Face of Danger

  “Well, he will be in a few years.”

  In other words, Dad was just another excuse for going to L.A. She was going to have to accept this, no matter how much her heart—and various other parts of her body—didn’t want to.

  Maybe he’d come back and visit, and they could have no-strings sex. Which she already knew would make her nothing but miserable and leave her wanting more. No, thanks.

  He parked in the lot at Bank of America, a few streets from the center of town, climbing out and opening her door in the back. “You have Cara’s ID?”

  “In here.” She tapped an oversize handbag and pulled large sunglasses from the side pocket. “Marissa made me take it in case I got pulled over or something.”

  “Or something.”

  “Think I should bring the blueprints?” she asked, lifting the tubes they’d found in the bog house attic.

  “Leave them for now. If we need them, I’ll come back and get them.” He put a light hand on her back, scanning the parking lot, which was deserted but for an older couple making their way to their car.

  Inside, they attracted the attention of all four tellers, two customers, and one woman in a back glassed-in office, who jumped up the minute they walked in. Around fifty, dressed in banker’s blues, the woman grinned broadly and waved a pink slip of paper.

  “Cara, I just got your message. I was picking up the phone to return your call.”

  Vivi barely covered a shocked reaction. Cara had called her?

  “But that’s moot now, isn’t it?” The woman continued toward her. “It’s so lovely to see you again.”

  “And you,” Vivi said coolly, channeling everything she’d picked up from Cara while out in L.A. “And this is Assistant Special Agent in Charge Colton Lang. My personal protection.”

  The woman gave Lang a quick smile, then beamed back to Vivi. “And let me be one of the first locals to congratulate you on the Oscar, Cara. You’ve brought so much pride to Nantucket.”

  “Thank you. I’ve also brought us a lot of media, I’m afraid.” She worked to keep her voice in the lower register that made her sound more like Cara as they walked back to her office, gratefully snagging a name on the door. “So I’m hoping we can get this over with as quickly as possible. Diana.”

  “Of course.” Diana waved them to seats. “I’ve already pulled up your paperwork and can take you back to the conference room to sign the paperwork to release the documents.”

  Lang looked out the glass partition, watching every person in the bank while Diana grabbed a file on her desk and clicked a few keys on her computer.

  “Now your message said you needed to see—”

  “The property deeds,” Vivi said quickly.

  Diana nodded. “Yes, and as my assistant mentioned when you called, you don’t need a key for those, they’re not in a safe deposit box.”

  Cara had called and arranged this same thing? And even more stunning… was a safe deposit box key the one Pakpao was looking for? One they didn’t need, after all?

  “So it would have been fine to send someone else like your message said you wanted to,” Diana continued.

  “I decided I could sneak out without causing a scene. So far, so good.”

  “Be fast, though,” Lang said. “I already see people on cell phones. The word that you’re here will be out soon.”

  “Let’s go to the conference room, then,” Diana said.

  “I’ll wait here,” Lang said, still locked on the bank lobby. “Assuming you won’t be far.”

  “Just in the next room,” Diana assured him.

  Diana led her to a small meeting room. A table in the center was covered with a number of legal-size file folders. Vivi knew she couldn’t take any of the paperwork; Lang would kill her for that breach. Anyway, if they were illegally obtained any information they revealed would be useless in court.

  “Could I have a few minutes alone, Diana?”

  The woman raised her eyebrows. “How will you know which files? You have several here. And your bodyguard said you were in a hurry.”

  “I want to be alone,” she replied, putting just enough diva in the voice to be convincing.

  “Of course,” Diana said, backing out. “Just come out when you’re done.”

  The minute she was alone, Vivi took off her sunglasses and started flipping through files, looking for the name Roman Emmanuel on anything. On the fourth file she hit pay dirt. Without taking the time to read a word, she used her cell phone to snap pictures of every page. At least they’d have something, especially since Cara was planning to come in here later and clean out.

  Why?

  She couldn’t take the time to figure that out now. She and Lang could talk about it later. She got fifteen pictures and closed up everything. Just as she turned to get her purse, the door burst open, and Lang reached in and grabbed her. “Let’s go! Now!”

