The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea Page 10

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks, you two. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She checked the clock. Nine minutes, and Jimmy hadn’t said a thing about any strange orange cars following. She decided to make her move; otherwise, they’d be getting on the freeway. “Urn, Jimmy, I have to use the restroom. There’s a gas station up ahead. Pull in, will you?”

  “Oh, goody, I hafta go too,” Sophia said. “Jimmy don’t ever stop for me.”

  Great. This wasn’t a contingency plan Marissa and Clint had discussed.

  Jimmy pulled into the station, which was attached to a convenience store. The restrooms apparently were inside. She didn’t see the orange Z as she got out, so she had no choice but to go inside with Sophia on her heels and use the facilities.

  What if something had happened to Clint? she wondered furiously. On the way, she hadn’t dared look out the rear window for fear of alerting Jimmy to their escort. She’d assumed that Clint was back there.

  Relief swamped her as she and Sophia exited the convenience store. Clint was parked right outside, the driver’s window opened. He grinned and gave her a big thumbs-up.

  This was too easy, she thought. Maybe she ought to reconsider her vocation. She would make a damn good undercover cop.

  She smiled back at him.

  “Ooh, goodness, who’s he?” Sophia cooed, automatically smoothing her bleached blond hair.

  “An old friend,” Marissa murmured.

  Clint walked right up to them. “Afternoon, ladies. Marissa, how’ve you been? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Fine, Cl—” Damn! She’d almost blown it. “Clarence. So good to see you. This is my sister-in-law, Sophia. And I want you to come meet my brother.”

  “Love to.”

  Marissa opened the back door of the BMW, letting Clint climb in ahead of her.

  “Hey, what the—” Jimmy started to object.

  “It’s okay, Jimmy,” Marissa quickly said. “He’s an old friend of mine. He wanted to meet you.”

  As soon as all doors were closed and locked, Clint held out his hand. “Jimmy Gabriole. Man, have I heard a lot about you.”

  Jimmy smiled uncertainly, accepting Clint’s handshake. “And you are …”

  “Clint Nichols,” he replied with a friendly smile. “I have a gun in my other hand, trained right at your back, so don’t make any sudden moves.”

  EIGHT

  Sophia screamed. “Oh, my God, it’s that nutcase FBI agent! We’re all gonna die!”

  “Quiet!” Clint barked. He glanced over at Marissa for help, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze as the bitter taste of betrayal rose in her throat. How could he do this? He hadn’t said anything about pulling the gun.

  Was it all a scam, then? Was everything he’d told her a pack of lies? Jeez, not only had she blown any chance she had of escape, but she’d drawn Jimmy and Sophia into mortal danger too.

  Clint slowly released Jimmy’s hand. “Put both hands on the steering wheel, please, and keep them there. Jimmy, are there any weapons in the car?”

  “For cripe’s sake,” Jimmy said. “Marissa, what’s going on?”

  She looked over at Clint. “Well, um …”

  “Would you mind telling him?” Clint asked impatiently. “Things are a little tense here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “They wouldn’t have been tense if you didn’t have that stupid gun!” she said, wishing she had the guts to take it away from him the way he’d taken hers away.

  “I’m trying to keep myself from being shot,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m willing to bet there’s at least one other gun in this car.”

  Probably two, Marissa conceded silently. Jimmy always had a gun in the car, and Sophia probably had one in her purse. They both were qualified to carry a concealed weapon, as Marissa was. “Okay,” she said, reaching a decision. She would have to be the one to defuse this situation. “Everybody just calm down. Sophia, stop crying. No one is going to die.” She reached between the seat and opened the console. There was Jimmy’s pearl-handled pistol, an old Colt similar to hers but larger. It had belonged to their father. She grabbed it and handed it to Clint.

  “Marissa, what are you doing?” Jimmy demanded.

  “Clint’s only here to talk,” she said. “The faster and better you cooperate, the sooner he’ll be done with his questions and be gone. Sophia, hand me your purse.”

  “But—”

  “Just do it, baby,” Jimmy said, sounding resigned.

