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Lara had worked hard to keep up the barriers she’d erected when she’d lost her parents. Once her mother had died, she’d essentially lost both parents. Her father had withdrawn—whether from grief or guilt, maybe Lara would never know—and she’d felt abandoned. She’d discovered the best way to deal with those feelings was to wall off her heart from further abuse.
Why had she let Andrew Moore in? He was good at spinning a story and had pushed all her buttons.
She shook her head. Lara was grasping at excuses for getting played by Andrew Moore, but she’d played him just as surely as he’d done her. Did that mean he’d let down his guard, too? The arms commander had seemed as needy and lost as she’d felt.
Whatever Andrew Moore had seemed, Moretti was a different animal altogether...and no soul mate of hers.
Had he plotted and planned out this life of his at seventeen? Hard to believe, but facts didn’t lie. Why else had he and his twin hatched this scheme? Why else had they committed murder as teenagers? Because unless that body currently taking up residence in Mason Moretti’s grave had already been dead, that’s exactly what those two teens had done.
She dragged in a breath and shoved her hair back from her face, murmuring, “Just don’t shoot the messenger, Meghan.”
Lara climbed the stairs to Meghan’s place. She filled her lungs with the stale air from the building and straightened her spine. She knocked on the door, putting on a serious but compassionate face for the peephole.
She heard rustling on the other side of the door and then an expletive. Meghan wouldn’t be rolling out the red carpet for her sister, but at least she was home and would open the door.
Wouldn’t she?
She knocked again. “Meghan? I need to talk to you.”
“What makes you think I want to talk to you?”
“I know I’m the last person you want to see.” Lara leaned her forehead against the door. “Look, it’s important. You’re gonna want to hear this.”
“I doubt that.”
Metal scraped metal as Meghan slid three dead bolts. She swung open the door, keeping one hand on the doorknob and one against the doorjamb. “What?”
Lara’s gaze skimmed across Meghan’s slicked-back ponytail and fresh face, devoid of makeup. “You look nice.”
“Cut the crap.” Meghan’s hand slid from the doorjamb and landed on her curvy hip, a sliver of skin visible between the low-slung jeans and loose peasant blouse. “What do you want now?”
Lara pointed past her sister’s shoulder. “Can we talk inside?”
“Oh, yeah, because it’s so important.” But she swung open the door and stepped back. “And keep it down. My roommate’s sleeping.”
“Is she sick?” Lara took in the tiny living room with one sweeping glance.
“He’s a comedian. Has an improv show in the Village tonight—late.” Two pink spots flagged Meghan’s cheeks, and an accusatory gleam flashed from her wide eyes as if Lara had somehow tricked her into revealing more personal details about her life than she’d wanted to reveal.
Hang on, sister, because it’s about to get a lot more personal.
“I’ll keep my voice down.” Lara took a few hesitant steps into the room, but Meghan, her arms folded over her chest, made no move to follow her. No invitation to sit down. No offer of refreshment.
What did she expect? This was no social call, and Meghan knew it.
“Can we sit?” Without waiting for an answer, Lara sank to the flowered, thrift-shop sofa.
“Help yourself, sis. You always do—you and your mother.”
Lara closed her eyes for a second, her nostrils flaring. Meghan’s bitchy attitude just might make this conversation a little easier.
“You’re seeing someone—a tall blond who wears sunglasses and a baseball cap, sometimes a cowboy hat.”
Meghan’s jaw dropped. “You have got to be kidding me. Are you spying on me now?”
“What’s he calling himself, this man?” Lara clamped her hands on her bouncing knees.
“I’m not going to tell you shit. It’s none of your business.” Meghan’s chest rose and fell beneath her low-cut blouse, the bird wings tattoo beneath her collarbone taking flight.
“He’s dangerous, Meghan. Today we found out that he’s the twin brother of the guy we locked up, the trafficking kingpin, Moretti.”
“So?” Meghan’s jaw hardened, and her eyes glittered, giving her face a frozen quality, a stubborn quality. God, just like their father.
