his team into?

Hands gripping said ledger, Jack returned to the huddle of Unit chiefs, informing them of the full situation involving Captain Pitchley and Lieutenant Colter. By the time he finished explaining, each chief was caught completely off guard, or at least they seemed to be...

"We need to start questioning everyone we've got before Justice and IA show up. And with all due respect, I'm not asking." Jack strode away, heading towards the room with Gardner.

But as he passed the cuffed captain along the way, Jack slapped him on the shoulder with a Bode-a-fide smile. "We truly can't thank you enough for your cooperation. Just sit tight for a bit longer."

Captain Pitchley gave a charming "you've got it" type of nod, and Jack wanted nothing more than to wring this lying bastard's neck. But that could wait until after the captain's cell went off; along with the ledger, that would give them enough hard evidence to book the man who disgraced everything his title and badge stood for.

"Some afternoon we're having, huh?" Jack voiced as he walked into Gardner's interrogation room and closed all the blinds. "I hope you don't mind these extra precautions." He walked over to the fake oil rig construction owner, pulling out a cloth from his back pocket, then gagged the man with it. Gardner's eyes flew open with shock as Jack leaned in close. "Don't look so surprised. We can't have you spoiling our fun, now can we, Constantin?"

Jack pushed away and started walking around the room, talking much louder so Pitchley would hear every word also... "Thank you for your honesty, Constantin. I wasn't sure if we could believe you after you told us about the ledger, but lo and behold, we found it just where you said it would be." Jack stopped near the door and flipped open the ledger. "Now, for that deal we talked about, you're going to tell me the names of the players you know, the phone numbers, the safe houses, the inner workings of something called the Den—"

Shots fired through the windows of the office, exploding glass in all directions. Jack hit the floor to return fire when he heard shots within the office and saw Pitchley falling through the window opening of the room. He hung there, dead from several shots to the head and chest by Lizzy and Bobby.

Jack jumped up and ran over to Gardner, but he was gone also—two lucky shots to the head. Jack wavered back a step, gripping the edge of the table in disbelief. "How...?" he half shouted, half choked.

"That damn Pitchley, he had an ankle holster." Lizzy crunched over the glass and picked up the ledger.

Jack didn't take it from her outstretched hand, his eyes staring hard at the blood seeping out of their prime suspect. "Well, we're fucked. Justice will shut us down now, for sure."

Not even two minutes later, the main door burst open. In walked a team of U.S. Marshals like they owned the place. Everyone in the office whipped around, reaching for their weapons, still a little tense from the shooting.

"Who is the agent in charge of this cowboy circus?" one of the Marshals shouted. Everyone fell silent, all looking in Jack's direction.

Jack brushed off some of the glass that was still on him as he and Lizzy walked over to the latest arrivals on the Port. Meanwhile, Domingo just kept typing like he was the only one in the office. He did have a curious eyebrow raised, since he knew his boss was in hot water, but he also knew Jack had a way of turning things around on a dime, or in this case a rusty penny; that was all he had left after using up the other nine cents over the years.

The Marshals took in Gardner and Pitchley's dead bodies before following Jack and Lizzy into another makeshift interrogation room and shutting the door behind them. The silence surrounding the law enforcers quickly snapped back into action since there were two dead bodies to work up, plus grueling reports they would all have to suffer through.

One of the Marshals yanked off his sunglasses and dove right in, yelling at Jack. "You just got our number one suspect killed before we could take him down. Now, we have no informant, no major suspects, and no idea what's going to happen to our investigation, you fucking ass clown."

Jack's head, now tilted, just a bit to the right, spoke up with what he could only hope was a calm, focused tone after several days with little to no sleep. "Gentlemen, believe it or not, Gardner was our prime suspect also. But did I hear correctly? A suspect and an informant? You meant Gardner and...?"

The Marshal scoffed. "I should be anointed just for having to deal with you guys. I'm talking about Sara Rossinoff. We had her in the WITSEC program in exchange for information on the Romanian Mob and the Den."

Jack's head snapped back. "Sara, from New Orleans? The woman found at the Bayou, that Sara?"

If looks could kill. "Yes," the Marshal answered tightly. "We had her in the program for three years, and were about to move in on the operation when we lost contact with her a few days ago. Then, she came up as part of your investigation at Alligator Bayou." The Marshal's eyes drifted down and to the right, with the vein in his neck thumping as he spoke.

Jack watched him closely with narrowed eyes and threw up a finger. "Hold that thought."

He made his way to the door, while Lizzy just turned to the foggy window overlooking the Port and shook her head in amazement. If anyone had told her how today would've turned out, she would've laughed so hard she'd be hiccupping for a week.

"You might as well have a seat," she told the Marshals. "Looks like we're going to be here for a while."

Lizzy knew as well as Jack did that they now had more than enough to keep the Port shut down and hopefully crack this case wide open. Jack was also hopeful that his ass would stay in the clear and that this would help Raven.

He strode over to Domingo, filled him in with the short version, then flagged EJ and Bobby over, filling both of them in on the updated plan for the Bayou case—thanks to the Marshal's lashing of information.

"I repeat, the Port will stay shut until my team and I clear it," Jack announced through the radio, and out loud. Everyone in the Port Authority office went into an uproar, and Jack just stood there with a smile on his face.

"This isn't up for debate. We'll have a brief in an hour. Let us know when Justice and IA get over here. I want them in the lunchroom, and only them. Bobby will have CRT at the door, and Swat will cover the outside. Am I clear?"

