Fearless Encounter

Chapter 14

The next morning, Gabriel arrived at his office with Brooke by his side. As they settled in, Gabriel’s phone rang. It was Abe.

“Gabriel, we’ve got some new information on Fontenot,” Abe said, his voice tense.

Gabriel put the phone on speaker so Brooke could hear. “What did you find out?”

“We obtained a warrant to monitor his financial transactions. Turns out, he’s received a substantial amount of money in his Swiss bank account recently.”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “How much are we talking about?”

“Enough to make us believe that this entire operation is being funded by the Russian billionaire, Yakov Petrov. And we suspect there’s more to come once the encryption software is turned over to him.”

Gabriel exchanged a worried look with Brooke.

“I’m going to contact the FBI with what we have so far,” Abe said. “Not sure how quickly they’ll act on it, but it’s a start.”

“Good idea,” Gabriel said. “Keep me posted.”

Brooke’s eyes widened. “This is bigger than we thought, isn’t it?”

“It appears so,” Gabriel said. “Surveillance is scheduled for this morning. I’m riding along with my investigator. I want you to stay here, away from the action.”

Brooke frowned but didn’t argue.

“Amalie will be in shortly, and will get lunch for you later,” Gabriel said. “Weston will be in the office until I return, and he’s trained in defense.” He touched Brooke’s cheek. “Not that I think anyone is going to come here to find you.”

Gabriel leaned in and gave Brooke a tender kiss. He didn’t want to leave her, but he certainly didn’t want her in any dangerous situations. He turned to leave before he changed his mind.

*****

Samuel, the investigator hired to assist with surveillance on Daniel Fontenot, waited at a predetermined location close to Daniel’s home. He sat in a nondescript sedan with blacked-out windows, ready for the stakeout.

“Daniel didn’t show up at Capstone this morning,” Samuel said as Gabriel slid into the passenger seat. “My team followed him home last night and there’s been no sign of him since. Chances are, he’s still inside.”

Gabriel hoped the surveillance would be productive. Samuel drove down the street then pulled the vehicle to a stop, positioning it for an optimal view of Daniel’s sprawling house. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed as he studied the property, looking for any signs of activity. The place appeared quiet—almost too quiet.

“Let’s see what our boy Fontenot is up to,” Gabriel muttered, settling in for what could be a long day of surveillance.

Minutes ticked by and time seemed to drag for Gabriel as he watched the home. Stakeouts were boring until there was action, and that might not be for hours. Gabriel wondered what Daniel was doing at home that late in the morning and why he hadn’t shown up for work at Capstone.

Then the garage door opened, and a white minivan backed out. As the vehicle entered the street, Gabriel got a good look at the driver. “Go, go, go!” he said. “That’s the guy who attacked Genevieve at Jasper’s.”

Samuel started the car and began pursuit. “Was Daniel in there, too?”

“I didn’t see him, but he could be in the back,” Gabriel said.

The minivan traveled a couple of miles to a warehouse then stopped. When the driver didn’t get out, Gabriel got impatient. He wondered if the minivan was a decoy, and that made him mad. “I’m going to see what’s going on.”

Gabriel cautiously approached the minivan. Without warning, the driver leapt out. The Russian was muscular, and he carried a small handgun. Gabriel dove for the Russian before he could shoot and knocked the thug off balance, striking his left knee on the asphalt when he went down.

With lightning speed, Samuel was out of the car and on the Russian. As they wrestled to the ground, Gabriel grabbed the dropped gun and pointed it. “Don’t move.”

The Russian stared down the barrel of the gun without moving. Gabriel questioned the Russian, who claimed he didn’t know where Daniel was, only that he owed him money. That was all they could get out of him for the moment.

Samuel kept the gun pointed at the captive while Gabriel phoned Abe to tell him what happened and was assured that the police were on the way.

“If Fontenot isn’t at home or at work, then where is he?” Gabriel said, but Samuel had no answer.

Abe would arrive soon with backup and pry more information out of the captured criminal. He prayed that the guy would reveal a clue, a lead to what Fontenot was up to—yet he feared that he was losing the fight against time.

