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Tough Justice Series Box Set: Parts 1-8
Carla Cassidy
Gail Barrett
Carol Ericson
Tyler Anne Snell
Justice is worth every sacrifice!All eight parts of this chilling, high-octane FBI serial!Special Agent Lara Grant has finally put her life as an undercover agent in the Moretti crime organisation behind her and started a new assignment in New York City. Until a dramatic sniper attack leaves Lara's face - and name - all over the media. In the blink of an eye, her cover is blown, her identity exposed. Then a woman's body is found branded with the Moretti tattoo. Someone knows who Lara is...and exactly how to make her pay.... Contents: • Tough Justice: Exposed (Part 1) by New York Times best-selling author Carla Cassidy • Tough Justice: Watched (Part 2) by Tyler Anne Snell • Tough Justice: Burned (Part 3) by Carol Ericson • Tough Justice: Trapped (Part 4) by Gail Barrett • Tough Justice: Twisted (Part 5) by Gail Barrett • Tough Justice: Ambushed (Part 6) by Carol Ericson • Tough Justice: Betrayed (Part 7) by Tyler Anne Snell • Tough Justice: Hunted (Part 8) by Carla Cassidy
All 8 parts of this chilling, high-octane FBI serial available in this box set!
Special Agent Lara Grant has finally put her life as an undercover agent in the Moretti gang behind her and started a new assignment in New York City. Until a dramatic sniper attack leaves Lara’s face—and real name—all over the media. In the blink of an eye, her cover is blown, her identity exposed.
Then a woman’s body is found, branded with the ritual Moretti tattoo. Someone knows who Lara is…and exactly how to make her pay...
This box set comprises:
Tough Justice: Exposed (Part 1 of 8) by New York Times bestselling author Carla Cassidy
Tough Justice: Watched (Part 2 of 8) by Tyler Anne Snell
Tough Justice: Burned (Part 3 of 8) by Carol Ericson
Tough Justice: Trapped (Part 4 of 8) by Gail Barrett
Tough Justice: Twisted (Part 5 of 8) by Gail Barrett
Tough Justice: Ambushed (Part 6 of 8) by Carol Ericson
Tough Justice: Betrayed (Part 7 of 8) by Tyler Anne Snell
Tough Justice: Hunted (Part 8 of 8) by Carla Cassidy
Tough Justice Series Parts 1-8
Exposed
Carla Cassidy
Watched
Tyler Anne Snell
Burned
Carol Ericson
Trapped
Gail Barrett
Twisted
Gail Barrett
Ambushed
Carol Ericson
Betrayed
Tyler Anne Snell
Hunted
Carla Cassidy
Table of Contents
Cover (#u39b38e0f-14df-53cb-a7c7-12bf0dbf65ca)
Back Cover Text (#u916366be-13ba-5190-b4a0-618c62244139)
Title Page (#uf6c66f00-9337-5ea1-8332-2a4d80eee7a6)
Exposed (#ue88932f6-0438-5a7a-add3-f452eaa07773)
Back Cover Text (#uc0f949d8-8ccd-5ff2-8539-11bef0b8bf04)
About the Author (#ua497799a-3188-5c67-b999-032ea27b8414)
Dedication (#ud3cdf56c-b585-5419-a22e-298960588e72)
EPISODE ONE (#u8737d899-d6a6-54f3-84f9-eb2787b94aea)
PROLOGUE (#u46ec3469-6cf4-5e1f-9a3b-e3a981d2f2f3)
CHAPTER ONE (#ua4152bfc-a0b5-5676-9f7f-deec6557d5b0)
CHAPTER TWO (#u85609c05-d974-5e4f-9e7d-838e8159ceb8)
CHAPTER THREE (#ub26247db-b9e4-54a4-82cb-af542ef9f22c)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ucc4d66ba-fc5e-5c16-92c6-b699eae17808)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u77645fcc-8a1e-5be1-a08b-f1bf4ec1f71a)
CHAPTER SIX (#ua1446dca-574c-55dc-b10f-fec15a7325cc)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ue2eabad9-6dc5-5d21-ba02-108b4f0410d8)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u91ba6e3a-f461-56c2-a47a-b7cef308d1d5)
CHAPTER NINE (#ud73444fc-09c6-5d80-bcbb-7ab896245a34)
CHAPTER TEN (#uf1587aeb-2553-5344-ac31-4111f0a69d47)
Watched (#u62893dc3-854b-5485-bb19-cc4eab89e578)
Back Cover Text (#uf7de24ab-6d7c-5de2-9929-5f173faf4c7a)
About the Author (#ud6a96e27-0b74-580a-a836-36ae61e8f774)
Dedication (#uef7ea111-10e1-54c0-82ef-b52d31d541d4)
EPISODE TWO (#uc59d9753-8aa5-595d-9100-073f652ae866)
CHAPTER ONE (#u781d74d7-ce0e-548e-a283-ab1f75575aee)
CHAPTER TWO (#ufd153cf5-9d29-5b37-a91c-57c03d7bfc13)
CHAPTER THREE (#u3ea10e4a-1c95-5f14-9bbb-337124f72d78)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uafeedcec-1c02-55ac-a33b-ad082bb21016)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u0ce97b34-e0fe-551c-aa00-81c3fb9872ab)
CHAPTER SIX (#ue80bff2b-f7ab-5918-b83b-607890343a59)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ub1d9ecc3-5907-529d-80cb-565228b600e1)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u87f2451d-726f-534f-b6c0-3ec2495d9c61)
CHAPTER NINE (#u049743b3-6cd5-5507-82f1-05ccb03eea41)
CHAPTER TEN (#ue37c53a9-9781-53ac-842e-43c1bd226ed1)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#udafe0c0a-64ab-53a1-abf4-423c099de82e)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#uf610be74-dcd6-573c-b87a-bd76617fc23f)
Burned (#u3fe5196e-59f2-588c-aa64-99c9e2f294b3)
Back Cover Text (#u7d444204-8b77-5f59-8156-0320c09652a8)
About the Author (#u67e19617-72e2-51ef-81ca-2d5339ef4842)
EPISODE THREE (#uaad4859d-3c27-50f7-bdbc-680f0f6aeab1)
CHAPTER ONE (#ua756e151-aed0-5099-88b0-75fdb0e1e420)
CHAPTER TWO (#ucd204f45-60f4-55b9-97e1-a2c5a998352a)
CHAPTER THREE (#u73bf059b-c857-5d8d-8c5b-da3619eed247)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ufeb32625-8abf-5085-9380-95734e6a5e3b)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ub3b9db6c-72a6-52f4-86e7-4ed615c242eb)
CHAPTER SIX (#u221884be-ff08-5120-bd2b-8642f6851ac3)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ua04ac5b6-b2cf-5976-8cf5-5628701899e4)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u397490f3-7ab9-5895-92f8-28fa4bcd3378)
CHAPTER NINE (#u5757a23b-2f58-5f87-a7d7-9b3dbba31e0a)
CHAPTER TEN (#u42c8d838-4b59-5ad7-82ec-3996390a6a95)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#u85096798-2f33-52cd-b194-d694fda38483)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#uc473a482-78b2-50c4-9e69-6ecc156a1c12)
Trapped (#u7f90e848-b643-5b9c-93e3-20df34d0f4f6)
Back Cover Text (#u21bd955f-03a3-5b78-9b37-1f7db5cc38aa)
About the Author (#u81a2ae39-4847-5429-aba2-3d0def111075)
Dedication (#u652ffc96-abbb-56a5-9a68-46e159cfb2e2)
EPISODE FOUR (#u2fdf7d23-d7c2-57cf-8f5a-2db1ed445dcf)
CHAPTER ONE (#ubd5ff8e3-c55b-5235-9776-fb6336948f24)
CHAPTER TWO (#ud14b1722-b1c3-594e-ae9e-7d863c86ea99)
CHAPTER THREE (#ufdf6ca02-0c8d-563a-93b5-c1c9e8a69e4c)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ub7a821c3-f1dc-52aa-b196-203015f9f034)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u08ed31c4-5556-5708-8922-83e93cc5bc87)
CHAPTER SIX (#uaaa8c828-f2f3-5198-9384-74996a4eef24)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u7eecd1f9-fd77-5797-9ba4-f0845611872c)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u67df8f74-ed66-5401-b639-72ad4d5fa96a)
CHAPTER NINE (#u5a2fa59a-6cd2-5d86-bd91-3516dee85866)
Twisted (#u37fae528-4bb7-5161-a126-e0901f62da3d)
Back Cover Text (#u9117bc5d-3390-53cc-927a-eb8728177ede)
About the Author (#ud7257e87-4f75-541c-ac19-56f0e1b93680)
Dedication (#u7a5a32a9-9c91-55e8-abcb-586014d3d0b4)
EPISODE FIVE (#u09103684-9792-5d77-90fb-7dc02da310a9)
CHAPTER ONE (#uab93d796-3bff-53b1-aaee-e3fc5c1f1d1a)
CHAPTER TWO (#uc21914a1-b431-529f-929b-482bb9d24669)
CHAPTER THREE (#u8d927cbd-70e0-5b97-97c6-6b2450f5eed8)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u392b6930-df1a-52cd-9e29-b4a66117e943)
CHAPTER FIVE (#uba2c2817-cf33-5819-8d81-5580bcd638f7)
CHAPTER SIX (#u2c2bd2bf-0fff-54e2-bc38-8a7bd9c937db)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u6eed8452-66df-500b-9be9-c699572a7df8)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ud1480c31-be9c-5a0b-bf24-b9f0db5a13e7)
CHAPTER NINE (#ub1209716-af66-5cf1-b952-190bc0c4b452)
Ambushed (#u1924f503-e400-5190-a62d-a57dac26d0b3)
Back Cover Text (#u1dff27e6-2c2c-5bc6-95a5-9c481baa78f9)
About the Author (#u6b033d3c-be24-5efb-9933-e0389e25ea6f)
EPISODE SIX (#ua29e6be6-6b7d-5733-9aed-837bab2c1b14)
CHAPTER ONE (#u6d6639ae-cce5-59c1-a6fd-4a6fa2fd740b)
CHAPTER TWO (#u9f7614f4-6cd3-5ad8-bf16-c39388b51a74)
CHAPTER THREE (#uf5025416-6f4b-57b4-b990-b24830570007)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ucef7c91a-bc1b-51d6-97fc-b4e831696fee)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u0721a52b-b7b6-5758-a88a-7ce5434a6e71)
CHAPTER SIX (#ue5b44c8a-7613-546e-951c-f5b29333351a)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u7577c7f0-427c-5862-a25c-b5299baaa163)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u60aca7a5-a717-5622-aafd-2f4fa95e145b)
CHAPTER NINE (#u240ab012-1132-5b69-87b1-778d3944de1d)
Betrayed (#u25709be5-2d6a-5b1d-bd8b-3a628adecd1b)
Back Cover Text (#uca01ff1c-0f57-5061-bd9e-3c9230a43111)
About the Author (#u68a18e60-4721-56f7-ab9d-10250498cb23)
Dedication (#ue987aded-fd55-5f97-b4a0-44afb7de6923)
EPISODE SEVEN (#uc0cbb487-2fbe-5ff7-986c-6123ae5c9c60)
CHAPTER ONE (#u81bdd5d0-d52c-514d-ba0c-aa3eed308c27)
CHAPTER TWO (#u8592af3d-1bf9-5a9f-917d-71dbe6bf3c1b)
CHAPTER THREE (#u3d918bfc-3c75-5493-86ce-a06fc693a594)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u38c83cec-c338-5837-9e55-be87ceee0fcf)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u94235b71-cdd0-537d-b771-84d536af1eac)
CHAPTER SIX (#u3929d52f-c007-5c12-8247-9aa8a61526ba)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u9afc5ea9-5fa3-530a-b561-846f261aec5e)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u496b7dde-8809-5a89-87a6-25414e355914)
CHAPTER NINE (#u68e4792f-5efc-5fa6-a4d2-3bb136473296)
CHAPTER TEN (#u47f3daa0-7bcc-5b17-ba09-24840025e9a0)
Hunted (#u4aab889e-b2f4-5a29-b0f6-a7c93a4fd339)
Back Cover Text (#u47e5d5a2-c72b-595b-b78d-16611f751207)
About the Author (#uaf71eea5-fcae-574f-933a-be3918b0ed6e)
Dedication (#u8f382640-d2aa-53fd-b150-28d65cc8b743)
EPISODE EIGHT (#ub8bd1ebf-e616-5571-b9b3-8053acd877ce)
CHAPTER ONE (#u7d1ff678-e19f-58f7-8931-d8cc4f745cf2)
CHAPTER TWO (#uc87a6341-78d0-5afc-a812-84adbc1ed837)
CHAPTER THREE (#u5f9228b1-f98c-5f0d-be51-83ae02759757)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u857ec2c0-1e8b-5e61-8b68-617383bcc566)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u7d4a1b90-fb74-5a0a-98d9-df109447121a)
CHAPTER SIX (#u81340785-197e-59f4-8233-afcdd60c78f6)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ud943a911-00c9-5d15-84aa-b598da2bf04a)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u60adf7ac-272e-5326-9ee0-75f9631d93bc)
CHAPTER NINE (#uaf0aa0f5-ea8c-5cc6-b104-13dc89717c1e)
CHAPTER TEN (#ube31c4d4-68a6-5a55-b0fc-52bb4f6d9225)
EPILOGUE (#ub2305124-81b6-56fd-9e20-8afde54edc73)
Copyright (#u8f40daf0-e51a-5090-b6bb-c80908f674d4)
Exposed (#ulink_cd32783c-0a33-5ccc-9a35-c4ec5968d49d)
Carla Cassidy
A new job. A new case. A new criminal...?
