Lost But Not Forgotten

by Roz Denny Fox

  The old man didn’t agree or decline. Foss burst out of the privy, halting any conversation. Gillian didn’t think she’d misread the empathy in the old man’s rheumy eyes. She mustered a smile for the farmer as Turpin shoved her outside and across the field, pushing her roughly into the plane.

  “What were you and the old geezer talking about?” he demanded as the plane soared aloft.

  “Melons,” Gillian said, gritting her teeth against Turpin’s fetid breath. “You know how men are when you ask about their work.”

  Capputo laughed. “If it wasn’t for our boss, that old fart would be rotting in an old folks home. See? The boss grants favors from time to time. He’s got a wife, but I hear he’s not averse to entertaining pretty women like you at his apartment in town. That’s where we’re going. Give him what he wants, maybe he’ll keep you around for a while.”

  Gillian’s eyes blazed. “I’d rather die than give a man like that one ounce of pleasure.”

  Lenny’s demeanor changed. “Nothing I hate more than an uppity broad.” He tightened her bonds.

  Gillian clamped her teeth shut on her anger. She’d show them, though. She had fight left in her.

  The remainder of the flight dragged, at this stage, Gillian just wanted it over and done with. She hadn’t slept much in two days. She wore borrowed clothes and desperately wanted a bath. Yet when they exited the plane in a spot she knew was rural Louisiana from the swampy odor, her heart almost thrashed out of her chest. It didn’t help that one of the men blindfolded her for a car ride.

  Over her pounding heart, Gilly started to identify familiar city noises about an hour later. Cars honking, street vendors hawking wares. The smell of flowers floated in the open windows along with heavy, humid air. Gillian knew instinctively that they were headed for the Quarter.

  The car slowed to a crawl. Gates creaked open on rusty-sounding hinges. They closed after the car passed through. Soon, she was dragged out of the back seat. Car doors banged shut, and she stumbled up concrete steps.

  Another door, a residence, she assumed, also scraped as it opened to whichever man knocked. Now the steps they ascended were carpeted. Thick and opulent carpeting, unless she missed her guess.

  They entered yet another door at the top of the stairs. Cigar smoke curdled her stomach. A den? A library? Maybe this was truly her final destination, Gilly thought, her knees beginning to knock.

  She was slammed into a chair and ordered to sit. Something hard was dropped into her lap. She recoiled at first. Until she realized it was her suitcase of precious cargo. An odd feeling of peace descended on Gillian.

  Time passed. Gillian grew tired of sitting in one place and shifted slightly to give her aching back relief. That was when she heard the door open and a heavy tread on the carpet. Suddenly her blindfold was whisked off. She blinked once, twice. The low light filtering through iron-grated, mullioned windows spilled over a mahogany desk.

  Someone stepped out from behind her.

  Gilly lifted her eyes. Then her mouth curved into a smile. “Conrad! Thank God.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “How—? Where—? Oh, please, unwrap this tape.” She lifted her arms, which had been resting on the suitcase.

  Her ex-brother-in-law reached out a hand and slapped her so hard, Gilly’s already aching head almost spun off her shoulders. Surprise and an iron will kept her from falling out of the velvet chair. “You,” she whispered through the coppery taste of her own blood. “No,” she said, her voice rising hysterically. “I don’t believe you’d have Daryl killed. Conrad, for God’s sake! Not your own brother. Daryl worshiped you.”

  “Not me. You. And the head of this outfit will kill us both unless you give me that key,” McGrath snarled. “I brought Daryl onboard. I really thought after he got smart and divorced you, he’d be a valuable asset. But between you and that damned interfering Patrick Malone, my little brother developed a conscience. Well, make no mistake. I have no such compunction. I want the key and the address where Daryl hid all that information. I’m not letting either of you ruin what I’ve spent twenty years developing. I’ve got twenty-four hours to hand over that list to my bosses. I want it now, Noelle.”

  “I don’t have it, Conrad. Daryl never gave me a key.”

  “I know what’s in that suitcase, Noelle. I’m pulling off the tape around your wrists, and you’ll open it and get me the key, or I’ll incinerate everything in there while you watch.”

