Читать книгу Tough Justice: Twisted - Gail Barrett - Страница 8

Chapter One

Lara paced from her cubicle to the window and back, so panicked she could hardly think. She’d phoned the safe house dozens of times since the previous night, and always with the same result—that high-pitched tone, followed by an ominous recording. The number was no longer in service. The line had been disconnected.

But why?

Had Moretti finally found the Minnow family? Had she inadvertently led him to them or done something to tip him off? She stopped, her nerves almost at the breaking point, unable to get that awful image out of her head—that red target on the baby’s photo.

What if they were dead?

Calling on all her strength, she battled to compose herself, anger fueling her determination to think this through. Victoria was checking on the family and had promised to let her know the instant she had any news. And right now, that was the only thing she could do. No matter how she felt, no matter how desperately she wanted to mount a manhunt to find the Minnows, she had to sit tight and bide her time. Keeping their existence a secret was the only way to keep them safe.

Assuming they were still alive.

Turning toward the bank of windows, she gazed out at the surrounding skyscrapers, their top stories shimmering in the morning sunshine, their lower floors draped in perpetual shadow like the understory of a jungle floor. But everywhere she looked, she kept seeing Cass’s ashen face and the knife sticking out of her leg.

She hated feeling so out of control. She felt manipulated, trapped like a rat in an impossible maze, chasing down lead after lead to no avail. The note attached to the knife. The kidnapper’s rattle. That painting in the sewer. The mysterious blond guy and the black SUV. None of it led anywhere except to frustrating dead ends. And this continual apprehension, this constant fear that another crisis was about to erupt had her so on edge she wanted to scream.

But that was Moretti’s goal. He wanted to keep her off balance, to prove to her that he was in charge—even from prison. And damn if he wasn’t winning. While he sat there, issuing orders, her life was falling apart.

Unable to stand it, she pivoted on her heel and strode down the carpeted hallway to the elevator to go upstairs. Reaching her destination, she rapped on the psychiatrist’s door.

“Come in,” Dr. Oliviero called.

Not giving herself time to reconsider, she opened the door. She hesitated on the threshold, taking in the sunlight streaming into the room, the potted plants that added a touch of nature to the urban décor. Next to the windows were some armchairs upholstered in soothing shades of aqua and gray.

Dr. Oliviero was seated at his desk. He looked up as she approached, the dark eyes behind his silver eyeglasses warming into a smile. “Lara. This is a surprise.” He paused, his gaze darting to the calendar beside his phone. “Did I forget we had an appointment?”

“No, not at all. I was just passing by...” As if he was going to believe that, Lara. She mentally rolled her eyes. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Always.” He motioned toward the chairs. “Make yourself comfortable. Just give me a second to save this file, and I’ll be right with you.”

“Thanks.” Lara could guess what he was thinking. She’d avoided him for months, and now she’d stopped by twice in a matter of weeks. “I won’t keep you long,” she promised as she crossed the room.

He closed his laptop, then joined her beside the windows. “You know I’m here whenever you need me. For as long as you need me.”

“I appreciate that.” She settled in the chair opposite his, wondering how to begin. The psychiatrist waited patiently, something he was good at. The silence between them stretched.

“I’m in trouble,” she finally confessed. “This case I’m on... Moretti. He’s toying with me, manipulating me. And he’s winning. I’ve been running around like crazy, feeling off balance, trying to figure out what he’s going to do next.”

Dr. Oliviero folded his hands. “You feel out of control.”

“I am out of control. He’s orchestrating everything—what happens, when it happens, who it happens to. I’m just reacting and frantically trying to keep up. I need to get ahead of him, to get control of the situation, but I can’t. Everything I do—questioning people, tracking down leads—just makes me feel scattered. I’ve lost my focus, and I can’t seem to get it back.”

“Moretti.” His brows furrowed in concern. “You’re sure he’s the one behind this?”

