Read Online Finding Floyd by Melinda Peters - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melinda Peters
Tags: fbi agent, Bed & Breakfast, blue ridge mountains, black bears, southern recipes, bluegrass music, fiddle tunes, floyd country store, floyd virginia, red tom cat
Ads: Link
County
greeting.
"What's with everybody givin' me the finger?
I don't get these people. They all do that. Don't even know what
finger to give. 'Hello?' Hey pal, it's the middle finger."
Toricello's drug and money laundering
operations in New Jersey were extensive. When Tony DePalma was
captured, he'd let $250,000 of Toricello's profits, drop neatly
into the hands of the FBI.
"Two hundred fifty grand wasn't enough money
to cripple my operation, but losing two hundred and fifty big ones?
Forget about it! He told me he had it! Next thing I know, the FBI
has the cash and they're climbing right up my ass. I can't afford
to let that little shit slide. Lucky for him, he's in jail,
otherwise I'd have his ass ground up and mixed in cement," he
growled at the windshield, biting down on the cigar butt.
"The Feds will never look for me here. It's a
good, safe place to hide. It really is the ass end of nowhere, he
mumbled, looking at his surroundings. Along the road, as it wound
through the hills, he saw patches of woods, or fields with a few
grazing cattle.
Rounding another curve, something caught his
eye and he slowed. An opening in the trees that might have once
been a road turned downward and out of sight, but there was
something, just the slightest glint of sunlight on metal. He turned
in carefully, driving a few yards to where the narrow track curved
away. He saw what had caught his attention. Parked off to the
right, a short way down was a very clean, black Chevy Suburban. He
craned his neck and could just see beyond it another vehicle. This
one was an anonymous looking dark blue sedan. Government law
enforcement transportation was easy to spot. Instantly the hair
rose on the back of his neck. He smelled the presence of the FBI.
Maybe they'd found him after all. He backed out and continued
driving slowly, but when he came to the road leading to the hunting
cabin, he kept on going. His instincts told him that something
wasn't right. Bruno Toricello hadn't survived this long,
successfully fending off rival mobsters and the cops, by not
listening to his instincts. For the time being, he'd find another
place to hide.
* * *
Special agent Constanza Rodriguez picked her
way slowly down the rutted gravel road, her eyes darting glances
into the shadows under the trees. The coal black, glittering eyes
were what drew attention first, but her entire demeanor was that of
a hunting wolf. Her tight black jeans looked like a second skin
over her rear and down her long lean legs. A dark blue and yellow
FBI wind breaker just barely hid the holstered automatic on her
hip. Rodriguez rarely smiled and she certainly wasn't smiling now.
They'd had a fruitless day waiting for a suspect who hadn't
materialized.
Chris rose from his vantage point at the side
of the road and walked stiffly to meet Rodriguez. He was cold and
tired after an entire day of waiting and watching. As the sun sank,
casting dusky shadows, he stopped before Rodriguez and they
scrutinized the road and woods one last time.
Owen shot a questioning glance at his
partner. He looked at her impassive face and saw there the cold
cruel features of her Conquistador and Aztec ancestors. She
perpetually wore an expression that looked as though she were
perfectly capable of committing murder and was about to do just
that. His boss had sent her down to Virginia, in spite of his
repeated protestations that he didn't want to work with her
anymore. Rodriguez was intense, abrupt, and too often unorthodox in
her methods. Owen was more the good cop, persuasive and easy
going.
"So, what do you think?" he asked.
"Maybe a phony tip? Maybe he made us?" she
said, shrugging. "Who the hell knows? But I know somebody's been
living in that cabin."
"You went in? We weren't supposed to unless
he was in there. We've got an arrest warrant, but no search
warrant."
"Back door was open," she said, shrugging
again.
"It was unlocked, or it was open after you
picked the lock?"
In answer to his question, she
greeting.
"What's with everybody givin' me the finger?
I don't get these people. They all do that. Don't even know what
finger to give. 'Hello?' Hey pal, it's the middle finger."
Toricello's drug and money laundering
operations in New Jersey were extensive. When Tony DePalma was
captured, he'd let $250,000 of Toricello's profits, drop neatly
into the hands of the FBI.
"Two hundred fifty grand wasn't enough money
to cripple my operation, but losing two hundred and fifty big ones?
Forget about it! He told me he had it! Next thing I know, the FBI
has the cash and they're climbing right up my ass. I can't afford
to let that little shit slide. Lucky for him, he's in jail,
otherwise I'd have his ass ground up and mixed in cement," he
growled at the windshield, biting down on the cigar butt.
"The Feds will never look for me here. It's a
good, safe place to hide. It really is the ass end of nowhere, he
mumbled, looking at his surroundings. Along the road, as it wound
through the hills, he saw patches of woods, or fields with a few
grazing cattle.
Rounding another curve, something caught his
eye and he slowed. An opening in the trees that might have once
been a road turned downward and out of sight, but there was
something, just the slightest glint of sunlight on metal. He turned
in carefully, driving a few yards to where the narrow track curved
away. He saw what had caught his attention. Parked off to the
right, a short way down was a very clean, black Chevy Suburban. He
craned his neck and could just see beyond it another vehicle. This
one was an anonymous looking dark blue sedan. Government law
enforcement transportation was easy to spot. Instantly the hair
rose on the back of his neck. He smelled the presence of the FBI.
Maybe they'd found him after all. He backed out and continued
driving slowly, but when he came to the road leading to the hunting
cabin, he kept on going. His instincts told him that something
wasn't right. Bruno Toricello hadn't survived this long,
successfully fending off rival mobsters and the cops, by not
listening to his instincts. For the time being, he'd find another
place to hide.
* * *
Special agent Constanza Rodriguez picked her
way slowly down the rutted gravel road, her eyes darting glances
into the shadows under the trees. The coal black, glittering eyes
were what drew attention first, but her entire demeanor was that of
a hunting wolf. Her tight black jeans looked like a second skin
over her rear and down her long lean legs. A dark blue and yellow
FBI wind breaker just barely hid the holstered automatic on her
hip. Rodriguez rarely smiled and she certainly wasn't smiling now.
They'd had a fruitless day waiting for a suspect who hadn't
materialized.
Chris rose from his vantage point at the side
of the road and walked stiffly to meet Rodriguez. He was cold and
tired after an entire day of waiting and watching. As the sun sank,
casting dusky shadows, he stopped before Rodriguez and they
scrutinized the road and woods one last time.
Owen shot a questioning glance at his
partner. He looked at her impassive face and saw there the cold
cruel features of her Conquistador and Aztec ancestors. She
perpetually wore an expression that looked as though she were
perfectly capable of committing murder and was about to do just
that. His boss had sent her down to Virginia, in spite of his
repeated protestations that he didn't want to work with her
anymore. Rodriguez was intense, abrupt, and too often unorthodox in
her methods. Owen was more the good cop, persuasive and easy
going.
"So, what do you think?" he asked.
"Maybe a phony tip? Maybe he made us?" she
said, shrugging. "Who the hell knows? But I know somebody's been
living in that cabin."
"You went in? We weren't supposed to unless
he was in there. We've got an arrest warrant, but no search
warrant."
"Back door was open," she said, shrugging
again.
"It was unlocked, or it was open after you
picked the lock?"
In answer to his question, she
Similar Books
