Tough Justice Series Box Set, Parts 1-8

by Carla Cassidy

  “Of course.” The woman stepped aside. “Mei talked about you. I’m her second cousin, Sunny.”

  Relieved that Sunny, at least, was friendly, Lara followed her into a narrow hallway. The scent of incense hung thick in the air.

  She spotted a row of shoes lined up to one side, saw that Sunny was in her stocking feet, and quickly toed off her boots. Behind her, Nick did the same. Then she padded after Mei’s cousin into a box-like living room. A couch took up most of the space. On it sat three women—an elderly lady in the middle flanked by two who were middle-aged. Lara decided the one in the center had to be Grandma Wang. She was tiny and frail, her face a mass of leathery wrinkles framed by wisps of snowy hair. She had on somber clothes.

  Sunny said something to the elderly woman in Cantonese. The grandmother nodded and looked their way. Lara braced herself for the woman’s anger, but instead, there was kindness in her grief-stricken eyes, a warmth that made Lara feel bereft. She swallowed hard, beating back the sudden fullness blocking her throat, and struggled not to cry.

  “Please, sit down,” Sunny said, motioning to a couple of empty chairs.

  Lara took a seat next to Nick. Blinking furiously, she glanced around the room in an effort to compose herself. But the walls were covered with photos of Mei—her graduation from high school. Receiving her college diploma. Several darling photos of her as a young girl missing two front teeth. And even more in her FBI uniform.

  Lara’s vision blurred. Mei’s grandmother had obviously been proud of her.

  The smell of burning incense drew her gaze to a small table set against the far wall, and she realized it was a memorial for Mei. In the center was a framed, black-and-white portrait. In front of the picture were offerings of food in little plates—peaches, apples, pears and a spicy pork dish, obviously all of Mei’s favorite foods. Several sticks of incense surrounded the plates, their smoky tendrils curling into the air.

  Mei’s grandmother said something to Sunny, and the younger woman turned to Nick. “Are you the one who found Mei?”

  “Yes.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple dipping in his whiskered throat. “Please tell your grandmother that we’re really sorry for her loss.”

  Lara winced at the stock phrase. It sounded so inadequate when applied to Mei. But really, what else could he possibly say? He certainly couldn’t describe how he’d found her and how brutally she’d died. These women looked traumatized enough.

  Sunny translated his words. Lara met the grandmother’s eyes, the obvious despair this woman felt leaving her raw.

  “Do you know how long it will be until we can get her body?” Sunny asked.

  “Soon,” Nick promised. “They’ve put a rush on it since she’s with the FBI. I’m sorry I can’t be more precise. I know you’ll want to make arrangements for the funeral.”

  “Thank you.” Sunny paused. “This isn’t typical, you know. Usually in our culture, we don’t have a big funeral when a young person dies. We pay respects to our elders, not our children as a rule. But our family is so small. And Grandma Wang has always been pretty progressive. You know she moved to America alone?”

  Lara slid a glance at the ancient woman, trying to imagine her when she was young. “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “This wasn’t a very safe area back then, just after the war. But Grandma was determined to make a good life for herself. She was an expert seamstress, so she supported herself sewing clothes. And she got the Tongs to leave her alone.”

  Lara couldn’t help but smile. “So Mei got her feisty streak from her.”

  Sunny smiled back. “Yes. Grandma Wang was very proud of Mei. She worried about the dangers of her job, of course. And this...” Her voice broke, and tears flooded her eyes. She blotted them with her sleeve. “This was what she feared the most, that she’d get killed. But she bragged about Mei to everyone, how her granddaughter wasn’t afraid to fight the bad guys. She was proud that Mei took after her and had a mind of her own.”

  Lara’s gaze slid back to the memorial picture. Fittingly, it was a photo from Mei’s FBI Academy graduation. Her heart lurched at her shining eyes, the determination and pride so evident on her young face. She beamed with optimism, idealism and hope.