“Not entirely. That’s the hell of it. I think it’s him, but whoever’s doing this is smart. He keeps mixing things up, confusing me to the point where I really don’t have a clue. There have been shootings, a stabbing, even a kidnapping.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s one person or two, whether it’s him or someone else. I’ve even begun worrying that someone in the FBI could be involved, either working with him or alone. I’m getting paranoid, doubting everyone. I don’t even trust my own judgment anymore.”

Dr. Oliviero pursed his lips. “This person knows you well. He knows how much that would bother you.”

She pictured Moretti with his mocking eyes. “Yes.” No doubt about it. And it was a brutally effective tactic. It made her feel ten years old again, as powerless as the day her mom had died. Her world had been destroyed that day, leaving her defenseless, unprotected. And with her father under suspicion, she didn’t know who to trust.

“This is definitely directed at me,” she agreed. “He’s been killing the people around me, writing me notes, even targeting victims who have my name.” She forced herself to admit the truth. “I’m scared, Dr. Oliviero. I’m afraid that I can’t beat him, that he’s too strong.”

“That’s what he wants.”

“I know.”

“And yet, no one is invincible.”

“I know that, too.” Hadn’t she told herself that very thing? “But I’m finding it hard to believe right now. He has me at a disadvantage. I have to regain my focus or more people are going to die.”

Dr. Oliviero leaned back in his chair. For a moment he didn’t answer, and she shifted her gaze to the window, watching a jet’s contrail streak the New York sky.

“I want you to do two things,” Dr. Oliviero finally said. “First, I want you to think back to a case where you felt cornered, where everything seemed to be against you, but you persevered and won.”

“But—”

“Humor me. Tell me about that case.”

Lara sighed. This sounded like a waste of time. But she’d asked for his help. Now she had to cooperate, no matter how pointless the exercise seemed.

“All right. There was a case, right after I’d joined the Bureau. It was a joint investigation with the SEC. It had to do with insider trading. I went undercover as an administrative assistant at an investment banking firm. We knew someone was stealing non-public information. He was passing it along to his coconspirators who used it to make illegal trades. We already had experts analyzing the data. My job was more personal, to get to know the people at the firm and try to make a connection that way.

“It was harder than I expected. Investment banking is a high-pressure business. Everyone works long hours. And with competition that cutthroat, no one confides in anyone else.”

“But you didn’t give up.”

“No.”

“And you won.”

“Yes. One of the bankers had a girlfriend. I started getting my hair done at the same place she did and was able to gain her trust. It turned out that she was making a lot of trips to Las Vegas. She was trading on the banker’s advice, laundering the profits through a casino out there, and then funneling it back to him. We finally connected the dots, and everyone involved served time.” In fact, that success had proven to her that she’d chosen the right career. “But that was nothing compared to this.”

“I understand. You’re facing a far more formidable adversary this time, someone who knows you well and is using that knowledge against you. He’s playing on your emotions—not just your fear of failure, but your guilt.”

“My guilt?”

“Your strength is your weakness, Lara, and he knows that. You’re conscientious and driven, but that also makes you feel responsible for whatever goes wrong.”

“I don’t just feel responsible. I am responsible. That ledge jumper asked for me, and he got shot. People are being murdered because they have my name, or because they’re someone I’ve questioned about the case. Cass was stabbed because of me. Victoria’s daughter was kidnapped to rattle me. There’s no doubt that I’m to blame.”

Just like Xander once said.

“And he’s using that sense of guilt to trip you up.”

She heaved out a sigh. “Well, it’s working.”

“Only if you let it.” Still holding her gaze, he braced his elbows on his knees. “I mentioned two things I wanted you to do. The first was to tell me about a case where you prevailed, even though the odds were against you. I wanted you to remember that when you persevere, you can succeed.

“Now I want you to go deeper. I want you to tell me about a more recent case, one that affected you even more deeply. The one you don’t like to think about.”

Her heart lurched. “You mean Andrew Moore.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“I don’t—”

“You’re strong enough, Lara. And it’s time to deal with this.”

“I already have.” She’d spent the past year anguishing over her failings and coming to grips with her mistakes. “I’ve already put it behind me and moved on.”

