Law And Disorder
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“I won’t do anything,” she told him. “Nothing. Nothing at all—not until I know that my friends and our guests are safe and that Jose isn’t suffering from anything more than a headache.”
Not that she’d help them even then—if she even could. The stash had been missing since the 1930s. In fact, Anthony Green had used a similar ruse when he had committed the bank robbery. He’d come in fast with six men—all wearing masks. He’d gotten out just as fast. The cops had never gotten him. They’d suspected him, but they’d never had proof. They’d still been trying to find witnesses and build a case against him when he’d been gunned down on Miami Beach.
But her demands must have hit home because Dillinger turned to Barrow. “Fine. Bring her through.”
He turned to head down the hallway that led into the music room—the first large room on the left side of the house.
It was a gorgeous room, graced with exquisite crown molding, rich burgundy carpets and old seascapes of famous ports, all painted by various masters in colors that complemented the carpet. There was a wooden dais at one end of the room that accommodated a grand piano, a harp, music stands and room for another three or four musicians.
There were sofas, chairs and love seats backed to all the walls, and a massive marble fireplace for those times when it did actually get cold on the water.
Kody knew about every piece in the room, but at that moment all she saw was the group huddled together on the floor.
Quickly searching the crowd, she found Stacey Carlson, the estate manager. He was sixty or so with salt-and-pepper hair, old-fashioned sideburns and a small mustache and goatee. A dignified older man, he was quick to smile, slow to follow a joke—but brilliant. Nan Masters was huddled to his side. If it was possible to have platonic affairs, the two of them were hot and heavy. Nothing ever went on beyond their love of Miami, the beaches and all that made up their home. Nan was red-haired, but not in the least fiery. Slim and tiny, she looked like a cornered mouse huddled next to Stacey.
Vince Jenkins sat cross-legged on a Persian rug that lay over the carpet, straight and angry. There was a bruise forming on the side of his face. He’d apparently started out by fighting back.
Beside him, Betsy Rodriguez and Brandi Johnson were close to one another. Betsy, the tinier of the two, but by far the most out-there and sarcastic, had her arm around Brandi, who was nearly six feet, blond, blue-eyed, beautiful and shy.
Jose Marquez had been laid on the largest love seat. His forehead was bleeding, but, Kody quickly saw, he was breathing.
The staff had been somewhat separated from the few guests who had remained on the property, finishing up in the gardens after closing. She couldn’t remember all their names but she recalled the couple, Victor and Melissa Arden. They were on their honeymoon, yet they’d just been in Texas, visiting the graves of Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow in their separate cemeteries. They loved studying old gangsters, which was beyond ironic, Kody thought now. Another young woman from Indiana, an older man and a fellow of about forty rounded out the group.
They were all huddled low, apparently respecting the twin guns carried by another man in an identity-concealing mask.
“Kody!” Stacey said, breathing out a sigh of relief. She realized that her friends might have been worrying for her life.
She turned to Dillinger. “You’d better not hurt them!”
“Hurt them?” Dillinger said. “I don’t want to hurt any of you, really. Okay, okay, so, quite frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass. But Barrow there, he’s kind of squeamish when it comes to blood and guts. Capone—my friend with the guns—is kind of rabid. Like he really had syphilis or rabies or something. He’d just as soon shoot you as look at you. So, here’s my suggestion.” He paused, staring Cody up and down. “You find out what I need to know. You come up to that library—and you start using everything you know and going through everything in the books, every news brief, every everything. You find that stash for me. Their lives depend on it.”
“What if I can’t find it?” she asked. “No one has found this stash in eighty-plus years!”
“You’d better find it,” Dillinger said.
“Help will come!” Betsy said defiantly. “This is crazy—you’re crazy! SWAT teams aren’t but a few miles away. Someone—”
“You’d better hope no one comes,” Dillinger said. He walked over to hunker down in front of her. “Because that’s the whole point of hostages. They want you to live. They probably don’t give a rat’s ass one way or the other, either, but that’s what they’re paid to do. Get the hostages out alive. But, to prove we mean business, we’ll have to start by killing someone and tossing out the body. And guess what? We like to start with the big-mouths, the wise-asses!”
