Betting on Both

by Sheryl Nantus

  Julien frowned. “That’s mighty small evidence to get a warrant on. Not that I know law, but . . .”

  “This is Katherine McMaster,” Cole growled. “They’ll get them.”

  He held himself at attention, as if ready to leap on anyone or anything nearby that presented itself as a threat. But Julien knew part of it was an act, the pain of losing Kat gutting him from the inside out.

  As it was doing to him. Cole couldn’t be suffering any less than he was, likely more due to his past.

  He’d lost two loves to violence. He sure as hell wasn’t going to lose another if he could help it. Julien could see it in his eyes, the way Cole’s attention darted around the room.

  God help whoever had taken Kat if Cole got to him first.

  Julien would be happy to take the leftovers.

  “Mr. Harrison?” One security officer looked at Cole. “We received a call from the New York offices. Mr. McMaster has moved up his departure time. He’ll be here in five hours, if not less.”

  “Wonderful.” Cole rubbed his face. “I’m going outside to get some fresh air. Any leads, anything, call me.”

  Julien fell into step beside Cole, noting the stares from the police as they left together.

  Obviously their relationship with Kat had come up in the briefing.

  He pulled back the urge to flip them his middle finger in annoyance.

  “They’re not going to find her,” he announced as Cole pushed the side door open. It led to the parking lot, around the corner from the crime scene, and far away from the newspeople gathering at the front.

  “Don’t say that.” Cole drew a deep breath, hands on his hips. He stared at the ground. “Don’t you dare say that.”

  “They’re cops.” Julien spread his hands. “They don’t know anything other than what they want to know. I’ve lived here all of my life. I’ve seen the way they deal with things. It’s gotten better since Katrina, but still . . .” He shook his head. “They should call in the FBI but they won’t, afraid of letting go. And by the time they pull their heads out of their asses long enough to put their pride aside and let the Feds in, it’ll be too late.”

  Cole glared at him. “They’ll do their job. They’ll find her because it’s their job.” The waver in his words told Julien he agreed with the manager’s assessment.

  Julien nodded. “That they will. But we have different reasons for finding her. We love her. That’s got to count for more than anything else right now.”

  “I can’t lose her,” Cole said. His tone left no room for discussion.

  “I know.”

  Julien’s phone rang. He scrolled through the text message and looked at Cole. “Tony, a friend of Clair’s who works at the Quelle Chance café, says he’s seen a delivery van parked in their alley all morning.”

  “So what?” Cole snapped. “It’s a restaurant. They get deliveries all day; all the nearby businesses should be getting them as well. What makes this one different?”

  “This one’s not one of the usual trucks. It’s a carpet cleaner’s van. There are no carpets in the café to be cleaned or replaced.” He turned his phone to show Cole the image.

  “She was taken by a florist’s van.” Cole studied the fuzzy picture.

  “She was,” Julien conceded. “But the security cameras show a black van with a white square stuck on the back, the flower design. Easily peeled off if it is a magnetic strip and not painted on.”

  Cole nodded. “Very possible. They’re running the sunflower insignia through the database; nothing so far. Could be false.”

  “What happened to Phil?” Julien asked. “Was he able to give any clues, any information about who attacked them?”

  “He said he smelled something before he was blinded.” Cole winced. “Something was tossed in his face. Some sort of chemical attack.” He shook his head. “I hate to say it, but thank God he stepped in front of Kat. If she’d taken the hit . . .”

  “How is he?” Julien demanded. They both had to stay focused, keep their minds off of anything negative.

  Cole rubbed the back of his neck. “They don’t think there’ll be any permanent damage. The screaming brought out Alfred and all the lobby staff. When they found him they poured water all over his face, helped rinse his eyes out.” He eyed Julien. “You’re thinking cleaning chemicals. Usually kept in a carpet cleaner’s van.”

  He paused and Julien saw the confusion in his stance, the waver in his step.

