Concierge

by Stella Barcelona

  “Andi, you okay with knowing details?” Ragno asked. The concern in her tone prompted Andi to sit up. She braced herself, as Ragno continued. “I feel like I already know quite a bit about you. I’ve worked the corporate end of your file since the job began. Can’t help but feel protective. Not that I’m second guessing Gabe, but I’m not sitting beside you. And, to be honest, Brandon, Sebastian, and even Zeus, will be pissed as hell if we do anything to traumatize you. You’re one of our most important clients.”

  “I’m fine,” Andi said, “Gabe’s right. I want to know.”

  “Okay. Gabe, you go first. Tell us about Richie.” Ragno’s tone went from that of a concerned friend to a professional, efficient job controller.

  Gabe stood, letting the blanket pool softly down onto Andi’s lap. Eyes on Andi as he spoke, he visibly shifted gears from enjoying the moment to becoming all business. Shoulders straight, he stood tall. “Richie’s off. Admitted pothead. Uses synthetics. Gas station crap. Sometimes boosts that with alcohol and Quaaludes. At best, his credibility sucks. That being said, he seemed sober when I talked to him with Marvin. It was good I had Marvin with me, because Richie wasn’t giving me a damn thing. I needed local flavor to give him reassurance.”

  Andi could hear Ragno’s keyboard clicking. “I’m cross-referencing that Marvin was helpful in our New Orleans files.”

  “A bit of good news. Richie says Monica’s fine. He knows where she is. He’s going to deliver a message for Pic later this morning.”

  “That’s fantastic news,” Andi said.

  “Yeah. Pic’s relieved. Other than that, though, it isn’t so great. Richie saw two men,” Gabe continued, “wearing black, features concealed either with bandanas or some other type of mask, snatch Jake off the streets. Right before his eyes. Early evening. Much the same way Andi said she saw two guys snatch a blond-haired girl off of Esplanade on Friday. Both incidents involved a nondescript panel van. Andi saw black. The Jake incident involved a white one, according to Richie.”

  Chills ran along Andi’s spine as Gabe spoke. She reminded herself that she was safe in her studio, the place where she felt most at home in the world. She shivered. Tried to shake it off. Drew a deep breath. Even pulling the soft blanket up under her chin didn’t warm her.

  “You okay?” Voice soft, more than a little concerned, he reached out and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  Fighting off the waves of terror, Andi nodded.

  “Is she?” Ragno said, “because the worry in your voice spoke volumes.”

  Gabe’s gaze was thoughtful, as he kept his eyes on her. He let his hand drop from her shoulder. He ran it through his hair. The dark waves he pushed back sprang back into position on his forehead. “You sure?”

  “Yes. Don’t baby me.”

  He nodded. “She’s good.”

  “Andi, can you talk a bit throughout this call? Obviously, I can’t see you. I need to know you’re handling all of this.”

  “I’m okay, Ragno,” Andi said, forcing herself to speak in something above a whisper. Drawing a deep breath, she added, louder, “Really. I’m fine. I want to know. Would this work better if we did a video chat?”

  Gabe shook his head, no, as silence fell on the line.

  “Bad idea?” Andi asked, not understanding the extended pause.

  “Maybe one day I’ll do a video chat with you,” Ragno said. “But not today. Let’s move on. Gabe—panel van similarity. Andi saw black. Richie saw white. Also, Richie saw two men, faces concealed, which is consistent with both the Pic and Andi incidents. What else did Richie give you?”

  “Something I can’t brush off. One of the men who abducted Jake had a stun gun,” Gabe continued. “Richie was dead certain of it. Described it as square, black, plastic. Gripped in his left hand. He said the guy used it and Jake collapsed. So, with the stun gun and the panel van, Richie gave me two facts on the Jake incident that provides commonality between Pic’s assault and the incident Andi witnessed.”

  “Did Richie see a syringe?” Ragno asked.

  Drawing a deep breath, Gabe shot Andi a concerned glance. “He didn’t offer that fact—”

  “Wait,” Andi said. “A syringe?”

  He sat down hard on the couch next to Andi.

  “Hell, Gabe! You and Pic didn’t tell Andi about the syringe?”

