Cat Read online

  “Got it. Don’t worry.”

  Blaine chuckled. “I always worry.”

  “Good luck down there.”

  “Thanks, I’ll call Cat and let her know you’re coming to see her.”

  “Yep. Give me her cell.”

  Governor Campbell’s Private Residence. West Austin.

  CAT was dressed in her second new suit for day two and trying to get a glass of orange juice down to settle her stomach when Blaine called. “This is a pleasant early morning surprise,” she said.

  “I’m nobody’s pleasant surprise, Cat.”

  “Sure, you are, sweetheart. Why are you calling so early?”

  “I have to go out of town. I’ll be back tomorrow. Jesse will be in touch and he’s coming to talk to you about a couple things.”

  She hesitated. “I don’t know him, and he’s not you.”

  “He is me. We’re partners.”

  “What if I need something?”

  “You have Gene and your team, and I’ve assigned Travis and Fletch to the Bromwell caper. You’re covered.”

  Cat giggled. “Okay. Why are you going away?”

  “I can’t tell you. It’s classified.”

  “Right.” She winked even though he couldn’t see her.

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  THE TEAM was gathered around the kitchen table by the time Blaine ended his call to the Governor.

  “She bent cause you’re leaving her side?” asked Farrell.

  “Something like that,” said Blaine. “I put Jesse on her.”

  Farrell grinned. “That’ll fix her.”

  “Okay, a quick word and we’re out of here. Travis and Fletch are on Bromwell and helping Jesse with anything he needs done in either one of Cat’s residences. Keep an eye on him and do not let him lift anything.”

  “We’ve got Jesse covered,” said Travis.

  “Anything concerning the Cat’s security, Trav, go through Gene. He’s your man.”

  “Gene and I are fairly tight after the Ginny fiasco.”

  “Hammer, you’re with me and Farrell. Let’s go.”

  Hammer settled in the back of the big Ram diesel and didn’t say a word until they were sailing south on I-35. “Where we going, boss?”

  “Laredo. Six ATF agents were gunned down before dawn when they stopped a couple of semis full of automatic weapons. We’re on it.”

  “Wouldn’t the ATF investigate their own mess, boss?”

  “Uh huh. They will.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “You don’t have to get it and I’m not explaining it to you. You don’t have clearance.”

  Laredo Police Headquarters.

  THE boys from the Houston division of the ATF had set up a command post at Laredo PD. They had temporarily taken over the boardroom on the second floor and made it their own.

  Blaine and the boys showed their creds to the duty officer downstairs at reception and were escorted to the second floor.

  At the door of the boardroom, Blaine asked for Special Agent, Ed Kramer. A tall man in his late forties with bushy brown hair and a poorly knotted red tie looked up from something he was reading and said, “Who the hell are you?”

  “Blaine Blackmore. I was told you were expecting me.”

  “I was told to expect you, yes.” He stared at Blaine and nodded his head. “Uh huh. I guess I wasn’t ready for the kid ganger look.”

  Blaine smiled.

  Kramer waved an arm. “Come in and grab a seat, I was just about to recap what we know, and a lot of what we don’t know. Y’all can take notes if you like.”

  “Thanks. This is Deputy Farrell Donovan, and Hammer Chisholm, two members of my crew.”

  Kramer managed half a smile. “Dead-eye Donovan out of Austin?”

  Farrell said nothing.

  Kramer reached out and shook Farrell’s hand. “Glad to have you watching my back any day of the week.”

  “Thanks.”

  Kramer backed up to a white board and tapped it with a marker. “For the past six months we’ve been working on infiltrating The Rule, an old Vegas gang that opened a chapter in San Antone and moved their headquarters to Texas. They’ve had poor leadership since Ogilvie, the man who built the club back then went to prison, but since the move to Texas the new guy at the helm has whipped the membership into shape and they are a highly organized crime machine.”

  “What’s the new president’s name?” asked Blaine.

  “I’ll put it up on the board. We know the top three.” Kramer wrote the names in red on the board and said to one of his lackeys, “Go make copies of the mug shots.”