  Still sobbing, Sophia handed Marissa her large, black designer bag. Marissa fished inside, found a blue steel nine millimeter, and handed it to Clint. He was already armed with enough bullets to kill them all. What were a few more?

  Clint methodically emptied the guns of ammunition, then set them on the floor. “Thank you, Marissa.” His own gun had vanished.

  “Somebody around here has to show some sense,” she grumbled.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I had to do it this way. I’d be insane to sit in a car with two loaded guns and announce to your brother that I’m the one who kidnapped you, stole his boat, threatened to attack you.”

  “All right, I see your point,” she retorted crossly. “Let’s just get on with this, okay?”

  “Fine. Jimmy, take I-45 south to Telephone Road. We’ll go someplace comfortable to talk. The gun’s put away.”

  “I’ll drive wherever you want,” Jimmy said. “But start talking now. Whatever beef you got with me, I wanta solve it.” He pulled his car out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires.

  “Okay. Let’s start with the fact that I’ve collected enough dirt on you to put you away for a lot of years.”

  “Like what?” Jimmy tried to sound cocky, but he came off sounding frightened instead.

  “Tax evasion, for starters.”

  Marissa’s head was spinning again. Clint hadn’t told her any of this. She’d thought they would have a nice, friendly little chat. If she’d had even an inkling that Clint would come on like a Gestapo agent, she never would have hatched this plan.

  Jimmy actually laughed at the accusation. “That’s bull. Marissa does my taxes. Ask her.”

  “The tax stuff is only the beginning,” Clint continued relentlessly. “Your name is listed on the title for a certain private jet, several automobiles, and a warehouse, all of which are known to be involved in cocaine transactions of various magnitudes. Then there’s the Foxhunt.”

  “Hey, my club is a perfectly legitimate business!” Jimmy objected. “We obey every code to the letter.”

  “I’m aware of that. I’m also aware that the cash deposits made from that business far exceed the norm. And that every dollar bill is reeking with cocaine. You could get a buzz just from holding those bills up to your nose.”

  Jimmy went silent.

  “Look, Gabriole, if you aren’t the brains behind a very large drug and money-laundering operation, then someone has gone to a lot of trouble to make it appear that you are.”

  Still, Jimmy said nothing.

  “It’s not Jimmy,” Sophia said with quiet certainty. “He would never do what you’re talking about. He ain’t like that. He’s a decent, kind man who wouldn’t hurt—”

  “Then who?” Clint asked, cutting her off.

  Hell, Marissa thought, this was like shooting fish in a barrel. With her penchant for chatter, Sophia would blab everything. She would either exonerate Jimmy … or hammer that final nail into his coffin. Marissa was ashamed that she wasn’t entirely sure which was going to happen.

  “It’s Eddie, of course,” Sophia said, looking to her husband for confirmation. “That lousy creep, Eddie Constantine. I never liked him, Jimmy. He always cops a feel when you’re not looking.”

  “What? He does what?” Jimmy suddenly came alive with indignation. Cocaine, money laundering, it’s all in a day’s work, Marissa supposed. But someone feeling up his wife, that made Jimmy mad.

  “He pinches me on the butt.” She turned back to Clint. “Eddie’s the one. He
owns all that stuff, but he gets Jimmy to put his name on everything. He said it was so his ex-wife wouldn’t try to grab stuff from him, but now I see what his real intentions are. He wants Jimmy to take the fall for him.”

  “C’mon, Sophia,” Jimmy said. “Eddie’s my best friend. I’ve known him since high school.”

  “He’s a jerk,” Sophia insisted, “and it’s high time you quit covering for him. He uses you. Everybody sees that but you.”

  The knot of tension in Marissa’s stomach eased. At least her brother and sister-in-law were saying and doing everything she’d told Clint they would. Her theory about Eddie Constantine was dead-on—there was no way Clint could doubt her now.

  Not that she gave the man any credit for common sense, but surely he could see that her plan was sound. He and Jimmy could save each other only by working together to defeat Eddie—if they could keep from killing each other for however long it took.

  Clint had blown it with Marissa. Maybe pulling the gun had been overkill. But he’d once had a buddy killed in a drug deal gone bad when he climbed into the backseat of a car. Better safe than sorry.