  “I don’t have any key! God in heaven, you’ve got to believe me. I’ve searched this case over and over. Also the car Daryl provided, and the other bag he packed for me. You had him killed before he could finish,” she accused.

  Conrad hit her again. This time, Gillian did fly off the chair and lay sprawled on the floor. She huddled there, mentally preparing for death. But the outer door opened and a small man with downcast eyes called to Conrad. “Sir?”

  “What, dammit? Get out. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “Sorry, but there’s a man at the front door asking to see you. A man with a limp. He’s quite insistent that I interrupt whatever you’re doing to say he has something you want. A key, he said. Uh…of course I’ll send him away. Sorry to bother you.”

  “Wait!” McGrath roared.

  Gillian curled into a tighter ball. It could only be Mitch at the door. Her heart burst with love and relief. And yet a saner part of her wanted to scream at him to run. The madness glowing deep in Conrad’s eyes sent pinpricks of fear up her spine. Not for her. For Mitch.

  The warning died in her throat as her former brother-in-law jerked her up by the nape of her neck, breaking the fetish bear necklace Mitch had bought her in Sedona. Tiny turquoise-and-shell heishi beads rained over her suitcase, which had sprung open to spill its contents over Conrad’s expensive Oriental rug.

  Soundless tears ran down Gilly’s cheeks as she landed hard in the chair where he threw her.

  “Show him in, Ainsley. And set the Dobermans loose in case he brought backup,” Conrad instructed in a cold voice, striking terror in Gillian’s heart.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE MOMENT Mitch entered the room and saw Gillian’s swollen, tear-streaked face, fury more immediate than he’d ever felt raged through him. The handprint marring one side of her face torched a deep, white-hot rage in his belly.

  Yet one wrong move could blow apart Bob Hall’s only chance at taking down this slimy bastard.

  Mitch clenched his hands tight against his sides and ground his back teeth. The man he guessed to be Conrad McGrath stepped calmly behind Gilly and pressed the nose of a Sauer P38 to her temple.

  Slow and easy, Mitch spread his hands and lifted them away from his sides to indicate he was unarmed. A rush of blood pumped furiously in his chest.

  McGrath backed toward his desk, and pushed a button on his phone. As Mitch had assumed, two musclemen appeared to frisk him none too gently. Not Capputo and Turpin—because Hall had picked them up leaving the residence. But these men looked equally nasty.

  “Hey, take it easy,” he growled. “I’m not packin’. I came to deal. Mitch Valetti’s the name.” He didn’t extend his hand; if he did, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from punching McGrath’s lights out or wringing the SOB’s neck.

  McGrath smirked. “We’ve had reports on you, Valetti. Turn him upside down and inside out, Beau. The minute a key falls out, you have my permission to dispose of all this trash.” He tapped Gilly’s head with his gun, sending Mitch’s temper soaring higher.

  He dared not look at her face or he’d lose it for sure. “You’re not bargaining with a fool, McGrath.”

  “No, I’m parlaying with a pig.”

  A muscle jumped in Mitch’s jaw. He made himself laugh. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for me to disagree. I’m the one trying to make ends meet on the state’s paltry retirement pay.”

  Conrad’s eyes glittered with a new light as he weighed what Mitch had implied—that money mattered more than principal.

  Gillian stared at Mitch, a
nd she almost hyperventilated in disbelief. How could she have read him so wrong? He was one of those cops on the take.

  Her heart dropped end over end. The scene in the room grew fuzzy around the edges, as once again nausea threatened.

  Mitch absorbed her reaction because he needed to play a game more intricate than chess. There must be no missteps that some slick lawyer could pounce on and use against them later in court. He wanted this scum put away. For good.

  “How much, Valetti? And what makes you think the people I work for will let you walk after we get the key?”

  Mitch shook his head. “The key isn’t any piece of metal, McGrath. Surely you knew your brother better. His key’s in the form of a numerical code.” So, he thought as he spoke, Conrad’s not the ringleader of this organization.

  “Damn it to hell.” Conrad faltered for the first time since Mitch had come into the room. “I could have Beau and Sal beat the information out of you.”

