Tough Justice Series Box Set, Parts 1-8

by Carla Cassidy

  “That a girl.” Victoria replied. “Did he have anything to say about his brother? Joseph Penzey?”

  “He never has much to say about anything.” Lara’s eyes met Cass’s for a brief second. She refused to come clean about the taunting, slightly flirtatious tone Moretti always took with her—and she with him, if she were honest. She especially wouldn’t admit that to Cass...or Nick.

  Had Cass spilled the beans about that kiss to anyone yet? To Nick? No, she’d been too upset, too repulsed by it. Cass wouldn’t use it for gossip fodder. Cass didn’t gossip, always played it close to the vest.

  “If he never has much to say—” Cass carefully picked a tomato from her sandwich “—how do you know you got to him?”

  “His facial expressions. His overall demeanor.”

  “Right, because you knew him pretty well as Andrew Moore, arms commander.” Cass took a big bite of her sandwich and turned her attention to whatever was flickering on her monitor in her office.

  Lara’s stomach dipped. “He’s a completely different person from the Andrew Moore I first met.”

  Nick’s gaze darted between her and Cass’s back, but Lara wouldn’t bite. Instead she headed for the conference room. Nick and Victoria followed. Lara kicked out the chair across from her. “Have a seat, partner. How’s it going with The Ghost? Any progress? Is he talking yet?”

  “Some.” Nick sat down. “He did say he didn’t have anything to do with Mei’s murder.”

  “You believe him?”

  “He was adamant that stabbing isn’t his style. Said he wasn’t hired to take out an FBI agent.”

  “He copped to the other killings? Eve in the club?”

  “Not yet. That’s what makes it so interesting that he specifically stated he didn’t kill Mei. He didn’t deny any of the other crimes like that.”

  A tingle raced across the back of Lara’s neck. “It was Mason. Just like it was Mason who attacked Cass.”

  “At least we have The Ghost off the streets, and Mason Moore is next. We’ll get justice for all their victims.”

  Lara tipped her head in Victoria’s direction. “I know the danger hasn’t passed for Latanya Price, but, Victoria, can you make sure she knows the guy who took a shot at her is behind bars?”

  “I will, but she needs to stay put until this is over with Moretti.”

  “Of course.”

  Victoria held up her cell phone. “It’s a call from Ty.”

  Lara and Nick listened as Victoria answered the call. “Slow down, Ty. Where’d you see him?” Victoria scribbled on the whiteboard. “I’ll send Lara and Nick over right away. Try to pick him up again.”

  Victoria ended the call and snapped her fingers. “Lara, Nick, head over to Broadway at Sullivan. Ty was going solo, lurking around your sister’s place. He thinks he saw Mason Moretti, sans cowboy hat.”

  Nick shoved back from the table. “Too bad he’s not still wearing it—easier to pick out in a crowd.”

  Lara gritted her teeth. Had Mason attempted to see Meghan again? Had Meghan let him in?

  Nick tossed the keys in his hand. “I’ll drive. You ride shotgun and lookout.”

  Nick sped to Broadway and Sullivan, and Lara got Ty on the phone, putting him on speaker. “What’s he wearing?”

  “Jeans, dark blue, light-colored jacket—gray or beige. Running shoes, and he’s making good use of them. I don’t know if he made me, but he took off fast. No hat, but I recognized that blond hair. You think he would’ve dyed it by now.”

  “Why would he?” Lara grabbed the phone from the console as Nick made a sharp right turn. “Then he’d look just like his brother.”

  Nick shouted into the phone. “Should we head down Broadway, Ty?”

  “Start there. I’m circling around Sullivan. Maybe we’ll meet up.”

  The car rolled to a stop. As Lara grabbed the door handle, Nick put a hand on her arm. “Promise me you won’t go chasing him up to a rooftop.”

  “Yeah, sure. Just as long as you promise me you won’t be getting shot or launching yourself off any roofs.” She shoved open the door and assessed the teeming sidewalk. The twins were tall. They’d always stand out in a crowd.