He reached out to Betsy and that was all the impetus Kody needed. She sure as hell wasn’t particularly courageous but she didn’t waste a second to think. She just bolted toward Dillinger, smashing into him with such force that he went flying down.
With her.
He was strong, really strong.
He was up in two seconds, dragging her up with him.
“Why you little bitch!” he exclaimed as he hauled his arm back, ready to slam a jaw-breaking fist into her face.
His hand never reached her.
Barrow—with swift speed and agility—was on the two of them. She felt a moment of pain as he wrenched her out of Dillinger’s grasp, thrusting himself between them.
“No, Dillinger, no. Keep the hostages in good shape. This one especially! We need her, Dillinger. We need her!”
“Bitch! You saw her—she tackled me.”
“We need her!”
The hostages had started to move, scrambling back, restless, frightened, and Capone shoved someone with the butt of his gun.
Barrow lifted his gun and shot the ceiling.
Plaster fell around them all like rain.
And the room went silent.
“Let’s get her out of here and up to the library, Dillinger. Dammit, now. Come on—let’s do what we came here to do!” he insisted. “I’m into money—not a body count.”
Kody felt his hand as he gripped her arm, ready to drag her along.
Dillinger stared at him a long moment.
Was there a struggle going on? she wondered. A power play? Dillinger seemed to be the boss, but then Barrow had stepped in. He’d saved her from a good beating, at the least. She couldn’t help but feel that there was something better about him.
She was even drawn to him.
Oh, that was sick, she told herself. He was a crook, maybe even a killer.
Still, he didn’t seem to be as bloodthirsty as Dillinger.
Dillinger stepped around her and Barrow, heading for the stairs to the library. Barrow followed with her.
“Hey!”
They heard the call when they had nearly cleared the room.
She turned to see Capone standing next to Betsy Rodriguez. He wasn’t touching her; he was just close to her.
He moved his gun, running the muzzle through her hair.
“Dakota Cameron!” he said. “The world—well, your world—is dependent on your every thought and word!”
She started to move toward him but Barrow stopped her, whispering in her ear, “Don’t get them going!”
She couldn’t help herself. She called out to Capone. “You’re here because you want something? Well, if you want it from me, step the hell away from my friend!”
To her surprise, Dillinger started to laugh.
“We’ve got a wild card on our hands, for sure. Come on, Capone. Let’s accommodate the lady. Step away from her friend.”
From behind her, Barrow added, “Come on, Capone. I’m in this for the money and a quick trip out of the country. Let’s get her started working and get this the hell done, huh? Beat her to pieces or put a bullet in her, and she’s worthless.”
“Miss Cameron?” Dillinger said, sweeping an elegant bow to her. “My men will behave like gentlemen—as long as your friends let them. You hear that, right?”
“I can be a perfect gentleman!” Capone called back to him.
“Tell them all to sit tight and not make trouble—that you will manage to get what we want,” Barrow said to her.
She looked at him again.
Those eyes of his! So deep, dark, blue and intense!
Surely, if she really knew him, she’d recognize him now.
She didn’t. Still, she couldn’t help but feel that she did, and that the man she knew wasn’t a criminal, and that she had been drawn to those eyes before.
She shivered suddenly, looking at him.
He didn’t like blood and guts—that’s what Dillinger had said.
Maybe he was a thief, a hood—but hated the idea of being a murderer. Maybe, just maybe, he did want to keep them all alive.
“Hey!” she called back to the huddled group of captives. “I know everything about the house and all about Anthony Green and the gangster days. Just hold tight and be cool, please. I can do this. I know I can do this!”
They all looked at her with hope in their faces.
She gazed at Barrow and said, “They need water. We keep cases of water bottles in the lower cabinet of the kitchen. Go through the music room and the dining room and you’ll reach the kitchen. I would truly appreciate if you would give them all water. It will help me think.”
But it was Dillinger who replied.
“Sure,” he said. “You think—and we’ll just be the nicest group of guys you’ve ever met!”
Chapter Two
Nick Connolly—known as Barrow to the Coconut Grove crew of murderers, thieves and drug runners who were careful not to share their real names, even with one another—was doing his best. His damned best.