  And damn Moretti for destroying all that! She curled her hands into fists, experiencing such a surge of anger she started to shake. How dare he steal the life of such an amazing person? Hadn’t he already ruined enough lives?

  “Grandma wants me to tell you that Mei came here last night,” Sunny said.

  “I know. We were in Soho together. She said she was going to stop by.” Lara rose and walked to the couch, then dropped to one knee before Grandma Wang and took her hand. Her skin was papery thin, her hand fragile and light. Lara looked into her pain-filled eyes. “Your granddaughter was a wonderful person. It was an honor to know her. I want you to know that we’re all going to miss her so much.” She paused, both to compose herself and give Sunny a chance to translate. “We won’t ever forget her. And I promise you we’re going to find her killer and bring him to justice. He won’t get away with this.”

  With a teary nod, Mei’s grandmother squeezed her hand.

  Lara let go of her hand and stood. She caught Nick’s eye and turned to go. Sunny accompanied them to the door.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said. “Grandma wants you to know that she appreciates it.”

  “I’m glad.” Lara finished putting on her boots, then paused. “There’s one more thing... In case you didn’t know, Mei told me yesterday that she was thinking of moving back to Manhattan. She wanted to be closer to her grandmother so she could help her out. Your grandmother might like to know that Mei wanted to take care of her.”

  “Thank you,” Sunny whispered again, her eyes filling with tears. “That will mean a lot to her.”

  “That was nice,” Nick said a few minutes later when they’d descended the worn stairs and exited on to the street. “What you said in there. I didn’t know what to say.”

  Stopping, Lara hugged her arms. “I only told her the truth. Mei was a great agent and a friend. I didn’t know her long, but I’m really going to miss her. And we are going to catch her murderer.” Whoever the hell he was.

  But saying that was easy. The hardest part would be to find him.

  “Still, it was good.”

  Lara started walking again. They passed a crowded restaurant, and the enticing smells made her realize it was dinnertime.

  “You want to grab a bite to eat?” Nick asked, apparently thinking along the same lines.

  “No, thanks. I’m going to head home. This visit wore me out.” Her head throbbed. Her throat felt scratchy and thick. She was emotionally wrung out and exhausted from the events of the recent days. And she desperately needed some time alone to recharge. “I figure I’ll do some research and see if any of Andrew Moretti’s old teachers are still around.”

  “You know,” he said slowly, “you are allowed to sleep once in a while.”

  “I know.”

  “If you don’t get some rest, you’re more likely to make a mistake.”

  “I said I know.” But every time she closed her eyes, she kept envisioning Moretti’s victims, especially Mei.

  “And you don’t have to solve this alone. No matter what Xander said, it wasn’t your fault.”

  She grimaced. “Actually, I think he’s right.”

  Nick pulled her to stop. The lights from a nearby restaurant cast a rainbow of colors over his face. He caught her jaw in his callused hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. “The hell he is. That’s like saying that a battered wife deserves to get beaten. Or that a victim deserves to get stalked. You didn’t make Moretti become a criminal. You didn’t force him to commit those crimes. And it isn’t your fault that he’s retaliating against you now.”

  But it was her fault that she’d believed his story. It was her fault that she’d let her emotions override her good sense. And it was entirely her fault that she’d fallen in love with that bastard,
even if she now knew that everything he’d told her had been a lie.

  “Maybe not. But until we stop him, everyone around me is in danger.”

  And it was up to her to make sure they survived.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  By the time Lara entered her apartment building on the Upper West Side an hour later, she felt so thoroughly exhausted she could barely stay on her feet. She dredged up a smile for Jerry, the evening doorman, then slumped against the wall of the elevator as it rose to the twenty-fourth floor. Despite what she’d told Nick, she wasn’t going to get any research done that night. All she wanted to do was to pour herself a glass of whiskey and collapse.

  But as she inserted her key in her dead bolt, a sudden prickle of foreboding snaked through her nerves. She stopped, then shook it off, knowing this was simply a delayed reaction to Mei’s death. All day long she’d been trying not to think about Mei’s final moments, which had probably been a lot like this. Mei had gone home to her supposedly safe apartment, intending to relax—and encountered a strangler instead.