  With her adrenaline ramped up, Lara shouldered her way through the mass of people. Nick dogged her steps, playing lookout. If he expected her to hold back at this point, he still had a lot to learn about his new partner.

  Must be a guy thing—or a Nick thing. While she worried about his safety, she knew he had a job to do, and he’d sacrifice his welfare to do it. He had to know she felt the same way.

  A tall blond in profile made her catch her breath. That classic profile would do a Greek god proud.

  She cranked her head over her shoulder, but Nick had disappeared. Maybe he realized she didn’t need protecting after all.

  Swiveling her head back around, she noticed the blond slipping into a movie theater. It had to be Mason, and he knew someone was trailing him.

  Lara broke into a jog and flung open the glass door. She checked the lobby and the concession stand and then rounded the corner to the bathrooms.

  She charged into the men’s room first. The man at the first urinal glanced over his shoulder. “This is the men’s.”

  She held out her badge and put her finger to her lips. She kicked in the four stall doors just to make sure he hadn’t climbed on top of the toilets.

  She backed out of the bathroom with a sorry and entered the ladies’ room. She checked all the stalls in a similar fashion and returned to the lobby. He hadn’t slipped out again while she was checking the restrooms, had he?

  A quick discussion with the ticket taker and the concession workers satisfied her that he must’ve gone into one of the four theaters.

  She assessed her choices—a kids’ animated film, a rom-com, a horror movie and an action flick. Moretti would’ve chosen the rom-com just to mess with her.

  Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she spun around. One of the girls from the concession counter jumped back.

  “Shannon, who was on a break when you asked, said a tall blond man went into theater number two. Said he was a hottie, and that’s why she remembered him.”

  “Thank you.” Lara put her hand on her weapon beneath her jacket and walked to theater two—the rom-com. She opened the outer door first and let it close behind her, adjusting her eyes to the dark in the entryway.

  She eased open the door of the theater. A pretty brunette on the screen picked up the skirt of her wedding gown and started running across a field of daisies. When she tripped and fell face-first, the patrons scattered throughout the darkened theater chuckled.

  Lara pulled out her gun. She kept it close to her side, crouching forward and moving slowly down the aisle. She peered down each row, the sunny scene on the silver screen lighting up the seats.

  A few people hushed her, even though she hadn’t made a sound.

  A voice came from one of the rows. “What is it with you people? Can’t anyone just sit still and watch a movie these days?”

  Lara froze on her toes and called back. “Why? Was there someone else through here?”

  A woman answered. “A guy came through here and went right out the exit.”

  Lara cursed under her breath. “How long ago?”

  “At least five minutes.”

  Someone else yelled. “Do you mind? I want a refund.”

  “Sorry, folks.” Lara rushed down the aisle toward the green Exit sign and yanked the red velvet curtains aside. Her hip hit the silver bar, and she pushed open the door, blinking in the bright light in the alley.

  She charged to the end of the alley, looked both ways and holstered her weapon. Mason Moretti was long gone.

  She pulled out her cell phone and called Nick.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Watching a movie, that new romantic comedy. Wanna join me?”

  “I take it you didn’t have any luck either.”

  “I followed him into a movie theater,
but while I was busy searching the bathrooms and questioning employees, he’d made his way out the back through one of the theaters. And all it cost him was the price of a show.”

  “I got nothing, and Ty completely lost him.”

  “Looks like there’s more than one ghost.” Lara stepped into the street. “Meet you back at the car?”

  “On my way.”

  Ten minutes later, Lara slumped in the passenger seat of the car and squinted at the pedestrians on Broadway, not that Mason would be stupid enough to hang around. You didn’t fake your own death and disappear for years by being dumb—criminal, yes, but not dumb.

  Nick quirked an eyebrow at her. “How was the movie?”

  “Fast-moving and funny, but not enough character development.”

  Nick laughed. “At least he’s still in the area. We’ll get him.”

  “Yeah, he is still in the area.” Lara sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “What?”