  “You could try.” Mitch spread his legs and crossed his arms. “On the other hand, why not work together? The FBI’s breathing down our necks. I had a devil of a time shaking them after the truth hit me. I can take you where Daryl hid his list, and you’ll be able to appease your boss. I can do that now—after I see half a mil in cash. Once you burn Daryl’s list, the FBI’s got nothing on you.”

  “Don’t do it, Mitch.” Gillian strained away from Conrad as she pleaded.

  Before the words were out he clipped the side of her head with the butt of his revolver. “Shut up! I’m trying to think this through.”

  Beau spoke up. “You want me to call and ask Mr. Calofonzo what we should do?”

  “Hit her again,” Mitch warned in a low, deadly voice, “and the deal’s off.”

  “No,” Conrad snapped at both men. Facing Mitch, he added, “My brother’s slut isn’t part of any deal. Daryl’s reason for turning on us was to impress Noelle and get her back. He actually told me that! If he’d stuck with me, he would’ve been set for life. Daryl didn’t need her. She’s to blame for all this. I intend to see her dead.”

  Mitch felt his gut churn. Again, he couldn’t glance her way. “Then kill us both right now and take your chances with the FBI.”

  Beau, clearly muscle for someone above McGrath, stepped forward. “Sal and me can do ’em anyway. What’s to stop us once we get Daryl’s stuff? The boss wants that list.”

  “Don’t you understand, Beau? The feds know Valetti’s here,” Conrad screeched, obviously starting to come apart.

  Mitch knew he didn’t have much time. There was dissension in the ranks. And Bob Hall had given him only half an hour in which to negotiate. Then agents would drop out of helicopters onto the roof. Obviously McGrath was feeling squeezed from both sides. He couldn’t decide which way to jump. Mitch knew the slightest provocation could touch off a gun battle that might leave Gilly and him dead.

  “The list is waiting,” Mitch said, prodding Conrad to decide. “One thing I’ll tell you—it’s always been in Daryl’s house.”

  “You lie,” Beau fumed. “We tore his house apart.”

  “Without me,” Mitch said directly to Conrad, “you’ll never find Daryl’s hiding place. Agent Hall might figure it out, though. I was with him when I guessed the code.”

  “All right. Everybody shut up! Valetti, you, me and Sal will go to Daryl’s to see if you’re telling the truth. Noelle stays here with Beau. You’ll get your money when I have the list in hand.”

  “Try again. I checked you out, McGrath. Half a mil is chump change to your organization. I say you put the money together while I help my woman pick up her beads. Then we’ll all go to Daryl’s. One big happy family.” Mitch’s smile matched Conrad’s earlier one for icy shrewdness.

  “I won’t go a step with either of you,” Gillian declared stoutly, although it was awkward to talk with a swollen jaw.

  Mitch dealt her a glance that shut her up as he went down on one knee and began placing necklace pieces in her suitcase. When a bead pinged off Katie’s urn, Mitch touched the vase, letting one finger softly trace the child’s name.

  Gillian saw the look on Mitch’s face. Conrad didn’t. His expression gave her new hope—maybe Mitch wasn’t a cop gone bad. Maybe things weren’t what they seemed….

  Conrad tucked the revolver in his belt, watching Mitch rise, leaving Gilly to finish and close her case.

  McGrath gave Mitch a light punch on the arm. “Calofonzo can use a man like you. All the big man has to do is snap his fingers, and he can get you a chick younger and prettier than Noelle. Whadaya say, Valetti?”

  “It’s a tempting offer.” Mitch rocked back on his boot heels, pretending to consider. “Except I own a sweet little horse ranch in Arizona. And the difference between us, Conrad…I’m not greedy. I have a hankering to keep this woman barefoot, pregnant and down on the farm.” Mitch winked, guffawing raucously enough, he hoped, to cover Gilly’s look of revulsion.

  McGrath began to sweat. “I don’t know. The boss already has people in your state. But…once you sign a receipt for the half mil, you’re in our pocket.”

  Like hell. Mitch smiled to hide the thought he was afraid might show in is eyes.

  A lock of rust-colored hair flopped over Conrad’s forehead giving him the look of a crazed bantam rooster.

