Deep Cover

by Rachel Butler

  He did recognize Selena at the easel a few yards away, brush in hand. “Damn, Selena,” he said with a wolfish grin as he strolled toward her. “All this new help might make a man feel you don’t trust him.”

  Her smile was cold-blooded as a snake. “I don’t trust you, Mr. Long. Why pretend otherwise?”

  He grinned again. “But you need me.”

  “I do. Just as you need me.”

  “For the time being,” he acknowledged.

  “Yes.” She cleaned the brush, then laid it aside and picked up another before meeting his gaze. “For the time being.”

  He picked up the brush, flicking the damp bristles across his finger. Imitating William’s most scathing look, she pulled it away and returned it to its place.

  Long gave her a smug smile and shoved both hands into his hip pockets. “Does William’s sister know you’ve made yourself at home here?”

  “It’s really none of her business.”

  “I don’t know . . . the family home . . .”

  She dabbed a few strokes of green paint on the canvas, then blended white over it with the same brush. “William was so certain that he could persuade me to join him that he put his estate under my control should anything happen to him. Mrs. Hamilton might not be happy about it, but I’m enjoying my inheritance.”

  The old man had been goddamn sure of himself, Damon acknowledged. He’d never seriously considered defeat, not even that day downstairs when Selena had turned her gun on him.

  He wasn’t considering defeat, either. “I don’t like you hiring new people without consulting me first.”

  “These people work for me. So do you.”

  “No. I’m working with you. Big difference.”

  “William left the business to me. The extent of your role, the freedom I allow you, is up to me.”

  The freedom she allowed . . . bitch. It was going to be such a pleasure to give her what she deserved.

  With a jerk of his head, he indicated the others. “How did you find these clowns?”

  Head tilted to one side, she studied him a moment before smiling thinly. “I know you like to think you were privy to everything William did, but that wasn’t the case. Even though I was an unwilling student, he gave me lessons anyway.”

  Damon wanted to call her a liar, to insist that he had known everything the old man did, said, or even thought. But she was right. William’s conversations with her had been private. For all Damon knew, they could have talked about nothing . . . or everything. Certainly William had been arrogant enough to assume she would take over the business as he wanted. Certainly he could have begun her education even while she refused.

  Sullenly, he gestured toward the hired help. “Who are they?”

  She gave the painting, one of her usual tropical beach scenes, a last look before starting across the room. “You met Mr. Jamieson. This is Beth Gentry, and that’s Adam Robinette.”

  “That doesn’t tell me shit.”

  She raised one slender hand in the blond’s direction. “Mr. Robinette used to work for a gentleman in Miami by the name of Gonzalez. I assume you’ve heard of him.”

  Damon snorted. Hector Gonzalez was to south Florida what William had been elsewhere. William had tried to broker a merger with the man a couple of times, but Hector hadn’t been interested. If he had, he might not have been executed in a bloody coup a few months previously.

  “Mr. Jamieson is Mr. Robinette’s computer expert,” she went on.

  Book-smart, soft, harmless. “And Ms. Gentry?”

  Gentry rose from her chair to get a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Definitely not harmless. She was pretty, all lean muscle, feminine but also tough—as different from the last woman he’d been with as night from day. After twisting the cap off, she raised the bottle in a salute. “Uncle Sol sends his regards.”

  Sol Vitelli from Detroit. William hadn’t tried to take over his business. Vitelli would have chewed him up, spit him out, then pissed on what was left. “You don’t look like a Vitelli.”

  She smiled. “It’s an honorary title.”

  Damon studied the three. Was this really just a job to them, or did they have an agenda? Maybe Robinette and Jamieson had been satisfied working as flunkies to ol’ Hector. Maybe they weren’t interested in moving up, taking control. Maybe Gentry was just taking a break from Michigan, or maybe she was there to give Sol an in. The old man had never expressed any interest in expanding south and east, but then, a good businessman wouldn’t.