Which wasn’t easy.
Nick didn’t mind undercover work. He could even look away from the drugs and the prostitution, knowing that what he was doing would stop the flow of some really bad stuff onto the city streets—and put away some really bad men.
From the moment he’d infiltrated this gang three weeks ago, the situation had been crazy, but he’d also thought it would work. This would be the time when he could either get them all together in an escape boat that the Coast Guard would be ready to swoop up, or, if that kind of maneuver failed, pick them off one by one. Each of these guys—Dillinger, Capone, Floyd, Nelson, Kelly and Schultz—had killed or committed some kind of an armed robbery. They were all ex-cons. Capone had been the one to believe in Nick’s off-color stories in an old dive bar in Coconut Grove, and as far as Capone knew, Nick had been locked up in Leavenworth, convicted of a number of crimes. Of course, Capone had met Nick as Ted—Ted Johnson had been the pseudonym Nick had been using in South Florida. There really had been a Ted Johnson; he’d died in the prison hospital ward of a knife wound. But no one knew that. No one except certain members of the FBI and the hospital staff and warden and other higher ups at the prison.
None of these men—especially “Dillinger”—had any idea that Nick had full dossiers on them. As far as they all knew, they were anonymous, even with each other.
Undercover was always tricky.
It should have been over today; he should have been able to give up the undercover work and head back to New York City. Not that he minded winter in Miami.
He just hated the men with whom he had now aligned himself—even if it was to bring them down, and even if it was important work.
Today should have been it.
But all the plans he’d discussed with his local liaisons and with Craig Frasier—part of the task force from New York that had been chasing the drug-and-murder-trail of the man called Dillinger from New York City down through the South—had gone to hell.
And the stakes had risen like a rocket—because of a situation he’d just found out about that morning.
Without the aid, knowledge or consent of the others, for added protection, Dillinger had kidnapped a boy right before they had all met to begin their takeover of the Crystal Estate.
It wouldn’t have mattered who the kid was to Nick—he’d have done everything humanly possible to save him—but the kidnapped boy was the child of Holden Burke, mayor of South Beach. Dillinger had assured them all that he had the kid safely hidden somewhere—where, exactly, he wasn’t telling any of them. They all knew that people could talk, so it was safer that only he knew the whereabouts of little Adrian Burke. And not to worry—the kid was alive. He was their pass-go ace in the hole.
That was one thing.
Then, there was Dakota Cameron.
To be fair, Nick didn’t exactly know Kody Cameron but he had seen her—and she had seen him—in New York City.
And the one time that he’d seen her, he’d known immediately that he’d wanted to see her again.
And now, here they were. In a thousand years he’d never imagined their second meeting would be like this.
No one had known that Dillinger’s game plan ended with speculation—the vague concept that he could kidnap Dakota, take her prisoner—and hope she could find the stash!
Dillinger planned the heists and the drug runs; he worked with a field of prostitution that included the pimps and the girls. He had South American contacts. No one had figured he’d plan on taking over the old Crystal Estate, certain that he could find a Cameron family member who knew where to find the old mob treasure.
So, now, here he was—surprised and somewhat anxious to realize that the lovely young brunette with the fascinating eyes he’d brushed by at Finnegan’s on Broadway in New York City would show up at the ticket booth at a Florida estate and tourist attraction.
Craig Frasier, one of the main men on the task force Director Egan had formed to trace and track “Dillinger,” aka Nathan Appleby, along the Eastern seaboard, spent a lot of time at Finnegan’s. The new love of his life was co-owner, along with her brothers, of the hundred-and-fifty-year-old pub in downtown Manhattan.
Nick and Kody Cameron had passed briefly, like proverbial ships in the night, but he hadn’t had the least problem recognizing her today. He knew her, because they had both paused to stare at one another at the pub.
Instant attraction? Definitely on his part and he could have sworn on hers, too.
Then she’d muttered some kind of swift apology and Craig’s new girlfriend, who’d come over to greet them, explained, “That’s Kody Cameron. She’s working a living theater piece with my brother. Sounds kind of cool, right? And she’s working here part-time now, making the transition to New York.”
“What’s living theater?” Nick had asked Kieran Finnegan.
