Deadly Commitment: The Deadly Secrets Series

by Kathy Harris

  “Then I’ll get right to it. I want to know why you had one of your men follow me to Iowa. Or is that a question for your supervisor?”

  “What? We didn’t—”

  “Agent Samuels, I may be a civilian, or whatever you call us common people, but I’m not stupid. I just returned from a trip to visit my father in the hospital, and a man followed me the entire trip. I saw him on the plane, at the hospital, and in the Atlanta airport on my way home.”

  Caleb sat back in his chair. “I think I will have that coffee, Ms. Kemp. And, yes, we do need to talk, because I can assure you the TBI didn’t put a tail on you during your trip to Iowa.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “So you knew about my trip, but you didn’t have me followed?”

  She prepared to stand, but he stopped her. “Please stay for a minute.”

  He glanced around the room. A few of the wait staff were gathered nearby, watching them. “You’re going to call more attention to me than we need.”

  Apparently she had noticed their audience too, because she made a visible effort to calm herself.

  He continued. “Let’s just say my office was aware of your father’s health problems. And I hope, by the way, he’s doing better.”

  He waited for a reply. She nodded, so he resumed. “We knew you had a legitimate reason to fly to Cedar Rapids.” He glanced to the dispersing staff and then back to her. “And I knew where you were because we spoke to the local authorities and to the administrator of the hospital.”

  A spark in her chameleon-colored eyes ignited. Today they were more of a bluish gray than the green or brown he had seen before. She opened her mouth to protest.

  “Hold on. Let me explain.” He waited a beat for her to relax. She leaned forward, placed her chin on her hands, and glared. “We had no reason to follow you because we knew Evans was in another state.”

  “You had no right—”

  “I will respectfully disagree with you on that, but let’s move on to the most important point, and that would be who followed you.”

  “Isn’t that what I asked you?” Her complexion paled.

  “I can assure you that I don’t know. But I’m as curious as you are to find out.”

  “If the man on the plane, and at the hospital, and at the Atlanta airport, wasn’t from the TBI,” she clasped her hands in front of her, “then who . . . ?”

  “That’s what we need to find out.”

  “Agent Samuels . . .” She swallowed hard.

  “Caleb, please.”

  “Caleb.” She studied him momentarily. “I want to tell you about something else that happened. But first, let me get you—and me—that cup of coffee. I think we’re going to need it.”

  Danni returned with two coffees. Caffeine was the last thing she should be consuming right now. Her hands were already shaking. But if the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation hadn’t followed her to Iowa and back, it must have been someone from the drug ring.

  How was that even possible? Still, it appeared that Caleb Samuels was telling the truth. And if the TBI hadn’t followed her, it had to have been someone from the other side.

  She was repeating herself.

  None of this made sense, except that she was too deep into something she didn’t understand to consider going it alone. Which meant she had to trust someone.

  But who?

  She settled back into the booth, watching Caleb prepare his drink. Two sugars and one long pour of cream. She had pictured him as a man who would prefer his coffee strong and black. Maybe there was a softer side to this street-stalker-turned-agent-of-the-law.

  Once she had his full attention, she told him everything she could remember about the sandy-haired man who had been on the plane, at the hospital, and in Atlanta.

  “Do you think you could pick him out in a lineup? Or, better yet, help a sketch artist draw a composite?”

  She assured him she could. The image of the stranger staring at her in the airport had been seared into her memory.

  “There’s one more thing I think you should know.” She calmed herself, taking a deep breath, then another, before continuing. “When I returned to Nashville yesterday one of my coworkers told me I’d had a visitor here at the restaurant while I was gone.”

  He nodded for her to go on.

  “I wouldn’t have thought a lot about it. Potential clients and sales people come by every day. But this man told Jaycee he was a friend of Rob’s and that he had dropped by to see me since he was in town.”

  Caleb extracted a smartphone from his pocket, presumably to take notes, as she reached for the business card in her pocket.

