by Kathy Ivan
“Not much. It was rented out of Dallas under the name Sharon Berkley. Of course, the name and address are fake. The photocopy of the driver’s license is such poor quality, the picture’s useless. The company is sending me security camera footage, but I haven’t got it yet. There are dozens of fingerprints all over the car. Should have something there soon. Serena said Drury wasn’t wearing gloves, so his prints have got to be there. How’d it go on your end?”
“Lousy. Drury’s wife alibis him for the entire time. Of course, she’s lying through her teeth, but until I’ve got more than her word, I can’t place him anywhere near the scene. We need those fingerprints. Thought I might have a chance to break the wife, but barely got started before everything went sideways. Funny, he showed up right after I started talking to her. My gut says somebody tipped him off. He showed up and immediately asserted his innocence, claimed to know nothing about any accident or attempted kidnapping. And the good wife backed up his story.”
Antonio slowed as the construction alert flashing arrow on the interstate directed traffic over, narrowing down to one line. The construction, on top of not breaking down Drury’s alibi, kept his temper bubbling just beneath the surface. He hit the horn when an idiot in a Mercedes swerved in front of him at the last second, merging into the congested highway. Good thing his weapon was in the glove box, or he might’ve been sorely tempted to do a little target practice on the idiot’s tires.
“How’s Serena?”
“Doc Stevens says she’s good. They ran a couple more tests, and if she doesn’t have any problems, they’ll spring her first thing in the a.m.”
Antonio breathed a sigh of relief. He hated seeing her lying in the clinic’s bed, pale and bloody. When she’d finally opened her eyes, his whole world righted itself, where before it felt upside down and inside out. The entire ride in the back of the ambulance to the clinic, he’d prayed, begging for God to grant him a miracle and heal her, and his prayers had been answered.
“Williamson dropped by and talked to Serena,” Rafe added, his tone smug. “Gotta say, he wasn’t what I pictured. I thought all you FBI guys wore suits and ties, and acted all snooty.”
“Bite me.”
His brother’s laughter proved he’d taken his comeback in fun. “Seriously though, he seems to have a good head on his shoulders. Said he talked with Serena, and she mentioned something Drury said at the scene.”
“What?”
“Serena was his ticket to freedom and he meant to cash it in. Any idea what he meant?”
Antonio thought about the words. “Not a clue. You?”
“Nope. I’ve been reading up on the trial. Serena’s testimony was definitely the lynchpin to putting Berkley away. Without her testimony and the evidence she provided, he’d still be out instilling fear with his reign of terror.”
“Drury’s got several lawyers working with him on Big Jim’s case, but he’s the only one who’s personally visited Berkley in prison. Not unusual, I guess, but there’s something about this whole scenario that seems off. It stinks like rotten fish.”
Traffic stopped dead, cars idling in place, and Antonio was sorely tempted to get off the freeway and drive the service roads, but that would take just as long as inching along in bumper-to-bumper congestion, even with the sporadic stops and starts. He looked up at the beep of another incoming call, the screen showing an unknown number.
“Bro, I’ve got another call. Let me call you back.”
“No problem.”
Disconnecting from Rafe, he swiped to accept the other call, hoping it wasn’t some telemarketer who’d regret calling him. He was in the mood to tear somebody up one side and down the other, metaphorically speaking.
“Hello.”
“Is this Antonio Boudreau?” The voice was distorted and tinny-sounding, obviously filtered through a synthesizer of some sort. Who’d want to disguise their voice?
“Yes, who’s this?”
“I have information, dirt you’ll find very informative, on a case you’re working.”
Antonio sat straighter in his seat, his curiosity piqued. “What kind of information?”
“Answer a question for me, and I’ll give you everything you need.”
Great, another whack job. Wonder how he got my number?
“I’ll bite. What’s the question?”
“How’s Sharon?”
Antonio slammed on the brakes, barely missing rear-ending the car in front of him. “What did you say?”
“I know you’ve found her. Tell me she’s alright.”