  Either way, the three would bear watching.

  Selena moved to the chair at the head of the table. It was elaborately carved, a souvenir of one of William’s trips to Germany. It looked like a goddamn throne, and she looked right at home in it. Imperious. Just like the fuckin’ old man. She waited until everyone else was seated—the two men on one side, Gentry on the other, and Damon at the far end— then said, “First, Mr. Long . . . I take it they explained the conditions of your release.”

  He propped his left foot on the table and pulled his jeans leg up to show the monitoring bracelet. “The latest in high-tech jewelry. Tells ’em where I am within three feet. I can’t even take a piss without ’em knowing.”

  She nodded once in acknowledgment. “You’ll be staying here, in the guesthouse. You won’t have access to weapons of any kind, and you won’t be going anywhere without one of us accompanying you. For all practical purposes, you’re still in jail, Mr. Long, albeit a more comfortable one.”

  Now, there’s a fucking surprise, he thought dryly. But he didn’t need a weapon to be dangerous, and babysitters were easy to get rid of.

  Her smug piece finished, she folded her hands together on the tabletop and said, “Let’s get down to business. Tell me what you know, Mr. Long.”

  “About what?”

  Once again, she smiled that cool, William-like smile that made him want to wrap his hands around her throat and choke it right out of her, along with her life, and she replied in that cool, William-like voice.

  “My business, of course.”

  Long’s voice was even, his manner exaggeratedly patient, as he explained the basics. There were three major areas of operation. Vernell Munroe was based in Boston and controlled New England. Sonny Yates worked out of Savannah and had the Southern region, and Barnard Taylor ran everything in between from Philadelphia. Munroe and Taylor had been with William for nineteen and eighteen years, respectively. Yates was the newcomer, with only ten years on the job.

  Selena kept her hands folded loosely in her lap and half wished she’d allowed William to teach her at least a little about his business. It was definitely to Long’s advantage to lie. The FBI would try to verify everything he passed on, but there would no doubt be much they couldn’t prove or disprove until it was too late.

  But if she’d let William teach her the business, she wouldn’t be posing as a drug dealer. She would be one. More dangerous or not, she preferred the pretense.

  “How did Yates come to be in charge of the Southern region with so few years experience?”

  Long grinned. “How did you come to be in charge of the whole damn game with no experience whatsoever?”

  She fixed her gaze on him. “I had an in with the boss. Are you saying Yates did, as well?”

  “Nope. Just like the others, Yates never met William. But the number of years you’ve been doing the job doesn’t have anything to do with how good you are at it. Sonny was the right-hand man to the previous boss. When he disappeared, Sonny was ready to step into his shoes. He keeps his employees happy and makes a good profit, and that kept William happy.”

  “What happened to the previous boss?” Robinette asked.

  Long’s gaze narrowed when he directed his attention to the other man. He resented the newcomers—because he suspected they might usurp his authority? Selena wondered. Or because they were a barrier he would have to go through to get to her? “Sonny happened. He was ambitious. He didn’t want to be number two forever. The old man taug
ht Sonny everything he needed to take over, so naturally, he did.”

  Naturally, Selena silently echoed. Just as Long would take over from her given the chance. “What do you know about Yates?”

  “Not much. Born in Atlanta. Has lived in Savannah for years. Never been arrested. Closest he’s ever come was a speeding ticket ten or twelve years ago. Doesn’t have any family. Very good at keeping a low profile. Cops there in Savannah have never even heard of him.”

  “And what about Mr. Taylor and Mr. Munroe?”

  “Cops in Philadelphia and Boston know all about them. They’ve been trying to put them both away permanently for as long as they’ve been in business—some forty years. They’ve done a few stints here and there, but nothing since they went to work for William.”

  “Helped to have a highly respected police officer running interference for them, didn’t it?” Selena asked dryly. “You said none of them ever met William. Is that true? They never saw him face-to-face? Never knew his true identity?”

