Trust No One (A Lucas Holt Novel Book 2)

by JP Ratto

  Mac shot a wide-eyed glance at me.

  “Hell, no. That was one thing I was never told. I don’t believe Celeste knew where he was, either.”

  I believed Mac. “Brandon told me he was abducted after receiving a phone call from Dhakar to meet.”

  Mac shrugged. “As I said, I didn’t know the details of the kidnapping, but Dhakar’s connection to Brandon brought him into the mix. Turns out Dhakar hated Brandon for dating his sister. He was pleased as punch to have the honor of abducting him.”

  “And you know all this how?”

  “Celeste.”

  Mac finished his drink and looked longingly at the bar.

  “Do you know if she killed Halpern?” I asked.

  Leaning back against the red upholstery, Mac let out an exhaustive breath. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “But you suspect she did.”

  Mac didn’t respond.

  “Where is she now?” I asked. Grant had given Mac a phone to use at the airport.

  “I’m not sure. I only know we were supposed to meet in Monte Carlo after the delivery of the real toxin was made.”

  “Which you weren’t going to deliver. Right?”

  Mac shook his head.

  “So what were you going to do when you met with your contact in Lebanon?” Mac and Grant had refused to divulge the buyer’s name. “You could have just not shown up.”

  “I was going to make sure he didn’t take any action against me or Celeste for not delivering the product he expected.”

  I knew what that meant. Mac’s emotional involvement with Celeste had caused his objective to change and with the FBI’s implied blessing, he was going to become an assassin. We were both familiar with wartime hits, but I could tell cold-blooded execution was not in Mac’s nature. Mac feared for Celeste’s life. Never mind that she was part of a terrorist scheme. Justice is served in many ways.

  “I’m sorry, Mac.”

  His eyes glazed. “She’s everything I thought I could never have; intelligent, beautiful…” He paused, chuckling, “and has plenty of money.” Mac became serious again. “She cares about me, Lucas. No doubt.”

  I thought about the last time I saw Celeste and wondered.

  Mac finished his drink. “And I care for her.”

  “You had to know how it might turn out.” Thinking Mac’s own actions were partly responsible for the end of his relationship with Celeste, I asked, “What brought you to the FBI?”

  “Conscience. She’s a political activist, playing a high-stakes game to balance the powers in the Middle East. That shit is way above my pay grade. I knew she cared about me…but I also knew that on some level I was being used. I’m a patriot at heart. I felt compelled to call the FBI and ask for someone in the anti-terrorist division.”

  Between the alcohol and the story, he was becoming melancholy. I needed to keep Mac talking a little longer. “Was it Celeste you were texting at the airport?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You were trying to warn her.”

  Mac nodded. “I should have been on that plane.”

  “Grant will send someone else to make contact.”

  “No. They are expecting me. She’s expecting me.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Celeste Boxer stood outside Hotel de Paris in Monaco, dressed to the nines, and checked her cellphone for the time. Eleven forty-two. She’d left Maryland two days before via a private charter and taken a zigzag-route through Europe once she landed in London. She rode the train to Paris and then flew to Florence, Italy and spent the night with a friend. From there she bought a car and drove to Monaco.

  She’d moved all her money gradually over the last few months and hoped Mac had done the same. She would have to get used to calling him Mac. The thought of Gerard McFadden warmed her and excited her at the same time. She smiled, remembering their last night together. Mac had been more tender than usual, and he’d looked at her like a man in love. Perhaps she was projecting.

  Am I in love?

  Celeste waited all day to see Mac. According to their plan, he would fly to Monaco immediately after the delivery to Abboud was made. They had agreed not to make contact after they parted the last night they had been together.

  She’d left voice mail messages with all the members of ADL’s board of directors and a resignation letter on her desk at the office. Then she destroyed her phone. She had wired a deposit for an apartment in Andorra, and once Mac arrived, they would drive there to live.

  A cool breeze whipped around her, and she pulled her shawl closed. She startled when someone came up beside her. “Mademoiselle?” A valet from the hotel held out a small envelope. “Une note pour vous.”

