Deadly Commitment: The Deadly Secrets Series

by Kathy Harris

  “We have a new development. I saw her this morning.”

  A quick retort almost escaped the older man’s lips, but he hesitated, frowning instead. “Well, go ahead.”

  “Someone followed her to—and from—Iowa last week.”

  Ridge’s interest peaked. “Who?”

  “She didn’t recognize him.”

  His supervisor studied the top of his desk as though the answer was written there.

  “And there’s more.”

  Ridge looked up.

  “She’s been contacted by Valentino Ramirez.”

  A slow smile spread across Ridge’s face. “Well, well. It appears we have awakened the sleeping giant.”

  Caleb nodded and settled back into his chair. “Apparently he paid a visit to the restaurant when she was out of town.”

  “So . . . she didn’t see him?”

  “No.” Caleb pulled the plastic bag from his pocket and dangled it midair. “But he left his card.”

  “With . . . ?”

  “Her associate.”

  Ridge smiled again. Something Caleb didn’t usually see twice in one day, much less in the same meeting.

  “It looks like that break-in at Evans’s place shook some people loose.” Ridge cocked his head. “But Ramirez in Nashville? That’s unexpected.”

  “Yes, if it was Ramirez.” Caleb countered. “It could have been someone calling himself by that name.”

  “Exactly.” Ridge scowled, rapping his knuckles on the arm of his chair. “I have a hard time believing the big boss would actually show up in Nashville.”

  Caleb returned the bag to his pocket and prepared to leave. “I’ll run prints.”

  Ridge leaned back into his chair. “For what it’s worth, I’m hearing that the FBI now has someone on the inside. Your hunch has been spot-on since the beginning of this, Samuels.

  “Thank you, sir.” Caleb stood.

  “We’ll know more when we meet with them this afternoon.”

  “Great. In the meantime, I’ll set a meeting with the Kemp woman, her associate, and our sketch artist. We’ll get to work on a composite for both men.”

  The main floor receptionist called Caleb at ten till two. The team from the FBI had arrived early. He grabbed a notebook and stood, apparently too quickly, setting off a cramp in his leg.

  “Man, that hurts.” He mumbled to himself as he limped across the room. It was time to get back on the street. Sitting at a desk every day, as he had done since his encounter with a dog and a vase, had left him with stiff joints and lungs that ached for fresh air.

  He massaged his calf and hurried from his office, slamming the door behind him. This meeting had to go well. His place in the fight for justice was on the street, not pushing paperwork in a stuffy office building.

  Ridge greeted him at the conference room door. “Come in, Samuels.” Apparently, he was the last to arrive. The rest of the party was seated. “Gentlemen, let’s get started.”

  Martin Ridge lowered his husky frame into the chair at the end of the mahogany table. Caleb took the chair next to him.

  “Samuels, this is Mack Brown and Danny Parker of the DEA. And you know Sam Wiley from the FBI.”

  Caleb acknowledged each of the men, and then turned back to Ridge.

  “Samuels’s been our lead agent on the Evans case.” Ridge patted Caleb on the shoulder. “And he’s done some good work. Some very good work.”

  Ridge didn’t often compliment him, especially in a group setting, but Caleb knew his boss took great delight in the competition between agencies. So far, the TBI had bragging rights on this case. They had brought it to the Fed’s attention early on, and if it proved to be successful, they would be looking even better.

  Caleb’s seat faced the window that overlooked the Tennessee countryside, but the importance of today’s meeting assured him he would not get lost in the view.

  “I understand you’re good at what you do.” Wiley spoke first. “At least that’s what Captain Ridge here alleges.” He paused a beat, and then smiled. “I’ll have to agree with him. The information you’ve supplied—along with names—has opened up some very interesting leads for us.”

  Caleb nodded his thanks to Wiley and glanced at Ridge, who was beaming like the father of a winning high school star quarterback.

  “I’ve asked Mack and Danny to bring all of you up to speed.”