  “Did you get his name?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She tossed the card across the table and recited from memory. “Valentino Ramirez.”

  The agent’s jaw twitched, and he locked eyes with her. “Have you ever heard his name before?”

  “No. But when I mentioned him to Rob a few minutes ago, his response was less than forthcoming. I could tell it bothered him. Just like it did you now.” She waited a beat. “What’s going on? Who is he?”

  He ignored her questions. “What did Evans say?”

  “He stuttered and stammered, so I dropped the subject.”

  “That was probably a good move.” Caleb tucked his phone away without making a note. It was obvious he knew the name, and he had no need to write it down.

  Danni took a sip of her coffee and shrugged. “I was uncomfortable making a big deal about it. I didn’t want to create something out of nothing.”

  He waited for her to continue.

  “And, well, since you’ve told me the stalker wasn’t from the TBI, I’m not sure what—or who—to believe anymore.”

  He extended his arms across the four-top, shortening the distance between them, physically reaching out to her. “I can understand why you would be confused and afraid.” His expression softened, and for the first time she noticed the scars on his forehead. The ones she had put there. Thankfully they appeared to be fading.

  “You have every right not to trust anyone. Including me.” He clasped his hands on the tabletop. “But I hope you will. I promise not to let you down.”

  Danni toyed with her spoon, aligning the tip of its handle with the edge of the table, silently considering his request.

  “I am who I say I am.” He sought her gaze. “And I will protect you. But I need your help to do that.”

  She lifted her chin and considered his dark brown eyes. They were the same eyes that had frightened her that first day on the street. But now . . .

  She nodded her agreement.

  “Thank you.” His words were barely audible, but the set of his jaw spoke volumes. This man was strong enough to take care of her.

  Danni straightened in her chair. “I realize I have to trust someone. And quite honestly, Rob isn’t that man right now.”

  That had been easier to say than she had ever imagined.

  “Good. I need to start with a very important question.”

  She stiffened. What now?

  A smile slowly softened his face. “Do commercial kitchens use sandwich bags?”

  “Of course, but . . .”

  He pointed to the business card on the table. “We need to find out if your chef met the real Valentino Ramirez.”

  CHAPTER 18

  She left because she loved you.

  They were the only words Danni remembered from the day of her mother’s funeral. Although he had intended them for comfort, decades later her father’s sentiments still stung. Why would someone willingly leave when they loved you? That idea had never made sense. Nor had it brought peace.

  Few things from her past, as related to her mother, made sense. Or brought peace. Including the fainting spells she’d had for as long as she could remember. Even before.

  According to stories her dad told, she had occasionally passed out as a baby in her mother’s or father’s arms. Each such event had sent her parents scrambling to a doctor’s office. Act
ually, a multitude of doctor’s offices through the course of years. But no one could fully explain it.

  When she was a baby, her parents were told she was holding her breath. When she was a teen, she was told she was borderline anemic. Or that she might occasionally suffer brief fluctuations in blood pressure. But nothing was confirmed. And in the end, everyone, including a nurse who claimed to have had the same problem as a child, shrugged it off, suggesting Danni would grow out of it.

  That hadn’t happened either.

  “Apparently you haven’t grown up yet,” Jaycee would tell her, trying to make light of a frustrating situation. But even her good friend’s teasing didn’t alleviate Danni’s embarrassment, particularly when it happened in front of a business associate or in public. So Danni stayed on guard.

  She knew her triggers. One of her spells was most likely to happen when she was tired. Or in an especially stressful situation. Like hearing that your fiancé was involved in an international drug ring. Or seeing the look on Caleb Samuels’s face at the mention of Valentino Ramirez.

  After Caleb left, Danni did her best to put his visit behind her. And to not faint. She had too much work to do. Two upcoming catering events, a corporate party and an art show, vied for her undivided attention. None of it would get done if she continued to dwell on her personal life.

