Out of Control (10 page)

“You know,” I said, “if a person could disable the loading terminals at Ras Tanura,
the drop in oil supply until the Saudis could reroute to another port would initially
push the price up at least fifty bucks a barrel. If that person held oil futures at
current prices, he’d make fifty dollars a barrel after the port went down. That’s
a lot of money.”

She considered. “True, but how could a bozo like Dylan disable a Saudi port? Bin Laden
no doubt tried for years, and even he couldn’t do it.”

Suddenly a piece clicked into place. “Dylan can’t, but he has a Saudi friend who comes
from a wealthy family. Hakeem something.”

She slanted me a look. “Yeah, that’s helpful. No last name?”

“Sorry.” But I could call Cole and find out.

We cleaned up as best we could, and decided the hole in the wall would hopefully remain
a mystery to Dylan. Then we debated whether to take the maps and the literature, and
decided no, because whatever he was up to, we didn’t want him to know anyone had put
two and two together. Conaway put it back as she’d found it and we left through the
back door.

Her car wasn’t far from mine and we agreed to meet back at my hotel.

Thirty minutes later, we were in a room at the Intercontinental, Conaway waiting on
room service while I stood in a shower as hot as I could take, dying to obliterate
any trace of Tim Fresh. I replayed it in my head, over and over, continually trying
to figure out how I could have saved myself. I couldn’t stand that I’d been at his
mercy.

As soon as I got back to New Orleans, I was enrolling myself in Mr. P.’s ongoing class.
I would never, ever, so long as I lived, be in that situation again.

I heard a noise and turned quickly, just in time to see a man’s hand reach inside
the shower and grab the curtain to pull it back. With the almost-rape still raging
through my mind, I freaked out completely and screamed bloody murder, pressing my
body against the tiles and watching in horror as the curtain opened.

“
Jesus H. Christ.
” Robichaud stared at me as if I was a ghost. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

I stopped screaming and started crying. Great, huge sobs.

He turned off the shower and snatched me out of the tub, his arms crushing me against
him as he rocked to and fro. “It’s okay, sugar. Just me. It’s just me.”

Conaway rushed into the bathroom, breathing hard. “Aw, hell, Drake, I’m so sorry.
I had to go downstairs because my cell won’t work up here. He was in the lobby, so
I sent him up, but I didn’t tell him what… He didn’t know. It didn’t occur to me that
he’d come in while you were in the shower.” She frowned at Robichaud. “Why, exactly,
are you in here while she’s in the shower? Are you two fooling around, or something?
Because I had no idea, and man, I’m
so
sorry, Blair.”

I managed a watery smile. “’S okay. And no, we’re not fooling around. We’re just…good
friends.”

“Uh-huh.” She glanced at Robichaud again before she took the hotel robe off the hook
behind the door and handed it to him. “I’ll be out there, giving a big tip to the
room service guy who’s wigging out because you were screaming.” She left, gently closing
the door behind her.

We stood in the bathroom for a long time, me still crying while Robichaud held me
and murmured comforting things that didn’t say anything at all, but were just what
I needed to hear. He called me sugar a lot, and for someone who really isn’t into
pet names and endearments, I sure did like it.

When I was finally done crying, he handed me a couple of Kleenex, helped me into the
robe and tied the belt, then walked me into the bedroom, where Conaway was waiting
to eat.

“Everything all right?” she asked, looking worried.

“It’s fine,” I said, sinking into the chair opposite hers and reaching for one of
the beers we’d ordered. While she started on her club sandwich, I drank the beer and
watched Robichaud take one and sit at the end of one of the beds. He had an expectant
look on his face, but before I told him anything, I had a burning question of my own.
“Why aren’t you in Venezuela?”

“Because you aren’t in Venezuela. When Trick told me you backed out, I naturally assumed…”
He stopped and looked at Conaway, then took a drink of his beer before he continued.
“You know what I assumed. But then I got to thinking, and it didn’t fit that you’d
chicken out like that. Not your style, you know? You told me that guy at the memorial
was a friend of Deke’s, but something about that didn’t wash, so I called his mom
and asked her who he was. The minute she said he was Parnell’s brother, I knew he’d
put you up to something. I called Donna at dispatch and asked where you were. She
said Dallas, and here I am.”