Special Agent Lara Grant will do anything to get her mark—until her last undercover case, infiltrating the notorious Moretti crime ring, forced her to get close to the top. Way. Too. Close...
Now starting a new job in New York City, all Lara wants is to leave the ghosts of her past behind. Until a dramatic sniper attack leaves Lara’s face—and real name—all over the media. In the blink of an eye, her cover is blown, her identity exposed.
Then a woman’s body is found, branded with the ritual Moretti tattoo. Someone knows who Lara is—and exactly how to make her pay...
Part 1 of 8 in the chilling, high-octane FBI thriller TOUGH JUSTICE from New York Times bestselling author Carla Cassidy and authors Tyler Anne Snell, Carol Ericson and Gail Barrett.
On Carla Cassidy:
“[An] action-packed romantic suspense starring an amazing female and her deceiving beloved.”
—The Best Reviews on Deceived
“[A] taut, fast-paced romantic thriller... Romance shines.”
—Publishers Weekly on Every Move You Make
CARLA CASSIDY is an award-winning New York Times bestselling author who has written more than one hundred and twenty novels for Harlequin Books. In 1995, she won Best Silhouette Romance from RT Book Reviews for Anything for Danny. In 1998, she also won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series from RT Book Reviews. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write.
To the Tough Justice team,
who worked overtime to make this happen!
EPISODE ONE (#ulink_156afad0-3993-56c8-879d-70f6df91bb39)
Exposed
Lara Grant is an FBI agent with a past she desperately wants to forget. Now she’s in New York, on new assignment, where very few people know her. Until a deadly adversary from her past puts her right in the line of fire... But when Lara’s back is against the wall, there’s only one way forward. With guns blazing!
PROLOGUE (#ulink_2fd90ebb-aabc-5f2d-9076-67c6891127ce)
The ledge outside of the tenth floor window of the hotel had a beautiful view of Central Park. It was also dangerously narrow and covered with pigeon crap.
A cold late September breeze sliced through FBI Special Agent Lara Grant as she stepped out of the window of room 1021 and onto the ledge.
She leaned with her back against the window frame and eyed the man who sat on the ledge about five feet to her right. She shouldn’t be here. She’d been in the middle of a meet and greet with her new unit when the call had come in. Talking down potential jumpers wasn’t in her new job description, but the man had asked for her specifically by name.
She had no idea who he was, had never seen him before in her life. It was nine-thirty in the morning, and the last place she wanted to be was on a breathtakingly small ledge trying to stop a stranger from committing a very public and messy suicide.
“Bad day?” she asked.
“Bad life,” he replied. He didn’t look at her but, rather, stared straight ahead. “Are you FBI Agent Lara Grant?”
“You asked for me and here I am. What’s your name?” she asked. Despite the coolness of the day, his forehead shone with perspiration. She tried to gauge how best to connect with him. What persona could she pull out of her professional hat to get him down to safety? Tough talk or sweet and honeyed? Too soon for her to tell.
“Sean.” He leaned over and looked down below where Lara knew the NYPD had gathered, along with a growing crowd of looky-loos and local reporters.
“Sean what?”
“It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now.” His voice held a weary hopelessness that shot tension through Lara.
It had been her experience that there were two types of people who crawled out on a high ledge and threatened to jump. The first were the people who wanted drama and were usually easily talked down from a window or a bridge.
The second were the serious ones, people who were more than willing to take the plunge to end their lives. Her initial observation was that Sean was dead serious.
“What’s going on today, Sean?” She kept her voice conversational and nonthreatening.
“I just can’t take it anymore.”
“Take what?” Lara made no move toward him. Her job was to keep him talking until a team on the ground got her some personal information about him that she could hopefully use to get him off the ledge and to safety.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“You obviously thought I would. You asked for me specifically to come here and talk to you.” She could hear the crowd below now, some asshole yelling “jump.”
Sean wasn’t a small man. Despite his seat on the ledge, he appeared tall and muscular; but as he looked at her, there was the darkness of impending death in his eyes. “I was wrong. I thought you might be the one to understand everything, but nobody will.”
“Try me,” she replied softly. “Talk to me, Sean.” Sweet and honeyed instinctively felt right for now.
He shook his head, closed his eyes and leaned back against the building.
“Sean, at least tell me your last name. It doesn’t seem fair that you know mine, and I don’t know yours.”
“Dunst. I’m Sean Dunst, and I deserve to die.”
“Sean Dunst,” she repeated. “It’s nice to meet you.” Lara was wired and knew an officer on the ground could hear what she said. With his full name they could now hopefully get her some information that might be useful.
Another cold gust of wind whipped around the building. “It’s freezing out here, Sean. Why don’t you come inside where it’s nice and warm and we can talk?”
He shook his head and didn’t reply.
For the next three hours he refused to speak. Lara kept up a running conversation in an effort to make a connection. Her legs shook from the effort of balancing on the ledge. In her long-sleeved black T-shirt and jeans she wasn’t dressed for the wind. She fought against shivers that threatened to throw off her balance and send her crashing to the ground below.
It would be just her luck to have survived everything she had in the past to meet her end here and now because of some screwed-up guy on a ledge.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry, Sean. I skipped breakfast this morning, and I’ll bet you didn’t eat, either. Why don’t we order up some room service with a pot of hot coffee, and we can talk inside,” she said, and still he didn’t reply.
What was taking so damn long? Why hadn’t anyone whispered in her ear some information that would aid her in getting this guy back inside and down to safety? This needed to end.
“I’ve done things...terrible things,” he said, finally breaking his long, agonizing silence.
“Haven’t we all?”
“Not like this.” He began to cry. Not silent, seeping tears, but, rather deep, ugly cries. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, snot bubbling out of his nose with the force of his hysteria.
“I’m sure things aren’t as bad as you think,” Lara replied. At least he was talking again.
“You can’t understand. Nobody can. I’ve done horrible things.” He swiped at his nose with the back of his long sleeve and looked at her. “I need to be forgiven.”
She was cold and tired and starting to get a little pissed off. “I can’t forgive you for something I don’t know about. Tell me what you’ve done, and maybe you can forgive yourself.”
Her earpiece crackled and filled with a deep male voice giving her details. A nine-year-old girl named Tina. Found deceased...murdered near Dunst’s home. Primary suspect...not enough evidence to convict.
The guy on the ledge was a suspected child killer. For just a moment Lara wanted to shove him off herself. “Tell me about Tina.”
He visibly stiffened. When he looked at her again it was with knowing eyes. He’d killed the kid, and he realized now that she knew it.
“You see why I have to jump?” he asked softly. “It’s the only way out for me.”
“You’re guilty?” She held his gaze, her voice reflecting none of the revulsion that bubbled up inside her.
“Yes.” The single word tore from his lips, and his features twisted with inner torment.
Lara continued to stare at him, her face schooled to reflect nothing. “And you believe you deserve to pay?”
“Yes.” The answer was a sibilant whisper.
“Then how dare you try to take the easy way out,” she replied harshly.
She’d changed her mind. He wasn’t going to jump. She knew it with a gut instinct that had served her well over the years. If he was a serious suicide he would have already flung himself off the ledge. He wouldn’t have sat here for the hours that he had.
“Man up, Dunst,” she said, dropping the pleasant conversational tone she’d previously used. Sweet and honeyed definitely wasn’t cutting it. “You know you don’t want to jump. Come inside, and deal with whatever you need to like a man.”
It took another long hour to finally talk him into giving himself up. She climbed back through the window, and thankfully he followed her into the upscale hotel room.
Once they were inside, she cuffed him with his wrists behind his back and then led him toward the stairs that would take them to the ground floor and into the custody of awaiting officers. Ten freaking stories, but she didn’t want to throw him into an elevator where other hotel patrons might be present despite the police effort to keep them out.
It was nearly two o’clock. Over four hours she’d wasted on this creep who had finally stopped crying and now wore a weary resignation on his face.
“Why did you ask for me?” she asked when they’d descended halfway to the ground level.
“It doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters now. My life is over.”
What did matter was that Lara was cold and tired and more than ready to put this child killer in jail. There was a special place in hell for men like him.
They reached the lobby where not a soul was present. The police would have moved everyone out in the event that things went bad.
She held Sean by the cuffs behind his back and paused to look outside of the lobby doors. It was a circus. Not only were there half a dozen NYPD cop cars, but also news vans and a throng of people held back from the entrance by some of the officers. Potential jumpers always drew a big crowd.
A rivulet of apprehension worked through her. The last thing she needed right now was for her picture to appear in any news stories.
She’d wanted...needed to stay low-profile. Dammit, this had the potential of ruining everything for her. Get a grip, she mentally commanded herself.
She straightened her shoulders and fought against a sense of dark foreboding. She had a job to do, and no matter what the consequences, she had to see it through. That’s what she did...she did her job.
Just get him into the back of one of the patrol cars and then your job here is done. You can get back to your new unit, and life will go on, she thought with determination.
“We’re coming out,” she said into her wire.
Getting a firm grip on Dunst’s handcuffs, she threw her other arm up to hide her face and then used her back to push out of the building doors.
Shouts resounded, along with the click and whir of cameras. Halfway to the nearest patrol car, the sickening sound of a bullet hitting flesh jerked her to an abrupt halt. Dunst stiffened and then fell out of her grasp and to the ground beside her. He lay face up with a bullet hole between his eyes.
Silence. The world stopped moving for a single moment as Lara stared down at the dead man and the blood seeping out and making a sickening puddle surrounding the back of his head.
She looked up in horror, and chaos erupted. Police rushed in, onlookers screamed, and cameras continued to click. Lara backed away from the dead man.
A sniper.
She automatically pulled her gun from her holster and crouched, steeled for another potential shot as she focused her attention on the nearby surrounding buildings. Uniformed police ran in dozens of directions—some toward the nearest building where the shot had possibly come from. Others raced to her side, and more NYPD officers scattered the onlookers toward cover.
Seconds ticked by, and when another shot didn’t follow the first, Lara’s first thought of public safety shifted to personal vulnerability, and a more primal instinct kicked in.
She threw her arm up once again in an attempt to shield her features and raced toward her company-issued car in the parking lot. Her heart nearly beat out of her chest.
Once inside she gripped the steering wheel tightly and stared at the scene in the distance. What in the hell had just happened?
She’d done her job. She’d talked him off the ledge. It should have been a piece of cake to get him into a patrol car and on his way to jail.
A cluster fuck. That’s what she saw before her, with cops wielding guns and running helter-skelter. People still screamed, and not only news people were taking photos, but also everyone with a cell phone captured the madness for posterity.
How many had captured her image? She had to get out of there. She slammed her fists against the steering wheel and then quickly started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. She only hoped that no ghosts from her past chased after her.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_f3d0eb65-fc7b-5eda-972a-fb210ea3c8a3)
26 Federal Plaza was the home of the Social Security Administration, Homeland Security and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, among other government agencies. At over forty-one stories high, the Jacob K. Javits Federal Building was a monolith of steel, glass, limestone and granite.
Lara entered the building through a side door. The last thing she wanted to do was to make her way through the throng of tourists who always clogged the main entrance. She hit the small lobby, flashed her badge to the security agent and then raced across the terrazzo floor toward a bank of awaiting elevators.
Once inside one of the elevators she punched the button for the twenty-third floor where the FBI was housed, and her new team, the Crisis Management Unit, should be waiting for her. She’d barely had time to meet them all this morning when she’d been called to the scene at the hotel.
What in the hell had just happened? Who had fired that shot and why? And how much danger might she be in? Dammit, she’d thought she was safe. It had been almost two years. Who would have thought that an unknown man on a ledge and an audience frothing to see if he would jump could possibly undo everything she’d done in the past year in an effort to get her life back?
Maybe nobody had gotten a clear photo of her. She’d tried to shield her features as much as possible when she’d ushered Sean Dunst out from the hotel.
Still, she knew she was probably fooling herself. The second that bullet had slammed into him, she’d dropped her guard, and who knew what photos had been taken in that split second?
Hopefully she was overreacting. It had been a long time, with no indication that there was anyone left who might want to do her harm.
Maybe she shouldn’t have come back home to New York?
The elevator door whooshed open, and once again she flashed her creds to security before heading down a long hallway to the back of the building where her new team of talented agents had been assigned to work on the kinds of cases that nobody else wanted.
This was what she had been born to do, to work within the law as much as possible but to not be afraid to slightly blur the lines in order to achieve ultimate justice.