  Just as she reached her office door, she came face to face with Jaycee.

  “What’s going on?” The chef asked before following her into the room. “And who was that guy you just saw for coffee?”

  Danni dropped into the chair behind her desk, thankful she didn’t have to lie.

  “A narcotics agent.”

  “Oh.” Jaycee’s mischief turned to concern. She anchored herself against the doorframe. “Does he have new information about Michael?”

  “No—” Danni stopped in mid-sentence. Or did he? Could Ramirez be linked to Michael’s death? The thought terrified her, but she wasn’t about to share it with her friend. “They’re still investigating.”

  Jaycee stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. “You’re not telling me something. I know you too well.” She took a seat on the edge of the chair nearest to Danni. “What are you not telling me?”

  Danni shook her head. “What I know is confidential.”

  “So you do know more!” Jaycee gasped.

  “Agent Samuels asked for specific information about the restaurant, okay? That’s all I can tell you.”

  Jaycee contemplated the floor, then lifted her gaze. “I understand. But will you do me a favor?”

  “That depends. What is it?” Danni shuffled the paperwork on her desk.

  “Be careful.” Jaycee leaned forward in her chair. “I don’t like the way this is going.”

  “I don’t either, Jay. Feel free to pray for me. For all of us.”

  The color left Jaycee’s cheeks. “Now you’re really scaring me. You’re rarely serious about that.”

  “I almost lost my dad last week, remember? I’ve been saying a few prayers lately myself.”

  “Of course. I’m thankful he’s better.” A light bulb seemed to go off in Jaycee’s head. “Maybe now’s the time to ask you to come to church with me.” She smiled. “You’re still looking for a venue for the wedding, right?”

  Was she?

  “You’d love my church. And it’s big enough for your guest list.”

  Danni was happy to change the subject. “Now I’m worried about you. Since when are you supporting my marriage to Rob?”

  Jaycee’s eyes twinkled. “I’m not, but if it will get you to church . . .”

  Danni suppressed a grin. “I’ll take you up on that invitation.”

  “Really?” Jaycee squealed. “When?”

  “Next Sunday?”

  “Deal!” The petite chef jumped from her chair and gave Danni an air-five.

  “It’s just one Sunday, Jay.” Danni cautioned. “Not a commitment to sing in the choir.”

  “I know.” Jaycee’s enthusiasm wasn’t deterred. “But you’re going to love it!”

  Rob settled into his chair in the front of the bus. It wasn’t quite noon, and he had already put in a full day’s work.

  Still, the most important job remained.

  He straightened the wrinkle in his long-sleeve button down, then pushed up his sleeves. If his colleagues in Nashville had any idea what his sideline job entailed, they would run the other way. Of course managing entertainers had its risks too. But nothing compared to what he and Hank would do this afternoon.

  His heart poked at his chest. The risk he took with every trip to Phoenix, or Houston, or Seattle paid big dividends. Much bigger than artist management.

  It had taken years for his management company to earn what his sideline operation brought in regularly. In fact, his secondary job had supported his fledgling music business efforts. It had taken nearly half a decade to build a stable of artists who could consistently produce the cash flow he could make in a single week of trafficking.

  But now that it did, now that things in Nashville were heating up and Ramirez was becoming more and more difficult, it was time to make a change. Hopefully Valentino wouldn’t renege on his original deal that Rob could walk away at any time. As temperamental as entertainers and musicians could be, they weren’t even close to being as difficult as the shady characters he had met on the dark side. A few situations had left him scrambling for his life, and it was then he appreciated Hank the most.

  Hank Porter was not only a good bus driver, he was a former Army sniper. He had also trained in the martial arts. They’d had a gun pointed at them on several occasions, usually by a street thug who thought he could take the big boys down.

