Bulletproof Billionaire

“I hear you’ve got a date with her today. Way to move right in.”

“Jones. Lewis.” Burke’s voice commanded attention as the door behind Seth opened. Burke nodded at the tall, imposing man who entered.

It was Tanner Harrison, an ex-CIA operative in his early forties. Seth had met him during his interview. Today, Harrison seemed distracted and tired, as if he hadn’t slept.

“All of you have met Tanner Harrison.”

Seth shook Harrison’s hand and met his strange, silvery gray eyes.

He gave Seth a quick assessment. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you. Nice work with that bank robber.”

Seth shrugged. “He ran into me. I had to do something.”

The corner of Harrison’s mouth lifted. “I understand you were with Special Forces. Last time we met, you had a lot more hair. You cleaned up pretty well. Wouldn’t have recognized you.”

“My sisters have been after me for months to get a haircut and ditch the beard.”

Harrison nodded as Burke turned back to the monitors.

“We caught a break,” Burke said. “One of the prostitutes picked up in the raid the other night has pleaded. She seems to have a lot of good information.” Burke indicated the monitors.

Each monitor showed a similar establishment. Seth looked closer. “Those are Cajun Perk coffeehouses.”

Burke nodded. “The prostitute, whose name is Darlene Green, told the police that Cajun Perks are the distribution points for Category Five.”

Jones stepped closer. “Category Five. Supposed to be the greatest thing since Ecstasy and the little blue pill,” Jones said. “Doesn’t even give you a headache.”

McMullin grunted. “No headache. Just a stroke or a heart attack.”

“Cajun Perk?” Seth said. “That explains something Tony Arsenault said last night at Mrs. DeBlanc’s house. He was checking out the crowd. I mentioned hearing about the charity auction at a coffeehouse, and he got real interested real fast.”

“How so?” Burke turned around.

“He seemed suspicious of me at first, but then I said something about wanting to meet the major players in town and introduced myself. He’ll remember me.”

“Good. Be careful with these guys though, Lewis. Arsenault isn’t known as ‘The Knife’ because he can chop onions.”

Jones laughed.

Burke turned back to the monitors. “Now, here’s what Darlene told us about how it works. The girls get their supply by requesting a specific blend of coffee. Apparently the drug is hidden inside special cardboard sleeves that are only given to the customers who know about the special blend.”

As Burke talked, two girls dressed in revealing tops and low-rise miniskirts walked into view of the monitor trained on the Warehouse District Cajun Perk. Even with all their thick, overdone makeup, it was obvious they weren’t more than sixteen or seventeen years old.

Harrison cursed under his breath. “That’s the disgusting part of all this. They’re using teenagers. These girls aren’t even old enough to vote, yet they’re being turned out onto the streets.” His voice was rough with emotion.

“Right. That’s part of what we’re going to stop.” Burke’s jaw twitched. “Jones will be working surveillance. Lewis, keep in touch with him. Let him know everything you get from DeBlanc’s widow, soon as you get it. If you can use her to get close to Senegal, we may be able to find the missing piece linking the Cajun mob with Ricardo Gonzalez and his Scorpions.”

“I thought the South American rebels had disappeared.”

“For the moment,” McMullin said.

Then he continued. “Odds are that there’s a connection between the mob and the rebels. If Senegal is supplying the drug to the prostitutes, he’s got to be getting it from somewhere. That’s our primary goal—to find out where it’s coming from and stop it.”

Conrad Burke glanced at his watch. “Okay. That’s it. Keep your cell phones with you and report anything unusual.”

Alexander McMullin nodded, then headed toward the rear of the building where the trucks were serviced. Seth and Philip Jones exited through Seth’s office. As they parted in the parking lot, Jones grinned at Seth.

“You decide you can’t handle the widow alone, give me a call, you hear?”

“Yeah right. Like your bride would let you do that. Don’t worry,” Seth tossed back. “I can handle her.” He kissed his fingertips in a continental gesture and put on his accent. “She is like a fine wine, and I intend to sample that wine today.”

Jones laughed and saluted Seth, then got into his car and drove away.

BACK INSIDE the secret offices of New Orleans Confidential, Conrad Burke sat down and nodded at his friend to take a chair.

“No luck?”

Harrison dropped into the chair and wearily scrubbed his hands over his face. His gray eyes were dull as gunmetal, his granite-jawed face haggard. “Nothing. I showed some pictures of Lily to the prostitute who pleaded, but she can’t—or won’t—confirm whether she’d seen her.”

“But the undercover cop Seymour confirmed it was your daughter?”

Harrison nodded. “I talked to Gillian Seymour myself. She’s positive. That means Lily was at the club. She was—” Harrison stopped and rubbed his eyes.

Conrad studied the former CIA agent. He’d been a legend in the company, dependable, ruthless and devoted to his job. Maybe too devoted at times, but right now he looked like any worried father. His seventeen-year-old daughter was missing, and Detective Gillian Seymour, an undercover cop planted in the bordello, had identified Lily as one of the young prostitutes involved with the use of Category Five. Thinking about his own precious children, Conrad understood Harrison’s desperation. If one of his children were missing or into drugs, he’d be frantic.

Conrad was torn. He needed Harrison’s experience and his ruthless determination, but he couldn’t take the chance that Harrison’s worry over his daughter’s safety might compromise Confidential’s investigation.

“Look Tan, if you need to spend your time looking for Lily, I’ll understand.”

The gunmetal eyes flashed with silver glints. “No way, Conrad. My child is out there. Alone, possibly hurt, and these scumbags are responsible. I have too big a stake in the outcome of this investigation. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m going to bring these bastards down, and find my daughter in the process.”

ADRIENNE LOOKED PAST Seth in horror, her gaze riveted on the enormous shiny motorcycle parked in front of her home. She’d expected the red convertible he’d driven last night. “What is that?”

Seth grinned, his hazel eyes twinkling and his hair picking up golden highlights from the sun. “It’s a genuine American-made motorcycle. A Harley-Davidson.”

“I know what it is. I mean, what are you doing with it? Where’s your convertible?”

“I bought this beauty this morning. Impulse purchase. It’s an antique, a collector’s item.” He patted the helmet he had tucked under his arm. “It came with two helmets, too.”

Speechless, Adrienne stared at the man who had fascinated her last night with his odd accent and designer clothes, and frightened her by coming on too strong, too fast.

Today he looked even more dangerous. Dressed in snug black jeans, a black T-shirt that hinted at excellent abs, and motorcycle boots that probably cost as much as a bottom-of-the-line compact car, he resembled the ultimate bad boy from a cult TV series.

Biting her lip nervously, Adrienne tore her gaze away from the tight, revealing front of his jeans.

Earlier this morning, as Adrienne was dressing to go to St. Cecilia’s Nursing Home to visit her mother and spend some time helping with recreational activities for some of the residents, Tony had called and grilled her about Seth Lewis. Trying to be noncommittal, Adrienne had given Tony an abridged version of her opinion. Seth was probably nouveau riche, not shy about wearing or driving his money.

Last night, the red Mercedes sports convertible had gone perfectly with his sharp designer suit. This morning, as much as she hated to admit it, the motorcycle fit his wild appearance.