Face of Danger

by Roxanne St Claire

  “What?” Vivi shot forward like he’d yanked her on a chain. Human trafficking?

  “Mr. Lang, it seems you’ve stumbled onto an active investigation,” Gagliardi said. “A major, high-priority investigation, possibly the highest in this office right now. Much, much more critical than the Red Carpet Killer, to be perfectly honest. Just not as sexy to the media, but very high profile. And, until this minute, I didn’t relate the two, but now they seem to overlap.”

  Vivi jumped up to get closer to Lang and read the report next to him.

  “Fill me in,” he asked Gagliardi.

  “Normally I’d do this privately, but Ms. Angelino may be a witness in a federal investigation and may have to appear before a grand jury. That is, if we do this right.”

  Vivi’s eyes widened as she looked at Lang. What the hell was going on? He held up a hand to stave off any questions and nodded to the phone. “Hear him out,” he whispered.

  “Sunisa Pakpao is, or was, the director of international relations for a company called RE Global Industries, owned and operated by multimillionaire Roman Emmanuel. Don’t be fooled by the high-powered title—Pakpao is a henchman who follows Emmanuel’s orders.”

  “What kind of business?” Lang asked.

  “On paper? Temporary employment. In reality? They recruit cheap labor from third world countries, with a specialty in Laos, lure them with false promises of lucrative jobs, confiscate their passports, and threaten deportation if they don’t take certain jobs, primarily as agricultural workers and child prostitutes.”

  Without thinking, Vivi put a hand on Lang’s arm, steadying herself. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

  “It’s slavery,” Lang said, putting his hand over Vivi’s. “Human trafficking.”

  He was so matter-of-fact, cold even. Of course, this was a crime the FBI dealt with all the time, but… Vivi swallowed, determined to think like Lang on this. Analytical. Unemotional. Focused. She had a client at stake here, not her own dark memories.

  She stepped closer to the speaker phone. “What does Cara Ferrari have to do with”—slavery—“this?”

  “Nothing that we know of,” Gagliardi said. “However, she does have a connection to Roman Emmanuel, so it’s entirely possible she knows more than she told us when we interviewed her a few months ago.”

  “You interviewed her about this?” Anger jolted Vivi. Why hadn’t Cara mentioned that when they talked about the FBI? All she said was the FBI couldn’t be trusted.

  “She and her sister worked for the company years ago, when they both arrived in Los Angeles seeking acting jobs. Joellen Mugg took jobs as a temporary secretary, one of the legitimate businesses of RE Global. Cara, who was Karen Mugg then, actually got placed in the headquarter offices in Westwood, and worked directly for Emmanuel. They were romantically involved, and she was his mistress for at least a year. Then she started getting acting jobs, and she claims they split up and she doesn’t speak to him, but they have been seen together.”

  “How did she explain that?” Lang asked.

  “He’s a very wealthy man and runs in the same circles in L.A. She could easily beg at the same party with him. She claims to know nothing in-depth of his business.”

  “Well, she knows something or at least has something he wants,” Vivi said. “And that Pakpao guy wanted her to hand it over.”

  “Exactly,” Gagliardi said. “Anything Miss Ferrari has on him could be helpful. So far we have nothing, just speculation.”

  “And one dead director of international relations who tried to kill Cara Ferrari,” Lang said.

  “And make it look like the Red Carpet Killer,” Vivi added. “He said her winning the Oscar changed everything.”

  “Maybe he thinks he can get away with killing her now,” Gagliardi suggested.

  Vivi dropped back into the chair, the weight of this news pressing. And the magnitude of the crime pressing harder. Human trafficking. Child prostitution. Her stomach roiled.

  “How can we help?” she asked.

  “We can find whatever it was he was looking for,” Lang said. “I’ll turn this place upside down and inside out.”

  “I think that’s a start,” Gagliardi said. “Evidence is what will bring him down in court. Anything to make a solid connection between his seemingly legitimate business and victims who’ve been forced into slave labor and the sex trade. He’s elusive, and he’s got people everywhere—many of them willing to kill for him. Emmanuel pays his people, if not his slaves, and he takes care of their families in Laos. Pakpao is—was—a perfect example.”

