Concierge

by Stella Barcelona

  “Once we give him the go, Vince can meet us at the corner of Broadway and Claiborne in ten minutes for staging,” Billy said. “We’ll pull into the back of Carlos’s Mini-Mart. Carlos will go with us.”

  “Gas Company Emergency Plan is a go,” Gabe said. He glanced at the satellite image on his iPad. Studied the exterior of the mansion, with its symmetrical lines, leaded glass windows, and fluted columns. Thought about Sonja’s ice-blue gaze crawling across Andi’s face and body. She’d looked at Gabe with eyes that, in retrospect, had carried loaded questions and an unmistakable challenge.

  Chapter Forty Five

  Gabe

  “At the Long residence,” Gabe said, from the interior of the NOLA Gas Co. van, which was now parked in the wide driveway, alongside the front porch of the Long residence. The van was out of the line of sight from the Top Tier security agents working the guard gate, who’d given them the green light, after studying Vince’s documentation of the emergency.

  “Zero minus two hours five minutes,” Ragno said.

  “Anything new?” Gabe asked. The van was parked at an angle that gave Gabe a view and fast access to the front porch.

  “Not yet. You’ll know as we do, Angel.”

  From a dark-tinted side window, Gabe kept his gaze trained on Vince and Stevens. Dressed in NOLA Gas Co. logo attire, with windbreakers concealing their weapons, they talked to a man who looked like he’d fit in on Black Raven’s payroll.

  If we hired Neanderthals.

  Tall, broad-shouldered, with long arms that were so bulky, they curved away from his body, and with a dark, thick beard, his wide-legged stance in the doorway of the elegant home conveyed a solid message: Stop!

  The Neanderthal gave an emphatic headshake, and through Agent Stevens mic, Gabe heard a deep voice say, “I don’t smell gas.”

  “Yes, sir. We understand that,” Vince said, his voice carrying loud and clear through the mic. “Due to the proximity of the reports, the company has disabled the connection to this residence.”

  Vince gestured to the gas lanterns that flanked the front doorway, where the flames were extinguished. He then pointed to Marvin, who was also wearing a uniform as he walked through the yard, holding a square metal device, presumably doing an inspection. “We’ve had three reports in the last twenty minutes and my man’s readings confirm it. This house is the nearest…”

  As Vince continued his story about why they needed access, Stevens shoved a clipboard at the guy’s chest. The Neanderthal took the clipboard in a beefy hand, pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, and made the call to the gas company that any intelligent person would’ve made.

  Mistake number one—he dialed the number that was on the incident report.

  The phone on the seat next to Gabe rang. Sticking pretty much to the script that Vince had given him, after confirming that he was, in fact, talking to the gas company, Gabe informed the guard in simple, clear terms that he was obligated to let the men in the home to measure gas levels and inspect gas lines.

  “Can’t they do it from outside?”

  “No, sir. Only part of our work can be accomplished outside. Regulations require us to inspect from the point of entry and the interior of the house.”

  “This is a goddamn pain in the ass.”

  “Yes, sir.” Gabe kept his voice calm, painfully aware that precious time was ticking away. “We will reestablish the connection after our inspection. If you do not permit inspection, we cannot restore the connection.”

  “Seriously?”

  How dumb is this guy? Pic’s right. Steroids have drained this guy’s brain.

  “That’s correct, sir. It’s a public safety issue, sir. Not to mention a fire hazard for your own home.”

  “You just talking ‘bout in the kitchen?”

  “Well, no. I’m sorry, sir, but it also includes dryers, hot water heaters, in addition to kitchen appliances. Usage indicates that the residence is fully loaded. We know this is a tremendous inconvenience.”

  “Yeah. No shit. You mean the hot water’s off?”

  Okay, he’s at idiot level.

  “Well sir, without gas service, your hot water heaters will not work,” Gabe explained. Patiently. Calmly. “We cannot restore gas service until we know the residence is safe. Given how much of a valued client you are, we’ve sent several personnel there. We’ll be out of your way in no time. Sir,” Gabe added, “are you the homeowner?”

  “What does that matter?”

  “The homeowner will need to sign off on our paperwork.”

  “Not gonna happen. They’re not here. I’ve got authority to sign—”

  “I suggest you call them.”