On the other end of the room, the Police Commissioner raised his voice, making sure every soul heard him loud and clear. "What about us? Who do you think you are, agent? These are my men and my town."

Jack stopped and looked his way. "Commissioner, with all respect, the captain of the major crimes unit and the lieutenant who led the local Swat were your men, too." Their bodies were still right over there for anyone to see, waiting to be thoroughly examined. "This has now turned into a Justice investigation, and seeing as how we have jurisdiction, we'll be handling it. Thank you, and by the way, your entire department is under investigation also, so take a seat."

The men fumed in indignation at this disgrace, but Jack knew he had them by the balls. One problem down, ninety-nine more to go.

He went over to Bobby. "If Justice gives you any push back about being put in the lunchroom, tell them it's for their safety."

Bobby nodded and made his way to his own team to brief them. Jack took a minute to collect his thoughts before going back to the Marshals, who were still housed in interrogation room one. Just as he was about to walk in, Lizzy came out to see how he was planning to attack the situation.

"You were right about the connections," Lizzy said. "But try not to get too excited."

"Excited, who? Me? Never." Jack clapped his hand down on her shoulder. "But I am getting hungry. What do you say we have a nice lunch with the Marshals?"

Lizzy gave him a pointed look, to which he only smiled and steered her back into the room.

"Anyone up for lunch?" Jack asked as soon as Lizzy popped open the door.

The Marshals all started grumbling.

"But wait," Jack added. "Before we get to the great food selections, my computer whiz has something to say." Jack threw the door open to let his other team member enter the room. "Take it away, Dom. Tell 'em what you have so far."

Domingo nodded an acknowledgment to the Marshals as he set his computer on the table. "While the Marshals were chewing you out, Jack, I was able to gather details that helped me fill in some blanks. We now have the address of Sara's apartment, and correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems the Marshals were letting our victim have some freedoms, so to speak."

"Freedoms?" Jack blinked and stared straight at the Marshal who had called him a fucking clown earlier. "What ever could he mean, gentlemen?"

All five of the Marshals looked at each other, and really didn't want to speak.

"Need I remind you guys this is now my investigation, and Justice is right outside waiting for a briefing."

The Marshals tried to stop Jack, but what could they really have said at that point.

"Gentlemen, the only way this is going to work is by you telling us the truth, and I mean the whole truth. We already worked out that Sara was into some weird shit that didn't involve her sister. Let's pick it up from there."

"Wait a minute, sister? What are you talking about?" said one of the other Marshals.

Jack furrowed his brow. "You don't know about the sister? Well, gentlemen, how the tables keep turning... Her name is Raven Rousseau. She's an architect who lives in New Orleans, just off Canal Street, apparently about four blocks from Sara's place. That detail would've come in handy, but at the time, we found her picture in Sara's car, then found her."

"When exactly did you make contact with her?" asked yet another Marshal.

Domingo spoke up then. "Earlier this week, Monday." He gave Lizzy a questionable look as she stepped over to Jack, whispering.

That was when the door opened, and Bobby gave Jack the nod...

Lizzy slapped Jack on the shoulder and left with the head of the CRT. She was going to start the briefing for Justice who had already seen the reporter out front broadcasting, just as planned.

"This is getting out of hand," said the fourth Marshal, finally, more so to his fellow officers. "There's no other way around it, alright? We have to work together, and that's that—our deal with Sara Rossinoff was simple. She would stay in the ring and get intel to help us bring down the whole operation, internationally."

Jack nodded slowly. "Meaning, she had to appear to be doing business as usual."

"Precisely."

"That all sounds good, but can one of you explain to me what business our victim was doing exactly, besides getting herself killed for ratting out the organization?"

"Agent, Sara was a dominatrix—had been since her early teen years. You think you and your spiffy team worked out that she was into some sick shit? You haven't had to sit there and watch hours and hours of tape on how her parents, friends, and the Den leaders themselves would use her and other girls for their sadistic camp meetings."

Jack had no idea who or what the Den was, but he wouldn't interrupt. Not yet.

"That's what Sara called them," another Marshal chimed in. "Camp meetings at the Bayou cabin, and at her apartment. Wild shit, worse than you could stomach."

Jack fell back in a chair, and was silent for a moment. Everyone was silent for that moment... All the while, Domingo twitched once or twice, wanting yet not wanting to voice how they could use a copy of those tapes for more evidence on their end.

"You gentlemen put that girl up in an apartment and let her continue doing business, correct...?" Jack got back to his feet. "You guys seem smart, so you would've bugged the place and put cameras in, too, correct?"

The Marshals clenched their jaws, scratched their ears, and cleared their throats amongst themselves before the fifth one uttered, "We set up surveillance... but they went black a day before Sara disappeared."

"You think you might have checked on her when they went black—you know, to protect your informant and all."

The Marshals looked pissed for being called out, especially the one who had deemed Jack as an ass clown. His face told a story, and he pushed himself away from the table and stormed to the window.

Jack smacked a palm down onto the table. "We need those tapes, and Marshals, you're writing me a detailed report with all of this—Sara, her dominatrix work, all her locations, the Romanian Mob, the Den or whatever you called it. I want it all in the report. Don't make me bring this to your director."

"I'm going to need you to stop talking down to us like you're the king shit," said the Marshal with a stony look as he turned from the window.