  “Have you interrogated Emmanuel?” Lang asked.

  “Multiple times, and he was the subject of an undercover operation that went south. His business is a straight-up labor contracting firm that files taxes, and pays wages and benefits to real employees. The trafficking, which is where he’s made millions, is completely hidden.”

  Vivi gnawed on her lower lip, thinking about her client. “If Cara has something on him from when she worked for him, why not turn it over to the authorities? Why hide it? Why help him?”

  “Maybe she’s involved.”

  Lang’s words were like a punch. Could Vivi be working for someone who would knowingly sell a child into prostitution? A poor worker into slavery? “Then she can have her ten million dollars,” Vivi said softly. “I’ll nail her ass to the wall and clobber her with the damn Oscar.”

  “She has quite a bit to lose, no matter what her level of involvement,” Lang said. “I don’t think even the great forgiving American public would let her off the hook for being involved in something like this, even if she was young and stupid at the time.”

  “Except now the world is going to think we got the Red Carpet Killer today.”

  “And maybe we want them to,” Gagliardi said quickly. “We’re still investigating the connection between the two murders and all we have is the hair. But we can string the media along and let them think we might have caught him and then what will be interesting is whether or not Ms. Ferrari chooses to come out of her self-imposed hiding.”

  Vivi and Lang looked at each other. Interesting indeed. “Maybe she’s not hiding from a Red Carpet Killer,” Vivi mused, “but from Roman Emmanuel, who can use this situation to his advantage by threatening to kill her and make it look like a serial killer if he doesn’t get what he wants.”

  Lang nodded. “Maybe she’s put herself in hiding and a body double here not because of an imaginary killer, but a very real one who, if he was creative enough, could make it look like she was simply victim number three.”

  “Maybe not imaginary,” Gagliardi added. “We still have evidence to at least warrant protection and investigation.”

  “I understand that,” Vivi said. “But this threat seems much more immediate and powerful.”

  “I happen to agree,” Lang said.

  “Ms. Angelino, I have a proposition for you.” At the assistant director’s statement, Vivi sat up straight.

  “Whatever you need, sir.”

  “If Ms. Ferrari returns after learning that we’ve caught the Red Carpet Killer, and maintains her side of your bargain, then this point will be moot. She’s obviously only hiding from a serial killer whom she thinks we’ve caught. We’ll add her to a suspicious persons list and we’ll continue the investigation here in L.A., adding the new information to the mix.”

  “Okay.” She held Lang’s unwavering gaze.

  “However,” Gagliardi said, “if she chooses to remain where she is, and we understand that she hasn’t disclosed her location to you, then we’re right that she’s hiding from Emmanuel. In that case, I’d like you to stay right where you are as her double. We can bring the FBI agents on site up to speed, but I will pull the necessary strings to get the Nantucket police out of there. I don’t want anyone outside the FBI knowing Ms. Angelino is a decoy.”

  She met Colt’s gaze, instinctively knowing he did not like this plan. Did she? It put her in the position of investigating her own client,
but if Cara was guilty of any involvement in human trafficking and child prostitution, Vivi wanted to take her down. But, on the other hand, if she was innocent and needed help…

  “You also want us to find this key, right?” Vivi asked. “The one Pakpao mentioned when he attacked me?”

  “If at all possible.”

  “And if Roman Emmanuel or another one of his people show up,” Lang said, “we’ll bring him in.”

  “I would like that, Colt.” Gagliardi’s voice was rich with implication that Vivi had no problem understanding. This was another test for his new hire, and a good one. “You will remain the lead on this case. Ms. Angelino, you will do whatever Mr. Lang tells you to do. And Colt,” Gagliardi added, his voice low and serious, “I don’t need to tell you that this is an exceedingly crucial case to the Los Angeles office, specifically the Criminal Programs Division.”

  The division he would head if he got the promotion. Once again, his big promo, the one that would take him three thousand miles away, hung in the balance. Only now the stakes were even higher. And Vivi had an active role in their success.

