TOUGH JUSTICE: Justice is worth every sacrifice.

Episode Four: Trapped

The body count is rising fast, and there seems to be no end in sight. Luckily they got Anna back—but the killer is playing with lives, choosing who survives and who dies. Is the baby on the list? Is that why Lara was sent the rattle? The task force is getting closer to shutting down Moretti for good. If only they could find and stop the sniper...

Justice is worth every sacrifice.

A brand-new 8-part reading experience starting January 12, 2016!

FBI agent Lara Grant has finally put her life as an undercover operative behind her and started a new assignment in New York City. But her past and present collide and become ever more twisted as a spate of murders sends a message that is cruelly, chillingly personal...

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 New York Times bestselling author Carla Cassidy

RITA® Award finalist GAIL BARRETT always knew she wanted to be a writer. After living everywhere from Spain to the Bahamas, earning a graduate degree in linguistics, and teaching high school Spanish for years, she finally fulfilled that goal. Her books have won numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice award, a Book Buyers’ Best, and RWA’s Golden Heart® Award. Visit her website: www.gailbarrett.com.

Tough Justice: Trapped (Part 4 Of 8)

Gail Barrett

To my husband, John.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About Tough Justice

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

It was one of life’s ironies that the most stunning man she’d ever met had the vilest heart.

Lara Grant sat behind the glass partition at the federal maximum security prison in Selden, Long Island, everything inside her tensing as Moretti sauntered into the room. The man was insanely good looking with his hard, chiseled face, the desperado beard stubble shadowing his jaw, that wickedly carnal mouth. He was tall and lean, all masculine angles and energy, his broad shoulders padded with extra muscle now that he’d spent months pumping iron behind bars. And even handcuffed, even dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit with armed guards on either side, he exuded an aura of power.

He was every woman’s fantasy. And nightmare. His raw beauty masked an evil heart. Devoid of any conscience, he threatened every principle Lara stood for—and was murdering everyone around her in his quest for revenge.

Are you rattled yet? His ominous message still reverberated through her memory as she waited for him to take his seat behind the protective glass. Hell, yes, she was rattled, because the threat behind that tiny silver charm he’d sent was clear. The baby’s family was now in this killer’s crosshairs.

And she didn’t have a clue how to keep them safe.

His gaze met hers through the glass. A frisson of fear slithered through her, and it took all her effort to conceal her response. His eyes were shrewd, mocking. Amused. As if he’d orchestrated this meeting merely to torment her.

Knowing him, he probably had.

And she despised playing into his hands. The last thing she wanted was to cower before this monster or dance to his twisted tune. But Victoria was right. Her daughter’s kidnapping—and the message the kidnapper had sent through Anna—had substantially upped the stakes. It was a taunt, a warning that he could target anyone, including that baby’s family. She couldn’t predict how, where or when he would next attack.

Moretti settled in his plastic chair. The guard retreated to a spot beside the door. Even then, Moretti continued to watch her, making no effort to pick up the phone—as if he was controlling this meeting, even as a prisoner.

Proving that he was the one in charge.

Her temper flared. Moretti was powerful, without a doubt. On the outside, he’d amassed a fortune. He’d commanded a criminal network so extensive it had taken the FBI years to unravel it all. But no man was invincible, even Moretti, as she’d proven. And she intended to stop him. Now.

His movements unhurried, he picked up the phone. “Lara.” His deep voice rumbled through the wires. “It’s a pleasure, as always.” The slight emphasis on pleasure had her hardening her jaw.

But if she’d learned anything in the years she’d spent taking down this criminal, it was that showing any reaction would be a mistake. He thrived on manipulation. Revealing her emotions would signal a weakness, encouraging him to continue his retaliation.

And more innocent people would pay the price.

Inhaling, she got straight to the point. “I’ve come for answers.” Just as he’d expected.

“Have you?” The amusement in his eyes increased.

“Who kidnapped Anna?”

“What makes you think I know?”

“You know.” He had to. Nothing else made sense. He was toying with her, punishing her for her deception. Kidnapping her boss’s daughter was only his latest ploy. “So who did it, Moretti? Was that your work? I expect some answers this time.”