  “Is the media here?” she asked as he yanked her into the hall and hustled her forward.

  “Worse. Move it. Stay on this side of me and don’t stop at that woman’s office.”

  “Why?”

  “Later. Now move it—out the door!”

  As they passed the glass wall of Diana’s office, Vivi caught a glimpse of a tall, bearded man speaking in a raised voice. They hadn’t made it five steps into the lobby when Diana called out.

  “Cara! Ms. Ferrari! You can’t leave!”

  “Yes, we can,” Lang ground out, pushing her to the door, just shy of a run.

  “Stop!” A man commanded, but Lang ignored him. Still moving, Vivi glanced over her shoulder and met the gaze of the bearded man, aware that customers were staring, cell phones already out to snap pictures and take videos that would be on YouTube in an hour.

  Lang covered her just as the man bolted out and ran in front of them, as tall as Lang, but not as broad.

  “Back off,” Lang said, one hand up, one reaching for a gun.

  “You’re not Cara,” the man said, glowering down at her.

  “Out of the way!” Lang ordered, in full bodyguard mode.

  The man spared one quick glance at Lang, then returned his focus to Vivi. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Vivi reached for the sunglasses, only to realize she’d left them in the conference room. “Mr. Lang, please, I’d like to leave,” she said sharply.

  Lang drew his gun, to a collective gasp and one loud scream from the onlookers. “I’m not at all afraid to blow your face off, buddy. That’s what she pays me to do. Get the fuck out of our way.”

  “But she’s—”

  Lang had the guy on the ground in one move, just as an armed bank guard launched on to the scene. “I said, leave her alone.”

  The man squirmed, raising one hand to point at Vivi. “That is not Cara Ferrari, damn it!”

  Vivi took a step back, copped an indifferent look, cursing the fact that she’d run out without the sunglasses.

  “That’s enough,” Vivi said coolly. “The bank guard has the situation under control. Please. I want to leave.”

  Lang got up slowly, his gun still pointed at the guy, and then he motioned to the guard. “He’s all yours.”

  “That is not Cara Ferrari!” The man hollered again. “She’s an impostor!”

  Lang hustled Vivi away while the guard positioned himself over the man. “Sir, we need you to stand up slowly.”

  He didn’t move, still pointing at Cara, turning to the side to direct his comments to Diana Montgomery. “I hope to God you didn’t let her in to see any private documents, Diana! That girl right there is not fucking Cara Ferrari and I can prove it! She’s some kind of look-alike, but it’s not her!”

  “Go!” Lang gave Vivi a good push toward the door and she thrust it open.

  “Ms. Ferrari, wait!” Diana called back. “Please, we need to address this situation! This man is—”

  “Nuts!” Vivi called over her shoulder, just as the glass door closed behind them. Together, they bolted to the Expedition.

  She did
n’t stumble, no mean feat on heels and cracked asphalt, and almost kept up with him. His gun still drawn, Lang used it to point to the passenger side.

  “Get in—it’s open!”

  She’d barely shut the door behind her when he threw himself into the driver’s seat, jammed the key in the ignition, and peeled out.

  “Holy shit,” she muttered. “Who was that guy?”

  “Roman Emmanuel.”

  She jerked like she’d been shot. “What? Why didn’t you just arrest him?”

  “For what? He’s not a fugitive; he’s a person of interest in an open FBI investigation. We were the ones breaking the law in there, in case you forgot.” He took a breath and turned another corner, staying within the speed limit, watching the rearview mirror carefully. “So what did you find?”

  “His name all over the deeds. I took pictures. Are you sure it was him?”

  “I’ve seen his picture in the files.”

  She thought about that, holding on while he wended through the streets of Nantucket and her head swam with possibilities, returning to the thought she had last night.

  “I told you that’s who Cara is coming to talk to,” she said. “Remember, the text said Cara’s ready to talk and the response was do what I pay you to do.”