“Kevin could tell you better than me,” she had explained, “but it’s taking a show more as a concept than as a structured piece and working with the lines loosely while interacting with the audience as your character.”
Whatever she did, he’d hoped that he’d see her again; he’d even figured that he could. While Kieran Finnegan actually worked as a psychologist and therapist for a pair of psychiatrists who often came in as consultants for the New York office of the Bureau, she was also often at Finnegan’s. And since he was working tightly with Craig and his partner, Mike, and a cyber-force on this case, he’d figured he’d be back in Finnegan’s, too. But then, of course, Dillinger had come south, met up with old prison mates Capone, Nelson, Kelly, Floyd and Schultz, and Nick—who had gone through high school in South Florida and still had family in the area—had been sent down to infiltrate the gang.
The rest, as the saying went, was history.
Now, if Dakota Cameron saw his face, if she gave any indication that she knew him, and knew that he was an FBI man...
They’d both be dead.
And it didn’t help the situation that she was battle ready—ready to lay down her life for her friends.
Then again, there should have been a way for him to stop this. If it hadn’t been for the little boy who had been taken...
He had to find out where the kid was. Had Dillinger stashed him with friends or associates? Had he hidden him somewhere? It wasn’t as hard to hide somewhere here as one would think, with the land being just about at sea level and flat as a pancake. There were enough crack houses and abandoned tenements. Of course, Nick was pretty sure Dillinger couldn’t have snatched the kid at a bus station, hidden him wherever, and made it to the estate at their appointed time, if he had gone far.
But that knowledge didn’t help much.
Nick’s first case when he’d started with the Bureau in the Miami offices had been finding the truth behind the bodies stuffed in barrels, covered with acid and tossed in the Everglades.
He refused to think of that image along with his fear for the child; the boy was alive. Adrian Burke wouldn’t be worth anything in an escape situation if he was dead.
Nick wiped away that thought and leaned against the door frame as he stood guard over Kody. Capone was now just on the other side of the door.
Like the entire estate, the library was kept in pristine shape, but it also held an air of fading and decaying elegance, making one feel a sense of nostalgia. The floors were marble, covered here and there by Persian throw rugs, and built-in bookshelves were filled with volumes that appeared older than the estate itself, along with sea charts and more.
Kody Cameron had a ledger opened before her, but she was looking at him. Quizzically.
It seemed as if she suspected she knew him but couldn’t figure out from where.
“You’re not as crazy as the others,” she said softly. “I can sense that about you. But you need to do something to stop this. That treasure he’s talking about has been missing for years and years. God knows, maybe it’s in the Everglades, swallowed up in a sinkhole. You don’t want to be a part of this—I know you don’t. And those guys are lethal. They’ll hurt someone...kill someone. This is still a death penalty state, you know. Please, if you would just—”
He found himself walking over to her at the desk and replying in a heated whisper, “Just do what he says and find the damned treasure. Lie if you have to! Find something that will make Dillinger believe that you know where the treasure is. Give him a damned map to find it. He won’t think twice about killing people, but he won’t kill just for the hell of it. Don’t give him a reason.”
“You’re not one of them. You have to stop this. Get away from them,” she said.
She was beautiful, earnest, passionate. He wanted to reassure her. To rip off his mask and tell her that law enforcement was on it all.
But that was impossible, lest they all die quickly.
He had to keep his distance and keep her, the kidnapped child and the others in the house alive.
Capone was growing curious. He left his post at the archway and walked in. “Hey. What’s going on here? Don’t interrupt the woman, Barrow. I want to get the hell out of here! I’ve done some wild things with Dillinger, but this is taking the cake. Makes me more nervous than twenty cartel members in a gunboat. Leave her be.”
“Yeah. I’m going to leave her be. And she’s going to come up with something,” Barrow said.
He’d barely spoken when Schultz came rushing in. While Capone knew how to rig a central box and stop cameras and security systems, Schultz was an expert sharpshooter. He was tall and thin, not much in the muscles department, but Nick had seen him take long shots that were just about impossible.