She passed the receptionist desk and nodded to Penelope Zimmerman who, rumor had it, was like a pit bull when it came to keeping out the unwanted and fielding phone calls from kooks.
Lara fought against the panic that threatened to crawl up the back of her throat. Maybe all of the news reports would only show Sean Dunst’s dead body. Who cared about the FBI agent who had gotten him off the ledge? Dunst’s unexpected murder was the real story, not her.
All she needed was a little good luck on her side, but then when had that ever happened? The minute she opened the door to the conference room she knew things were potentially bad.
All of the team was there, but Lara first looked at her boss, Supervisory Agent and Unit Chief Victoria Russo. As always not an ash-colored hair on her head was out of place, and she was impeccably dressed in a black suit and a crisp white blouse. It was only when Lara gazed at Victoria’s blue eyes that she knew things might be as bad as she’d expected.
She’d known Victoria for a long time. The tough woman had been Lara’s boss when they’d both worked for the DC department. Victoria knew more about Lara’s background than anyone else on earth. Her glare cut through Lara, as if seeking to look into her very soul.
Lara felt as if Victoria was whispering in her ear, telling her that Victoria knew Lara had just been through hell, but Lara was strong enough to handle it. She hoped she was...she had to be.
She sat at the long conference table across from her new partner, Nick Delano, and straightened her back. Victoria gave her a nearly imperceptible nod. “Welcome back, Lara,” she said, letting Lara know it was going to be business as usual after all.
Lara looked across the table, where her new partner was watching her intently and with open interest. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, Nick Delano’s bold attractiveness was only enhanced by the scar on his right temple.
She might find him physically appealing, but she wouldn’t go there. The last time she’d opened herself up to a man, it had been with deadly consequences.
Besides, she wasn’t even sure she liked her new partner yet. She’d scarcely had time to interact with him that morning before she’d been called to the hotel to meet Dunst on the ledge.
“What happened out there?” Mei Wang asked as she flipped a strand of her long dark hair over her shoulder.
“It must have been pretty tough out on that ledge for so long,” Ty Jackson, Mei’s partner, added. Ty was an African-American man with dark eyes that radiated a keen intelligence.
Cass McDonner looked up from the laptop in front of her. “I’m working to get as much background on Dunst as possible.” Cass was the team’s tech guru. Lara had worked with her in the DC department.
When Victoria had moved to the New York City department, Cass had asked to move with her. Cass was nothing short of a magician when it came to gathering information and with all things computer related. She would be a valuable member of this new team.
“We’re all waiting with bated breath for a blow-by-blow of what happened out there,” Xander Harrington, the final member of the team, said.
Lara spent the next few minutes filling in the details of the hours on the ledge. “All I had to do was get him into a patrol car, but we’d only taken a couple of steps out of the building when he was shot right between his eyes.”
“It had to be an experienced sniper to make a shot like that,” Nick observed.
“We have plenty of cases lined up to work on, but this is now top priority for our team because it involves one of our own,” Victoria said. “We have questions, and we need to get some answers. Why did Dunst specifically ask for Lara? Why was he killed and by whom?”
Cass looked up from her computer once again. Her funky purple-rimmed eyeglasses enhanced her hazel eyes and clashed with her red hair. “So far what I’ve managed to find out about Dunst is that he’s a small-time criminal with a drug problem. He’s a user and a low-level dealer. I can’t find a phone number for him, so he must use burners when he needs to make a call. We need to find out if he had one with him when he was shot. His rap sheet mostly consists of breaking and entering, minor drug charges, shoplifting and petty theft.”
“And murder,” Lara added. “What do we know about Tina, the young girl he confessed to killing?”
Cass clicked a few keys. “Nine-year-old Tina Cole. She disappeared on her way home from school two weeks ago. Eyewitnesses saw her walking away from the bus stop with a man who looked like Dunst, and his home is only two blocks away from the Cole family home.”
Cass paused to push her glasses up more firmly on her nose and then continued. “Tina’s body was found in an empty overgrown lot three doors down from Dunst’s place. He was immediately identified as the prime suspect, but not enough evidence surfaced for a search warrant or to pick him up and charge him. Unfortunately most of the eyewitnesses were just kids, and the investigation into her murder was still in the preliminary stages.”
“He’s in hell now,” Lara replied darkly. Justice served. “What about Tina’s parents?”
“John and Heather Cole. John works for the post office, and Heather is a registered nurse at a Brooklyn clinic. John was at work when Tina was kidnapped, and Heather was stuck in traffic on her way home. Cameras confirmed this. Neither were told that Dunst was a potential suspect in the case.”
“So it probably wasn’t a revenge killing by one of her parents,” Nick said.
“Was she their only child?” Mei asked.
Cass nodded and clicked more keys on the laptop. “This just popped up. Unfortunately, you’re very photogenic,” she said and turned her computer around so that Lara could look at the monitor.
She’d thought she had prepared herself, but as she saw the photo on the news feed, it was like a hard punch to her gut. Dunst’s body was on the ground, and, standing next to him, her mouth opened in surprise, was Lara. Her shoulder-length brown hair, her green eyes and complete facial features were there for everyone to see.
Cass turned her laptop back to face her as Lara’s mind raced with black thoughts of utter destruction. She’d been outed by a damned child killer on a ledge.
“We now have a new situation on our hands,” Victoria said briskly. She held Lara’s gaze for a long moment and then looked at each of the others. “I didn’t see a need to fill you in on each other’s background. You all know the basics, but now that’s changed where Lara is concerned. You need specifics.”
Everyone at the table looked at Lara with curious speculation, but she kept her eyes focused on Victoria and mentally prepared herself for her boss to drag her back into nightmare territory.
“You know about the Moretti crime syndicate, right?” Victoria asked.
“They were all taken down over a year ago,” Ty said. “Nasty organization based in Chicago, but with ties to New York and other cities.”
“That’s correct,” Victoria replied. “The boss, known only as Moretti, eluded the FBI for five years. The organization was involved not only in gun and drug sales, but also human trafficking, including children. A little over two years ago, Lara went deep undercover into the organization in Chicago, and after a year she managed to gain the trust of the high-level operatives. She learned the location of a meeting where the elusive Moretti would be present, and the FBI swooped in and made the arrests. For the past year Lara has been in a safe house while the trials occurred. Moretti and most of his crew are now in various federal prisons, with Moretti out on Long Island. But when the FBI made the raid they didn’t get everyone who was involved in the criminal activities.”
Once again Lara felt the weight of her team members’ stares. She’d hoped to come into this new position without dragging any of her past behind her. She’d wanted a clean new start, but that wasn’t going to happen now.
“We have to assume that, with Lara’s photo out there, it’s possible that somebody in the Moretti ring might see it and know that it was Lara who infiltrated them two years ago and brought them down. Now that it’s clear Lara is back in New York, it’s also possible that somebody is looking for revenge.” Victoria looked at Lara. “Maybe it’s time for you to disappear again for a little while, until we see how this all plays out.”
“No.” The single word fired out of Lara like a gunshot. “I’m not hiding any longer. I spent over a year in a safe house, and I’m not going into lockdown now or ever again.” No way. No how. She needed to get her life back on track.
“How high might the risk be to Lara?” Xander asked.
“As I said, with Lara’s help we managed to get Moretti and some of his men behind bars, but we don’t know who might have slipped our noose,” Victoria replied. “And we don’t know how far Moretti’s reach might be beyond his prison walls.”
“I’m not backing down,” Lara said firmly. She’d given up enough of her life because of the monster Moretti. She wasn’t about to sacrifice another piece of her soul to the disgusting man and his powerful ring. She brought him down, and that’s where he’d stay.
She clenched her hands into fists beneath the table. She needed this job. She needed this new position to work out. Her undercover work hadn’t gone as planned. The last thing she wanted was for this new gig not to work, and she’d potentially be relegated to desk duty for the rest of her career.
“I’ve got her back if any threats come her way,” Nick said, his dark eyes unfathomable as he held Lara’s gaze.
“We all have her back,” Mei said. The same sentiment rang out from everyone around the table.
Lara might have been grateful if these weren’t all new teammates, if she’d developed a trust with any of them. But she hadn’t had time to build any confidence in them, and ultimately knew that at this moment, she could only depend on herself.
Victoria looked at her again, a question lingering in her eyes.
“I’m here to stay,” Lara said with a grim firmness, even as her heartbeat accelerated. Although Moretti was in prison, even while she’d spent so much time in the safe house in the darkest, deepest recesses of her mind, she’d always known somehow that it wasn’t finished.
The horrendous nightmares that had plagued her over the past year or so would continue to haunt her, but they were reminders that she’d survived the deadly Moretti web once, and, if necessary, she was determined to again.
She consciously willed the self-doubts away. New job. New start. Moving forward.
“There’s been no indication that the syndicate is even operating anymore,” Cass said. “The FBI has been monitoring the situation since Moretti went to prison. Nothing has come up to even suggest that they’re back in business. That’s why it was approved for Lara to come back to New York and join this task force.”
“Then that’s good news, right?” Mei said. “Maybe with Moretti behind bars the whole operation fell apart.”
“That’s been the general belief of all of the agents who worked the case in Chicago,” Victoria said.
“Maybe Lara’s not in any danger from anyone,” Xander said. “Maybe by cutting off the head of the snake, the rest of the snake died.”
“And I hope it was a slow and painful death,” Lara muttered under her breath. That case had forever changed her. She thought she’d been prepared. All that training...instead the case had destroyed any innocence that she might have had left from her lonely, crappy childhood. It had made it difficult for her to trust anyone and had ripped out a chunk of her heart that she would never get back.
Victoria looked at Lara. “Right now I’d like you and Nick to continue to investigate Dunst and his murder. Talk to his friends or any family he might have. Find out what connection he had to you and why a low-level criminal would warrant a sniper shot between the eyes.”
She turned her focus to encompass the others at the table. “The rest of you will make sure the Moretti ring has been out of business since their boss went to prison. This will give Lara and Nick the freedom to investigate Dunst and close the case quickly. Cass, see if you can get hold of a list of any visitors Moretti has had in the past year and a record of any of his phone calls. If there is no movement, then Lara is safe here in New York working on this team. Also find out if a phone was on Dunst when he was killed.”
“On it,” Cass replied.
Before Victoria could say anything else, Lara’s cell phone rang. “Sorry,” she murmured as she pulled it from a clip on her belt. “It’s an officer from the scene at the hotel earlier,” she said when she saw the caller ID.
She punched it on speaker and set the phone on the tabletop. “Officer Cruz, this is FBI Special Agent Lara Grant.”
“Agent Grant, I just thought I’d call to let you know that we found something odd on Sean Dunst.”
“First, let me ask you a question. Did Dunst have a phone on him when he died?” Lara asked.
“Negative, no phone was found.”
“Then make sure your men do a thorough sweep of the hotel room to see if he left one there,” she said. “Now, what did you find on him?”
“A black ink pad and a wooden stamper.”
Lara frowned and looked around the table at the others. An ink pad? She stared back at the phone. “What did the stamp look like?”
“I just sent you a photo.”
Lara quickly checked. The past collided with the present, creating something close to madness inside Lara’s brain. “Thanks for the info,” she managed to say and then ended the call.
The photo showed a letter M superimposed over an upside down M. She turned to show everyone the image. Everyone except Victoria looked at her expectantly. “That’s the insignia of the Moretti crime organization.” Lara’s voice was flat, not reflecting the raging turmoil that twisted her gut. “Everyone who worked for Moretti or who was trafficked by him had that symbol either tattooed on their arm or someplace else on their body. Dunst was connected to Moretti.”
“Why would low-level Dunst have something like that in his pocket? Did he use it on the little girl?” Ty asked.
“Negative,” Cass replied. “According to the autopsy report Tina had nothing like that on her body when she was found.”
Lara barely heard the conversation of suppositions and possibilities as it swirled around the table. An icy chill had taken over her entire body.
She feared that the ghosts she’d dreamed of chasing her in her nightmares were now very real monsters, and they had finally found her.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_54e4bced-5cf2-5ebc-9cec-3ae45c3f2677)
Getting to Brooklyn from Manhattan was a bitch at just after five o’clock in the afternoon, especially if you didn’t take public transportation. Lara rode shotgun in Nick’s company-issued black sedan, and for the first five minutes in the car neither of them spoke.
Lara was still trying to process the shock of the ink pad and stamper found on Dunst, and Nick’s sole concentration was on maneuvering in and around whizzing taxis, belching buses and the honking horns of tourists who had no idea how to drive in the snarl of vehicles at rush hour.
When they hit the Brooklyn Bridge, Nick cast her a sideways glance. “We spent almost an hour this morning talking before you were called away, and you never mentioned that you were instrumental in taking down members of the Moretti crime syndicate?”
There was a tone in his voice that made her believe he might have already pegged her as either being arrogant or secretive. While the first was definitely false, the latter was partly true. She did have secrets that only a handful of people would ever know, but that had nothing to do with her partner relationship with Nick or the job they now worked.
She stared out the passenger window. “It was a tough job, and after that I went into lockdown for a long a time. That was equally tough.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
He cut her another quick glance. “Ah, a woman of mystery.”
