Showdown in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law, #3)(16)

“She’s my ex-wife’s friend, not mine. And in case you’ve forgotten, I haven’t lived anywhere near Maryse in over two years. I don’t even know what she’s up to, much less her friends.”

Rico nodded. “Yeah, I guess I can see that. But you see, Sonny’s real interested, and you know how he can be. So what do you say you do a little asking around, maybe to that pretty little ex-wife of yours, and find out what the magic lady is up to.”

“And if I don’t?”

“It wouldn’t be that hard to put some drugs in your toolbox, make a call to that new boss of yours. Or maybe in your truck. Maybe even somewhere on the job site. Hard to know what I might come up with. I’m a creative motherf*cker when I want to be.”

Hank felt despair wash over him. He knew Rico was capable of everything he’d just threatened to do and much, much more. “I’ll make a phone call, but I’m not promising anything. My ex may not know the woman’s personal business.”

“Let’s just hope for your sake, she does.” Rico opened the door and stepped out of the truck, then leaned back in the passenger-side window. “I’ll be here tomorrow to see what you found out. And every day after that until Sonny’s satisfied. Understand?”

Hank clenched his teeth and nodded. The last thing he needed was Rico Hebert at his job site every day. Chuck would immediately know that something was up, and it wouldn’t take much to find out who Rico was and what business he was in.

He was royally f*cked.





Chapter Five


Raissa pulled into the dimly lit parking garage and slipped through the shadows to the back door of her store building. Her mind raced with all sorts of things, none of them good. What Spider had told her was the absolute opposite of what she’d expected to hear. If Monk Marsella was really at the bottom of the Mississippi and had been for six months, then there was no way he could have kidnapped Melissa Franco. Which meant either that she’d been wrong nine years ago when she’d pegged Monk for the kidnapper, or someone had picked up his work with the exact same MO nine years after the fact.

Neither were very plausible explanations.

She gave the alley and garage a quick scan, an old habit but a practical one, and was relieved to see that neither Zach or any of Sonny’s guys were lurking around corners or trash bins. She unlocked the back door and hurried up the stairs to her apartment. No way had she been wrong about Monk. She’d seen the evidence firsthand in Monk’s house, and the only person besides her with a key to that closet was Monk. If only she’d been able to get the evidence out before he came back and caught her snooping.

That proof that she’d pursued but not collected had cost her two years of undercover work and nine years of her old life. But if Monk hadn’t kidnapped Melissa Franco, then who had? It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence that the MO was exactly the same. Certain details of the case had never been released, so an unrelated copycat wasn’t likely. The only other answer was that Monk had a partner. Someone who’d been in from the beginning and knew how to create the same setup.

But who, and why wait nine years between kidnappings? It made no sense.

Neither did hitting on Detective Blanchard.

Raissa unlocked the door to her apartment, trying to block her mind from the earlier scene at the bar. The fingerprint wasn’t an issue. Sonny was well aware of where she was, so hiding was no longer a concern. The FBI would likely perk up considerably when Zach ran the print through the database, especially as Raissa knew the bureau had presumed her dead years ago when she’d fled protective custody and they’d been unable to find her.

I told him to bring handcuffs.

Raissa groaned and stepped into her apartment, a cold drink and a cold shower the first two items on her to-do list. She stopped short when she realized she had company. Maryse and Sabine sat at her kitchen table, staring at her as if they were waiting for her to pull a rabbit from a hat. Or maybe her cleavage.

“Do you give tarot readings in that outfit?” Maryse asked. “Or do you have another occupation you forgot to mention to your best friends?”

Her friends’ obvious disapproval at her less-than-forthcoming behavior washed over her as if she’d been doused with a bucket of cold water. The good part was, she didn’t need the shower any longer. The bad news was, it looked like the drink was going to have to be a triple. She tossed her keys on the kitchen counter, pulled a bottle of scotch from her refrigerator, and set three glasses on the table. Maryse raised her eyebrows at Sabine, but neither of them said a word.

Raissa poured a splash of scotch into each glass and added a couple of ice cubes, then slid into a chair at the table with her friends. She pushed a glass across the table to each of them and downed a good portion of her own. “I was a bartender in college,” she said finally. “Got big tips for pulling the caps off beer bottles with my teeth. Took me two years of working at the FBI to pay for all the dental work I needed.”

“You know that’s not what we mean,” Maryse said.

Raissa shrugged. “I might also do a little security work for corporations.”

“What kind of security work?” Sabine asked.

“Companies hire me to test their system’s security.”

Sabine’s eyes widened. “Companies pay you to hack their computer network? How do they even know how to find you?”