It’s impossible for any of us to go anywhere and keep it a secret from the company,
so we don’t even try. We’re required to tell where we are at all times, in case we’re
needed. “How’d you know to come here, to this hotel?”

“Trick told me this is where Lacrouix and Book staff stay when they’re in Dallas,
and you being a creature of habit…let’s just say it was a good guess.” He drank more
of the beer and leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows. “Now you know all about
me. How ‘bout you explain why you lost it so bad in there?”

I started at the beginning, and went through the whole, long story, right up until
the part when Tim knocked me down. At that point, I began to stumble through the words,
and finally, I gave up and nodded to Conaway. “You tell him.” I reached for my own
sandwich and started to eat, listening to her explain how she came to be in Dylan’s
house.

“I’d been there maybe fifteen minutes when I heard a sound from the garage. I thought
Dylan was home, but it turned out to be another man who was sneaking around, just
like me. I was curious, so I stayed in the shadows and watched him. He was about to
go look through Dylan’s desk when the door to the den opened and in walks Blair. Well,
I didn’t actually know it was Blair until a minute later, when she spoke. It was dark
in there, so all I could see were shadows and silhouettes. Anyway, he pushed her to
the floor and came down on top of her and I knew it wasn’t going to be a happy ending
if I couldn’t do something to help. In his bedroom closet, Dylan’s got a gun cabinet,
so I snuck around and went to get a shotgun.”

Robichaud wasn’t lying back on the bed any longer. He sat at the edge of the mattress,
back straight, the beer clutched in one hand as he stared grimly at Conaway.

“It took me a minute to load, but I finally figured it out and headed back for the
den. By then, he was about to rape her.” She leaned back and swallowed the last of
her beer, then finished the story, ending with Tim running away like the loser he
was. “And that’s about it. We came here and ordered room service, and you know what
happened after that. Now you understand why Blair freaked out in the shower. I expect
it’ll take her a while to work that out of her system, so I suggest you don’t go around
startling her.”

He looked at me and the play of emotions across his good looking face was scary and
fascinating. Anger, fear, worry, sympathy, back to anger, and finally, stiff curiosity.
“Where’s the dossier?”

I nodded toward my small tool bag. “In there. Zipper pocket.”

He reached in and withdrew the papers, then unfolded them and started to read. When
he was done, he glanced up at me. His eyes were still cold as ice. “Do you have any
contact with your family?”

I slowly shook my head. “Not in almost seven years. After my father cut me out of
the will, it was like I was dead to them. I called my sisters every so often, but
they never called back, and I finally realized they didn’t want to risk getting cut
off, as well. So I stopped calling.”

“That’s harsh,” Conaway said. “My family thinks I’m nuts, and some kind of liberal
wackjob, but they do call. I still go home for Christmas.”

Robichaud stood and paced back and forth at the end of the beds, talking as he stalked,
waving his beer around. “There are way too many coincidences around all of this. First
of all, why was that particular Maresco offshore platform targeted? It’s the only
offshore blowout preventer equipment that you’re responsible for, and you make routine
checks only once a month. Why did Parnell wait until you were there before he set
it off? And how is it that your ex-husband turns out to be the lead suspect?” He stopped
and looked straight at me. “See what I mean?”

“I see there are coincidences, but it doesn’t add up to anything. You make it sound
as though I figure into the plan somehow, and I don’t see how, or why.”

He took off pacing again. “If you could ask A.J. how he got involved in the oil business
with Arroyo, he’d probably tell you Dylan approached him about it. Remember you thought
the well we just killed was most likely one of a long string of wells they’d drilled?”

I opened another beer and nodded.

“It wasn’t. That was the first and probably will be the only one. I’m guessing they
needed a reason to be in the area in order to set the Maresco blowouts and make A.J.
look guilty.”

Remembering A.J.’s empty office, I wondered if Robichaud was onto something. “It is
peculiar that his office was like a showroom, with nothing in it except furniture.
The FBI isn’t that thorough.”