  Celeste glanced around. Other than Mac, no one knows where I am. She took the envelope. “Je vous remercie.” Her hands trembled as she slid out the folded piece of paper. Although she wasn’t familiar enough with his handwriting, her eyes gravitated to the signature. Mac! She read the note.

  Darling,

  I’m here in Monaco.

  All went well. Meet me at the entrance to the gardens.

  They’re too beautiful not to see by moonlight. Come now.

  Mac

  Celeste hesitated a moment before rushing through the crowds still gathered or strolling along the sidewalks in the heart of Monaco. The Jardins des Boulingrins was a short walk from the Casino de Monte Carlo, a magnificent “Beaux-Arts” style building housing one of the most luxurious gambling havens for the rich and famous.

  As she walked further from the casino, only a few tourists remained scattered along the paths. She passed the fountain and spotted a tall figure in the shadows. Excited, she hurried forward and then halted. Celeste watched as a tiny light flashed. Whoever was there had lit a cigarette. Mac doesn’t smoke.

  Caution kicked in and Celeste backed away. Mac was to meet her at the casino at midnight. Why the change of plans? Turning to return to the hotel, she pulled out her cellphone and considered calling Mac. But he would also have a new number. Curious, she tried the old one anyway. Her call went to voicemail. She wondered why it was still connected and began to question her pact with Mac. She checked the time again. It was midnight. If he was waiting in the casino, she’d be late. Fool! She thought the note was some prankster’s joke and she’d fallen for it. Celeste picked up her pace. Still, her mind vacillated. But it was signed Mac. She twisted to glance at where the figure stood. He was gone.

  Celeste had no choice but to go back to the casino. Gathering the silk wrap she wore over her shoulders, she sighed and turned. She walked briskly along a curved tree-lined path and gasped when a man stepped in front of her. He grabbed her arm. “Walk with me silently, Celeste.”

  She recognized the distinct odor of dokha tobacco that clung to him, causing her to panic and ask, “Abboud, what are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “I always know the location of those who owe me something.”

  “Owe you?” Her voice shook. “Where is Mac? Didn’t you meet with him?”

  Abboud tightened his grip on her and guided her back toward the gardens. “It appears your lover has changed his allegiance. He never showed with the toxin. That makes me very angry, Celeste. Many people counted on that delivery—counted on me. I have lost credibility and that is worse than all the money I’ve forfeited.”

  Celeste tried to stop moving and face Abboud, but he jerked her forward. “Please. Something had to have gone terribly wrong to prevent Mac from making the delivery. He wouldn’t do that to you or to me.”

  “My dear, you have made a grave mistake in judgment.”

  “It wasn’t judgment. His financial situation was a reality. He needed money. He needed us. I can’t believe—”

  “He may have needed money, but his conscience won out in the end. I’m sorry to tell you that you were not enough of an incentive for him to betray his country.”

  Celeste couldn’t breathe; tears welled in her eyes and her throat burned. “I don’t believe it,” she wh
ispered.

  They reached the gardens and Abboud dragged Celeste from view on the path. He forced her against a tree, his strong tobacco breath nauseating her. His eyes were hard black orbs that stared menacingly at her. He’s going to kill me! Pressed against her, he withdrew one of his arms from the tree.

  “Abboud, wait,” she rasped, fear gripping her. “There must be something I can do to make it up to you.” She could see his slanted smile.

  “What are you offering?”

  Her throat constricting, she swallowed hard. “Whatever you want.”

  Abboud grinned and leaned closer, pressing harder, his lips crushing hers. She fought the rise of bile and thought of Mac. Something must have gone terribly wrong.

  Tears streamed down her face as she wrapped her arms around Abboud’s neck. He moaned and released her lips. “I truly wish I could take you up on your offer,” he said with genuine disappointment as he lifted a knife and dragged it across her throat.

