But still he’d want to get rid of her, just in case. Now he could lay her death at the feet of the Red Carpet Killer, a fact so loaded with irony she could laugh, except it just wasn’t funny.
There had to be a way out of this; she just hadn’t figured it out yet.
“Are you sure no one knows we’re here?” Cara asked her sister.
“I’m sure,” Joellen said, dropping onto a chaise and propping up her feet like royalty. “First, the free world thinks you’re in Nantucket. Second, Leon and Bridget are a few miles away. Marissa and I will be the go-betweens, and God knows Mercedes has everything under control over in Nantucket. You can relax.”
“I don’t want to relax,” Cara said. She wanted to figure a way out of the mess she’d gotten into.
“I know,” Joellen said, lifting her foot to pick at her pedicure. “You want to celebrate. Too bad the Red Carpet Curse had to ruin all that fun for you.”
Cara glanced at her sister. Had she already had a drink, or maybe she just hadn’t slept enough on the flight here? “Yeah, too bad.”
“And too bad he has an excuse if you end up dead.”
Cara closed her eyes, sick of how Joellen kept harping on it. She knew, already. “He’d have to be pretty clever to make it look like an accident or not leave any evidence.”
Her sister snorted. “He is clever, Cara.”
“Then why hasn’t he killed me before this?” she shot back.
“Because the FBI wasn’t on his ass. You know damn well they’ve practically got him. He’s being smart now, but you are the wild card, sister mine.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You know as well as I do that I have no intention of ruining my career with that kind of scandal.”
“Then why don’t you just give him what he wants and get out of it?”
“Because I don’t trust him. He’d still want me dead.” A chill crawled down Cara’s arms despite the hoodie she’d been wearing since she’d gotten on the small private jet that had brought them… wherever they were. She backed away from the railing and perched on the other chair. “I’m scared, Jo.”
“You don’t have to be,” she said. “We’ve been through worse. And we were younger, and dumber.”
“Hey, where are you two?” Marissa’s voice reached the porch, the front door slamming behind her. “We’ve got a problem.”
“We’ve got a lot of them,” Joellen said bitterly.
“What is it, Marissa?”
“Leon just called. He’s monitoring all the media. The ‘bodyguards’ who are supposed to be with fake Cara?” Marissa put her hand on her hips, thoroughly disgusted. “FBI agents, every one of them. One of the reporters identified them.”
Joellen looked surprised and a little horrified, but Cara easily covered her reaction. Of course they already knew there was an FBI agent on the plane. That was why she’d come up with the whole escape plan and sent Vivi by herself.
But Marissa knew nothing about why they were really hiding, and Cara intended for it to stay that way. “As long as Vivi doesn’t shoot her mouth off about being a body double, it’s fine,” Cara said. “Frankly, I don’t care if the Secret Service is guarding her. If they don’t know her she can pull it off. And it looks legit to have protection.”
“You were very clear with her, Cara,” Joellen said. “Maybe I ought to hop over there and keep an eye on things.”
“I’ll go for you,” Marissa said quickly.
Cara shook her head. “I need you two here. And, call me crazy, but I trust that woman. At least I trust her not to break a nondisclosure that would ruin her life. And she totally fell for the secret listening devices, like I really had the ability to do something so James Bond–ish.”
Joellen grinned. “It was brilliant—I gotta give you props.”
Marissa came closer. “You look pale,” she said. “And you seem upset.”
Cara just eyed her, still unsure just how much of herself she could reveal to her awkward, but efficient, assistant.
“What she seems is in need of a cup of coffee.” Joellen leaped off the chaise and gave the assistant a nudge. “Do your job and make it, Marissa.”
Color rose in Marissa’s long face, all the way up to her hairline, then she turned, going back inside.
“Why are you so nasty to her?” Cara asked. “She’s just trying to be kind.”
“She’s got her hawk’s beak too deep in your business.”
Cara closed her eyes in disgust. As if Joellen had any room to make fun of other people’s looks.
