You could have been raped.
He grunted softly, self-loathing infiltrating every cell in his body, just as his phone rang. Gagliardi. A welcome distraction.
“Lang here.” He even thought of himself as Lang now.
“You’re not in the air yet?” Gagliardi asked, hope in his voice.
“Thirty minutes. What’s up?”
“Because we just had a break in the Red Carpet Killer case.”
Colt sat up straighter. “What is it?”
“One of the hairs found in the bathroom matches the other two, purchased at a manufacturer in India called Bhanjee.”
His heart kicked up. “Found at the site or taken from Vivi Angelino’s extensions? I thought you said they weren’t a match.”
“Vivi’s extensions didn’t match. This is a whole new hair, picked up by our forensics people in the Nantucket house after Pakpao was shot. We’ve got an agent interviewing the owner of the wig company now and he’s acquired a list of U.S. customers. Guess who’s on it?”
“Joellen Mugg?”
“Uh, no. Mercedes Graff, Cara’s housekeeper.”
“Well, she’s not a suspect; she doesn’t leave the house.”
“Are you sure?”
Actually, he wasn’t—just that he’d never seen her leave. But if that was correct, then Vivi was in that house with her, unprotected and uninformed. “I’m going back, then. So I’ll be delayed.”
“Send someone else. We need you here.”
Not a chance. “No, I’m going myself.”
“Mr. Lang, we need you in Los Angeles. There’s a press briefing on the Emmanuel case and it’s a perfect opportunity to introduce the man who cracked the human trafficking ring as the new Criminal Programs SAC for the L.A. office. Sorry, but PR duties are a large part of the job.”
Not when he had it they wouldn’t be. “I’ll do my best to be there, but I’m not making any promises.” He grabbed his bag and headed across the terminal.
“You have to—”
“No, Joe. I don’t. If this…” His voice trailed off as an image caught his eye way out on the tarmac. A woman hauling ass across the wide-open space, long black hair flying. “I have to check on Vivi,” he said simply, squinting at the woman in the distance.
It looked exactly like… Vivi as Cara. Or maybe Cara herself. She hustled toward the Gulfstream G650, all purpose and speed.
Was that Vivi or Cara? Just like the first time he’d seen that woman get on that plane, he wasn’t entirely sure. He forced himself to listen to the man calling the shots in his life right now.
“Mr. Lang, get to L.A. No one’s going to kill Cara Ferrari today.”
The woman stopped, turned, waved to someone back in the parking area that lined that end of the airfield, then ran up the stairs into the plane, and seconds later, another woman with long black hair ran across the tarmac. Carrying a dog.
Now that was Vivi. In a wig, for sure, but he recognized that body even from this far away.
“I’m not going to L.A.,” he said vaguely as Vivi set the dog on the ground, running toward the plane, the dog at her heels, its funny little lopsided gait confirming that was definitely Stella. What the hell was going on?
“Excuse me?”
“I changed my mind, Mr. Gagliardi. I’m needed here.”
“You get to L.A.,” Gagliardi said, as if Lang hadn’t even spoken. “And tell the agent you put on this there is one more thing that’s interesting to note.”
“What is it?” he asked, barely listening as he watched Vivi, back in disguise, cross the tarmac.
“It’s about the dog prints.”
That pulled him back into the conversation. “What dog prints?”
“There were dog prints in the dirt on Mulholland where Adrienne Dwight’s car went over the cliff. They perfectly match a set of paw prints taken just outside the Nantucket house.”
Something dark and cold twisted in Lang. Stella’s prints? “Cara has a dog. A dachshund. Pretty common breed.” I’m looking at it.
“Not a common print, though. Front left paw turns out at a strange angle. It’s clear in the print from Mulholland, and the one at the house.”
Why would Joellen have Cara’s dog at these crime scenes? Unless—his blood turned icy as the realization hit him. The ugly, impossible realization of who killed Adrienne Dwight and Isobel DeSoto.
He dropped the bag and started toward the emergency exit. “I won’t be coming to Los Angeles today.”
“Unacceptable, Mr. Lang.”