  With a scrape of wood on wood, Long pushed his chair back, then propped his feet on the gleaming cherry table. “Did William strike you as the sort to set himself up as a target for blackmail? His safety came first—before the money, before the power, before everything. Besides, that’s what he had me for. To be the face man.”

  William had been good at that—rescuing young people in desperate need so he could manipulate them into fulfilling whatever role he had in mind for them. Long had accepted his role willingly. How differently would things have been if Selena had, as well? She would have been better off dead on the streets of Ocho Rios.

  “So they never dealt directly with him. They were never guests in his home.”

  “God, no.” His grin was sly. “He was picky about who he allowed in his house.”

  She refused to show that the barb had found its target. “How did he form these relationships?”

  When he heaved a sigh, she stared at him. “Are you bored, Mr. Long?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Get over it, because we’ll continue this until I’m bored.” Her words crackled with ice. “Let’s try again. How did he form these relationships?”

  The conversation dragged on, until Selena’s head was so full of information that she felt stuffy with it. Boiled down, Vernell Munroe had been a small-time dealer in Boston during William’s stint there with the police department. After having much of Munroe’s competition executed, William had sent Long to the man with a deal too good to refuse. He repeated the process when he hired on with the Philadelphia Police Department, and again when he’d taken over as chief in Savannah. Whatever curiosity the men had about their mysterious boss was inconsequential; millions of dollars in profits could excuse any eccentricities in their boss, could silence any number of questions.

  In need of fresh air, Selena called for a break. Taking a bottle of water, she went onto the balcony that ran along the back of the house, overlooking the pool and the guesthouse, and stood there a moment, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

  “He was wrong about one thing.”

  She’d heard the faint creak of the door an instant before Robinette spoke, so his voice didn’t startle her. Nor did his words surprise her.

  “Sonny Yates’s name has come up with the authorities in Savannah. They don’t know much about him, but they know he’s into something dirty.” The agent leaned against the stone balustrade, grimaced at the heat, and swiped his shirtsleeve across his forehead.

  She liked the heat, would like it more if she could feel the sun on her skin, chasing away the chill brought on by the house, Long, the afternoon’s discussion. But the house blocked the sun, leaving only its heat and the still, muggy air.

  “In fact, Yates came up in a missing persons case. A fishing boat and its crew disappeared. The wife of one of the crewmen said her husband worked for Mr. Yates.”

  According to Long, William had enough boats to fish the Atlantic dry, along with a fleet of planes, trucks, and automobiles. Until recently, when she’d thought of a drug dealer, she’d thought of individuals smuggling a few pounds here or there, or standing on a street corner selling small packets for ten or twenty dollars each. She hadn’t realized how very like a legitimate business it was—but she was learning. “I assume the boat’s catch disappeared as well.”

  “Presumably. These people don’t take kindly to being robbed.” He exhaled heavily, then pushed away from the warm stone. “Let’s look into it. We’ll meet with Mr. Yates first. Reward him. Invite him here.”

  Meet with him. Let him come into her home. Show him that while she was running William’s business, she was doing it her way.

  He waited for her nod, then walked to the door. When he turned back, she thought for a moment it might be to offer a compliment, or even just a comment, on her performance so far. It wasn’t. “Don’t stay out here too long. Long’s still got to provide introductions to Munroe, Taylor, and Yates for you.”

  Once more, she nodded. After the door closed behind him, she gazed into the woods that backed the iron fence. On the other side of the trees, running where railroad tracks once had, was the River Parks trail. She’d jogged it every day since coming to Tulsa until that week. If she could reach it, she could run far and fast . . . but between the armed guards, the surveillance cameras, and the motion detectors, the odds of reaching the trail were somewhere between slim and none.

  Besides, she acknowledged with a faint smile, the only place she would want to run was to Tony—the first place they would check.