“Answers.” He leaned back in his chair, as if savoring the word. “And what do I get in return?”

Nothing. That was the hell of it. She had nothing to offer. And he knew it. His grin turned insolent.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, relenting. “I’m in the mood for a story. A bedtime story, if you will. It’s been a long time since I’ve had one of those. And maybe if you amuse me enough...” He arched a brow, his suggestive tone making her stomach roil.

“A story about what?” she asked, determined to ignore the innuendo.

“You already told me about how the FBI found out about the Moretti syndicate. Now I want to know about the arms broker, Andrew Moore.”

Her heart skidded hard. “Forget it. I’ve got nothing to say about him.”

“Too bad. That’s my price for the information you want.”

Her belly churned. Protests swarmed inside her, every cell rebelling at his demand. She wanted to get up and walk away. She wanted to condemn this bastard to the depths of hell. She wanted to forget he’d ever existed and end his repulsive game.

But she couldn’t afford to tick him off. Not now. Not yet. Not until she had the answers she desperately needed to keep the people around her safe. There were too many lives at risk.

He shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way.” He reached out to disconnect the phone.

“All right,” she said. Too fast. His grin widened, the triumph in his eyes making her loathe him even more. “So, what do you want to know?” she asked.

“Everything. How you met. Exactly what happened between you.” He leaned toward the glass, his dark eyes suddenly intense. “And especially how he made you feel.”

Her face turned hot. She curled her hands into fists, trembling with the need to lash back, to smash through that wall of protective glass and knock the smirk from his handsome face. This was an obvious attempt to humiliate her and subject her to his control.

But she could do this. If she wanted to save that family, she had no choice.

God knew, she’d done far worse.

With effort, she dragged in a breath, struggling to separate herself emotionally from the sordid past. Shifting her gaze, she focused on the dark stains streaking the concrete wall, trying to block out the hurt and shame. “You already know what my mission was, to infiltrate your crime syndicate.” To catch him, Moretti, the kingpin no one had ever seen.

“To do that, I went undercover running guns, as you know.” She pushed that thought aside, not wanting to dwell on the time she’d spent as Eve Johannsen, committing crimes with the dregs of humanity in an attempt to gain their trust.

“I learned that Andrew Moore was in charge, so I engineered a meet. I facilitated the sale of some high-powered rifles he was after. Turns out, he liked what I’d brought.”

Moretti’s lips quirked up. “And you liked him.”

Liked him? The man had blown her away. He was intelligent and strong. Gorgeous in a blatantly virile way. But more importantly, he’d struck a chord. He’d seemed to share her same inner drive for justice, the same determination to fight for what he believed in—or so she’d thought.

Even so, she’d tried to resist him. She’d done some murky things over the years in her efforts to solve a case, but falling for a criminal was something else. It was wrong. Taboo. It violated every moral scruple she possessed.

And yet, Andrew Moore had tunneled through all her defenses. She’d gradually come to trust him—as nauseating as that now seemed.

“I liked his story,” she corrected.

“His story. Right.” Moretti shot her a knowing look. “And what was that?”

“You already know it. There’s no point—”

“The story, Lara. That was the deal.” The barked command stopped her cold.

Stifling a spurt of resentment, she managed to nod. Her dignity didn’t matter. She had too much riding on this meeting to end it now, no matter how much her confession galled.

“His childhood was a lot like mine,” she said. “We both grew up in New York. Both our fathers were blue collar. Mine was a cop, and his worked for the city. And both our mothers died when we were young.” His to an accident, hers murdered. But the loss had shaped them both.

“He lost his brother in a house fire.” She had a half sister she’d rarely seen. “He went into the army after high school. I went to college and joined the FBI.” Both had been searching for a purpose to give meaning to their fractured lives.

“You didn’t find the similarities coincidental?” Moretti asked.

“Maybe at first. But his story checked out. The Bureau verified all the facts. He’d even been wounded in Afghanistan like he’d said.”

“A war hero. How patriotic.”

