Undercover Encounter. Rebecca York

were many similar warehouses in the industrial area, so the new company fit right in. But, like the special trucks, the exterior hid a boatload of surprises. The interior was soundproofed and bug-proofed and hooked up to a spy network that included satellite feeds, access to the CIA intelligent computer system, and secret transmitters. The walls also hid a weapons room, a science lab, a communications room and an electronics room.

      When he’d first come to work here, Alex had been impressed. Today, seeing the buildings brought back his anger of the night before.

      “Get a grip,” he muttered as he resisted the urge to slam the car door.

      From the collection of cars in the small lot, he could see that Rich, Mason, Philip Jones and Seth Lewis were already on site.

      There was no way of knowing whether Conrad had arrived since the director parked in the front and entered the secret headquarters from a locked door to his office.

      Alex raised his face and stared into the lens of the security camera mounted over the entrance. In addition to taking his picture, it scanned his retinas, making sure he was authorized to enter.

      When the computer inside confirmed his identity, the door lock clicked open and he stepped quickly through the door.

      He headed directly for the conference room, then stopped short when he heard somebody inside mention the name “McMullin.”

      The speaker was Mason Bartley. While Conrad had still been working as a U.S. Marshal, he’d caught the bastard red-handed in a liquor store robbery attempt. Mason had a rap sheet as long as Conrad’s arm, but the new head of New Orleans Confidential had seen his potential and had him released into the agency’s custody. In exchange for putting this case to bed, he’d walk away with his freedom. At the moment, it sounded like he was trying to win points by ratting on one of the other agents—namely Alexander McMullin.

      Eyes narrowed, Alex listened to the jerk’s version of the events of the night before. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have assumed they were staking out two different bars.

      “So, I think you should know that he left his post twice last night. And he barged into a fight at the door. If he’s not careful, he’s going to get his ass fired. And why is he late now?” Mason pushed.

      “Business,” Alex answered.

      Keeping his expression neutral and his temper under control, he stepped into the room, taking in the men seated around the conference table at a glance.

      Mason’s blue eyes glinted with defiance. He and Alex had disliked each other from the first. Now Alex knew the guy had been looking for an excuse to stab him in the back. And the events of the previous evening provided what seemed like a great opportunity.

      Everybody else, including Conrad Burke, who sat at the head of the table, looked slightly embarrassed. The short, curly haired Philip Jones slouched down in his seat, almost disappearing from view. Seth Lewis rolled his broad shoulders and stretched out his athletic legs under the table, but he kept his eyes fixed on a point somewhere near the floor.

      Alex liked these guys. Each had his strengths and weaknesses, but they were all top-notch agents and he’d trust any of them to guard his back in a firefight. Any of them except Mason Bartley, of course.

      Now he was sorry the conflict between him and Mason was making them uncomfortable, but he was glad he’d walked in when he had.

      It was Rich who spoke up. “Well, the way it looked to me, Alex was doing the bouncer’s job—while the guy was taking a break.”

      Mason didn’t back down. Raising his head, he gave Alex a direct look. “What about when you disappeared down the hall a little later? You were gone for ten minutes.”

      Alex fought the urge to cross his arms defensively over his chest. “We’ve been waiting to catch Jack Smith making another move. Last night I saw him slip some white powder into a customer’s drink. One of the businessmen who came in after that fight. Like Longbottom, he left with a prostitute. Why didn’t you follow them?”

      Mason’s complexion turned a dull shade of red. “I didn’t see Jack do anything.”

      “Well, I was closer to him,” Alex said, giving the ex-con a way to save face, when what he wanted to do was ask Mason why he hadn’t taken a seat nearer to the bar. “Since I knew what he’d done, I wanted to see where the couple was going.”

      “And?” Conrad asked.

      “They went around the corner, then inside the McDonough Club.”

      “Which is?” Mason asked.

      Conrad answered. “For years it was a prestigious men’s club in the city. Recently, I heard it changed hands.”

      “Yeah,” Alex agreed as he took one of the empty chairs around the large conference table. “I did some research on the place this morning. That’s why I’m a little late.” He paused for a beat to let the explanation sink in, then continued. “I checked out the ownership on the city tax records. The deed is in the name of a Cynthia Dupré.” He took out a photograph he’d downloaded of a woman with a rounded face and dyed blond hair who appeared to be in her mid-fifties.

      Phil studied it carefully. “She looks familiar, but the name sounds wrong.” He tapped his finger against his lips, looking thoughtful, and Alex waited for some bit of buried information to come out. Phil gave the impression of being an easygoing, fun-loving guy with no other purpose in life other than being a party animal. But he was sharp, and he’d been working around New Orleans for years. One thing he brought to the Confidential network was a working knowledge of most of the lowlifes in the city.

      “Unless I’m mixing her up with her twin sister—which I don’t think she has—she was arrested for running a house of prostitution. I recollect that she paid some bribes and got off with probation,” he said.

      “Very interesting,” Alex murmured. “I also checked out the liquor license for the establishment. It’s supposed to be a private club, bar and dining facility—with a small hotel upstairs. I’m wondering if the rooms are rented by the night or by the hour.”

      Rich laughed. “Good going, Alex. It looks like we need to do some digging into that place.”

      “Bartley, you get a report on my desk by tomorrow morning,” Conrad said, giving the sour-faced agent some extra work to do.

      Mason answered with a tight nod.

      “Did you already discuss the Latin types who came in later in the evening?” Alex asked.

      Rich nodded. “I followed them after they left the bar.”

      “Where did they end up?”

      “In a stretch limo that looked way out of their price range.”

      “Oh yeah?”

      “I’m going to talk to the rental company.”

      They discussed more of the previous night’s activities. Then Conrad asked, “Is that it?”

      Alex took that opportunity to say, “Not quite. I’d like to ask some questions about the liaison with the police department.”

      Conrad nodded.

      “Last night a rookie cop named Gillian Seymour came into Bourbon Street Libations dolled up as a prostitute. I assume she’s part of the undercover sting set up by the N.O.P.D. to help crack the suspected prostitution ring and finger the drug distributor. She left with one of the patrons.”

      “And?”

      “She just graduated from the academy a few months ago. She’s too green for the job.”

      “The police commissioner approves department personnel,” Conrad said.

      Alex was aware that the rest of the men around the table were listening to the exchange with interest.

      “You mean, the redhead?” Rich asked.

      “Yeah.”