BRIDAL JEOPARDY (14 page)

“Now what?” Stephanie asked.

“I’m thinking.”

Chapter Fourteen

Ike Broussard swiped his shirtsleeve across his forehead and sat for a moment in his unmarked car, postponing the moment of reckoning. A lawyer in Washington, D.C., had paid him to make sure a guy named Craig Branson got some information about a cold case. Now he was realizing that he could have put his balls in a wringer.

He’d thought John Reynard would never know who had given Branson the information. But somehow it had gotten back to him, and now Ike was in deep kimchi.

Finally he opened the car door and hoisted his two-hundred-fifty-pound bulk to the cracked sidewalk.

He didn’t count it as a good sign that Reynard had asked to meet him at one of his warehouses.

He buttoned his sports jacket over his bulging middle, then decided it looked better unbuttoned.

Glancing up at the redbrick building, he saw that a couple of video cameras were tracking his approach to the warehouse door. So if he didn’t come out of here alive, would Reynard destroy the tapes?

Trying to look confident, he walked through the door, which led directly onto a dimly lit space half the size of a football field stacked with boxes. But there were no men working the forklifts that sat along the left wall. He looked upward, locating the metal balcony on the other side of the room. Up there was an office where he’d been told to meet Reynard.

His footsteps echoed on the cement floor as he crossed the room, then clanged on the metal stairs. At the top, he looked toward the lit office.

Two bodyguards were in the waiting area. They gave him a knowing look as he knocked on the door to the inner office.

“Come in,” Reynard called out.

His heart was pounding as he went in.

“Close the door.”

He did as the import-export man asked.

“Thank you for coming,” Reynard said.

Ike nodded.

“I assume you thought I wouldn’t find out who told Branson about Polaski.”

When Ike started to speak, he waved him to silence. “You made a mistake. Every man is entitled to one mistake.”

The observation didn’t stop the pounding of his heart.

“But you have a chance to redeem yourself,” Reynard said.

Ike waited to find out what he had to do.

“I want the location of Branson’s cell phone.”

Ike didn’t bother saying that giving out information was against the law. He only said, “Yes, sir.”

“I want it by the end of the day,” Reynard clarified. “And when you’ve got it, you’re going to do something else for me.”

* * *

A
T
THE
COTTAGE
, Craig pushed back his chair and stood up.

“What now?” Stephanie asked.

When he sent her a very explicit picture, she flushed. “Is that all you think about?”

“I’m a guy. When I’m locked in a room with a beautiful woman, I can’t help thinking about making love to her.”

“You’re not locked in.”

“Not technically, but I think we need to stay out of sight. Which means staying in here. Do you have a better suggestion for how to use the time?”

“Do you think Dr. Solomon was trying to create telepaths?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s kind of a stretch.”

He nodded.

‘So what if he was trying to do something else, and this is what happened?’”

“Work before pleasure. Let’s do more research on the Solomon Clinic and see if we can figure it out.”

* * *

“T
HIS
IS
THE
ADDRESS
,” Tommy Ladreau said.

“Like the boss said, it’s a bed-and-breakfast.” He looked behind him at another car that had pulled up. It was a detective from the New Orleans P.D., a guy named Ike Broussard, and Tommy didn’t like having him on the scene. But it had been the boss’s orders.

“We don’t know if they’re in the main house or one of the cottages,” his partner, Marv Strickland, said.

“Go see if you can spot his car.”

Marv climbed out and made his way through the bushes to the main house, checking the cars in the parking spots. When Branson’s car wasn’t one of them, he started down the lane that wound through the property.

When he located Branson’s rental, he stopped, then moved into the shrubbery again.

His orders were to bring Stephanie Swift back, and if he had to kill Craig Branson to do it, so be it. But Marv was hoping to avoid an outright murder in broad daylight.

He went back to the car and climbed into the passenger seat.

“You saw him?”

“I saw his car.”

“Tell Broussard to do his thing.”

Marv climbed out again and walked back to the car behind theirs.

“Go for it,” he said.

* * *

C
RAIG
AND
S
TEPHANIE
came up with several more articles about the clinic, but nothing that would tell them what Dr. Solomon had been doing.

“I’m wondering if he was operating with government funding,” Craig said.

“What about it?”

“That might be a way to get a line on whoever’s after us.”

“We also have the names of several women who worked there,” Stephanie said. “Nurses.”

“Yeah.” Craig thought about that. “What if I talk to some of them? There’s one who’s living in a nursing home in Houma, for example.”

“What do you mean—you? If you’re going, so am I.”

“You’re the one who pointed out that it was dangerous to go into Houma.”

“Yes, but...”

“You stay here, and I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Don’t go unless you know she’s really there.”

“Okay.” He looked up the number and dialed the nursing home, asking if he could speak to Mrs. Bolton.

“She’s not feeling well this evening,” the woman who answered the phone said.

He felt Stephanie’s sigh of relief.

“So you don’t have to go see her.”

Almost as soon as Craig clicked off, his cell phone rang and they both went rigid.

“Who could that be?”

He looked at the unfamiliar number.

“Don’t answer.”

“I’d better do it.”

When he clicked the phone, the man on the other end of the line turned out to be Ike Broussard, the police detective who was responsible for his trip to New Orleans.

“Branson?” he said.

“Yes.”

“I’ve got some information for you.”

“What?”

“Not over the phone. I want you to meet me.”

“Where?”

“At the Bayou Restaurant in Houma.”

“You know about the Houma connection?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you have for me?”

“I’ll tell you when I see you.”

“Something to do with the Solomon Clinic?”

The detective hesitated for a moment, then said, “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

He clicked off and looked at Stephanie.