  So if they found this key, evidence, or even Emmanuel, she was essentially guaranteeing he’d be gone. Gone from her client roster, gone from her everyday life, gone from her schoolgirl-crush fantasies.

  “You don’t have to remind me, sir,” Lang said. “I understand the importance.”

  “Report in regularly,” Gagliardi said. “Thank you and good luck.”

  Lang lifted the phone from the table, ended the call, then leaned back on the desk behind him, one hip propped, one long leg holding him steady as he blew out a breath.

  “So,” Vivi said to break the silence. “Looks like we’re back on the same team.”

  “And you get to stay in character, like you wanted. But something tells me you aren’t going to get your fee.”

  “I don’t give a shit about money when it comes to things like”—she closed her eyes—“this.”

  His eyes flickered, some admiration in the green-gold, some surprise, too. “You’re in a lose-lose situation, Vivi. You nail her, you lose. She finds out you’re working against her, even if she’s innocent as snow, you lose.”

  “If I save one little girl from being”—raped—“I win.”

  He nodded, as if he understood. But of course he didn’t. And he never would.

  “And you’ve got a lot riding on this, too,” she said quickly. “Your big promotion.”

  “Yeah, so you’re even more motivated to succeed,” he said jokingly. “So be a smart backup.”

  “Backup?”

  “You heard the man: I’m in charge.”

  She just looked up at him, fighting a smile. “You always kiss your backup, Lang?”

  For a millisecond he paled, then he just swallowed. “Once I did.”

  Really. “And how’d that work out for you?”

  He leaned closer and for one crazy second she thought he was going to kiss her again. “It didn’t.”

  “Why? She have an opinion you didn’t like?”

  “She didn’t have anything I didn’t like.”

  The words kicked her, but she managed zero response. “So what happened?”

  He straightened slowly, looming over her, then he dropped his phone in his pocket and walked to the door.

  “What happened, Lang?” She hated that she repeated the question, but hated not knowing even more. What had happened to this woman who didn’t have anything at all he didn’t like?

  He turned as he opened the door. “She died.”

  “Oh.” Something thudded in her chest. “How?”

  “She took a risk she shouldn’t have.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Looks like they got him.” Marissa walked into the kitchen, starkly pale and maybe even shaking, holding her cell phone as though it were some kind of proof of the statement.

  A tingle of total disbelief radiated over Cara as she turned from the half-scrambled eggs on the stove.

  “Got who?” Joellen asked for her.

  “The Red Carpet Killer.”

  Cara dropped the spatula with a clunk on the pan. “What?”

  “Vivi Angelino just called from Nantucket. A man broke into the house, accosted her in the bathroom, and the FBI escort shot him right as he was about to shoot Vivi. He’s dead.”

  “Holy shit,” Joellen said, slapping a hand over her mouth. “There really was a Red Carpet Killer?”

  “Or a copycat,” Marissa replied, her voice still taut.

  “Who was he?” Cara asked.

  “They’re not releasing his name yet.”

  “So Vivi’s talked to the police,” Cara said, turning back to the eggs so her thoughts and expressions couldn’t be read.

  “She has,” Marissa confirmed. “But you’ll be happy to know she hasn’t revealed her true identity to them. But she has been forced to tell the lead FBI agent on the case that she is a decoy.”

  Cara’s pulse spiked. “What?”

  “She swears that no one else will know, but she cut a deal with him. She said she knows him from previous cases and now that they’ve got the killer, it couldn’t be avoided.”

  And she probably couldn’t be held to the nondisclosure, either. Still, if Roman sent the killer and knows he failed, and thinks she’s still alive and in Nantucket, he’d send someone else, or show up himself, and he’d do it quickly. Best to let Vivi stay there in her place.

  “We need to issue a statement,” Marissa said, dragging Cara back.

  “Yes, we do,” Cara said, her back still to Marissa, who hadn’t yet earned the right to witness Cara’s most personal moments.

  “I’ll get Leon on the phone and we’ll draft something for your approval,” Marissa said.

  “Go,” Joellen barked. “Do that. Now. I need to talk to Cara alone.”