He started pacing again. “You say he was the contact man for the Drake Oil and Gas
inside guy, Tom Plank, who’s his friend, and the one who introduced the two of you.
A.J.’s a figurehead, a decoy they set up to be the fall guy after the blowouts. As
for the Alaska leases, I doubt they intend to drill. Instead, they’ll flip the properties
for twice or more what they paid for them as soon as the price of oil is sky high.
After they sabotage the Saudi port.”

Conaway nodded. “So they clean up on oil futures
and
the leases.”

“What about the offshore blowout last week?” I asked. “Why did they get Parnell to
set that one and make sure I was there when he did it?”

“To keep you from doing exactly what you’re doing right now. Clearly, you weren’t
supposed to survive.” Robichaud deposited his empty beer bottle on the table and sat
at the end of the bed, his expression solemn. “Whoever’s behind the blowouts has a
vested interest in making certain they win the bid on those leases. I think they put
together the dossier on your family to figure out a way in, a weak link they could
exploit to get inside information on the bids, and that’s how they found A.J. Once
they discovered his connection to Tom Plank, they asked him to join the scam.”

“He’s an opportunist, so I doubt it took much persuading, but do you think he was
in on the blowouts?”

“I doubt it. The man’s sitting in jail waiting to make bail. If he knew Dylan was
behind the blowouts, he’d be screaming and pointing the finger.”

“Surely you don’t think Dylan is the mastermind of all this? The man probably doesn’t
stay sober more than a couple of hours a day, and he’s not the sharpest knife in the
drawer.”

Robichaud took the last beer. “No, I don’t think so. Maybe his dad is behind things.”

Conaway shifted in her chair. “All we have is conjecture, but there’s a good chance
Robichaud’s right about Tom Plank. You should call your dad and let him know there
may be a weasel in his company.”

Instant panic assailed me and I shook my head. “Hell, no.”

Robichaud moved for the phone.

“What are you doing?”

“If you won’t call, I will. The man deserves to know someone’s fixing the bids.”

I imagined my father answering the phone in his pajamas, pretending he’s wide awake
even though it was almost one in the morning. He’d be confused at first, then pissed
off that a stranger was calling to tell him a cock and bull story. Robichaud would
get an earful.

With a deep, heavy sigh, I pulled out my cell, saw it was dead, then moved to reach
for the phone. It kind of blew my mind, but I remembered the phone number, even after
all that time.

Just as I’d imagined, Dad answered with a bright, lively voice, as though he was sitting
there reading the paper and not sound asleep.

“Dad, it’s Blair.”

Dead silence. Was it shock, or did he just refuse to speak to me?

“I’ll make this brief.” And I did, explaining little, but getting the point across
that someone in the company was playing fast and loose with the bid process. Somebody
who was in league with possible murderers and arsonists.

“How do you know this?” he asked, sounding worse than skeptical. He sounded as though
he thought maybe I had something to do with it.

My regret for calling was enormous and I scowled at Robichaud and Conaway. “How I
know isn’t important. I’m not even sure I’m right, but I thought you should know it’s
possible. You need to keep an eye on the bids.”

“There’s no one in the company who’d do something like that.”

“Ask Tom Plank.”

“Tom’s a good man, from a solid family. Been with me for years. He’d never do anything
dishonest.”

It was always about family. And blood. I started to tell Dad that Tom was the one
who introduced me to A.J., but didn’t. What was the point? “That’s it then? Because
you despise me, you’ll allow your bids to be mucked up?”

“As long as I get a fair price for the leases, that’s all that matters.”

My shock was complete. “You mean, you don’t
care
if someone wins by extortion?”

“Perhaps I would, if I thought there was an ounce of truth to what you’re saying.
This is terribly embarrassing and humiliating, and I’m all done.” Without another
word, he killed the connection.

Chapter Seven

I slammed the phone down and glared at Robichaud. “He hung up on me. Thanks a
lot.
”

Not looking the slightest bit ruffled or worried, he stood, picked up the phone, and
punched “0”. “Would you please place a call to the last number dialed from this room?”
He paused. “Thanks.”