  “Paul Langois is the power, and rumor has it, he is one brutal son of a bitch. His VP is Shane—Shaky—Goldsmith, and the enforcer is Dougie the Dog Robertson. The rumor on Dougie is this: he left a big-name club, we don’t have accurate information on which one, joined up with the new Rule and his old club is on the hunt for him. Could cause problems for us if we get in the middle of a vendetta.”

  “Dougie the Dog used to be on the ‘B’ team,” said Blaine. But even so, he was close to Ogilvie.”

  Kramer stared. “And you know this, how?”

  “Race told me.”

  Kramer’s eyes widened, and he took a step forward. “You knew Ogilvie personally?”

  Blaine smiled. “A helluva lot better than I wanted to. For a time—a time I’d rather forget—I was his attorney.”

  “Fuck, man, that’s great news.” Kramer rushed over and shook Blaine’s hand. “I didn’t know why in God’s acre the higher powers were sending you to me.”

  Blaine shrugged.

  “Do you have a man inside the club?” asked Farrell.

  “We do.”

  “How long has he been in deep?”

  “Two months.”

  “Was he at the border this morning?” asked Blaine.

  Kramer shook his head. “He didn’t know about the shipment.”

  “That could mean the general membership, or the prospects aren’t privy to a lot of club business,” said Blaine, “or they don’t trust your man.”

  “He’s only a prospect.”

  “Who sponsored him in?” asked Blaine.

  Kramer checked his notes. “A guy named William Friar—better known as Willy the Weasel.”

  “Any idea where the clubhouse is in San Antone?” asked Blaine.

  “Here’s the address.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We need to find the guns before they hit the street,” said Kramer.

  Farrell checked his watch. “It’s after two. You might be too late for that.”

  Downtown Laredo.

  BLAINE parked at the Taco Palace down the street from headquarters after they left the ATF boys. “We need to eat before we drive to San Antone,” he said.

  Farrell grinned. “How right you are, bro. Did you hear my gut growling in the fuckin meeting?”

  “I thought it was a dying grizzly,” said Blaine.

  Hammer chuckled in the back seat.

  The hostess showed them to a table and Blaine checked his phone. “Kramer seems okay. I’ve worked with lots of feds way worse than him.”

  “He gonna give you free rein?” asked Hammer, “Or is he calling the shots?”

  Blaine smiled. “Let’s say Kramer will be cooperating with our investigation and giving us his support.”

  Hammer raised an eyebrow. “Does he know that?”

  “I’m sure he does by now.”

  Hammer nodded as he stared at the menu and tried to figure it out.

  Blaine ordered a round of draft and made some calls. “Travis, anything?”

  “We got nothing from his house last night and Bromwell didn’t show at y’all’s office this morning. I checked with cute-petutie on reception and he didn’t call the office. She had to cancel all his appointments.”

  “Where the hell is he?” asked Blaine. “Is the mess he’s in worse than we thought? Did he rabbit?”

  “Runn
ing scared, maybe,” said Travis, “From what, we don’t know.”

  “Jesse knows all this?”

  “Me and Fletch are at Bromwell’s residence and Jesse is at DPS clearing it with the Chief. We’re waiting to go in.”

  “Good. Let me know.”

  Ranger Headquarters. Austin.

  JESSE sat in Calhoun’s office discussing the Bromwell situation. “Nice to have you back in my office, Jesse.”

  “It’s been hell, Chief, trying to make a comeback after this last coronary—physical hell and double hell on my marriage. One huge shitstorm.”

  “Now that you’re getting stronger, maybe things will turn around for you.”

  “I’m seeing a different doctor, one that uses all-natural methods and supplements instead of drugs. Brian doesn’t put much stock in it and he’s annoyed that I’m giving it a try, to say the least.”

  “Hey, if it works, don’t knock it.”

  “Declan, Annie’s medic, put me on to it, because nothing else was working. There’s more faith in holistic medicine in the UK where Dec comes from, and it’s worth a shot.”

  “Definitely.”