  After finishing the water, she returned to the ballroom. Jamieson had moved to a separate table, a delicate little Queen Anne piece, and was typing away on his laptop. Gentry was flipping through a magazine, looking totally absorbed by it but, underneath, totally alert. Robinette was setting up a telephone, and Long was sprawled in his chair, head tilted back, eyes closed, looking lazy. Attractive. Sexy. The first time they’d met, he’d charmed her right into William’s blackmail scheme. A few weeks earlier, he’d charmed Tony’s younger sister, Lucia, right into his bed.

  In the end, both efforts had cost him. Selena had cracked his skull open with a marble statue, and Lucia had given Tony the lead he’d needed to knot all his loose ends around William and Long.

  Apparently aware of her study, Long slowly opened his eyes and stared back at her with such cold regard that she had to stifle a shiver. He could appear so normal—handsome, friendly, outgoing—but it was all an act. Deep inside, she suspected, he didn’t really feel much of anything. He didn’t care about anything except himself.

  Breaking away from his gaze, she sat down, then gestured to the phone. “Call Mr. Munroe for me,” she said politely. “Introduce us.”

  His feet hit the floor with a thud, and he grudgingly came to her end of the table, sliding into the chair to her right. He dialed the number from memory, then settled back in his seat. “Hey, DeShaun, this is Damon. How’s it going? . . . Yeah, things have been kind of busy here. Listen, put Mr. Munroe on the phone, would you? The boss wants to talk to him.”

  The boss. Selena had never been anyone’s boss, not even her own. Could she really convince these career criminals that she was in control? She had to. Her life depended on it.

  A distant greeting echoed from the receiver. “Vernell, how are you? . . . Yeah, I know we’ve been out of touch. A lot’s been going on here. Bad news is . . . William got shot. He’s in the hospital, in a coma, and the doctors don’t think he’ll ever wake up. That means his niece is taking over sooner than anyone expected. She wants to talk to you about that.”

  Selena’s hands had turned clammy. Surreptitiously, she dried them on her skirt, then accepted the receiver from Long. She swallowed hard, but it didn’t clear the tightness from her throat. “Mr. Munroe. I’m Selena McCaffrey. Uncle William has told me a lot about you. I’m looking forward to working with you, though I wish the circumstances were better.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Munroe’s accent was New En
gland, his voice raspy. “Who shot him?”

  “It was one of his own men.”

  “One of ours?” He sounded disbelieving.

  She glanced at Robinette, half-surprised he hadn’t gone off somewhere to listen in. But the call was likely being recorded—they didn’t trust her, and a wiretap seemed logical—so he could listen to the tapes later. “No,” she replied. “It’s a long, complicated story, but . . . around here, Uncle William was better known as Henry Daniels, chief of police. He was shot by one of his officers, who’d discovered his other identity . . .”

  “Chief of police,” Barnard Taylor repeated. “I’ll be damned. Well, that explains a lot.”

  Selena acknowledged that with a small sound. “At the present time, Mr. Taylor, I see no reason why we shouldn’t continue with business as usual.”

  “The local cops aren’t trying to shut it down?”

  “As far as they’re aware, they have shut it down. They think it’s a local organization, and they’ve arrested most of those involved. Those arrested have little enough information to share. I’ve escaped the authorities’ notice, and I’ve persuaded the judge to release Mr. Long into my custody. We’ll have to give up our share of the business here for now, but we’ll take it back when the time is right. So . . . once things are a bit more settled here, I’d like to meet with everyone and discuss any changes that might be necessary.”

  “Meet,” Taylor parroted again. “You know, I never met Mr. Davis. Now I understand why. I take it you don’t have a secret life to protect.”

  “No, Mr. Taylor. With me, what you see is what you get.”

  To her right, Long snorted.

  “You are keeping Damon on, aren’t you?”

  She turned a cold stare on him. “Oh, absolutely. I couldn’t possibly run this business without Mr. Long.”

  “Fuck you,” Damon mouthed . . .