He slammed the bar and shoved the emergency door open, setting off an alarm that drowned out his words. “Or ever.”
“Sir! Sir!”
“You can’t go there!”
His right hand shot up with a badge. “FBI! I’m going out there.”
“What the hell is going on?” Gagliardi demanded in his ear.
But he stashed the phone and ran on gut and fire. Because if he had to shoot the damn engine out, he was not going to let that plane take off with Vivi on it.
• • •
“Oh my God, I’m so glad to see you.” Cara stepped out of the back cabin, her hand on her shoulder as Vivi boarded. “And look who’s here!” Cara’s voice rose to falsetto as Stella bounded up the stairs behind Vivi and launched into Cara’s one good arm. “My baby!”
Vivi looked around the main cabin, peering into the back. “Are you all alone?”
“Yes, which is why I need you. I want the media to follow you while I do some other stuff.” She finally put the dog down and leveled a midnight gaze at Vivi, her face in full makeup.
“You don’t even look tired, let alone recently shot.”
“I’m in pain,” Cara said. “But I’m a professional. And the show must go on.”
“What show?”
She didn’t answer, sizing Vivi up instead. “I could get used to this,” she said. “Having two of me would really help improve my life. Would you like a permanent position?”
Well, look at that. Cara Ferrari was handing her a job that was probably based in Los Angeles. “No, thanks,” she said, giving it less than a nanosecond of thought. “But this is really important, Cara. I have to talk to you about Joellen.”
“What about her?”
Vivi drew her bag closer and reached into it for the envelope. “I think what I’m about to tell you might shock you.”
Cara blinked, her jaw loosening so her lips could form a perfect O. “I don’t think I like the sound of this. Come on, in the back. The pilots listen and that room is soundproof.”
“Fast,” Vivi said, following Cara into the back.
Nice to know the scene of the Great Lap Dance was soundproofed after all that worrying about being heard. She buried the memory and dropped her bag on the floor to open the envelope. “Mercedes found this in Joellen’s room in your Nantucket house.”
“What is it?” Cara closed the door tightly, her brows drawn in worry and concern.
Vivi took a breath. “Cara, is it possible, even remotely possible, that your sister is the Red Carpet Killer?”
“What?” She packed ten different kinds of shock and outrage into the one syllable, grabbing at the papers Vivi held, taking them with her to sit in the side-by-side passenger seats.
Where she’d stripped for Lang a few days and heartbreaks ago.
Get focused, Viviana. That was then. This is a million-dollar client. And you are about to break the biggest case imaginable.
Cara picked up an oversize tote bag that was in one of the chairs and dropped it on the ground, falling into the seat, flipping through the papers. “Oh, my God. That’s the very spot on Mulholland where Adrienne’s car went over the cliff. And, come here, look at this, Vivi.”
“I’ve seen it all,” Vivi said, not moving. “I have to find her. I have to get her into the FBI for questioning. Are you sure you have no idea where she is? Where the house in Martha’s Vineyard is located?”
Cara just shook her head, still lookin
g at the papers. “This is unbelievable, Vivi.” She beamed at her. “I think you’ve found the killer, I really do. Please sit here for a minute while I take this in.”
What the hell was these to take in? Vivi’s head felt like it was exploding at the base of her neck now, patience and time evaporating with each passing second.
“Sit here,” Cara ordered, in a voice she might use for her dog.
“The FBI has some solid leads on some artificial hairs found at both crime scenes,” Vivi said, a sharp edge of impatience in her voice. “I need to deal with this now.”
“I’ve heard. Did they tie those hairs to Joellen?”
“Well, according to those papers—”
“Please sit down, Vivi.” It was no longer a suggestion, and Vivi knew if she didn’t follow the instruction she’d get no help from Cara. Irritation scampered up her spine, but Vivi took the window seat, still holding her phone.
“Who knows about this evidence?” Cara asked. “Have you told your FBI agent yet?”
He wasn’t her FBI agent. “Mercedes just gave these to me.”
“Mercedes found them?” She considered that. “I guess that’s okay.”
“Okay?”
