Angel’s Promise by Aleatha Romig
Rett
“They’re fucking with us,” I said after the trackers on Ingalls’s and Boudreau’s cars had taken my men on a wild goose chase. “They know we’ve tracked them.”
“I thought,” Leon said, watching the same screen I was watching, “they’d take us into the bayou. Ingalls’s car crossed the river just like the Cadillac with Mrs. Ramses had earlier. It seemed like he was heading in, but now he’s on I-12. And Boudreau, he went near where our boys dropped him and Ingalls off for their bayou adventure, but he passed all the roads too. Headed west on 10.”
“Where is the warehouse our mole within Boudreau’s organization talked about?”
“Northeast of Baton Rouge, near the train yard.”
Leon and I were back in my inner office. We’d gotten what we wanted from the meeting in the Upper Ninth. The jury was still out on the Johnny family. That verdict wasn’t as important as Emma. Even though the sun was about to rise, I wasn’t tired. No, I was the opposite, ready to jump out of my skin if we came up with one more dead end.
My phone vibrated with a text message. Looking at the screen, I saw the message PRIVATE NUMBER.
“Fuck.”
I hit the text. Words appeared as a circle in a whited-out picture spun.
“COME GET HER.”
I gripped the phone tighter as the picture populated. “Fucking Christ,” I mumbled.
“What is it, boss?”
The picture was of Emma. I knew every inch of what I saw. I also recognized where she was. This picture was taken over a month ago, before we’d rescued her. She was tied to the chair. Her face was covered with a black cloth bag, but every other inch was exposed.
I knew my wife.
While it should be reassuring that the picture wasn’t recent, it wasn’t. I killed the two sons of bitches with her. Either they snapped this picture and sent it to someone else or we missed someone else in our presence.
“Get the car, Leon. We’re going to Baton Rouge. That’s where Emma is. I feel it.”
He stood and stretched his neck. “I’ll go, boss. But something don’t feel right to me.”
“I can’t sit here.”
Images of Emma tied to the chair in the warehouse in the Eighth Ward came back as my fingers balled to fists. I looked at my watch. It was nearing four in the morning. “We’re going.”
Within minutes, we were out of the office, down in the underground garage, and driving on the streets of New Orleans. This was the time of day that the city rested.
New Orleans never truly slept, but this was later than the bars and patrons and earlier than the early risers. I watched with fascination as the two parts of New Orleans conducted their daily meeting.
As Leon drove us out of the city limits, my cell phone rang. My jaw clenched as I read the name: Richard Michelson.
I’d been avoiding his calls as well as others from the NOPD. Now, before daybreak with over an hour’s drive to our destination, I finally hit the green icon. “Richard. I would assume you know my aversion to phone discussions.”
“This is my private number, Everett. Fuck, answer a damn call.”
A fucking drum line was keeping time in my temples. I closed my eyes. “Later, come by the house.”
“I can come by now.”
“It’s the middle of the night. I’m asleep,” I lied.
“You sound awake to me. And if you really care about the woman you married, I’d put money on the fact you haven’t slept a wink.”
“The woman I married,” I replied, “would be safe in our bed if she didn’t go to answer your fucking questions. I heard from Sophie Lynch. You didn’t stay on topic.”
“What did she tell you?”
My nostrils flared as I exhaled. “Eleven o’clock in my front office.”
“Everett, I saw the footage like everyone else. The city needs someone to come forward and make a statement. I’ve talked to Mr. Clark, but he said you were busy. The people of New Orleans are following this, but there hasn’t even been a missing person report filed yet.”
“We’re working on this. If you don’t think I am...” I took a breath, lowering my voice. Fuck, my nerves were stretched.
Of course the warehouse where she’d been held before had been searched. I had people checking out every shipping container at the docks as well as those at the train yard. As strange as it sounded, I was finding a bit of comfort in Miss Guidry’s repeated statements of optimism. The woman was bat-shit crazy, but currently, I needed to hear her brand of crazy.
“Everett,” Richard said, “the son of Isaiah Boudreau was making a splash at the high-end bars last night. Your people in NOPD were watching. He’s getting out of hand. There are some officers here who want to bring him in and end the shit he’s stirring up.”
“Are you asking my permission?”
