She leaned back, still in his arms, but far enough away to give him a hard, serious look. “That wasn’t the Red Carpet Killer, Lang. And whoever sent him isn’t done with me yet.”
CHAPTER 6
Come here.” Vivi practically dragged Colt across the room, putting an end to his whispers and the unexpected emotion that overtook him.
“We’re fanning out and looking for anyone else!” Special Agent Iverson shouted at him, heading out the door.
He started to respond, but Vivi dug her hands into his arm and yanked him aside. “I don’t want anyone to hear this,” she insisted. “It’s important, Lang.”
“So is finding out if anyone else broke into this house. What is it?”
She looked over his shoulder again, as another agent brushed by them. “C’mere. In the closet.”
Pulling him to a door, she practically threw him into the giant walk-in closet and he was still so deeply grateful that she was alive, he let her.
“Vivi—”
She slammed her hand on his mouth and flung the door shut behind them. “Cara!” She leaned against the door as though she’d physically fight anyone trying to get in. Or out. “You have to call me Cara, damn it!”
He sucked in a breath, staring at the red marks on her neck. “Jesus, what did he do to you?” He reached for her, her throat warm, her pulse as crazy as his underneath.
“I’m okay,” she insisted, dipping from his touch.
“A gun and threat is not the usual MO of a serial killer,” he said, thinking out loud.
“No shit, Sherlock.” She practically ground out the words in impatience. “Did you not hear me, Lang? That was not the Red Carpet Killer.”
“Then it was a damn determined copycat, and we got him. Which, I promise you, will deter anyone thinking about trying the same thing.”
“I’m not worried about a copycat. That guy said a lot of things to me that had nothing to do with killing actresses who’d won the Oscar.”
He abandoned his examination of her neck. “Like what?”
“Like someone named Roman sent him, and told him how to get in here, and that he wanted something Cara has. A key. And… and…” She visibly searched her memory, fighting to get everything out. “He didn’t know I wasn’t Cara, at least not at first, but he sure as heck knew a lot of other stuff. Like wasn’t it ‘ballsy’ of her to open the place to the Feds, as though she’s not ‘a complete innocent’ in all this.” She used air quotes around the words. “Not innocent in all what, Lang?”
He shook his head, already thinking through the mountain of procedures ahead. “I don’t know. But we have to figure out where the breach of security is on the grounds and in the house and make sure this compound is secure. Nantucket cops and Massachusetts State Police will be here soon, the ME has to pronounce, and we’ve got to get an ID on that guy. I’ll contact the FBI and Internal Affairs will need to send someone to prove this was justifiable.”
She waved her hand. “And how could it not be justifiable? He was about to kill me and you if he could have managed it. Cara is involved in something serious here.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, trying to subdue her impatience physically, which was no small feat at the moment. Still, he had to make her see the importance of how this was managed by the FBI. “A man is dead, Vivi. That is more important than the fact that you’re pretending to be a movie star.”
“Oh my God!” She blew the words up to the sky. “Are you not listening to me?”
“Are you not listening to me? An armed man broke into the bathroom to attack you. The only way to handle that is—”
“He broke into Cara Ferrari’s bathroom,” she corrected, managing to escape his grip. “And I still don’t want anyone to know I’m not Cara Ferrari.”
He nearly choked. “Vivi, that game is over.”
Her dark eyes flashed like his words had electrocuted her. “It isn’t a game and now it’s more important than ever. He was working for someone, which means Cara’s still at risk and I’m still needed here.”
“Sorry about your assignment, Vivi, but everything’s changed in the last ten minutes.”
“Come on, Lang,” she said, giving his shoulder a frustrated push. “Think like the by-the-book FBI guy we both know you are and let me tell you everything he said to me. Because”—she closed her eyes, taking a deep, slow breath before she finished—“if you tell the Nantucket Freaking Police Department and the Massachusetts State Police and the DA and the ME and the rest of New England law enforcement who I am, this will be all over the news in minutes and—”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” He flicked his hand, swiping at her worries. “You can forget the non-disclosure, Vivi. It’s moot now. She can’t hold you to it; nothing would stand up in court. No way you can hide your role as a body double now that a man’s been killed in her house. And, frankly, you could have just as easily been the one lying on that bathroom floor.”
“But I’m not because I kept up the act. He didn’t kill me, but he gave me some very important information.”
The very thought of what had almost transpired in that bathroom punched him. “I will admit you did the right thing. Risky as hell, but you sent me the message and, I’ll also admit, it probably saved your life. Good work, but I’m afraid the charade is up. I refuse to keep this from the FBI. Especially if what you’re saying is true.”
“Of course it’s true!”
“I’m sure you think you know what you heard, but in a situation like that, you can’t be sure you have the facts or names right. He might have said ‘Roman’ or something that sounded like it. He had you at gunpoint, right?”
“From behind.”
“You could have easily misunderstood.”
“But I didn’t, and as soon as he learns his hit man got killed, he’ll send another.”
“Not if it’s out that you’re a decoy.”
