Face of Danger (12 page)

What key?

She closed her eyes, taking a slow breath, trying so hard to think through her options and not about that gun. If this guy knew Cara well enough, and it sounded like he did, then he’d know she was a body double the minute he got a good look at her face.

But he kept her head locked down, as if he didn’t want her to see him, either.

Where the hell was Lang?

Oh, shit, she’d locked the bathroom door! Then how had this guy gotten in? Had he been waiting for her?

Think, Vivi, think.
Her gun. Her gun… it was deep in her bag, useless and far away.

“The key,” he insisted.

She had to buy enough time for Lang to get up here. But then what? What would this guy do? “Listen, I don’t—”

“Don’t even try to lie.” He jammed the gun. “Five seconds and you’re a victim of the Red Carpet Killer.”

“You’re not a serial killer.”

He grunted in her ear. “I fucking could be. Like Roman said, your little chess game changed when you got the gold.”

Chess game?

“Now you have four seconds, Cara!”

She squeezed her eyes at the prod of the gun barrel deep into her ribs. She knew all too well the pain of a gunshot in the gut, the horror of that moment of near death. This time she wouldn’t be so lucky.

If she screamed for help, she was dead. If she looked up at him, she was dead. If she moved, she was—

“Three!”

Very slowly, she lifted her head, keeping her eyes downcast until her face was directly in the mirror in front of both of them. She waited for his gasp, for the instant he realized she was not who he thought she was.

“Two!”

She met his eyes in the mirror. He didn’t flinch, didn’t react, not even a blink of surprise. He didn’t know she wasn’t Cara.

Emboldened by that, she tried to memorize his face, which was thick and puffy, definitely Asian, not more than thirty years old, shaved head, thick neck, and deadly looking.

“One second, Cara.” He dragged the gun up her back, the barrel warm on the flesh of her neck, over her ear,
against her temple. It was a Glock 19, she noticed, and far too steady and comfortable in his chunky hand. Fear burned her skin and tightened her stomach.

“Don’t you see you’re in a no-win situation?” His body smashed against hers, pushing her hipbones against the marble counter, making her want to retch. “You don’t cooperate, you die. And then he gets what he wants anyway. So give me the fucking key and you can live.”

They both jerked at the hard rap on the suite door. “Vivi! It’s me.”

Lang! She sucked in a breath, braced for death, but her captor scowled.

“Vivi? Who the fuck is that?”

“Like you said, we’re crawling with Feds. You pull that trigger and you’re toast.”

He backed away, the first look of panic in his eyes. “You’re not Cara.”

“Vivi?” Lang knocked on the bedroom door. Would he walk into the suite?
Come on, Colton Lang. Charge your way in like the alpha stud I know you are.

The man grabbed Vivi in an instant, pulling her deeper into the bathroom. He stabbed her side with the gun, wrapping a steel arm around her. Maybe he thought she was an FBI agent. Would he kill an FBI agent?

“Keep him out,” he ordered in a harsh whisper. “Or you’re dead.”

She heard the bedroom door open, soft steps on the floor.
Come on, Lang.

“I should have known you wouldn’t stay put.” Lang tapped on the bathroom door. “You in there?”

The man clutched her tighter, the smell of sweat and fear emanating from him now.

“Yeah,” she answered in her weakest voice. Would Lang notice if she seemed out of character? Or would he think she was just trying to pretend to be Cara? Or, hell, maybe he’d just be a gentleman and give her privacy in the bathroom.

Please don’t be a gentleman
. Not this time.

“I have your bag,” he said. “And I made a decision.”

She didn’t reply and the man gave her another harsh squeeze, standing behind her to use her as a human shield.

“Talk!” he ordered in a hot breath.

“Oh, okay.” She did her best to sound lifeless and disinterested. That had to be a major clue to Lang.

“You want to know what it is?”

What would she normally say and do? She’d kick that door open and say, Hells to the nine I do, Lang. What did
you
decide
I
should do? That’s what he expected, right?

“Whatever you want,” she said meekly. From behind her, the man intensified his grip, the gun so deep into her it practically cracked her rib. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Tell him to leave you alone,” he demanded, again in a voiceless whisper.

“Are you okay?” Lang asked.

Thank God he was perceptive.
Now open the door, big guy, and be a hero.

But she’d locked the door.

