by Lisa Regan
“I work better alone, sir,” she replied instead; she could sense the air vibrating with the electricity of Pearson’s irritation. “I can’t manage his bruised ego and hunt for a serial killer at the same time. Mosley could already be dead by now.”
She heard him mumbling an oath under his breath.
“All right, you have twenty-four hours,” he replied in a cold, menacing tone. “I’ll manage Patto’s rightfully bruised ego, because I just love cleaning up your messes, Winnett. It’s what I live for.”
He ended the call without warning, the modern equivalent of a slammed phone receiver.
She breathed, wondering if she would have a job after the case was over. She hoped so; that was everything she had. She was beginning to sense she was approaching the end of the line with Pearson at an accelerated rate.
After she’d caught the Word Killer, she’d play things by the book for a year, she promised herself. Do whatever Pearson wanted, however Pearson wanted it, and get back into his good graces.
She started driving toward the freeway while calling Donovan.
“Hey, D,” she said the moment the analyst took the call. “I need the location of Elias Mosley and a way to get to him, pronto.”
“The actor?” Donovan reacted. “He’s, like, one of the top paid actors of last year. How exactly would you like me to do that? He could be anywhere; shooting an action scene in Hollywood, flying on his personal jet, or cruising the Atlantic in that yacht of his.”
“Track his phone, his credit card, whatever it takes. Get Patto to show up there, pronto. We need to get to Mosley before the Word Killer does.”
8
She expected many things, but not the magnetism of Elias Mosley’s real-life persona. He was charismatic; if the word had a superlative, it would spell out Mosley’s name. She could easily understand how a young woman like Earlene could fall head over heels for him, despite the fact they were worlds apart. He was an actor, while she’d served as one of the youngest female first officers on a Boeing 737 aircraft. She didn’t fly for one of the commercial airlines; for a reason that would probably remain unexplained now that she was gone, instead she chose to pilot for one of the major freight couriers.
Tess waited in a stunning living room in the actor’s Palm Beach residence, feeling a little intimidated, an unfamiliar state of mind for the rather calloused FBI agent. She paced slowly along the walls, taking in the display of personal photographs, framed and hung tastefully in clusters by topic. There was Mosley, accepting his Oscar last year, then radiating at the after-party, Earlene at his side. Then, the two of them on a vacation around the world, photographed against a backdrop of recognizable landmarks, such as the Pyramids, the Great Wall of China, the Eiffel Tower, and Mount Olympus.
“She always flew, but I drove,” she heard Mosley’s unmistakable voice behind her. She turned to face him. “Whenever we traveled together,” he clarified, “she’d be the one behind the throttle. I loved to watch her fly.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Mosley,” she said, showing her badge.
He gestured toward a bunch of large, white leather armchairs and she took a seat, sinking comfortably into the soft cushions.
“Tell me, Agent Winnett, what can I do for you?”
To her disbelief, the famous Elias Mosley, who’d been dubbed, “Sexiest Man Alive” only two years ago, was looking her over. His eyes lingered on certain parts of her body, then spent a good deal of time focused on her cleavage. When he finally looked straight at her, his lips were parted in a sexy, inviting smile.
Lust.
She remembered the word written on Earlene’s wall. It was lust. And it was his sin, not hers. Just like greed was Brehm’s sin.
She grinned. “You just answered one big question already, but I have more.”
“Shoot,” he replied, crossing his legs and widening his sexy smile just a little bit, as if he were on a TV show, answering questions from fans.
“How did you two meet?”
“At LAX,” he replied. “The Los Angeles airport, that is. We both flew in at the same time. Me in my measly Phenom 300, and she in her imposing 737, towering over me on the tarmac. I was instantly in awe of her.”
“Aren’t you married, Mr. Mosley?”
“Ah, you’re judging?”
“Not in the least. But someone killed your girlfriend, and it’s not unusual to question the relationships in a victim’s life.”
“She was killed by a serial killer, wasn’t she? My wife is not a serial killer, I promise you that.”
Tess groaned, but couldn’t hide a smile. The man’s charm was infectious. “So, yes, you’re married.”
“Uh-huh, I am.”
“Where does your wife live?”
“In our home in Santa Monica.”
“And you?”
“I followed Earlene here. Miami was her home, and I fell in love with everything Earlene, including Miami.”
“Please walk me through your last few days with Earlene. Where you went, any new people you met, places you visited. I’m looking for any possible place where the killer could’ve met her, you, or both.”
“As you know, she died on January twenty-eighth,” he said, his smile now gone, and his voice tinged with sadness. “Up until two days prior to that, she had a long-haul flight to Buenos Aires and back. She was gone for four days. Then, on the twenty-seventh, we went out boating, only the two of us. We took the small boat, to be by ourselves.”
“Where did you go?”
“Nowhere in particular. Just out there, toward the Bahamas, but we didn’t get close to its shores. We just enjoyed being together, the two of us and the sea, not seeing anyone, not talking to anyone. It was beautiful. If I’d only known it was our last time on the water together…” His voice trailed off, and his shoulders dropped as he leaned into his elbows, hiding his face in his hands.