I’ll be back as soon as I can.

I was hoping you wouldn’t leave.

I know.

He reached for her, and she came into his arms, clinging tightly. “I just found you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“You won’t lose me.”

They held each other for long moments, and he had to force himself to ease away.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He stepped outside the door of the cottage and stood for a moment, feeling the barrier between them. He couldn’t see Stephanie now, but he could still feel her mind, and that was comforting. Even when he walked to the car and climbed in, he was still in contact with her.

Craig,
he heard her whisper his name.

I don’t like leaving you.

Then don’t.

He didn’t answer because there was nothing he could say. Still, he had to fight the need to turn around and go back as the contact with her faded and then vanished altogether.

He flashed back to the horrible moment when Sam had died and the contact between them had snapped.

This was the same, only Stephanie wasn’t dead; she was just out of range. He would finish his mission and come back to the cottage, and she would be there waiting for him.

He turned on the engine and drove away, heading for the restaurant where Broussard had said he was waiting.

* * *

S
TEPHANIE
WALKED
BACK
to the bedroom, where she and Craig had made love. While they’d been out, Mrs. Marcos had remade the bed.

Stephanie sat down, smoothing her hand across the spread, thinking that if she folded back the spread and climbed under the covers she’d feel closer to Craig. Maybe she could just sleep until he came back.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

“I’ll be right there,” she called out as she walked into the living room. Thinking it was someone from the B and B staff, she opened the door.

The two men she’d seen in the car across the street from her house barreled in, a mixture of triumph and relief on their faces.

* * *

A
S
C
RAIG
DROVE
into Houma, he kept alert for the men who had kidnapped him and Stephanie. He’d struggled to keep his thoughts to himself as he’d discussed this trip with Stephanie, but now that he was alone, he was aware that he was at risk. And as he thought about it, he couldn’t be sure if Lieutenant Broussard was on the up-and-up. He drove slowly past the Bayou Restaurant, looking in the window, trying to spot Broussard. Although he’d never met the man, he was pretty sure he could identify a police detective.

But as he glanced in his rearview mirror, he saw a van in back of him, a van a lot like the one the two thugs had used when they’d kidnapped him and Stephanie.

He cursed aloud, speeding up, wishing he knew the city better. He’d insisted that Stephanie stay at the B and B, and now he realized he’d given up the one advantage he’d had. Together he and Stephanie had psychic powers they could draw on. Alone, he was the way he’d been for all the years since Sam had died.

He drove across a bridge that spanned a bayou, then across another, surprised at how much water flowed through the city. The van stayed behind him as he turned down a side street, then came to a screeching halt when the blacktop ended at the bank of a river.

There was nowhere to back up, no escape in his vehicle. Throwing open the door, he sprang out and started running along the edge of the bayou.

He heard running feet behind him and then the sound of a bullet whizzing past his head.

He ran down a short pier, then dived in, swimming deep underwater as more shots were fired. His only option was to keep going, trying to put as much distance between himself and the men with the guns while he veered downstream to make it harder for them to figure out where he would surface.

Finally, when his lungs were bursting, he swam to the surface and dragged in air.

He heard a shout, then bullets hit the water around him, but he was already diving.

He let the current carry him farther downstream. When he came up again, low-hanging branches shielded him from view.

Looking back, he saw the two men running along the bank, but it appeared that neither one of them was going to plunge into the bayou.

When he heard a splash, he looked to his right and saw an alligator slipping into the water.

Teeth gritted, he used a cypress root to pull himself out of the water, putting a tree trunk between himself and the men with the guns.

His clothing was dripping. His shoes were covered with mud, and he was out in the open. If he turned around, he would likely run into the men.

His only option was to keep walking, his shoes sucking in the mud as he put space between himself and the two men. He had left civilization behind. There was only dense vegetation on both sides of the water, cypress and tupelo and saw palmetto, until he came to a shack near the water. In front of it was a pier, and tied to the pier was a pirogue, one of the small boats that the local residents used.

He looked behind him and across the water. The men had lost him in the swamp, and he thought it would be safe to cross the water again. The shack in front of him looked deserted.

Turning toward the pier, he walked onto the weathered boards, heading for the boat.

Before he had gotten more than a few feet, a voice rang out behind him.

“You—hold up, or you’re a dead man.”

* * *

S
TEPHANIE
FACED
the two men, determined not to give them anything Reynard could use against her. “Thank God you’re here.”

“Oh, yeah? Looks like you were pretty cozy here with Branson.”

“I thought his name was Craig Brady.”

“Craig Branson,” one of the men corrected.

“He was using a false name?” she answered, as if she was shocked.

“What were you doing here with him?” the shorter man asked.

“He was holding me captive.”

“What did he want with you?”

“I’ll talk to Mr. Reynard about that,” she said, hoping she could come up with a story he would believe.

The guy snorted, and Stephanie fought to project the impression that she was telling the truth.

“Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

“Going where?”

“Mr. Reynard is waiting for you.”

“Let me get my stuff.”

He hesitated for a moment, and she struggled to project the idea that he had to give her a few more minutes here—time to leave a clue for Craig.

* * *

C
RAIG
TURNED
to see a grizzled old man with a week’s growth of beard, wearing a camouflage shirt, torn blue jeans and combat boots. He was holding a shotgun pointed at Craig’s chest.

“Don’t shoot. I need help,” Craig said, raising his hands above his head.

The guy’s face turned a shade less hostile as he took in Craig’s appearance. “What happened to you?”

“Two guys with guns were chasing me.”

“Yeah, why?”

Craig took a chance and asked, “Have you heard of the Solomon Clinic?”

“You one of the bastards who was runnin’ that place?”