"What did you just say?" Jack nearly lost his cool.

The Marshal continued as if Jack had never spoken. "The last thing we thought was that Sara was dead. The girl was into games and rocking the boat, even as a witness. So, when our other CIs in the area told us that the Romanian mob boss was looking for someone dressed up a certain way, we thought it was her..."

"They have half-a-mill bounty on this person's head," came another Marshal. "According to our people, that woman stabbed the mob boss in the shoulder, right outside his club, in New Orleans."

In all Jack's years in the FBI, he had seen some things that could still make his head spin; he didn't need any more added to the list unless it was directly related to his current case. "I don't know what to say, gentlemen, but lucky for me, that sounds like a personal problem."

Lizzy popped into the room a second later, and all eyes snapped to her. She, on the other hand, only had eyes for one person. "Jack, Jack, Jack... You better be grateful you have someone in your corner who would hand over their neck and ass on a silver platter."

He didn't hesitate to say, "Always eternally grateful, Lizzy."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't forget to say that every time I have to update Justice and IA from this point on. If we don't keep them in the loop with this case, we can kiss the open ticket goodbye. And, as for you boys, you're to give us everything we need, including working with our team back in the city. Got it?"

She didn't wait for a response, turning back to Jack with a fist on her hip. "I told EJ to take over the interrogations and to have Bobby help her. I also told her to be sure to stay with the live feeds so we could know what she has when she gets it."

Jack grinned. "Well, if that's the case, why don't we all take lunch to go and head over to Sara's apartment now?" He moved for the door.

"They're calling her the Gothic Queen," the fifth Marshal called out, stopping Jack.

"Who?"

"The five-foot-nine female that the Romanian Mob is hunting."

"Not this again."

"She's taller with spiked heels, wears corsets and silver chains, has a white painted face and blackened eyes, black cropped hair, and blood red lips that latch onto you and bite hard enough to make you bleed."

"Marshal, you just ate up more of our time to describe a woman in a gothic queen of the dead costume, and you expect us to react how...? I should take your gun and drug test you, if you get my drift." Jack laughed under his breath. "You're going on about a person you can't even ID, other than her being female—are you sure about that, anyway? Considering that was in New Orleans."

"We... can't answer that," said the second Marshal, ashamed.

"Well, if you're that troubled, take your description to all the underground bars and hangout spots, along with a sketch. See if anyone can help—and not laugh in your faces. It's not much advice, but it's what I can give you. I need my team focused on getting eyes on Sara's apartment. Do you have a problem with that?"

The Marshal shook his head, and finally, everyone filed out of the room, one after the other, except for that one Marshal with the stony 'I-eat-the-last-cookie' look on his face. He was the same one who had met the Gothic Queen in Sara's apartment. The same one who had figured out she was Sara's sister, then allowed that shoulder-stabbing woman to slip through his fingers before he could get any real information out of her.

So, for now, he would play along and keep these facts to himself, leaving Raven Rousseau as a trump card in his back pocket if things ever went too south for him and his boys.

"What's the hold up?" Jack asked, reappearing in the doorway.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

# Chapter 6

Dinner and Common Ground

"It feels quite cool, in a mad way,

to be someone who skulks

about in the shadows."

— Peter Baynham

Jean-Paul was right there at the main entrance, waiting for me. He smiled as I walked up, then grabbed my bags like I was someone important to him. I jumped into his new car, and off we drove...

"Did you have a good time laying low?" were the first words spoken on that drive.

I met his gaze in the rearview and smiled sheepishly. "Almost as fun as you had missing my calls, again. I'm guessing that means you got another phone?"

He stopped at a red light. "I'll call you as soon as we're off the roads with my new temporary number."

I could see the turn for the bridge up ahead.

"Collin was at the hotel."

"So I've been told," Jean-Paul said.

"I think you were more than told."

"Oh?" He took the left turn.

I watched the back of his head. "You must've known Collin would be at Biloxi. I've been thinking about it for hours, and that has to be why you encouraged me to go to that specific city and stay at that specific hotel."

"And why would I do that?"

Lake Pontchartrain was a beautiful greenish color that midmorning. "To help me follow that bastard and kill him in a place where I'd be protected."

"Mmm, but you didn't try that. At least not with him."

Daphne must've reported about my restroom conversation with Karl. "Biloxi isn't where I pictured finishing this, if you know what I mean."

"Killing Collin in your own city would be symbolic, but it'd be wiser to 'finish this' somewhere far from your home base. Understand?"

He had a point. The police were all over my home state. They knew where I ate, slept, peed, and worked. Sure, I hoped they still believed I was out of the country, but it'd be stupid to assume too much... "That reminds me, the envelope at my firm. What's happening with that?"

"I have that in play, when we get back."

I picked at my nails, wondering what it could be.

The bridge seemed longer going back to the place I both loved and dreaded, without Sara.

Jean-Paul sat straighter. "To where am I taking the Queen of New Orleans? Or should I say the Queen of Many Faces?"

That had a nice ring to it, too. Sure, Collin had figured out some of those faces, but there were plenty more. All I needed before my date with him tomorrow was a true recharge. "Please, my good man, a nice hotel in the Quarter."

Jean-Paul laughed, and I slid down in my seat, closing my eyes, giving some thought to possibly killing Collin in Sarasota instead of New Orleans.