“Who is this?” The command in his voice was absolute. He wasn’t going to tell whoever this was a thing about Serena, but he couldn’t help wondering how the caller knew he’d found her.
“I’m not an idiot, Mr. Boudreau. I know you’re in your car, so you can’t trace the call easily, and by the time you do, I’ll be long gone. I’m not stupid enough to stay on the line long anyway. This phone will be destroyed after I hang up, so don’t bother trying to find me. It’s a simple quid pro quo. Answer my question, and I’ll tell you where you can find enough dirt to keep Big Jim Berkley in prison, and ruin any chance he has for his upcoming appeal.”
Could he risk it? He didn’t have time to come up with a ploy, some way to keep the mysterious caller on the line. Out of options, he did the only thing he could.
“Sharon’s fine.”
“Mr. Boudreau, I know about the accident. How badly was she hurt?”
Antonio’s heartbeat sped up at the caller’s revelation. How could they know? Nobody outside of Shiloh Springs, except Williamson, knew they’d even found Serena, much less about the car accident. Unless the caller was Drury. It was the only explanation. Maybe he wanted the information so he could come back and finish what he’d started.
“I said she’s okay. She’s got a mild concussion, some cuts and bruises.”
“She’ll fully recover?”
“That’s right.”
Antonio heard a soft sigh over the speaker. It almost sounded like the caller was relieved, which would rule out Drury. Except Drury hadn’t wanted Serena dead. He’d said she was his ticket to freedom. If she died, he couldn’t use her for whatever he’d intended.
“You sound concerned. Do you know Sharon?”
There was a moment’s hesitation. “I do—did—a long time ago. I was glad when she got away from…all her family’s mess.” Antonio struggled to hear, as the call signal began cutting in and out. Not now! I have to find out who this is and what they know.
“If you care about her, tell me what you know. Help me keep her safe.”
“I’m texting you information for a safe deposit box. I’m also overnighting a notarized authorization to access the box, as well as the key. Inside, you’ll find what I promised.”
“Wait—”
Before he could say another word, the call disconnected. Antonio slammed his hand against the steering wheel, frustrated he hadn’t gotten more from the unidentified caller. Seconds later, the text alert dinged, again from the mystery caller. It gave the name of a bank in Dallas and the number to the safe deposit box. There was also a tracking number from an overnight courier. Strangely enough, the address the package was addressed to was the Shiloh Springs Sheriff’s office. Antonio chuckled at the irony.
He dialed his brother. “Want to hear something strange?”
Rafe laughed. “Lately, has there been anything not strange, bro?”
“I got a call from an unknown number. They wanted to know if Sharon was okay.”
“Wait…what? How’d they even know we’d found her?”
“They wouldn’t answer, but the caller said they had enough information to keep Big Jim in prison for good, and avoid having to go through with the appeal.”
“That’s great news, but doesn’t answer the question about Serena, does it? What’d you tell ’em?”
“She was fine. Funny, they knew about the car accident, though they didn’t mention anything about Drury. The v
oice was disguised with some synthesizer, and they told me not to bother trying to trace the call, because it was a burner and they were going to destroy it as soon as our call was over.”
“Covering all their bases. Whoever it is, they’re smart.”
Antonio agreed with his brother. Whoever the caller was seemed to know a lot about Big Jim and Serena. Which meant they were probably smack dab in the middle of the whole case.
“He texted me info on a bank in Dallas, where there’s a safe deposit box containing all the information he or she has on Berkley.”
“Do you think they’re telling the truth?” Rafe’s skepticism was apparent in his tone and his question. Antonio got it. Too much of this case had bordered on people lying, this might be one more person to add to the mix.
“My gut says yes.”
“Do you think Williamson can get a warrant for the safe deposit box? Today’s Sunday, which might be a problem.”
“Here’s the thing. The caller also overnighted a package. Said it contained notarized authorization for the safe deposit box and the key to the box. Get this, he’s sending it to your office.”
