Phantom in the Night (B.A.D. Agency, #2)(16)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

Carlos narrowed his eyes in thought. His thick-lashed gaze slid to hers. "Could you tell what he did take?"

"From everything I could see, nothing. I think I must have walked up the minute he’d gotten inside. He’d scattered some items, figurines and ornate carpenter tools."

"You said that last night. Do you remember anything else?"

"Not really."

Carlos nodded. "So tell me again exactly how you managed to get away?"

The semester she’d spent in psychology class had taught her body language said more than words in a covert situation. She took a breath and lowered her shoulders, her tone a professional recounting. "An unidentified man showed up and pulled me back a hair before the guy inside the container took a shot at my head."

"Who is this guy? What does he want?"

"I don’t know who he is, but he knows our target." She used "target" rather than Marseaux’s name in a public venue and hesitated to say more about her new contact. Not until she could figure what this mystery guy was up to and how he was tied to the Drake body stolen from the morgue.

That corpse had vanished so fast no one had even fingerprinted it. All they had in terms of an ID was the visual.

And she’d never forget that handsome face on the corpse.

Carlos folded his arms over his chest. He had an Armani face and a back street attitude. A prime example of the strange breed of men she’d met at BAD.

"Why did he help you?"

Thankfully, the waitress showed up just as Carlos asked that question so he’d hopefully attribute Terri’s jump of surprise to the interruption. She took her time sipping the cola, searching for the right answer. There wasn’t one.

Terri pushed the glass aside and faced him. "I don’t have an answer for you on that, but he’s my new informant. He showed up at the right minute and saved my butt. I don’t think he’s working against us, but I’m not sure who he’s involved with." That was the best she could do to help BAD and not jeopardize her phantom.

Her phantom. Wrong mind-set, Mitchell.

"We need to get inside the Drake house."

"I already have," she admitted.

"Without a backup?"

She curled her fist, which was out of view in her lap. Don’t sound defensive. "Yes, but nothing happened. Someone had been through the house opening drawers."

"Probably DEA."

"Possibly," was all she’d say rather than completely lie to Carlos. She didn’t even know why she felt the need to protect the guy she’d met there, but guessed it had to do with him helping her grandmother last night. That and the mixed-up feelings she had for a man who had saved her from getting killed and stolen a kiss in the dark. "I didn’t see anything that would help us. Just a house full of memories."

Sad ones.

"Keep your ears tuned at the precinct. Someone is helping our target." Carlos crossed his arms, his face a mask of contemplation. Jazz music spilling from overhead speakers did little to ease his tense posture. "No one wants to find out it’s a man, or woman, in blue on the target’s payroll, but we can’t ignore an obvious place to look."

She nodded. "I know, and I’ve been studying the officers to see if anyone fits the pattern, but nothing so far."

"Someone is stalking the target’s men and contacts. We need to find this guy they think is Drake. Whoever he is, he’s running a scam for some reason and might know something we don’t."

Terri held her tongue. She couldn’t share anything yet. Not until she had a solid ID on her contact and had gotten a few answers of her own. "I’m on it."

"Were shorthanded down here with most of the BAD agents in India."

"What are they doing there?"

"You heard about the rural town that virus wiped out?"

"Who hasn’t? It’s all over the news."

Carlos moved his head closer and kept his voice low. "This is the third similar incident in a little over two years. All identical in how the villages were wiped out with no trail of how the virus got there. Joe thinks someone is testing a biological weapon."

"Those poor people." The idea that someone would kill peaceful men, women, and children in so hideous a way was nauseating. The photos and reports had been more than she could take. Terri had stopped watching several days ago. She couldn’t look at another child’s body covered in patches of mangy skin, split like an overripe melon, cracked and bleeding. Expert reports indicated the victims had first suffocated as their throats swelled, then the virus literally ate its way out of the bodies, then disappeared when exposed to heat from the high temperatures created by fever.

"If Joe is right, I don’t understand what the terrorists are doing," Carlos said. "Why do they continue to test it when the results are identical?"

