Hurricane Force (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 7) (22 page)

I went downstairs and grabbed my cell phone. I took a deep breath and slowly blew it out before dialing Harrison’s number. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation. Part of me hoped I got his voice mail and could put it off just a little longer, but as my luck was running, he answered on the first ring.

“It’s me,” I said. “I have a big problem.”

“Shit.”
 

Usually when I called Harrison with an issue, I always described it as a “little problem.” The fact that I was coming out and stating this was a big one left him no doubt that I was about to dump a huge mess on him.

I gave him a rundown on everything that had happened, starting with my unauthorized investigation of Max’s apartment in New Orleans and ending with my dispatch of one of Ahmad’s men. When I finished, there was dead silence on the other end of the phone. It lasted so long that I thought for a moment Harrison had either had a heart attack or simply left his phone on the coffee table, formed a new identity, and fled the country. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. Partnering with me couldn’t be easy.

Then the explosion came.

A good two minutes of cursing and yelling—some of the words and phrases were things I’d never even heard. I was pretty sure he was so angry he was making stuff up. Finally, he ran out of either creativity or air and he went silent.
 

“I’ve got to go down to the sheriff’s department to make a statement here shortly,” I said. “I need to know how to proceed.”

“You said the deputy took responsibility for the shot, right? Is he going to go on record with that?”

“I think so. No one would think twice about it if he did it, whereas if he put on the record that I did…well, it would blow my cover and make him look foolish given that we were sorta dating and he had no idea who I really was.”

Harrison blew out a breath. “You know, you have had some real doozies before, but this one takes the cake. I bet we could drop you off on a deserted island and you’d still find a way to screw things up.”

“Probably.”

The resignation and exhaustion I felt must have come through in that single word, because Harrison backed off of me and shifted back to the job.
 

“So Ahmad’s men killed Randal’s men. Is that right?”

“I can’t be positive they were Randal’s men, but that’s what I think. The other two were definitely Ahmad’s. I recognized one of them.”

“Did they recognize you?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t see a flicker of recognition in the one I dispatched, but then he didn’t have time to focus on my looks either. I didn’t get a good look at the other man before Carter fired. I think Randal’s men tracked Gertie’s license plate and got her home address. My guess is Ahmad’s men followed them thinking they’d get a line on the counterfeiter.”

“It doesn’t matter. It puts them all dangerously close to you. And what if the one hiding behind the shed sent a text telling Ahmad that he’d seen you? He had time before he ran out to do it?”

I felt my stomach clench a little. “Carter searched them. I’m sure if he found anything that indicated my cover was blown, he would have contacted me right away.”

“Yeah, probably so, but still, it’s too close for comfort. You’ve been hanging out with those old ladies since you arrived. It wouldn’t take someone a lot of time to track them back to you. Randal’s men got a good look at you at the apartment. Even if the guys in the alley are dead, I’m sure they reported in with a description.”

“True.”

“You should have contacted me when you got the information on Randal.”

“It was just a theory,” I said. “We wanted to make the connection, but yes, you’re right. I should have given you the name as soon as I suspected he was Jamison’s counterfeit connection.”

“Well, no sense harping on it now, but with Randal’s and Ahmad’s guys dead, it’s not going to take long for both camps to come out swinging with the front line and burying evidence with the back one.”

It was all things I’d already processed, and they were no less grim with Harrison laying them out verbally as I’d already done mentally.

“So how do we proceed?” I asked.

“First, I get the three of you out of Sinful. Normally, I’d pull you out altogether and send the old ladies to the Bahamas, but I think the things they know might be beneficial to the investigation, and God help me for saying this, but I don’t trust pulling off the takedown without you. The FBI has some great agents, but no one is more qualified for this than you.”

It was the only time I remembered Harrison extending me a compliment. I knew he appreciated my skills, as I did his. We’d saved each other’s lives enough times to have a deep respect for each other when it came to the work. But he’d never actually come out and said I was better at something than others. Under ordinary circumstances, it would have been a real ego boost, but now, I almost wished it weren’t true.
 

If I weren’t so skilled, so devoted, so tunnel-visioned, maybe my life wouldn’t be falling apart.

“Okay,” I said. “You secure the safe house and then let me know how passage will be handled. I’ll let Ida Belle and Gertie know we’re relocating.”

“And your deputy friend. He’s not going to be happy about the CIA yanking you out from under him. He’ll be even madder if you disappear without telling him. Just no information on the safe house or passage.”

“Of course not,” I said, even though I didn’t agree with Harrison’s assessment. Carter would never want Ida Belle and Gertie remaining in a dangerous situation. He would be all for them being locked away where no one could get to them and they couldn’t get into any trouble. As for me, he’d probably prefer if I just disappeared.

He might get his wish.

If we managed to get Ahmad in New Orleans, there would be no reason for me to stay in Sinful. I could become a ghost as far as Sinful was concerned…just like Max. The only difference was, I would never return.

Chapter Sixteen

I knew I was supposed to wait on Ida Belle’s call and for her to pick me up, and given the situation, it wasn’t in my best interest to go walking down the streets of Sinful alone after dark, but I honestly didn’t care. I’d reached that mental state of “what happens is going to happen” and there was no shaking me out of that attitude until I was ready to listen to logic again.

Besides, I was going stir-crazy in that silent house. Turning on the television hadn’t provided one ounce of distraction, and Merlin, while a decent enough housemate, wasn’t exactly a conversationalist. He’d watched the entire night unfold from his latest preferred position at the top of the stairs. I decided that if reincarnation was real, I wanted to come back as a cat. Aside from being startled during sleep, very little perturbed them.