His gaze remained on the Audubon print on the wall above the bed where I sat fuming.
“Hello, Mr. Drake. My apologies for calling at such a late hour, but I have some information
I believe you need. My name is Nicholas Robichaud.” He listened for a moment, then
said, “As a matter of fact, yes, those Robichauds.”

He sat on the opposite bed, swung his legs up and leaned back, as if he were settling
in for a cozy chat.

I glanced at Conaway, who’d just gotten out of her chair and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”

“Beer run. We need more beer. Maybe some vodka. Or Valium.” Then she was gone.

Focusing on Nick again, I marveled at him. In a calm, deep voice, lightly sprinkled
with a southern drawl, he went through the events of the past week, up until, and
including, what I’d found in Dylan’s office. He didn’t mention Tim Fresh or the almost
rape. When he got to the end, he said, “If you can fathom why they’d need personal
information and photos of your family in order to put together a bid package, I’d
love to hear it, sir, but my guess is that their reasons aren’t in any way altruistic.
They discovered that Mr. Plank is an old friend of A.J.’s, and—”

He stopped suddenly, as if he’d been interrupted. Then he looked gratified, as if
my father said exactly what he wanted to hear. “Of course he is. I believe it was
Mr. Plank who introduced A.J. to Blair. It’s hardly a stretch to believe the man might
be capable of leaking information about the bids to Arroyo Petroleum.”

Nick fell quiet and he finally looked at me. “Yes, I’m a very good friend of Blair’s.”
He paused to listen again. “That’s a question best asked of her.” Without warning,
he held the receiver out. “Talk to your father.”

“I hate you,” I whispered before I brought the phone to my ear. “Yes?”

Silence.

“Dad, it’s been a very long day and I’m not up for playing little games. Say what
you have to say and let’s get it over with. I’d hate to
embarrass
you any longer than necessary.”

In a voice so soft, I had to strain to hear it, he said, “I’m sorry.”

I wanted to rail at him. I wanted to cuss him out and tell him just what I thought
of his
I’m sorry
, which was about seven years too late. I wanted to tell him to shove his self-righteous
snobbery up his ass. I wanted to let it all out—the years of anger and resentment
and hurt. And loneliness.

But of course I didn’t. I clutched the phone and said in an equally quiet voice, “Thank
you.”

“Will you come and see me?”

I’d rather be shot. “Yes.”

“If you like, bring Nicholas.”

Like hell. I couldn’t take him to meet my father because he was going to be dead approximately
ten seconds after I got off the phone. “Yes, I will. Thank you.”

It was quiet again and I swear I squirmed, so ready to get off the phone and away
from what had to be the most awkward moment of my life.

Finally, he said, “You should know, regardless of what happened, your mother and I
love you. We’ve been watching the news, and thanked God you weren’t hurt in that offshore
blowout. We’ve never understood you, Blair. We thought you’d come home and let bygones
be bygones, but the years went by and we never heard a word.”

Whatever semblance of niceties and manners I’d clung to flew right out the window.
“Phones work both ways, Dad. You’re a very rich man, with two planes at your disposal,
and I’m sure your pilots know the route to New Orleans. I haven’t heard a peep from
you since the day I got your revised will in the mail. Being a woman of some intelligence,
I took that to mean you were writing me out of your life, and acted accordingly. After
all this time, I’ll be
damned
if I’ll sit by and let you make the past seven years my fault.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“And I said thank you.”

“Then perhaps we should leave it at that and lay the blame to rest. I want you to
come home, Blair.”

“Do you mean you’d like to have a visit? Or do you expect me to come back and take
up the Drake dogma? Because you should know, it’s never going to be like that.”

He sounded old and tired. “I know. Just come home, Blair. Your mother’s not been the
same since you left. Whole damn family’s going to hell in a handbasket, and I have
no idea how to fix it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Wynne’s husband left her. Ran off with Molly MacKenzie.”

“Molly who worked out at the roadhouse?” The parents must have had heart failure.
I thought of Wynne, the oldest of us, always so quiet and beautiful and graceful.
Like a china doll. Then I thought of her daughter, who she named after me, and I wanted
to cry.