  “Obviously not,” he muttered. He glanced at Andi, his lips drawn down in a frown. “Sorry. I didn’t know about it at first. Pic told me about it Monday night, when I found him on the levee. It’s a big part of the reason why he agreed to come in with me. It scared the crap out of him. And I figured it would do the same to you.”

  “Don’t do that again.” She tried to wrap her mind around the implications of men going after Pic with a syringe in hand. “Don’t keep things from me. I don’t need that kind of protection. Understand?”

  He nodded. His tone soft and gentle, he said, “Understood. I erred too far on the side of caution. Crossed the line between protection and overprotection. I’m usually better at such judgment calls. Forgive me?”

  She lifted her face to his, touching his lips with hers. “Yes.”

  “Okay, now that that’s settled, back on task, you two,” Ragno said. “Was Richie close enough to see something as small as a syringe?”

  “Not really. He said he was about forty feet away.” Leaning back, into the couch, he lifted an arm, and draped it over Andi’s shoulder.

  Nestling into his side as she absorbed his warmth, her gaze settled on the far wall of her studio, on the sketches that hung there, above the table where her sketchpads lay. Pic. Monica. Tank. And other people who lived on the streets of the French Quarter, Marigny, and Bywater. People most others ignored. In the expressions that she’d sketched, she saw a silent plea: See me. Help me.

  “And I didn’t ask him about a syringe. For the same reason I didn’t tell him anything about what Andi saw or about what happened to Pic. I’m not sure what to make of the guy. Not that I get a bad vibe off of him. Truth is, I don’t. His heart seems to be in the right place. He’s so goofy, I actually liked him. So much so that he told me he’ll stop by to see Pic in the morning, and I told him that was fine. The kid’s stir crazy. I figured seeing a friend would help, even if the friend’s got a bit of baggage. On top of the commonalities with the stun gun and the panel van, there’s something else that Richie flagged. It’s weird.”

  “What?” Ragno asked.

  “Andi saw a blond woman abducted. Pic’s a blue-eyed blond young man. Jake’s also blue-eyed and blond. Richie says rumor has it on the streets that five to six other young people are missing. All homeless. I asked him for descriptions. All of them have light-hair and light eyes. The Jake incident was a week ago Wednesday. Andi’s sighting was Friday. Pic’s assault was Saturday night. What does all of this give us?”

  “Coupled with two sightings of panel vans, two sightings of stun guns, and a syringe,” Ragno said, “I’d say that gives us either an odd bunch of potentially criminal coincidences or, possibly a predator who likes fair-haired people no one misses when they disappear. My mind is churning, like I know your minds are. Not going to run with the speculation, though I just did. We need more facts. Andi, are you okay?”

  “T-terrified.” She forced herself to keep her eyes on the sketches on the far wall. Their cry of ‘See me. Help me’ became her focus. “But a hell of a lot better than I’ve been for the last couple of years. Keep going.”

  “Like you, I see too much evil,” Ragno said, sounding pissed. “And it infuriates me. Let’s continue, Gabe, because I know where this is leading.”

  “Yep. I know you do. I’ve got knowledge of interest to local law enforcement. Possibly even the Feds. Question is, should I go to the cops, when the cops in charge of this district are certifiable assholes? Last Saturday’s obligatory courtesy visit to NOPD Officers Jack Spagnoli and Cal Thompson clarified their ‘don’t call us’ message. And anything I know, if I know anything at all, is based on three thing
s: One–Andi, who the cops don’t believe, two–pothead Richie, whose credibility is beyond questionable and, in any event, won’t talk to the cops, and three–Pic, who based on everything you’re finding, Ragno, cannot go to the cops. Even if he was inclined to do so. And that’s where we need to bring Andi up to speed on Pic’s background.”

  “Yes. Agreed. And that’s where I’m getting back to the walks-like-a-duck moment.” Her voice softening slightly from the matter-of-fact, curt tone, she continued. “Because Angel, as much as I know you and Andi aren’t going to like what I’ve found, there’s no other scenario. His fingerprints sealed the deal—”

  “You analyzed his fingerprints?” Andi shot Gabe a questioning glance.

