by Sara Rosett
“What about the transfer back into the GRS account yesterday?”
“How could I know about that? You just told me.” Sato stared at her, so she continued, “I don’t have access to that account. I don’t know what’s in there.”
Abruptly, Sato stood. “Thank you for your time,” he said, every syllable conveying anything but thanks. “We’ll be in touch.”
“When?” Zoe asked, standing as well. “Should I mark down a certain day on my calendar each week? Mondays are always terrible. Should we just get it over with then?”
The older man pushed away from the wall. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, opening the door. He exchanged a look with his partner. Sato left the room without looking back. His partner gestured for Zoe to precede him out the door, saying, “I’ll walk you out. I don’t think we’ve met, officially.” He extended his hand as they walked down the narrow gray hallway. “Special Agent Mort Vazarri.”
Zoe took his hand. “You already know my name. And probably more about me than I know about myself,” Zoe said, not quite sure why she threw the quip in there. If she’d said those same words to Sato, she was sure there would have been a bite, a bitterness in her tone, but this guy, Vazarri, seemed different. Despite Sato’s suave, stylish exterior, his attitude broadcast his bloated opinion of himself. Vazarri didn’t have any of that. There was something about his face, a kindness, a reserve, which suggested he hadn’t marked her down as “accomplice,” as Sato seemed to have done.
“Call me Mort,” he said. “Everybody does.”
He led her through the corridors of cubicles and offices. As they neared the lobby, Zoe said, “Can I ask you a question, um, Mort?” It felt a little awkward using his first name, but he’d just asked her to use it, so it would have been weird to use his last name.
“Sure,” he replied, pausing in the hallway, his tone easy and relaxed.
Zoe wasn’t sure if Sato and...Mort...were intentionally going for the good cop versus bad cop routine, but even if they weren’t, she certainly felt more comfortable with Mort. This might be her only chance to get some of her questions answered. Despite her woolly, disengaged state, during the last few days, thoughts had been popping up at random. She’d pushed them away and snuggled back down into her cocoon of detachment, but she knew those questions wouldn’t go away. They’d always be there and Sato’s insinuations that Jack might be alive had shaken her up and broken through the protective layer of disassociation. “The memory card...were you able to locate it? I told the Polizia that it had to be on the bottom of the canal somewhere near where I went in the water.”
Mort raised his eyebrows slightly as if her question surprised him. He probably expected her to ask about Jack. But she wasn’t going there right now. She was firmly back in denial land. Thinking about anything related to Jack was an emotional quagmire anyway she looked at it. Nope, not going there right now.
Mort seemed to pick his words carefully. “Several items were recovered, including a memory card. Unfortunately, it was too corrupted to extract any data.”
“I see,” Zoe said, her mind racing faster than it had in days. “What about Eddie? Have you...talked to her? Do you know where she is?” A tremor of fear pulsed through her. The number of people involved in this little drama had plunged. Besides herself, there was only Roy, who was tucked away in some Italian hospital following a lengthy surgery, and Eddie. Zoe had no doubt that Eddie would spin all sorts of stories, implicating anyone but herself in the events of the last few days.
“I, personally, haven’t spoken to her. She’s in custody in Las Vegas. Interestingly, there were several memory cards at her place of business, all with sensitive information on them. I can’t say much more than that.” Mort resumed moving down the hallway. “There’s an article in today’s Sentinel by Jenny Singletarry. You might want to check it out.”
HELEN hurried across the lobby, her silk shirt rippling and her high heels clicking. A pair of black Michael Kors jeans—it was casual day—completed her ensemble. “How did it go?”
Zoe shrugged. “The same, I guess. They asked questions, I answered.” She didn’t mention the bombshell Sato had dropped about the money or his questions about Jack. Helen was still having trouble adjusting her perception of Jack. “You didn’t have to come with me,” Zoe said as they walked to the car.
“Right. My best friend is being questioned by the FBI for the third time this week, and I’ll just hope it goes okay. Right.”