Lara ignored the snide remark. “The war disillusioned him.” Or so he’d claimed. “After he got out, he floundered for a while, drifting from job to job, mostly working as a mercenary. But he said he’d had a buddy in the war, a friend who’d died, and he’d made him a promise to look out for his younger sister when he got back. But by the time he looked her up, it was too late. She’d gotten involved in drugs and sold to your syndicate.” And trafficked as a sex slave, experiencing the most heinous acts of depravity.

She paused to catch her breath, her revulsion for the man opposite the partition making her want to retch. How could anyone inflict anything that despicable on another human being?

“He said he felt responsible,” she continued, struggling to keep the emotion from her voice. “He thought if he’d looked for her sooner, maybe he could have seen the direction she was heading and kept her safe. So he vowed to track her down. He started running guns for the syndicate, then worked his way up the ranks to broker. He figured the higher up he went, the better chance he’d have to find her. He’d already made arms broker when we met.”

“Touching story.”

The story had touched her, damn him. She’d sympathized with Andrew Moore, a tortured ex-soldier struggling to honor his promise to his fallen comrade, no matter how long it took. She’d respected his desire for justice, his need to bring closure to his painful past. She’d believed him. She’d slowly begun to confide in him. And in the end, she’d fallen for him. Hard.

But what mortified her the most was how close she’d come to blowing her cover and revealing the truth about her job. She’d nearly confessed it to him so many times—that she was an FBI agent, that she was trying to bring down Moretti just like he was, and that she was on his side. Only the need to protect her fellow operatives had held her back.

Thank God for that.

“Who initiated the first...intimacy?” Moretti asked.

Her cheeks burned. She closed her eyes, fighting the collage of erotic images the thought evoked—even knowing what a fool she’d been. “We were in Englewood selling some guns. The deal went south. The buyer tried to cheat us, and we ended up in a shoot-out with his gang. We barely escaped. We made it to an abandoned warehouse and were waiting until it was safe to leave...and that’s when he kissed me.” A predictable enough reaction in the circumstances: life-threatening danger, adrenaline rocketing through their systems, the very human need to confirm that they’d survived.

But the brutal truth was that Andrew Moore had compelled her from the start with his dark, hypnotic eyes, that sensual mouth in his gorgeous face. That raw strength and masculinity that hid a tender heart.

And when he’d kissed her... She shivered at the memory. It had been fiery, molten, explosive. Like nothing she’d ever felt.

“Good memories?” Moretti taunted.

Lara snapped open her eyes. She met Moretti’s smirk, and a tsunami of shame flooded through her—exactly as she knew he’d planned. She hated how he sat there gloating, hated the control he had over her.

And she especially hated knowing how badly she’d erred. She’d done more than ignore the rules. She’d crossed a line so completely that her judgment had been impaired. She’d disobeyed every FBI mandate, broken her own ironclad moral code. And she’d gone from doing what was necessary to crack the case to falling in love with Andrew Moore.

“No,” she said evenly, meeting his gaze dead-on. “What I have are regrets. Andrew Moore was a huge mistake.” The worst one she’d ever made. And she’d paid for it—physically, mentally, emotionally—which was exactly what she deserved. But now others were paying, too.

And it was up to her to make it stop.

“A mistake,” Moretti mused. “Interesting choice of words.”

Her belly tensed. Wary now, she studied his face, wondering what diabolical plot he was hatching behind that inscrutable facade. But that was exactly what he wanted—to make her worry and wait. And she’d be damned if she’d let him gain the upper hand.

“I’ve told you what you want to know,” she said. “Now it’s your turn. Who kidnapped Victoria’s daughter?”

He didn’t answer, and she leaned forward, her face inches from the glass. “Come on, Moretti. You owe me answers. Who kidnapped Anna? Who ordered those hits on Dunst and Nadia Green? What about Olivia Conner and the others? Who hired the sniper and murdered them?”

And the baby? she wanted to scream. Did you send those photos? The rattle? Do you know who and where she is?

But she clamped her lips together, knowing better than to tip her hand. She couldn’t reveal the baby’s existence on the off chance that he didn’t know.

One dark brow arched. “That’s a lot of questions.”

“And I’m waiting for a lot of answers. Did you order those hits or not?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it was the Black Stamp Serial Killer? I read about him in the newspaper.”

