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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 (#ulink_64dc8215-cfb4-562a-ac3e-0d737c96ac28)
“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.”