  “Why is Mason still in the area when he has to know we have a line on him now? Wouldn’t the man who had disappeared at the age of seventeen...disappear?”

  “He must have a reason for being here. Maybe he’s sentimental and wants to be close to his twin.” Nick smirked.

  “Yeah, right.”

  Nick pulled into traffic, and Lara tipped back her head, closing her eyes. Or maybe Mason was here to do a job for his brother—a very important job that would be a game-changer.

  Lara squeezed her eyes and said a prayer for a baby in a safe house.

  * * *

  As Nick headed back to the office, Lara excused herself with some mumbled words about a long overdue dental appointment.

  What she really needed was a chance to clear her head. What could they have prevented by nailing Mason Moretti at Briar Ridge with Viv or in the movie theater? Andrew had called his brother out of obscurity for a reason. And it had to be an important one.

  She needed busywork to get her mind off the tortured thoughts scrambling around in her head. Her father’s house in Rockaway Beach called out to her. Finally confronting that mess might free up her mind.

  After picking up her car, she drove the familiar route and found a parking place on the street. From the sidewalk, Lara tilted her head back to take in the house. She couldn’t wait to unload it. This house contained too many bad memories, and she didn’t want it lurking in the recesses of her consciousness anymore.

  She dragged her feet up the two steps to the front door. What had seemed like a great idea an hour ago now felt like a sack of grain on her back. She propped open the screen door with her hip and fumbled with her keys, dropping them on the porch. When she straightened up, she shoved the key home in the dead bolt and then slid it in the doorknob lock. Her muscles tense, she eased open the front door.

  The musty smell smothered her as she stepped into the house, so she swung the door wide and let the screen door slam behind her. She flicked the lock on the screen door. The neighborhood had gone downhill since she’d lived here. Of course, if a random burglar had murdered her mother, the neighborhood had gone downhill a long time ago.

  Wrinkling her nose, she surveyed the shelves in the living room, still crammed with books, her mother’s trinkets and memorabilia from her father’s years on the force. It had been so long since she was last inside the house. Things looked different.

  After a quick trip back to the car for empty boxes and newspapers, Lara was finally ready to pack up some of this stuff. She stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. She needed big garbage bags to clear out some of the junk she planned to toss. She’d put those on her list for her next visit. Noticing all of the footprints in the dust reminded her that she’d better add a mop and a broom to her supply list for the next trip.

  Lara ran a finger along a tall bookcase and sneezed. The furniture could use a good dusting before she sold it or gave it away. She dragged the first box toward her and pulled out the newspaper. She tore the paper into strips and plucked a glass ballerina from the shelf, turning it this way and that. Maybe she could sell this stuff online and make a fortune. Then she saw the Made in China stamp on the bottom of the figurine. Maybe not.

  She wrapped the glass pieces in newspaper and nestled them side by side in the box. When she’d cleared the shelf of the knickknacks, she shoved aside the half-full box with the toe of her boot and dropped another box in its place. She filled this one with books—none of which suited her tasted in reading. You’d think a man under suspicion for murdering his wife wouldn’t be boning up on true crime, but when had her father ever given a damn what anyone thought of him?

  Her gaze slid to the entrance to the kitchen. Like others of its era, the house didn’t have an open floor plan. A wall stood between the kitchen and the living room with an entryway containing a sliding door, which they’d never used.

  Her pulse fluttered, and she hugged herself as she remembered coming home from school that day and finding her mother on the kitchen floor...and all that blood.

  She’d have...someone else pack up the kitchen.

  Closing her eyes, she pivoted toward the staircase that led to the attic. Her father was loath to get rid of anything and had been cramming stuff in that attic for as long as she could remember. She’d have to go through all the items up there, too.

  She blew out a breath, and the dust she’d raised during the packing swirled before her in the single ray of sun that beamed through the front window.

  Placing her hand on the scarred wooden banister, she planted her foot on the first step. Might as well take the plunge and assess how many more boxes and trash bags she’d need to take care of the mess up there. She climbed the staircase and then dragged a chair from her old room, positioning it beneath the door to the attic.

