is important.” Brand kept an eye on the courthouse doors. He didn’t want to be surprised while talking to his FBI contact. “What’s happened?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I don’t know what you mean,” the FBI agent said finally.
“I think you do. Yesterday Lily Raines was about to fall out of her chair, she was so scared. Today she looks like a new woman.”
“Maybe she got some rest.”
“Did she talk to someone? Has anyone talked to her?” Anger blossomed in his chest. “Damn it, Pruitt. If something’s up, I need to know.”
“I swear, Gallagher, I don’t know a thing. She didn’t talk to the DA’s office, or I’d have heard. Maybe you’re overreacting. Take a chill-pill.”
Brand commented on what Pruitt could do with his chill-pill. “What about Springer and Carson? Anything going on with them?” He rarely ran into the other two officers who were working undercover with Castellano’s operation.
“They’re checking in daily. Nothing from their end. Look, I told you I’d protect you, and I will.”
“Can you protect her, too?”
“We’re on it. We figure it’ll take about three days for the jury to figure out she’s not going to change her vote to guilty. We’ll be there to intercept you and Foshee, and to rearrest Simon. It’s all going smooth as silk.”
“I hope to hell you’re right.”
Brand disconnected and headed back inside. He sat down next to Foshee, who sent him a suspicious look.
“What took you so long?” he whispered.
“Got a call.” In case Foshee had looked out the courthouse door and seen him on the phone, he needed to stick as close to the truth as possible.
“Yeah?”
“Ex-girlfriend. Wants to hook up.”
Foshee grinned. “You could hook me up.”
“That would serve her right,” he muttered.
Foshee scowled at him.
Brand listened to the DA’s monotonous drone. Crap. In typical lawyer fashion, he was telling the jury what he was about to tell them. Then he’d tell them, then he’d tell them what he’d just told them.
After him, the defense attorney, paid for with Castellano’s money, got to put on his own performance.
And Brand was stuck here sitting next to Foshee, with his garlic breath and his bad teeth.
It was going to be a long day.
THREE DAYS LATER, retired police officer Bill Henderson drove his wife’s van toward Beachside Manor Nursing Home. He’d been surprised to hear from Joe Raines’s girl the other night. Lily had sounded frantic, scared to death. He’d tried to calm her down, but she’d begged him to listen to her.
He shook his head, amazed at what Lily had told him and ashamed at how hard he’d tried to weasel out of helping her. Especially now.
Like he’d told Lily, he’d done his twenty-five years on the force. He was looking forward to a lot of years of sitting out on the water in his little boat, fishing and drinking beer and just being happy to be alive.
He’d decided not to take any more private jobs. Most of them were just this side of sleazy. He didn’t like spying on cheating spouses or rounding up deadbeat dads.
His pension was enough, with his wife’s income from teaching, to keep them comfortable.
He turned onto the street that wound back around the bayous to the grounds of Beachside Manor. Funny name for a nursing home that was nowhere near the beach.
Lily had asked him to go to the nursing home on Friday morning and pick up her father for what she’d termed a “day trip.” She said she’d called the nursing home and given her permission. All he had to do was show photo ID.
“Take him somewhere, Bill. Please. I’ll pay you. Take him up to Jackson to a hotel. Just for a few days, until this trial is over. Then I’ll come get him and we’ll be out of your hair. Please. Do it for a fellow officer. You know he’d do it for you.”
As soon as she’d said those words, Bill had known he was sunk. So here he was, about to abduct a buddy of his who didn’t even know his own name. Like he’d promised Lily, he’d lied to his wife—told her he had to be out of town for a few days on a case.
He’d asked Lily what was going on, but she wouldn’t tell him. He had a feeling he knew. Another reason he’d tried his best to refuse. This had something to do with Sack Simon’s murder trial. Therefore it had something to do with Giovanni Castellano. He sure as hell didn’t want to tangle with Castellano.
The idea made Bill very nervous. He ran a finger under his tight collar and checked his weapon, which he’d stuck in a paddle holster at his back. He rarely carried it anymore, even though he had a permit.
The road to Beachside Manor was asphalt, with a narrow shoulder that quickly dropped off into a swamp. He kept his van toward the middle of the road as he rounded a steep curve.
A car was stopped in the middle of the road, and a woman in a tight skirt and a tighter blouse with the top buttons undone waved both arms at him. She looked hot and harried.
Bill slowed down and pulled up beside her. He lowered his passenger window. “Got car trouble, miss?” he asked.
“I don’t know what’s wrong. It just stopped, right here in the middle of the road. I’m supposed to be at the nursing home to pick up my mother.” She gestured behind her with a hand holding a cigarette.
“Hop in and I’ll give you a ride.” Bill pressed the button that unlocked the doors. As soon as he did, the driver’s door jerked open and a hefty guy stuck a gun into the folds of skin at his neck.
“Wha—?”
“Don’t move, Henderson.”
Bill didn’t move. Sweat popped out on his forehead and under his arms. He should have been prepared for this. Twenty-five years on the force had taught him better than to be caught by the oldest trick in the book.
“What do you want? Money?” Stupid question. It wasn’t money. The gunman had called him by name. This was Castellano’s doing.
Icy sweat gathered and trickled down his back and under his arms. His mouth went dry as a bone.
“Come on, man, I’m not hurting anyone. I’m just visiting a buddy.”
“Too bad you won’t get to see him. Did you think we wouldn’t have a bug on his daughter’s phone? She wouldn’t know, but you, Henderson. You’re an ex-cop. You should know better.”
Bill shook his head as sweat dripped