I could feel Jean-Paul watching me from the mirror. I was glad I had him with me, someone to almost completely trust, yes, almost. It was only human nature for people to fail you at some point—always. Yet, I fell asleep, a deep sleep too. I seemed to do that with him and in his cars, go figure. I hadn't been sleeping well with everything that had happened. I guess with Jean-Paul, my subconscious knew I felt safe with him around.

We reached the French Quarter, and he pulled up to the Hotel Royal, an 1827 Creole Townhouse that was renovated to be timeless. I sat up and stretched. "Great pick, hiding me in plain sight? You're always two steps ahead."

"Not always. Please be careful, and don't dress in any wigs or outfits you've already worn." The look of concern consumed his whole face.

"I promise I'll be good, and I know you have people watching me here to make sure I keep my word, don't you?" I popped on a very large floppy hat and bounced out of the car.

Jean-Paul didn't know, yet, that I knew about his Faksyon group who were all over the South, maybe even the whole country, if not international. The reality of what Daphne had described by the pool was a bit challenging to imagine, but as long as the Faksyon was nothing like the Romanian Mob, I had no problem associating with their boss.

I did a spin around to check out the hotel. It was perfectly old and beautifully crisp. The woman behind the front desk looked up with a lush "Can I help you?" She wasn't Haitian, maybe Venezuelan? I wasn't entirely sure, but what I knew without a doubt was that she worked with Jean-Paul.

"Hi, I'd like a room with a street view—and if I could, can I have one of those fancy bottles of champagne? That would be amazing."

Her eyebrow arched, and words started to come out. "Sorry, but we don't—" That was as far as she got before I felt Jean-Paul walk up behind me.

"Our best room is ready for you, ma'am, and I'll have Peter bring you a chilled bottle of champagne. Do you want it in the room or on your balcony?"

I couldn't help but just love whenever that happened, everyone's quick change of tune. I turned and smiled at Jean-Paul. His brow furrowed, and I could tell he was lost as to what had just taken place. The way he could reign total respect and fear in his associates.

"What is that face for?" he asked.

A semi-open space would be a great place to gauge his reaction, right? I faced him dead on. "I'm just really grateful to you and your Faksyon." I smiled, took the room key from the woman, and walked to the steps.

Jean-Paul didn't stop me. "Your bags and champagne will be right up. And dinner will be in the courtyard, at six. We could talk then."

"Sounds great."

A few minutes later, I unpacked, washed my face, put on a hotel robe, and strolled out to the balcony where a nice glass of champagne was waiting for me. I sat and took a generous sip slowly with my eyes closed, taking in the smell of the bubbly as well as the city. I loved the NO. It always awakened a certain energy in me. Too bad I had to be more selective if I decided to go anywhere; after all, I was in Europe, grieving.

Thankfully, with Sara and her secret double life, I had many getups and wigs to keep me relatively safe in the shadows. As I sipped more of my drink, a horse-drawn carriage rolled by. The click-clack of the horse's metal shoes strutting along the cobblestones was fine music to my ears. So was the sound of a sweet saxophone that came popping out of the place across the street, followed by a crack of thunder.

Click-clack, more sax, and closer rumbles of thunder. It was like a concert while I rose to my feet and got dressed for the talk over dinner. The soft pelting of rain began, as if nature herself meant to set the tone for that night.

I made it down before Jean-Paul got there. I sat with my back to the entrance—very brave, I thought. Blue dress, white heels, and a white floppy hat. I would call this my Jackie O look, made complete with a black cropped wig. It was a crisp sixties style with a dash of goth. Maybe I should've called it my Jackie G look.

Footsteps sounded behind me, and my hand wrapped around the butter knife...

"Lady in blue, an excellent choice." Jean-Paul sat down.

"Yes, a nightmare fitted like a dream, and I don't mean the dress." I smiled and tipped my glass to my lips. It was quite cool, in a mad way, to be someone who skulked about in the shadows... I did always have a thing for quotes. "So, where do you want to start with your life story?"

That got a surprised laugh out of him. "The thing is, there are so many chapters, it's hard to just pinpoint a moment and go from there."

I looked at him and simply said, "The beginning will do. Your story is safe with me."

He picked up his water and drank, then cleared his throat. "Picture me, a teen in Haiti, walking past markets full of mangoes and plantains, and going right up to the government office. I looked them straight in the eye and said, 'I'm here to be a soldier!' They looked at me and told me to go home."

I sputtered a laugh, apologizing with another sheepish smile.

"No, no, it's fine to laugh now. But back then? Whew, I wasn't happy... So, I turned my anger into a plan and found six other teens like me, mad at what was happening around us. We kept meeting up, and I would tell them about the things we could do to bring about real change if the government would just take us seriously. They thought I was crazy at first, but when I showed up one day with three rifles and two handguns, they started listening.

"Have you ever heard of Pétionville?"

I shook my head.

"It's to the south of the capital. A faction of men and women broke out there, fighting government soldiers. Somewhere around that time, I became intent on stopping that faction for the government, thinking it would help me gain favor. But life has a way of working out in different ways than you expect, wouldn't you agree...? You either follow it or force another road. I took that other road, eventually."

The taste of my phyllo purses with roasted squash, peppers, and artichokes went off in my mouth as I took in the unfolding layers of his life.

"It was just after noon, and we were watching the movements of the faction's top leaders. One of them came close to where I was hiding, and I took him by knife point. We quickly and quietly got him back to our little hideout in the city, and I interrogated him. I started with a hammer to his left knee. I swear, to this very day, I don't know what or how that much—" He searched for the right word.

