Dangerous Impostor Read online

  “We put it someplace safe,” he told the detective. “Let us go, and we’ll tell you where it is.”

  The man on his chest threw his full weight on his knee, and fireworks of pain exploded in Brent’s body. Air rushed from his lungs and left him gasping.

  “We’re not here to bargain with you,” the man growled.

  Gaines spoke again. “Bring them out here where we can see each other.”

  Still struggling to regain his breath, Brent found himself jerked off the mattress by his shirt and shoved into the hallway. Sharp pain told him the guy had probably broken a rib or two. A different kind of pain stabbed at him when he saw that the bedroom door across the hall stood open. As he was shoved past, he searched the room in a glance. It was empty. Lauren wasn’t there.

  If they’ve hurt her, I’ll tear them apart with my bare hands.

  In the living room, Gaines flipped on a lamp. A tidal wave of relief nearly knocked him off his feet when he saw Lauren standing in front of the window. She looked unharmed, thank goodness.

  Then he looked again. That wasn’t Lauren. The lips, which curled into a harsh smirk, were too thin, and the eyebrows too thick. Lauren’s chin was far more delicate. Most of all, the scornful eyes that watched him were brown, not green. Nobody who really knew her would ever mistake this impostor for Lauren.

  “Boyd Jarrell.” The words left his lips with a snarl.

  Caleb entered the room, his captor holding a gun at the base of his skull. His gaze locked onto Brent’s, and he shook his head in a silent warning.

  Too late. Brent gulped at his mistake. He’d just let Gaines and Jarrell know they’d discovered the connection between them. No bluffing now.

  “I see you know my associate,” Gaines said. “Good. We won’t waste time with introductions.”

  He gestured toward the chairs, and the gunmen pushed Brent and Caleb toward them. Pain stabbed at his rib cage when Brent lowered himself onto the threadbare cushion. His captor took up a stance beside him. He and Caleb faced each other, each with a gun barrel pointed at their heads.

  “What have you done with Lauren?” Brent snapped.

  Surprise stole over Gaines’s features. “I was about to ask you the same question.”

  Brent clamped his jaw shut. He’d done it again. Every time he opened his mouth he gave Gaines more information.

  The detective looked toward the fake Lauren. “Take a look, would you? It’s possible the money is here somewhere. Fifty thousand in cash can’t be easy to hide in a place this small.”

  Jarrell’s answer was a slight nod, and then he disappeared down the hallway.

  The number staggered Brent. He’d been carrying around fifty thousand dollars all day in a canvas bag. No wonder it was so heavy.

  “How’d you find us?” Caleb asked.

  Brent wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know the answer, or if he was simply trying to occupy the detective until Brent could pull himself together.

  Gaines examined him through narrowed eyes. “Ah, Mr. Buchanan, also known as Preacher Man.” His head moved as he scanned the crosses covering the wall. “I can see where the nickname comes from. Surely you’re not gullible enough to believe your charity cases are loyal to you.”

  Understanding dawned on Caleb’s face. “Mush.”

  “He contacted me a few hours ago.” The detective allowed a cold smile. “I paid him fifty dollars and promised to put in a good word with the judge about his father. I’m sure the money has changed hands by now, and Mr. Mush is floating in crack heaven.”

  Caleb didn’t respond, merely shook his head, sadness flooding his eyes.

  The sound of Jarrell’s search drifted down the hallway, drawers being opened, doors being shut. Brent’s nerves stretched taut. Was Lauren hiding in a closet or under the bed? Maybe if Jarrell found the duffel bag before he found her, the money would distract them for a while. She might gain a few extra moments to escape out a back window. A desperate hope, but he had to cling to something or he’d go crazy.

  One thing was for sure, he wasn’t going to give Gaines any more information than he already had. Maybe he could get the guy talking about himself, and that would take the focus off Brent, give him time to think.

  “Why are you doing this, detective? You’re a cop. Aren’t you supposed to uphold the law?”