“You’re kidding! Takes some big brass ones, I’ve gotta say.”
“It’s coming by private courier, so it’ll probably get there pretty early. I plan on being at the sheriff’s office bright and early. As soon as the package arrives, I’ll head to Dallas and see what’s in the safe deposit box.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Appreciate it, but, no. I need you to stay with Serena. Get her back to the Big House and keep her safe.”
“Williamson can send FBI guys to—”
“Nope, this is too important to trust anybody else.” Antonio paused, weighing his words carefully before he continued. “Bro, she’s too important. I can’t let anything happen to her. I’ve failed once, not keeping her safe. If anything happens to her, I…” He let his words trail off.
“I’ll guard her with my life. Nobody will get to Serena. Nobody.” He heard the resolve in his brother’s voice, the promise he’d protect the woman Antonio loved. Because there was no denying it, no more hiding from the truth. He was in love with Serena Snowden, Sharon Berkley, whatever she wanted to call herself. He didn’t care what her name was, he loved the woman he’d gotten to know over the past year. Somehow, some way, she’d snuck under his defenses and become as important to him as his next breath.
“Let’s end this once and for all.”
“What about Drury?”
Antonio scrubbed his hand over his face, and wished he was back home, instead of sitting in the traffic that hadn’t moved in thirty minutes. He gave a self-deprecating laugh as he realized he’d thought about Shiloh Springs as home. Guess it helped make the decision which had been plaguing him for months. He wanted to come home for good.
“I’ve got somebody keeping an eye on him. He’ll let me know if Drury does anything suspicious. A buddy from the Dallas office who volunteered to spend a couple of days watching the house and Drury. He’s good.”
“Then come home, bro.”
“I am.”
Coming home to stay.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Antonio followed the guard back to the bank manager’s office. The courier with the promised package had shown up at the sheriff’s office at close to ten a.m., and only then after multiple phone calls to the company to get the courier there ASAP. He’d tossed around his weight with the FBI to light a fire under them, and had driven like a cat with its tail on fire straight through to Dallas, with the safe deposit box key and the authorization to access the box.
“Mr. Boudreau, I understand you have some paperwork I need to look at.”
The bank manager stood in the open doorway leading to her office. A middle-aged woman in a business suit, she personified the stereotypical bank employee, right down to the sensible shoes and upswept hair style. Though she smiled, it didn’t reach her eyes, and Antonio had the feeling she was going to be a real hard case.
“I have a letter authorizing me access to safe deposit box one six seven two nine. I also have the key for said box.” He handed her the notarized document, and watched her do a cursory scan of its contents.
“I’ll need to check our files. Please, come in.” She walked around the big dark cherry-stained desk, its opulence and design spoke volumes about the wealth of the bank’s customer base. The bank was housed in one of the large downtown buildings, right in the heart of Dallas, its chrome and glass and steel cold and impersonal, and probably owned the whole thing. Exactly the type of place somebody with oodles of money would think it safe.
Leaning against the doorjamb, he strove to appear nonchalant, though inside his emotions were a roiling pit of snakes. He tapped his cowboy hat against his thigh and took a deep breath, hoping against hope this information panned out and he hadn’t been led on a wild goose chase by somebody after Serena. The bank manager typed away on the computer, verifying the information he’d provided. He really didn’t want to waste any more time, but knew he needed to let the banker do her job, like he was doing his. Getting the goods on Berkley, keeping keep him behind bars, and keeping Serena safe was his number one priority, even if it meant playing nice with the bank.
“Mr. Boudreau, you are not listed as an authorized account user for this safe deposit box. I’m afraid—”
“Ma’am, the paperwork I presented you with is from the official account holder, authorizing my access to said safe deposit box. Access to the box is part of an ongoing FBI investigation. The appropriate notarized paperwork has been presented to a representative of the bank, namely you, and I have the key to said safety deposit box. Are you planning on impeding an FBI investigation and making me get a warrant? Because I can. I can also guarantee the feds will be all over your institution within a matter of hours, looking at every single piece of paperwork and every account you provide services for, resulting in some very unhappy customers.”