“Don’t act like you’re a fucking saint, Cara. You’ve called her butt ugly, too.”
“I’ve also called her the best assistant I’ve ever had, so be nice to her. She knows a lot, too.”
“Not everything. Let’s send her away.”
“No, I need you all with me. You’re my support, my foundation.” My protection.
“I am,” Joellen corrected. “The rest of them are just hangers-on.”
Cara gave her a blank look, holding her thoughts at bay. The rest of them had jobs to do, but Joellen was the definition of a hanger-on. “I just want everyone near me, and not the pretend version of me.”
“Well, now she’s got the FBI near her,” Joellen said, heading inside. “So I hope you did the right thing by sending a total stranger into that situation.”
“Of course I did,” Cara said. “If he tries to kill her, he’ll get caught.”
“One of his hired guns will, you mean.”
She cringed. “Who might not cover for him. The FBI will have something on him, and that’s all they want.”
“But your name will be dragged into it.”
“But the media is obsessed with a Red Carpet Killer and I’ll just look very smart for having a decoy take the hit for me.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I hope so, too.”
When she was alone, Cara returned to the railing, looking out at the distinct blue gray of the Atlantic beyond the lower dunes. In the far distance, maybe a mile away, she thought she saw something glint, a split-second flash of light or glass. A camera? A gun scope?
Or her cursed imagination?
Could he have found her already? Or a Red Carpet Killer wannabe? She had that to worry about, too.
She peered again, seeing nothing but the edge of the world, sand, surf, and dune grass. No, she was fine.
Vivi Angelino, on the other hand, was a sitting duck.
“Just give it up, Cara,” he breathed into Vivi’s ear. “Just give it up, and you’ll live.”
He had her in a head lock, the solid, effortless grip of a man who knew exactly how to immobilize a victim. The pressure of his silencing hand, the threat of his heavy body, the wave of helpless vulnerability—and a cocktail of an old terror bubbled up, momentarily stealing her ability to think or fight or breathe.
“Tell me where it is and I’m gone, out the same way I got in, and everything is cool.”
His voice was accented, a weird mix of an Asian tone with guttural English.
She still didn’t move, all her options exploding in her head, too shocked to settle on one, too many questions to risk a fast, but dumb, move. The longer she stayed just like this, the longer she had to get those questions answered.
And for Lang to come up and kick the holy shit out of this guy.
“Come on, Cara. You know you can’t win this. The whole game changed when you got that fucking Oscar. You’re dead now. So just give it to me.”
Give what to him?
“What do you want?” she asked into his hand, praying that he didn’t realize it wasn’t Cara’s voice. Or this could be the last question she ever asked.
“You know what I want.”
Cara might; Vivi didn’t. With her head locked down, she couldn’t see him, but he couldn’t see her face.
“How did you get in here?”
He snorted softly. “Roman’s alleys.”
Roman Sallies?
He squeezed her. “Good thing, too, because the place is crawling with Feds.” He dug a knee into the back of her legs. “We think that’s a pretty ballsy move on your part.”
We?
“You just open the door and let them in, like you are a complete innocent.” He twisted her neck a little, jabbing the gun deeper at the same time. “Roman wants the fucking key, Cara.”
What key?
She closed her eyes, taking a slow breath, trying so hard to think through her options and not about that gun. If this guy knew Cara well enough, and it sounded like he did, then he’d know she was a body double the minute he got a good look at her face.
But he kept her head locked down, as if he didn’t want her to see him, either.
Where the hell was Lang?
Oh, shit, she’d locked the bathroom door! Then how had this guy gotten in? Had he been waiting for her?
Think, Vivi, think. Her gun. Her gun… it was deep in her bag, useless and far away.
“The key,” he insisted.
She had to buy enough time for Lang to get up here. But then what? What would this guy do? “Listen, I don’t—”
“Don’t even try to lie.” He jammed the gun. “Five seconds and you’re a victim of the Red Carpet Killer.”