  “Oh, I do. You can’t believe how many worthless thugs and meth-heads I clear off the streets of this town.” Gaines backed up to lean against the wall beside the television set. “But a man’s got to plan ahead. Do you know how pitiful my retirement income from the police force will be? I can’t live on that.” He shrugged. “So I’m padding a little.”

  Jarrell returned to the room. “The money isn’t here, and neither is the girl.”

  Brent’s spine sagged. There was no way Jarrell could miss that duffel bag. That could only mean that Lauren had left before this crew arrived and had taken the bag with her.

  Doubt crept into his thoughts. Had she deserted him and Caleb, left them on their own to deal with the consequences? Had he been duped? Was she the black widow Mason had accused her of being from the start?

  He straightened. No, he couldn’t believe that. Lauren didn’t kill anyone, and she wouldn’t betray him.

  But where was she? And where was that money?

  The living-room window in Caleb’s house came on. Lauren could see light around the edges, and an occasional movement through the closed mini-blinds. How long she crouched in the dusty sand, cell phone clutched in her fist, her body pressed close to the stucco siding of the women’s house, she didn’t know. Brent and Caleb were facing who-knew-what at the hands of a crooked detective and a vicious Mafia gang member, and it was because of her. Indecision wrestled with an urgent need to do something. But what?

  Finally she forced herself to retreat to the backyard, where she collapsed on the dirty concrete slab and dropped her face into her hands. Breath shuddered into her lungs. Brent had put himself in danger to help her, and if she didn’t hurry he would end up just like David.

  A solution occurred to her. Daddy! He would tell her what to do. She had her fingers on the screen of her phone almost before the thought completed itself in her mind.

  No, wait. Her finger hovered over the button that would connect the call. She was doing it again, calling Daddy to bail her out of hot water.

  This is different. Brent’s life is in danger. He needs help, and I don’t know what to do.

  But how could Daddy help? He was in Italy. The most he could do is give her advice. And what would he say? He’d tell her to call someone official. Like the FBI.

  She cleared the screen and punched in the number for directory assistance. A canned female voice spoke in her ear.

  “Please state the city and state of the listing you’d like to find.”

  Her mind blanked for a second. What did she say to get a national toll-free number? “Washington, D.C.” It was worth a try.

  “Washington, D.C.,” the voice repeated. “For what listing?”

  “The Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Lauren said.

  “Please hold while we retrieve the number.”

  Five heartbeats later, the sound on the line changed, and then a live operator asked, “Do you want the number for the administrative offices?”

  “Do you have a listing for some sort of emergency hotline?” Nerves made Lauren’s voice quiver.

  “Hold one moment, please.” The operator responded calmly, as if people called to get the FBI’s hotline number every day.

  Seconds later the computerized voice returned with a toll-free number. Lauren’s brain scrambled to remember since she had nothing to write with. She disconnected the call and punched in the number.

  Her call was connected and answered almost immediately by a cool, professional male voice. “Federal Bureau of Investigation, Agent Lawson speaking. Please be aware that this call is being recorded. How may I help you?”

  Lauren’s mind blanked. What should
she say that would get them here as quickly as possible, and yet wouldn’t make her sound like a lunatic?

  “A man’s been killed,” she blurted. “No, two men. And my friend is in danger.”

  “Ma’am if this is an emergency you need to hang up and dial 9-1-1.”

  “No!” Lauren’s shout echoed off the cement and rang in the air. She jerked a fearful glance toward the corner of the house. Had she been heard? With an effort, she continued in a lower voice. “We think the Mafia is involved.”

  “Ma’am, the FBI is an investigative and intelligence agency. We can help, but your local police have rapid response systems in place to—”

  “You don’t understand. I’m talking about the Cicalo gang. The Mafia.”

  Agent Lawson’s voice remained calm. “Ma’am, I see your call is coming from a cell tower in Las Vegas. If you’ll give me your exact location, I can contact the 9-1-1 dispatcher for you. Help will be there in minutes.”

  Alarm slammed into her. He could see where she was? And he was about to send the police here.

  “N-no.” She snapped her mouth closed until she could go on without stammering. “I’ve made a mistake. Nevermind. Thank you.”