  Go back and tell the police.

  Go check it out himself.

  “It may be nothing,” Julien admitted. “But it may be everything.” He looked back at the door they’d come from. “Can they spare you to go check out a lead?”

  “I think they’d be glad for me to step aside. Right now I’m in the way.” Cole pulled out his own phone and tapped in a quick text. “I’m putting James in charge and telling them I’m taking a break. Going out to clear my mind before McMaster arrives.” He looked at Julien. “This tip of yours better be legit. If we’re wasting time running around and something happens to Kat I’ll—”

  “Hey.” Julien reached out and cupped the back of Cole’s neck in his hand, drawing him close. “I love her too. And no matter what happens we’ll find her.” He pressed his forehead to the bodyguard’s. “We will find her and bring her home to us.”

  The tension under his hand eased a fraction.

  “And we’ll make the bastard pay,” Cole added, without any hint of laughter.

  Julien chuckled. “Of that I have no doubt.”

  Robertson.

  The name came to Kat as she sat in the darkness, twisting her hands every which way she could to try and pull free.

  The duct tape held them secure and all she’d managed to do was scrape her wrists raw, the unyielding tape bunching up and pulling at her skin.

  The son of a bitch.

  Kat remembered his angry snarl as she fired him, remembered his cursing and swearing as he stomped out of the office. Cole had been ready to move, balancing on the balls of his feet and waiting for him to make a move, one move, toward her.

  Robertson had been smart and walked away.

  Now he was back and taking his revenge.

  She couldn’t stop shaking; a combination of anger and fear.

  It wasn’t like the man had been wronged. He’d received his back pay and she hadn’t sent the cops banging on his door to retrieve the supplies the bastard had stolen from the hotel.

  Including the very chemicals that had blinded Phil.

  She strained against the tape again, steadying herself.

  She wasn’t going to let the bastard win.

  Cole would be looking for her. Julien would be looking for her. The police would be hot on Robertson’s trail with her grandfather . . .

  Jacob.

  Kat closed her eyes and let the tears flow, remembering her last conversation with the senior.

  She sure as hell wasn’t going to leave this world with anger between them.

  She yanked and twisted, continuing her battle with the restraints. Soaked with sweat, she wondered if he’d left her there to dehydrate and die, alone and forgotten.

  Son of a bitch wouldn’t get off on that, Kat told herself. He wants you to suffer and he’ll want the money, whatever ransom he can get out of McMaster Industries.

  He’ll be back.

  “Robertson,” Cole growled as Julien pulled the car to the curb, a few blocks away from where the van had been spotted. He hadn’t had a problem letting Julien drive, his anger mounting. “I bet he’s the one who took her.”

  The last thing he needed was a road-rage incident.

  Besides, Julien knew the side roads and alleys better than Cole ever could. Most of these streets were barely more than carriage roads and likely not on any official map.

  “Kat fired his ass first day she was here. Asshole looked like he was going to take her on but backed out at the last minute.” He pressed his right fist against his left hand, rubbing hard. �
�Wish he had the balls to try it. I would have taken the fucker out.”

  “No one would have wept for him.” Julien nodded as they climbed out. “I remember the man.” He scowled. “He used to harass the female staff. Rude jokes, unwanted comments. I wish I’d been able to fire him; Kat might still be here with us.”

  “Didn’t you pick up that he was a damned thief?” Cole asked.

  “I did. I put together the documentation and registered the complaints. I recommended to my previous boss multiple times that he fire Robertson, but he told me not to worry about it. I suspected he was being paid off to look the other way, but I couldn’t prove that.” He looked along the street. “We clashed a few times before he learned to keep out of my way.”

  Cole stared at the busy crowds moving past them on the sidewalk. It was getting close to noon and the lunch migration had begun. “I can’t believe he has Kat anywhere near here. It’s too crowded and noisy.”

