“If I were the type to jump to conclusions, she’d be out somewhere in the bayou, served up as alligator food.”
“You’re a sick bastard, Ryder. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yup,” he said.
Jack punched in a few numbers on the computer before turning back. “Look at it this way: the Gauthier family has enough enemies—she might just be the target of a mob war. Taking out a relatively innocent member of the family could always deliver a crippling blow.”
“Maybe. The big-eyed waif with the mysterious background might have been the target as well. After all, Parker’s looking for protection for her, so there must be an interesting story behind that Madonna expression and passive demeanor. Either way, with the two of them in the house I’ll figure out what’s going on. If it turns out she’s innocent, I can push her off to Remy or even one of the junior operatives—it’s a simple enough issue compared to what I usually deal with. Speaking of which, where is Remy?”
“On his way back from Oklahoma City,” Jack said briefly. “Weapons transport.”
As usual the information was succinct, without any human interaction. As far as Ryder was concerned, Jack was part machine himself, no emotions, no social niceties. It made work more efficient—right then Ryder thought he’d be happy if all his coworkers were the efficient, deadly machines Jack was.
“Emery, Johnson, and Duvall?” Ryder demanded of his favorite machine.
“Emery’s downstairs in reception, Johnson’s awaiting orders, Duvall’s with his wife.”
Ryder made a muffled sound of disapproval. “Why the fuck did he have to go and get married? Women are nothing but a complication.”
“So are men,” Jack pointed out absently, typing something into one of his many keyboards.
“Call Emery, will you?” Ryder demanded. “I’ve got a job for her.”
That was enough to make Jack turn around, and once more Ryder was startled by his face. Jack was almost unnaturally beautiful, with long straight black hair, and an Asian tilt to eyes of an impossibly blue color—some trick of genetics Mendel would be hard put to explain. He had long lashes that could effectively hide his expression, high cheekbones, and a mouth he’d been told by Emery was luscious. With a face like that he’d be excellent at undercover work, particularly in third-world countries where his mixed-race beauty would blend in, but so far he’d been much more valuable gathering intel on anything and anybody.
“Something I can do? I’m just running facial recognition and that takes time.”
It took forever, even with Jack at the helm, and Ryder knew it. He also knew what had prompted Jack to make the offer. He didn’t like having anyone up on his floors, near his computers, if he could help it, and that seemed to go double for Emery.
“Secure the third-floor work areas and show Ms. Parker’s little waif to one of the guest rooms while I take our lawyer friend home. And look a little deeper into the Gauthiers. Just because we haven’t found anything so far doesn’t mean they’re clean in this deal. The trafficking run by the Corsini family had to have been public knowledge among the criminals in the city, which includes the Gauthiers. Check again to make sure none of them was involved. There are three brothers besides the old man, aren’t there?”
“Maurice runs their shady law firm, Tonino is involved in shipping, and the youngest one, Billy, just graduated from college and is off in Europe,” Jack rattled off instantly.
“Tonino is the obvious one, if he’s connected with shipping. Shipping what?”
“Cheap souvenirs from China, with stolen artwork and drugs on the side, though they’ve been raided a couple of times and nothing was ever found.”
“A couple of times? Someone’s making hefty payoffs.”
“That’s how business works in New Orleans,” Jack said cynically. “You think that bullet was meant for
Parker and not the Madonna?”
“Why not me? There sure the hell are enough people who hate me.”
“You’re hard to kill,” Jack said. “So why are you thinking Parker’s the target?”
Ryder shrugged. “Instinct, and those instincts are why it’s so hard to kill me. She’s hiding something, and I intend to find out what.” Jack had already turned his back on Ryder, staring at the screens, dismissing their conversation from his consciousness. “Keep checking,” he said.
Jack didn’t respond, his straight back a reproach to such an unnecessary order, and Ryder turned to deal with the lying Parker.
He shoved the door shut behind him, closing Jack into his domain, and slid the bookcases across the entrance, camouflaging it from any nosy visitors. He turned and almost slammed into his quarry.
She was watching him with no more than casual interest. “That seems awfully low-tech for a super spy agency.”
“We’re not a super spy agency,” he said irritably, taking in her appearance. When he’d seen her before, she’d worn her short hair in a professional sweep across her forehead. Now it was a rumpled mess, a halo of curls around her face, curls she’d always manage to keep under strict control, and he found himself wondering what else she kept under strict control.
She was wearing the clothes he’d left out for her. His jeans fit her—she filled them out much better than he ever had. Not that he gave a damn, but he couldn’t help but notice she had a delectable butt. He immediately put it out of his mind.