“No, I’m warning you. As loud and boisterous as Boudreau is, William Ingalls is your biggest threat.”
I shook my head. “He has no claim to this city.”
“You’re right. He’s working behind Boudreau’s back, and I’ve seen this ploy before in other cities. Chicago went through something similar a few years back. They beat it, you need to too. This city is so entrenched in its history, Ingalls thinks he can wipe it all away and start fresh.”
“Maybe you should warn Boudreau.”
“I have.”
It was like a fucking punch to the gut.
There were words I wanted to say, but I had to remember this was a cell phone and while my line was secure, I couldn’t say the same about Richard’s.
“Nice. I guess you’ve chosen your side.”
“It’s not like that, Everett.”
“You said you believe that Emma is Jezebel’s daughter. By process of elimination, that removes Kyle or Isaiah from contention.”
“Fuck, I swore I’d never say this.”
“What?” I asked.
“Things aren’t as they appear. Ms. North, she did what she needed to do. Give it some thought, Everett. You’ll know the answer and once you do, you’ll realize how maybe the younger Isaiah isn’t the enemy.”
I shook my head. “What the fuck, Richard. He’s after my city. He’s claiming something that isn’t his to claim. He’s working to undercut my men. I’m not fucking blind and they’re not stupid. He’s not as powerful as he thinks.”
“In a way you’re right. You’re also wrong. Watch Ingalls. He has one chance at a claim to this city.”
“He has no fucking chance.” I was ready to end this phone call. “Good night—”
“Your wife,” Michelson interrupted. “He’s the one who took her. And my gut says he wants everything that’s yours, Everett. Everything. Listen, I’m laying my family and my career on the line because Abraham did the impossible. The scum who was after my daughter...if I’d have been the one to...I’d still be rotting in prison and you know what? To protect her, I’d do that. You know what happens to prosecutors in prison? You should know that’s not something I want to think about. Abraham, he did my daughter even one better. I’m being as fucking honest as I can be.”
“Tell me about your questioning of Emma.”
I turned my attention out the windows as we headed west. The pink morning sunrise was in our rearview mirror as we got closer to Baton Rouge.
“It was taped. I’m walking a fucking thin line here.”
“When did you learn who was named as Underwood’s beneficiary?” I asked. I’d just learned last evening from Clark and Lynch.
“I couldn’t tell you. Mrs. Ramses’s reaction had to be genuine.”
I’d give Richard Michelson a genuine reaction as soon as I had my wife back.
“Tell me something,” I said. “Since we spoke, I’ve been looking into this electronic currency. The deposits to Underwood’s Kraken account seem to be attached to a number sequence that could point to Jezebel North as you suggested weeks ago.”
“That’s what our investigator here at NOPD figured.”
“Did she also explain the beneficiary process?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“The information you blindsided Emma with yesterday isn’t completely as it seems. You see, in the case of this particular transaction, the sender of the currency stipulates the recipient and the secondary recipient, or as you called her, the beneficiary. My people have determined that it wasn’t Underwood who put Emma’s name on those transactions. It was the sender.”
“Jezebel?” Richard asked.
“That is the untraceable part.”
“Fuck.” Richard took a deep breath. “I’ll be at your front office at eleven.”
I didn’t wait to say goodbye. Instead, I hit the red icon and tossed my phone onto the seat. Leon’s dark stare in the rearview mirror said what my inner voice was saying. I’d given Michelson more than I should have. I let him know I had people investigating.
The morning sky continued to lighten as we came closer to the eastern edge of Baton Rouge. There were three other cars of men on their way. I wasn’t walking into a trap by myself. I’d gone in alone last time, and my gut told me that if either Boudreau or Ingalls were responsible for Emma’s abduction, they were counting on me to enter alone again.
I checked my phone. A program that my men had set up allowed me to see all my cars as dots on a map. Some had come this way before I decided to join the party. Others were called and were a little bit behind us. Given the time of day or should I say night, we made what was usually an hour-and-twenty-minute drive in record time.
As I stared down at the other dots, I wished one of them was Noah Herbert and that Ian Knolls was back at the mansion watching over Emma.
This wasn’t the time for wishes. It was time to get my wife and if in the process, we settled this ridiculous attempt at a coup, so be it.