“I do appreciate it,” Zoe said as they came out of the building and a blast of muggy air buffeted them. “Can I borrow your phone?” Zoe asked. Her cell phone had gone into the canal with her, so she figured it was either still in the canal or, if it had been fished out of the water along with the memory card, it was locked away in some Italian evidence holding area.
Getting a new cell phone had been low on her priority list. An extremely long shower followed by hours of sleep had been her only real desires after leaving Sato and Mort’s original interrogation, but it was obvious she needed to return to the real world, and purchasing a cell phone was just one thing she needed to think about. Getting her car back from Vegas was another. She hoped it was still parked in the parking garage at The Venetian.
“Here you go,” Helen said, handing her the phone, then digging in her carry-on sized purse for her keys.
By the time Helen pulled out of the parking lot and merged onto the freeway, Zoe had found the article. She scrolled down, squinting in the bright sun to read the text, then she dropped back against the seat. “Eddie and Francesca were involved in identity theft,” she said.
Helen blended seamlessly into the fast lane, then cut a glance at Zoe. “Are you sure? Identity theft? I mean, I know it’s a problem, but murder?”
“Local Businessman’s Death Tied to International Identity Theft Ring,” Zoe said, reading the headline aloud. “This is by the same reporter who dug up the truth about GRS. Her track record is pretty good, so I bet she’s right on this, too. This wasn’t a few names or credit card numbers for quick hits of cash or goods.”
Zoe scrolled down the article and read, “The thieves specialized in providing deluxe identity replacement—histories going back five to ten years with job records, medical histories, bank accounts, utility bills, even mortgage records, all for fifteen to twenty thousand dollars a person. ‘Clients,’” Zoe smirked as she read the word, “could choose from a variety of locations within the United States for their new identity. There was even a special family package. The innovative ID thieves kept their on-line activities to a minimum, never receiving or sending data digitally, relying instead on couriers to shuttle the information back and forth from Venice, their home base to various distribution points around Europe, the United States, and Canada.”
Helen tilted her head in acknowledgement, her gold hoop earrings glittering as they swayed, “Okay, that sounds lucrative. No wonder Francesca picked Venice. It’s an international destination—about as far away as she could get from Naples, but still be in Italy, and there would be lots of tourists. Her couriers could slip in and out easily, and someone like Eddie with her Venetian glass business would have a legitimate reason to travel there on business. No wonder they were partners.”
“Eddie and Francesca certainly had the same business philosophy,” Zoe said dryly. “Eliminate anyone who got in their way. Connor was a threat to Francesca’s fake ID business, and Jack was a threat to her very existence. No wonder she went after both of them.”
“What I don’t understand is why Francesca and Roy let Jack...well, live in the first place, back when they staged her death,” Helen murmured, her attention on changing lanes and avoiding the car braking in front of her. Then she seemed to realize what she’d said and looked quickly at Zoe to see how she was handling the topic.
It was that concerned, walking-on-eggshell glance that got to Zoe. She closed her eyes. “It’s okay,” she said, opening her eyes and squaring her shoulders.
Talking a
bout Jack with Helen was different from talking about him with her new best friends at the FBI. She could do this, at least for a little bit. After all, Helen had stood up for her after Zoe had ditched her and left town. The least Zoe could do was fill in the blanks for her.
“In the beginning, I think it must have been Roy who convinced Francesca that Jack wasn’t a risk. Roy didn’t want to kill him. Roy placated Francesca by saying that he’d keep an eye on Jack and make sure he didn’t find out. If Jack did discover the truth, Roy must have told Francesca that he’d take care of Jack, but I don’t think Roy would have. He tried to warn us off in Naples. Roy followed us to Venice and tried to convince Francesca not to kill us. And, in the end, he was the one who prevented her from shooting Jack.”
The car was silent as they left the freeway and navigated the streets of Zoe’s neighborhood. “Want to get some take out and come over to our house?” Helen asked, as they rolled to a stop in front of Zoe’s house.
Zoe climbed out. “No, I need some time alone.”