  The two DEA men took turns explaining to everyone on the TBI team how Caleb’s suspicions about Robert Evans had been substantiated. In fact they believed the entertainment manager was involved in something even bigger than what the TBI had suspected.

  “We’re waiting for key information before we make a significant move.” Wiley spoke directly to Caleb. “It’s my understanding you now have an informant.”

  Caleb exchanged glances with Ridge, who nodded.

  “She’s the girlfriend.” The thought made Caleb’s stomach turn. “We’re fairly certain she’s not involved. In fact, she’s willing to help us prove her boyfriend’s innocence.”

  Brown snickered. “That woman is either stupid or naive.”

  Caleb bit his lip.

  “But can we trust her?” Wiley didn’t appear to be convinced.

  “Yes.” Caleb scanned the faces on the far side of the table. “So far she’s handled herself very well. She’s willing to wear a wire, if needed, but we have been waiting for the right time and the word from you.”

  Caleb looked from Wiley to Ridge to make sure he should continue. “In fact she gave us some new information today.”

  Everyone locked focus on him.

  “She has apparently been approached by Valentino Ramirez.”

  “In person?” Wiley asked.

  “Yes.” Caleb shifted in his chair, leaning forward. “She was out of state last week to visit her father who was in the hospital, and when she returned she had a message that Mr. Ramirez had dropped by the restaurant where she works. He asked for her by name.” Caleb pulled the card, now encased in a plastic evidence bag, from his pocket and tossed it on the table. It landed in front of Brown. “Here’s the card he left for her. It has been tested for prints. They’re running them now, and we’ll let you know if the prints come back with anything.”

  Brown picked up the bag. “Do we know for sure it was Ramirez?”

  “I’m not sure how we could.” Caleb answered. “I’ve never seen a photo of him, have you?”

  The men across the table shifted in their seats.

  “Can we talk to the person Ramirez spoke to at the restaurant?” Wiley asked.

  “If you want to bring another person into the circle.” Caleb wasn’t so sure that was a good idea.

  Brown picked up the card and read out loud what was written on it. “Valentino Ramirez. Importing/Exporting 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. And there’s a phone number?” He looked to Caleb and then to Ridge “Do you mind if we check this out?”

  “Take it. It’s yours.” Ridge broke his silence. “But we want to know who you have on the inside.”

  The men across the table looked from one to the other. Wiley finally spoke.

  “Let’s just say this. We have someone close to being on the inside, someone who will be there soon if I know Evans like I think I do. He appears to have an ego the size of his bus.”

  Everyone in the room laughed.

  Wiley continued. “We have a young woman, actually an agent, who will be posing as a magazine reporter. She will contact Evans this week, asking for an interview.” He grinned. “And, if we’re right about him, he’ll agree to it in a heartbeat. Our gal is quite the looker, and Evans seems to love the ladies. I expect Cassia to help fill in some of the blanks we need.”

  Parker nodded in agreement. “We also have knowledge of a big shipment being planned. Our people are still gathering details, but when the time comes, it will be helpful if your informant will wear a wire. Once this thing starts falling together, it may be a landslide.”

  “More like a mudslide,” Brow
n snickered.

  Caleb could feel his jaw muscles tighten. Wearing a wire would put Danni Kemp’s life in jeopardy. Even more than it already was. But it had to be done.

  “We’ll get it done,” he agreed. “Whenever you need it.”

  Wiley nodded. “In the meantime, can we move quickly to get that artist sketch of Ramirez?”

  “Or the man who’s purported to be Ramirez.” Brown reminded them.

  Ridge looked to Caleb for a response.

  “The woman who saw him is an employee of Ms. Kemp’s. Right now, she has no idea what’s going. Or at least that’s my understanding. We will have to trust her.”

  “Whoever it is, she just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Let’s take that risk.” Wiley said.

  Ridge grunted his agreement, and the wheels in Caleb’s head started to turn.