“I’m fine,” she said, getting another brutal squeeze and a shake of the gun as if she might have forgotten it was sticking into her kidney. “I just want to be alone now.”

“Are you sick?” he asked.

“I’m just… you know…” What? Her mind went blank.
No clever clues, no brilliant secret messages. “I’m… busy.”

The man put his lips right on her ear. “Get rid of him.”

“Just leave me alone, Lang. I don’t care what you decided. It doesn’t matter to me.”

No answer, just a long silence. Too long. He had to know something was wrong. She would never say that.

“All right,” he finally said, his voice as defeated as hers.

No! No, it is not all right, damn it.

“I’ll be downstairs. Come down when you’re ready and want to talk.”

How could he be so dense?

“Okay,” she said, sounding as lifeless and lethargic as she knew how. If that wasn’t a cry for help, then she didn’t know what was. Surely Lang wouldn’t think that was normal.

But why would he ever imagine that someone was in the bathroom holding her captive?

“Talk to you later, then,” he said, his footsteps definitely going the wrong way.

She wanted to scream but didn’t make a sound or movement as the bedroom door slammed shut.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man demanded, spinning her around and pointing the gun in her face.

“FBI,” she lied. “Who the fuck are you?”

He backed away, slowly, not dropping the gun. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit!” His beady eyes were on fire now as he circled her, getting closer to the door. Maybe he’d run. Now that he knew he had the wrong woman, maybe he’d—

The door exploded with a loud gunshot, kicked open from the other side. “Get down, Vivi!” Lang yelled.

Vivi instantly fell to her knees, diving for cover under the vanity.

“FBI! Drop your weapon!”

The man lowered his gun, just enough for the barrel to aim at Vivi on the floor.

“Drop it!” Lang ordered.

The assailant made a grunting sound and pulled the trigger. Vivi rolled deeper under the vanity, just missing a bullet that hit the floor inches away from her. Lang fired before the echo of the first shot died, hitting the man in the chest, but not before the guy got off one more wild shot, cracking the mirror over the Jacuzzi, a million shards raining into the tub and on the floor.

Vivi shrieked at the crash, watching the body drop a few feet from her, blood oozing from the bullet hole in his chest. His gun clunked on the marble floor right before his body followed, and the room suddenly filled with the other FBI agents swarming in behind Lang.

Lang vaulted over the assailant, dropping down to his knees, reaching to Vivi. “Are you hit?”

She just shook her head, adrenaline coursing through her, making her quiver as she let him drag her up. “Lang…” She could barely talk. “He wanted something.”

“Yeah, you.” He pulled her into him, his face pale, his eyes more concerned than she’d ever seen him before. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure.” She closed her hands over his arms, squeezing with the wild pump of her heart. She tried to push him away so she could get to the man on the floor and find out what the hell he was talking about. “Is he dead?”

The female agent kneeled by the body, taking a pulse. “As a doornail,” she said dryly, then looked at Lang. “Nice save, Mr. Lang.”

“But now he can’t talk,” Vivi said, disappointment cascading with adrenaline in her veins. Now they’d never know what key he wanted and why he was willing to kill for it.

“She’s the one who did the nice work,” Lang said, easing Vivi up to a stand. “Very smart way to get me in here.” His eyes shone with admiration. And not the kind she saw when he was gaping at her in her underwear. A different kind of admiration. The kind that made a girl’s knees go weak. But that could just be the adrenaline rush.

Behind him, the two agents scurried, one calling the local police for first response, the woman already taking crime-scene pictures.

“I want to know how the hell he got in here,” Lang said. “Where is the security breach?”

“Do you know him, Ms. Ferrari?” the female agent asked, reminding Vivi that her true identity still hadn’t been revealed to the other agents. Points for Lang.

“I don’t know him,” Vivi said, looking up to Lang, her mind whirring. She had to tell him everything the man had said to her.

But he was already leading her around the body and out of the bathroom.

“Didn’t,” he corrected. “Past tense for that one. This is a crime-scene hot zone—let’s get you out of here.”

Outside of the bathroom he pulled her into his chest, his pounding heart surprising her as much as his mouth on her ear. “Good job, Vivi Poison Angelino,” he whis
pered, his breath so close and warm it was almost a kiss. “You brought in the Red Carpet Killer on day one.”

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.”

C
ome 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—”