  A tap on the door and one of Calhoun’s deputies handed him the signed warrant. The Chief passed it across the desk to Jesse. “Here you go. Judge Mappin was at the courthouse and I sent Deputy Rockport over for the signature.”

  “Okay, thanks, Chief. I’ll catch up with the boys, toss the house, then go have a chat with the new first lady.”

  “Busy day.” The Chief smirked.

  Bromwell Residence. West Austin.

  TRAVIS and Fletch were parked in front of Bromwell’s house in the green surveillance unit when Jesse arrived.

  “No movement?” asked Jesse.

  “None.”

  “You do the honors, Trav, as neatly as possible.”

  “I’ll come in from the back. Wait on the front step, boss.”

  Jesse nodded. The boys were always looking out for him. He appreciated it but irked him a little all the same. It should be the other way around. He should be looking out for his team.

  “I better observe,” said Fletch. “I’m the new guy.”

  Fletcher tore around behind the house while Jesse strode up to the front door. Before he touched the knob, Travis was already there to open it from the inside. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Bad stink coming from upstairs, boss.”

  “Shit,” said Jesse, “run up and take a look.”

  Jesse stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for the verdict. He wasn’t climbing the stairs if he didn’t have to.

  Trav leaned over the railing on the second floor. “Better come up, boss. It ain’t pretty.”

  Holding the railing, Jesse trudged upward and into the master bedroom. Flies buzzed, maggots crawled. The air was putrid with the stench of death. Bromwell had been dead for a while.

  “Call it in?” Jesse asked Travis and he nodded.

  “You okay, Fletch? You look a little pale.”

  “I’m okay, boss. Have to get used to it if I’m on the violent crime squad.” He pointed. “This is violent.”

  “Yep. Lot of anger there,” said Jesse. “Somebody hated Mr. Bromwell in a big way.”

  “If they were gonna shoot him anyway, why did they need to cut him up like that?” asked Fletch.

  “They wanted something from him,” said Jesse. “See how much he bled? They did all that cutting first. Torture.”

  “Fuck,” said Fletch. He braced himself on the doorframe.

  “Go on down, kiddo, and show Doc Simon and the techs where we are. Stand outside and take some deep breaths.”

  “Okay, boss.”

  Jesse stepped into the hallway and called the Chief.

  “You find something already?”

  “Just Bromwell and he ain’t breathing. Cut up good and then executed.”

  “Fuck that,” hollered the Chief.

  “I’m turning the scene over as soon as Mort gets here, and I’ll head up to tell Governor Campbell the news.”

  “Jesus, Jesse, that might be stressful for you. Do you want me to do it?”

  “Blacky set something up with her and she’s expecting me anyway for other reasons. I’ll do it.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  Sirens sounded in the street and by the time Jesse descended the stairs, the front foyer was full of police personnel.

  “Show them where, Fletch, and give Travis a hand with the search. Be thorough. I have to go to the Capitol and tell Catherine.”

  Fletcher made a face.

  Interstate 35.

  BLAINE was halfway to San Antonio when Jesse called. “How’s your day going, partner?”

  “Had better days. I’m on my way to the Capitol to see the Governor and I’ve got bad news to tell her.”

  “What? Reg is seeing another woman on the side?”

  “That would be good news.”

  Blaine chuckled. “Tell me.”

  “Bromwell is dead on his bed. Cut to ribbons, then executed, gang style. The house is secured.”

  “Fuck that,” hollered Blaine.

  “I’ll tell her and see how she reacts. We’ll talk later.”

  “I’ll give you a while to get it done, then I’ll call her.”

  The Capitol Building. Austin.

  CAT was deluged with meetings all morning and hadn’t had time to eat anything. Jesse Quantrall called and said he would be in her office in twenty minutes, so she took the opportunity to order coffee and pastries. She used the bathroom, checked her makeup in the mirror and splashed on a little perfume.

  Jesse Quantrall is one hunk of a millionaire. I heard his marriage was shaky.

  She didn’t have time for any more thoughts before Jesse Quantrall was standing, hat in hand, right in front of her desk.