  “I suggest you go fuck yourself.”

  Mistake number two—he fell for it. The line went dead, as the guard stepped back in the doorway, allowing the two men at the front door to enter the home. He would’ve shut the door, but Marvin, approaching the porch, was ten steps away.

  As soon as Vince and Stevens disappeared inside, Gabe, Todd, and Carlos, got out of the van. As Gabe walked through the front door, through Stevens’ mic, he heard Vince droning on endlessly about the dangers of natural gas accumulation.

  “Sir,” Stevens whispered, his hiss conveying urgency. “Go! Kitchen. Far rear. Two guards.”

  “Copy.” In the doorway, Gabe’s skin pebbled. His neck muscles pulling, he got an eyeful of the paintings adorning the far wall of the elegant, spacious foyer. Not Monet. Not Picasso.

  Hutchenson.

  And not one, but three of Andi’s paintings—ones that had been hanging at the Stapleton gallery opening—were clustered together. One, he’d understand. Two, spelled excessive. Three, was one too many.

  A crystal vase, filled with sprigs of fresh lavender and long-stemmed white roses, adorned a round table centered in the elegant hallway. Exactly the same as the arrangement in Andi’s foyer. Exactly the same as the flowers that were scattered throughout Andi’s house.

  He now understood the urgency in Stevens’s ‘go’ command. Andi’s art and the flowers had obviously touched a chord with Stevens, who’d been guarding Andi for weeks.

  More than enough for me.

  For the first time since Andi hadn’t appeared at the ER, hope flared. He pulled his Glock out of his holster and eased the door shut. Continuing through the foyer, he inhaled the same essence of lavender and rose that had filled Andi’s front entranceway while grounding himself with feeling the familiar, rough-textured handle of the weapon he routinely carried on domestic jobs. The familiar weight—30.18 fully loaded ounces—was comfortable. Reassuring. With gun in hand, his mind shifted to any-force-necessary mode.

  Andi, I will find you.

  He gestured with his head to Todd, signaling him to stay in step. “Coming in. On my signal, we disable guards. Ragno.”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re on the right track. Dispatch more agents. Every single agent Brandon doesn’t need at the townhouse. You and Zeus throw more resources on finding out everything we can on Sonja and Walter Long. Properties. Addresses. We need to know where they are. Need to know it, now.”

  With Todd at his side, Gabe ran to the rear of the house. He went into the kitchen, Glock in hand. “Hands up.”

  Time stood still as the guards decided their fate. Frozen for a split second, they both eyed Gabe and Todd, who had their Glocks aimed. Ready. The Neanderthal slowly started lifting his hands from thigh level. The other guard, smaller and younger, was faster—he raised his hands high over his head.

  The Neanderthal’s going for it.

  Before his thick fingers touched his gun, Marvin and Stevens—along with Gabe—had weapons trained on him, while Agent Todd and Vince moved in on the second guard.

  Gabe kept steady focus, aiming his Glock at the gnarly tendons of the man’s oversized, hairy right hand. “Don’t.”

  Mistake number three—his fat hand inched closer.

  Gabe fired. The man’s hand exploded, in a burst of blood splatter, fle
sh, and sinew. As he bent forward, bellowing with pain, Gabe said, “Todd. Vince. Billy. Carlos. Secure them. Make them talk. Any force necessary.”

  Turning, running, he yelled over his shoulder. “Marvin. Stevens. Search this place. Marvin—first floor. Stevens, with me.”

  Taking the stairs three at a time to the second floor, they hit a wide hallway. A rear stairway led to another floor. On the second floor, there were eight doors. All shut. “Stevens. Take the left. Todd.”

  “Yes.”

  “Anything?”

  Through Todd’s mic, Gabe heard the Neanderthal. Breathy. In pain. But still hanging tough. The hate in his voice was apparent, as he snarled, “You gotta hit me harder than that, you fag.”

  “Stevens,” Gabe said. “Hit him harder.”

  “Gladly.”

  Gabe’s first door led to a bedroom. Well-appointed. Clean. No Andi. Closets were full of clothes, but empty. Bathroom, empty.

  “Todd. What about the other guy?”