"Maybe they’re changing the technique of introducing the virus and keep looking for the most efficient method."

"Maybe."

A possibility bounced into Terri’s thoughts. "Does Joe think our target here is connected somehow?"

Carlos stared at her, his gaze flattening into an unreadable one. "Two different cases. You focus on your mission. Put this bastard and anyone connected to the investigation behind bars."

Terri felt, more than knew, that he’d just confirmed her guess, which sent chills up her body. Could money mean that much to the drug dealer to risk biological warfare?

"I’m all for nailing him," she said, indicating Marseaux. "But we still have no link even between him and this drug shipment." Her mystery man had better not be connected to Marseaux or her position with him would shift quickly.

"What is the DEA up to?" he asked, jostling her thoughts.

"All they’ve done is harass me and everyone at NOPD about the missing body. I don’t get what’s so important about finding that body or how it fits into all of this."

"We know Nathan Drake was working for Marseaux, but not who killed him. Marseaux may have sent someone to retrieve the body to get rid of any evidence, which would explain why the DEA is all jacked up. We just need them to stay out of our way."

That made as much sense as her theory, she supposed. "Good news is that politics within the DEA might work in our favor. Josie Silversteen is trying to locate the body before Brady does to earn her brownie points, so those two aren’t talking. The backstabbing witch has a hard-on for me she’s extending to Conroy and made it clear she’d come after me with all she had if I help Brady. My bet is Josie never got over being one of the few women Brady didn’t share a bed with and plans to make him pay for his friendship with me."

"Is she the only one Brady didn’t share a bed with at the agency?" Carlos speared her with a level gaze that said not to try to dodge him.

"No. I stayed out of that bed, too. We never quite connected all the dots to make that work, for which I am now very thankful."

"Smart. Get us the report on what they found in the container," Carlos said, changing the subject with an abruptness that was disconcerting. He stood and tossed some bills on the table. "Don’t run yourself into the ground. These things take time so nothing is going to happen quickly."

"I understand." She stood and started to walk away.

He placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Give your body a chance to fully heal."

She hoped the embarrassment that hit her didn’t show on her face when she forced a smile. "My leg is fine."

Carlos moved closer to her. "Be careful who you connect those dots with when it comes to any man in this business."

"Including you?"

"Ah, chica, especially me." He grinned and winked.

"Thanks for the warning, but I’m not interested in connecting the dots with anyone right now."

Carlos squeezed her arm gently, letting her know he believed her.

She answered with a smile, glad he’d bought her boldface lie.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Terri had just reached her desk when Captain Philborn walked up, a frown in place. Late one night while pouring through files, she’d overheard two officers chuckling about "Constipation Philborn." Sad, but the name fit. She hadn’t seen a different expression since entering this precinct three weeks ago.

Wonder if his down-turned mouth was permanent, like the Riddler’s from the Batman movies?

"What can I do for you, Captain?" She bent her neck back to look up at his honey-brown face. The top of his buzz-cut hairstyle was six feet and seven inches from the floor.

"We’ve dusted and removed all the drugs. I got the DEA and the city climbing up my ass about releasing that container."

"Why would the city care about turning loose a container that’s part of an investigation?"

Lines creased his forehead. The change had an unpleasant effect on his face.

"Mayor is close friends with the import-export group that owns most of the legal property inside."

"Did you get any hit on prints yet?"

"No. All we’re coming up with at this point are prints of workers. And we didn’t lose any of the coke."

Something was off on this drug bust. She toyed with the pen in her hand. "Are you thinking about turning the container loose?"

"No. I’m not too worried about the mayor. I mainly need a reasonable excuse to buy time to keep it out of the DEA’s hands." His eyes crinkled, as if he were trying to smile. Scary.

"Good, because I still need to review everything to make sure the coke was the only content the intruder was after."

"What else would he have wanted?"

"I don’t know, but as your techs no doubt noticed, there was a box opened. It doesn’t make sense, because if Marseaux sent the intruder to get the shipment he should have known where to look, wouldn’t he?"

