Saving Micah (Sequel to Conquering Jude) (19 page)

She needn’t have worried. Ike reached out, grabbed the man by his jacket and nearly dragged him over the podium. “Either you knock off that fuckin’ fake French since you can’t seem to keep from butchering it and take us to Fiala Svoboda’s table, or I’m gonna rip your goddamn throat out.” Smirking, she released him to cock her hip as well as an eight month pregnant woman could, before cracking her knuckles. The man paled. “So if you can’t figure it out with your third grade IQ, that means there’ll be three of us having breakfast and one of those is eating for three. Now you wouldn’t want to deprive a pregnant woman of her food, would you?”

The man shook his head before checking the seating chart. “This way, ladies.”

Rena kept quiet as they followed the man through the cloth covered tables. They finally arrived at a table where a perfectly done up matron in her mid-fifties sat. Her slightly graying auburn hair was done up in an elegant twist and she wore a crème color morning suit with a rose colored blouse. Her make-up had been applied with a tasteful hand and she seemed to be the epitome of French gentry.

“Good morning…Ms. Edmunds is it?” Mrs. Svoboda dabbed at her mouth with the ivory napkin after Rena and Ike had been seated. Rena cringed, waiting for Ike to explode like she had in Chicago.
What is it with these people and their names?
But not for the first time Ike surprised her. She calmly picked up her napkin and draped it across her belly.

“Good morning, Mrs. Svoboda. And it’s Ike. Remember that and we’ll get along fine.” Picking up the menu, Ike scanned its contents. As if realizing Rena was staring at her in shock, she glanced up and arched an eyebrow at them. “What can I say? Thomas has been nagging at me to be more polite and not deck people when they do that. Said something about it being a bad influence on our baby. But if she tries it again, all bets are off.”

“Unbelievable,” Rena muttered under her breath as the waiter arrived to take their order. Needing some support to get her through this, Rena ordered the strongest and largest cup of espresso they had on the menu despite the exorbitant rate they charged.

Fiala took a sip of water before clearing her throat, after the waiter had left with Ike and Rena’s orders. “From my understanding you’re here to inquire about a party I might have held last week?”

Rena nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We believe a person or persons who hurt a friend of mine may have attended the party. An associate of yours, Jason Wasterson III stated he met them at your function on the fourteenth.”

Cocking her head, the woman fiddled with a knife next to her plate before straightening it. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that, my dear. I arranged several parties for Valentine’s Day. It is a premier holiday for those who enjoy the fetish world.”

Next to her Rena heard Ike’s fingers begin to drum against the table as she sipped on her diet cola. “This one was held in Atlanta at the Mansion on Peachtree. You reserved an entire floor for your…” Rena glanced at her smart phone, to double check the name. “…
Fétichisme Épiques Extravagance?”

Ike gave a snort – setting down her drink. A good thing too, Rena thought as the assassin burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. People actually fall for your crap? Epic Fetish Extravaganza – reminds me of something I might have gone to the circus to see as a kid. A side show for sure. Come see the girl take on the donkey dick…you’ll never think of rode hard and put away wet in the same way again.”

“Excuse me? There’s nothing wrong with the name of my parties. They’re very upscale – catering to the most elite clientele – such as your parents, Ms. Edmunds.” She gave Ike a condescending look before focusing on Rena as if the assassin was beneath her. Rena prayed Ike wouldn’t make good on her earlier threat. They needed that name. “I’m sorry to say, Ms. MacCallister, my business hinges on my discretion. While I can confirm Mr. Wasterston III was at our party at the Mansion on Peachtree – I believe he arrived by private plane since he was quite soused when he arrived – that’s all I can confirm.”

Ike gave a smile which sent shivers down Rena’s back. It wasn’t nice nor was it friendly. She dabbed at the corner of her mouth – mimicking the woman’s earlier action. “Well, it’s like this, Fiala – you either help us, or I’m going to see to it you never hold another party again.”

Fiala returned Ike’s cold smile. “India, your parents maybe powerful, but not that powerful.” Their food arrived and she paused until the waiter left. “You weren’t the only one who did their homework before our meeting. I’m nothing if not thorough. You haven’t spoken with them in years.” She used her spoon to loosen a section of her grapefruit. “And as far as you, Miss Rena MacCallister – you’ve never been married. You come from a blue collar family in New York which still struggles to make ends meet. After spending eight years in the military as an MP, you left it behind to join the private sector. Then you abandoned your great job in New York to follow your pregnant sister to Chicago. I’ll have to commend you – it’s not often one sees children who still send money home to their folks in this day and age. It’s quite quaint. In fact it’s why I agreed to this meeting. What would a lowly security guard and an assassin for hire want with me?”

Now Rena was fuming. She wasn’t ashamed of her family, or the fact she took care of her folks. But despite her anger, she was expecting the woman next to her to explode.
And I really don’t like the way she’s smiling – it’s creepy.

“A name.” Ike reached into her satchel pulling out a sheaf of photos. Opening the packet, she pulled out a grainy picture they’d gotten from Mistress B.B. They were security shots taken at the club. While the woman’s face was obscured by her hair, the large man’s profile was visible. “These two attacked a man and left him for dead…” Ike drew out two more photos taken by the police of Micah’s injuries and placed them on the table. Rena’s stomach heaved. Even as versed as she was in the BDSM world, what had been done to her friend wasn’t pretty – it was abuse. “…and if you don’t want these plastered all over the local news in connection with your precious name, you’ll give me the names I want.”

Fiala set her spoon down, barely glancing at the disturbing photos. “You can’t prove I had anything to do with what happened to that young man, and if you do go to the media, I’ll simply play the genteel southern lady to the hilt. They’ll never believe
I
would have anything to do with such tawdry acts.”