  Lang looked at her. “Then Emmanuel pays Joellen.” He circled around the side street, giving them another view of the bank.

  They arrived just in time to see Roman Emmanuel walking out, files in hand.

  “And now he knows he doesn’t need a key to get them,” she said. “His name is on the files, so he can walk right out with them. Damn, I could have had that in my hand.”

  Lang didn’t respond, watching the target as he walked toward town, pulled out a phone, read a text, and paused long enough to write a response. A few seconds later, Vivi’s phone beeped with a call from Chessie.

  “Yeah?”

  “Joellen’s texting again,” she said. “Want to hear?”

  Vivi looked at the man who’d just sent a text three hundred feet from them. A bastard who sold humans into slavery and ruined children. “Oh, yes, Chessie, tell me about Joellen’s texts.”

  Lang turned to her, obviously drawing the same conclusion: Joellen was texting Roman Emmanuel. Vivi put the phone on speaker and held it between them.

  “Joellen wrote, ‘We are on our way. It’s now or never.’ ”

  “And what was the response?” Vivi asked.

  “Didn’t get one yet. Oh, wait, just in. Got it. The reply is, ‘I got what I needed. Meeting Pakpao’s replacement. Finish her off and I’ll meet you at LH.’ ”

  LH? What the hell was that? “Now what?” Vivi asked.

  “As my dad would say, let’s head him off at the pass.”

  “And then what?” Please, Lang, please break some rules.

  “Then let’s kick ass and take names.”

  She reached over and took his hand, squeezing his fingers like everything about him squeezed her heart. “Oh, Lang, I… I…” Love you. “I think that’s a damn fine idea.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Left hand? Last home? Little—”

  “Lighthouse,” Colt said as he rounded the corner, well behind Roman Emmanuel, who remained on foot. “I bet he’s going to the Brant Point Lighthouse.”

  “That’s what LH is!” Vivi exclaimed, peering through the windshield. “But the ferry docks way down here in the thick of town, on Broad Street.”

  “Our best bet is to follow him as well as we can.” Which wasn’t going to be easy considering the warren of narrow one-way streets that made up the heart of Nantucket’s only real town. “This place is built for pedestrians, not SUVs.”

  Traffic moved at a crawl, if at all. Emmanuel kept a good pace, striding down the sidewalk without glancing into the dozens of elite art galleries, precious boutiques, and inviting sidewalk cafés along the way.

  “Wherever he goes, if he talks to anyone, I want to hear him. Tape him if I can.”

  He shot her a look. “The man hasn’t committed a crime.”

  “Sex slavery?”

  “He hasn’t been arrested or indicted. We’re looking for evidence, legally obtained, then we’ll get him.”

  “And how do you plan to get that without getting close enough to hear what he says or see what he does?”

  He finally got through the next intersection, only for Emmanuel to turn the corner a block away. “Shit,” he mumbled.

  “We’d do better on foot,” she said.

  “Or you on that.” Colt gestured to a skateboarder who cruised up behind them, leaving the idling cars in his dust.

  “Oh.” Vivi let out a sigh of pure envy. “Nice Plan B board, dude.”

  Colt barely looked at the rider as he mentally navigated the route. “Emmanuel could be meeting Pakpao’s replacement anywhere around here, and I don’t want to lose him. I haven’t heard a ferry whistle yet, so my guess is the next ferry is coming around the lighthouse, but still has to round that horn and slide into the dock. He has time to meet someone.”

  “If I had that skateboard I could follow him.”

  “Like he wouldn’t recognize you as the impostor in the bank.”

  She blew out a breath as he hit the brakes with a frustrated tap. Vivi looked at the store next to them. “Three minutes, Lang. Give me three minutes.”

  “To do what?” Or did he not want to know?

  “Shop.”

  Shop? He turned to stare at her, but she was already gathering up the bag and had her hand on the door handle. “I’m going into”—she dipped to see the name of the store—“Rags to Riches, only I’m doing just the opposite.”

  “You’ve got to change more than your clothes to fool him,” he said, instantly getting her idea and not hating it.