“We have to do something about this,” Cara said softly, bending over. Stella trotted closer at the cue, but Cara didn’t pick her up. Instead she dug through a designer bag open in the aisle next to her.
Vivi chose her words carefully, itching to jump and run but knowing she couldn’t. “I know you need me, Cara. And I know you want the luxury of a second body to be where you can’t, but getting Joellen into the FBI for questioning is far, far more—”
Cara jumped up, the papers fluttering all around as she pointed a gun directly at Vivi. “No, it isn’t.”
Vivi just blinked in shock. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Saying good-bye to my decoy, who is flying to Boston as me.” Her last words were drowned by the whine of the engines starting up.
“Seriously?” Vivi asked with a choke. “You’re going to threaten to shoot me if I don’t go? You can’t force someone to work for you, Cara. I don’t want to do this but, sorry, you leave me no choice.” She pushed up, staring at the gun without fear. “And you can leave the drama on the movie set. Tell the pilots to—”
“Sit!” She lifted the gun, her hand remarkably steady as the plane lurched back. “I’m a good shot and you’ll be dead before we hit the runway. And the cabin, as I may have mentioned, is one hundred percent soundproof. Put your seat belt on.”
“Cara—”
“On.” Gone was the innocence, the interest in what she’d found. It was replaced by the deadly calm expression of a woman who would kill.
If Vivi put the belt on, she couldn’t jump her and get the hell off this plane.
But if she didn’t, something told her Cara was completely capable of firing that gun.
She pulled the belt over her hips, purposely holding Cara’s gaze. As she did, she secretly pressed a button on her phone and hit Send. It was somebody’s speed dial, but she had no idea who.
“Throw the phone,” Cara said, using her head to indicate the other side of the cabin. “Now. One, two…”
She pitched the phone and it landed softly on the bed. “Why are you doing this?” Vivi asked.
“Because you’re a hell of an investigator. And that was my biggest fear when you walked into my trailer in L.A. But also my greatest opportunity. That’s why I called you here. I certainly didn’t expect you, or Mercedes, to find this.” She gestured to the fallen papers. “The FBI should have. Weren’t they searching that house?”
Why was she behaving like this? “Cara, are you trying to protect Joellen? Because if she killed those actresses—”
“Protect her?” She snorted softly. “I’m trying to frame her. But the plan wasn’t for that to happen quite yet. I still need the publicity of the Red Carpet Killer, now more than ever since my name will be associated with that pig and his vile business.”
“Why would you frame her for murder?”
She just angled her head and gave a wry smile. “Better her than the real killer, kiddo. And they’re finding hairs and God knows what else now that the FBI is on the job. It’s only a matter of time until they zero in on… me.”
Cara was the Red Carpet Killer? Vivi just stared at her, speechless.
“You don’t have to be so surprised, Vivi. This is Hollywood. Only the strong survive. And, Christ, I hated Adrienne for beating me out of that award. I was pissed.” She spat the word, venom in the hiss.
“You weren’t even nominated,” Vivi said, vaguely aware of the plane easing back to the tarmac, turning slowly as it taxied toward a runway.
Please, God, let it be a busy day at the Nantucket Airport.
Wasn’t Lang taking off about now? Would his plane delay them long enough to get out of this? She had to get off. Or reach the pilots. She risked a glance to the call button, too far away for her to make a dive.
“I read for that role,” Cara said. “It should have been mine. And since Joellen had worked for her for a while, it was easy enough to find out Adrienne’s schedule, her driving route.”
“You’re the last person I would have imagined,” Vivi said honestly. “So much for my investigative skills.”
“But you honed in on Joellen, and that was what I wanted. She’s the perfect fall guy for this. The poor, drunk, overlooked sister. But you’ll have to die in her last act of stupidity: killing the decoy.”
“Someone else will investigate this, Cara.” Her gaze dropped to the gun, steady in Cara’s hand. By the time she got the seat belt off she’d be dead. “You’ll never get away with this.”
“Oh no? I’ve gotten away with a couple other murders,” she said. “I’m not worried about the investigation. They’ll never focus on me if my decoy is accidentally the victim of the Red Carpet Killer. They’ll hone right in on Joellen, who isn’t even my sister after all.”
