Free Relentless Pursuit by Kathy Ivan Page A

perfect handful of glorious breasts, and ample hips to grasp as a man rode her from behind.
    Damn it.  I wanted a piece of that before sending her on her way.  Stupid bitch.  If only she'd minded her own business everything would have been perfect.
    He didn't normally sample the merchandise, but he'd have made an exception for her.  There was something innocent and fragile about her, it brought out something he'd never felt before.  He shook his head.  It didn't matter now.  Plans change and he'd adapt.  He always did.
    He'd shown her picture to a prospective buyer who'd been ecstatic.  Her coloring and demure appearance came highly prized by certain connoisseurs.  Fortunately, he'd worked with this collector before and convinced him to wait a few more weeks, take the time to prepare a special gilded cage for his latest acquisition.  Maybe this whole debacle could be salvaged.  Carlo'd better be able to tell him where to find his other little birdie who'd flown away, and he'd retrieve her before too much damage could be done.  Taking Jennifer away from Carlo would be the ultimate punishment; the agony he'd inflict on him as he expounded in minute detail exactly what his beloved sister would suffer at the hands of her new master, the icing on the cake.
    He'd put out feelers throughout the community.  Nobody hid from him—not for long anyway.  His contacts at the New Orleans Police Department hadn't reported in yet, but after the explosion the night before he wasn't surprised. They'd better not take too long, though.   He didn't have time to waste.
    Dubshenko glanced back down at Carlo, lying unmoving and prone at his feet.  Before this was over, he'd basically kill three birds with one stone.  Jennifer, sweet Jennifer, would make him a small fortune with her sale, and she'd disappear never to surface again to testify against him.  Carlo would suffer greatly and die for his betrayal.  And last but not least, Detective Remy Lamoreaux.  The unrelenting thorn in his side; the boil on his posterior.  It was time to eliminate the meddlesome cop once and for all.
    Dubshenko laughed out loud at the thought.  He'd take care of disposing of the good detective himself.  After all, he'd sealed his own fate by making this personal.
     

Chapter Eight
     
    One week previous
    C arlo eased up to the interior wooden door, eyeing it with a jaundiced eye.  He pressed his ear against it, and could make out voices—at least two.  He'd seen Dubshenko and his bodyguard walk inside the abandoned warehouse less than five minutes before.  He'd been following the pair for the last two hours, which was damned annoying.  He'd rather be at his favorite hangout having a beer with his buddies, instead he was sweating his ass off following the Russian drug czar around.  Still, he needed to be cautious, not lose his edge.  If he wasn't careful they’d catch him and there would be hell to pay.  The least of which his boss would nail his hide to the wall, and probably have his sorry butt tossed back into prison.
    Lucky for him, Dubshenko didn't have a clue Carlo worked for the DEA and he planned to keep it that way.
    He scanned his surroundings, up and down the narrow hallway, trying to find an alternative access to the office Dubshenko and his bodyguard currently occupied.  Two doors on the opposite side of the hall, but no egress to the one place he needed to get into.  Damn it!  Who was Dubshenko meeting?  It had to be important for him to be this secretive—and this cautious.
    Carlo slammed his fist against his thigh, frustrated with the whole lousy situation.  Why choose an abandoned warehouse?  Dubshenko owned a half dozen buildings in and around the Greater New Orleans area, so why here?  This was way outside his comfort zone.
    Wait.  He looked up at the ceiling.  It was one of the acoustic tile drop ceilings most office building had, with metal grids and individual panels placed in row after boring row.  One