“Have you? Really? Because I believe that unless you confront it—meaning you’re willing to talk about what happened—you won’t be able to fight back. And then he will win, Lara.”

Her defenses rising, she crossed her arms. The last person she wanted to discuss with Dr. Oliviero was Andrew Moore. But she refused to continue running from her problems.

And deep down, she suspected the psychiatrist was right. Unless she truly confronted her past, she’d never reclaim control of her life—and the people around her would pay the price.

“All right.” Dreading it, she forced her mind back to Chicago, to those final days with Andrew Moore. “I liked him. He wasn’t what I’d expected. Maybe I wasn’t what he expected either. Maybe that’s why he trusted me, why we got so close. Too close.” Her face warmed, her stupidity shaming her even now. How could she have made such a huge mistake?

“That didn’t stop me from doing my job, though. I continued gathering information even during our affair. We were getting ready to make the bust.”

“Did that bother you, that you’d be arresting Andrew Moore?”

“Of course.” The guilt had nearly driven her mad. “I wanted to warn him, to get him out of harm’s way, but I was torn. I couldn’t blow the mission. We had too many people undercover—people who’d be in danger if the truth got out—and I couldn’t predict what he would do. So in the end, I didn’t tell him. I waited.” Despising herself all the time.

“We still hadn’t found Moretti. Until we did, we couldn’t make the bust. We knew he’d just relocate his organization and set up shop again somewhere else unless we put him behind bars.”

But the noose had been tightening around her. The closer she got to Andrew Moore, the greater the chance that she’d blow her cover, a mistake that could have gotten them all killed.

“Andrew didn’t suspect you were FBI?” the doctor asked.

“I don’t think so.” Maybe he’d sensed her desperation. Their lovemaking had taken on a note of urgency toward the end. Or maybe she’d imagined that—just as she’d imagined what he’d felt for her.

“I decided to help him find his buddy’s sister. I figured that even if I was going to bust him, even if I was going to put him in prison, at least I could help him save that girl.”

“You wanted to make amends.”

“Yes—which was idiotic, considering how badly he’d lied to me.”

“But you didn’t know that then. You were making decisions based on the information you had.”

True enough. But it still galled her that she’d let her emotions blind her to the truth.

“So, what happened next?” Dr. Oliviero asked.

She knotted her hands, forcing herself to return to that awful night. “I’d learned that some girls were being moved, transported out of Chicago for a special event, a play-off game that would attract a lot of johns. I had information that his friend’s sister might be involved, so I went to the warehouse to find out.”

“Was she there?”

“Not that I could tell. But Andrew showed up. I figured he was doing the same thing I was, looking for that missing girl. But I couldn’t get close enough to him to ask.

“After the trucks left, I tried to find him. I had to stay quiet in case Moretti’s people were still around. I was on the point of giving up when I heard a voice—a man’s voice. It sounded like Andrew’s, but the voice was deeper, and it had a different cadence, like the rhythm was slightly off.”

She inhaled. This was the hard part. The moment when her world had fallen apart, when she’d learned that everything she’d once believed was wrong.

“I got as close as I could and hid. I didn’t want to barge in on whatever Andrew had going on. I thought he’d arranged a meeting. Then I worried that someone had surprised him, that he might be in trouble and need my help. But when I peeked around the corner, I saw that he was alone. He was talking on the phone. But I still didn’t understand.”

She closed her eyes, the lengths to which she’d gone to deny the obvious sickening her even now. “I thought he’d put the phone on speaker, that the voice belonged to whoever else was on the line. But then I heard him giving orders to move some cargo from a south side warehouse to headquarters later that afternoon. And I realized the voice was his.”

She met Dr. Oliviero’s eyes. “I still didn’t get it. I knew Andrew was sharp, probably the smartest man I’d ever met. I figured he had a reason to change his voice.”

“Did he?”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, yeah. He had a reason, all right.”

“And what was that?”

Andrew Moore—the wounded ex-soldier, the arms commander she’d come to admire and respect, the tortured man she’d confided in, made wild and passionate love to—was a total myth. Instead, the man she loved was a monster.

“Andrew Moore was Moretti.”