  “He swears he knows nothing,” Todd replied. “Swears today is his first day on the job. The big guy is obviously his boss. Threatening to kill him if he talks.”

  “Separate them.”

  “Ragno, Zeus, Brandon. Anything?” Gabe’s second door led to a workout room. Two exercise bikes. Two treadmills. A rack of hand weights. Another bathroom.

  Fuckitall. Are you even here, Andi? Or am I wasting time searching when you’re somewhere else?

  “No,” Ragno answered.

  “Serum’s arrived,” Brandon said. “Administering now.”

  “Facial recognition is starting to produce results,” Zeus said. “Analyzing…nothing firm, yet.”

  As Gabe stepped out of the second door, he saw Stevens enter the third door on the right. Gabe twisted the knob on his third door. Locked. Taking a step back, he raised his left foot and planted a solid, heel-driven kick below the door knob. With a sharp crack, the door flew open.

  “Andi. Thank Go…”

  Fleeting elation turned to heavy dread as his mind absorbed the horror of the vision confronting him. His gut tumbled down the highest cliff he’d ever climbed. Straight into the depths of hell.

  He’d found her. Too late.

  Naked. Positioned chest-down on the four-poster bed covered in white linens, her beautiful face, pale and waxy, turned to the door. Blindly staring, her once luminous eyes were now dull and vacant. Her mouth, slightly open. Her slender back pock marked with fresh burns.

  Gabe’s breath left his body as his gaze crawled over the horrific tableau. Digesting the vision, his eyes blurred, and he fell to his knees with the hardest sucker punch of his life. His heart stopped. His world no longer spun on its axis.

  “No!”

  “Gabe,” Zeus said. “What are you…?”

  Gaze riveted on Andi’s expressionless eyes, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t grasp the reality that was laid out, across the spacious bedroom, fifteen feet in front of him. He couldn’t do a goddamn thing for the seconds that it took his brain to absorb the meaning of the horror on the bed. But for her utter stillness, in the golden glow of soft chandelier light, her face was as achingly beautiful as ever.

  “Holy shit!” Stevens, from the doorway behind Gabe, gasped for air. “They killed her. Oh. God.”

  Young agent. Could be his first death.

  Forcing himself to look at her face, and not be consumed by the crimson red rage of fire that was burning his gut and blinding his vision with pulsing, molten lava, Gabe cleared his throat. “Stevens. Search the rest of the house.”

  I need a few minutes alone with my beautiful girl. I want to close her eyes. Cover her. Tell her…I’m sorry. Tell her how much I love her. Before this becomes a crime scene from hell.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Too late. Too late. Too goddamn late.

  “Gabe,” Ragno said, not breaking professional stride with her tone. “Confirm.”

  “Team leaders,” Zeus said, “Code Blue.”

  As his brother calmly called for integration of all phone lines due to a critical emergency, Gabe opened his mouth in an attempt to pull in air. Sucking in a harsh, choking breath, the cloying, heavy smell of lavender and rose filled his nostrils. His mouth. His gut. With the thick fragrances, came a sour smell of burned flesh and acrid cigarette smoke. And the stink of pain and horror.

  The odors sparked anger that gave him the power to right himself. Getting to his feet, he shook off the sucker-punch of harsh reality that had felled him. Finding a forced, makeshift equilibrium in the shaky world where Andi was dead, he crossed the room to the poster bed, where black leather bindings with shackles hung loose from each of the vertical columns.

  Rage building, he stepped on cigarette butts littering the hardwood floor and carpet runners near the bed. Underfoot, a waxy yellow puddle cracked on the hardwood floor. The same yellowish color as the mess of tapered candles that sat atop silver candlesticks, on a silver tray, in front of a tufted couch. “She’s made-up. Perfectly. They bound her. Burned her back with cigarettes. They recreated the burns on her back that Victor Morrissey left there. Then they…” He lost the ability to speak as he glanced at the torn skin on her wrists. Eyed the same on her ankles. Her legs were spread, in a wide-V. Saw fluid stains between them, at her upper thighs. Semen?

  He swallowed hard to keep down the bile of more anger than he’d ever experienced.

  “Zeus. Ragno,” Gabe said, kneeling at Andi’s bedside. “Find these goddamn fuckers for me. Find them. Now. Brandon?”