  Trying hard not to let her mind go there, Lara disengaged the lock and pushed open the door. But the feeling grew even stronger, the sensation that someone else had been there making her heart skitter through several beats. She hesitated in the doorway, discordant thoughts winging through her mind—the probability that she was imagining all this conflicting with the very real possibility that Mei’s killer could be lurking in the shadows.

  Too many people had died to take a chance.

  Suspecting she was overreacting, she drew her gun. Her heart thudded hard. Adrenaline poured through her veins, causing every nerve ending to stand on edge. She nudged the door open wider, flicked on the light switch, and peeked inside. Empty. Then, hardly breathing, she crept into the front room, the feeling that she’d had an intruder mounting with every second that passed.

  But nothing looked out of place. Nothing had been disturbed. The newspaper was still on the coffee table where she’d left it, the throw blanket on the couch. The apartment was dead silent, the only sound her blood pressure thundering through her skull.

  She paused in the center of the room. To the right was her kitchen, to the left her bedroom. She debated which way to go, then considered retreating into the hallway and calling for help. But she’d feel pretty damned foolish if she was merely suffering from frazzled nerves.

  Deciding to check the bedroom first, she turned left. She inched toward the open doorway, the fierce dread building inside her making it hard to think. Then she burst inside and whirled around, searching the shadows, her finger on her sidearm’s trigger, ready to fire.

  No one was there.

  Drawing in a breath, she yanked open the closet door. Then she peeked under the bed and checked the bathroom, even looking into the shower stall. Still nothing.

  Only one place left.

  She edged her way back toward the kitchen, a cold sweat beading her spine. This was ridiculous, she knew. She was clearly overreacting because of the recent attacks. But she knew better than to ignore her instincts, even if they turned out to be misplaced. And right now everything inside her was clamoring that something was wrong.

  She hovered outside the kitchen for several heartbeats, trying to regulate her breath. A sudden worry had her glancing toward the living room in case someone had snuck out while she’d been gone. Then she hit the kitchen’s light switch and leaped inside, her mind going blank at the bizarre scene confronting her eyes.

  The walls were covered with papers and photos. Bright yellow lines had been spray painted on the tile floor. To one side of the lines was a splash of red, like a pool of blood seeping into the tiles. Even stranger, the entire area was dotted with crime scene markers and flags. Unable to understand it, she spun around.

  The kitchen was empty. But someone had obviously been inside. Her pulse still rioting, she lowered her gun. Then she moved further into the room and tried to make sense of the weird scene. There was something familiar about it...

  Frowning, she took it in, absorbing details she’d missed at first glance. Then she homed in on the walls. She stepped closer to one of the photos, and her heart slammed to a halt. Her mother. That was her bloodied skull. With a gasp she whipped around and stared at the markings drawn on the floor. It was an outline of a body. Her mother’s body.

  Someone had re-created the crime scene she’d stumbled upon long ago.

  A surge of panic set in, a wild flood of terror she was powerless to control. Totally undone, she raced blindly from the room, then burst out of her apartment and back into the hall.

  She collapsed against the wall and gasped for breath. Trembling from head to foot, she pulled out her cell phone and notified 911, then called Nick for help. Freaked out, she sank to the floor and held her gun, her teeth chattering as she waited for them to arrive.

  Someone had broken into her apartment. Someone had violated her private space. Even worse, someone had reproduced her childhood kitchen, forcing her to relive her mother’s murder.

  But why? Who could have done such a despicable thing? Was it Moretti? Given everything else that had happened, he was the logical choice.

  The uniformed cops showed up a short time later. Then a crime tech squad arrived. Still thoroughly shaken, Lara waited in the hall for her teammates, unable to bear going back inside. It wasn’t until her boss and Nick stepped off the elevator that she forced herself to rise. Ty followed close on their heels.

  “What happened?” Victoria demanded.