  “Had to,” Gabe said, “because of what we were finding. Over the last few hours, Ragno and I have tried like hell to rule out this bad news.”

  “Don’t worry, Andi. Nothing we’re doing will ping law enforcement databases. Agent Marks lifted Pic’s prints off a glass. I took them, and searched databases for similarities. And I’m damn glad I did,” Ragno continued, “because if Pic is in any way a component of the story you’d need to tell the cops—

  “If I go to them now, he is,” Gabe said, “Undeniably.”

  “Then you’re not going to the cops,” Ragno said. “Not for a while, at least. I need Andi’s authorization to get a team to Mapleton, West Virginia. Delicate subject, Gabe and Andi, but I’m thinking about billable hours. I’m happy to work as much as I can on this, and I know you are, Gabe. But to do this job properly, we need more resources from cyber and field divisions. We need to figure out the story behind what I’m finding. To do that, we need manpower. Face to face time. Interviews. Andi, you know how expensive Black Raven hours are.”

  Andi straightened her shoulders. Side pressed against Gabe, she dug deep within. As she focused on the sketches, she found bracing strength.

  I see them. With Gabe’s support, I can help. I’m so much more fortunate than Pic. I have resources. I have…so much more.

  She turned to Gabe. “Please stop talking past me. Give me details. Let me assess how to proceed.”

  “It’s rough, honey,” Gabe said, tone soothing. Hesitant. Concerned. Protective. But not patronizing.

  “Oh, hell. Look. I’ll have to drop our call in three minutes. Budapest job is going south. Andi, can you handle bad facts in a nutshell version?”

  Andi drew a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “The young man you know as Pic is Lucas Tanner McShane.”

  Andi’s hands shook at the mention of her friend’s real name. Feeling as though she was finally getting to know him, she realized that maybe Gabe had been right. They needed to know the story of what went wrong in Lucas Tanner McShane’s life, and how he became Pic, a young man who lived on the streets of New Orleans.

  “Lucas was born to Aubrey Rose McShane. He just had his seventeenth birthday. On January 23.”

  Dear God. He’s so young. Her eyes rested on a sketch of Pic. From across the room, the lifelike gaze that confronted her said ‘help me’ in a way her young friend would never voice.

  “Aubrey Rose left the father’s name blank on Lucas’s birth certificate. Hospital records indicate there was a brief moment when she considered putting baby Lucas up for adoption. Evidently, she changed her mind. I’ve got data on the number of places where Aubrey Rose and her son Lucas lived. Sending an info package later tonight. Aubrey Rose took any odd job she could find. Mostly, it looks to me like she worked as a stripper, who tried like hell to make a living as a piano player. Her life was a colossal struggle.”

  “Was?” Andi asked.

  “Aubrey Rose was murdered a little over three years ago. November 7. The date on Pic’s tattoo without a year.” As Gabe’s arm tightened around her, Ragno asked, “Are you sitting, Andi?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Gabe, I’m in the investigatory files of the Mapleton, West Virginia police department. Photos confirm what I deduced. Which is why you’re not going to the New Orleans Police Department or any other law enforcement agency with anything related to Lucas, aka Pic. And why I need Andi’s authorization to send a team to Mapleton.”

  Any hesitancy over prying faded, because the young man who’d saved her needed help. Real help. I’m finally getting the chance to repay the favor.

  “Okay. I authorize all the manpower needed to help Pic. As long as I have control over what’s done with the information…” she added, glancing at Gabe.

  He nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “Understood,” Ragno said.

  “Then you’ve got the green light from me to send a team there.”

  “Good. I know you both want more information on this. Gabe, I know you’re still trying to figure out if there’s any wiggle room in this bad news. Andi, I’m sorry to deliver this, but I don’t know any other way to tell you and my research is unassailable, though Gabe is trying to figure out if I could possibly be wrong.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “An outstanding warrant indicates that Lucas Tanner McShane, the young man you know is Pic, is wanted for the murder of Aubrey Rose McShane, his mother.”

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Andi

  “No.” Fighting a chill, Andi hugged herself. “That isn’t possible, Pic is kind, compassionate. His mother? No. He wouldn’t…” The words stuck in her throat like sand.