  They would have to bring Jaycee Alexander up to speed with what was going on. He would first check with Danni to make sure her coworker was a woman of integrity, someone who could keep her mouth shut. And that would require another meeting with Danni Kemp tomorrow.

  That thought pleased him.

  CHAPTER 20

  The next day – April 3

  Rob’s phone rang as he stared out the bus window, bored with the monotonous geography rolling past. He answered without noting the caller ID.

  “Robert Evans?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Cassia Noelle of Celebrity Lifestyles magazine. How are you today?”

  “I believe that question is better answered with a question. How did you get my number?”

  A beat of silence.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Evans. I didn’t mean to bother you, but your assistant, Melissa James, gave me your number. She said you would be happy to speak with me.”

  Melissa should know better than that. And for what it was worth, this Cassia Noelle woman didn’t sound very sorry.

  “Ms. Noelle, I don’t usually handle publicity for my artists. You will need to speak with our pub—”

  “Mr. Evans, I—I . . . may I call you Robert?”

  This woman was aggressive. He had to admit he liked that. And her voice was quite appealing.

  When he didn’t respond, she continued. “I’m not calling for a story on one of your artists. I’m calling because I would like to do a story on you.”

  Really?

  “Ms. Noelle, I believe I owe you an apology. Let’s start this conversation over.” He exhaled a long, obvious breath. “Hello . . . and how are you today?”

  She laughed. “Please call me Cassia.”

  The woman had a provocative laugh.

  “And please call me Rob.”

  “It’s a beautiful day in Los Angeles, Rob. What’s the weather like where you are?”

  “I’m in Arkansas, and we’re enjoying an invigorating forty degrees.” He checked his phone for the current temp and her caller ID. “Although I’m riding in a very cozy bus, rolling along the highway.”

  “I understand you’re on tour with several of your acts?” It was more of a question than a statement. She appeared to be referring to notes.

  “What else do you know about me, Cassia? That’s a beautiful name, by the way.”

  “Thank you. It’s biblical, actually.” Her voice smiled. “And I know just enough about you to be intrigued. That’s why I’d like to interview you.”

  “Well, as I said. I’m in the middle of the country. Quite a long way from you. And unfortunately I don’t expect to be in Southern California anytime soon, so I’m not sure—”

  “That’s an easy fix. I’ll come to you.” She offered the statement so matter-of-factly she must have some clout. Or a significant travel budget. A good indication the magazine had credibility—not that he read the rags. He preferred Business Week or the Wall Street Journal.

  He initiated an Internet search of Celebrity Lifestyles magazine.

  “Just how much of a budget does your publication have?”

  He found the listing before she could answer. Circulation, one million. Published monthly since 2002.

  She laughed. “Our editors travel all the time for our bigger features. And . . . oh, I wasn’t going to say anything about it yet, but this will likely be a cover story. Most likely for our August issue.”

  Rob allowed his mind to drift for a bit, enjoying the idea of a magazine cover featuring his face on display at newsstands and airport coffee shops across the country.

  “Mr. Evans?”

  “Sorry . . . I was just thinking. If you’re doing a cover story, I assume you will have a photographer with you?”

  “Yes, I will. You’re reading my mind.” She had that smile in her voice again. “When and where do you suggest we meet up?”

  “I’m in the Arkansas right now. But I will be in Idaho, Oregon, and then Montana in two weeks. Does the Big Sky country work for you?”

  “That’s perfect! We can do some great location shots there.”

  Rob ran through the possibilities . . . “Would you please work the details out with Melissa?”

  “That sounds lovely! I’ll give her a call.”

  “I look forward to meeting you, Cassia.”

  “It’s mutual, Rob! Our audience loves unusual lifestyle stories like yours. In fact I’m a bit jealous of your being able to wake up each morning in a different city. It sounds like such fun.”

  “It can be. It’s something I’ve worked toward for a long time.”

  “There’s nothing like living your dream, is there?” She sighed. “I also understand you operate using a new model for artist management. Everything we’ve heard about you is fascinating, and I know our readers will enjoy the story.”