"Unless the perp was trying to snatch Marseaux’s shipment or throw us off."

Well, duh. She had a whole new respect for Philborn. "Good point."

"Get me a report in soon." A quiet order, but one Terri understood to mean he expected something tangible from her quickly.

"Gotcha. I’m headed there as soon as I finish several things here. By the way, has anything turned up on the Drake body?"

"No. Tired of hearing about that from the DEA, too. She acts like they did us a favor with the container and wants me to put people on finding the damn body. Like I have that much resource available."

"Who are you talking about?"

"Josie Silversteen. She came by looking for you. Asking questions, all nice and cheeky."

The bane of Terri’s life could use a prescription of Prozac. "Thanks, I’ll get in touch with her." Just not during this lifetime.

"You’re welcome." He lumbered back to his office.

Her cell phone chimed. She answered it, but the call rolled to voicemail. Before she could check for the message her desk phone rang. She immediately looked across the room and lifted the receiver to her ear.

"Now, I know you weren’t ignoring me." Sammy sent her a high five.

"When did you think I was ignoring you?"

"I called you twice earlier on your cell phone but it went to voicemail."

Terri glanced at her battered cell phone. Maybe if she got a leather case the phone would survive another month around her. She’d always been hell on anything electronic. "No, my phones acting up. Whatcha got?"

"A little more info on that ghost."

"It’s not a ghost, Sammy."

"Hey, I’m just sharing the facts as I get them. FinMan just turned up dead. Throat cut."

Terri waded through a mash of emotions, from disappointment to disbelief to horror. "Where did you hear that?"

"My buddy at the morgue, but this time the DEA has a guard in place until their techs arrive to transport it."

A bad feeling seized Terri. Was she attracted to a killer? Had her phantom murdered a man?

No, he wouldn’t do something like that.

Based on what hard evidence? None. Hormones were not a dependable barometer of innocence.

She hung up and dialed her grandmother’s cell, but Grandma couldn’t talk right then because they were busy at baggage claim in O’Hare. Terri called Brady and got his voicemail, but didn’t leave a message.

Time was ticking away. She had to get back inside that container. Terri packed up, waved at Sammy, who was walking toward her desk with a couple files, then drove to the yard. This time, she locked her car and made sure to carry both her weapon and cell phone in her bag, but an hour later her frustration had doubled. Nothing new revealed itself.

She packed up and drove home, not looking forward to an empty house. Like her grandmother, she’d always liked the nighttime, but was tired of spending so much of it alone lately.

Except for unexpected visits from her phantom.

She parked her Mini Cooper, hoisted her tote bag onto her shoulder, shut the door, and beeped the locks shut with her remote key. At the house, she unlocked the dead bolt and entered slowly, weapon drawn, and stood quietly inside, listening for any movement.

Like she’d hear a phantom that moved like a whisper?

She’d locked all the windows that morning and dead bolted both doors. Enough with the paranoia. Besides, he’d only entered after she was in the house… so far.

A note on the fridge from Grandma directed her to the aluminum foil-covered dish of food and a chilled bottle of wine with instructions to enjoy. She’d lock up and let the food warm while she soaked in a hot bath.

Terri stood very still, listening. The sensation of not being alone crawled up her spine. The longer a person spent in law enforcement, the more attuned they became to the unknown threat.

Closing the refrigerator door, she lowered her purse to the table, removing her weapon at the same time. She raised her weapon, gripping it with both hands. At the door to her bedroom, she glanced inside.

The room was black as a tar pit.

Not a sound. Maybe it was Grandma being gone and no television that had her jumping. She stepped inside and reached for the lamp next to her bed when a voice said, "Don’t touch the light."

She really was getting tired of this.

* * *

Nathan leaned against the wrought-iron gate where a tree blocked the view of him from Terri’s house. He’d barely gotten here ahead of her pulling into the driveway. She’d gathered up her bag, then hobbled into the house.