“How about the next day? Do you recall anything?”
“Every minute,” he replied. “We slept in late and ate inside. I got sunburned the day before, while on our boat. We splashed in the pool and didn’t go out, not until dinner.”
“Where was that?” Tess asked with a frown, realizing that Agent Patto’s case notes didn’t include that information.
“We went to the Solstice. My assistant managed to get us a last-minute reservation.”
Of course, he did. Restaurants would pay to have a star of Mosley’s magnitude dine at one of their tables.
“How is that place? I’ve heard many things, but never went.”
“It’s amazing. Go, if you have the opportunity. It’s pricey but well worth it. Every type of menu is an experience. You can choose molecular gastronomy, American, exotic, Asian fusion, and you won’t regret a single bite.”
Tess smiled. “Maybe, one day, who knows.”
“I’d be happy to—”
Tess stopped his advances with an abrupt hand gesture. Was he devastated after the loss of his girlfriend? Or was he already back in the dating game only five weeks after her demise?
“Listen to me, Mr. Mosley, and listen carefully. The killer might be out to get you next.”
“What?”
Blood drained from his face. He stood abruptly and shoved his hands in his pockets, then went to the windows and looked outside, as if the killer would attack his home from the beach.
“Do you have your own security?”
“Yes, I do. I have two—”
“Call them, and make sure they’re with you at all times, even if you go to the bathroom. Tonight, when you sleep, they’ll be in the room with you. Is that clear?”
He wasn’t smiling anymore, and any trace of sexy playfulness had disappeared from his face.
“Yeah, it’s clear.”
“We’ll have an agent with you shortly, and you’ll be safe if you take minimum precautions until we get this man.”
She stated that firmly and without any hesitation, wondering when exactly she would get her hands on
the Word Killer.
“Don’t accept food or beverages from strangers; don’t go out; don’t accept deliveries, gifts, or anything.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Maybe I should go back to California.”
“We can’t protect you in California, Mr. Mosley. Those of us who know and understand the Word Killer are here in Florida.”
“Understood.”
She stood, getting ready to leave. Would he be safe if the killer missed the deadline? Or would the bastard come after him again and again, until he was dead, paying for his lust?
“Um, Agent Winnett, how exactly will he try to kill me?”
“I have no idea,” she replied candidly. “Anything is possible, from poison to sniper fire, but we won’t let anything happen to you, I’m sure of it.”
That last part was where her candor vanished. She had no idea how to protect Mosley, and she didn’t believe he’d be safe in protective custody. Someone with his disruptive potential as a celebrity was safest among the people who didn’t fall over themselves whenever he smiled.
She wasted a few more minutes until Agent Patto finally showed up. Patto glared at her without a word as he passed her on the doorstep, then went inside the mansion with an excited grin on his lips.
9
They had to pull Winston Whitfield out of a board meeting, and he was furious. His assistant apologized profusely, yet he scolded her, nevertheless, keeping his tone down, yet pouring enough acid in his voice to leave permanent marks.
He was the youngest of the victim’s boyfriends, at only thirty-six years old, the CEO of the family business, a three-generation industrial equipment conglomerate worth a couple of billion. Tess didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt; she examined the approaching man for signs of the avarice the Word Killer held against him, knowing for sure they were there to be found.
Probably. So far, she only saw immense, exasperating arrogance. Christi Conner seemed sweet, gentle, and charming, at least based on the videos of the socialite Tess had seen. What could Christi have seen in this tyrant? Whitfield seemed dark and dangerous, maybe in a Fifty Shades of Grey kind of way. Maybe. So far, Tess only saw his all-consuming anger on display; nothing else.
“Who are you again?” he asked before he reached her, the distance between them a justification for his elevated tone. “How dare you interrupt my board meeting?”
Unimpressed, Tess flashed her badge. “Unless you want to do this at headquarters, I suggest you answer a few questions.”
As expected, that statement poured some ice water over his flaming ego.
“What do you need?”
“A step-by-step account of your last few days with Christi. Places you went, people you met, that kind of thing.”
This aspect of the interview was missing from Agent Patto’s notes, although he’d interviewed Whitfield after Christi’s death. However, his notes stopped abruptly after the question regarding the man’s whereabouts at the time of the murder. Judging by his demeanor, that must’ve been the moment he lawyered up, and Patto must’ve deemed the issue not worth pursuing any further.
“She died six days ago,” he said. “The day before that was a Monday, and we both worked ’til late at night. She was covering a fashion show at the Penthouse at Riverside Wharf, and I was on a conference call with Tokyo. We met late at night at the house.”
“Hers? Or yours?”
“Mine,” he replied with a quick nose crinkle, as if to express his low opinion of the girl’s house. “We only spent time at my place.”
“Then?”
“The day she died, we celebrated. Her show coverage was a success; her videos were downloaded in the millions; and my deal with Tokyo was signed. That afternoon, we rode horses on the beach at Sunny Isles, then later we went out for a long dinner.”
“Where?”
“At that new fancy restaurant downtown, Solstice. We had—” He stopped midphrase, seemingly stunned. “Agent Winnett!”