  Still, Clint hadn’t realized how shocked she would be. Judging from the invisible poisoned darts she was shooting in his direction straight from her blazing eyes, he could never undo the damage. She would never again allow him to kiss her.

  Not that it mattered, he told himself, even as the memory of what her lips did to him sent an electric charge coursing through his body. He had no business getting the least bit involved with her. When this all came out in the wash, he was probably going to jail. The fact that he’d had physical contact—no matter how brief—with his hostage would not go down well.

  At least there was some good news. His interrogation of Gabriole was going like clockwork. Okay, so it was a little unconventional, and nothing he’d learned so far would stand up in court. Right now he needed information, not evidence. When he knew what he needed to know, he would go back to the Bureau and let someone there direct the next step.

  Not that he wouldn’t love to be in on the kill. But it was kind of hard to run an operation from a prison cell.

  He asked more questions. Jimmy and Sophia gave him answers, and a lot of what they said made sense. The tension lessened. Clint revised, and re-revised, his thinking.

  “You got any food in this safe house we’re going to?” Jimmy asked. The conversation had wound down. Clint was giving him time to digest the severity of the situation.

  “Yeah,” Sophia put in. “My stomach is rumbling like there’s an earth mover in there.”

  Clint had to admit, he liked Jimmy’s wife du jour. After she got over her hysteria, she’d proved gutsy, not to mention informative. Turned out she’d known Eddie almost as long as Jimmy had, and she was chattier by far than her reticent husband, who was still having trouble with the concept of ratting on his best friend.

  “I bought some groceries this morning,” he said. “The furniture is a little on the skimpy side—”

  “Hah, what furniture?” Marissa interjected. It was the first thing she’d said in a long time. “The house is completely empty.”

  “All right, so it’s not a luxury hotel,” Clint said. “It’s big and it’s quiet. We don’t have to worry about anyone disturbing us there or listening in.”

  “Listening in to what?” Jimmy wanted to know.

  “To our plans, Jimmy. You and I, we’re going to figure out how to bring your friend Eddie down.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jimmy objected. “I’ll answer your questions ’cause you have a gun and I don’t, but there’s no way I’m conspiring with you to arrest my best friend.”

  “For God’s sake, Jimmy,” Marissa exploded. “The man is a cold-blooded killer. He was planning to kill Clint. He still wants to. And if you don’t stop him, you might as well be pulling the trigger yourself.”

  “Might be doing the world a favor,” Jimmy muttered. “Clint Nichols isn’t exactly my favorite person, and if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll repay him for what he did to you, sis, not to mention my boat.”

  Clint recognized empty bravado when he heard it. Jimmy might be talking tough, but he drove to the safe house as instructed.

  As they all climbed out of the car, Clint took all three guns and deposited them in Jimmy’s trunk. “I want a level playing field,” he said as Jimmy watched, surprised. “I don’t have any other weapons, not on me or in the house. Marissa can vouch for that.”

  “What about the knife?” Marissa asked.

  He’d forgotten about that. It was still strapped to his ankle. It took some doing to finally wiggle the holster out from the hem of his jeans leg. He tossed the blade and sheath into the trunk, then slammed the lid. He then handed the keys to Jimmy. He hoped they were at a point that he didn’t have to worry about Gabriole doing anything stupid.

  Marissa and Sophia walked ahead of the two men, into the house. By silent, mutual agreement, Jimmy and Clint stopped on the porch and dropped into the two chairs. Jimmy fumbled for the cigarettes in his shirt pocket. With hands slightly trembling, he lit one, took a drag, then slowly exhaled.

  “What do you really want from me, Nichols? I know you find it hard to believe, but everything I’ve been telling you is true. I’m not involved in all this stuff you’re talking about—drugs, money laundering, killing. I don’t know what I could possibly do to help you.”

  Clint decided to bring out the big guns. “Well, you’d better think of something fast, ’cause at this point, you’re every bit as expendable to Eddie as I am.” And he told Jimmy about Rachelle.