  My God, is he ever good looking.

  “Let’s sit over here, Mr. Quantrall. I ordered coffee and a snack for us. Well more than a snack for me. They don’t give me time to eat here.” She giggled.

  She watched him sink into a velvet wing chair and place his hat on a side table. “Can I pour you a coffee?”

  Unsmiling, he leaned forward like something was bothering him. “Before we do that, I have something I need to tell you, Governor Campbell.”

  “Why don’t you call me ‘Catherine’, or better still, Cat?”

  Jesse forged on without pause. “I’ve just come from Mr. Bromwell’s residence and I regret telling you that he’s deceased.”

  “What?” She set the carafe down thinking it would drop out of her trembling hand. “He’s dead… in his house? How can that be?”

  “Someone killed him, ma’am. The medical examiner is with him right now. Would you happen to know who Mr. Bromwell’s next of kin is?”

  “Umm… my brain isn’t telling me that right now, but I may know it.”

  “Don’t bother yourself. I can get it from Lily. She has access to all the employee records from Powell and Associates.”

  Cat nodded. “Right, Blaine’s firm. The firm where Reg works.” She took a couple of breaths and tried to focus. “Who would kill Reg?”

  “That’s the question, ain’t it? And if you have any insight, I’d be happy to hear it.”

  “It’s like the other night,” said Cat, “Who would rob him? I didn’t know the answer to that one either.”

  “I’m thinking they go together,” said Jesse. “It’s too big a coincidence not to be the same people.”

  “Right. You might be right about that.” Cat stood up and walked to the sideboard. “Would you like a shot of bourbon? I feel like I could use one to steady me a bit.”

  Jesse smiled. “You go ahead, ma’am. You’ve had a shock.”

  “Does Blaine know about Reg?”

  “Yes. I believe he’ll call you shortly.”

  She let out a breath and tossed back the liquid like she’d done dozens of times lately. The burn in her throat felt reassuring.

  Jesse poured cream into his co
ffee and took a sip. He was weak from the busy morning because he hadn’t eaten. An absolute rule of Annie’s he was not allowed to break. He took a couple of bites out of a cherry Danish.

  Cat was on her way back to the sofa when her cell rang.

  “That may be Blacky,” said Jesse

  Cat checked the screen and nodded. “I’m glad you called. I’m a bit shaky.” She sat down. “Uh huh, I’m sitting now. Yes, I’ll do that. Okay, I understand.” Tears burned behind her eyes. Blaine always brought her emotions to the surface.

  “Do you need a tissue?” asked Jesse.

  She reached for the tray. “I’ll use a napkin. The short fuse always makes me cry.”

  Jesse chuckled. “He says what he thinks.”

  “He wants me to pack up and go home with my security team, and he wants you to come to the house and sweep or something.”

  “I know. We discussed it. Why don’t you get ready to leave, and I’ll have Mrs. Warburton get rid of the rest of your day.”

  “Thank you so much, Ranger Quantrall. You’ve been very kind.”

  San Antonio.

  BLAINE programmed the address of the Rule’s clubhouse into the nav system as they drove into San Antonio from the south. Farrell was behind the wheel and Blaine was smoking and planning their strategy for later.

  “Cruise the clubhouse and then we’ll check out bars in the neighborhood with Harley’s or pickups in the lot and come back after we check into a hotel.”

  “Yep,” said Farrell. “Looks like the GPS woman wants us to head north on route eighty-seven.”

  They passed several subdivisions, and a couple of strip malls, then an industrial area came up on the right and Farrell flicked on his turn signal. “This is where the boys live.”

  “In a fuckin factory?” asked Blaine.

  “Hey, I’m only the driver,” said Farrell. “Watch for the number on the building.”

  Farrell circled through the three streets of cinderblock warehouses twice before they decided that The Rule was holed up in the auto parts junkyard at the end of the dead-end street. The solid metal fence was high around the perimeter, painted black, with the words ‘CHEAP PARTS’ painted in huge white letters. A small block building was visible through the two eight-foot sections of chain link gates, chained together and padlocked.