  “I do things a bit uniquely. I have artists in all stages of their career, and I like to think my hands-on approach is why they do so well.” He leaned back in his chair and recited his roster of entertainers. “Ask Melissa to send you a press kit on each act. When we talk, I can explain how I’ve gotten them to each stage in their careers.”

  “That sounds great. I’ll see you soon, then.”

  If Cassia Noelle was as attractive as her voice, he would enjoy that indeed.

  Danni pulled her Ford Escape into an empty loading zone near the back entrance of the restaurant. The sun had yet to come out from behind the clouds this morning, and a few snowflakes swirled about the cityscape, the crystals disintegrating upon impact with the hood of her car.

  The southernmost portion of First Avenue North in front of her disappeared into the horizon beyond Lower Broadway, its thin strip of pavement cutting a path between the Cumberland River, with Fort Nashboro clinging to its banks, and the aging red brick façades of eighteenth-century warehouse buildings turned twenty-first century restaurants, bars, offices, and retails stores. Amoré sat squarely in the midst of them in Nashville’s Second Avenue Historic District, surrounded by two streets and an alleyway running along one side.

  Danni pulled her jacket closer as she stepped out of the car. It was cool, not cold, like the freezing temps her home state was still experiencing. She’d heard on the news this morning that Cedar Rapids had received a foot of snow, with more expected tomorrow.

  Tennessee was looking better all the time.

  She had been thrilled with the opportunity to move south shortly after graduating from Iowa State in business accounting and hospitality management five years ago, and now, like all seasoned Nashville residents, she had come to expect unusual weather in early-to mid-April. But today the wind was stirring up warmer temps for later this week.

  Danni popped her trunk and slung her handbag over her shoulder before bending forward to lift a box of cocktail napkins out of the car. Jaycee had asked her to reroute by way of the restaurant supply store this morning so she could pick them up. Her chef had said it was because they were running low on inventory, but Danni suspected it was more of a ploy to make sure Danni drove her car to work. Her friend hadn’t stopped pestering her about the dangers of the fi
ve-block walk to and from the restaurant, especially during late nights.

  Although the box was heavy, it rested much lighter on Danni’s shoulders than her concern about a man she’d never met. Valentino Ramirez. She hadn’t stopped thinking about him since witnessing Caleb’s reaction yesterday.

  Who was Ramirez? And why had he paid her a visit?

  If the mention of his name made Rob stutter and Caleb go silent, she wasn’t certain she wanted to know the answer to those questions. But not knowing what she was up against was the least appealing of her options. She couldn’t fight the battle until she understood who the enemy was. Nor could she move on with Rob until she understood which side he was on.

  Propping the backdoor of the restaurant with her foot, she shimmied inside with the heavy carton swaddled in her arms. Judging from the way her shoulders ached, it might be time to add weight lifting to her morning cardiac routine. At this point in life, her upper body workouts consisted of pushing a pencil and trying to keep a 150-pound dog from chasing squirrels. The former with much more success than the latter.

  Stepping inside Amoré brought memories of the young man who had been taken away from them. Michael’s death still haunted her. If it had anything to do with Ramirez—or Rob, God forbid—she had to know.

  That thought brought to mind an image of the man on the plane and at the airport. She had awakened last night with his face intruding on her dreams, adding to her sleep deficit. Operating on five and six hours a day wasn’t helping her skin tone or soothing the dark circles that had formed under her eyes. Hopefully it hadn’t yet affected her mental acuity at work. She had way too much to do. They had several special catering events coming up, and she didn’t need to let her mind linger on boogeymen who might never materialize.

  “Hey, let me help you with that.” Jaycee grabbed one corner of the box and walked backwards toward a large steel table in the center of the kitchen. “Let’s put it here for now.”

  “Are you sure? I can help you carry it to the storage room.”

  “One of the servers can do that. Besides, you have a guest to entertain.”