  “You don’t have to talk to me like—”

  Cara held her hand out to halt the argument. “Marissa, please. Call Leon. You’re absolutely right, we need to issue some kind of statement. But we have to talk to Vivi first and find out what she’s told this FBI agent.”

  “Will you be heading to Nantucket to deliver the statement?” Marissa asked. “Or back to L.A.?”

  Cara finally turned around in time to see Joellen put both her hands on Marissa’s back and give her shoulders a squeeze, answering the question for her. “We’re going to discuss this, Marissa, and when we’ve decided we’ll let you know.”

  “I’ve already decided,” Cara announced, surprising herself with the vehemence in her voice.

  They both looked at her expectantly.

  “Until there is proof that this man is truly the person who killed Adrienne and Isobel, I’m staying right where I am. Anything could still happen. If Miss Angelino can withstand the media pressure of this and continue to pretend to be me, then she deserves every penny I’m paying her and more. Marissa, let her know I said to carry on.”

  “But she told the FBI agent,” Joellen whined. “You understand what that means, don’t you?”

  It meant the FBI didn’t know where she was. “Our biggest concern is the media,” Cara said coolly. “Go ahead, Marissa, get things started.”

  Marissa left and the Mugg sisters just stared at each other.

  “It could have been one of his men,” Joellen said. “It could have been him.”

  “We should be so lucky,” Cara replied.

  “He’s not going to let this deter him.”

  “If I’m not there, he can’t hurt me. He won’t stop until he has what he wants, Jo.” She folded the overcooked egg under the spatula. “Maybe I should go public.”

  Joellen choked. “Do you have any fucking idea what that would do to your career?”

  Not to mention Joellen’s free ride on the fame-and-fortune train. “I know what it would do, Jo.”

  “How do you think it would go over with your fans, Karen? That you were his right-hand girl, not to mention his mistress, completely aware of how boatloads of pe
ople were holed up and beaten, forced to live with no running water, drowning in their own excrement? How do you think it would fly on E! News that you stood beside him as he handpicked twelve-year-olds to be sex slaves, that you didn’t turn your head when he tortured them until—”

  “Stop it!” Cara screamed, grabbing the paring knife she’d used to slice tomatoes and holding it out toward Joellen. “Shut up!”

  Joellen just crossed her arms and gave her a cocky look. “Just remember, Karen, I have nothing to lose.”

  The bitch. “You have a gravy train of money and coattails of fame to lose.”

  “You can’t let the world know what you did, Cara.”

  She lowered the knife and closed her eyes. “If he gets indicted, I might have to. And hope I’m one of those Teflon celebrities.”

  “No one is that bulletproof, kiddo.”

  She scraped the overcooked eggs into the sink. “I should never attempt cooking.”

  “And I should never attempt sobriety.” Jo stood in front of the selection of booze bottles in the cabinet she’d just opened. “Crap vodka, but it’ll do the trick for a celebratory drink.” She splashed a glassful and held it up. “This’ll have to do.”

  “Cheers,” Cara said dryly.

  Joellen gulped, then slammed the glass down. “Maybe you should just give him what he wants, Cara, then he will keep you out of it when he’s indicted. You know he’s going to be indicted. You could just be the innocent in all this, nothing more than the—”

  “I’m not saving his ass. I’m saving mine.” Cara swallowed hard. “Just drink your vodka, Jo.”

  “Like I need an invitation to do that.”

  Uncle Nino had a name for people like Mercedes Graff. Several of them, actually. None very nice, Vivi thought with a smile she managed to hide. Mostly, Nino would probably just call the housekeeper una tedesca. A German. And, with Uncle Nino, the old-school Italian that he was, being una tedesca was not a compliment.

  Mercedes perched on the edge of an uncomfortable beige sofa, her features as pinched and sharp as the decor of her simple quarters on the basement level. Cleaned within an inch of their lives, the rooms were not nearly as well appointed and luxurious as the rest of the house, lit by unnatural light without a single window anywhere. They were devoid of clutter, color, or personality, an eerie reflection of the chilly, humorless woman who lived in them.