Tough Justice Series Box Set, Parts 1-8

by Carla Cassidy

  His body stiffened, and she mentally slapped herself, realizing how badly that came out. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Forget it. I’ll drive you home.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. It wasn’t all bad.” When he didn’t smile, she let out a sigh. “And you don’t have to drive me home. I’ve got my car.”

  “Then I’ll walk you down,” he said, the finality in his voice cutting off further protests. “Just give me a minute to get my shoes.”

  Good going, she chided herself as he left the room. Way to alienate your partner and make a total mess of your relationship.

  But maybe it was just as well. God knew, she could use some time alone to clear her head. Whatever this was between them had grown too hot, too fast. She needed to gain some perspective before she made any more boneheaded moves.

  Like having sex with Nick again.

  * * *

  Teams had a certain rhythm. Even though their group was new, theirs was usually upbeat and intense, sometimes contentious, but strong. Their varied personalities complemented each other, creating the synergy they needed to crack a perplexing case.

  But late the following morning as Lara scanned the group convened around the conference room table, she could feel that something was off. Anxiety permeated the room. The air had a brittle feel. Everyone seemed frustrated, preoccupied, abnormally subdued.

  As if they all realized that time was running out, and they still didn’t have a clue.

  The conference room door opened, and Victoria strode in. “All right, everyone,” she said as she took her seat. “I just got an update from the forensic team working that informant’s death.” She paused. “Unfortunately, it’s not good news. From the trajectory of the bullet, they think he was shooting from a building just up the street. They’re still searching, but this guy lives up to his name. He vanished without a trace. He hasn’t left any evidence that they can find. It’s as if he never existed.”

  “Except for the dead bodies he’s left behind,” Nick pointed out.

  “Right. Except for those.”

  “He’ll make a mistake,” Cass said, her optimism ringing false. “Nobody’s that good forever. Something always trips them up.”

  Their boss tipped her head toward Cass. “I’m counting on that. But in the meantime, we still don’t know what Moretti meant by home. And frankly, I’m not sure the informant’s death qualifies. I have to assume he’s planning something else.”

  Something that could affect them personally. Lara experienced a spurt of dread.

  “Mei, you want to bring us up to speed on the apartment, the one the kidnappers used?” Victoria asked.

  “Sure.” Sitting up straight, she flipped her long black hair over her shoulder, and Lara’s thoughts veered back to that text. She instantly shut them off. Damn Moretti! She refused to let him make her feel uncomfortable around her friends.

  “We found out that it’s owned by a corporation,” Mei said. “Solutions Enterprises. They own various properties in Manhattan, mostly in Chinatown. It’s a privately held company, owned by George Rubeck. From what we’ve learned, he’s a real scumbag. He’s been evicting his rent-regulated tenants. Seems he wants to tear down the building and build a luxury high-rise. Most of the tenants are elderly Chinese who’ve lived there for decades. The owner’s been taking them to court with frivolous lawsuits, or claiming they didn’t pay their rent. Last winter, he intentionally broke the boiler in the building to try to force them out. Luckily, one of the tenants has a son who’s a lawyer, and he was able to put a stop to that.”

  “Nice,” Nick murmured. “Does he drown puppies, too?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Like I said, he’s a real prince. He’s got several court cases against him. We’re checking to see if he has any connection to Moretti, but we haven’t found one yet.”

  Ty spoke up. “We also sent a team down to search for evidence and dust the apartment for prints.”

  “You’re sure it’s the right place?” Lara asked.

  Mei nodded. “It fits Anna’s description exactly, down to the harvest-gold linoleum and orange plaid sofa. It’s been empty for about a year.”

  “How about the residents of the other apartments?” Victoria asked. “Did you get anything from them?”

  “Not yet, but some weren’t home when we stopped by. We’re going back to talk to them later on.”

  “Good.” She turned to Xander. “Any luck with the military snipers?”

  “We’ve got some names. Right now we’re focusing on the army and the guys who served in Afghanistan, since Nick’s informant mentioned that. We’re tracking them down to see who we can eliminate, but nothing interesting has popped up so far.”

  “I’m checking out a case from a couple of years ago,” Nick said, and Lara wondered if he was avoiding her. Every time she glanced at him, he looked away. “It happened here in New York. A sniper killed a witness in a drug smuggling case. My father was the lead attorney for the defense.”

  “Interesting,” Victoria said. “You think it’s connected to The Ghost?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Well, let us know what you find out.” She turned to Cass. “Anything on the ransom note?”

  “Not yet. Nothing on the latest text message, either. But I’m still checking it out.”

  At the mention of the text, a blush washed up Mei’s face. “You know that text isn’t true. Nick and I...we never—”

  “I know,” Victoria said. “Nick told me.”

  “That text was strange,” Xander said. “Why would anyone send a message like that?”

  “I think Moretti’s trying to divide the team,” Lara answered. “You know, create some internal discord, so we won’t work together so well.”

  “By spreading gossip? I don’t buy it. It doesn’t seem in character for him.”