“Exactly, because if he knows I’m a decoy, he’ll start trying to find the real Cara! Putting Cara in more danger because this guy knows an awful lot about her. And he wants something she has. If we go public with the decoy, then she’ll just go deeper into hiding and be in more danger.” When he didn’t respond, she pointed at him. “You have to agree that makes sense.”
Nothing made sense, not his visceral reaction to Vivi being in danger and not her ability to derail him from what he should be doing.
“Some,” he conceded. “We do need to find her, but I have more immediate concerns.” He turned to the door and she grabbed him again.
“Don’t tell anyone yet, Lang.”
“I can’t make any promises.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” she said quickly, a little desperate.
“I just made a deal,” he said roughly. “I gave you until twelve-o-one p.m., and in the space of less than fifteen minutes, you were almost dead.”
“But I’m not,” she said. “I’m fine, Lang, really. Listen to my deal.”
A memory flashed. Let me make you a deal, Colt. And he’d agreed. He’d agreed to take a risk that cost him everything. “No fucking deals, Vivi. No bending the rules, no trying to outsmart the system. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Straight to the FBI with your information—all of it, including who you are—and then let’s figure out who this guy was, how he got in here, and why. We’ll need you to share everything he said, of course. That’s the only deal I’m making with you.”
“Fine,” she agreed. “If we do it without revealing that I’m not Cara Ferrari.”
“That’s kind of an important element of the investigation, don’t you think?”
“Why? I mean, at least as far as the Nantucket police are concerned?” She leaned against the door, her arms crossed. “Will you just listen to my proposal?”
“No.”
“Just listen.”
“You have thirty seconds.”
“You and your time lines.”
He looked at his watch
. “Now you have twenty-eight.”
She shoved his arm down to make his eyes meet hers. “We tell your boss and your task-force guy the truth.”
“And Internal Affairs.”
“And Internal Affairs. But that’s it. No one else. And”—she gave him a flat palm to stave off his objections—“we tell them everything I just heard and do not reveal my identity to the local police until—until…”
He took a step toward the door, so she put her hand right on his chest. “We learn the identity of the assailant and… and…”
“Fifteen seconds. And, frankly, that’s quite enough demands for one deal.”
She balled his shirt up in her fist to make her point. “And you give me the entire day to get ahold of Cara and try to get a location out of her. She’s in as much danger as I am. If she gets wind of this and knows I told everyone—forget the nondisclosure—she’ll never say where she is.”
He knew she was right, and his arguments faded in the face of her firm resolve. “All I’m asking for is a little bit more time so I can get to her first without tipping her off that I’ve blown the deal. And in the meantime, we’ll tell your L.A. office everything. Deal?”
He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. The way she looked up at him, the fire in her eyes, the strength in her fist, the determination that thrummed through her blood—how could he argue with that?
How could he do anything but kiss her? Because that was all he wanted to do, which was fucking idiotic right then. Ever. But he was so relieved she wasn’t dead.
“I’m not sure we can get Gagliardi and Tuttle on the phone right now; it’s about five in the morning in L.A.”
“You Feds get up at dawn.” She finally let go of his shirt but kept her hand on his chest, which was still hammering. “You always beat this fast, Lang?”
“When I’m about to be run over by a ninety-nine-pound human bulldozer in a wig.”
“Hundred and twelve and they’re extensions.”
He reached for her hair, curling his fingers around a thick, straight lock. “We need to get some of this to the lab,” he said roughly. “See if it matches the others.”
She rolled her head, letting some of the hair slide through his fingers like a cat enjoying a slow, easy stroke. “First time a guy ever ran his fingers through my hair and said that.”
“You don’t have hair.” He gave the strands a light tug. “But maybe after this, you’ll grow it.”
She slinked out of his touch, a flash of disappointment on her face. “Hey, if I’d known all it took was long hair and high heels to get my way with you, I might have tried that a long time ago.”
“You didn’t get your way with me,” he said. “I’m just agreeing to let the word out in a controlled and strategic way so that the media doesn’t ruin the investigation.”
The corners of her mouth lifted, revealing the shadow of dimples and her newly perfect front teeth. Funny thing, he kind of missed the chipped one. “Whatever bullcrap you need to rationalize this works for me, Lang. Thank you. Where are we making this call?”
“I saw an office or library downstairs. I’ll handle these people, and talk to the first responding officer from the Nantucket police, then delay your interview until we’ve made our call. Detectives will be here soon, and I also want to interrogate the housekeeper—”
“Me too.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “I thought you were in hiding.”
“I’m an investigator, Lang.”
“You’re a recently attacked movie star, Ferrari.”
“Not as far as Mercedes the housekeeper is concerned. She’s in the know.” She snapped her fingers and pointed to him as a thought occurred. “She was awfully damn anxious to get me up here, by the way. We definitely need to talk to her. And she might be in touch with Cara. We should have the lines out of the house tapped, in case we need to find Cara and she won’t tell us where she is.”
Good God, what next? “We’d never get a court order for that.”
Vivi rolled her eyes. “Guardian Angelinos don’t need no stinkin’ court order.”