  With a stab at her cell phone, she disconnected the call. Her trembling fingers lost their hold on the phone, and it fell from her grasp.

  Had she just signed Brent’s death warrant?

  TWENTY-THREE

  A fist connected with Brent’s jaw, and exploding stars blinded him.

  “Where is she?” Gaines’s voice held an intense edge that hadn’t been there before.

  He’s getting scared. If he loses fifty thousand dollars, his gangster bosses probably won’t be forgiving.

  The detective’s face swam into focus as the spots receded from Brent’s vision. Across the room, Caleb’s hands clutched the worn arms of his chair, fury apparent on his flushed face. The goon beside him pressed a gun’s barrel against his temple, a clear warning not to move.

  Brent raised a hand and gingerly touched his jaw. “I told you, I don’t know. That’s the truth.”

  Gaines’s arm cocked back, ready to deliver another blow, but paused when Jarrell uttered a filthy word.

  “This is getting us nowhere.”

  Jarrell’s glare was so unlike Lauren’s sweet smile that Brent couldn’t believe he’d ever mistaken the two of them, even for an instant.

  “Call Fortelli. Tell him what’s going on. They’ve got to drop a net over the city, fast.”

  Gaines’s fist flattened, and he scrubbed his hand over his mouth. Brent saw the struggle on his face and the moment he decided Jarrell was right. He slipped a cell phone from his belt and speed dialed a number.

  “It’s me. The girl’s gone, and so is the money.” An angry voice blasted through the phone, the words indistinguishable. The detective’s eyes closed while he waited for the tirade to end. “She can’t get far. Every cop in the city is on the lookout, and her picture’s on the wire. We’ll find her. In the meantime, we’re going to continue as planned, okay?” Another pause, and his jaw clenched. “All right.”

  He snapped the phone closed and spoke to Jarrell. “He’s making a call. Wants us to hold until we hear back.”

  “They don’t trust you.” A smirk twisted Jarrell’s lips. “They’re afraid you’ll mess up something as simple as a hit.”

  “Shut up,” Gaines snapped.

  A hit. Brent didn’t like the sound of that. Were they talking about killing him and Caleb? A glance at Caleb’s solemn face revealed he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

  Lord, wherever Lauren is, guide her to safety. Get her out of this.

  Every time he took more than a shallow breath, white hot pain pierced his side. At least one broken rib, maybe more. He forced his thoughts away from his own misery. Time enough to think about that later.

  “Whose money is it, anyway?” He spoke more to fill the silence than anything.

  Gaines pointed a finger at him. “You shut up, too.”

  “Was it Frank’s, maybe?”

  A sarcastic laugh blasted out of the detective’s mouth. “That idiot? You’ve gotta be kidding. If only he’d done as he was told, he might still be alive. But he had to go and get too big for his britches.”

  Brent liked the way this was going. If he kept Gaines talking, he might learn something important. Of course, he and Caleb might not live long enough to use the information, but you never know.

  “Frank was a lot of things,” Brent said, “but he wasn’t an idiot. He was one of the sharpest programmers I’ve ever known.”

  Jarrell answered from the corner where he stood. “He thought so, too. That was what did him in.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He did some good work.” Gaines leaned against the edge of Caleb’s desk, his arms folded across his chest. “Put a computer system in place that made some important people very happy. And very rich. He hid that system right under your nose, Emerson. What do you think about that?”

  The detective was talking about the online gambling website, and the secret database. He had no idea Brent had found that database using the computer six inches away from him. And Brent wasn’t going to tell him.

  “Be careful, Gaines,” Jarrell spoke in a warning tone.

  “What? These guys aren’t going to be able to tell anybody anything.”

  So they were planning to kill them. Brent looked at Caleb and saw his lips moving in silent prayer.

  Gaines crossed to stand in front of Brent’s chair. Brent had to tilt his head back to look the guy in the face.

  “Your squeaky-clean company has been running the biggest online gambling organization in the nation right under your nose. Labetti put everything in place, made a good name for himself. But he got cocky. Wanted a bigger role.”