Tess had turned away, rushing toward the elevators. Impatiently pressing the down button, she grinned. There was one point of commonality in the victims’ backgrounds after all, and that meant she had a lead.
Solstice.
10
Tess stormed out of the building, the call with Donovan already active. She had a lead, the restaurant where two of the victims had dined the last night of their lives. She wanted to call Danielle and confirm the pattern, but she made the call to Donovan a priority, to give him more time to zero in on the unsub.
“State your business,” he said instead of a greeting. “Glad you came clean with the boss, by the way,” he added before she could voice her request. “It felt as if I was about to be fired, and that’s not a good feeling.”
“I still feel like I’m about to get fired,” she reacted. “But maybe we can avoid that.”
“What do you need?”
“Two of the vics had dinner at Solstice the night they died. Let’s make sure the third one did too,” she said.
“Why wasn’t this information in the victimology background?”
“I’m not sure. At first glance, I’d say because the boyfriends paid for the dinner, and the initial background only included the victims’ financials. Hence, it never showed up.”
“Huh,” he said, too professional to make a comment about what appeared to be sloppy work by another analyst. “Maybe they’re still working on it.”
“Mandy Alvarado’s boyfriend, Allan Brehm, would’ve paid for their meals on January third. That is if I’m right.”
She stopped talking, while Donovan typed quickly, whistling his interpretation of a familiar song.
Walking swiftly, she arrived at her SUV and climbed behind the wheel, then switched the call over to the Ford’s media center.
“Bingo,” Donovan announced. “They were there, the credit card transaction time stamp is 7:48 p.m. I know what to do next. Backgrounds for everyone there, including parking valets and back room temps.”
“Yup, you got it.” She drove off toward the freeway, heading toward downtown Miami. She wanted to be at the restaurant’s door when Donovan gave her the name she was waiting for.
“We have a bit of a problem,” he announced. “There are seventy-eight employees at the Solstice. I knew the place was huge, but I didn’t expect this number.”
“Let’s narrow it down,” Tess replied. “First, exclude all female workers.”
“Already done. Thirty-seven men left.”
“Exclude anyone who’s not Caucasian.”
“That leaves us with twenty-one people.”
“Get rid of those who are under twenty-five and over forty.”
“Aren’t you taking a risk here? What if your profile is wrong, even just a little bit?”
Donovan didn’t know about Danielle, and he wasn’t going to find out. Tess trusted Danielle’s estimation of the man’s age.
“I’ll take my chances this time.”
“Okay, but it didn’t do much. We’re down to nineteen men.”
“Now, let’s bring the big guns. Cross-reference with the name Delilah. Could’ve been his mother, sister, wife, or daughter. I’m betting on mother.”
He typed for a while in a foreboding silence. “Nope, it doesn’t show up.”
Damn… she’d been sure about that piece of the profile.
“Okay,” she sighed, “let’s go old school. Anyone with a criminal record for sexual assault? Or any rap sheet, for that matter.”
“No such luck,” Donovan replied. “Apparently, Solstice screens their employees really well.”
“Then we’re down to one more thing we haven’t tried.”
“What?”
“Let’s find out which of these employees were on duty when the victims were there to dine: January third, January twenty-eighth, February twenty-fourth, and—”
“And?” Donovan asked. “I thought that’s all we had, three victims.”
She almost swore out loud. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’
s find out who was there and saw those girls at Solstice.”
“If you don’t want me to call the restaurant, it will take a while to find out. I’ll have to access the restaurant’s attendance system and get the info from there.”
Tess checked the time and frowned. It was almost six, and the Word Killer would soon go after Mosley unless he found another woman whose boyfriend reminded him of who knows what bastard in his life, and he tortured and killed her while calling her Delilah. She couldn’t risk that. She couldn’t risk another life.
“You know what? I have a better idea. How would you like to see some action? You always wanted to be a field agent, right?”
A moment of silence ensued, and Tess visualized him taking a gulp of fruit water from his enormous travel mug with its double-layered, transparent exterior.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Mosley invited me to Solstice for dinner. I could say yes and go there with him, but I’d rather go with you instead. How soon can you get dressed to the nines and get us a limo?”
“Whoa… You want to put yourself as bait? And use me as bait too? I don’t really know how I feel about this.”
“Don’t worry,” Tess laughed. “The male part of the duo always lives. At least for a while. You’ll be safe.”
“Can you think of doing this another way?”
“The only other way is to use Mosley. I could pose as his new girlfriend. Pearson would have my ass and my badge in a breakfast sandwich the moment he heard I put a civilian in harm’s way. So, no, not really. Can’t think of another way.”
“I need to get Pearson’s approval before we proceed,” Donovan said.
“Um, listen, this time, let’s go for apologizing later instead of asking first. We don’t have time to waste. The killer might’ve already met his new target.”
“He never stalks the victims? Never does homework?”
“Not that I’ve seen in the files. He seems impulsive, relying on violence and the surprise of a flash attack. My guess is he follows his target as she leaves the restaurant, then enters her house and kills her.”