*****

At the office, Brooke cradled a coffee cup in her hands, warming her fingers. She sat in the small lunchroom, her thoughts drifting. Coffee did little to ease the knots of worry lodged in her stomach. She kept seeing Meg’s face—fearful, pleading. It had been too long since she’d last seen her friend.

Her mind filled with fears and what-ifs. What if Meg was hurt? What if they couldn’t find her soon enough? Brooke clenched her fists, fighting frustration. She wanted to help, needed to do something—but what? Gabriel and Weston had the skills, the training, but she was just a pastry chef.

Yet sitting idly, waiting for news, was driving her crazy. She drummed her fingers on the table, staring at the swirling patterns of the wood grain as if the answer might reveal itself there. She thought of David, her son, and the helplessness she would feel if he were in danger. She would move heaven and earth for him—shouldn’t she do the same for Meg?

Brooke took a deep breath, pushing aside fear. She had to find a way to be useful. Action was the only antidote to this gnawing frustration, and she couldn’t bear feeling stuck any longer. She needed to be strong, not just for herself, but for Meg.

Brooke took another sip of her coffee. She pulled out her phone, hoping for a distraction, and started scrolling through her messages. Most were mundane—work updates, a note from David about classes.

Then a new text caught her eye. It was from a number she didn’t recognize. She tapped it open, her curiosity piqued.

The message was Halloween draws near, and the signature was an emoji of a fox.

Her pulse quickened, and for a moment she forgot to breathe. That emoji—Meg. Brooke’s thoughts went back to high school, to the inside joke when she’d called Meg the fox for her cleverness. And Halloween—they always went to the cemetery on Halloween. It was a small cemetery, not one the tourists flocked to visit. Brooke considered it their cemetery , due to all the late-night visits. Could it be? Was this a message from Meg?

Her hands trembled as she stared at the words, but a spark of hope ignited within her. That had to be a clue. Meg was trying to tell her that she was being held at the cemetery.

Brooke quickly tapped a response: Not long now . She signed it with her initial B, the signature she’d used passing notes in high school—assuring Meg that the reply was from her.

She pressed send, her heart pounding in her ears. Meg would know her coded message had gotten through.

Brooke had to act, but she couldn’t handle this alone. She needed to tell Gabriel and Weston, explain the message and the significance. But there was no time to waste—every moment counted. She rose from the table, leaving her half-full cup of coffee behind, and headed straight for Weston’s office, urgency propelling her forward.

Weston’s desk was empty, the hum of his computer the only sign of activity. He was likely in the men’s room. Amalie hadn’t arrived at the office yet. Brooke felt a ripple of panic. She called Gabriel’s number, pressing the phone to her ear, but was sent straight to voicemail.

She couldn’t delay another second.

She fumbled in her purse for anything to use as a weapon. Her hand brushed against something hard—her bench scraper. It was a sturdy, flat piece of stainless steel meant for chopping, cutting, or scraping. She kept it in her purse so it wouldn’t go missing in the kitchen at Jasper’s. She’d lost too many already, and this one was a special design.

The pastry scraper had a surgical steel blade with a wide, nonslip rubber handle. The sharp, beveled edge could chop nuts or vegetables, as well as scrape dough off her table. She slid it out of the protective sleeve and decided that it would have to do.

Clutching the scraper, she felt a surge of confidence. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. She slipped it into her back pocket, then put her jacket on. She slid her phone into her other pocket and left her purse on Amalie’s chair, intending to come back for it later.

Then Brooke rushed out of the office, shutting the door behind her. She exited the building and bolted down the street, knowing the cemetery was only a few blocks away. If she ran, she could make it on foot. It was faster than finding transportation.

As she sprinted, her mind raced with thoughts of Meg and what she might find at the cemetery.

The few blocks seemed like an eternity. At last, the cemetery gates loomed ahead. She spotted the aboveground tombs. New Orleans was below sea level, and graves were built above ground to prevent them from being washed out. They made great places to run and hide to scare each other on Halloween.

Brooke slowed her pace as she neared the entrance, scanning for any signs of danger. Every shadow and movement set her nerves on edge, but she pressed forward.