  “So that money came from illegal gambling? Frank collected money from lost bets?”

  A sarcastic laugh came from Jarrell. “That geek was no collector. He lacked the finesse the job requires.”

  Considering Jarrell’s reputation for being a vicious collector, his comment sent a shiver marching across Brent’s arms.

  “Yeah, but he wanted to try,” Gaines said, “and the bosses gave him a shot at it. Even sent him on a trip to set up one of the offshore accounts. Then they let him collect on a couple of Georgia bets, to give him a taste of the job. If only he’d done as he was told, it might have turned out okay for him. But instead of transferring the money like he was supposed to, he insisted on bringing it to the bosses in person. Said he wanted to talk with them.”

  Offshore accounts. Frank’s Costa Rica trip, probably. Lauren had the bad luck of choosing a weekend escape to a Caribbean island that also happened to be known for money laundering.

  “Even then, he might have been okay,” Jarrell said. It was so strange, hearing his voice from a face that was made up to resemble Lauren’s. Brent had a hard time looking at the guy. “But he started hinting around that he was indispensable, that nobody could access all that computer stuff except him, and they’d better keep him happy. That proved how stupid he was. You don’t threaten the people who run this organization.”

  “If this organization—” they were carefully avoiding naming the Cicalos, so Brent did, too “—is as successful as you say, surely they have other people in Atlanta besides Frank. Why not take care of Frank back home? Why let him come all the way to Las Vegas to kill him?” Brent eyed Jarrell. “Just so you’d have the privilege of getting rid of him?”

  “Actually, that decision had to do with timing. There are two hotshot computer jocks in Chicago who hacked into Labetti’s system months ago. They’ve replicated his database and have been working the bugs out. This weekend they’re going to flip the switch that takes control from Frank’s system to the new one.”

  So Frank’s doom had been sealed months ago. Maybe even before the Cicalo gang had arranged for Lauren to take the job at Sterling Foods. He tried to catch Caleb’s eye, to see what he thoug
ht of this news, but the street preacher had his eyes squeezed shut, his lips moving silently at a rapid pace.

  “Where does Lauren fit into all this?” Brent raised his hand to gesture vaguely, and the gunman at his side pressed the gun against his temple. His gaze slid to Jarrell. “And don’t tell me she got dragged in so you could impersonate her, because you don’t look anything like her.”

  Jarrell’s painted smile spread across his face. “Ah, but looks can be deceptive. I make a living on that premise. From the moment Labetti pinpointed her as an unwitting partner, I’ve been studying her. I even took a trip to Atlanta dressed as her to buy a gun, and I filmed her for several days so I could perfect her gestures and her accent. I like to be thorough.”

  The thought of this creep stalking Lauren, recording her movements, stirred a powerful nausea in Brent’s stomach.

  Realization dawned. “Somebody set her up from the beginning. Frank unearthed her resume, but someone else gave him the approval to push for her to be hired. They intended to pin her for Frank’s murder all along.”

  Jarrell’s gaze slid to Gaines. “He’s not stupid, I’ll say that for him.”

  “Look, Emerson, the girl was just too easy.” Gaines shook his head. “She had a connection with someone who owed us, and she had traveled to Costa Rica a few months before she applied for the job as Frank’s partner. Plus, she had the same general build as Jarrell, here. A cut-and-dried setup. How could we resist?”

  The words fell like blows on Brent’s ears. Oh, Lauren, baby, you never had a chance.

  Lauren sat on the cement, her back resting against the dancers’ door, and stared at the silver-washed backyard. She was out of ideas. Her call to the FBI had proven nearly fatal and might still end in Brent and Caleb’s deaths before the night was over. If Agent Lawson was able to pinpoint her exact location, he might unwittingly send crooked cops. If not, Detective Gaines and Boyd Jarrell would certainly kill both men soon. And here she sat, fifty yards away, helpless to stop them.

  So much for the brains God had given her.

  Caleb’s words came back to her, echoing in the empty spaces of her mind. God did give us brains, sister. But He also gave us a Spirit to guide us.