Anger erupted inside her, a furious blaze of resentment that took every ounce of strength she had to control. Damn him. He’d played her. He’d never had any intention of answering her questions. This interview had been a sham!

Moretti’s grin widened, laughter dancing in his dark eyes. “I like the way this is working out, though, that you’re the one being destroyed now—after all you’ve done to ruin me.”

“Ruin you?” She scoffed at that. “Because we took apart your syndicate?” If she knew Moretti, he probably still had millions of dollars squirreled away.

His eyes flashed. He shifted forward, his sudden show of temper causing her to flinch. “You took away my freedom. And you’ll pay for that, Lara, I promise—assuming you’re still around to see the grand finale.”

Grand finale? She swallowed hard, his veiled threat shaking her more than she cared to let on. But she couldn’t let him intimidate her. Her team was depending on her for answers. She couldn’t leave without some clues.

“You helped me the other day,” she reminded him. “You warned me about Victoria’s daughter, that she’d be targeted next.”

“Did I?” Suddenly sounding bored, he motioned to the guards, signaling that he wanted to leave. “If so, it didn’t do you any good. The FBI still screwed up. Pretty nice deal for the kidnappers, though. They collected a million bucks.”

A guard stepped forward and unlocked his handcuffs. Moretti began to rise, and her desperation surged. “Come on, Moretti. We had a deal. I told you my story. Now you need to do your part.”

He came to a halt, his gaze arcing back to hers. And once again, his beauty struck her, his sheer masculinity making her heart race, despite the abject depravity that lurked behind those potent eyes. “You’re right. I do owe you something. And you’ll get it. You can bet on that.”

He paused, letting those ominous words sink in. “In the meantime, how’s this for a clue? There’s no place like home.” He laughed, the low sound strafing her nerves even after he hung up the phone. Seconds later, he exited the room.

Lara stayed in her seat, her pulse suddenly chaotic, her thoughts in disarray. Home. What did he mean by that? Was he talking about the Bureau? The baby? The little girl’s family? Was he going to target them next?

She slowly got to her feet, knowing she’d been a fool. Moretti had told her nothing. This visit had been a waste of time. While she’d humiliated herself telling him stories, the killer was out there, drawing closer to his next victim.

And she had no idea when he would strike.

Chapter Two

“There’s no place like home? What is that supposed to mean?” Victoria Russo demanded as she paced across the conference room at the Bureau’s headquarters, her ash-colored bob swinging furiously with every step. “Who does he think you are? Dorothy with the ruby slippers? There’s no place like home. Jesus. What kind of ridiculous clue is that?”

“Good question.” One Lara sure as hell couldn’t answer. One she’d spent the entire drive back from the prison trying to figure out. She knocked back a slug of coffee, her head throbbing with a vengeance, her mounting frustration making her want to shriek. The clue could mean nothing—or something essential. It could be the key they needed to keep Moretti from claiming another victim, or yet another of his sadistic games. There was simply no way to tell.

What if he targeted that baby? That thought kept circling through her mind like a vulture, haunting her for the past few hours. But no matter how much the possibility scared her, she couldn’t let it freak her out. Moretti wanted her to panic. He wanted to keep her off balance and cause her to fall apart. She’d be playing right into his hands, ceding him the control he thrived on.

And there wasn’t a chance in hell she would let him win.

She downed another big swallow of coffee and scanned the team assembled around the conference room table, waiting for Victoria’s daughter to appear. They’d arrived for the post-kidnapping debriefing at noon, anxious to get a handle on this frustrating case. Because, frankly, it was beginning to take its toll. They all looked exhausted, their faces tense, their expressions reflecting the same myriad of emotions she felt—anger, confusion and downright fear.

“He can’t possibly mean my family,” Lara added, returning her mind to Moretti’s riddle. “Both my parents are dead.”

“Maybe by home he means your apartment, someone who lives in your building,” Cass suggested from across the table. Their tech guru sat with her back to the windows, the sunshine sparking highlights in her red hair. She looked unusually haggard, her face pale with fatigue, her oversized purple glasses not quite hiding the dark circles underscoring her eyes. Lara’s heart tugged in sympathy. She knew how difficult this case was for Cass. Every new victim had to remind her of her sister’s death at this monster’s hands.