“You’re not a serial killer.”
He grunted in her ear. “I fucking could be. Like Roman said, your little chess game changed when you got the gold.”
Chess game?
“Now you have four seconds, Cara!”
She squeezed her eyes at the prod of the gun barrel deep into her ribs. She knew all too well the pain of a gunshot in the gut, the horror of that moment of near death. This time she wouldn’t be so lucky.
If she screamed for help, she was dead. If she looked up at him, she was dead. If she moved, she was—
“Three!”
Very slowly, she lifted her head, keeping her eyes downcast until her face was directly in the mirror in front of both of them. She waited for his gasp, for the instant he realized she was not who he thought she was.
“Two!”
She met his eyes in the mirror. He didn’t flinch, didn’t react, not even a blink of surprise. He didn’t know she wasn’t Cara.
Emboldened by that, she tried to memorize his face, which was thick and puffy, definitely Asian, not more than thirty years old, shaved head, thick neck, and deadly looking.
“One second, Cara.” He dragged the gun up her back, the barrel warm on the flesh of her neck, over her ear, against her temple. It was a Glock 19, she noticed, and far too steady and comfortable in his chunky hand. Fear burned her skin and tightened her stomach.
“Don’t you see you’re in a no-win situation?” His body smashed against hers, pushing her hipbones against the marble counter, making her want to retch. “You don’t cooperate, you die. And then he gets what he wants anyway. So give me the fucking key and you can live.”
They both jerked at the hard rap on the suite door. “Vivi! It’s me.”
Lang! She sucked in a breath, braced for death, but her captor scowled.
“Vivi? Who the fuck is that?”
“Like you said, we’re crawling with Feds. You pull that trigger and you’re toast.”
He backed away, the first look of panic in his eyes. “You’re not Cara.”
“Vivi?” Lang knocked on the bedroom door. Would he walk into the suite? Come on, Colton Lang. Charge your way in like the alpha stud I know you are.
The man grabbed Vivi in an instant, pulling her deeper into the bathroom. He stabbed her side with the gun, wrapping a steel arm around her. Maybe he thought she was an FBI agent. Would he kill an FBI agent?
“Keep him out,” he ordered in a harsh whisper. “Or you’re dead.”
She heard the bedroom door open, soft steps on the floor. Come on, Lang.
“I should have known you wouldn’t stay put.” Lang tapped on the bathroom door. “You in there?”
The man clutched her tighter, the smell of sweat and fear emanating from him now.
“Yeah,” she answered in her weakest voice. Would Lang notice if she seemed out of character? Or would he think she was just trying to pretend to be Cara? Or, hell, maybe he’d just be a gentleman and give her privacy in the bathroom.
Please don’t be a gentleman. Not this time.
“I have your bag,” he said. “And I made a decision.”
She didn’t reply and the man gave her another harsh squeeze, standing behind her to use her as a human shield.
“Talk!” he ordered in a hot breath.
“Oh, okay.” She did her best to sound lifeless and disinterested. That had to be a major clue to Lang.
“You want to know what it is?”
What would she normally say and do? She’d kick that door open and say, Hells to the nine I do, Lang. What did you decide I should do? That’s what he expected, right?
“Whatever you want,” she said meekly. From behind her, the man intensified his grip, the gun so deep into her it practically cracked her rib. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Tell him to leave you alone,” he demanded, again in a voiceless whisper.
“Are you okay?” Lang asked.
Thank God he was perceptive. Now open the door, big guy, and be a hero.
But she’d locked the door.
“I’m fine,” she said, getting another brutal squeeze and a shake of the gun as if she might have forgotten it was sticking into her kidney. “I just want to be alone now.”
“Are you sick?” he asked.
“I’m just… you know…” What? Her mind went blank. No clever clues, no brilliant secret messages. “I’m… busy.”
The man put his lips right on her ear. “Get rid of him.”
“Just leave me alone, Lang. I don’t care what you decided. It doesn’t matter to me.”