“News is out that we’re here,” he said. “Cops are surrounding the gates. I fired a few warning shots and Dillinger answered the phone—told them we have a pack of hostages. You should see them all out there at the gates,” he added, his grin evident in his voice. “They look like a pack of chickens. Guess they’re calling for a hostage negotiator. Dillinger is deciding whether to give them a live one or a body.”
Kody Cameron stood. “They give him a body and I’m done. If he gives them one body, it won’t make any difference to him if he kills the rest of us.”
“And just how far are you getting, sweet thing?” Schultz asked, coming close to her. He reached out to lift the young woman’s chin.
Nick struggled to control himself. Hell, she wasn’t just a captive. Not just someone he had to keep alive.
She worked for Finnegan’s. She was connected to Kevin Finnegan and Kieran Finnegan—and therefore, to Craig Frasier.
And he noticed her the first time he’d ever seen her. Known that he’d wanted to see her again.
He’d never imagined it could be in this way.
For a moment he managed to keep his peace. But, damn her, she just had to react. Schultz cradled her face and she stepped back and pushed his hand away.
“Hey, hey, hey, little girl. You don’t want to get hurt, do you? Be nice.”
Nick stepped up, swinging Schultz around.
“Leave her alone, dammit. We’re here for a reason.”
“What? Are you sweet on her yourself?” Schultz asked him, his tone edgy. “You think this is merchandise you keep all for yourself?”
“I’m not merchandise!” Kody snapped.
“I want her to find what Dillinger wants, and I want to get the hell out of here!” Nick said. He was as tall as Schultz; he had a lot more muscle and he was well trained. In a fair fight, Schultz wouldn’t stand a chance against him.
There were no fair fights here, he reminded himself. He had to keep an even keel.
“Leave her alone and let her get back to work,” he said. “Get your mind on the job to be done here.”
“Shouldn’t you be up in one of the front towers?” Capone asked Schultz. “Isn’t that your job in all this?”
Schultz gave them all a sweeping and withering glare. Then he turned and left.
Capone was staring at Nick. “Maybe you should get your mind on the job, too, Barrow,” he suggested.
“And you,” Nick added softly.
Capone continued to stare at him.
It went no further as Dillinger came striding into the room. He ignored Capone and Nick and walked straight to the desk and Kody.
“How long?” he asked her.
“How long? You’re asking me to do something no one has managed in decades,” Kody said.
“You’re got two hours,” Dillinger said. “Two hours. They’re bringing in a hostage negotiator. Don’t make me prove that I will kill.”
“I’m doing my best,” Kody said.
“Where’s the phone in this room?” Dillinger asked.
“On the table by the door, next to the Tiffany lamp,” Kody said.
“What the hell is a Tiffany lamp?” Dillinger demanded, leaning in on Kody.
“There. Right there, boss,” Nick said, pointing out the elegant little side table with the lamp and the white trim-line phone. He walked over to it and saw that the volume was off.
“Ready for calls,” he told Dillinger.
“Good. We’ll manage it from here. Capone, get on down and help Nelson with the hostages. Schultz is in the eagle’s seat in the right tower. Floyd’s in the left. And we’ve got our good old boy, our very own private Machine Gun Kelly, in the back. Don’t trust those hostages, though. I’m thinking if we have to get rid of a few, we’ll be in better shape.”
“No, we won’t be,” Nick said flatly. “You hurt a hostage, it tells the cops that they’re not doing any good with negotiation. We have to keep them believing they’re getting everyone back okay. That’s the reason they’ll hold off. If they think we’re just going to kill people, they’ll storm us, figuring to kill us before we kill the hostages. That’s the logic they teach, trust me,” Nick told Dillinger.
Dillinger shrugged, looking at the phone. “Well, we’ll give them a little time, if nothing else. So, Miss Cameron, just how are you doing?”
Dakota Cameron looked up and stared at Dillinger, then cocked her head at an angle. “Looking for a needle in a haystack?” she asked. “I’m moving some hay out of the way, but there’s still a great deal to go. You do realize—”
“Yes, yes,” Dillinger said impatiently. “Yes, everyone has looked for years. But not because their lives were at stake. You’re holding so many precious souls in your hands, Miss Cameron. I’m just so sure that will help you follow every tiny lead to just where the treasure can be found.”