“Yes, that Molly.” He sighed. “Courtney’s husband, Allen, ran through his trust fund
and is working for me now, but he’s a jackanapes. And Tissa’s out in Sedona, looking
for her aura, or some such nonsense. Left Rory and her kids in Birmingham, just like
that. He couldn’t handle them, so he left them here and moved back to Atlanta. Never
thought I’d see the day a child of mine would abandon her own children, but there
it is.”

I didn’t want to feel sorry for him. I really didn’t. But I did. He was such a powerhouse,
always stalwart and sure of himself. Now, he sounded confused and sad. Beaten. Amazing
how five minutes can change everything. “I’ll call soon, Dad, and we can plan a visit.”

“Yes, Blair, do that. And bring Nicholas.” He actually chuckled. “Hell if you’re not
going to wind up the only one married to a real man.”

I glanced at my supposed future husband. “Dad, it’s not like that. Nick and I are
only friends.”

“Not for long.”

“How would you know?”

“Because no man would have the guts to call me and say what he did if he wasn’t in
love with you. Bring him home, Blair.”

“All right, but don’t assume anything.” I said goodbye, hung up the receiver, and
looked across the distance between the two beds. “He’s probably waking up my mother
so she can start planning the wedding.”

Instead of looking panicked, or amused, Robichaud was sober as a church. “You never
know.” He moved off his bed and came toward mine, stretching out and pulling the belt
of the robe until I was lying flat on my back. He gathered me close.

“I guess I should say thank you for calling him.”

“Hmm, I guess.”

I inhaled his scent, a mix of aftershave and fabric softener and Robichaud. “Thank
you,” I whispered against his faded T-shirt.

He kissed me then and I was far too glad he didn’t go to Venezuela. “Are you okay?”
he asked.

I looked into his eyes, the color of chocolate, and saw worry there. “If you mean
am I freaked out at the idea of sex after what happened to me, the answer is no. At
least, not with you. If you mean am I willing to fool around with you right this minute,
the answer is no, because Conaway will be back soon.”

“Where’d she go?”

“Beer run.”

“Well then,” he said with a smile, “we may as well make out until she gets back.”

We did, and once again I felt like a hormonal teenager. But even more than before
because Robichaud had given me a gift, something that elevated him to somewhere close
to awesome. I strongly suspected it wouldn’t take a lot for me to fall wildly in love
with him. Then what? Doomed to end badly, as usual?

I didn’t want to think about that. Not when Robichaud was running his warm hand beneath
the robe, across my skin, kneading my breasts while he gave me a passionate kiss.

I heard the card key in the door and pushed away from him, straightening my robe,
sitting up straight, as though we’d only been chatting.

Robichaud didn’t follow suit, still lying across the bed, his dark hair mussed from
my hands.

Conaway rolled her eyes. “Just friends? As if.” She set a six pack of Heinekens on
the table. “Had to bribe the bartender downstairs to give me these, and I’m the frugal
sort, so let’s drink up and not waste my money.”

We dutifully took a beer and I settled back on the bed, leaning against the headboard.
“Wonder if Dylan plans to pay for the leases with the money he makes off oil futures?”

Robichaud was stretched across the foot of the bed, his head propped up by one hand,
a beer in the other. “Pretty risky if his whole plan hinges on crippling the Arabian
infrastructure.”

“How could a nimrod like Dylan disable a Saudi port?” Conaway asked.

I pointed my beer at her. “I told you, he has a friend over there.”

“Right. Hakeem Who Has No Last Name.”

“I can call Cole in the morning and ask him.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Or I could email a buddy of mine at CNN. He can access the database
and find whatever story ran when they blew up the school.”

“It’s almost three in the morning on the east coast.”

“He works nights.” She pulled a small laptop out of her bag, booted up and began to
type.

With her back turned, I suppose Robichaud thought it would be a good idea to set his
beer down and rub his hand along the inside of my calf.

“Lay off, Robichaud,” she said over her shoulder. “Nothing more awkward than hanging
out with two hot-for-each-other people, and I’m not leaving, so I’d appreciate it
if you’d restrain yourself.”