“No, nothing like that. It’s just a part of my past I’d rather forget. I deal in the here and now.” It was the only way she could function.
“If we’re going to work well as partners, then we need to trust each other. You can trust me, Lara.”
She turned in her seat to give him her full attention. “Those are just words, Nick. Trust is earned by action, and I don’t know you well enough yet to invest my complete trust in you.”
“I’m an open book. What you see is what you get,” he replied easily.
She eyed the scar on his temple, his sharply defined handsome features and the darkness of his eyes. “Yeah, right,” she said drily.
“Tell me about the team. Since I had to leave unexpectedly, I didn’t really get a chance to get to know them. What I do know is that we were all handpicked for this new unit, and I know both Victoria and Cass from working with them in DC. Tell me what you know about the others,” she said.
“Mei is smart and tough. She also speaks several languages. We were partners a few years back. She’s good. Ty has a �particular’ sense of humor, but underneath, he’s solid. He’s divorced and has no children. Xander comes from a wealthy background and has a five-year old daughter, but he’s never married and definitely isn’t afraid to speak his mind. They obviously all have specialties that brought them to Agent Russo’s attention. She handpicked us all for a reason.”
“And what’s your specialty?” Lara asked.
“That’s easy. Definitely my charisma,” he replied with a sexy grin.
She narrowed her eyes at him. She was not amused. “If you’re watching my back, you’d better bring something more than charm to the table,” she retorted.
His smile vanished. “Tell me what you know about Russo. You said you worked for her in DC. What’s her story? What kind of a boss is she?”
“She’s widowed and has a nineteen-year-old daughter. Anna is a sophomore at Columbia, and Victoria is very much a proud mother bear. She’s also very intelligent and can be one tough lady, but she’s fair. She has high standards and expects her agents to produce results.”
“Then we’d better figure all of this mess out. I wouldn’t want to let the boss lady down on our very first assignment.” He paused a moment and then continued, “I hope you aren’t rusty after the year off duty.”
Lara’s back stiffened. He might be hot to look at, but he was definitely treading in total jerk territory. “Don’t worry about me,” she said tersely and turned her attention out the passenger window. “On my worst day I’m still a better agent than most.”
At least that’s what she needed to believe. The Moretti case had shaken her confidence to the core and kept her from sleep on far too many nights.
Cass had pulled up Dunst’s current address, a brownstone in Bedford-Stuyvesant. The four-story residence had been his childhood home and had been left to him when his parents had died several years prior.
Much work had been done in Bedford-Stuyvesant to clean up the crime and decay in the neighborhoods, but there were still areas where the drug dealers and gangs ruled the streets, and people didn’t leave the relative safety of their homes after dark.
Unfortunately, it was on one of those streets that Dunst had lived. Dunst had died not only with an ink pad and a stamper in his pocket, but also a key ring. The key ring had been delivered to Lara and Nick by an NYPD officer just before they’d left to check out Dunst’s digs.
Dunst’s place was located in the middle of a street of row houses, all of them showing the signs of hopeless neglect and economic hard times.
“It’s hard to believe there are million-dollar homes and condos just a couple of blocks from here,” Nick said as they departed his car.
“According to Cass, he lived here alone and has no family. It would be easy to keep Tina in here and nobody would ever know she was here.” She had to focus on the job and not the fact that her partner apparently already entertained some doubts about her ability.
Lara pulled her gun from her shoulder holster as Nick got out the keys to open the door. Knowing that Dunst had been a drug dealer and criminal, there was no telling who or what they might find inside.
“I should be the one with the gun drawn,” Nick said.
“You have the keys. I have the gun,” Lara replied. If he thought she was going to play a secondary, submissive role to his alpha dog, then he was sadly mistaken. She wouldn’t play secondary to anyone under any circumstances.
Nick knocked on the door first. “Hello? Anyone home?”
Lara shifted her eyes from the door to the houses on each side. A blue curtain moved at one of the side windows on the house on the right.
No sound drifted through Dunst’s door. “FBI. We’re coming in,” Nick yelled. He unlocked the door, and Lara stepped in front of him, the barrel of her gun her lead as she entered a dirty, cluttered living room. Newspapers and magazines nearly hid a worn chocolate-brown sofa, and beer cans and fast food wrappers spilled across the top of the wooden coffee table. An orange crate held on top of it an ancient television that had probably never seen cable service.
“Clear,” she murmured.
Nick moved ahead of her, his gun now filling his hand as he headed for the doorway straight ahead. Lara followed behind him into a kitchen where the small table appeared to sag under the weight of pizza boxes and opened cans. Dirty dishes overflowed from the sink, and the old, cracked linoleum floor was sticky beneath her feet.
“Quite the neat-freak,” Nick said sarcastically.
They continued to clear the entire house. Dunst’s bedroom was easily identifiable. The double bed was unmade and sported gray sheets Lara suspected had at one time been white.
Drug paraphernalia littered the top of the dresser, and the faint scent of marijuana still lingered in the air. They checked drawers and closets, seeking some connection he might have had with Lara or with the Moretti ring at the time it had been operational.
“When I was undercover I met a lot of men who worked for Moretti, but I don’t remember ever seeing Dunst,” Lara said, unable to hide her frustration. “Why did he ask for me to go out on that ledge? Why me specifically?”
“We’ve only just started investigating. Maybe more digging will give us the answers.”
The next bedroom held a single bed and a small chest of drawers. The bedspread was pink, and a doll sat on the pillows, staring at them with big blue unseeing glass eyes. There was also a coloring book and a small box of crayons on a nightstand.
Despite her need to maintain an emotional distance, Lara’s heart cringed as she thought of little Tina locked up in this room for two long weeks before her death. Had she been terrified? How long and how hard had she cried for her mommy and daddy?
“Why did he have to kill her?” She spoke more to herself than to her new partner. “And why didn’t he stamp her?”
“Maybe he thought he could sell her to members of the Moretti syndicate, but found out that he had no takers, that nobody from the organization was working anymore. He couldn’t just let her go. She could have identified him, so he had to kill her,” Nick suggested.
“Maybe, but after Moretti and some of his crew were arrested, several violent gangs tried to take over Moretti’s territory both here and in Chicago. But they all wound up dead or arrested. So, who did Dunst think he could sell her to?”
“Maybe just a local pedophile willing to pay a good price?”
“Then why the Moretti symbol stamp?” Lara asked.
“I don’t know. Let’s check out the rest of the house, and then we can interview some of the neighbors,” Nick replied.
The upper two floors of the brownstone were completely empty except for cobwebs and mouse droppings. “He must have sold or pawned anything of value for his drug habit,” Nick said. They searched everyplace in the house to try to find something that might provide a clue as to Dunst’s reason for asking for Lara or any connection to the supposedly defunct Moretti syndicate. They found nothing.
Hopefully they would learn more by talking to some of the neighbors and people out on the streets. Since it was Friday night, the lowlifes would soon take over the area.
* * *
It was twilight when Nick knocked on the door to the right of Dunst’s place where Lara had earlier seen the curtain move. A middle-aged woman answered the door, and they identified themselves as FBI agents.
“I assume you’re here because of what happened to Sean,” she said as she led them into a spotlessly clean living room where two young boys were playing a video game.
“Gary and Greg, upstairs to the playroom,” she said as she gestured Nick and Lara to a beige-and-brown plaid sofa. After a bit of grumbling, the two kids turned off the video game and headed up the stairs.
“Your name, ma’am?” Nick asked and pulled a small notepad and pen from his shirt pocket.
“Rhoda Watson, and I just have to say that I know it isn’t nice, but I’m not sorry he’s dead,” she said with a raise of her pointed chin. Her cheeks flushed slightly with color. “I’m sorry, but he was a creep and a braggart, always talking about the good old days when he worked for some big crime boss.”
“Moretti?” Lara asked.
Rhoda frowned and nodded her head. “Yeah, I think that’s the one. I don’t know what he was into in his past, but he was nothing but a scuzzy dope dealer, and then there were all those rumors when little Tina Cole was found dead.”
“Rumors?” Lara leaned forward.
“Just word out on the streets that maybe he and his girlfriend had something to do with her kidnapping and death. I’ve got kids of my own, and it was bad enough knowing he lived right next door before the Cole girl was found.”
“Do you know of anyone who might have wanted him dead? Did he ever mention any specific threats against him?” Nick asked.
She frowned thoughtfully once again. “No, but he ran with a rough crowd and bragged about what a big man he was. Who knows who he might have double-crossed in the dope business or in one of the gangs that are in this neighborhood?”
“You mentioned a girlfriend?” Nick asked.
Rhoda nodded. “Sheila Currothers. She’s been dating Sean for a little over a year.”
“She doesn’t live with him?” Lara asked.
“No, but she spent plenty of time next door. She would have known that little girl was there. She lives in the Applegate Apartments a block over. I’m not sure what apartment number, but if you can’t find her there, she strips most evenings at Nasty Nate’s, a dive off Macon Street.”
Lara exchanged glances with Nick. Nick stood and pulled out a business card. “If you think of anything else that might help us find the person responsible for Sean’s death, please, give me a call.”
Rhoda nodded, but there was a dark fear in her eyes, the fear of potential reprisal, of payback to her or her family. Lara knew they wouldn’t hear anything more from her even if she did learn something worthwhile.
“I’m hoping we can catch Sheila at her apartment instead of having to enter a place called Nasty Nate’s,” Nick said as they left the Watson brownstone.
“Great minds think alike,” Lara agreed.
It took them only minutes to arrive at the Applegate Apartments where, thankfully, a manager was on site to give them Sheila’s apartment number.
It was obvious by the condition of the building that Sheila’s standard of living wasn’t much better than Dunst’s. The three-story brick structure looked as if it hadn’t been updated or cleaned since the early Fifties.
Weeds and overgrown bushes plagued the unkempt yard area, and two rusted benches just outside the front door didn’t welcome anyone to sit and relax.
Worn gold shag carpeting lined the hallway that took them to the stairs. It was a walk-up with no elevator, and of course Sheila lived on the third floor.
A mixture of smells assaulted Lara’s nose as they climbed upward. Urine, weed, a strong scent of sauerkraut and utter hopelessness all mingled together to form a sickening odor.
Lara knocked on the door of apartment 312, and her knock was answered by a thin tall blonde woman with large breast implants and red-rimmed blue eyes. She was clad in a red-and-yellow silk dressing robe, and she pulled the belt more tightly around her waist as she ushered them inside.
The living room was furnished minimally, but was fairly tidy if one ignored the colorful handful of G-strings that hung from the doorknob on the door that presumably led to the bedroom.
“You’re here about my Dunstie.” She motioned them to the sofa and then sank down into a chair facing them and grabbed a tissue from the box on the end table next to her.
“I just can’t believe he’s gone.” She blinked her big blue eyes. “I mean, he is really gone, right? What I saw on television was real, not some silly joke he played on me or a crazy reality show.”
Okay, not the brightest bulb in the room, Lara thought with an inward sigh. On a good day Lara didn’t possess a lot of patience, and she had a feeling Sheila Currothers was quickly going to get on her last nerve.
“Yes, what you saw on television was very real. Sean is dead,” Nick replied, his deep voice without emotion.
Sheila balled up the tissue in her hand. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. He was so good to me. Oh, I know he didn’t do everything right. He wasn’t a perfect man. I know about him selling drugs and some other things...but at heart he wasn’t a bad man. In the last month or so he’d cleaned up his act. He wasn’t using or selling drugs anymore. And at least he never hit or beat me.”
“Tell us about Tina,” Lara said, cutting to the chase.
“Tina?” Sheila feigned innocence but couldn’t quite play it off. Lara saw the tells, the tightening of her slender fingers around the tissue, the tension that pulled her overly plumped lips tighter and one...two...three quick blinks of her eyes, eyes that now had a sharp, hard gleam. Maybe she wasn’t as stupid as she wanted them to believe.
“Yeah, you know, the nine-year-old little girl Dunst kidnapped and then murdered.” Nick leaned forward, his dark eyes radiating a dangerous glint. “Did you know he was into abusing and killing little girls?”
“That’s not true. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sheila crossed her arms over her ample chest with her chin lifted in a show of belligerent defensiveness. “I don’t know anything about a kid.”
“I think you do,” Lara countered. “Sheila, I was up on that ledge with Dunst this morning for hours. I was the last person he spoke to before his death, and he told me all about Tina.” Of course, Dunst hadn’t mentioned anything about his girlfriend, but Sheila couldn’t know that.
“And right now you’re looking at potential kidnapping and murder charges,” Nick said.
Sheila uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. “You can’t pin any of that on me. I had nothing to do with it. I don’t know why he took her. She was just there at his house one day, and he told me he had to keep her for a while.”
“Tell us about the stamp,” Nick said.
Sheila frowned. “Stamp? I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about. What kind of a stamp?”
Lara drew in a deep breath, her emotions shooting back and forth between anger and a small sense of compassion for the woman who now found herself at the center of a horrendous crime. “He was found with an ink box and a stamper on his body,” she replied.
Sheila shook her head. “I don’t know anything about that. I never saw an ink box or stamper.”