No answer, just a long silence. Too long. He had to know something was wrong. She would never say that.
“All right,” he finally said, his voice as defeated as hers.
No! No, it is not all right, damn it.
“I’ll be downstairs. Come down when you’re ready and want to talk.”
How could he be so dense?
“Okay,” she said, sounding as lifeless and lethargic as she knew how. If that wasn’t a cry for help, then she didn’t know what was. Surely Lang wouldn’t think that was normal.
But why would he ever imagine that someone was in the bathroom holding her captive?
“Talk to you later, then,” he said, his footsteps definitely going the wrong way.
She wanted to scream but didn’t make a sound or movement as the bedroom door slammed shut.
“Who the fuck are you?” the man demanded, spinning her around and pointing the gun in her face.
“FBI,” she lied. “Who the fuck are you?”
He backed away, slowly, not dropping the gun. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit!” His beady eyes were on fire now as he circled her, getting closer to the door. Maybe he’d run. Now that he knew he had the wrong woman, maybe he’d—
The door exploded with a loud gunshot, kicked open from the other side. “Get down, Vivi!” Lang yelled.
Vivi instantly fell to her knees, diving for cover under the vanity.
“FBI! Drop your weapon!”
The man lowered his gun, just enough for the barrel to aim at Vivi on the floor.
“Drop it!” Lang ordered.
The assailant made a grunting sound and pulled the trigger. Vivi rolled deeper under the vanity, just missing a bullet that hit the floor inches away from her. Lang fired before the echo of the first shot died, hitting the man in the chest, but not before the guy got off one more wild shot, cracking the mirror over the Jacuzzi, a million shards raining into the tub and on the floor.
Vivi shrieked at the crash, watching the body drop a few feet from her, blood oozing from the bullet hole in his chest. His gun clunked on the marble floor right
before his body followed, and the room suddenly filled with the other FBI agents swarming in behind Lang.
Lang vaulted over the assailant, dropping down to his knees, reaching to Vivi. “Are you hit?”
She just shook her head, adrenaline coursing through her, making her quiver as she let him drag her up. “Lang…” She could barely talk. “He wanted something.”
“Yeah, you.” He pulled her into him, his face pale, his eyes more concerned than she’d ever seen him before. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure.” She closed her hands over his arms, squeezing with the wild pump of her heart. She tried to push him away so she could get to the man on the floor and find out what the hell he was talking about. “Is he dead?”
The female agent kneeled by the body, taking a pulse. “As a doornail,” she said dryly, then looked at Lang. “Nice save, Mr. Lang.”
“But now he can’t talk,” Vivi said, disappointment cascading with adrenaline in her veins. Now they’d never know what key he wanted and why he was willing to kill for it.
“She’s the one who did the nice work,” Lang said, easing Vivi up to a stand. “Very smart way to get me in here.” His eyes shone with admiration. And not the kind she saw when he was gaping at her in her underwear. A different kind of admiration. The kind that made a girl’s knees go weak. But that could just be the adrenaline rush.
Behind him, the two agents scurried, one calling the local police for first response, the woman already taking crime-scene pictures.
“I want to know how the hell he got in here,” Lang said. “Where is the security breach?”
“Do you know him, Ms. Ferrari?” the female agent asked, reminding Vivi that her true identity still hadn’t been revealed to the other agents. Points for Lang.
“I don’t know him,” Vivi said, looking up to Lang, her mind whirring. She had to tell him everything the man had said to her.
But he was already leading her around the body and out of the bathroom.
“Didn’t,” he corrected. “Past tense for that one. This is a crime-scene hot zone—let’s get you out of here.”
Outside of the bathroom he pulled her into his chest, his pounding heart surprising her as much as his mouth on her ear. “Good job, Vivi Poison Angelino,” he whispered, his breath so close and warm it was almost a kiss. “You brought in the Red Carpet Killer on day one.”
Face of Danger Page 9