I reach for her hand but can’t help but smile when I give her a squeeze. “I know, baby.”
Violet blows out a whistle as we near the address on the map. The tight houses around us spread out to orchards, sprawling mansions atop massive cliffs that overlook the water.
“I thought ministers were poor?” she says curiously. “This guy lives in the lap of luxury.” Her brows knit together. “That doesn’t bode well, does it?”
“Not all ministers live in poverty, and not all rich ones are corrupt, but...”
I have my suspicions about him. I tap my phone. “Call Henri.”
“Hello? What can I do for you, Mr. Master?”
Henri’s like a brother to me but has never lost his Southern charm and formality.
“Henri, we need what you’ve found on Gray Descamps, the shortened version.” I’ve had him working on it since last night.
“I see you’re almost there.”
“I am.” I have my team track my whereabouts and Violet’s at all times.
“I’ll make it quick, sir. Gray Descamps has been married four times, has seven children with various women, and is the second wealthiest minister in New England.” Violet curses under her breath.
“Court cases?”
“None, sir, though there are a few allegations of sexual misconduct in the workforce that were settled out of court.”
Violet cringes. “Could this guy get any more predictable?” She sighs. “What does he drive?” Violet asks.
“What does he drive?” I repeat and give her a curious look.
She shrugs. “We’ll need to find out what he values. What matters to him. If he’s wealthy, it’s likely his possessions.” She looks out the window with a scowl. “If he has that many children with that many women, it will be hard in this short timeframe to find out which we could use to threaten him with.”
“God, I love how your brain works.”
Henri clears his throat. “Sir, you’re three minutes out.”
I wink at her, and she sticks her tongue out at me. She’ll pay for that. “Go on.”
“Four years ago, he had a paid television show that was very popular. He’s known for his fire-and-brimstone sermons on repentance and good works, but his show was shut down during the allegations of sexual abuse.”
“Does he have any known phobias?” I ask.
Violet tips her head to the side. I’m not going to walk in and bloody the old man up, but I’ll have to get answers, and something tells me he won’t make it easy.
“None obvious, but perhaps… water, sir. He had a pool in his backyard he had filled in a few years back, and all his vacations are on land.”
It’s not much, but it’s something to go on.
“Does he have any ties with any known criminals?”
“No, sir, he—no. Wait just a minute.” He’s silent for a moment. “Four years ago… just around the same time his television show was cancelled, there was a threat to his life. Rumors of ‘organized crime’ made the press, but no names and no details.”
“Of course,” Violet says. “No news press is going to name a mafia group, would they.” She curses under her breath again and pulls her knife out. I watch as she runs her finger along the sharp edge of the blade. Thinking.
“We’re here.” At least, we’re in the neighborhood. GPS puts us at the foot of a hill. At the top of the hill stands a wrought iron gate and an intercom.
“Stand by, Henri. May need you to work a lock remotely.”
“Yessir.”
“Cain, is it wise to just go in the front gate like this? Won’t he be waiting for us?”
“I want him waiting.”
She shifts on her seat and squeezes my hand in silent approval. I lift her fingers to my mouth and kiss them.
I press the button on the intercom, and a man’s voice answers immediately. “May I help you?”
“We’re here to see Gray Descamps, please.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
Violet rolls her eyes and chimes in. “It’s about the salvation of my soul. Are such appointments necessary?”
The intercom is quiet for a moment, and I shake my head at her. The woman’s fucking unpredictable.
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to make an appointment. Mr. Descamps is unavailable for the next four weeks. You can find his assistant’s email listed on his website.”
Apparently, saving someone’s soul can wait a month when you’re sitting on property worth millions. I want at this motherfucker.
“Please tell him it’s urgent,” Violet says from the passenger seat. Her tone is also urgent , with an edge I know all too well. Violet’s about to lose her temper.
I reach my hand to her thigh and give her a gentle squeeze, a reminder that keeping our tempers will work better than coming in guns blazing. She narrows her eyes at me. She doesn’t like those reminders.
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to make an appointment on the website. Have a good day.”
There’s the sound of a click, the lock securing. Pretty much what I expected. There’s a long, curving driveway. Uniformed guards make their presence known.