“Were you a nun in a previous life?”

“No more than you were a priest. Where are you staying tonight?”

“Here. After what happened, I’d like to keep an eye on you two.”

“You’re not sleeping with Drake.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” He looked at me and mouthed the word,
Much
.

“If you snore,” she said, “you have to sleep in the bathtub.”

He looked offended. “I don’t snore.”

“Then it was only Cash and Harley blowing the roof off the trailer house?” I inquired.

“For sure.”

“He’s at his desk, and he’s looking it up.” She swiveled the desk chair around. “Not
that it really matters, because no way can I believe anyone could disable that port.
The Saudis spend millions on security.”

Robichaud rolled to his back and stared up at the ceiling. “An insider could do it.”

“And you would know this, how?” I asked.

“I spent some time in the Middle East.”

“I spent some time in Maine, but that doesn’t mean I know how to catch lobsters.”

“You’d know how if the lobstermen hired you to build a better lobster trap.”

I was surprised, and yet, not. I’d wondered about his whole commando thing, about
the real reasons Sweet hired him, and the gun he carried. “Were you special ops, or
something?”

“I’ve never been in the military, no.”

Conaway looked ready to explode with curiosity. “Are you, like, a mercenary?”

“Nothing so romantic. I had some training with a security firm.”

“And you worked on Saudi port security?”

“Something like that, but not really.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, why don’t you just say so?”

He looked right at me. “I don’t want to talk about it. But trust me, if an insider,
a higher up at Aramco, wanted to blow one of those ports, he could do it.”

I heard Conaway’s computer announce she had an email.

She turned back and said after a few moments, “Hakeem Naimi. His daddy was, and probably
still is, on the board of Aramco. His mother is a royal, the daughter of a prince.”

“You don’t get much higher up than that,” I said.

“Unless Hakeem is with Aramco, and has access to the port, it doesn’t matter who his
parents are or how rich he is. He wouldn’t have clearance.”

I pushed out a frustrated breath as another email announcement dinged from the computer.

“Actually, Hakeem
is
with Aramco, although he’s not on the board.” Conaway faced us. “He’s back in Saudi
because our government asked him to leave the United States. Evidently, he got in
even more trouble after his bomb experiment at boarding school.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Like suspicion of murdering a rival for a girlfriend. The guy died in a car explosion.
They couldn’t find enough evidence to arrest Hakeem, but it seemed pretty clear he
was responsible. So the State Department asked him to leave. That was five years ago,
and he’s been back in Saudi Arabia ever since.”

Nick sat up and asked her, “Is there any way you can find out for certain if Dylan
or his father bought oil futures?”

“There’s a way, but it’ll cost a lot of money. And it’ll take a while.”

“How much, and how long?”

“Couple thousand dollars and, at best, a couple of days.”

“Do it. I’ll cover the cost.”

With a hiked brow I set my beer on the nightstand. “Conaway, I sure hope you don’t
plan to use these tactics once you get a reporting job. Breaking into people’s homes
and paying hackers to get information isn’t really kosher, you know?”

“Of course not,” she said with wide-eyed innocence. “I’ll get all my information via
legitimate means.”

“Why is it I think you’re lying?”

“Because you’re very tired,” she said primly, then shut down the computer, took her
bag, and headed for the bathroom. “I’m getting in the shower, and when I come out,
I expect you two to be in separate beds, sound asleep.”

“Okay, Sarge,” Robichaud said with an air salute. As soon as the bathroom door was
closed, he kissed me again, albeit somewhat chastely. Then he pulled the covers back
on the opposite bed. “Climb in.”

I did and he tucked me in as if I was five. He sat beside me and smoothed my hair
away from my brow. “The first of August is the date you saw on that Saudi map at Dylan’s,
right?”

“Yes.”

“That’s four days from now, the same day the winning bid will be notified. Dylan is
no doubt assuming it’s a slam dunk, so if they’ve got some plan to cause a catastrophe
in Saudi, it’ll be right after the bid winner is announced. Which means they won’t
have time to cancel it after they discover they lost the bid.”