"Madness?" I tried.

He nodded. "Yes, how that much madness had taken over me, but it did, and when I was done, I had all the information I needed to bring back to the government—plans for attacks on armor storage buildings, government rallies, and even the President's home."

"Wow."

"By the end of the next day, I was with the head of the president's personal force, the Milice de Valuntaires de la S'ecurite, or MVSN for short." He paused, remembering. "There he was, Luckner Cumbronne in the flesh. A man who only answered to the president—he told me I had a gift for the militia. Said he wanted me to set-up a place in the city, and that he would pay me and my men to get more information. You can only imagine what that did to a young man like me. Enlisting me as a lieutenant in the MVSN? Overwhelming me with that sense of purpose?"

I was so into what he had gone through, I didn't realize I'd eaten more than half of my plate.

Jean-Paul pushed around his shrimp. "I'll never forget the interrogations I sat through, but the MSVN soon learned I was more efficient and effective being hands on. So, you can see how fast I rose in the organization. Within months, I was Major Achilles, head of the president's interrogation squad. I only reported to the president himself, just like Luckner Cumbronne."

He downcast his face. "Tonton Macoutes..."

"What?"

"I was so focused on my own interests and power that I didn't care that being part of the MSVN meant being part of a militia that would terrorize the people, stealing their money and land, raping sisters, mothers, and daughters."

And there went my appetite. Damn.

"But it wore me down from time to time," Jean-Paul continued. "Not that I was a victim in anyone's eyes, not even my own, but I readily took a side job in Bogotá once. It was a fishing job connected to something the president wanted, and I met up with the group of, well, let's say criminals, to be nice. They had this pastry ruse they used on tourists that the president wanted me to investigate. I made it happen, snatched an opportunity to talk to one of the younger ones at a bar, and he introduced me to the natural grown drug called Devil's Breath—its official name is Scopolamine, by the way. It's a white powder that if consumed, blown into your face, or if you just touch the edge of a business card with the powder on it, could render you totally compliant to whatever someone asks. A lack of free will, for hours.

"The victim is powerless to recall the events or identify their perpetrator the next day. It was the perfect interrogation tool. And believe me, I capitalized on it, in secret of course. I didn't tell the president or anyone, just kept the truth between me and the group in Bogotá. We became friends and had an on-going business deal, to supply me with all I needed for my work, which was going well, very well. No one ever found out my secret, and that made me more of a mysterious figure." He looked half proud, half disgusted.

"Then, everything with the president, the MSVN, and the people went downhill fast, so I fled to this country. Being in the States had my head spinning, but I used that time to slowly build my own Faksyon that would protect people, not steal from them, rape them, or terrorize them just for the hell of it. I know some still see it as a gang, or us as criminals, but I don't have nightmares anymore. I'm a new man, truly."

Call me crazy, but I believed him as I stared into the lion fountain standing tall behind him. "Did I ever tell you about the day the FBI took me to the Bayou?" Jack and Oliver had no idea Sara's body would've still been hanging in that tree, but the damage had been done regardless. "Jean-Paul, I honestly think that was the moment a switch flipped in my head and deep in my soul. Now, someone is going to pay for what they'd done, be it Collin or whoever finally confesses. I feel like a fucking broken record, but... yeah."

Jean-Paul didn't respond beyond his sad eyes searching my face.

"After living through all those chapters, what do you think about me going after a killer?"

"Raven, what I think is that you're not after peace. You know it well by now, that the road you're choosing will take someone's life. Why? Because he took your sister's? Then what will happen when you cross paths with the next man or person hurting women? Are you going to be able to resist making them bleed in some restroom? In this very city alone, your city, there are many Collins and Karls. You need to take a long look into yourself and think about this past week—you fell easily into the game, becoming the Queen of Many Faces, trying to take back control and see what you're fully capable of. That won't stop after Collin, especially if you go through with killing him."

I looked right through the lion waterfall, digesting his words. Was he right? This wasn't necessarily a kill-or-be-killed situation. Was I just going to become another common murderer who had "my reasons" for doing sick things with a bloodlust...? Would I be able to stop after Collin...? Maybe this was more about me getting back control than about bringing justice to Sara...? My chest tightened, and I tossed back the rest of my drink.

# Chapter 7

Crash Course

"I love fairy tales because of

their haunting beauty and

magical strangeness. They are

set in worlds where anything can

happen. Frogs can be kings,

a thicket of brambles can hide

a castle where a royal court has

lain asleep for a hundred

years, a boy can outwit a giant,

and a girl can break a curse

with nothing but her courage

and steadfastness."

— Kate Forsyth

The place was a mess as Jack and his team entered Sara's apartment. The supposedly covert Marshals had been picking it apart for days, sticking tape pieces for fingerprints all over the floor, leaving different colored dust on the walls and even on the bedroom ceiling. Drawers were dumped, clothes thrown everywhere...

"And they called us cowboys?" Lizzy glanced back at Jack as he got that crazy look in his eyes and balled his fists. She shook her head. "OK, Marshals, all of you, out! We need the rooms beyond the bookcase. Actually, the whole apartment. Uh-buh-buh, let me stop you right there. No talking back to Momma. Just do as you're told. That's it, just shuffle along."