And it was all Lara’s fault. Like it or not, the killer was choosing his victims because of her.

And somehow she had to make him stop.

“He might mean that,” Lara agreed. She stifled a sigh, hating that she didn’t know. These unanswered questions were driving her insane. She despised this feeling of failing, of always being a step behind while Moretti toyed with her and pulled the strings.

That was his goal—to twist the knife in deeper. To play with her and prolong the torture until whatever grand finale he had planned.

“Or maybe he means the Bureau,” Mei said. “You spend enough time working for it to qualify as home.”

“That’s true.” She smiled at Mei, a sharp, dedicated agent Lara had come to consider a friend. They put in the same ungodly hours and shared the same no-holds-barred mentality when it came to fighting crime.

“But if that’s the case, which office?” Lara continued, a note of frustration seeping into her voice. “Here? The one in D.C.? And how many people is he going to target? One? A dozen? Will he use a sniper again? Order another kidnapping—or do something totally different this time?”

“You’re sure he didn’t give you any other clues?” her partner, Nick Delano, asked. He sat directly across from her at the table with his strong arms crossed, his shrewd gaze on hers. And she had the distinct impression that he knew she was keeping secrets, that there was more going on than she’d revealed.

“No, nothing. He just said he was glad that I was suffering.”

“Sick bastard,” Mei murmured.

“No kidding.” She took another gulp of coffee, hoping Nick would leave it at that.

But her partner was too good an agent—suspicious as hell and tenacious. And after the time they’d spent together, he was beginning to know her too well.

He leaned toward her from across the table, skepticism etched on his handsome face. “I don’t buy it. He used the word home. That’s got to mean something else, something a lot more personal than—”

A knock on the conference room door cut him off. Lara eased out her breath, grateful for the reprieve. She hated deceiving her team. She wished she could confess what had her so badly shaken and enlist their help. God knew, she could use every bit of input she could get. Moretti was a formidable enough enemy without hiding information that might yield new clues.

And she liked Nick. A lot. She trusted him and respected his opinion, despite that aura of danger that both unnerved her and turned her on. But that baby’s safety depended on keeping her existence secret. She couldn’t reveal that story to anyone, no matter how desperately she wanted to come clean. Only Victoria knew the truth.

“Anna’s here, so listen up.” Victoria paused with her hand on the doorknob, waiting until everyone looked her way. “We’re going to keep this brief. My daughter’s tough, but she’s been through quite an ordeal. She’ll make a statement, answer a few questions, and then she’s going back home to rest. Got it?”

Lara added her assent to the murmurs rising around the table as Victoria pulled open the door. Her daughter stepped inside, carrying a sheath of papers, and gave the team a tremulous smile. Her face was devoid of makeup, her eye a sickening blackish-purple, her long blond hair scraped back in a haphazard ponytail that made her look younger than her nineteen years. She wore tattered jeans and sneakers, and an oversized sweatshirt that added to her vulnerable look.

Victoria ushered her to a seat, then handed the papers to Nick. “Here are the sketches of the kidnappers the artist made. Take a look, see if either of these people looks familiar.”

Lara took a copy from the pile and passed the rest to Mei. The kidnappers were Caucasians in their twenties. Neither looked remarkable in any way. They both had mundane features. They both wore dark glasses that covered their eyes. The man had so much facial hair Lara knew he had to be wearing a disguise. In fact, the pictures strongly resembled the sketches made from the other students’ descriptions—and were too generic to do any good. Her hopes for a break in this case began to fade.

“Anyone know them?”

No one answered. Victoria tossed her copy on the table and sighed. “It’s not much to go on, I know. We’ll put them in the system and see if there are any hits.” But the odds were against it, as they all knew.

Victoria turned to her daughter and gave her a nod. “Whenever you’re ready, Anna. Just start at the beginning and tell us what you remember.”

“Okay.” The young woman nibbled her lip, looking more shaken now that the ordeal was over and the reality of the danger had settled in. “They came into my philosophy class about halfway through the lecture. They flashed their IDs, said they were FBI and needed to talk to me. I thought you’d sent them.” She shot her mother an apologetic look. “I should have called you and checked.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Victoria said. “None of this was your fault.”