She straightened in her leather-bound chair until Antonio swore he could use her spine as a yardstick, a pinched expression tightening her lips before it smoothed away to a conciliatory smirk.
Gotcha.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Boudreau.”
“Agent Boudreau.”
“Agent Boudreau. Your paperwork appears to be in order. I’ll personally accompany you and make sure there’re no difficulties.”
Antonio barely refrained from rolling his eyes at her rapid backpedaling. The woman knew when to do a strategic retreat, and how to keep her facility from being overrun with an onslaught of IRS and Treasury Department agents. Of course, he’d been bluffing, mostly. He could get a warrant, and he knew Williamson would throw his weight behind Antonio because the Berkley case was big news, and keeping the monster behind bars would have many in Washington lending all kinds of muscle to get the job done.
Antonio followed the manager and was led to a separate room, where rows upon rows of locked drawers lined the walls like little soldiers, their contents sealed and secured within the bank. His heartbeat sped up and he swallowed once, pushing down the surge of adrenaline flooding through his body. This is it. He felt it in his gut. Whatever was inside the safe deposit box would keep Serena safe. Let her come out from beneath the shadow of Big Jim Berkley once and for all.
In less than a minute, the drawer was opened and the box placed on the table in the center of the room. It looked too small to contain something monumental, innocuous and unassuming in its simplicity. The bank manager and the security guard who’d accompanied them turned and left, leaving him alone.
Anticipation warred with the need to take things slow, proceed with an eye toward caution. This could be a trap. He still didn’t know who the mystery caller was or what his endgame might be. He hadn’t recognized the name on the notarized authorization, pretty sure it an assumed name, but again it was something to work on later. He’d get the FBI on it, and figure out who the box really belonged to, but right here and right now, he had bigger
fish to fry. He couldn’t wait any longer. Knowledge was power, and he needed power to stop Big Jim Berkley permanently.
He wasn’t sure what he expected when he flipped open the lid to the box. Certainly not the innocent-appearing envelope lying inside, sealed only with the metal clasp attached. His shoulders slumped as he reached inside, pulled out the sheath of papers and began flipping through each one.
With every page he scanned, his smile grew, because his mystery caller had been right. If this information was legit, it was enough—no, more than enough—to keep Big Jim locked away in solitary for the rest of his days.
Pulling out his cell phone, he snapped pics of each page. He wasn’t taking any chances. He wanted backups of all the incriminating evidence against James Berkley. Backups of those backups. With the push of a button, he e-mailed them to SAC Williamson and to his brother, Rafe.
Shoving all the papers back into the envelope, he left the bank, feeling lighter than he had in days. For once, it looked like maybe the good guys were gonna win.
Big Jim shuffled down the hallway toward the visiting area. Hated the chains, what they represented. Restricting every movement. Inhibiting his freedom. They kept him shackled in the present, anchored to the here and now, and reminded him of his diminished power behind these prison walls. But not for much longer.
The orange jumpsuit would be the first thing to go, once the shackles got removed. He’d once again dress as befitting a man in his position, in the finest silks and designer suits, not scratchy cotton. Freedom was close enough he could feel its warm breath on his skin like a lover’s caress. Patience had never been his strong suit, but he’d learned in his time behind bars to savor each small victory, because in the end, he’d come out a winner. Anything else was unacceptable.
The shove from the guard’s hand in the middle of his back caused him to stumble, and he righted himself with a snarl. Instead of cowering in fear, which should have been the guard’s first response, he laughed. Heat rose from the center of Big Jim’s chest, flooding him with the desire to dig his hands into the guard’s throat and tear the flesh from his bones. Yet he couldn’t, not yet. Soon, it was only a matter of time, this guard and all the others like him would pay for the way they’d treated him. Once he was outside, walking free, he’d show them all what real fear felt like.