I checked the street from my bedroom window and pulled on a ball cap, shoving my ponytail underneath. The streets were clear—not even so much as a car passing by—but I still let myself out through the back door and skirted through my neighbor’s backyard before making my way around to the front of the houses. Front doors were too easily watched from a distance. A couple cars I didn’t recognize were parked down the block from me. Most likely, they were friends or relatives of the people who lived in the houses, but why run the risk?

I set out at a good clip for Main Street. For someone with my conditioning, it wasn’t a long jog. For someone in my state of mind, it wasn’t long enough. When I got close to downtown, I turned and set off down another block, increasing my pace to a sprint. I’d circled the block twice and was dripping with sweat before I stopped and bent over, drawing in big gulps of air. After a couple minutes’ recovery, I checked my cell phone but still hadn’t received a message from Ida Belle.
 

I looked at my watch. It had been forty-five minutes since they’d left my house. They had to be close to wrapping things up. I’d just head over there now and wait until they finished. I could use some water, and I wasn’t going back home for it. I set off at my jogging pace again and a couple minutes later stepped inside the sheriff’s department.

Deputy Breaux looked up from the front desk when I entered. His eyes widened as he took in my somewhat disheveled appearance. “Are you all right?” he asked as he jumped up from his desk.

“I’m fine. I just jogged over.”

Deputy Breaux frowned. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to be jogging around by yourself, especially at night. I’ll go right ahead and admit this thing with those men at Gertie’s house has scared the crap out of me.”

“It’s certainly upsetting,” I said. “My problem is I’ve always exercised when I’m stressed, and Marge didn’t have a treadmill. I was going stir-crazy just sitting there listening to the silence.”

Deputy Breaux relaxed a little. “I can see that. When I’m really stressed, I fish, but my sister gets on one of those step machines. She’s been through two of them already in the last five years. You gotta wonder what she’s doing to her knees.”

And what was stressing her out enough to wear out two stair-climbers. As far as I knew, Deputy Breaux’s sister was a stay-at-home mom with two elementary-aged children. Don’t get me wrong—that setup would probably drive me to drink, but it was the life she wanted. “Maybe you should see about getting her checked out by a doctor,” I said. I’d seen plenty of agents crack and need anxiety meds to function normally. “She might have something wrong with her that exercise can’t fix.”

Deputy Breaux nodded. “Mom says she’s been different ever since she fell at the boat dock. She cracked her head good. I think Mom finally got her to agree to see a doctor in New Orleans.”

“Good. I hope that helps.”

“Thank you.” He gave me a shy smile. “You’re a really nice person, Ms. Morrow, always thinking about other people.”

I just smiled. What was the alternative? Tell him I wasn’t a nice person at all? That most everything I did was self-serving even if it appeared altruistic?

The desk phone rang and Deputy Breaux answered.
 

“Yep. That’s good,” he said. “I’ll be there in a couple minutes.” He hung up the phone and looked at me. “The crime scene unit is done processing Gertie’s house. I’ve got to go secure it. The neighbors have already started collecting on the sidewalk. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to them.”

“That you can’t speak about an ongoing investigation and that Gertie is fine and wasn’t at home when the incident occurred.”

He relaxed a little. “That sounds good. I’m going to say it just like you told me. Will you be all right staying up here alone? You can lock the door after I leave.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay then. They’re back in Carter’s office doing the statements. I’m sure you won’t be waiting long.”

“No problem, and Deputy Breaux, be careful.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I waited until he got into his truck, then locked the front door behind him. Under normal circumstances, I would have headed straight behind the desk and started flipping through all the paperwork, but I couldn’t work up the energy to care. What I really needed was water, so I headed down the hall for the break room.
 

The makeshift “Broken” sign on the bathroom door almost made me smile, until I remembered that Carter probably considered it just one more time he’d been made a fool of. He’d probably spent every free moment over the past couple of hours putting the past five weeks into perspective. He wasn’t going to like what he remembered. Not cast in a new light.

The break room was down the hallway at the back of the building. The door to Carter’s office was closed and I could hear muffled voices inside. I stepped into the break room and pulled a bottled water from the refrigerator. I was about to head back up front when the air-conditioning turned off and Gertie’s voice flooded through the air vent as clear as day.

“You can’t just pass judgment on her without knowing the facts,” Gertie said.

I froze.

“Says the only two people who knew the truth?” Carter asked. “You’ll understand if I don’t really care much for you mounting a defense.”

“She didn’t tell us,” Ida Belle said. “We knew.”

“Yeah, that’s what she said, and I don’t buy it for a minute. What I saw tonight was Krav Maga, executed with the precision of a highly trained assassin. Soldiers weren’t using that art in Vietnam, and whatever they used back then, they certainly weren’t running through the hospitals and offices doing it.”

“We saw it in the field,” Ida Belle said. “We weren’t administrative staff. Gertie, Marge, and I were counterintelligence.”

There was a long pause of silence, then finally Carter said, “You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes. I do,” Ida Belle said. “Our military records are sealed, of course, but I’m still in contact with our commanding officer. I’m sure he’d be happy to fill you in on the finer points of our training and experience. Do you really think two average old ladies would take the risks we do?”

“I…I don’t know what to think anymore. Jesus.”

“We’re really sorry to lay it on you like this,” Gertie said. “No one in Sinful has ever known our past and that’s the way we wanted it. Marge, Ida Belle, and I made a pact to never talk about it.”

“And we kept it,” Ida Belle said, “until we met Fortune. We couldn’t pretend we didn’t know what she was and we knew she wouldn’t trust us unless she knew what we were. What we knew for certain is that she was in danger and we wanted to help her.”