No, it was hers. And everyone knew it. Lara fought back a wave of guilt.

“They took me to their SUV. It was black. When I got inside, they blindfolded me. There was someone in the seat behind me with a gun.” Her face paled even more. “I didn’t see him when I got in. I’m sorry. I should have been paying attention, but I thought they were taking me to a safe house like they said.”

“You did fine,” Victoria said. “You didn’t have any reason to suspect they were kidnapping you. And no one expects you to have seen everything. Just tell us what you remember. Sometimes the smallest things can help.”

Anna nodded and clasped her hands. “The two who got me out of class both had dark hair. The man had a beard and mustache, like in the picture. They kept their glasses on, so I never saw their eyes. But they didn’t look too old, maybe a few years older than I am, twenties, maybe thirty, tops. The woman was about my height, five-five. The man was a little taller, but not much. Maybe five-nine or-ten.”

“Did they have accents?” Mei asked. “Could you tell where they were from?”

“The man had a Jersey accent. It was really strong. But I don’t think the woman was from around here.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. She just sounded different, kind of like my friend Mary.” She looked at her mother. “You know, the one from Detroit? And she called soda pop.”

“So she’s probably Midwestern,” Lara said. Which didn’t help them much.

“What about the license plates on the SUV?” Victoria asked.

“I didn’t see them.”

“Any idea where they took you?”

“No, I couldn’t see.”

Nick leaned across the table toward her, his gaze intense. “How about the car ride? Could you tell how long you were in the SUV before you stopped? Or how long it took you to get to Central Park last night when they dropped you off?”

“Maybe half an hour? Maybe a little longer... I couldn’t really tell. It’s weird how when you’re blindfolded you can’t judge the time. And when they pulled that gun on me, my mind went blank. I started hyperventilating...”

“What about noises?” Nick persisted. “Did you hear anything unusual on the way?”

“Not really. Just sirens and horns, jackhammers, that sort of thing. Typical city sounds.”

“Did you go through a tunnel or over a bridge, anything that would have given the tires a different sound?”

She shot him a helpless look. “I don’t think so. But I don’t really know. I’m sorry. I was just so scared...”

“Don’t be,” Nick said, just as Victoria looked about to intervene. “It isn’t easy to stay calm in a situation like that. You did fine.”

She’d done more than fine, Lara thought, her respect for the young woman rising. Given her ordeal, she’d emerged in remarkably good shape. “Any idea where they kept you?” she asked.

“Not the location, no. But it was in an alcove studio apartment, just one small room and a bathroom. I figured it had been vacant for a while because the air seemed stale. You know how empty houses get? Maybe it was condemned. The wood floor was kind of slanted, and the balcony was boarded up. And the furniture was awful, really old and ugly. The sofa was an orange-and-brown plaid. And the kitchen was harvest gold.”

“How about windows?” her mother asked. “Could you see outside?”

“There was a small one in the bathroom, but it faced another building. I tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. It must have been nailed or painted shut. That’s how I got the black eye. They caught me trying to open it. They punched me as a warning so I wouldn’t try to escape again.”

“They’ll pay for that,” Victoria promised, and Anna shot her a grateful look.

“What floor were you on?” Cass asked.

“The third, I think. I tried to count the stairs when we were going up, but I lost track because they were holding on to my arms so tight.”

“Did you see anyone else while you were there?”

“No, just those same two people. They brought me food a couple times a day, take-out stuff like pizza and subs. Except for that woman at the end.”

“What woman?” Victoria asked.

“Last night, when we were leaving. We were in the hall. They’d blindfolded me again, so I couldn’t see. But I knew there was another woman there because I heard her speak.”

“What did she say?” Lara asked, her hopes ticking up again. She realized it was unlikely, but they needed some sort of break in this puzzling case.

“I don’t know. We’d started toward the stairs. The man was holding on to my arm. And then someone bumped into me, the woman, I think. The man got nasty. He yelled at her to watch out. And then she said something back.”