“Okay,” Helen said, “I’ll let you off this time, but I’m not going to let you become a recluse. You already spend too much time by yourself as it is. It’s not good for you to be cooped up in your house all day.”
Zoe grinned. “What are you talking about? I just got back from Europe.”
Helen rolled her eyes. “Next week. Lunch?”
“Sure.” Zoe swung the door shut, grabbed her mail, and turned for a final wave before she rounded the house to enter through the back door to the kitchen. Inside, she dropped the mail on the counter.
MORT left Zoe in the lobby with her friend and returned to his desk. Sato was shrugging into his suit jacket. “I’m heading out.”
“Meeting Chloe?” Mort asked.
“She’s out of town. Cousin’s wedding,” Sato said with distaste, pulling his shirtsleeves and adjusting his tie.
“You didn’t want to go with her?”
“You’re kidding, right? Never go to a wedding with a chick. It messes with their minds.”
“Come by our house tonight then. Pizza and a movie,” Mort offered.
“Nah. There’s a new tapas bar in Uptown,” Sato said as he handed off the Jack Andrews file to Mort.
“You were kind of hard on her,” Mort said, lifting the file to Sato’s back. He was already moving to the door.
Sato jostled his car keys impatiently as he turned back. “We had to know. We had to ask her, see her reaction.”
“So you don’t think she was acting? She was genuinely shocked at the thought Andrews might be alive?”
“Yeah,” Sato said, his eyebrows coming down in a frown. “Didn’t you?”
“I thought so, too,” Mort said.
Sato gave him a nod, a little raise of his chin. “Almost got this one wrapped up. See you Monday.”
Mort tapped the file against his palm. Things were coming together. Stefano was responsible for Connor Freeman’s death, which had been initiated at the behest of Francesca, who was living under an assumed identity. Her exclusive identity theft ring, which catered to the champagne and caviar set in the criminal world had been exposed, and her accomplice, Eddie, would soon be facing a wide range of charges.
Yep, it was all coming together neatly. Even the missing money was back. Neat and tidy, all loose ends tied up. Too neatly? Sato was good at reading people, and he’d thought Zoe Hunter had been truly shocked at the idea Jack had survived. Mort agreed with that assessment. Her face had that shell-shocked immobility he’d seen before that was difficult to fake. And the paperwork, his specialty, was in order. He’d poured over the bank forms earlier today and couldn’t find a decimal point out of place.
He reached to toss the file in the bin at the side of his desk along with their other closed cases. A few more days and their part in this investigation would be mostly over. His hand hovered in mid-air. After a few seconds, he dropped it on his desk instead. He’d just keep an eye on things.
ZOE had made herself a huge bowl of mac-and-cheese. Comfort food. After she rinsed the bowl, she wiped the cabinets down. When she got to the little glass jar half-filled with change, she paused. Her travel fund. Well, she was an international traveler now. No passport stamp to show for it, she thought ruefully. How hard was it going to be to get a new passport? Maybe that nice investigator, Mort, would help her out. She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. The kitchen looked exactly the same. The unfinished ceiling gaped, exposing wood and wiring. The island was covered with a spread of paper and her laptop, which was off. She hadn’t touched it since she’d returned.
A gust of wind rattled the window screen, the sink in the hall bathroom dripped with a steady plink in four-four time that she could have set a metronome by. The air conditioner clicked on with a gusty heave. All familiar, comforting sounds, but there were a whole symphony of missing sounds. The creak of the floorboard upstairs under Jack’s foot, the low murmur of his voice, which had always carried down stairs when he was on the phone, the thud of his closet door when he closed it.
Zoe shook her head. Work. She’d work. She had plenty to do. She needed to find a new tenant for Kiki’s office. As for GRS’s office...she didn’t know if she could rent it. Would she even have access to it? She’d have to find out. That could wait. Right now, she’d focus on her e-mail. Her next editing job from Smart Travel was probably sitting in her e-mail waiting for her. While she waited for her computer to whir through its start-up routine, she opened the stack of mail. Helen had brought it in for her each day and she had a pile of bills (too many), catalogues (why did they send them to her? She hadn’t bought anything from a catalogue in years), and junk mail.