“We are not going to tap her phone,” he said, pinning her with a look he’d already learned didn’t stop her when she wanted something.
“Okay, okay,” she agreed. “I can’t push every one of your buttons, can I?”
“But something tells me you’ll try.” He couldn’t resist one more brush of his knuckles over her reddened neck. The touch made her draw in a soft breath and took the spark out of her eyes, replacing it with something softer.
“Thanks, Lang. I appreciate your working with me on this.”
“I’m not working with you on anything. I’m in charge of this investigation, and right now, you’re a victim and witness.”
She smiled deeper. “Whatever you say.”
“Why does it scare me when you acquiesce so easily?”
“I don’t acquiesce so easily,” she said, closing her heavy lashes as he grazed the welt on her flesh. “Why are you doing that, Lang?” For the first time since someone had tried to kill her, Vivi’s voice sounded nervous.
“I just want to be sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, as long as you keep—”
He kissed her. There was no way to stop himself, so he didn’t try, leaning close to put his mouth on her lips. They were soft, dizzyingly soft, and parted in surprise, her words trapped.
He was tempted to slide his tongue over those pretty, pearly teeth, but fought the urge, pulling back.
“As long as I keep what?” he asked huskily.
“Your promise,” she whispered, her eyes still closed, her hand flat on his chest as though she needed to use him for balance.
“We’ll talk to Gagliardi before anybody knows anything.”
She didn’t reply, finally opening her eyes to look up at him. “Why did you do that?”
He had no fucking idea. Except that he had to. “So you know I’m serious.”
“You’re always serious, Lang.”
He just looked at her, then reached behind her to the knob, opening the door to come face-to-face with Special Agent Iverson. “Ms. Ferrari is going to be sequestered downstairs,” he said to the woman, ignoring her look of surprise and curiosity as they emerged from the closet. “Absolutely no one is to disturb her. I’ll be with her during any and all questioning.”
“Mr. Lang, she’ll have to talk to the police and IA alone, under the circumstances,” the agent said.
“We’ll handle that later.” He turned to Vivi, who still looked a little shell-shocked, her fingers on the lips he’d just kissed. “Come with me.”
For once, she didn’t argue.
What surprised Vivi most during the first few minutes of the conference call with Assistant Director Joseph Gagliardi and his right-hand agent, Thomas Tuttle, wasn’t the fact that they weren’t really fazed by the fact that Cara had hired a decoy or that Lang had waited a few hours and one attack to break that news to them. It was the way they responded when she told her story and mentioned the name Roman.
From that moment on, they flung questions at her. What else did the attacker say? Did he mention another name besides Roman? Was she certain he was looking for a key? Had he indicated how he’d gotten into the house?
“Did he only say the name Roman—no other?” Gagliardi asked for what had to be the fourth time.
Vivi nodded vigorously. “He said Roman told him everything, including how to get into the house.”
“And he asked about a key? Did he say what it was a key to?”
“No,” Vivi said. “But he seemed certain Cara had it, said the game changed when she won the Oscar. I have no idea why.”
On the other end, a long silence.
Curled into the leather chair across a coffee table from Lang, Vivi kicked off her heels, tucking her legs under her. Lang, on the other hand, barely sat on the edge of his seat, popping up occasionally to answer the door and get a report on what was going on upstairs, pacing
with his hands deep in the pockets of his perfectly pressed khaki Dockers, his brow knit, his jaw clenched.
She never expected him to react so—so emotionally to her attack. Her own response was understandable, and easy to cover under the circumstances. But his? And the kiss?
What was that all about? The sexed-up lap dance was one thing, but that had to be the end of it. She couldn’t… she wouldn’t….
And neither would he. That would be against the rules, right?
“Right?”
She looked up from the phone at Lang’s question, knowing her expression was blank and lost.
He gave her a sympathetic smile. “Can you repeat that for Ms. Angelino, Mr. Gagliardi? She’s a little rattled.”
“I am not,” she shot back, sitting up. “I’m just trying to remember it all in detail.”
A hard knock at the library door pulled away his attention and Special Agent Iverson stuck her head in, her blonde hair pulled in a hairstyle that made her angular features appear even more severe. “We have an ID on the vic,” she said.
“Come on in,” Lang said. “If there’s an ID from fingerprints from the body, then I take it the guy has a record.”
“He sure does,” Special Agent Iverson said dryly, placing a few computer printouts on the table between them. “His name is Sunisa—”
“Pakpao.” Gagliardi said the last name in unison with Special Agent Iverson, bringing them all to a stunned silence until Tuttle’s voice rose excitedly from the phone.
“Holy shit, we got him.”
“No,” Gagliardi said. “We got Pakpao. We don’t have anything on Emmanuel.”
Vivi and Lang shared a look, neither saying a word.
“Then I guess you know his rap sheet,” Special Agent Iverson said, backing out. “I’m going back upstairs.”
The minute she left, Vivi reached for the report but Lang snagged it first, reading out loud. “Wanted for federal indictment on charges of conspiracy to commit forced labor, falsifying social security records, accomplice to acts of human trafficking—”