  “Andi, we’ll work through this. One of Gabe’s many strengths is great investigative instincts. No truth is ever buried for long with him,” Ragno said, then fell silent for a few seconds. “Gotta go. Gabe, I’ll check in later. Files are on their way.”

  Andi stood, yanking out the earpiece. Gabe held out his hand. She dropped it in his palm. The concern in his eyes made her shiver.

  She walked back and forth across the room, pacing. “Pic talks about his mom. And when he does, he talks about her like someone he loves. Or loved. Come on, Gabe, you’ve heard him talk about her. Right?”

  He reached for his laptop and cell phone on the coffee table. “Sure have.”

  Andi went to the easel and picked up her scarf from the floor. Draping it around her neck, she gave him a penetrating look. “So what does your gut say?”

  Snapping open his computer, he leaned back on the couch with it settled on his lap. “There’s something sideways with this whole situation. Don’t know what it is. Yet. But I’m going to find out.” Shifting his tone from worried to calming, he added, “Just because someone’s wanted in connection with a crime, that certainly doesn’t mean he committed it. We’ll figure this out. This actually isn’t a terrible development, because—”

  “Oh. For the love of God. Really?” Turning on her heel, poised in front of the coffee table, she waited for his gaze to lift from the laptop screen. “You can even find a bright side to this?”

  “Of course.” He typed a short burst, glanced at the screen, and then returned his attention to her. The corners of his lips lifted in a shadow of his habitual smile, but his expression was more pensive than happy. “Now we have plenty of solid clues pointing to what went wrong. Right?”

  Her exasperation evaporated. “I guess.”

  His smile drifted away. Worry replaced the optimism that had briefly lightened his eyes. “Things sometimes get worse before they get better.”

  Shivering, she returned to aimlessly pacing, as Gabe typed. To her easel with her work in progress; there, the painting of the footbridge at Crescent Park held no interest for her. She made a U-turn back to Gabe and the couch. She thought about joining him, then reconsidered. Watching him work at his computer, as though he was tackling a project that he enjoyed, was going to drive her nuts.

  She crossed the studio, to where the sketches hung, and stared at one of Pic she’d done a year earlier. He’d been sitting with Monica. She’d captured happiness in his beautiful eyes, using a light touch with her lead pencil. And more. To her, the sketch captured his innocence, and it now tore at her heart. Am I always seeing
things that don’t exist? Swallowing the grit of worry from her throat, she asked softly, “Can I be so wrong?”

  “If it helps, I’m right there with you. I don’t think that kid would hurt a flea. Unless threatened. Then all bets are off.”

  “Running certainly makes him seem guilty, doesn’t it?”

  Relief overcame her when Gabe gave a firm headshake. “Not to me. It makes him look like a scared kid. People are innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.” Fingers clicking on the keyboard, he talked as he typed. “We’ll figure this out. I promise. Corporate could do some of this for me, but I want to be more hands on. So right now, I need to mobilize a couple of agents to Mapleton. Reviewing the data Ragno’s pulled together, looking for available agents who have the skillset required to finesse an investigation in a small town, and bring them up to speed, is going to take a few hours.”

  “And you can’t do it if I keep interrupting you.”

  He gave a slight, thoughtful smile. “I’m knee deep in data. Ragno gave you the highlights. We’re sparing you the nitty gritty details. If we want agents to hit the ground running by midmorning—”

  “We do.”

  “Then I’ve got to get this going now. Trust me, Sandy,” he said, his voice deepening, “I’d love to return to what we were doing before the convo with Ragno derailed us.”

  The heat of a blush burned at her cheeks, but work was more urgent. “Mobilize the agents. Work. My offer still stands.” She paused, then lowered her voice. “You can collect anytime, Brad. And, you’ve really opened the floodgates. Next time, you might get lucky. We might get…quite a bit further.”

  He gave her a long, hungry gaze. “Never thought I’d get hard hearing another guy’s name, but hell. Anytime you say Brad, I’m ready. I have a few hours of willpower in me, but that’s about it. Don’t use that voice again. Please.”

  “You started it. Brad.”

  “Stop!”

  “What?”

  “That voice. Whispery. Deep. It screams sex.”