“So?” Lara struggled against the soft cushions of the sofa to sit forward. “Are you crazy? Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
She rolled her shoulders. “His brother’s in prison. Trevor is not.”
Lara thrust out her hand as if she could physically stop the words coming out of Meghan’s mouth. “Someone connected to this case lures me to the Hot Spot, knowing you work there, knowing we’re sisters.”
“Half.”
“Half sisters, and then the brother of the man we locked up starts hitting on you? Really? You’re okay with that?”
“Since he hit on me and not you, what’s the problem?”
“You have no idea what this Trevor’s brother is capable of. He’s a monster. And why did Trevor give you a false name?”
“Uh, duh, because his brother’s in prison.” Meghan winked. “We don’t have the same last name either.”
“You can’t be serious.” Lara jumped up and circled the small room. “Mason Moretti, because that’s lover boy’s real name, has an ulterior motive for dating you.”
“Why? Because it’s impossible for you to believe that someone could want me for myself?”
“Absolutely not. I’m sure you have a lot to offer any man, but not this one. He’s playing you, Meghan. For what purpose, I don’t know yet, probably to get at me.”
Laughing, Meghan shook her head, her ponytail waving back and forth. “That’s it. It always comes back to you.”
“No. This is about you.” Lara grabbed her sister’s arm, digging her fingers into her soft flesh. “Mason and Andrew Moretti are more than brothers. They’re twins, and they’ve been playing some kind of sick game for years. Do you know why we didn’t even know about Mason’s existence until now?”
“Because you’re a bunch of Keystone Kops?” Meghan jerked out of her grasp.
“Because—” Lara ground her back teeth “—Mason Moretti has supposedly been dead all these years. When the twins were seventeen, their house burned down. Andrew Moretti identified the dead body in the ruins as his twin brother, Mason.”
“Fascinating.” But Meghan’s lips, which had been twisted into a smirk, twitched, and her eyes widened.
“That means those two seventeen-year-olds not only plotted the disappearance of one brother, but they probably committed murder to supply a substitute body for Mason.”
“That’s all speculation on your part.” Meghan waved her hands in the air. “I’m not going out with Mason Moretti. I’m dating Trevor Black, and we’re falling in love.”
Meghan’s words socked her in the gut. Meghan had to be saying that just to needle her. She barely knew the man. In fact, she didn’t know him at all, since he’d been lying from the get-go.
Had she known Andrew Moore any better?
“Meghan, don’t be so stubborn. This isn’t about you and me. These men are vicious. They’re users. Trevor Black isn’t in love. He doesn’t give a shit about you. He planned his own death, committed murder, and who knows what other atrocities he’s perpetuated? Get out. Get out now while you still can.”
“No, you get out.” Meghan jabbed her finger at the front door. “Your mother came into my life, uninvited, had you and everything went to shit after that. I didn’t want her in my life then, and I sure as hell don’t want you in my life now.”
Lara huffed out a breath. Always the same. “How can you blame me for that?”
“I lost my father because of you and your mother. Don’t you get it?”
Lara closed her eyes and unclenched her jaw. “This isn’t about the past, Meghan. It’s about the here and now. I’m trying to protect you.”
“You’re trying to get information about Trevor. This has nothing to do with protecting me.” Meghan narrowed her hazel eyes.
“So give it to me. Tell me all about Trevor.”
“Get the hell out of my place and don’t come back.”
A man shuffled into the room from the back, his dark, curly hair sticking up in all directions. “What’s going on out here?”
Lara pointed past his shoulder. “Out. This is personal.”
Meghan snorted. “There is nothing personal between us. This is business, and you’re not getting into mine.”
Meghan’s roommate held up his hands and backed up, leaving her and Meghan glaring at each other.
Meghan called after him. “You don’t have to go anywhere, Felix. My half sister was just leaving.”
“We’re not letting this go.” Lara stalked to the front door. Hanging on to the doorjamb, she turned to face her sister. “This is no joke, Meghan. Your life is in danger.”