  That wasn’t about to happen with Hank on duty. His driver was especially helpful on pick-up days like today. They had a one o’clock appointment at the arena, right under the noses of security. A tour bus drew too much attention in a hotel parking lot, so Rob would arrange to meet his contacts backstage where coaches and motorhomes were a part of the regular scenery.

  It was not only exhilarating to make a pick up in the presence of security guards, who were usually off-duty cops, it was also safer. Only an idiot would cause trouble when the cops had the place surrounded.

  To avoid video capture of the deal, Hank would park the bus with the bay doors opening away from the cameras, about five feet from the venue wall and leaving very little room for a stray passerby.

  “That looks good.” Rob pointed to the back wall of the massive arena.

  “You got it, boss.” His driver had mastered the art of pithy conversation.

  The big brute of a man was also low maintenance. A shower, a change of clothes, and a couple of good meals a day were all he required.

  Hank switched the bus into idle and vaulted down the steps to begin his preparation. Their connection would be arriving in half an hour, and Hank would be ready.

  In the next thirty minutes, he would run a site inspection, assessing where all cameras and security personnel were located. Then he would meticulously rearrange the right front bay, offloading a half dozen T-shirt cases and setting them beside the coach.

  After the product arrived—and the delivery men had left—Hank would remove the false bottoms in the cases, stow the new “merchandise,” and cover it with stacks of souvenir shirts. He could pack six cases in less than twenty minutes, concealing at least ten pounds of drugs per case. He would then store the repacked cartons in a specially-designed bay area that ran straight down the middle of the belly of the bus, secure the false back wall of the bay, and close and lock the bay doors. Ideally, those doors would not be opened again until the driver exchanged the pickup for cash in Atlanta—and Rob would already be home in Nashville, his fingerprints never touching the actual product.

  At exactly one o’clock, Rob watched his computer screen as what appeared to be a local courier van pulled behind the bus and stopped. Two men, both looking a lot like roadies, exited the dark-colored vehicle and sta
rted walking toward the coach door.

  Hank bolted down the steps to greet them. A few minutes later, Rob saw the men pull a dozen cartons from the back of the van. According to the bill of sale he had been emailed in advance, each carton contained two dozen baseball caps, plus two-and-a-half pounds of un-inventoried merchandise.

  Hank quickly scanned the products, nodded, and sent the men on their way. By the time they had left the parking lot, the bus driver had completed his work of packing and stowing.

  Within minutes Hank boarded the bus and closed the door behind him. “The merchandise is stored, Mr. Evans.”

  “Good job.” Rob exhaled before he spoke. “I’ve called for your runner.”

  Hank nodded and grabbed his duffel bag from behind the driver’s seat. Five minutes later a car pulled in front of the bus. It would take Hank to the hotel, where he could sleep in preparation for tonight’s drive to their next tour stop.

  Most days, when there was no delivery, Hank had twelve hours to sleep, eat two or three good meals, relax, and shower at the hotel before they left for the next show. It was only on pick-up days his schedule was rushed. But Rob made it worth his time. Hank was no doubt the wealthiest music coach driver in the state of Tennessee.

  Now their connection had been made, Rob could also relax. He poured a glass of ginger ale over light ice, added a twist of lime, and settled back into his chair to tidy up loose ends before tonight’s show.

  CHAPTER 19

  Two days later – April 2

  Caleb tapped on Martin Ridge’s open door.

  “Yes, Samuels.” The older man never looked up. “Come in and have a seat.” He nodded to one of two antique wooden ladder-backs in front of his desk.

  “When are you going to get some better chairs in here?” Comfortable was not Ridge’s style. Not for furniture or conversations.

  “I like to keep my meetings short.”

  Caleb chuckled, lowering himself into one of the rickety chairs, and surveyed the clutter on his boss’s desk. “Think you’ll ever find the bottom of that thing?”

  Ridge frowned. “I know you didn’t come in here to reorganize my office. What’s on your mind?” He popped his knuckles. “It’s about the Kemp woman, isn’t it?”