  Stepping up on the chair, she hooked her finger around the ring on the attic door and yanked on it. The door opened, and the accordion ladder began to unfold as it descended. She kicked the chair out of the way and tugged the ladder down, securing it.

  She gripped the sides of the ladder and climbed up to the ceiling. With her head poking into the attic, she pulled on a chain to click on the lightbulb. A waxy yellow glow illuminated the bulky shapes huddled in the room. They looked like misshapen animals ready to spring. She snorted, which turned into another sneeze.

  Just a quick look around. She hoisted herself into the attic. The ceiling was tall enough for her to stand upright—in most areas. The roof slanted on the sides, creating a cozy space if it weren’t so messy.

  She peered around the room, spying pieces of furniture from her bedroom as a little girl, Christmas decorations, old electronics equipment. She’d have to haul that stuff to an e-waste center unless she put it out at the curb for scavengers to pick up. If they could use the junk, more power to ’em.

  She crossed to the other side of the attic, ducking where the ceiling slanted.

  She spied a heavy, carved trunk. “I forgot about this.” The sound of her voice in the hushed atmosphere sounding like a foghorn. She crouched beside the trunk, running her fingers along the flowers carved into the lid.

  This had belonged to her mother. When Lara had asked her about it, her mother had winked and said the trunk was for special things for a special time.

  The long-forgotten memory hit her full-force, and she could almost feel Mom’s soft fingers as she played with Lara’s hair, could almost smell the sweet floral scent she favored. Lara swallowed the lump in her throat. She lifted the latch on the lid. The hinges creaked as she opened the trunk.

  Picking up the item on top, she shook it out and choked. A little pink dress dangled from her fingertips, the odor of moth balls and cedar flooding her nostrils. She’d just seen this outfit downstairs in a picture of herself, her mom and her father.

  Her nose stinging with tears, Lara dug through the clothes in the chest. Her mother had saved her baby clothes—or at least the special outfits. Had she intended for Lara to use these clothes for her own child? She san
k back on her heels, tiny, frilly clothes still gripped in her fists.

  She whispered, “Mom.”

  The word echoed around the attic and came back to her as a whisper in her own ear. Home.

  But it wasn’t, not anymore. This house had ceased being a home when some scumbag decided to murder her mother. The fact that Lara couldn’t figure out whether or not that scumbag was her father made the situation a million times worse.

  Clutching the clothing to her chest, Lara allowed one tear to escape and roll down her cheek. When it had made its way to her chin, she dashed it away. One tear...that’s all she would give this house. She couldn’t give it any more. She didn’t have anything left.

  She dropped the clothes back into the trunk and folded them the best she could with trembling fingers. As she flattened them, she heard the crinkling of a plastic bag.

  Her fingers rooted around the edges of the trunk until they met the plastic of the grocery bag. She tugged at it, feeling something heavy inside the bag.

  She pulled open the bag and saw a handgun inside. Lara reached in and pulled it out. It wasn’t her father’s service pistol. It was too small. Where did this come from, and what was it doing in this chest with her baby clothes? Did her mother keep a handgun for safety when Lara’s father wasn’t home? She shook her head. There was so much about her mother that she didn’t know. First the affair, now this...

  It was too much to process right now. She was done exploring for the day. She jammed the gun back into the bag, popped it into the trunk and closed the lid, latching it. She lowered herself on to the ladder and climbed down.

  Anxious to be out of the house, she jogged downstairs and shoved open the screen door. She locked up the house behind her and sank down on the stoop to breathe in some fresh air.

  Stretching her legs in front of her, she tapped her toes together. She’d come back here another time with more boxes and garbage bags, and she’d do a better inventory before starting the final cleanup. Maybe a yard sale would be in order and a few trips to donate clothes and household items.

  Why did she think coming here would clear her head? This house, memories of her parents, only contributed to the turmoil of her life. Now the small handgun added another level of confusion to the jumble of loose ends dogging her. She could find better busywork than this if she wanted a clear mind.