Tough Justice: Countdown Box Set

by Carla Cassidy

  Her eyes flickered to the left, indicating to Lara that she was searching her memory instead of making something up, which was usually what looking to the right indicated. Please let her remember something. Something they could use.

  “It was about eight or nine years ago. He’d just started high school because I saw him when he was walking home after school. He was so happy to see me, and I was so impressed at how tall he’d become.” A small reminiscent smile flickered across her face. “We talked about his new school, and he asked me if I could come over sometime to see his new computers. I explained that I couldn’t, because I thought I’d have to find a new place to live.” She looked up at James. “I remember that because for a second I wondered if his mom might have a spare room that I could have in exchange for babysitting.”

  “Did you tell him why you had to move?” James asked.

  “I guess. Yes, I did. I felt bad after because I was worried I’d overburdened him with adult stuff. You know? I remembered that his mom tried to protect him from all of the stuff she went through trying to make ends meet.”

  Lara looked at James. They’d already connected the dots. “Do you have any of the canceled cashier checks?” she asked.

  Claudia pouted. “So you are going to take away my money? I knew I should’ve... Oh. You think Mitchy had something to do with... Oh. So I’m not the luckiest girl in the world then?”

  Lara and James watched Claudia’s world view change in a few seconds. She wondered if Claudia would hit traffic, snag tights and spill coffee like the rest of humanity now. She wondered how much of Claudia’s luck had to do with her firm belief that she was lucky. Maybe that was something Lara could try.

  Lara pulled a what-can-you-do expression at James as Claudia went into the back office of the salon. She returned with two of the first checks in a gilded frame. “You can take this. I feel like it’s cheating to have it on my lucky wall.”

  She looked so miserable, Lara instinctively wanted to make her feel better. “Look. These good things happened to you because you were nice to a boy and his mother. You treated them nicely, and this was your reward. Everything else is just karma. The more you gave away, and the more good things you did with it, the more good things came back to you. Nothing’s changed.” Except that a serial killer has paid for everything in your life.

  Claudia brightened. “Do you really think?”

  James wiped the disbelief from his face and agreed. “Of course.” He ushered Lara out of the store before they got involved in anything sticky like a group hug.

  “I thought you were going for a group hug,” James said with a laugh.

  Lara glared at him. What was it with him and reading her mind?

  Behind them they heard a muffled “Hockey sticks!” They both turned around to see Claudia clasping her foot as she hopped on the other.

  “I guess your pep talk didn’t work,” he said.

  “When has it ever?” It was true—Nick was the pep talk guy. Hers usually descended into some kind of rant.

  “Do you believe all that?” James said.

  “All what?” she said, her mind already on the Swiss bank named on the check.

  “About karma.” He got into the car and pulled the seat belt across him.

  She was waiting for Christina to pick up, so she held up a finger to halt him.

  “Hey, Lara,” Christina said.

  “Hey. I have a name of a Swiss bank that Halpert has used. It’s a long story.”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s the Banque Grand Alp.” She spelled out the French words.

  “Account number?” Christina asked, all business.

  “None on the check. No identifying marks anywhere, not even the account holder name.”

  “That’s pretty usual. I’ll look into it, but don’t hold your breath. Since 9/11 there has been some movement in Swiss bank disclosures, but not as much progress as you’d like. They’ll give you the information you need, but it can take up to six months.”

  “Damn. Oh, wait.” Lara realized that the Swiss bank wasn’t the important news. “Listen, the name he used when he was chatting to Greg on those blogs, was Claudia Goldman.”

  “That’s incredible news, Lara. We can go back and trace the IPs and the other sites he was on. That’s...that’s a big step.” Christina sounded thrilled.

  Lara was not as optimistic. Every time they’d thought they had a lead, it had fallen through. “Sure. We’re on our way back.”

  “We may have something for you by the time you get here!” She sounded really excited, and her tone injected a sliver of anticipation into Lara’s bloodstream.

  “Fingers crossed.” Lara hung up and started the engine.

  “Christina may have something for us by the time we get back.” She shrugged and pulled a hopeful face. “What were you saying?”

  “I was asking if you believed in karma and, well, what you said to Claudia.”

  “No!” she scoffed. But she kind of did. She just didn’t want anyone else to think that anything she did was predicated on luck or karma or the freaking universe telling her something.

  “Huh. I do,” he said, popping the cuffs on his shirt.

  “Well, I can’t help you there,” she quipped. That was a conversation for whiskey and a relaxed vacation. Neither of which she’d had in too long. And neither of which she planned on sharing with James.

  Not that she planned on sharing anything with anyone. Except maybe a bullet with Halpert.

  Chapter Eight

  They walked into the office just as it was descending into chaos.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, trying to get someone’s attention.

  No one responded, but building schematics were popping up on the screens in the conference room.

  “What is this? What happened?” Her gaze went from screen to screen. Some were schools—or at least had some rooms labeled as classrooms, there was what looked like a hospital, a shopping mall...