  “I can.” Julien led him down the street, maneuvering between clusters of excited tourists pointing at the brightly colored storefronts and snapping pictures with their cell phones. “A scream or a yell here won’t draw much attention. And who would pay attention to a carpet cleaner’s van? Hiding in plain sight.” He pointed at a sidewalk café, the neon yellow crescent moon sign swinging from the overhead brass rings. “In there.”

  The café was busy, customers going in and out with the staff bustling around carrying plates heaped with beignets and small cups of coffee.

  Julien slid effortlessly between the people and headed for the back, chattering to the staff in a mixture of French and English. Cole put his back against a dark varnished wooden pillar and waited. This wasn’t his world. If he’d learned anything during his tours overseas, it was that the local informants could hold the balance of power in their hands. He suspected if he stayed in New Orleans for decades he’d still be the “new kid in town.”

  Cole scanned the crowd. They appeared to be mostly tourists by the way they kept taking photographs of everyone and everything, including the still-warm beignets, admiring the sweet dessert with a sprinkling of sugar on top. They had no idea of the drama happening right under their noses.

  An image of Steve and May flashed into his mind’s eye, sending him thousands of miles away from New Orleans. He’d let them down; he hadn’t been with them when they needed him. They might have survived the attack if he’d been able to get to them in time.

  He wouldn’t let that happen again.

  Sweat trickled down his spine, his shirt sticking to his skin under the light blue windbreaker. The weight of the pistol against the small of his back kept him balanced, kept him focused.

  I’m coming to get you, he mentally yelled. He wasn’t a big believer in psychic abilities but this was New Orleans.

  Julien smiled and passed a twenty-dollar bill to a pretty young woman who kissed him on the cheek. He returned to stand next to Cole.

  “Okay. The van is still there in the back alley. Before they heard about our . . . situation, they sent out a dishwasher earlier to tell him to move it. The driver told him to screw off. Description matches Robertson. They were planning to deal with it after the lunch rush but then Angie there heard from Bert who—”

  Cole cut him off, not interested in the provenance of the tip. “Is the van still there?”

  Julien paused, taken aback by Cole’s direct question. “Yes. The manager said if he hadn’t heard about the kidnapping, he was going to give the guy another few hours, figured he was working nearby and didn’t have anyplace else to park. He gave me the impression the dishwasher was scared shitless by the driver so if they could avoid a confrontation, they would. Letting sleeping dogs lie and all that.” He studied Cole’s face. “It might not be them. Plenty of fools out there who look like Robertson.”

  “But it might be. And we’re wasting time standing here when we should be checking it out. No use calling in the police; they’re already stretched thin.”

  Julien held back a smile. Cole had no intention of letting anyone else get near that van if Kat was inside. “So how do you want to approach this?”

  “Okay.” Cole glanced over Julien’s shoulder at the bar. “We’ll need a little help from your friends.”

  Kat felt the van rock again, the sound of a man grunting and huffing in front of her breaking the silence.

  “You think you’re so smart,” Robertson said. “You think fixing up the Majestic is going to make you a big name.” His breathing was strained, as if he’d run a marathon. “I have to figure this out.”

  She chewed on the rag in her mouth, realizing the former employee didn’t have a plan, or not much of one. The lack of a proper place to hold her signaled he hadn’t seen much further than the initial attack.

  This could work both for and against her.

  A panicked kidnapper might decide to kill her out of fear, unable to see a way out of the situation. A prepared one would have a plan in place to demand a ransom and make sure the exchange could be made easily enough.

  He was also alone, or appeared to be.

  “I’ll get a lot of money for you,” Robertson murmured. “I need a place to put you though. Can’t have you lying here day and night.”

  Kat tugged again at her restraints. The duct tape was curling at the edges now but was still tight on her wrists.

  “You stay right there.” The van door opened with a squeal of metal on metal.