Meghan slammed the door on her warning.
Lara slumped against the wall. How could Meghan be so pigheaded? If anyone else had told Meghan what she’d just laid out for her about her new boyfriend, she’d tell Trevor Black to hit the road in no time.
Maybe she should’ve invited Nick along. He couldn’t have had any worse luck than she just had.
She slid into the car and tipped her head against the headrest. The one bright spot in this mess was that once Mason Moretti knew they’d made him, he wouldn’t be visiting Meghan anytime soon for fear of being picked up. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to see her on the sly—and Meghan seemed only too willing to oblige him.
In love? Did Meghan actually believe she loved this man and vice versa? He must be a charmer...just like his twin brother.
Lara’s phone buzzed, and she shoved her hand in her pocket to retrieve it. She checked the display and tapped it once. “Hey, Victoria.”
“Did you talk to your sister?”
“Like banging my head against a wall.”
“Did she admit to having a relationship with Mason?”
“It’s Trevor Black, thankyouverymuch, and not only did she admit to the relationship, she admitted to falling in love.”
Victoria sucked in a breath. “She’s old enough to know better. Do you think she’s just saying that to spite you?”
“Who knows? I think so. They haven’t been seeing each other for long. Nick and I will stake out the Hot Spot tonight. With any luck Mason will come out to play.”
“Luck’s been in short supply lately. Mason probably already knows we’re on to him.”
“Most likely, but it’s worth a try.” And she wouldn’t mind a few hours of quiet time with Nick in the van.
“Speaking of luck, I have Cass contacting all old neighbors of the Morettis. The daughter of one just contacted Cass. Her mother is in an assisted living facility in Queens and is willing to talk—at least give us what she remembers.”
“That’s great. Do you want me to take it?”
“Yes. The others are busy, and Ty’s still not one hundred percent.”
“It’s tough for all of us, but Ty will get there.” Lara pulled a piece of paper and a pen from her pocket. “Give me the woman’s name and the address of the assisted living place. I’ll take a Bureau car and head over there now. Is she expecting me?”
“Yes. I knew this was one interview you wouldn’t turn down, and you’d probably want to handle it on your own.”
Lara bit her lip as she scribbled on the sheet of paper to test the pen. Her boss couldn’t be more wrong. She didn’t need to be alone to plumb the depths of the Moretti riddle. The brothers were a pair of criminals who needed to be picked apart and brought down—nothing more, nothing less.
Victoria gave her the info, and Lara punched the address into her phone’s GPS. Forty-five minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot of the Briar Ridge Assisted Living Facility.
Her boots crunched the little dried berries that had fallen from the trees to the asphalt, and Lara sniffed the air. The trees that bordered the property and the autumn flowers that spilled from a front garden combined for a sweet, fresh scent.
She stepped through the front entrance into a lobby area. The blue-green color scheme and the wall fountain of running water created a soothing environment. Someone knew feng shui.
Lara nodded at the security guard and approached the front desk, staffed by a woman in green to color coordinate with the room. She looked up with a big smile that seemed totally genuine.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Mrs. O’Hara. Vivian O’Hara.”
The greeter’s eyebrow lifted. “Are you a relative?”
“Mrs. O’Hara’s daughter, Diane Teller, told us that her mother was interested in talking to us.” Lara flipped open her badge. “I’m Special Agent Lara Grant.”
“One minute, please.” She held up her index finger. “I’ll locate her.”
“Thanks.” Lara turned away from the desk to watch the rivulets of water running down the glass enclosure on the wall.
“Delilah, is Viv O’Hara in the TV room or by the pool?” The woman paused. “Tell her she has a visitor.”
“Agent Grant? Mrs. O’Hara’s in the TV room. It’s across the room and then a left turn.” She tapped a guest book with a pencil. “Would you please sign in?”
Lara printed her name on the next blank line in the guest book and scribbled her signature beside it.
Once she crossed the room, Lara could hear the TV, and she followed the sound. She poked her head into the room. Before she could take one step, a tall African-American woman stopped her.