  “He loves to play games,” Lara argued. “He likes messing with people’s heads. That’s why he’s so hard to pin down. Which leads me to another point. I’ve been wondering. How is Moretti pulling it off? I mean, all these things—the kidnapping, the texts, ordering all these murders—they take coordination, communication. How’s he doing that from his jail cell, especially in a maximum security prison where he doesn’t have many privileges?”

  “Good question,” Victoria said.

  “If we can figure that out, maybe we’ll find the missing link.” God knew, they needed some way to crack this case.

  Victoria nodded. “Xander, I want you to get on that. Nick can help. Study the surveillance tapes from the prison. Find out who he talks to and when he talks to them. Check his mail—who he writes to and who writes to him. Lara, you and Cass can check on the prison itself—their delivery schedule, the rotation of the guards. Find out who comes and goes from that place.”

  “Got it,” she said.

  “Ty and Mei, you keep working on the apartment in Chinatown. Keep canvassing the area, see if anyone heard or saw anything. Maybe someone spotted that black SUV. Check security footage from all the surrounding shops, too. See if they picked up anything. Even a partial tag number would help. Catching those kidnappers is our top priority.”

  She stood. “Let’s get back to work. And don’t forget to keep checking in. Lara, could I have a word?”

  “Sure.” Curious, Lara gathered her things.

  Victoria lowered her voice when she drew near. “The forensics came back on the second package. It’s a bust. Nothing other than the baby’s prints.”

  Lara sighed. “I guess we expected that.” Trying not to feel frustrated, she joined Xander and Nick by the door.

  Cass came over a moment later. “I’m going to stay here,” she said. “I can research the prison on the internet and make some calls.”

  Xander gave her a nod. “All right. Nick and I’ll drive out to Long Island and talk to the people there. Lara?”

  “I’ll be right behind you. I want to check something in those case files first.”

 
“Sounds good.” Xander turned to Nick. “I’ll meet you in the parking garage in fifteen minutes.” Both he and Cass walked off.

  “Nick,” Lara said, as he turned to go. She really didn’t want to do this. She’d much rather forget the previous night had happened, but she couldn’t ignore how distant he’d suddenly become.

  “About last night,” she began.

  “I thought we settled all that.”

  “We did. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t misunderstand what I said.”

  “Stop worrying about it, Lara. It’s really no big deal.”

  Of course, he was right. It hadn’t been any big deal. They’d had consensual sex, nothing more. And no matter how insane the pleasure, it wouldn’t, couldn’t, happen again. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m fine. Now I’ve got to go. I’ll catch up with you later, all right?”

  “Perfect,” she said as he turned away. But it wasn’t all right. Whether they wanted to admit it or not, injecting sex into their partnership had created an awkwardness they didn’t need.

  And as she watched him stride down the hall, she had to admit that the past evening had taught her one thing about her relationships with men. She had a remarkable talent for screwing them up.

  * * *

  Lara had thought about her mistakes a lot during the past year. God knew she’d made enough of them—some minor, like having sex with Nick, others catastrophic, like misjudging Andrew Moore. But when those mistakes came back to haunt her—and affected the lives of the people around her—she knew she had to do something to correct them fast.

  The problem was, Moretti had her so off balance she couldn’t tell if she was fixing her mistakes or making them even worse.

  She was still wrestling with that dilemma when she arrived at the prison housing Moretti two hours later. The sun was high in the afternoon sky, the traffic light as she drove along the two-lane frontage road. Was she wrong to hide the information about that baby? Should she reveal the sordid truth to the entire team? She thought she was right, that she was doing it for that family’s protection, but her judgment had been skewed before.

  And what if something went wrong?

  Trying not to obsess about that possibility, she turned her attention to the prison and the more immediate question of how Moretti was contacting the outside world. The perimeter certainly looked secure. Three chain-link fences surrounded the complex, each one about twelve feet high. Set several yards apart and topped with coils of barbed wire and razor ribbon, they formed a series of moats to deter escape. Surveillance cameras were posted on the fences at various angles. There were half a dozen observation towers, an armed guard manning every one.

  The main parking lot stretched across the front of the complex. To one side was the exercise yard, where a few prisoners milled around. On the other side was the delivery entrance, bordered by an open field.

  No one could get close to the buildings. No one could communicate with the prisoners without alerting a guard. And if anyone did manage to get near the complex, the surveillance cameras would pick him up.

  Still probing the perimeter for a weakness, Lara drove around the side of the complex to the delivery entrance and parked. But even here, the security looked extreme. There were more cameras, more guards, even an isolated, fenced-off area to inspect incoming vehicles, making it impossible to sneak contraband inside.

  But how about sneaking it out?

  She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. In any security system, the human factor was the weakest link. Money bought influence, even from inside a prison, and Moretti had untold wealth. Or he could blackmail a guard. Prisoners were notorious for employing that strategy—convincing a guard to do them a favor, then using that as leverage to up the stakes.

  Which was why Nick never wanted to break the rules, she realized with a start. Because once a person started down that treacherous slope, where did he stop? With bribes? With minor acts of corruption, such as conveying messages for prisoners to the outside? Or doing something worse—such as arranging kidnappings or other crimes?