Lizzy and Jack walked through each space, talking the rooms, step by step, lingering most in the bedroom. Domingo came in behind them, and a laugh escaped him at the sight of the swinging bed.

"So, everything the Marshals had said is true?" he wondered out loud. "The wax, now this."

"Pull yourself together," Lizzy said.

Jack smirked and pointed the computer whiz to the video cam in the next room. "Take it apart and hopefully find us something."

"Yes, boss." He made a face at Lizzy, then left.

Lizzy pulled a face of her own, then took to the closet, making all kinds of comments that eventually ended with, "Jack, you've got to see this."

He turned away from the swinging bed, and that was when he noticed a small necklace hanging from the lamp on the side table. It struck him as familiar, but he couldn't place it. He stood there for an extra beat, until Lizzy snapped a whip she'd just found in the secret closet.

"Really, Lizzy? Your old habits coming back, are they?"

"Don't you wish, JB..." She tugged on the whip with both hands, stretching it apart. "Sara was a ball of unexpected, huh?"

"She was probably your kind of girl, wild, spirited, doing her own thing, her way, so to speak." He watched his second-in-command snap the whip again, knocking a blue wig to the floor. If only they could do that to this whole mess of a case. Sara wasn't just involved in some BDSM fun. This was sex trafficking and drugs. That girl had been a child who had grown up being used and sold around, and sure, Jack's team had seen cases like this before, but he still shook his head in astonishment.

"Let's break this down, shall we?" Lizzy cut in. "What we know is that Sara was in WITSEC and she leaked information about various organizations to Justice, who was supposed to be taking down the Romanian Mob as well as the Den, which seems to be Eastern European leadership. But it didn't get to that, nor did it seem like it was getting to that any time soon. Is that correct?"

Jack nodded. "According to our new Marshal pals, they still needed more on the international part of the Den organization before they made their move."

"Do we need to get in touch with anyone before it bites us in the ass, again?"

"Justice is handling that, along with the International Law Enforcement community, so I guess we'll see." Jack stepped into the closest and looked over the lingerie, corsets, makeup, toys, gadgets, and equipment that hinted at years of deep and thorough experience. That girl, at what age had this started for her? Did she ever know consensual sex, or had the lines always been blurred with the Den and the mob?

Lizzy snapped the whip. "Leave it to us to stumble on some high-ranking shit. Now, look at you. You're just like the Marshals."

"I'm not catching what you're saying."

"Fine. Let me make it super clear for you. You're all trying to take on too much instead of focusing on your purview. Is that good and clear enough, Jack?"

It was only then that he realized Lizzy wasn't joking around; she was really comparing him to those damn Marshals. "They twisted and tied this girl up so much, and—well, that doesn't sound right... The point is, I'm not them."

"Right," she dragged the word out.

"I'm not. They got sloppy, and not only that. Those poor gentlemen don't have a Lizzy in their lives who is sleep deprived and cranky, but still alert enough to kick them in the ass if they ever take things too far."

Lizzy narrowed her eyes and stayed silent for a moment. "Trying to butter me up?"

"Something like that." Jack smirked and turned away from her. "Hey, Dom?" he called out. "Have you gotten anything we can put together yet? We need it, buddy."

Domingo moved to the doorway of the closest, so he wouldn't have to shout. "The Marshals had this place well-wired, alright. It's impressive, but here's the kicker. There's an outgoing router that landed at a feed close to here. I can't bring it up, but we can actually walk over to see what we find."

"Walk, no shit?" laughed Lizzy.

"No shit," Domingo confirmed.

A debate wasn't needed for this. All three of them headed out, telling their CRT guy to not let anyone in the apartment. "We'll be back shortly," Jack said.

Domingo turned out to be right. The close-range feed was literally across the street, up two flights of stairs. Lizzy put a foot to the door when no one answered, and they charged in. The place was a maze of wires and servers, with a couple of monitors near the windows facing the street like some secret spy lair. Whoever had dedicated themselves in that position had surely seen everyone who had gone in or out of Sara's apartment. For how long? That was to be determined.

"Jump in and bring up as many recordings as you can," Jack said to Domingo. "Find out who these creeps are."

He left the whiz to do his thing while he eyed the empty coffee cups and pizza boxes over in the corner on a small dining table. "Hey, Lizzy, call for some of our scene guys to get over here and run DNA." So much for stumbling on high-level shit. Whoever this room belonged to had messed up bad, giving Jack and his team a leg up. He had to run with it, and until proven otherwise, his hunch would be that the Marshals and local PD had been mixing in on a sex scheme. Again, for how long, if it was true at all, remained to be determined.

Jack recalled each of the Marshal's faces, especially the one with the 'I-eat-the-last-cookie' face. If those officers turned out to be crooked, like Captain Pitchley and Lieutenant Colter, that would be fucked up.

* * *

Hours later, in the midst of the evidence technicians doing their thing around the spy lair, Lizzy yelled, "Over here, Jack."

She lifted an armful of stuffed animals, monkeys, rabbits, bears, whales, dogs, and elephants. "Cute, huh?"

"Err... this is what you called me over for?" Jack raised his brows.

Lizzy tilted her head, all innocent, before she popped off the animals' heads, tails, or arms. "I found weapons, a key, drugs, more drugs, and oh look, a string of rolled pictures with some pretty recognizable ole boys... The Mayor's right-hand? Our beloved Congressman? Police Chief Rollins himself? And many more. All tied up, being whipped, gagged, and diapered..."