  CHAPTER 40

  Ray Scully sat in one of two chairs on opposite sides of a steel table surrounded by concrete blocks painted battleship gray. The chair wobbled under his weight. He’d visited a good number of prisons, but this was the first time he’d been to Moravia Correctional Facility in upstate New York. It isn’t a country club prison, but it isn’t Alcatraz either.

  Mason Reid entered through a steel door, looking nothing like his ViCap photo. Thinner and paler, his hunter green uniform hung from his broad, bony shoulders like a shirt on a hanger. Prison life does change a man, at least on the outside. He walked with his back hunched and sat in the unoccupied chair. Reid pushed his Harry Potter glasses up on his nose, focused on Scully, and waited for the detective to start the conversation.

  “Thanks for seeing me, Mason. I’m Detective Ray Scully from Manhattan. I have a few questions about Frank Giaconne.”

  “What’s he done?”

  “He died. Someone put a bullet in his chest and threw him in a dumpster.”

  “Man, bad break.”

  “Yes, we’re looking into any enemies he might have had. You were his cellmate for the last few years of his incarceration. What can you tell me?”

  “What? Like who in here might have wanted him dead?” Reid shrugged. “Nobody I can think of. He was a decent enough guy. Stayed out of trouble and was easy to share a cell with—a good conversationalist too.” Reid smiled, showing a mouthful of crowded, crooked teeth.

  “Anything in those conversations about Rose Bardinari?”

  “His girlfriend. Yeah, he mentioned her now and then. She died in a fire. He’d get emotional when he talked about her. Like he blamed himself.”

  “He said he blamed himself for her death?”

  “Not exactly—more like they had a fight and he wasn’t around to save her. At least that’s how it came across to me. Hey, you think someone killed him to avenge her death?”

  Scully smiled at the drama of Reid’s question, but it was an angle he hadn’t thought of before. “Did he ever talk about Rose’s family? A cousin who visited?”

  “Nah, he talked about them fighting and him getting drunk and—well, you know the rest.”

  “Rose owned a daycare center. Did Frank ever mention any of the kids in Rose’s charge?”

  “Never mentioned any kids. Only that he thought they were the root of all evil. Said if it weren’t for kids, Rose would be alive today.”

  Scully wasn’t sure what to make of that statement, but pressed on. “So what did Frank say he was going to do when he got out of prison?”

  Reid smiled and said nothing.

  This bastard thinks he knows something. “You find something amusing?”

  “Yeah, I’m thinking it’s funny you think I’ve got more to say.”

  “Do you have something to say or not?” Scully’s voice had an edge he wasn’t able to hide.

  “Hey, I’m being cooperative, Detective. Despite my situation, my time is worth something to me. Why should I continue to talk to you?”

  Reid was half out of the chair, and it drew the attention of the guard outside. He opened the door. “Are you done here, Detective?”

  “Thanks for looking in on us. Give us a few more minutes.”

  The guard closed the door once Reid sat back down in the chair.

  Scully had to admire Reid’s cleverness. He would throw a few innocuous tidbits to Scully, giving the appearance of being compliant, wait for the question he knew the detective needed the answer to, and start negotiating.

  “If what you tell me leads to Giaconne’s killer, I’ll tell the warden you provided key information that made it happen. He tells the parole board, and maybe it lightens your sentence.” Scully studied Reid’s face and knew he wasn’t making a strong impression.

  Reid shook his head. “Not good enough. You might never catch him. I have three years left on my sentence. I come up before the parole board in two months.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Scully couldn’t make promises. “All depends on what you tell me.”

  Reid sat, still gazing into space for a few moments. Scully watched him as he sucked in a breath, filled his cheeks with air, and blew it out slowly. “If that’s the best you can do, okay. You look like a stand-up guy. However, maybe I could get something in writing before you go?”

  This time Scully stood up.

  “Okay, okay. Hang on there, Detective. It was worth a shot.” Reid paused to gather his thoughts. “Frank was never worried about what he would do when he got out. At first, he would say ‘I know stuff.’ I would ignore him. Cons like to appear to be big shots. But as time passed and his release date got closer, he got happy and talked more. Usually he was vague, but when I called him out on it and said he was full of hot air, he said, ‘I know a lawyer who will take care of me.’”