  Was that what had happened to her father, she wondered suddenly? Had he succumbed to temptation and become corrupt? She frowned, not wanting to believe it. He’d had a stellar reputation as a detective before her mother’s death. But he might have been investigating someone—and that person had set him up. Maybe he was getting too close to someone who retaliated to make him stop, someone with the skills to hide the evidence, like another cop.

  Unbidden, her mind veered back to that dreadful day: the unnatural silence when she’d entered the house. That terrible prickle of foreboding that something was wrong. Finding her mother lying lifeless on the kitchen floor, her skull half crushed, her mouth open in a silent shriek, her skin stark white against the splattered blood. Those bulging, sightless eyes.

  Lara pressed her hand to her throat, nauseated even now by the brutality of the scene. It had shocked her, traumatized her, fueling nightmares that lasted for years. It hadn’t helped to have her father suspected of committing the murder, or her half sister callously screaming that a home-wrecker like her mother had deserved to die.

  She dragged in a breath, willing those memories away. Either her death was exactly what it had seemed—a break-in gone wrong—or someone had staged it to look that way. And someday she’d uncover the truth. Someday she’d get justice for her mother as she’d once vowed.

  But right now she had a more pressing concern—stopping Moretti before he harmed that baby, or carried out whatever monstrosity he had planned.

  Deciding she needed air, she turned off the car’s engine and stepped outside. The wind whipped her hair, and she raised the collar of her jacket against the chill. Then she leaned back against her car and scanned the premises again—the parking lot crowded with cars, the empty field beyond the fence, the huge lights towering above the prison, designed to set the area ablaze at night.

  She walked toward the end of the parking lot, determined to figure this out. Moretti had to be communicating with the outside somehow. But he was so blasted clever. He thrived on secrecy and games. It was his way of affirming his superiority, proving he was smarter than everyone else. Still, he was only human. No matter how crafty he believed he was, his system had to have a flaw.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of orange. Turning, she noticed a small, cage-like patio jutting off the side of the building with a guard standing just outside the door. It was about ten feet square, covered with wire mesh on the sides and top. Inside there was a prisoner, standing with his back to her.

  Her heart skittered hard. Moretti. She’d recognize his black hair and muscular physique anywhere. He seemed lost in thought, staring out at the barren field. Contemplating the freedom he’d forfeited with his life of crime?

  She snorted at that. Moretti was a sociopath. He wasn’t capable of feeling emotions like remorse. The only thing he felt was contempt for the rest of humanity—and resentment that she’d managed to put him behind bars.

  But something had caught his interest in that field.

  Curious now, she craned her neck to see. The field was large, weedy and flat. About halfway across it there were a bulldozer and backhoe parked beside a pile of pipes. The workers had apparently taken a break for lunch, but it looked as if they were digging a trench, probably to replace the prison’s sewer or water lines.

  A sudden thought stopped her cold. Could that be how Moretti was communicating with his people, by sending a message through the sewer lines? Her hopes surged at the idea.

  Excited now, she tugged out her cell phone and speed-dialed Cass.

  “Cass here,” her coworker promptly answered.

  “It’s Lara. Listen. I just noticed that they’re doing some sewer work in the field behind the prison. Or maybe it’s the water line. I’m not sure. But they’re digging a trench and replacing the pipes. Could you check that out, find out what they’re doing and how long it’s been goi
ng on? Maybe call the contractor, too?”

  “You think someone on the crew works for Moretti?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s possible. It’s definitely worth checking out. And find out where the sewage goes. There must be a screen somewhere to catch anything that isn’t soluble, like a bottle or plastic bag. We need to know where it is, who cleans it out, and what they do with whatever they find.”

  “I’ll do it right now.”

  “Thanks.” She disconnected the call.

  Just then, Moretti turned around. His gaze slammed into hers, the impact causing the usual jolt to her nerves. And for several long minutes, she stood rooted in place, immobilized by the incredible power he managed to project, even inside a cage.

  She knew he considered her his enemy. She’d had the gall to betray him. She’d had the audacity to beat him at his own game. She’d done what no one else had been able to do—expose his real identity and escape his control. Those were sins Moretti could never forgive. The blow she’d dealt had outraged him, striking at the core of what made him tick.

  And to retaliate, he intended to destroy her, body and soul.

  The guard stepped forward and shackled him. Moretti held her gaze for another heartbeat, then sauntered into the building and disappeared.

  It took her several minutes to recover. Her pulse continued to race. Her entire body trembled, his effect on her undeniable, that arrogant smirk branded in her brain. So, he thought that he was winning. So, he thought she wouldn’t figure out what he was doing and bring him down. He viewed her with his usual disdain, underestimating her abilities in the belief that no one could equal him.

  Well, he was wrong. She might not be as diabolical as he was. She might not have his resources or expertise. And she definitely wasn’t as heartless, willing to kill anyone who stood in her way.

  But she would win this war. It might take her a while, and she’d probably make more mistakes along the way. But eventually she’d get her man.

  She always did.

  CHAPTER SEVEN