  Kat waited until the vehicle shook again before pulling her knees as high as she could, tucking them under her chin. Her shoulders ached and for a terrifying second she thought she was about to dislocate them but her bound hands slipped under the soles of her shoes, allowing her to bring them up in front.

  She scrabbled to pull the blindfold down and yank the rag from her mouth, drawing deep breaths to clear the dizziness from her mind. The air was rank with the same chemical smell, making it hard to focus on the task at hand.

  Kat spat on the van floor, trying to clear the last of the awful taste from her mouth.

  She wouldn’t have much time before her kidnapper returned.

  The problem was deciding what to do.

  Kat pushed herself into a sitting position and studied the inside of the van. It was filled with carpet-cleaning equipment, the long hoses twisted around like monster snakes. A white magnetic sign lay in the corner, the sunflower staring at her.

  A series of plastic containers sat in a box, holding a variety of chemicals. A spray bottle sat atop them, likely filled with the same liquid Robertson had shot into Phil’s face.

  She wasn’t going to give him the chance to do the same to her.

  Kat inched her way toward the front, praying Robertson had actually left and wasn’t standing outside. Her knees scraped against the bare metal and she was glad she hadn’t worn a dress to the office today.

  She wedged herself between the two seats and raised her head slowly, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight coming in from outside.

  They were in an alley, the tall stone walls rising on each side. She didn’t recognize the area, didn’t expect to. But they couldn’t be too far from the Majestic, and they were definitely still in New Orleans.

  For now.

  Kat turned to see Robertson standing by the left side of the van close to the driver’s door. He was talking rapidly on his phone, his other hand flying free as he punctuated his words. She couldn’t hear what he was saying but guessed it was a panicky rant, his original plan now mutating into something he might not be able to handle.

  Her thoughts flew back to Phil. She hoped he’d survived, kept his sight.

  That’s what Robertson’s original plan had been. Fake being a florist, get her over to the van with a story. Squirt the chemicals into her face and run as her face burned, maybe lose her vision forever.

  Instead Phil had taken the hit, forcing Robertson into improvising his revenge. The ex-employee had panicked and grabbed her while she was disoriented by the strong odors, tossed her in
to the van, and fled.

  It’d turned an assault into a kidnapping with the chance of getting much, much worse. Robertson was in deep; further than he’d planned.

  But he was going to pay. She wasn’t going to let him get away with it. The man was going to answer for attacking her and Phil.

  Kat studied the man. He wore the same coveralls he’d worn at the hotel, his reddening ears and face showing how nervous and angry he was getting with each moment.

  She might not have much time left to do something. If he came back and found her hands in front he might do more than just tie her up again and put her blindfold back on.

  A bulge in his front pocket caught her attention.

  Kat cursed as she recognized the outline of a pistol. It wasn’t large, maybe a small automatic like Cole carried.

  The man might be a fool but he was an armed fool.

  Robertson barked into his phone one last time before stabbing at the tiny screen with one fat index finger. He froze and looked down the alley, something drawing his attention away from the van.

  Kat followed his gaze.

  A figure came into sight at the end of the alley, staggering as he bounced off the wall with a loud laugh. The filthy dishtowel-turned-sunshade draped over his head flopped into his face, adding to his comical appearance.

  Kat squinted, her heart racing as she recognized Julien.

  But this wasn’t the suave, street-savvy man she loved.

  His white shirt was open to the waist, sticking to his skin where it had been splashed with red wine. His long hair was loose around his shoulders, flying free. His briefcase was nowhere in sight, and he dribbled wine from his mouth as he shuffled down the alley, the dirty towel waving back and forth to distort his features. He held a near-empty bottle of wine in his hand.

  Robertson frowned as he tucked the phone back in his pocket. He lifted his hand, palm out, toward Julien. He twisted from side to side, trying to get a clear view of the midday drunk stumbling through a back alley.

  Shit.

  She wasn’t sure if Robertson would recognize his old boss or not; the disguise was possibly enough to keep him guessing.