  Still no one replied. They were chatting, shouting and trying to make phone calls. She put her fingers into her mouth about to let loose an ear-piercing whistle, but James beat her to the punch.

  “Hey!” he bellowed. The word echoed around the room as everyone fell silent. “Now can anyone pull us into the loop?”

  “You’re back!” Xander said.

  Lara gave him her steely-eyed glare.

  “Claudia Goldman led Eloise to a load of IP addresses, which she’s still tracking down, but she’s linked Claudia’s user ID, email and password to a bunch of different sites, including libraries, archives and the town hall. She’s found a bunch of building blueprints that he accessed...to include the store in Times Square, the police precinct, the school in Connecticut that he threatened Penelope Porterini with. We’re eliminating locations where he’s already been, and locking down the blueprints for locations that he hasn’t bombed yet. Also, we’re trying to find links between these buildings and BrainWave.

  “Eloise is also going through the schematics that he accessed the most frequently and trying to track him back through other sites. She already found a local Dominos pizza that he ordered online from when he lived with his mother. Another discovery like that, and we may be able to find his more recent locations.” Xander stopped mostly because he was out of breath.

  It felt like the very start to a breakthrough. Excitement spiked through her. Maybe this time they’d get lucky.

  She felt for the burner phone in her jacket. She fought the impulse to check it. She didn’t want him to contact her. It was only the worst part, the obsessive part within her that wanted him to text her. She hated that part of her.

  It was obvious that Eloise hadn’t had time to do anything about the phone. But this was better. A better use of her time.

  “Wher
e’s Nick?” she asked.

  * * *

  Nick didn’t want anyone to see his bandaged hand. It hadn’t been broken, but it still hurt like a mofo. He kept flexing it to prevent it becoming stiff and unusable. Because if there was anyone he wanted to be physically fit enough to punch, it was Mitch Halpert.

  He was flicking through the recently found blueprints, seeing if anything rang a bell, or piqued his intuition at all. He couldn’t do that in the conference room with everyone shouting and trying to figure out where the buildings were. The problem with the building blueprints that were filed with the city was that they very rarely had their final name on them. Sometimes it was an address, and sometimes just the name and address of the contractor. Then again, some were obvious. There were over forty sets of blueprints.

  He wondered how much time they had. He spread his fingers as he worked, clenched his fist and stretched it. The pain suited his mood.

  Xander was trying to identify any links between the founders and employees of BrainWave and the buildings, but Nick couldn’t help but wonder if Halpert’s motivation had changed. He’d started with BrainWave, but then moved on to the CMU. Except that wasn’t really true. He’d started with Porterini, at least as far as they knew, then gone to James’s brother, then Dunbar. Then on to BrainWave. What were the links? Unless the psycho just had a list of random people who had pissed him off? He wished Lara was there. No one had a mind for weird connections and lateral thinking quite like her.

  This case was the most frustrating he’d ever worked on. And early in his career he’d worked on a Santa heist at Christmas when New York was filled to the brim with people in Santa costumes.

  None of their physical leads had come to much, and with Halpert’s skills, this should probably have been turned over to the cyber unit.

  If he was Mercer, that’s what he would say. As the Special Agent in Charge, that’s what Nick would say, too. But of course it was personal for everyone now. Any other unit that got involved at this late stage would probably end up arresting 50 percent of the CMU team given what had transpired: Jennifer for murder—he still couldn’t bring himself to contemplate that. Victoria, of course, for destroying evidence, him for relaying evidence to a probable felon—his own father—and Lara...well who knew what she had done, but he was certain that it was probably worth ten to fifteen in a medium-security prison.

  Lara. He shook his head. She couldn’t do anything half-assed. If she was going to break the law, a heart, the rules, she did it as if she were on steroids. Whatever she was keeping secret, he was sure that it would bring more trouble to the investigation than anyone else’s transgressions.

  He cleared his mind and went back to the buildings. He was trying to compile an actual list of the buildings and their addresses so the team could better work on finding the connection they were looking for, because God only knew when they’d blow, and how many people would be killed.

  He flexed his hand again, took off the bandage Ty had given him and put a small Band-Aid on the worst cut. The wall looked okay, and that was only because he’d taped up a hastily printed out copy of the FBI’s most wanted list over the dent.

  He went into the conference room. It was quieter than it was when Eloise had found the building plans.

  “Where’s Lara?” he asked.

  Everyone looked around.

  She was gone.

  Chapter Nine

  Lara was following the instructions she’d been given on her burner. With adrenalin pumping through her, she had locked her FBI-issued phone in her desk drawer and left the building. She knew she was vulnerable, but she didn’t care about that. She just cared about keeping her team safe, and the less they had to do with Halpert, the better.

  At least, that was what she was telling herself as she walked three blocks from the FBI building and hailed a cab going uptown. She knew though, that if she dug deep, it was solving her mother’s murder that had her on the road.

  Now tell the driver to take you home.

  Fear wormed its cunning way into her blood. It made the perfect cocktail with the adrenalin. Her hands became cold and she shook them as she gave the driver her address. She flexed her fingers, stretching them out and urging the blood back into them. She’d need them to be working properly. A stiff trigger finger was not helpful.