  He heard Brandon clear his throat, fighting past emotions. “Good God.”

  “Don’t wait for the serum to work on Juliette. That bitch is a part of this. Beat the living shit out of her until she tells you where Sonja and Walter Long are.”

  “Copy. Working on that,” Brandon said.

  “Gabe. Stand down,” Zeus said. What he meant was for Gabe to relinquish control to someone who could think rationally.

  “No. I’m calmer than I’ve ever been in my life.” Holding a breath, he lifted his fingers to her neck for confirmation of the obvious. “I know exactly how I’m going to kill Sonja and Walter Long. With my bare hands twisting their necks, after I burn their eyeballs out with cigarettes. Help me find them, Zeus. Ragno. Brandon. Now.”

  Letting his index finger and middle finger linger on her neck, where a steady pulse should beat, Gabe muttered, “No pulse.”

  Absorbing details as he went through rote field examination, questions started drifting past the horror. How had they accomplished so much in just two hours and change? Transporting. Torturing. Makeup. Raping. Then exiting the premises.

  Gabe’s mind clicked on what his fingers were pressing into. Skin. Colder than it should be. He studied the turn of her nose, the color of her skin at her cheekbones, and…holy shit…the too thin arch of her eyebrows. He felt a glimmer of impossible hope. The millions of tiny details he had absorbed about Andi suddenly seemed off as he stared. Unlike the woman on the bed, Andi had beautiful, thick eyebrows. And an upturn to her nose. A slight bump on it, too, where Victor Morrissey had broken it.

  Blinking, Gabe stared at her nose. It was close, but he wasn’t looking at Andi’s nose. Not her. He almost said it aloud—this wasn’t her. Then he forced himself to slow down.

  Gather facts. Hard facts. Don’t hope for the impossible. Don't make this wishful thinking.

  Shifting his fingers to under her arm for a more accurate read of her body temperature, he touched the chilly skin under her armpit. More hope bloomed.

  “She’s cold.”

  “How cold?” Ragno asked.

  “Too cold. Copy?”

  “Copy. Zero minus two hours twenty minutes,” Ragno said. “Even if she was murdered immediately after abduction, normal algor mortis indicates that her body temp, at a minimum, would be ninety-three degrees. Likely it would be higher.”

  Facts I damn well know.

  Hope building, Gabe’s body vibrated with a sudden flood of wild optimism. “This bo
dy is at ambient temperature. Andi shouldn’t have reached this for hours.” He scraped his fingernails over her bicep. Flesh-toned paste accumulated underneath his nails. Along the trail left by his nails, the skin had a blue tone. “Full-body, flesh-colored makeup is hiding blue color.”

  “Rigor?” Zeus asked.

  Gabe lifted the hand that was outstretched, to the door. It was like trying to move a baseball bat that was stuck in concrete. “Full. Consistent with anywhere from twelve to twenty-four hours out. She’s not Andi.”

  “Gabe,” Zeus said. “Go slow.”

  “I did.”

  “I know you don’t want this to be her. Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Eyes are close, but the color’s goddamn wrong. As in contact-color wrong, the kind of contacts that people wear over brown eyes to make them look green.” Pinching together his thumb and index finger, Gabe touched her eye and pulled out a soft contact lens, revealing a dark brown iris.

  A scar—almost concealed by makeup, under her armpit—caught his attention. A breast implant scar, which Andi did not have. “One hundred percent sure. Holy shit. Whoever she is, they made her up to look like Andi. Exactly like Andi. And it’s like they used a goddamn roadmap of the burns on her back.” He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and took a bunch of pictures. “Photos coming.”

  Relief that he wasn’t staring at Andi evaporated, as he snapped images of the mess of raw, black-rimmed, circular burns on the corpse’s back. “This is what they intend to do to Andi. Stevens. Where are you?”

  “Third floor,” Stevens answered. “A surgical suite. Examining rooms. No people. I’m in a huge office. Multiple monitors. Video equipment. More evidence of an Andi obsession. Need your eyes, sir.”

  Gabe turned from the corpse, then ran out of the bedroom, and up the flight of stairs. Found the room where Stevens sat at one of two large desks, furiously typing. On the monitor, a screen saver with photographs of Andi flashed a mosaic of stalking obsession.