“What?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know. It sounded like chew... Doy-chew. Or doy-um-chew. But that doesn’t make any sense.”

Mei sat up straight. “Sure it does. That’s Cantonese. It means I’m sorry, or excuse me.”

Victoria frowned at that. “Your abductors weren’t Chinese, were they?”

“No, they were definitely Caucasian.”

“But that woman who bumped you was.” Mei sounded excited now. “That could help a lot.”

Nick didn’t look convinced. “I don’t see how. There are tons of Chinese people in New York.”

“Still...” Victoria’s eyes turned thoughtful now. “Did you hear anything else?”

“Not really, just that music every night.”

“What music?”

Anna wrinkled her nose. “Old stuff. Your kind of music, actually, like Journey and Survivor. It was coming from below me. It was muffled, but I got the impression I was over a bar. They played the same songs every night...sometimes several times a night. “Eye of the Tiger.”

“Don’t Stop Believin’.” And Michael Jackson. They played him endlessly. I got so sick of “Beat It,” I wanted to hurl.”

Mei’s entire face lit up. “It was probably a karaoke bar. There are lots of them in Chinatown. There’s one, Minnie’s, out by the courthouse, that specializes in 80’s songs. I’ll bet that’s where it was.”

“It’s not much of a lead,” Victoria said. “But it’s definitely worth checking out. You want to do that, Mei, since you seem to know the place?”

“Sure.”

“Good.” Victoria glanced at her daughter, who was stifling a yawn. “Let’s leave it there for now. Anna needs to rest. If she thinks of anything else, I’ll let you know.” She turned to her daughter. “Wait for me in the hall, okay? I’ll walk you out.”

“Okay. I wish I could be more help...”

“You did great,” Lara told her. “Seriously. Every little bit helps. And don’t worry. I promise we’re going to catch these guys.” They had to—because, despite the brave front they’d put on for Anna, they all knew they’d dodged a bullet this time. They’d been damned lucky that she’d survived.

Victoria waited until the door closed, then turned to face them, her tight-lipped expression reflecting Lara’s thoughts. “All right, people. We don’t have time to waste here. What’s our plan?”

Xander stirred. “I’ll check in with the guys investigating Olivia Conner’s death. Maybe they’ve found something else by now.”

“All right.”

“I’m still working on that ransom note,” Cass said. “I’m also trying to trace those anonymous texts.”

“Good. Lara? How about you and Nick?”

Lara looked across the table at her partner, unable to miss the suspicion still lingering in his brown eyes. And she knew his interrogation about the clue would resume the minute he got her alone. “I think we should focus on the sniper and see if we can get some leads.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Nick said, turning his gaze to their boss. “There can’t be that many snipers around, not of that caliber. His shots have been impossible, and he hasn’t missed. I wonder if he was in the military. Most of our SWAT team snipers were.”

“That’s a good thought,” Victoria agreed. “Cass, you can look up ex-military snipers. Xander can help you when he has time. They should have that in a database somewhere. Lara, talk over your plan with Nick and let me know what you decide to do.”

“All right.”

“Ty, you’ll go with Mei to Chinatown.”

“I’d be better off alone,” Mei argued. “Some of those people won’t talk to anyone who’s not Chinese.”

“Tough. We don’t know who you might find around there. Until we know what Moretti’s threat means, I don’t want anyone taking chances. Make sure you carry your weapons. Stick to public places as much as you can. Situational awareness, people. We can’t let him catch us off guard.” She made eye contact with every team member, making sure they understood. “Another thing. I want you all to check in every few hours. Cass can field the calls. We need to know everyone’s whereabouts at all times.”

“Got it.” Cass picked up her tablet and started pecking out notes.

“I’ll send out a memo to everyone at all our bureaus to take extra precautions,” Victoria added. “We can’t minimize the danger on this.” She tapped her papers on the table and rose. “All right. Get to work, everyone. Let’s nail this bastard before he hurts anyone else.” Moving briskly, she left the room.

The rest of the team quickly followed. Lara stayed in her seat, her belly tensing as she waited to talk to Nick.

The door clicked shut. Silence enveloped the room. He instantly shifted toward her, his eyes drilling into hers.