  “Trust me, I will. Do you have about three hundred dollars, maybe three fifty?”

  “Yeah.” He reached for his wallet, but she put her hand on his arm to stop him. “I don’t need it. I have money. But when you pass that kid on the Plan B, offer it to him for the board. If I know anything about skaters, he’ll take cash. Circle the block, get a read on Emmanuel, and pick me up in three minutes.”

  She opened the door and put one foot out before turning to him. “Thanks for not arguing with me on this.”

  Before he could do exactly that, she jumped out, slammed the door, and bolted for the entrance of Rags to Riches. He pushed through traffic to catch up with the skater, rolled down his window, made the offer, and had to lose thirty seconds negotiating but got the board and a “Totally dope, dude,” as a thank-you.

  Then Colt turned right on the street where Emmanuel had gone and scanned the packs of pedestrians, spotting him on the next block. Still walking, still carrying the bank files.

  Colt rounded the corner and in about three minutes, he pulled back up to Rags to Riches as Vivi darted out the door, a bag in hand, and jumped into the backseat.

  “Do we still have him?”

  “Dead ahead. And the board cost me four.”

  “Thief,” she said. “He could get two boards for that much, with titanium wheels.”

  “Is that why he called me a dope?”

  Vivi just chuckled and yanked out the clothes. “I got the first two items of clothing I could find, but I think they’re clothes Cara wouldn’t be caught dead in. I also found out the next ferry docks in twenty minutes from Martha’s Vineyard. And signed three autographs—ha! They totally believed I was Cara.”

  “And you think you can get by Emmanuel?”

  “I don’t want to get by him. I want to get close to him.” She yanked the yellow thing over her head and grinned at him in the rearview, stripping down to a tiny black bra. “Quit staring, Lang, and follow the target.”

  “I can do both,” he said. “Did you get a hat?”

  “Better.” She slithered into a short jeans skirt, then pulled a skimpy black T-shirt over her head. “But I am going to have to do this barefoot, because I didn’t have time to get shoes.”
br />   Emmanuel was three blocks ahead now, still in sight, but disappearing fast. Then he paused at a café with tables on the sidewalk, taking a call. “What’s better than a hat?”

  “I got these in exchange for an autograph for the owner’s niece, Becky.” She pulled out a pair of orange-handled scissors.

  “Seriously?”

  “Don’t tell me—I’m under arrest for forgery.”

  “You’re going to cut those things?”

  She held a chunk of hair to the side and poised the scissors close to her head. “Hell yeah, I am. If he sees this hair, I’m busted. Anyway, my client’s coming home and, trust me, I’m not getting a million dollars for killing myself trying to tie her to a human trafficking ring.”

  “Don’t,” he said quietly, turning around to make his point.

  “Don’t cut my hair? I didn’t think you were so into this fake long hair—”

  “Don’t kill yourself.” He gave her his harshest look, the one that underscored most orders and got a resounding affirmative from everyone who’d ever worked for him.

  Everyone but Vivi. She just grinned and snipped, the first strand of black hair fluttering to the floor. “Careful, stud. You’re starting to like me.”

  He was way past starting. Hell, he was getting past like. “Just don’t get too close.”

  “Then how can I hear what he’s saying?” Snip, snip, snip, like a barber, as hair rained down everywhere.

  “Just observe, Vivi. Don’t try and talk to the guy. Just observe.”

  She rolled her eyes and brushed her hand over some funky-looking spikes, more chewed than cut.

  “You want some help with that?”

  “That bad, huh?” She laughed. “I’m good. Drive.”

  Traffic moved another two feet, then stopped for pedestrians to cross. Three blocks away, Emmanuel pulled out a seat at the café, still on the phone. When Colt looked at Vivi in the rearview mirror, she was transformed. Sawed-off hair, skater-girl clothes, fire in her eyes.

  “It’s you again,” he said, unable to fight the smile. Jesus, he adored her.

  “I’m telling you, Lang, don’t look at me that way. There are six thousand better versions of this out in L.A. They’ll all be dying to strip you out of your golf shirts and khakis.”