“Okay, everybody, pipe down.” The voices quieted and all heads turned toward him. They thought they were here working on their primary case—the ongoing search for the elusive Richard Webster. Which was partly true. “Carlisle, update us please.” His resident tech guru sat up straighter, and he flicked the hair out of his eyes. His fingertips flew across his laptop keyboard. “Well, you already know the photo's location is confirmed as Canal Street. I was able to narrow it down to the exact building, which currently houses a club known as Little Havana Harbor. It's an exclusive, high-end tobacconist and cigar bar.” Carpenter straightened in his chair, a speculative gleam in his eyes. “That's a change. Webster steered clear of all things that would, and I quote, pollute his body. Bastard didn't mind trafficking in the nastiest crap out there, but never personally indulged. Maybe he was meeting somebody.” Carlisle shrugged before continuing. “Little Havana Harbor has a spotless reputation. Joaquin Santiago opened the place in two thousand and eight, after moving to New Orleans from South Florida. He's made a killing, since nonsmoking in public places changed all the rules. People still want to smoke and he carries all the high end, expensive stuff. Place shuns all the new vapor stuff though.” “Any further sightings of Webster?” He steepled his fingers, elbows resting on the edge of the table. Outwardly, he maintained his calm demeanor, but inside he was a raging inferno of swirling emotions. Not the least of which was the feisty woman he'd left upstairs in his penthouse. It had been pure hell climbing out of their shared bed, leaving her all warm and snuggled beneath his covers, while he came down to meet with his crew. “Nothing. Citywide CCTV cameras capture everybody coming and going. Facial recognition program's running twenty-four/seven from the feeds, but he's pretty much the invisible man.” Finished with giving his report, Carlisle reached across the table and snatched up one of the beignets Carpenter had delivered from Café du Monde an hour before the team arrived. They tasted good, but he'd rather have Ms.