“Sheila, it’s in your own best interest to work with us and tell us everything you know,” Nick said.
She looked from Nick to Lara, as if weighing her options. The feigned innocence was gone, replaced by a weary resignation as she held Lara’s gaze. “You’ll tell the cops that I cooperated?”
Lara nodded, and Sheila released a deep sigh. “He finally told me that he was supposed to sell her, but in the end he just couldn’t do it. He said she’d be abused and broken, and so he killed her instead. He said that if he did as he was told it would be a fate worse than death for her. He killed her to save her.” Once again her eyes moved between them, as if seeking understanding and possible absolution.
Nick looked at Sheila as if she were speaking a foreign language, but it was a language Lara knew very well, and it sent cold chills racing up her spine.
Was the Moretti syndicate back in business? Why would they contact such a low-level criminal as Sean Dunst to carry out such orders? And if they were back in business, then how close were they to Lara?
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a59d3834-3e69-59ba-802b-cdcd6f2644d9)
It was nearly eleven o’clock when Nick and Lara finally headed back to 26 Federal Plaza. Two NYPD detectives working the Tina Cole murder case had been summoned to take Sheila into custody, and Nick and Lara had spent a couple of hours out on the streets around Dunst’s house, asking questions and reconfirming impressions they had already received.
Dunst was known in the neighborhood as a blowhard, a wannabe. He was a loser whose only claim to fame was that he’d supposedly once had ties to the Moretti crime syndicate. But according to Cass and people they talked to on the streets, there was absolutely no evidence to support that Sean had ever been anything but a petty criminal and dope dealer.
“I’d like to know who orchestrated Tina’s kidnapping and set up her potential sale. Aside from the fact that somebody killed him, I don’t believe Dunst had the brains to pull something like that off on his own,” Lara said as they crossed back over the Brooklyn Bridge.
“He obviously didn’t have the stomach for it, either,” Nick replied. “Guilt apparently drove him to that ledge this morning.”
“And a highly skilled sniper made sure he wouldn’t give us any real information once he got off that ledge,” Lara replied in frustration. “If I’d known about the stamp while I was up on the ledge with him, I would have definitely asked him a lot more questions.”
Although fear simmered deep inside her, she refused to give into it until they had more concrete information. She’d learned to live with fear the entire year she’d worked deep undercover. In many ways the feeling, coupled with a hard edge of anger, had become a familiar, almost comforting emotion.
“Who kills a kid to save her?” Nick asked incredulously. “And what kind of a woman thinks something like that is okay?” His deep voice was rife with judgment.
Lara had once had a black-and-white sense of judgment, too. But, during her year undercover she’d met too many people who were not necessarily evil, but rather lost souls whose backgrounds had never given them a chance to do much of anything other than make bad choices. She’d learned how easy it was to fall off the straight and narrow.
“Maybe a woman who is already living a fate worse than death,” she replied thoughtfully. “We know Sheila is a stripper. I would guess that she probably also prostitutes on the side. Who knows what her childhood might have been like? It’s obvious she lost her self-respect and any sense of worth she might have had a long time ago.”
“Are you defending her actions?”
“Not at all.” She felt his eyes on her, but she remained staring straight ahead. Still, she felt the need to say something more. “I just saw a lot of bad things when I was undercover. I can’t begin to explain the depravity, the utter soullessness of some human beings.”
“That’s why I love what I do, getting the evil off the streets and into prisons. Isn’t that why you do it? Or is it because of your father? I heard somewhere that he was a highly decorated New York detective?”
“He was.” The last thing she wanted to talk about, the very last person she wanted to think about was her father, who had passed away several months ago, four years after he’d been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s disease.
“Then I guess crime fighting runs in the family,” Nick replied.
“That’s about all that runs in the family. At least Dunst didn’t stamp her,” Lara said, not so subtly letting Nick know that she had no interest in a conversation about her personal life and wanted to stick strictly to the facts of the case.
“We need to dig deeper into Dunst’s life,” Nick replied, obviously getting the message.
“Whoever he was playing with weren’t just petty criminals. The shooter who took him out wasn’t some shmuck with a rifle and a little bit of good luck. That shot took an extraordinary amount of skill.” Lara looked out the passenger window. The darkness outside seemed to creep into her soul.
“You know, it’s very possible that this had nothing to do with Moretti,” Nick said. “It could be the work of another gang trying to gain territory control and deliberately misleading us with the stamp.”
“I suppose that’s possible.” She hoped that was the case. She had too much to lose if Moretti decided to seek revenge against her.
“Want to grab something to eat before we get back to headquarters?” Nick asked. “There’s a great bar and grill not far from here.”
“No, thanks. I don’t mix business with pleasure,” she replied.
His lips turned up in what was quickly becoming a familiar grin. “It’s nice to know that you think eating a meal with me would be pleasurable.”
She frowned at him with a hint of irritation. “I’ve had a long day, I could be in a really pissy mood if I thought about it for too long, and I just want to get home and get a good night’s sleep before starting again in the morning.”
Boundaries. She definitely needed to set strict boundaries with Nick, especially tonight when she was feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable.
She’d hoped to never hear the name Moretti again, and she’d been immersed in horrendous memories and terrifying questions about him and his potential reach from prison for most of the day.
“All right then,” Nick said when he’d parked his car in the underground garage dedicated to FBI and other official vehicles. “Then we’ll start fresh in the morning?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Lara agreed. She got out of his car and walked away from him without another word.
* * *
As the train whooshed from station to station toward her Upper West Side apartment and the lights flickered off and on, Lara refused to think about anything until she was safe at home and behind closed, locked doors.
She departed the subway and then walked the two blocks to her apartment building. “Evening, Jerry,” she said to the night doorman who stood just outside the front entrance.
“Good evening, Ms. Grant,” he replied and unlocked and opened the door for her.
“Have a nice night,” she said as she slipped inside and headed for the elevators. Thankfully, she met nobody on her way up to her twenty-fourth floor apartment. She didn’t make nice on the best of days, and this definitely hadn’t been a stellar day.
She breathed a sigh of relief only after she’d unlocked her apartment door, deposited her keys on the small table in the foyer and stepped onto the thick beige carpeting in the large living room.
She’d decorated the space minimally...a black sofa and chair, glass-topped coffee and end tables and a large flat-screen television mounted to the wall.
There were no photos, no sentimental knickknacks, nothing to personalize the place she now called home. That’s the way she liked it. No pictures or trinkets to evoke memories of her childhood or anything from her past. There was really nothing much there worth remembering.
She headed for the bathroom, wanting more than anything a long hot shower and then a good night’s sleep. Hopefully, she wouldn’t suffer one of the nightmares that had plagued her since she’d stopped her undercover work.
After soaking beneath a pulsating spray of hot water for a sinfully long time, she got out, toweled off and changed into a short navy nightshirt and then headed into the bedroom.
As with the living room, this space was equally impersonal. A king-sized bed, a black lacquered dresser and two matching nightstands that sported contemporary lamps in shades of black and beige, and that was all. The only time it became more personal was when she placed her badge, her gun and her cell phone on the nightstand on the side of the bed where she slept.
She turned off the overhead light and crawled beneath crisp white sheets and closed her eyes, but her tense body refused to relax into the pillow top mattress.
Her brain was in overdrive. Who was behind Dunst’s actions? Who was the mastermind behind his kidnapping of a young, innocent girl? He was obviously supposed to stamp her with the Moretti insignia and then sell her. To who? And who had killed him?
She tossed and turned for several minutes and then got out of bed, knowing from experience that sleep would be elusive until her brain quieted down. She left her bedroom and poured herself a glass of whiskey and then, as an afterthought, carried not only the glass but the bottle as well with her to the sofa.
Was it possible, as Nick had suggested, that another gang was at work and trying to throw off the investigation by mimicking the trademark tattoo? She made a mental note to herself to ask Cass to research all of the gangs working in the area and which one might be following in the footsteps of the Moretti operation.
She took a deep drink from the glass, the burn of the alcohol spreading welcome warmth through her. Unable to sit still, she sprang to her feet and began to pace.
Back and forth she walked in front of the coffee table. The events of the day fired off in her head like a fast-paced movie, only she didn’t have the luxury of a vicarious thrill. This was her life and not a Hollywood blockbuster with a predictable plot and a happy ending.
She’d gone undercover to infiltrate the syndicate in an effort to locate the elusive leader known only as Moretti. For five long years the FBI had chased dead ends in an effort to find the man whose name was whispered with both fear and adulation by the men and women who worked for him.
In the year she’d been undercover she’d cultivated a closeness with the handsome arms broker, Andrew Moore, in an effort to gain the information she needed.
As her undercover role of arms dealer, rising up the ladder from running guns, she’d finally learned of the place and time when Moretti and both high-level and some medium-level operatives were meeting. She’d contacted the FBI, who had swept in and successfully made the arrests.
Lara had gone to a safe house for almost a year, and she’d believed she’d never have to worry about any Moretti operatives still working in either Chicago or New York or anywhere else.
She moved to the window and cracked her blinds to peer out and down at the streets below. Were there people out there right now plotting her destruction...her death?
She twirled the blinds back closed, refilled her glass and slumped down on the sofa. She hoped Nick was right, that this was all some sort of a copycat thing going on.
She frowned as she thought of her new partner. She wished she had a better read on him. Throughout their time together that day he’d exhibited a faint lack of trust in her and her abilities. She had a feeling his brief displays of flirtatiousness came easily to him and was a default that hid far deeper secrets.
Could they work together as an effective team? She didn’t know. It was too soon to tell. All she did know for sure was that she wasn’t at a place in her head to trust anyone. There were times she didn’t even know if she could trust herself.
With this troubling thought in her head she downed her drink and headed back to bed.
* * *
“Eve.” The name she’d used while undercover echoed in her brain. “Eve!”
She came awake and bolted to a sitting position with a sharp gasp. She fumbled for her gun, and at the same time her cell phone rang, and she realized that somehow in her dream the ringtone had become Andrew Moore’s deep voice calling her by her undercover name.
She grabbed the phone and saw that it was just after seven in the morning. Russo’s number. “Victoria?” she said as she answered.
“Lara, I need you to go to a crime scene in Central Park.”
Lara turned on her bedside lamp, opened a drawer and pulled out a pen and paper. “Where?”
“By the reservoir on a jogging trail around Ninety-Third Street. Local authorities are already on the scene but have been instructed not to touch anything until you and Nick get there. I’ve already contacted Nick.”
“What kind of a crime?” Lara wasn’t sure why she’d be sent out to Central Park on another case instead of continuing to work the Dunst case.
“A murder, and from what little I got from the officers on the scene, it’s probably tied to Dunst.”
Lara’s heart dropped to the floor. “On my way,” she replied. She wanted to ask Victoria a hundred more questions, but the only way to get answers was to get to the scene as quickly as possible.
Within minutes she was clad in a long-sleeved white sweater that hugged her slender body and a pair of her expensive black jeans that fit her like snakeskin, but also had enough stretch to allow her to move easily.
With her gun in a shoulder holster and her badge and cell phone fastened on her belt, she grabbed a black suede jacket and left her apartment.
Her heart thundered in time with every quick step she took toward the elevator. The murder was tied to Dunst? How? Dunst was dead. What was going on? Somehow, someway she had the terrible feeling that a thread of something evil had begun to unravel.
She touched the butt of her gun beneath her jacket for reassurance. Where would the thread lead? And how much of the fabric of her life would be destroyed as it continued to unstitch?
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_3bb480c9-ebb3-594c-a7f7-6a6401268d51)
Lara took a taxi to Central Park, knowing that parking there would be a bitch, especially with a crime scene on the popular jogging trails that surrounded the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir.
The autumn-colored leaves on the trees in the area would have made a beautiful backdrop, if not for the fact that she was headed to a murder scene.
It was relatively easy for her to find the right area. A wide perimeter had been set up by more than a dozen of New York’s finest.
One of the cops was dealing with joggers who appeared on the trail, turning them away and instructing them to take another path.
Nick was already there, and he approached her before she even got a chance to flash her badge at the nearest stony-faced officer.
He motioned her ahead and then stopped and stood far enough away that she couldn’t see the victim or the actual crime scene. “What have we got?” she asked. “Victoria mentioned a murder.”
Nick nodded. No sexy grin this morning. No charisma oozing from him. His eyes were dark and flat, and he was definitely in the pissed-off yet professional zone every cop or FBI agent went to when confronted by a murder victim. He might have a charming side, but she suspected this was the true Nick Delano, with hard edges and a dangerous power that he kept tightly controlled.
“Young blonde female clad in running clothes and shoes. Another early morning jogger found her on the trail. He’s being held in the back of a patrol car for us to question,” Nick said.
“How was she killed?” Lara asked.
“The medical examiner isn’t here yet to make a final determination, but it’s obvious she was stabbed in her chest.”
Lara frowned in confusion. “Victoria said something about this potentially being tied to the Dunst case. What’s up with that?”
Nick’s well-defined jawline tensed, and as he took her by the elbow she caught the smell of minty soap and a pleasant, clean-scented cologne.
He propelled her forward. “I think it’s better for you to see the victim to answer your question about the connection with Dunst.”