  “Most of the men in here have lawyers. C’mon, Reid, that’s not going to get you first place on the lunch line.”

  “No, not the hack lawyer he’s says screwed him over.”

  Scully rolled his eyes and sighed. Every prisoner thought the reason he was behind bars was due to their lawyer’s incompetency.

  “Giaconne said he knew a ‘Fifth-Avenue lawyer’ with a connection to a political bigwig—said this was gonna be his ‘ticket to personal and financial freedom.’”

  The term political bigwig caught Scully’s attention. Shit. Was Giaconne referring to Senator Grayson’s lawyer? Could Douglas Cain be the connection to Marnie’s kidnapping and Giaconne’s killer?

  “Give me a name, Reid, and I can almost guarantee you’ll be home before next Christmas.”

  ***

  At eight o’clock on any night, there was a short line outside McAllister’s. Scully nodded to the massive bouncer at the front door. Without a word, he nodded back and Scully entered. Every table was taken, but he had called ahead and asked Kyle to arrange for one in the back to be held for him and Sean McCarthy.

  Stopping at the bar, Scully marveled at how this small tavern kept its historical roots and didn’t succumb to temptation to convert into a sports bar with televisions on every square surface of wall. Instead, you found a dark wood interior with pictures of past presidents, Generals Lee and Grant, and a replica musket on the wall. Instead of football helmets, there was a rebel cap and a union flag. It gave the impression that any state of the union problem could be solved over a mug of beer.

  “Hi Kyle,” Scully said, waving at the bartender.

  “Detective McCarthy arrived a few minutes ago,” Kyle said, handing Scully a mug of McAllister’s pale ale and nodding toward a corner of the bar.

  Scully spotted Sean through a gap in the throng of people and edged his way to the table.

  “Thanks for meeting me, Sean.”

  “Hey, Ray. I’m glad you finally returned my call. Rodriguez wanted to know where you were…and so did the captain.”

  “I’m pretty popular.”

  “No joke, Ray. Where’d you go? I didn’t tell them I couldn’t get in touch with you a
nd Rodriguez didn’t ask.”

  “I’ll tell you about it. But I wanted to have the conversation out of the eyes and ears in the station.”

  “Sounds hush-hush. I have something to tell you,” Sean said. “It’s about the Giaconne case.”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about. This case has deep implications.”

  “Ray…”

  “Wait a minute, Sean.” Scully folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. “I found out that Giaconne’s former girlfriend was Rose Bardinari. She owned the daycare center from where Marnie Holt was abducted.”

  “So? She’s been dead for fifteen years. What’s that got to do with Giaconne’s murder?”

  “It goes to why he was killed. I can’t tell you the exact connection, but I’m sure Giaconne was killed because of something he knew. And it was something to do with Marnie Holt’s kidnapping.”

  Sean shook his head. “Ray, I don’t know where you’ve been and what you’ve dug up, but I’ve got to tell you…”

  “What?”

  “Ray, the case is closed. That’s what Rodriguez and the captain wanted you to know. Giaconne’s killer was found.”

  “His killer? What do you mean found? Not apprehended?”

  “The body of a man was discovered this morning on the side of the FDR drive. Preliminaries indicate he died from a drug overdose.”

  “Convenient.” Scully snorted. “Who is he? Does he have a rap sheet and what connects him to Giaconne?”

  “Yes, he’s been in and out of jail for possession. His name is Freddy Kwan. A Glock 19 was on him and it’s a good bet the ballistics will match the bullet that killed Giaconne. We’re not to waste any more time on it when we have cases piled to the ceiling.”

  “She closed the case before ballistics can be verified? That’s not like her.”

  “No, and I mentioned the ballistics. She said the final word came from the captain.”

  “No conflict of interest there,” Scully said with sarcasm.