Vivi swallowed in a desert-dry mouth, sweat prickling under her arms. Cara wasn’t lying… about anything. “Why did you kill Isobel DeSoto, then? Did you plan to be a serial killer?”
“She had the part in Now, Voyager and I wanted it. I knew it was my breakout role. So I helped her take a few pills, okay? If you put this to someone’s head—”She glanced at the gun. “They do stuff.”
Still holding the gun, Cara reached into her bag again and pulled out a roll of bandage adhesive tape. “Taking this from that hospital was pure genius.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Timing, they say, is everything.” She stepped closer. “If I time this right, you’ll go down in the Nantucket Sound, so it’ll be a watery crime scene, giving me weeks and weeks to produce more evidence that will nail Joellen’s ass once and for all.”
Her blood ran ice-cold as Cara used the gun to push Vivi’s arm onto the rest. What was she planning?
Cara bit the tape and kept the gun on Vivi, the seat-belt latch far enough from Vivi’s fingers that if she even made an attempt to get it, she’d be dead. One strip of tape smashed over Vivi’s arm, securing it.
Then Cara held the pistol, a sleek little Kahr K9, to Vivi’s temple. “I’m going to do the other one. If you move, I pull the trigger.”
Vivi just closed her eyes, her pulse pounding against the barrel of the gun. She’d get out of this, but not by doing something risky. The tape zipped over her arms, then Cara stripped off more and really secured her.
The phone on the bed beeped with a call and Cara glanced at it, then backed up, grabbing it to read the screen. “Lang,” she said. “The FBI guy?”
Vivi just stared, fighting the tape with every ounce of strength, doing exactly nothing to tear it. She’d speed-dialed Lang. Help was so close… and so far away.
Maybe Cara would answer and Vivi could scream.
Cara threw the phone on the bed, peeking out the window to see where they were. Vivi didn’t dare look away from her as she waited for the slighte
st opportunity to do something.
But what? Kick a shoe at her? Scream in a soundproofed cabin?
With Vivi secure, Cara set down the gun and returned to her designer bag of tricks, this time pulling out a small black device with red and blue wires wrapped around it.
“Roman Emmanuel was good for a few things,” she said softly. “Sex and creative ways to kill people. I will say that everything I’ve done, I learned from him.” She held the device up. “Like making a bomb.”
She set the bomb on the end table, pressing a button on it then turning the device toward Vivi so she could see a small digital readout of 10:00. “Ten minutes ought to be perfect. And we are done here, Miss Stella. Victim number three of the Red Carpet Killer. You’ve seen them all, pooch.”
Like she was packing up from a business meeting, she picked up the papers, stuffed them in her bag, snapped her fingers at the dog, and they both walked to the door.
“Thank you for all your hard work, Vivi. If it’s any consolation, I’ll see that your company gets full remuneration and they can start a scholarship in your name or something.” She flashed a Hollywood smile. “I’ll mention it in my next acceptance speech.” As she pulled the door open, she yelled, “I need the stairs opened, stat!” and disappeared into the cabin, closing the door before Vivi had a chance to open her mouth.
Vivi jerked her hands but they were thoroughly fastened to the armrests. Writhing, she caught a movement out of her peripheral vision. A man, running toward the plane, hundreds of feet away. But not so far that she didn’t recognize that body, that build, that savior of hers.
“Lang!” she screamed as loud as she could, more out of joy than hope as she watched him running like a damn fool down the tarmac. To profess his love or save her ass? Right now, she didn’t care.
She just couldn’t let Cara escape and this plane take off.
But from the window across the cabin, she could see Cara bolting down the stairs in a run. Lang would see her and go after her while the plane took off. How could she get his attention?
The stairs lifted, and in seconds the engines screamed back to life.
No! She had to get this tape off. She lowered her head, trying to bite the edge of the tape, but her teeth barely nipped it. She had to bend deeper, lower. Just like she did to get those damn boots off when she stripped in this very same seat.
Face of Danger Page 29
