The Cain Casey Series

Santos, but just as quickly put it down. Giving in to the satisfaction wouldn’t be a good way to prove to Rodolfo that he was fit to handle the situation. “The son of a bitch Nunzio hasn’t told us anything about it.”

“We’re working on it, since if it’s true, we’ll need some cooperation to continue our business.”

“Fly back to Biloxi and do some more digging, and we’ll be there in a week,” Rodolfo said. He took a sip of his lemonade and wiped the edges of his mustache. “If you find something before then, let me know.” He lifted his glass again but waited for Santos to leave. “That’s all,” he said when Santos didn’t get the message.

“If you want—” Juan said as soon as Santos was out of earshot.

“Don’t ask for something I’m not going to give you.”

“Why? I’m ready and you know it.” This time Juan picked up his glass and threw it into the pool. “I put that fucking operation together, and I should get the chance to protect it.”

“Remember two things.” Rodolfo stood and buttoned his jacket. “When you use language like that, no one will respect you. Act like a common thug and that’s all you’ll ever be.”

He started toward the house, but before he walked ten paces he heard a splash. When he turned around, the pitcher of lemonade had joined the glass in the pool.

“That was one thing. You said to remember two,” Juan said, his chest heaving from what Rodolfo assumed was rage.

“Keep acting like a child and I’ll send you back to your mother. I don’t have time for theatrics and the mistakes that spring from men who act without thinking.”

“I am a man, Papa, and I want you to let me prove it. If you do, I swear you won’t be disappointed in me.”

The sun was beating down, and not even the breeze was helping Rodolfo stay dry. All his life the sun had motivated him to grow his business. No way in hell was he going to spend his time sweating and working in someone else’s yard like his father.

“A week, Juan, we leave in a week. That’ll give you time to think, and once we get there we’ll see.”

As he strolled back to the house he heard another splash. He wasn’t interested enough to turn around, but he figured one of the house servants would have to fish out the glass he’d been using, along with the rest of the service. Juan hadn’t been the same since they’d returned from the States, but no matter how many times he’d asked, the boy had refused to tell him.

“Whatever it is, hijo, it’s time to let it go,” he said as he climbed the stairs to the house. His eyes landed on Juan, who’d gone back to his lounge chair and his sun worshipping. “Now’s the time for cool heads who can strike back at anyone who dares mess with our livelihood. If I can’t count on you for that, then I can’t count on you for anything.”

*

Annabel Hicks, lead FBI agent in the New Orleans office, entered the conference room and threw a thick file onto the table before she sat at its head. Shelby Philips didn’t need a rundown on what was in it, since her team had compiled most of the information. It contained a mixture of good and bad, but mostly it consisted of page after page of Cain’s brilliance at avoiding being caught doing anything wrong. There was a lot of speculation about what she’d done, but prosecutors couldn’t get convictions from theory.

“In case you missed it.” Annabel opened the folder, pulled out the pictures on top, and handed them to her assistant to pin to the board behind her. “The New Orleans police added these to the unsolved pile today.” Six photos were tacked up in the section marked “Bracato.” “These men were found dead, along with the biggest cache of drugs since this housecleaning began.”

“No leads?” Joe Simmons asked.

“Of course there’s a ton of leads,” Anthony Curtis whispered. “That’s why we’re in here wasting time.”

“Do you have something you’d like to share with the rest of us, Agent Curtis?” Annabel asked.

“Not officially, ma’am.”

“Then, unofficially, let’s hear it.”

“We have these meetings, ma’am, and while they’re insightful we don’t really get anywhere. We all know that the left side of the board,” he pointed to the Bracato side, “is a dead subject. And we all know who brought that about.” He pointed to the right where the top picture showed a smiling Cain Casey. “Sitting here is a waste of time.”

“Gosh, Tony, if you’ve solved the case I’ll be happy to buy you a drink,” Shelby said, aggravated with the surly Anthony. “What’s a waste of my time is your more-than-hashed-out grudges, but not one shred of anything that’ll help us. Are you sitting on a mountain of evidence I don’t know about?”

“If anyone’s holding out, it’s you. Aren’t you screwing her—”

Annabel slammed her hand on the table. “Curtis, in my office now. Shelby, finish this up, then I’d like to talk to you,” she said, and promptly left the room.

“Take a seat, Agent Curtis.”

“You know I’m right about Casey, and I know you’re aware of who Shelby is seeing socially.”

“Shut up and sit down. If I have to repeat myself, I’ll have you escorted from the building and have to send out one of those irritating official letters in lieu of this meeting.” In no way did she mean for her tone to convey humor. “No one in that conference room is an idiot. They’re professionals who are more than aware of what and who is responsible for our recent crime wave.”

“Thank you for that, at least.”

“I meant what I said about shutting up.” She pulled a file from a desk drawer and opened it. “We still live in the United States, Agent, and we have to abide by those pesky little things called laws. We cannot hound and hang a person on speculation.”

“What we’re doing isn’t working. You have to admit that too.”