  “Don’t you see?” he concluded. “Eddie was hoping I’d go after you, and you’d be the one to kill me. It would keep the blood off his hands. And if you got killed or arrested, even better. You were his sacrificial lamb.”

  Jimmy stared out into the front yard, lost in thought for a long time, the cigarette burning away. Finally he said, “What happens if I want out of this right now?”

  “I arrest you on the spot. I couldn’t risk your going back to Eddie and telling him the things I’ve told you. An eight-month investigation would go down the tubes. Once you’re in jail, I’ll personally see to it that you’re fully prosecuted for every possible offense.”

  Jimmy tugged at his collar. “And the alternative?”

  “Help me get the evidence I need to arrest not just Eddie, but the man he deals with. When I have that, I can move in and shut this pipeline down.”

  “And me?”

  “I’ll be honest. I can’t make any promises. But if everything you say is true, your involvement in these crimes is minimal. Your cooperation with me won’t go unnoticed. I can put in a good word, and there’s a chance you won’t do any time.”

  “Jeez, not much of a choice.”

  Clint couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man. He was guilty of gullibility more than anything, and now he had to face the fact that a lifelong friend had betrayed him. Clint knew what Jimmy was going through. Exactly.

  Jimmy looked up with an expression of decisiveness and tossed his cigarette butt over the porch railing. “All right, you got it, whatever you want. I’m at your service. But first, I think you should know, Eddie’s expecting a call from me. He wants a full report on what Marissa told the cops.”

  “Is he tracing his calls?”

  “He has caller ID at his house, but I can probably get him on his cell phone.”

  Clint pulled the little portable phone out of his back pocket. “Do it. Tell him Marissa didn’t know anything, not even my name. All she knew was that some crazy FBI agent kidnapped her and was trying to get something from you, but she didn’t know what. Got that?”

  Jimmy nodded. “What if he asks where I am?”

  “Tell him it’s none of his business. You don’t want to be disturbed until tomorrow.” It was the only answer Clint could think of. If Jimmy mentioned a particular place, Eddie might get it in his head to check on Marissa in person.

  “Okay.” With a v
isible shudder, Jimmy started dialing.

  “So what’s really going on with you and this FBI guy?” Sophia wanted to know. She and Marissa were in the kitchen, making sandwiches. “How come you’re on his side?”

  “I’m not on his side, exactly,” Marissa answered. She was still fuming about that stupid gun. “I’m trying to keep Jimmy out of jail. Your loving husband has gotten in way over his head, and he doesn’t even know it.”

  “It’s that rotten Eddie,” Sophia said, furiously spreading mayonnaise on a pumpernickel roll. “Men can be so stupid and disgusting.”

  “At least we’re in agreement on that,” Marissa said. “Hey, Sophia, were you ever, I mean, did you ever do, you know, exotic dancing?”

  Sophia giggled. “You mean, was I a stripper? Yeah. Jimmy wanted me to quit before we got hitched, and I did. He said he didn’t want no men but him lookin’ at me.” She giggled again.

  Marissa tried not to be shocked. She’d always adored Sophia. Just because the girl had a somewhat unsavory past was no reason to stop loving her.

  “But God gave me this body, and there’s nothing wrong with letting other people appreciate it,” Sophia elaborated.

  “I’m sorry, Sophia,” Marissa quickly said. “I don’t mean to pass judgment. It’s just that Jimmy always told me you were a waitress. Shoot, until this morning, I didn’t even know the Foxhunt was a … gentlemen’s club.”

  “It’s a nice place to work. But I like being a lady of leisure better.” Sophia popped an olive into her mouth.

  “Did you know Rachelle?” Marissa asked.

  Sophia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure, everybody knew her. Eddie’s slut, last I heard. How do you know her?”

  “I don’t. But she’s the one who implicated Jimmy in the first place. She’s a paid informant, and apparently she’s been passing on false tidbits to Clint about Jimmy.”

  Sophia had a few choice words to say about that. “Eddie again. He put her up to it. She’s a cokehead, you know. She’ll do anything for drugs. She turns tricks for guys I wouldn’t even let stuff a dollar in my G-string.”