Tough Justice: Burned (Part 3 Of 8). Carol Ericson

like collapsing in relief, Lara released a long measured breath between parted lips.

      Moretti, as watchful as a panther in the wild and just as dangerous, studied her mouth through the divider. His own quirked into a tight smile as if he knew his question might not be what she had anticipated...or feared.

      Victoria hadn’t expressly forbidden any of the team members from discussing how they’d tightened the noose around the syndicate, so Lara made an executive decision and launched into the explanation.

      “Five years ago, the FBI was working on a case of two young women, murdered, shot in the back of the head, execution style.”

      Moretti clicked his tongue, but Lara wasn’t buying his sympathy.

      She cocked her head. “You’ll never guess what we found tattooed on their hips.”

      “Butterflies?” He propped his elbow on the table and balanced his chin on top of his hand. “Hearts?”

      “Two Ms, superimposed on each other.” She felt a tingle on her upper-right arm where she’d sported her own tattoo before having it removed. “We didn’t know if the symbol was WM or MW or MM.”

      “What a quandary.”

      “We ran the symbol through our database of tattoos—the gang-related ones—and we got a hit.”

      He shrugged his broad shoulders. “You got lucky.”

      “That same symbol had been tattooed on a couple guys doing time for narcotics distribution. At the time of their booking they didn’t ’fess up to the origin or meaning of the tattoos, but some jailhouse talk netted us an important piece of information. The symbol was widely believed to be linked to the Moretti crime syndicate.”

      “Maybe I should look up those two old friends and thank them for their service.” He narrowed his dark eyes, which glittered beneath his half-mast lids.

      Goose bumps raced down her arms, and her hand jerked in her lap. Would he really punish those low-level drug dealers for getting arrested with Moretti tattoos and then blabbing about them?

      Her gaze locked on his. He would.

      The line of her jaw hardened. A couple of low-life drug dealers didn’t concern her. Only Anna concerned her right now.

      “You do that. Of course, we’d heard the Moretti name in certain circles.”

      “Of course.”

      He was interrupting her with his running commentary just to needle her. Just to toy with her. Hell, he might even know this story already. He seemed to know everything else—almost everything.

      “We’d heard the name over the years but never had any hard evidence to link the organization to any specific crimes. Then—” she made her fingers into a gun and pointed it at him “—you made a mistake.”

      He closed his eyes, and a muscle ticked at the corner of his jaw. “I’ve made a few mistakes, Lara. Tell me about this one.”

      “An FBI operative’s sister, who’d gone missing, was found in a Chicago dumpster.” Her bottom lip trembled, and she trapped it between her teeth, grateful Moretti still had his eyes closed.

      “Dead, I presume.”

      Ignoring his quip, she said, “Guess what we found tattooed on her hip?”

      His eyelids flew open, and she recoiled under the intensity of his gaze. “Is this a guessing game? Because if it is, you must think I’m very, very stupid. Do you? Think I’m stupid, Lara?”

      She thought he was lethal. Cunning. Forceful. Evil. But stupid? Never in a million years.

      “We found—” she slowly sketched the symbol in the air “—the Moretti insignia. By this point I was already prepping to go undercover. Enough was enough. We were going to take you down.”

      He smiled, his white teeth flashing against his olive-toned skin. Give him a few more years in the joint, and he’d be as pasty-faced as the rest of them.

      “That pretty redhead had bragged about having a sister in the FBI, something she should have kept to herself. There are certain things you should keep to yourself. Don’t you agree, Lara? Certain things should stay private.”

      Thinking of Cass’s devastation at the loss of her sister, Lara had the strongest urge to strike out against Moretti’s smug, handsome face.

      “The rest is history. Once inside we started delving into your activities and getting a few people to talk.”

      “You infiltrated, and you were very good at it. I’ll give you that.” He raised his hand to his face and traced the pad of his thumb along his jawline. “Very dedicated. Very thorough. Very deep infiltration.”

      Lara swallowed. “I gave you what you wanted. Now, tell me what I need to know about Anna.”

      His dark gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth to her breasts. “You did give me what I wanted.”

      She pressed her thighs together, willing the heat flaring in her chest to stop spreading upward.

      “The answer is most definitely yes.”

      For a second, she’d forgotten the question. “Yes?”

      “Your boss’s daughter is a target, a rather special target, in fact.”

      “What does that mean?” Lara’s voice was louder than she’d wanted. She had to reel herself back in quickly. “What do you mean by a special target? What do you plan to do to her?”

      The guard was already halfway in the visiting room. “Everything okay, ma’am?”

      “Everything’s fine.” She waved him off. “I just need a few more minutes.”

      Overhearing what she said, Moretti stated, “I don’t.” Moretti stood up and turned to the guard. “It’s time for my hot stone massage, courtesy of the FBI.”

      Using her most menacing tone, she told him, “Leave her alone. You’ll never get your hands on Anna. Do you hear me, you son of a bitch?” But she was yelling at Moretti’s back, his broad shoulders stretching the material of his prison-issue jumpsuit almost in defiance of his circumstances.

      The wide-eyed guard led Moretti from the room.

      Lara sank into the chair, covering her face with both hands. Her false bravado completely gone, leaving a nauseous feeling instead. The man could cause pain and destruction with the snap of his fingers, and a trapped animal could be even more vicious than one in the wild.

      She rose to her feet. She had the unpleasant task of updating her boss that Moretti did have Anna in his sights. If she knew Victoria, the woman would be all over this already, securing Anna, protecting her. Maybe she already had Anna on her way to a safe house.

      In the bowels of the prison, cell reception was spotty. Lara didn’t want to spend another minute in this room, anyway. She imagined that she could catch the scent of Moretti’s aftershave, even though they’d been separated. It made her nauseous. How’d he get his hands on that expensive stuff in lockdown?

      Probably another perk from the FBI for Moretti’s so-called information.

      She slipped out of the visitors room, and the guard on the other side of the door accompanied her to the visitor reception area. The security detail in the front checked her bag—as if she’d take anything Moretti gave her—except maybe his balls. She’d take those gladly.

      With a smile curling her lips, she pushed out of the building and stood in the courtyard gulping in the fresh air. She needed a shower.

      She dug into her jacket pocket to retrieve her cell phone and glanced at two messages waiting for her. One was from her dentist and the other was from... Anna.

      Her fingers trembled so much, Lara could barely unlock her phone. Once she did, she sagged against the wall, bracing her