  Too rattled to answer, she shook her head. Instead, she gathered the remnants of her tattered nerves and motioned them through her door. Uniformed cops milled around her apartment. A crime scene tech took photos and lifted prints. She donned a pair of booties, then trailed her teammates into her kitchen, everything inside her rebelling at what she knew she’d find. Her gaze darted to the outline on the floor, the crime tech kneeling beside it, taking a sample from the splotch of blood. And as hard as she tried to block them, memories of her mother came crashing back, her head growing light with the terror of that awful day.

  “Good God,” Victoria said, sounding shocked as she examined a photo on the wall. “Is this who I think it is?”

  “Yes.” She rubbed her arms, hating the quiver in her voice. They were photos of her mother. Her murdered mother. Still trembling wildly, she swallowed hard. Then, calling on every ounce of fortitude she possessed, she approached the wall, determined not to let it freak her out. But her head continued to spin, bile surging inside her at the gruesome photos of her mother’s corpse. After a moment, she had to turn away.

  “These are the case files,” Nick said, peering at a row of papers beside the fridge. “Look. Here’s the initial incident report and the crime scene log.”

  He was right, Lara realized with a jolt. Someone had actually copied the case files and taped them to the walls. It was all there—the medical examiner’s notes, press releases about the case, the fingerprints the crime techs had gathered and the measurements of the room.

  As if in a nightmare, she turned around, noting even more details now—the blood splatters on the floor, the dish towel where her mother had dropped it. And it was even the same color. It was surreal. She couldn’t quite take it in. Someone had taken great pains to replicate that crime scene.

  Suddenly, Moretti’s clue slammed into her head. “That’s it.”

  “What?” Victoria asked, turning around.

  “There’s no place like home.” Wild-eyed, she met her gaze. “Moretti’s clue. This must be what he meant.”

  “But why would he do this?”

  “He wants me to remember it.” But why? Was he just messing with her head? Was he foreshadowing what he was going to do to her? It couldn’t be an admission of guilt. Moretti hadn’t had anything to do with her mother’s death; she’d died when Lara was ten. But regardless of his motives, he’d obviously gone to a great deal of trouble to remind her of the moment that had destroyed her life.

 
; “Look at this,” Nick muttered, standing beside the crime lab tech.

  “What?”

  He motioned toward the floor. “He drew an outline of the body.”

  “I know.” It was something a real cop would never do since it contaminated the scene. But it certainly served his purpose, drawing her attention to the spot where her mother had lain. He’d even added evidence tags and what looked like a pool of blood.

  “I wonder how he got these records?” he asked, his gaze on the wall again. “How did he get them out of the archives?”

  “Good question.” Only law enforcement personnel had access to the archives—which meant there had to be a cop involved.

  And suddenly, Lara’s doubts came back full force. Did Moretti have a contact in the NYPD? The FBI? Could there really be a mole in their midst as she’d thought before—maybe even someone on her team? She met Nick’s gaze, and he narrowed his eyes, as if remembering the suspicions she’d voiced.

  But that was crazy. No one she knew would do this. She was letting paranoia skew her thoughts, allowing Moretti to plant uncertainties in her mind. And no matter what, she was not going to doubt anyone on her team.

  She pivoted back toward the wall. She knew that was what Moretti wanted, to plant a wedge between them and fracture their camaraderie. And she wasn’t going to let him gain traction, no matter what tactics he used. Still, she couldn’t deny that someone in law enforcement must have accessed her mother’s files—and she needed to find out who.

  Her gaze landed on a report taped above the table. She skimmed the caption, surprised to discover it was a transcript of an unknown man’s interrogation by the police. Halfway through the page was a starred and highlighted section someone obviously wanted her to see. Leaning closer, she began to read—and went stock-still.

  Her mother had been having an affair.

  Stunned, she glanced at the name of the witness. Henry Baker. She reread the highlighted section, the revelation like an earthquake, rupturing everything she’d once believed. There’d been rumors of it before, speculation that an affair had triggered an argument between her parents and given her father a motive for the crime. But there had never been any proof.