Lara steeled herself as ahead on the trail she spied a prone figure in a bright pink-and-yellow jogging suit and matching shoes.
Pink and yellow...such bright and cheerful colors to die in. They got close enough to see the victim’s eyes staring straight up and the bloody mess on her chest.
“Weapon?” Lara asked curtly. Stabbed in the chest while going for a morning run. Knife? Ice pick? What had been used to steal this young woman’s life? The weapon could say a lot about the killer.
“Not found yet,” Nick replied. “Officers have been combing the area, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it was taken away by the killer. Otherwise, it would have just been left in her chest.”
“I still don’t see what this has to do with Dunst,” Lara said.
“Look on her right cheek,” Nick said, his voice deeper than usual.
The victim’s face was turned just enough that Lara had to walk around the body to get a look at her right cheek. When she did, a gasp of shock escaped her. Stamped onto the youthful, clear skin was the unmistakable MM insignia. It had obviously been done with the same kind of ink pad and stamp that Dunst had had in his pocket at the time of his death.
She turned a startled look at Nick. “What in the hell is going on here?” It was a rhetorical question. Nick didn’t have an answer. She didn’t expect one.
She scanned the area. There wouldn’t have been a lot of foot traffic or eyewitnesses at around six or six-thirty in the morning, but there would have been a few early birds on the trails.
Still, it should have been difficult for the killer to stab the victim and then bend over her prone body to take the time to stamp her cheek. The killer had to have looked as if he belonged on the trail, which meant he would have probably been clad in some sort of running clothes.
“Any ID found?” she asked the nearest cop.
“We were told not to touch anything until you arrived,” he replied.
Nick bent over the body and carefully plucked a slim wallet from one of her back pockets with gloved fingers. He opened it. “Laura Bowman, twenty-three years old.”
Lara winced. Twenty-three years old and her life was finished, cut short by a knife from some perp. “Call it in, and let’s see what Cass and the others can find out about her background. Meanwhile, I’m going to interview the man who found her.”
Lara headed toward the patrol car where a man sat in the backseat. She tried not to think about the ink imprint on Laura Bowman’s cheek. Right now she just needed to get information and not attempt to process any of it. There would be time for that later when they had more facts at hand.
James Carlson was a thirty-six-year-old fitness freak who loved to run in the early mornings when he didn’t have to contend with the hobby runners. He worked as a trainer at a well-known gym and was still pale and shaken as he told Lara about nearly running over the dead girl.
“I’ve been jogging along these trails for the past five years, and I’ve never seen anything like that poor woman,” he said. “I’ve seen drunks and druggies and homeless people scurrying away as the sun came up, but nothing that even comes close to this.”
“Have you noticed her on the trail when you’ve run here before?” Lara eyed Carlson from the top of his short brown hair to the tip of his light gray running shoes.
The person who found and reported a murdered body was always the first suspect, but she didn’t see a speck of blood or any sign to indicate that he’d had anything to do with the killing.
It would have been difficult to stab the victim and then lean over her to stamp her cheek without getting some blood transference. He also couldn’t fake the ashen color of his face or the utter horror that emanated from his pale gray eyes.
“No, I’ve never seen her before this morning, but I started out a little later than usual today,” he replied. “Just my luck to decide to have an extra cup of coffee and be here a half an hour later than normal.”
“Did you see anyone else on the trail?”
He shook his head. “No, it was just me...and her.” His face took on a new paleness and he looked as if he might puke. “I’ve never seen a dead body before. God, I don’t think I’ll ever get this out of my head.”
She spoke to him a few minutes longer, and then, after getting his contact information, she let him go. She didn’t believe he was the perp. Her gut told her he was just some luckless guy who had happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.
By that time the medical examiner had arrived, and she joined Nick who stood several feet away to let Dr. Herman Boze do his job.
“You okay?” Nick asked her.
Lara looked at him in surprise. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“You keep rubbing your arm. Did you bump it or something?”
Lara realized she was rubbing her arm. Over and over again...obsessively...compulsively. She quickly stopped and stared at the stamp on the victim’s cheek. She could just blow Nick off, tell him she’d bumped it and leave it at that, but instead she opted for a little bit of honesty.
“When I was undercover I was tattooed with that same insignia on my arm. The actual tattooing wasn’t so bad, but getting it removed was a long, extremely painful process.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Nick said softly. There was genuine empathy in his voice and in his dark eyes.
“Yeah, well that was then and this is now,” she replied with a forced toughness in her tone. The last thing she wanted to do was reveal any weakness to anyone, especially her new partner. She didn’t want or need empathy from anyone. What she needed was answers.
It was close to noon by the time the body had been removed and the area had been thoroughly searched by the officers on scene. Dr. Boze’s initial assessment was that she had been stabbed twice in the heart, and her body temperature indicated that her time of death was around six-thirty or so that morning. He’d have more information for them after he conducted a complete autopsy.
“Did you drive here?” Lara asked Nick as everyone began to disperse from the area.
“Yeah, why?”
“I took a cab. Can I catch a ride with you back to headquarters?” Lara asked.
“Sure,” he agreed.
Minutes later they were in his car and headed back to check in on what the team had found out about the new victim. Lara was quiet, still haunted by the vision of the stamp on the young woman’s face.
* * *
When they arrived, only Mei and Ty were at their cubicles working on their computers. Victoria was probably in her office. Cass would be in her tech room where dozens of computer monitors lined the walls.
The area was set up like a pod, with the large open center area holding cubicles that were the agents’ work spaces, and Cass’s room, Victoria’s office, several conference rooms and a break room shooting out like arms from an octopus.
Xander came out of the break room, a coffee cup in his hand. “What’s up?”
“We need a meeting,” Lara said.
Nick knocked on Victoria’s door, and when she answered he requested the team get together in the conference room to discuss the morning activity and share information that everyone had dug up on the latest murder.
It didn’t take long for everyone to be seated at the conference table. Nick and Lara filled them in on what they had discovered.
“What were you able to find out about the victim?” Lara asked Cass.
“She was twenty-three, a grad student at Columbia and lived in an apartment nearby. No criminal record of any kind, and according to the social media I checked, she was a vegan and had a long-term relationship with a boyfriend named William Goldman who works as an investment banker.” Cass looked up from her laptop. “So far she’s clean as a whistle, and it’s hard to believe she’d have anything to do with that scumbag Dunst or any of his creep acquaintances.”
“Mei and I have already interviewed William Goldman,” Ty said. “We met him at his office at the Winthrop Investment Group. He told us that they had been dating for four years, and he appeared genuinely devastated by her murder, said he’d told her time and time again that she shouldn’t run alone in the park at that time of the morning. But she thought he was just being a �worrywart’—his phrase.”
“He told us he left his apartment building at around six-forty-five this morning to go to work. Apparently he’s hungry and driven and even works on Saturdays. The doorman at his place confirmed his time of leaving the apartment,” Mei added.
Lara frowned thoughtfully. “There’s no way he could have gone to Central Park, killed his girlfriend at six-thirty and then gotten back to his apartment, cleaned up and dressed for a day of work by six-forty-five.”
“And the doorman was on duty all evening the night before and swears William didn’t leave the building at all until he left for work this morning,” Mei replied.
“Apparently William is a creature of habit. He works six days a week, spends most of his evenings with his girlfriend in his apartment and then on the weekends they go out to dinner on Saturday nights. We went over his whereabouts for the last two weeks, and nothing unusual jumped out at us. We’ll continue to work to confirm his movements in the days and weeks before the murder, but I’d say he’s pretty well cleared off the suspect list,” Ty said.
“I not only didn’t find anything to connect her to Dunst. I also didn’t find any connection to the Moretti organization on any level,” Cass added.
“Then why was her face marked with the same stamp that was found in Dunst’s pocket?” Nick asked and looked around the table.
“And who murdered her? She has to have some sort of connection to Dunst or Moretti. Otherwise none of this makes any sense,” Ty added.
“Nothing has made sense since I went out on that ledge to talk Dunst down yesterday morning,” Lara replied. Had it only been yesterday? It felt like a lifetime ago that she’d been talking to Sean Dunst while an unusually cold September breeze blew through her to chill her bones.
Xander had been silent throughout the conversation, occasionally sipping coffee from a black-and-gold ceramic mug. He set his mug down and leaned forward.
“Why are we all wasting our time digging into the vic’s background and chasing down alibis for her boyfriend or anyone else? We all know why she was killed. It was because her name was Lara. Moretti now knows that Lara is FBI and busted him, and now he’s playing with her. He’s having some fun at her expense.” Xander leaned back in his chair and took another sip from his cup.
Lara shot a quick glance at Nick, who was sending a death glare at Xander. “Yeah, right, that’s hilarious,” Nick said, his deep voice sounding oddly strained.
“I don’t understand,” Lara said, her eyes still on Nick. “I thought her name was L-A-U-R-A.” She hadn’t seen the vic’s ID, only Nick had looked at it.
Xander shook his head. “Her name was L-A-R-A. Just like yours.”
“I didn’t want that information to cloud your mind while we did the initial investigation,” Nick replied, his gaze not quite meeting Lara’s.
Wrong answer. Lara averted her gaze from him as a fiery anger lit inside her. How could she trust a partner who kept things from her? He’d just committed his first sin against her—withholding information. If he thought she would tolerate crap like that, then he was sadly mistaken.
“But Dunst was killed before Lara’s face was splashed all over the news,” Mei exclaimed. “Dunst had to have known Lara was in New York before that.”
Xander frowned. “You’re right.”
“I’d say right now we’re still in the dark,” Ty replied.
Lara was horrified at the thought that the poor young woman on the jogging trail might have been murdered...stabbed in the heart, simply because she had the misfortune of having the same spelling of Lara’s name.
Was the knife through the heart a special message just for Lara? Was Moretti reaching out despite his prison bars to taunt her, to torment her?
“Lara, I’m sorry,” Nick said.
“Bite me,” she replied vehemently without looking at him.
Victoria spoke for the first time. “Everyone calm down and play nice.” Lara knew the words were meant specifically for her. She stared down at the table as Victoria continued. “Maybe it’s time for Mei and Ty to go to Long Island and feel out some ofMoretti’s crew incarcerated there and see if they might know something about what’s going on now.”
“If Moretti knows about what’s happened, if he’s somehow responsible for it, then he is probably expecting a visit from somebody from the FBI,” Lara said and looked up at Victoria.
“He’s probably expecting a visit from you,” Xander replied.
The thought of facing Moretti again was like a fist punch to Lara’s stomach. She’d thought she was done with all of this. She’d hoped to never have to talk to or see any of the members of the syndicate again...especially Moretti.
“If he’s hoping for a visit from Lara, do we really want to give him what he wants?” Nick asked. “Or is it better to leave him twisting in the wind and frustrated for a while?”
“I think Mei and Ty talking to his operatives is a good place to start, but if Moretti wants to talk to or see me, then I think maybe it’s better to just let him wait a bit,” Lara said.
She wasn’t sure if her decision was what was best for the team or because of her reluctance to have anything to do with the man who had done so much damage to so many people, the man who was a master manipulator and the face of evil.
“Then for now we wait on having any contact with Moretti,” Victoria replied.
“Let’s just hope there’s not another victim while you’re waiting,” Xander said to Lara.
Jerk. She glared at him.
Still, she could only hope for the same thing. If indeed this was all tied to Moretti, she definitely didn’t want anyone else getting killed or hurt if his ultimate intended victim was her.
She successfully fought against the shiver that threatened to waltz up her back at the very real possibility that Moretti was pulling strings and playing sadistic games to make sure that she was utterly and completely destroyed.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_be96cb73-80e6-5394-90cd-aef709c91cca)
“You should have told me.” Lara glared at Nick as the others left the conference room. “You should have immediately filled me in that her name was spelled the same as mine. You shouldn’t have waited for me to find out in front of everyone else.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I probably should have told you immediately, but I didn’t want to have your brain go off in the weeds somewhere while we were conducting the initial investigation. If it was a bad call, then I really am sorry.”
His apology sounded sincere, as it had the first time he’d told her he was sorry, but Lara was still pissed. It was information she’d needed to know. It cast the murder in an entirely different light.
“It was a bad call,” she replied tersely. “Just don’t let it happen again. Don’t try to protect me, Nick. I don’t need it and I don’t want it.”
“Got it,” he replied. He left the conference room, and Lara remained behind, alone for a moment. Get it together. Keep it together. They still didn’t know for sure that Moretti was behind everything. They had too many questions and far too few answers to know for certain just what had begun and where it might go. The one thing she was sure of was that the dead jogger that morning wasn’t the end of things. She feared it was just the beginning.
She left the conference room, but instead of heading to her own cubicle to write up the necessary reports on the morning murder investigation, she headed toward the tech room to check in with Cass. As difficult as the past two days had been on Lara, they had to be doing a major number on Cass, as well. Cass’s younger sister, a troubled nineteen-year-old named Allie, had been missing for a year until her body had been found in a Chicago dumpster three years ago with the MM tattoo on her hip.
It was believed that she’d been trafficked, controlled by a drug addiction and put out to prostitute for the syndicate and then was killed because she’d tried to escape.