“All right,” he said, the roughness in his voice indicating he’d had enough. “Let’s cut the bullshit. What the hell is really going on?”

Chapter Three

“What do you mean?” Lara asked him, trying to sound offhand.

“Come on, Lara. Knock it off. You must know what Moretti means. There’s no place like home? That sounds pretty damned personal to me.”

“I don’t know. I don’t,” she added when he opened his mouth to argue.

“Bullshit. You know this guy. You got near him when you took him down. You must have some kind of clue.”

“Well, I don’t.” Or at least not one that she could divulge. “I’ve been trying to figure it out, and I’m just as confused as you are. I really don’t know what he means.”

Nick didn’t answer, his silence more condemning than any words. But she needed to maintain this deception. She didn’t have any choice. Unfortunately for her, Nick was too astute. Even after the short time they’d spent working together, he could tell when she hadn’t come clean.

“You know you can trust me,” he finally said.

“I know.”

He leaned forward again, his eyes still probing hers. “Lara, whatever you’re hiding—”

“I’m not hiding anything,” she said, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. “I’ve told you everything I can. I don’t know anything else that would help us solve this case. Besides,” she added, praying he’d let the subject drop, “we don’t even know for sure if Moretti’s the one behind all this. I mean, we’re ninety-nine percent sure he is. Nothing else makes any sense. He gave us that clue about Anna, and he has the reach to pull this off.”

As well as the motive. But she couldn’t tell Nick that. She just wished that he’d take her word for it. The rest of the team accepted the logical story—that Moretti was a twisted bastard, bent on retaliation for her role in bringing down his syndicate. Only Nick sensed that his reason went deeper—far deeper, to her everlasting remorse.

“Either way, we need to find that sniper,” she continued. “And we don’t have time to waste. So how do you want to tackle this?”

Nick’s penetrating gaze didn’t waver. He sat back and crossed his arms, and she knew he didn’t want to let this go. But at the moment, they had something more pressing to worry about—trying to find that sniper before another innocent person got killed.

He finally seemed to relent. “All right. Let’s go over what we have.”

“It isn’t much,” Lara admitted. “None of the witnesses in the shootings saw him. We’re still waiting for the ballistics report to come back, so we don’t have any clues there. The only thing we know for sure is that he’s good.”

“Exactly. He’s not your typical hired gun. His MO is different, for one thing. Most killers do their work up close. Even the amateurs—the ones some SOB pays to knock off an unwanted spouse—usually stalk their victim and wait until they get him alone. They don’t do it in public or from a distance like this guy does.”

“So, he’s a pro.”

“More than that, he’s smart, focused, disciplined. He can get into his bubble and stay detached. He pays attention to detail and makes his shots precise. And he isn’t likely to make a mistake.”

Lara swallowed hard, her eyes settling on Nick’s right biceps where he’d been shot. The sniper’s aim had been precise, all right. He’d injured Nick just badly enough to warn him, but without doing lasting harm.

“So, what do you suggest?”

“A guy this good...” Nick shook his head. “We’ll never catch him in the act. He knows how to hide. He knows how to avoid detection, even after the fact. But somebody has to know him—a friend, a relative or neighbor, other killers... He doesn’t live in a vacuum. Even in a city as big as this one, word of an assassin that skilled gets around.”

“But will anyone talk?” That was the question. Anything connected to Moretti struck terror into even the most hardened hearts. And those who did talk wound up dead.

“Eventually, yeah. We just need to find the right person. Someone out there knows what’s going on.”

Sure. Moretti. She bit back another sigh. “So, we need to do some legwork.”

“Right. I’ve got some informants we can ask. But, Lara...” He waited until she met his eyes. “You heard the boss. We’ve got to be careful. This guy’s patient. He blends in to avoid detection. He studies his enemies and knows how to exploit their weaknesses.”

“By enemies, you mean me.”

“I mean us. We’re all his enemies now. So if there’s anything you need to tell me...”

“I’ve already told you everything I can.”

“I hope to hell you’re right. Because when he gets tired of toying with us...” His grim expression caused a chill to lodge deep in her gut. “He won’t hesitate to go for the kill.”

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