  In the isolated cocoon of the taxi cab, she wondered why she’d obeyed him. If she’d been honest with her team at the beginning, they could be following her right now. Halpert would never have known. She could have snipers, undercover agents and her team protecting her as she went to meet him. But no. She’d been secretive about her obsession. She’d made herself vulnerable to a psycho serial killer. Deliberately. She...no. There were no words for what she was or how stupid she’d been.

  She could always ask to use the cab driver’s phone to call Nick. Except, she really couldn’t. He was barely speaking to her at all. She couldn’t call Xander—he’d already made his feelings about her clear. She didn’t want to call James or Jennifer and explain to them how stupid she’d been. She could call Ty, but that would leave no one in the team who understood her. No one who didn’t think she was a total fuckup.

  What was waiting for her at her apartment? Or was he going to fake her out and tell her to go somewhere else? When the driver pulled up outside her building, she asked him to drive around the block once slowly.

  The dark-haired driver held her gaze in the mirror for a second and then nodded. Lara couldn’t imagine it was the oddest request he’d ever got.

  When they arrived back in front of her building, she got out and paid. The taxi pulled away into the traffic and she turned to look at her building. She wouldn’t go in. That was suicide, she was sure. But if she didn’t go in, she would never stop him. And she was sure, even when his vendettas were over, he wouldn’t stop killing people. Playing God had an effect on people, and she couldn’t imagine him returning to a life of menial work after this. He’d want something bigger and better to prove he was above capture. He was a monster, but he was growing into King Kong: virtually unstoppable and with no conscience.

  She took a breath and was about to go in, when her doorman came out, holding the door open for her.

  “Ms. Grant! I thought it was you. Come on in!”

  She went through the open door. “Thanks, Freddy. Any messages, or packages for me?” Please say no.

  “Yes, yes. Well, no. Your father dropped by, but said he’d be seeing you soon, so he wouldn’t leave a message.” He grinned.

  Lara’s heart stuttered. Her father was dead, although there was no way the doorman would know that. “What did he look like?” she asked, and then kicked herself as the doorman looked confused, and then anxious.

  “Uh, gray hair, a beard and mustache, a Red Sox baseball hat...that’s all I remember. Wasn’t...was...does that sound like your father?” Panic flashed across his face.

  Like her father would have been seen dead in a Red Sox cap. Had that been Halpert? Someone he’d paid to pretend to be her father? “Sure! Everything’s fine.”

  She gave as genuine a smile as she could manage and took deliberately casual steps to the elevator. She jumped as the doors pinged and immediately opened. Her hand jumped to her hip and she bit her lip as she stepped in. I’m not scared. I’m not scared. When he said I’d be meeting my father... No. He’s not going to win. He’s not going to kill me. I am better than he is.

  She was scared. But she was also angry. She wished she hadn’t started this. Wished they could deal with Halpert as a team. But she’d been too scared to let them in and that was on her.

  All she could hope was that either he was in her apartment and she could take him down, or that he’d left the evidence about her mother’s death. She hated herself that she preferred the latter option. She looked at the dial on the elevator... 10, 11, 12...she swore that this w
as the longest elevator ride to get to her apartment she’d ever taken.

  Finally, at 14, the car jerked to a halt. She winced at the bell that signaled the opening of the doors. She’d never realized how loud it was.

  She waited just outside the elevator doors for about three minutes. If someone was in her apartment, she wanted to be sure they didn’t think that bell heralded her arrival. She wanted to keep whoever it was on their toes.

  Closing her eyes, she visualized her home, someone with no face waiting for her inside. She felt his anticipation, his fear that she may get the upper hand on him, may shoot and kill him. She urged him to feel fear, and somehow in the process, hers dissipated a little.

  Finally, she silently slid her key into the lock and turned it as slowly and quietly as she could. She felt, rather than heard, the tumblers fall into place and the door give a little as it unlocked.

  Lara took a breath and silently opened the door to her apartment. Just a crack. She winced and closed her eyes as it moved a bare millimeter in the jamb. Then another. And another.

  Nothing. No explosion, no scurry of someone on the other side of the door. No nothing.

  She drew her weapon, pressed her shoulder to the wall so she was perpendicular to the doorway, and inched the door with her heel. She snatched a fast look through the crack. No movement, and most importantly, no one shooting at the opening door.

  With no backup, there was only one way to breach the apartment. Her apartment. What was it with perps getting into her apartment? This was the second time in two years. She was probably going to lose her deposit for moving before the lease was up, but really that should be just freaking built into her yearly budget now.

  She stepped in front of the door, raised her weapon and shoving all other thoughts from her head, she kicked the door open, dashed through and crouched behind the armchair Jennifer had been sitting in just a short time earlier.

  Pausing, she listened for movement, or the slightest change in the air that might signify someone opening a different door, or moving through her home. Nothing. She took another breath and jumped to her feet, her gun in front of her face.