The discovery of her body and the obvious ties to Moretti had come as Lara was undergoing her training to infiltrate the syndicate. Lara had vowed to Cass that she’d do everything she could to bring down Moretti and get justice for Allie.
Cass was a tough cookie, but her baby sister, Allie, had been her weakness. She’d been relentless in her search for her sister for the year that Allie had been missing and nearly destroyed when her body had finally been found. Lara knew those had been the darkest hours of Cass’s life.
Lara entered the room that was a teenage video-game-playing boy’s wet dream. Computer monitors filled one entire wall, with Cass behind a large desk operating all of them with lightning fast-moving fingers on several keyboards.
“Hey,” Cass said as she looked up when Lara entered the room and closed the door behind her. Cass pulled off a set of bright pink earbuds, and they landed on her upper shoulders like a colorful half-necklace around her neck.
“Hey back,” Lara replied. “I just thought I’d check in with you and see if you were doing okay. How are you holding up?”
Cass took off her bright purple-rimmed glasses, rubbed her eyes and then put her glasses back on. “I’m sure I’m as okay as you are right now. It’s just a bitch being pulled back into the muck of this crap. I thought we’d both put Moretti and all of that behind us. I never dreamed we’d be dealing with it all once again.”
“We still don’t know for sure that we’re dealing with Moretti again,” Lara said. The words rang discordantly in the small room.
A framed photo on the desk caught her attention. It was a picture of Allie. In the photo Allie’s long flame-colored hair was in charming disarray. She wore not only heavy black eyeliner but also sported several eyebrow piercings, a small lip ring and a Marilyn Monroe stud in her lower right cheek.
She’d been an achingly young, beautiful and confused girl who had gotten mixed up in the wrong crowd and was now dead. She’d been murdered and then dumped like common trash.
Cass noticed Lara looking at the framed photo, and she picked it up, her features softening as she looked at it. “Next week would have been her twenty-third birthday,” she said, her voice thick with suppressed emotion. “But, this is who she will always be to me, frozen in time at just nineteen years old. I’ll never get the chance to see who she might have become, what she might have accomplished if she’d lived longer.”
Cass closed her eyes for a long moment, and her features radiated a flash of pain that resonated deep inside of Lara. Cass’s eyelids snapped back open, and she set the photo back on the desk. Any softness that had momentarily swept over her features was gone, replaced by a sharp hardness in her eyes and a firm set of her jaw.
“I’m sorry, Cass. I wish we would have found her sooner. I wish we could have saved her. But we got Moretti once, and if he’s in any way responsible for what’s happening now, we’ll find the people working for him and get them, too.” Lara’s gut tightened. “I swear to you we’ll get them all this time.”
Cass nodded curtly, and then turned her attention to the computers in front of her. It was an obvious dismissal, and Lara left the room to the sound of fingernails clicking away at the keys.
* * *
Nick knew he’d screwed up. Lara sat next to him at her cubicle, and he could feel the simmering tension that indicated she was still angry at him.
Initially when he’d seen the identification of the dead jogger, he’d tried to write off the spelling of her name as a strange coincidence, but his gut had told him it was probably much more than that.
He hadn’t wanted to muddy the investigation by being specific about the victim’s name at the scene. He hadn’t wanted Lara to jump to conclusions until they’d conducted the on-scene investigation. But, if truth be told, he’d also not mentioned the spelling in an effort to protect his partner for as long as he possibly could. It had been a bad call, and he should have known better.
The problem was he didn’t know better even after spending most of the day yesterday with her. In fact, he had serious doubts as to whether they could work together effectively or not.
His first reaction upon meeting her was that she was hot as hell. She had a taut body, tall and lean, and her green eyes had held a keen intelligence.
But she definitely had sharp, brittle edges. Her lips thinned in distrust far too often, and her eyes were filled with dark secrets. She was prickly and hard to read...not exactly stellar characteristics for a new partner. After over a year in hiding, was she really ready to be back on the job? He just wished he could get into her head a little bit.
On impulse he got out of his chair and walked over to Victoria’s office. He knocked and then entered and closed the door behind him.
Victoria watched him as he sat in the chair opposite her desk. She leaned back in her chair and stared at him expectantly. “What’s on your mind, Nick?”
“My new partner.”
“What about her?”
Nick leaned forward and raked a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure if I can work with her. She’s completely closed off, and it’s obvious she doesn’t trust me at all.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s been less than two days. Figure it out, Nick. We’ve just been handed a high profile, very public case, and I need everyone to work together as a unit. We don’t have time for this. I assigned Lara as your partner, and that isn’t going to change. You’re a smart man, Nick. Make it work.”
Nick stood, feeling slightly foolish that he’d even voiced any concerns. He should have given it more time. The last thing he wanted was for Victoria to believe he was a shit-stirrer. This wasn’t the first time in his life that he knew the best course of action was to keep his head down and deal with whatever. He tightened his jaw as inner demons attempted to raise their heads.
“Consider that this conversation never happened,” he said.
“I’ve already forgotten it,” Victoria replied and focused her attention back to her computer screen.
He left the office and returned to his cubicle, irritated with himself. Partnerships took time to build, and he’d only known Lara for a little over a day. Be a professional. Make it work, he told himself.
He thought of earlier that morning when she’d rubbed her arm as if it had ached. She’d been tattooed by the syndicate, claimed as one of their own and then had to endure the painful process of getting that tattoo removed. At least he could admire the inner strength she had to possess, a strength that had probably gotten her through the kind of horrors he couldn’t imagine. He had been in on major drug and gun deals, but human trafficking, especially children, took it to a whole other level.
He leaned over toward her. “Lara, can you give me a time line as to when you might stop being mad at me?”
She grabbed his wrist and turned it so that she could look at his watch. “Give me another five minutes or so, and we should be good.” She dropped his wrist and returned to her computer work.
“Got it,” he replied and returned to his own computer where he was typing in a report from the morning activities. His report would be added to Lara’s and go into an official file of the murder of Lara Bowman.
Nick had been to a lot of murder scenes in his career, but there had been something particularly tragic about a pretty young woman with her chest covered with blood and the morning sun shimmering off her blond hair and delicate features.
Was it possible that somehow Moretti was orchestrating death and destruction from his jail cell? Had Lara Bowman been a hit to shake up his partner? That’s exactly what he hadn’t wanted in her head as they had processed the scene.
Now he couldn’t get it out of his head. What connection could Dunst have had with Lara Bowman? On the surface they lived in totally different worlds. Who’d had Dunst under their control? Who was giving the orders and who had killed the man with a single shot between the eyes?
Had that same person killed Lara Bowman, and was it really possible she’d been killed only because she had the misfortune of spelling her name the same as his partner?
The team had their work cut out for them. But that’s why they’d all been chosen, to work the difficult cases. With his own personal dark family history he needed this job to work out, and once again he regretted his impulse to speak to Victoria about Lara. It had been a stupid move, and Nick didn’t consider himself a stupid man.
Hopefully Mei and Ty could get some answers when they went to the federal maximum security prison located in Selden, Long Island.
Moretti and his crew had been in prison for well over a year now. Maybe one of the low-level creeps would be willing to trade a little information about what was going on for a bit more time in the yard or extra phone time or whatever. There was always a snitch somewhere in the crowd; it was just a matter of finding them and offering the right price to get them to talk.
If any of them had information...if Moretti was really behind these latest crimes, then hopefully they could tap into a rat to find out what they needed. There was no question that Dunst hadn’t been acting on his own. The sniper bullet between his eyes said otherwise.
The murder of an innocent young girl, a sniper shot to the forehead of a low-level drug dealer and a stabbing of a beautiful young woman on a jogging trail...how were they possibly connected?
His stomach growled, reminding him that it was well past lunchtime, and he hadn’t had a chance to eat breakfast that morning. He glanced at his watch. Seven minutes had passed since he’d last spoken to Lara.
He pushed his chair away from his desk and leaned toward her once again. “I have an idea.”
“That’s novel.” She didn’t bother to look at him.
“Very funny. I was thinking maybe we’d grab something to eat and then head back over to the hotel where Dunst died.”
“And why would we do that?” She turned in her chair, and her green eyes stared at him without emotion.
“Because I’m starving and I’ve been reading over the initial reports that NYPD sent us when Dunst was killed, and I can’t find any interview with the doorman. And how did Dunst afford to stay in a place with a doorman? He used cash, but from where? The police interviewed the manager who was on duty at the time and several hotel patrons and other staff, but not the doorman.”
“And doormen usually know more about people than anyone else in a building.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Okay, we can grab a hot dog off the street truck at the corner and then head back over to the hotel and see if any information was missed.”
“You eat dirty water dogs off street trucks?” He looked at her incredulously.
“You don’t?” she countered.
“I never have before,” he admitted.
Lara pushed back from her cubicle and stood. “Then I’m about to rock your taste buds.”
Minutes later they stood in front of one of the many food trucks that dotted the streets in all parts of the city. It sported a bright red-and-yellow awning, and the older Hispanic man working it greeted Lara with a smile.
“I’ll have the House Special,” she said to him.
“Give me what she’s having,” Nick said. He was just glad that Lara seemed to be over being angry with him.
The scents wafting from the cart caused Nick’s stomach to growl again. He’d always steered clear of the food carts and trucks, afraid of getting salmonella or some other dreaded disease. He’d just never thought it was right to eat food that came on wheels unless you were a senior citizen and the food was being delivered to your door.
The man handed them each a hot dog with mustard and ketchup, smothered in chili and topped with cheese. Lara grabbed a handful of napkins and passed several to Nick.
They stood next to the truck to eat. Lara ate in small, concise bites, managing not to spill a single drop, while Nick finished his dog in four big bites, wiped a spot of chili from the front of his leather coat and then ordered a second one.
“Okay, I’ll admit it; those were the best hot dogs I’ve ever eaten. But if I come down with Ebola or some other deadly disease, it’s totally on you.”
For the first time since he’d met her, she smiled. It was a real, genuine smile that momentarily lit up the darkness in her eyes and transformed her sharply defined features into something softer, something utterly appealing. “We haven’t been partners long enough yet for me to be ready to be rid of you, although you might not realize how close you came to death at my hands earlier.”
The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him wishing she would do it more often. “Let’s get moving,” she said.
“According to what I read in the initial reports from the NYPD, Dunst checked into the hotel around noon the day before he climbed out on the ledge,” Nick said. They were once again in a company-issued car, headed back to the scene of the original crime.
“I can’t believe nobody thought to interview the doorman. How on earth was that missed? We need to speak to both the night and the day doorman. Maybe one of them saw something,” Lara said.
“We also need to speak to some of the shopkeepers in the area,” Nick replied. “Hopefully somebody saw something that might be of interest to us.”
“Why weren’t more interviews done just after Dunst’s death?” Her annoyance was obvious in her sharp tone.
“That sniper bullet put everyone in an uproar. As you already know, NYPD scrambled to check rooftops and nearby buildings in an attempt to figure out exactly where the shooter had been, but they didn’t find anything to answer the question. Besides, I think it was also a matter of jurisdiction. The NYPD assumed we were on the case because of your presence there, and of course we didn’t officially invite ourselves into the case until yesterday afternoon.”
“Witnesses forget, they get confused.” Her frustration was like a third living presence in the car. “I should have stuck around yesterday. I should have done some of the investigating on my own. I could have questioned people, maybe figured out where that shot came from.”
“Lara, you were right to get the hell out of there,” Nick replied firmly. “Once that sniper bullet found him, you had no choice but to get out of Dodge.”
“I was just hoping that my picture wouldn’t be taken, that nobody from the crime syndicate would recognize me as Eve, the woman who had worked and lived among them for a year. I was hoping the new job with the team would keep me out of the spotlight. I didn’t want Moretti’s crew knowing I was in New York.”
“You acted smart, Lara. Besides, who’s to say that if you’d stood next to Dunst’s body one second longer a sniper bullet wouldn’t have found your forehead, too?” He glanced toward her.
Her gaze met his, her eyes flat and unfathomable. “If Moretti is behind all of this, then I don’t believe he would have taken me out yesterday with a shot between the eyes. He would have considered that far too easy a death for me.”
She broke eye contact with him and instead stared straight out the front window. “If this is Moretti’s work, then he’ll want me to suffer. He’s a sadistic bastard who won’t be happy until he’s taunted and tormented me into madness.”
A short silence ensued. “Do you have any relatives or friends you talk to?” he finally asked. “People to maybe have drinks with and download?”
“My mother was murdered when I was young, and my father died a few months ago from Alzheimer’s. I am close to Victoria and Cass, but other than that, I don’t have friends. I don’t need them. Besides, once you’ve gone deep undercover and lived that lifestyle, it’s hard to come back to whatever normal life consists of.”
Definitely defensive, Nick thought with an inward sigh. Make it work, he reminded himself as they pulled up in front of the hotel where Dunst had died.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_4d366cfd-1371-5242-9676-151927dbd942)
A phone call to the night doorman had let them know that he hadn’t seen Dunst except for on the news after he’d been killed. The day doorman, Brandon Ainsley, worked from seven in the morning until seven at night. He’d not only been present when Dunst had checked in on the day before he’d climbed out on the ledge but had also been at the hotel on duty when Dunst had been killed.