Ike pulled out two final photos. It was all Rena could do to contain her smile, the assassin was ingenious. “Because if you don’t, this is what I’m going to do to the next place you think to have one of your precious parties. And I’ll keep doing it until you either give me the name or your clients head to the hills. Who’s going to come to a party when there’s a chance they’ll be blown to smithereens?”

“You’re bluffing. You won’t risk it. There’d be evidence left behind and you’d get caught. This isn’t South America where the government will turn a blind eye.”

“You think I’m bluffing? Not in this lifetime.” She tossed the final picture at woman.

Fiala’s face went pale as she dropped the picture. “My baby – what have you done to her?”

“Nothing yet. But if you don’t give me what I want in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to text my team and your precious vintage muscle car will be history – blown sky high.” Ike leaned forward. “And I’m so good, I won’t get caught, Ms. Svoboda. So why not make it easy on yourself and just give me the name?”

With a trembling hand, Fiala lifted the security photo. “I can’t tell who the woman is. Her face isn’t clear, but the young man with her is the son of a security guru in New Orleans. Lenard or Leon…” she shook her head. “I’m sorry I’m not certain on his name. He’s only been coming to our parties the past couple of times I’ve held events in Atlanta. He was vouched for by one of my regular clients, Raymond Fitzgerald. Let me get you his address. He lives here in Birmingham. He supposedly went to college with Ray. One of the only reasons I allowed this man in without my normal security background check.” A bitter smile crossed her face. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken Ray at his word.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to be paying Raymond a visit.” Ike glared at her. “Be sure to tell him he’d better not try any of your evasive tactics. He’ll give me the name or I’ll make him wish he’d never met his friend.”

Pulling her cell out, the Fiala made a brief call. “Cindy, it’s Fiala. I need you to text me Raymond Fitzgerald’s home phone number and address. Then inform him India Edmunds will be stopping by to talk to him about club business. He’s free to talk to her.” She paused. “Thank you, dear. I’ll be in later to go over the details of next week’s party.” Closing the phone, she set it down on the table with a shaky hand. “Now will you please call off your team? While it may not seem to be much more than a vintage car, it was the last thing my late husband gave to me and it has great sentimental value.”

Ike stood awkwardly, grabbing the muffin she’d ordered. “If this Raymond pans out, I’ll call it off – if not then, say good-bye to your baby.”

Snagging her coffee, Rena mourned the stack of pancakes and fresh fruit she hadn’t had a chance to eat.
But I’ll be damned if I leave my coffee behind.
The
maître ’de
tried to stop them as they left, but drew up short when Ike gave him the evil eye allowing them to exit quietly.
Evidently he doesn’t want to tangle with her any more than I do. I’m gonna kick your ass when I get back, Jackson Levough.

Chapter Seventeen

The pounding on his door, followed by his father’s booming voice, sent waves of dread through Leland. Slowly standing, he winced at the sore state of his back. He’d barely gotten his mistress off the required times the day before, but she still had raked his shoulders raw with her acrylic nails. His nuts tingled in remembrance. After muting the program running on his computer, he padded over to the door in his bare feet, to open the door to his carriage house apartment. Standing on the landing above the gleaming luxury cars parked below was his father wearing his normal pin-striped three-piece business suit. It was obvious he was on his way out – to work more than likely.
Now what the hell does he want?

“Father?”

Shouldering his way into the room, Russell scowled at the messy room. Piles of dirty laundry covered every surface, a heap of pizza boxes balanced precariously on the scarred coffee table next to his laptop, and the
pièce de résistance
was his ever growing mound of beer cans in the corner. “You’re such a pig, Leland. Your mother would have a fit if she came up here and saw this.”

He shrugged. “I’ll clean it up eventually.” Listening to the sound of fan engaging on his laptop in the behind him, Leland shifted. He needed to get his dad out of here. “Why are you here?”

Russell dragged a hand through his hair. “I just got a call from Raymond Fitzgerald – looking for you. Have you been doing something I should be aware of?”

Panic built in Leland’s chest.
Stay cool – he doesn’t know anything.
“No, Father. He’s probably just trying to get ahold of me about another party.”

Folding his arms over his chest, his dad grunted. “What kind of party?”

“Well…it’s probably one of the Mistress of Sin’s gatherings. She coordinates get-togethers for people who are into kink…”

“Enough!” Drawing his hand across his throat, the elder
Lacroix
seethed with fury. “You and that BDSM shit have got to stop. Your mother has been waiting for nearly ten years for you to settle down and give her some grandbabies to love on. You can’t do so with that slut.”

Clenching his fists, Leland fought to control himself. “She’s not a slut. Just because you don’t understand how BDSM works doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with…”

He was cut off again. “I don’t care what it means. Priscilla Bardot is not acceptable. Her parents disowned her because of her wild ways. Your mother has planned a luncheon with a selection of prospective brides for you this Saturday – you
will
be there and you
will
be civil or I
will
cut you completely off. Not only will you be homeless but jobless as well. Do you understand?”

Nodding, Leland lied through his teeth. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” His father stalked out of the apartment, then slammed the door behind him.

“Asshole.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he flopped back down into the scarred recliner before reaching for his laptop. Clicking a series of keys, he unmuted the voice analyzing program. His father thought he was so smart but Leland was so much smarter.

Disguising his one-of-a-kind software as an automated dialer for a political survey organization, he’d gotten voice samples of every phone number listed on
Olivia’s
phone logs. After eliminating all the male samples, his baby was running a comparison test of the female ones against taped recordings from
Olivia’s.
He was taking a chance. His only hope was if one particular female voice on the machine was Olivia’s and his gamble paid off. When the next voice sample loaded, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. To the naked ear, he’d have sworn it was the same husky concerto on his base sample.