"Well, Lizzy girl, it takes a big man to be diapered like a baby in order to run this crazy city." In all truth, Jack couldn't believe what the hell his eyes were seeing.

"Catch!" Domingo tossed over two protein bars. "Eat your breakfast, you two crazy kids, then come over to the wall of monitors... I've got a piece of the missing puzzle."

"I think you mean a missing piece of the puzzle."

"Whatever, boss. If you want me to talk straight, you need to let me sleep." Domingo eased back in the chair in front of the monitors and closed his eyes. "Those Marshals were being played, and I mean played big. Listen—this sounds like the Romanians on the Russian side were watching and listening to everything, and definitely pulling the strings. I can't make out all of what they're saying, but in the background of these recordings are conversations in Romanian."

Jack took a hefty bite of his protein bar, chewing hard and fast. "Lizzy, call EJ and Bobby. I want them to take Lieutenant Colter to a nice marshy place and have an 'EJ kind of talk' with him." The pumped-up agent took another bite of his breakfast bar. "I want all that asshole has on Sara and the Den. Have Bobby get two of his best guys to help run point. What Sara had to do with them, and why they had to kill her, somebody better explain it to me soon."

"Our girl must've known every aspect of the Den's operation, all the players, and their connection to the mob. That seems like more than enough motivation to kill off a loose end," Lizzy said.

"But why now? Did they really find out their plaything was a rat, or are we still missing something, a lot of somethings?"

Lizzy couldn't argue much for either option. "OK, I'll get all the file work and case notes—and all the Parish reports on any cases like ours, to see if we can get a match."

Jack bit into the last of his bar, already eyeing Lizzy's. "Like you said before, with Sara displayed as elaborate as she was on that plank—it couldn't've been the perp's first time. Either he's connected to the Den, the mob, or a third party we don't even know about yet."

"If anyone's wondering, I am getting a headache from all this mess," Domingo chimed in.

All three of them shared a nod.

"Go ahead and get EJ and Bobby to press the lieutenant," Jack said to Lizzy, then turned back to Domingo. "And you, patch us in with them as they move on it."

"You got it, boss."

Back at Sara's apartment, Jack moved through each room, stopping in the closet of pure mystery... That was where he found Domingo up on a small ladder with his head in the ceiling.

"You called me over?" Jack said.

"Hey, yeah, I found something..."

"OK...?"

"But you're really not going to like it."

Jack wiped his forehead, bracing himself. "Lay it on me anyway."

"Well, first, there are no live feeds here at the moment, but there's another outside feed that smells all Marshal to me..."

"Fuck."

"That's what I said, and I'd bet my sailboat in dry dock that they've been watching Sara with the separate feed for a while—I did think it was weird when they told us Sara was under witness protection and yet they still had her working as usual, but this is twisted."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Seems like it slipped their mind to volunteer that information and video feed." Sarcasm poured out with each word. He shook his head. "Those fucking Marshals. Is there anyone who respects the sanctity of their badge anymore? Really, how far and how high will this shit go?"

EJ blinked her widened eyes, not that Jack or Domingo could see her through their earpieces. "Sounds like you guys are having a blast at the apartment. As for me, I'll get names out of Colter one way or another. We're almost to the site now, but Bobby's already over there setting up for me with his guys. I'll be live in twenty."

Jack had no doubt that EJ wouldn't leave any stone unturned, but... "EJ, remember the guys connected to this case are hardened Eastern European thugs. Go at Colter hard, and don't give a damn if he's wearing blue or not."

"Done and done, boss, and don't you worry. I brought along a box of encouragement, made specially for the lieutenant."

"That's what I like to hear." Jack could only wait now. Unfortunately, waiting meant thinking and realizing how dead tired he was. No—not dead. He clenched his jaw and moved back into the bathroom, then the bedroom with the swinging bed and that necklace.

The chain attached to a gold coin, half cut, with an engraving that read, 'I found you'.

He was sure he'd seen it before, but where?

"Hold your position!"

The shout surged through Jack's earpiece, but it wasn't meant for him.

"EJ," called Bobby, "be careful. We've got company here at the cabins. Two black limousines flanked by a black SUV. We have eyes on the old man from the boathouse, talking to four men dressed in black from head to toe. Two have assault rifles—they have to be the mob! We're running the plates and are sitting just out of range."

"Are you serious?" EJ said. "Wow, these guys have bigger balls than I thought, doing a meeting right in the open while the Bayou's still under investigation?"

Jack jumped in. "Not when you think you have the police in your pocket, and possibly the Marshals, and who knows who else—Bobby, I need you and your guys to snap pictures of every move and get us faces we can use. And, have someone follow them whenever they leave. Can that be done, Bobby?"

"I already called for the chopper to tail them from a distance when they leave."

"What's my move, boss?" EJ asked.

"Still meet up with Bobby, but I want all of you to stay still, unless they move on the old man. I need him alive so EJ could have a nice chat with him, too."

"Works for me," EJ said. "But I don't think we should use the cabins for my conversation with him or Colter."

Jack considered that for a moment. "I actually still want you to do it there, and I want the old man to feel as much of the heat as possible. Catch what I'm saying? And Bobby, get more of your guys down there also."

"Got it. I'll have Roscoe and his team touch down in less than twenty."

"Roscoe, where has that guy been?" Jack had noticed the man's absence from Bobby lately.