She was several envelopes deep into the stack when she opened a credit card offer, dropped the envelope into the trash, then slapped the preprinted offer into the stack to be shredded. Then she paused, running her fingers over the paper. It was lumpy as if something else had been placed inside the folded paper that offered her free balance transfers and a low APR. She picked it up, unfolding the paper.
A thin woven bracelet fell into her palm. She frowned, smoothing the creases in the paper as she scanned it. Instead of a chart with dates and interest rates, there was a white lined sheet of paper with a ragged edge, like it had been torn from a notebook. Her heart began to beat faster as she studied a small sketch of water and buildings. Venice. Amazing how a few strokes of black ink could convey the arched bridges, the flash of light on the water, the buildings on either side of the water. The rest of the page was blank, except for the slight imprint where the bracelet had rested.
She twisted the bracelet in her hand, its texture silky and its color dark red shot through with copper and gold strands. Her heart was thudding as she realized it was hair. Her hair.
“Jack,” she whispered. “I’m gonna kill you when you show up.”
But she was smiling.
Other books by Sara Rosett:
The Ellie Avery Mysteries
Moving is Murder
Staying Home is a Killer
Getting Away is Deadly
Magnolias, Moonlight, and Murder
Mint Juleps, Mayhem, and Murder
Mimosas, Mischief, and Murder
Mistletoe, Merriment, and Murder
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my first readers Lauren Rosett as well as John and Edwyna Honderich. Mark Honderich provided expertise on Dallas traffic and locales. David P. Vandagriff, AKA The Passive Guy, helped with legal questions. Thanks to TJ, who helped get the manuscript ready for readers. Couldn’t have done it without you all. Thanks so much!
Note From The Author
Thanks for reading Elusive! I hope you enjoyed it. I love to hear from readers and reviews are appreciated. Honest reviews are one of the most helpful ways to support authors. I had a wonderful time writing and researching Elusive. You can view pictures that inspired me as well as some photos from my trip to Naples and Venice at the Elusive board on Pinterest. While the event
s involving Zoe and Jack are purely fictional, the mention of the mafia member who was arrested because of his discarded designer socks came straight from the headlines. You can find out more about me and my books at my website, http://www.SaraRosett.com, or you can sign up for my newsletter. I hope you’ll connect with me on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, or Goodreads. Happy reading!
Did you love Elusive? Then you should read Secretive by Sara Rosett!
Zoe Hunter thought all the questions surrounding her ex’s mysterious past had been answered. She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Free-spirited Zoe lives an unconventional life. She tried the nine-to-five office routine, but it was like the death of a thousand cuts—paper cuts, that is. But still, she couldn’t take it and vowed to make a living outside a cubicle. Now she’s a “Jill of All Trades,” taking on freelance copy-editing, property management, and even dog walking gigs. Sure, it’s a little insecure, but Zoe isn’t exactly what you’d call cautious.
Normally, she loves surprises and the unknown, except when it comes in the form of mysterious packages, visits from the FBI, and thugs showing up on her jogging route. Zoe isn’t sure who she’s more afraid of, the FBI or the thugs, so she makes a snap decision and skips town to follow the clues in the package, which takes her to London, where she suspects she’ll find her ex, Jack.
The authorities think he’s dead, but Zoe doesn’t agree. Can she find her elusive ex? And what about her new tenet with the shy smile and sexy stubble? Why does he keep popping up in her life? Zoe will have to use her rather eccentric skill set to answer those questions, all the while dodging someone who wants to make this trip abroad her last.
Read more at Sara Rosett’s site.
About the Author
A native Texan, Sara is the author of the Ellie Avery mystery series and the On The Run suspense series. As a military spouse, Sara has moved around the country (frequently!) and traveled internationally, which inspired her latest suspense novels. Publishers Weekly called Sara’s books, "satisfying," "well-executed," and "sparkling."