  Mitch tipped forward on the balls of his feet. He wasn’t foolish enough to trust Conrad, under any circumstances. Mitch had never heard of Calofonzo, but he knew the type. It didn’t matter how high up Conrad had been. In recruiting Daryl, he’d made a mistake. The net was closing at both ends, and McGrath had to realize his livelihood—and his life—were in jeopardy.

  “Sal. Bring the Lincoln Town Car around.” Spinning, Conrad leveled a warning at Mitch. “Anything goes wrong, here or at Daryl’s, Beau will kill Noelle first and you second.”

  Keeping his eyes cold, Mitch inclined his head minimally. Inside he shouted yes, yes, yes. “Gilly, if you’ve found all your beads, get ready to leave.”

  “Gilly?” Conrad turned from an open wall safe.

  “I like her first name better than her middle one, which Daryl preferred,” he explained, countering Conrad’s uneasy regard.

  Gillian obeyed without question, although her fingers shook so hard she had difficulty snapping the locks on the case. She hated them all. Her only hope now was the absent FBI. Where were they?

  Within minutes, Conrad produced a duffel bag filled with stacks of cash. Mitch made himself concentrate on the haul Bob would make once he and Gilly were in the clear. His main fear continued to be that she’d talk to him on the ride and risk spoiling the impression he’d carefully created for the benefit of Conrad and his henchmen. The impression of a collaborator, a man as corrupt as they were.

  Fortunately, the car was big and Conrad split them up. He was no one’s fool, either. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have climbed this high in the organization. Mitch found it interesting that Daryl was his brother’s weak link. Daryl McGrath might well turn out to be Gillian’s hero in all of this.

  However much Mitch longed to press his face to the darkened windows and make sure Hall’s agents were stationed along the route as planned, he forced himself to relax. Luckily it was a short drive to Daryl’s more modest home. Mitch tried to forget that the man had lived here with Gillian. To forget they’d made baby Katie here.

  Without being told, Sal drove down a back alley. He stopped at the rear of the house. Mitch hadn’t counted on that. He had to trust that Bob’s men saw them and would adjust their strike accordingly.

  He held his breath when Beau suggested taking a look around the property. Down the street should be a crew of three putting out traffic cones. The workmen, really agents, would block the street at both ends, sealing off traffic from gunfire they had to anticipate.

  Mitch’s stomach felt jumpy.

  Across the street, another agent should be posing as a roofer. His truck would appear to be filled with supplies, but under the tarp were four additional agents from the New
Orleans office. As well, if all went according to plan, in a field nearby sat a DEA helicopter carrying Bob himself.

  Beau stuck his shaggy head in Conrad’s lowered window. “A few dudes working down the street. One’s in the manhole, and a couple more are unloading red cones.”

  McGrath stiffened. Mitch felt him and remained as loose as he was before.

  “They look real. They’re wearing city coveralls and they’re sweaty.”

  “This is normally a quiet street. Okay. Let’s do this and do it quick. Sal, you stay in the car and keep the engine running.”

  Watching McGrath yank Gilly out of the car made Mitch ram his fists in his front jeans pockets. We’re so close, he kept telling himself. Don’t fly off the handle and wreck it now.

  Mitch shouldn’t have been shocked by how fast Beau picked the lock on Daryl’s back door. But criminals’ abilities never ceased to amaze him.

  “Okay, Valetti,” Beau muttered. “Which room?”

  “Living room,” Mitch said, moving unerringly into the room with the flagstone fireplace.

  “Find the safe and make it fast. This place gives me the creeps.”

  “It ought to, you bastard,” Gillian hissed over top of the suitcase she had wrapped tightly in both arms. “Your own brother bled to death on the front porch, thanks to you.”

  Too fast for Mitch to react, Conrad cuffed her hard upside the head. She sank like a rock, the suitcase breaking her fall.

  Conrad stepped over her prostrate form, training the gun on Mitch. “Daryl should’ve listened to me about her. In a way, his blood is on my hands. But if you’re smart, Valetti, you’ll realize two dead bodies more or less won’t matter. Tell Beau where to find the stash or watch Noelle die. If the list is there, I’ll be nice and kill you first.”