"Oh. His wife just had another son—that's four little Roscoes this world has to deal with." Bobby laughed.

"Shit." No more laughing. "They just hit the old man. He's down! Jack, should we move? We have them in our sights. They won't know what hit them. Do we have the go?"

Jack opened his mouth, and...

#  COMING JULY 2020

VOLUME 4

The Devil's Breath Cometh

Raven has sharpened her hunting skills,

as well as her little letter opener...

But taking out one sick killer who

enjoys displaying his victims

might not be enough when there's a

worldwide trafficking ring to bust.

Find out how far Raven will go

in the fourth installment of

The Vengeance Chronicles

Have a question or just

something to tell me?

You're more than welcome

to reach out

Anthony Aaron Richards

Message and subscribe –

 aarichardswrites.com

Follow me on Twitter –

@writeit1990

Follow me on Instagram –

tony.laforgia.7

#  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Anthony Aaron Richards (Aarichardswrites.com) was born Anthony La Forgia. He grew up a very adventurous young boy and that followed him into his adult years. Anthony was and still is a pusher of positive energy to everyone he meets. He has been a business owner in corporate management with a masters in psychology as well as a lifelong learner. January 28, 1990, had been when Anthony Aaron Richards, the writer, was finally born—the stories had just taken over and started to hit paper. He wrote a children's story and followed that with a couple of sorts during a time with his boys that exploded with fun imagination and activities. Real output for his writing came about in 1999 with Example of Power, his first thriller—on September 11, he put it in the drawer. It wasn't until the next year that The Vengeance Chronicles came into the works. Sidebar, the chronicles are about helping women in terrible situations. Anthony's history in that area was what had led him to help fight abuse in his own way. Through his stories, of course. He had witnessed abuse at a very young age, and that was forever imprinted on his psyche. In that, Anthony has spent a lifetime counseling and aiding women to get out of unwanted situations, fight back, and rebuild their lives. So, Raven came along to further fill those shoes and take on the battle with the seven-book series... The entire first book has a planned release later in 2020.

Follow him on Twitter @writeit1990 and Instagram tony.laforgia.7.

#  AUTHOR INTERVIEW

By: Susanne Rich

Where do you live and how does it influence your writing?

Florida. For me, it's not so much the place I live—it's more the places I write about. I have to visit all the places in my stories. I need to feel, taste, see, touch, and understand their vibe in order to put it on paper. I did escape Florida once and make my way to North Carolina for fourteen years, which was where my writing had been born, January 28, 1990, at 7:04 am. I'm back in Florida, and I do like the pace of the little fishing town I live in. I'm calm where there is water and sunsets.

When did you first become passionate about writing? What attracted you to it?

I think it's best to start from the beginning. My grandmother managed a local bookstore and office supply store in Sarasota. I was lucky enough to spend weekdays after school there, and she would have one of the employees read to me. Before long, I was picking the books and learning how to read at a very young age. As you can imagine, I turned into a great storyteller, making up all kinds of adventurous tales, but it wasn't until that morning in 1990 that stories hit paper. I was lying in bed, looking up at the ceiling, counting the little holes in the tiles—forty-two, by the way—and my mind traveled through one of those holes and into the attic, where a city was born with outdoor creatures and a squirrel from the city who hopped on a truck delivering nuts to the next town. I began with children's stories like that, then moved into thrillers. But I know the real question is when did I become passionate. My answer is, since I could turn a page.

What inspires you to write?

What doesn't? The world today is so on all the time, but when you can make a person smile at the words on a page... Now, that's something. Writing characters that help others in some way, helping out the underdog, all of that seems to be my thing.

How do you market your books?

I start with little story notes and clues on Instagram and Facebook, and I've published on Amazon. I have learned a lot since then and will follow a more active plan next time around. I would also like to find an agent who truly supports the possibilities of my work.

Do you support yourself through writing financially, or do you have a day job? If so, what is it?

Not really when it comes to writing, but some day. I'm hoping for an agent and some sort of deal for the series soon. As for my day job, I'm a retired therapist turned national insurance agent. Sounds sexy, right?

How many hours a day do you spend writing and what helps you get into the writing mood?

Well, for me, it's a day-long journey, meaning a couple of hours before work and a couple during work. Then, I wander in and out in the evening. I guess the bottom-line is always. That's how I have my life set up. For the mood question, I look at the world every day with the possibility of an idea popping up.

What's the best moment you've had with your writing career so far?

Sitting in Savannah, Georgia, with my wife, having dinner as Book 1 hit Amazon; a big part of the book is in and around that area. Another great moment was the day I ran into a fan of the book. I was over the moon as we shook hands and she began telling me about my character. I could tell she got her (Raven).

How do you respond to writer's block?

I don't want to come off as some super writer who doesn't believe in writer's block, but ever since I started this wonderful journey, it's something I have never had to worry about. In my head, it really has no place.

What are you working on next?

Well, my current project is seven books long with two standalones related to the series, and it may be followed by Raven going to Europe. OK, of course, she is going to Europe... Aside from the chronicles, I have a piece about a very famous American author that I throw a twist of fate in from time to time.

Where would you like to see yourself in three years' time?

With an agent, writing full-time, and making readers smile with my books. That's a simple recipe, right...?

You could find the interview and more at  https://awritersbusiness.com/author-interviews/2020/2/2/author-interview-series-anthony-aaron-richardsnbsp.