Meg was there somewhere—she had to be. Brooke stepped into the cemetery onto the poorly tended grass. The cemetery had been abandoned for years, except for what little maintenance was done. Before going farther into the cemetery, she stopped for a second. She needed to let someone know where she was and what she was doing. Her fingers quickly flew over her phone’s screen as she texted Amalie, who should arrive at the office any minute now.

She sent a short message: Rescuing Meg at cemetery

She hit send, knowing that Amalie would inform Gabriel as soon as possible. She might not have another chance to use her phone, so she had to count on Amalie to get the message through.

With that done, Brooke took a calming breath and refocused. She tucked her phone back into her pocket and moved deeper into the cemetery, each step deliberate and cautious. The old gravestones loomed around her, but it was no longer a game to walk among them like on Halloween.

She had to think… Where would Meg be held?

Brooke remembered the spots they used to frequent—the mausoleum at the far end, the large oak tree where they would sit and share secrets. She headed in that direction, moving as quietly as she could. Her ears strained for any sound that might indicate she wasn’t alone.

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves. Brooke touched the handle of the bench scraper in her back pocket, alert for an opportunity to use it.

Just as she rounded a corner near the mausoleum, she spotted movement. A man—tall, with a sturdy build—emerged from the mausoleum’s entrance. Brooke’s breath hitched. His harsh features and cold, calculating expression made her suspect he was one of Daniel Fontenot’s henchmen, likely Russian. The man walked the path, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp.

Brooke ducked behind a tomb, peering out just enough to keep an eye on the guard. She held her breath, willing herself to stay perfectly still. The guard moved down the stone pathway, his head turning occasionally as he scanned the surroundings.

When he finally walked away from the mausoleum, Brooke seized the opportunity. She slipped out from behind the gravestone, keeping low and moving as silently as she could. Heart pounding, she approached the concrete building. The door was ajar.

Carefully, she stepped inside, and the air turned colder as she descended the stone steps. Her senses were on high alert, every nerve ending tingling. She scanned the dimly lit surroundings, searching for any sign of other guards.

Inside, through the small opening in a door, she saw a figure bound to a chair. Her breath caught in her throat. It was Meg. Her friend’s face was pale, but she was alive. Brooke’s determination crystallized into fierce resolve.

Quickly, she scanned the area for any threats. Seeing no immediate danger, she edged closer to the door and whispered, “It’s me…Brooke.”

Meg’s eyes widened with recognition and hope. The sight gave Brooke the boost she needed. She had to get Meg out of there.

Brooke pressed her finger to her lips, signaling Meg to stay quiet, then hurried over to untie her. Her hands worked quickly, fingers fumbling slightly as she freed the knots binding Meg’s wrists and ankles.

Meg winced as she moved, her muscles stiff from being restrained. Brooke helped her up, her heart aching at the sight of her friend’s condition. Meg wrapped her arms around Brooke in a grateful hug, whispering, “Thank God you’re here. We must get out quickly, before the guard returns.”

There was no time for discussion. Brooke took charge, guiding Meg with urgency back toward the door. Just as they neared the exit, a noise echoed through the stairwell. Brooke’s heart skipped a beat. The guard—he must be back.

She hesitated, listening intently. The footsteps grew louder, confirming her fear. Swiftly, she hid behind the door, motioning for Meg to stand behind her. Then she slid the bench scraper out of her pocket. She held it tightly and took a breath to steady herself.

The guard stepped into the room, his gaze immediately landing on the empty chair where Meg had been. He paused, confusion flashing across his face. Before he could turn and react, Brooke sprang from her hiding place. In the life-and-death situation, her self-defense training kicked in—she’d learned the exterior jugular vein was vulnerable to penetration.

Holding the bench scraper in both hands, Brooke aimed with all the force she could muster for the vein in the left side of the guard’s neck—unprotected by bone. The sharp edge cut, and blood gushed. The guard emitted a guttural sound and thudded to the ground.

It was the distraction Brooke needed. She pushed Meg toward the hallway. “Run!”