The Art Crime Team, armed with Springfield Armory 1911 TRP AOS handguns, were supported by agents with the FBI Special Weapons and Tactics Team, the Bureau’s Critical Incident Response Group, and a South Carolina Law Enforcement Division Regional Investigative Unit.
“Let’s see what Pimentel has stored inside,” Landon said, then gave the order to go in.
After entering the site, prepared for any resistance theymight encounter, they found it was empty, save for a few empty boxes and some trash.
“What the hell…?” Zach uttered.
“Where is everything?” Katie said, furrowing her brow.
“Gone.” Landon’s voice echoed with disappointment in the warehouse. Including neither sight nor sound of Eddie. “Obviously, Pimentel was given a heads-up and cleared it out—probably with little time to spare—but successfully, nevertheless.”
Zach speculated, “Pimentel must be running scared as we close in on his criminal enterprise.”
“Either that or he’s trying to stay one step ahead of the game,” Katie offered.
“I think it’s probably a combination of the two,” Landon surmised. “Pimentel definitely wants to cover his tracks. But he also knows that the jig is up insofar as his culpability of dealing in stolen and forged art, money laundering and related offenses. He may have pulled one over on us with this obviously staged so-called tip, but his day of reckoning is fast approaching.”
They left the warehouse with no more than when they’d entered. Yet Landon was even more determined than ever to see this through to the end, having achieved the desired results. Especially when Raquelle’s brother was still missing—but presumed to be alive—and hope remained that he could be reunited with her.
* * *
RAQUELLE WAS SEATEDin the front row of the auditorium, looking on with approval as the student production was in full swing. She was definitely pulling for the undergraduatessomeday being able to apply this training to successful careers in theater, films, or television.
Her mind slipped to spending the night at Landon’s condo. She blushed at the thought of their hot sex, both giving as much as they took—and more. It truly was as if they had traveled back in time, picking up right where they had left off. Or maybe it was more that the sexual chemistry had simply never wavered, even if they’d been apart for years.
The truth was that sex had never been a problem for them. It was the other things that made a marriage work that failed to measure up to either of their standards. Was it possible that it could be different were they to start seeing each other again in a serious way?
Or was last night—and the mutual satisfaction achieved—merely setting them up for a fall again once the afterglow subsided?
She refocused on the performance. When it was over, she congratulated the students and encouraged them to continue to reach for the stars in their individual goals.
After conferring with Vera on her next class, Raquelle left the auditorium. She was planning to walk over to the nearby Union Building for coffee when someone came up from behind her quickly, grabbing her arm in a rough manner.
“Where is he?” the deep voice asked sharply.
She turned to look at the man. He was staring back at her with solid blue eyes on a square face with a high forehead. Tall and somewhat slender, she guessed that he was in his mid-thirties. While his head was mostly covered with a hood from the blue hooded sweatshirt hewore with jeans and sneakers, she could see that he had thick black hair tucked beneath it.
Raquelle furrowed her brow. “Excuse me?”
“Let’s not play games,” he hissed. “You’re Professor Raquelle Jernigan, aren’t you?”
She saw no reason to deny what he obviously knew to be true. “Yes.”
“Where’s your brother, Eddie?”
He’s the man I saw leaving the marina, Raquelle thought as it kicked in like a bad memory.The one who had to have planted and detonated the bomb.
“I’ve been asking myself the same question,” she answered, trying to keep her cool as she glanced about in hoping someone would come along to help her get out of this situation. “My brother disappeared—right after someone blew up his pontoon.” She peered at the man daringly. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
He wrinkled his crooked nose thoughtfully and replied ambiguously, “Maybe I would and maybe I wouldn’t. What I do know is that Eddie Jernigan is a marked man. He can’t escape his fate—if he’s not already a dead man—no matter what rock he tries to hide under. So, I ask you again—tell me where I can find him, dead or alive.”
Raquelle remained defiant in the face of danger. “Again, I have no idea. But, just for the record, even if I did know something, I’m not about to tell you his location—only so you can kill Eddie.”
Still holding her arm painfully, he snorted, “Not the right answer, Professor. I could easily kill you here and now—and would, if there was a price on your head. But here’s a warning—unless I can verify very soon that yourbrother is no longer living, he’s not the only one whose lifespan could be cut short in a heartbeat. You pass that along to him. And even the FBI agent he’s been giving information to that you were once married to. I’ll do whatever I need to in order to satisfy my employer. Think about that!”
Before she could take him up on his threat to her life—not to mention the clear and present danger he was to Eddie…and maybe even Landon—Raquelle found herself being shoved hard enough that she fell to the ground.
By the time she recovered from the shock and got to her feet, the assailant had run off and was darting between buildings on campus to escape.