He was a clean-cut middle-aged man whose red-and-gold uniform was pristine, but his eyes held a hint of concern as Lara and Nick escorted him into the manager’s office where they could question him in private.
“All I can tell you is that I probably wouldn’t have even noticed the man when he came to check in if he’d had a suitcase or some kind of luggage with him,” Brandon said.
“Do you often have people checking in without luggage?” Nick asked.
Brandon’s cheeks flushed faintly. “Not too often, but it happens. There are a few people who regularly check in without any luggage, but they’re only here for about an hour or so around noontime.”
“Hookups,” Lara said.
Brandon gave a curt nod. “They always arrive and leave separately, but there’s one couple who comes every Friday at noon and stays for about an hour or so. They’ve been meeting here for the last two years.”
Probably a married man with his mistress. If the woman was willing to settle for that kind of deal, it wasn’t Lara’s issue. Of course it could also be a married woman with a little extra on the side. She wasn’t interested in hookups, which happened at every hotel in the city.
“Back to Dunst,” she said. “You said he checked in around noon. Did he appear nervous or scared?”
“Not that I noticed,” Brandon replied. “But to be honest, I didn’t pay all that much attention to him.”
“Did he leave the hotel at all during the afternoon or evening?” She repositioned herself in one of the hard-back chairs the manager had provided for the three of them to use.
“Once,” Brandon replied. “A black SUV pulled up to the curb out by the street, and Dunst came outside and talked to the driver. I don’t know exactly what happened between them because a shuttle bus of tourists pulled up. The next thing I knew the SUV was peeling out, and Dunst came running back inside. That’s the last time I saw him until I was pulled off my post the next morning by a cop who told me to go home and that somebody would be in touch with me later.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us that might be helpful?” Lara asked. “Did you notice the license plate on the SUV? Could you tell anything about the driver?”
Brandon shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, but the vehicle was too far away for me to see the driver, and at the time I didn’t pay that much attention because I didn’t know it would be so important later. Who could know what was going to happen?” He grimaced.
Nick pulled out a business card and handed it to Brandon. “If you think of anything else, no matter how minute, that might add additional information for us, please, give me a call.”
“You might want to talk to Sally... Sally Bernard across the street. She owns the T-shirt shop that sells tourist shirts and souvenirs, and she usually knows everything that’s happening out on the streets,” Brandon said as they left the manager’s office. “There isn’t much that goes on around here that she misses.”
They spoke to several other hotel staff members without learning anything more before heading across the street to Sally’s Shop of Souvenirs.
Sally Bernard stood just outside the door of her small shop. She sported long purple-and-green streaked hair, and a tattoo of a dragon crawled up her neck from out of the top of a T-shirt that read FBI—Ferocious Bitch Inside.
“Cute,” Lara said without humor.
“If I knew you were coming I would have chosen another one,” Sally replied, but her flippant tone said otherwise.
“You sell many of those?” Nick asked.
An irreverent grin curved her lips. “It’s one of my bestsellers.” Her grin dropped from her face as if snatched away by a quick thief. “I’m assuming you’re here to talk to me about that kid-killing creep who got himself offed. I swear the whole day was shot with all the cop presence in the area. Tourists ran like rats from a sinking ship away from here. My sales totally sucked for the day.”
“Yeah, it’s always such an inconvenience when somebody gets murdered,” Lara replied. Two minutes with Sally and she already wanted to slap the woman.
“We’ve heard that you’re the person to talk to about the goings-on in the area,” Nick said.
Sally shrugged too-thin shoulders. “I hang out here in front of the store a lot, and I like to people watch.” Her gaze slid from the top of Nick’s dark hair to the tip of his shoes, and she sidled a step closer to him. “I especially enjoy watching hot men like you.”
Lara fought a snort as Nick stepped back and glanced in her direction. “If you like man-watching, then you must have seen the man who was murdered at the hotel yesterday,” Lara said.
“Actually, I didn’t see it at the time it happened, but I watched it on the news later,” she said.
“Did you see him at any time the day before he was killed?”
“Yeah, once. It was late in the afternoon, and he nearly got run over by a black SUV. I only noticed the SUV because it pulled up along the curb in a no-parking zone. Dunst...that was his name, right?”
“Right,” Lara replied.
“Dunst came out of the hotel and talked to the driver. I’m pretty sure they were arguing. I probably wouldn’t have noticed them at all, but their voices were loud and angry, but not loud enough that I could actually hear specific words. They didn’t talk long, and when they finished, Dunst started around the front of the SUV, and the driver peeled out, straight for Dunst. If he hadn’t jumped out of the way fast enough, he would have been a hood ornament.”
Lara shot a volley of more questions. Had Sally seen the man inside the SUV? Had she noticed the license plate? Did Dunst go directly back inside the hotel? Had she seen the SUV again after that?
Sally irritated her, both with her half-assed attention to Lara and her flirtatious smiles and eyelash-fluttering toward Nick. Not that Lara was a bit jealous or anything. It was the fact that they were discussing a serious issue, and Sally didn’t appear to take any of it seriously.
“We’ve got a nine-year-old girl who was murdered, a man who was shot between his eyes and a jogger who was stabbed this morning,” Lara said irritably. “I need you to make sure that you have nothing more to add that might be helpful.”
“Wow, I thought I was being as helpful as possible, and I’ve told you everything I know.” She plucked at her T-shirt. “Maybe I need to go inside and grab one of these to give to you...on the house.”
“Honey, I don’t need to wear a T-shirt for people to know there’s one ferocious bitch inside,” Lara retorted. “Come on, Agent Hotness, I think we’re done here.”
When they were back in his car, Nick looked at her with a hint of wry amusement. “It’s the scar,” he said. “I guess it gives me a dangerous edge that some women seem to like.”
“How did you get it?” she asked.
His eyes instantly shuttered, and his smile turned into a tight-lipped frown. “That’s a long story for another day,” he said and started the car engine.
Lara fastened her seat belt and leaned back, intrigued by the fact that her partner obviously had some inner demons of his own.
By the time they got back to the agency, Mei and Ty were still gone to the prison on Long Island, Xander had gone home for the day, as had Victoria. The only person still working was Cass, who had her door closed.
“It feels like it was a week ago that we had a dead woman on a jogging trail,” Nick said with weariness.
Lara agreed and looked at the industrial round clock on the wall. It was just after seven. “I guess there’s not much else we can do tonight. Why don’t we plan on meeting back here by eight in the morning?”
“Tomorrow is Sunday, Lara. Don’t you remember that Victoria called for a noon meeting for tomorrow?” Nick replied.
No, she didn’t remember. She’d probably been too focused on how angry she was with Nick to hear what Victoria had said. “The case is hot now,” she protested. “We should get an early start in the morning.”
“And it will still be hot at noon tomorrow,” he countered evenly. “Lara, I have a feeling this is going to be a seven-day-a-week job until we solve it all. We can’t burn ourselves out in the first couple of days. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
“Okay, then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at noon,” she agreed reluctantly. She grabbed the file folder she’d been keeping of everything that had happened since the morning before and then left the office.
* * *
Thirty minutes later she was inside her apartment and dropped the manila file on the coffee table. She then went directly to the small built-in minibar and poured herself a shot of whiskey.
She liked her whiskey neat, her men hot and uncommitted, and she hated downtime. She’d had enough downtime in the safe house to drive her half-insane. She wanted action. She wanted answers sooner rather than later. Unfortunately answers weren’t coming easily.
She swallowed the shot and then poured herself another and carried it over to the sofa. She turned on the television with the volume barely audible and leaned back in an attempt to relax.
But, there was no rest for the wicked. She leaned forward and opened the file where she had paper copies of all of the reports, beginning with her time with Dunst on the ledge. She could have pulled it all up on her laptop, but sometimes she liked to read hard copies instead.
She took small sips of her drink, enjoying the warm burn down her throat and into the pit of her stomach as she read each report word for word, seeking something, anything that might have been overlooked.
When she’d finished the second drink she got up and carried her glass to the sink, washed it out and then put it back on the glass shelf where it belonged. There had been too many nights when she’d imbibed too many drinks in an effort to numb herself and fall into a dreamless sleep. She couldn’t afford to do that now. She had to be sharp and at her best game.
As she walked back to the sofa a news story caught her eye, and she turned up the volume to learn that little Tina Cole had been laid to rest today in a private funeral attended only by family and close friends.
A shrine had sprung up in the overgrown empty lot where her body had been found. Weighted helium balloons hung above small stuffed animals and handmade signs. Lara changed the channel and swallowed again the emotion that threatened to arise.
Nine years old and Tina’s life was over, taken by a man who, according to his girlfriend, had cared for Tina too much to follow through on orders to sell her to somebody.
Lara couldn’t help the squeeze of her heart at the thought of the poor little girl who had been helpless to stop the unexpected evil that had surrounded her.
Lara had been ten years old when her life had forever changed. Her mother, Anna, had been murdered in what had eventually been deemed a home invasion, but was still a cold case without closure. Nobody charged. Nobody arrested.
Bartholomew, Lara’s father, had been a good cop at work and a controlling, cold man at home. Still, Lara had loved her father. A feeling that had been complicated by doubt and hurt, as he’d become implicated in her mother’s death. She remembered the vicious fights that had taken place between her parents just before her mother’s murder.
More than once Anna had threatened to take Lara and leave Bartholomew, and more than once Lara had heard her father say that he’d kill his wife before he’d ever let her go. The night before her murder there had been such a fight.
Her father had been questioned per procedure following the murder, but ultimately had walked away from the investigation unscathed. The uncertainty of her father’s guilt ate at her, especially since his death. She just wished the case had been closed and a guilty party had been caught.
At ten years old Lara had lost not only her loving mother, but also her innocence and her ability to trust. It struck her that at thirty-one years old Lara was now the same age her mother had been when she’d been murdered.
The only family she had left was a half sister, Meghan, and Meghan had hated Anna and then Lara, because Lara’s father had abandoned his first wife and Meghan when Meghan had only been a year old. The two half sisters had virtually no relationship.
Sometimes, in the darkest of her moods, Lara wished she had family. Her relationship with her father had become strained and distant before his death as she’d mentally questioned what part, if any, he might have had in her mother’s murder.
Was it that hunger for connection that had made her make so many mistakes when it had come to the Moretti case? She had made mistakes, but ultimately she’d gotten her man. She could take some comfort in that fact.
Still, what role, if any, did Moretti play in what was happening now? And why in the hell did she wish for her mother to be sitting next to her telling her everything was going to be fine?
Irritated by her brain’s walk down memory lane, she got up off the sofa and went into the bathroom to shower and get ready for bed.
She didn’t want to think about her father or Moretti anymore tonight. Her father had been a difficult man, but Moretti had been the biggest monster she’d ever known. Despite her desire to put it all out of her head, she couldn’t control her tumbling thoughts.
She hoped Ty and Mei managed to get some answers from their time spent at the prison.
Was it possible Moretti had somehow managed to have sleeper cells around the city, knowing it was her hometown, just waiting for Lara to eventually surface? Had the trigger for those sleeper cells to wake up and begin operating been the photo of her in the paper? No. Dunst had acted out before Lara had been photographed and identified in the news.
A shower did nothing to wash the dark thoughts from her mind. She pulled on the sweatpants and tank top she usually slept in, but was reluctant to go to bed. She feared sleep and the bad dreams that visited her far too often.
She jumped as her cell phone rang. She was surprised to see Nick’s number on the caller ID.
“I’ve just been thinking,” he said after she’d answered. “Maybe it’s possible Dunst had gotten himself heavy into the drug scene and double-crossed somebody.”
“But, his girlfriend said he’d been clean for the last month or so,” Lara replied. She sat on the edge of her bed, still vaguely surprised that he’d called her.
“I have a feeling that half the time Sheila Currothers was too self-involved to know exactly what her Dunstie might be doing. It’s possible Dunst had started using or selling again, and she didn’t know anything about it. Or it’s equally possible that he was laying low for the last month or so because he owed somebody in a very big way.”
“Maybe,” Lara replied dubiously.
“And maybe he was ordered to kill himself or be killed by whoever he double-crossed,” Nick continued. “When he decided not to jump off the ledge, they followed through on their threat and shot him.”
Lara would love to believe it was as simple as that; unfortunately, the scenario left out too many facts. “What about Tina? What about the ink pad and stamp he had in his pocket? What about the jogger this morning? I can’t believe she was into a drug culture of any kind, and her face was stamped with the Moretti insignia.”
Nick sighed. “Yeah, I knew my basic theory was flawed and too simple. I guess I just needed to verbalize it to you. It’s all so damned confusing.”
“Nick, I think this is just the beginning. I think things are going to get much worse.” Lara disconnected the call. She had no more to say. Only time would tell if she was right or wrong, and she prayed she was wrong. But, she knew true evil. She’d lived among it for a year. What concerned her was that her new team had no idea what they might be up against.
What she feared the most was that her death certificate had already been filled out and was just waiting for the time of death to be added to make it official.
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