Face of Danger (11 page)

“There’s a steam room and sauna, of course.”

Of course. “What did you want to tell me about Cara?”

She just gave her a blank look. “I wanted to show you her rooms.”

“That’s not…” Vivi shook her head, knowing a brick wall when she saw one. “Do you know where she is?”

“No.”

“Mercedes,” she said softly. “This whole thing”—she waved a hand at her face to indicate the disguise—“is not about avoiding a curse or folklore or media speculation anymore.”

“It never was,” the woman said simply.

“There is evidence.” She had to be very careful, because even if the walls didn’t have eyes and ears, this woman did. Everything she said could go right back to
Cara. “Additional evidence that there could be a connection between the deaths of Isobel DeSoto and Adrienne Dwight.”

Still an expressionless stare was the only response.

“That means,” Vivi said slowly, “Cara is in genuine danger.”

She blinked. “I thought that’s why you’re here.”

“It is, but the authorities… will need to know where she is. Soon.” Like at one minute after noon today.

“They don’t need to know. You’re here and you’ve obviously fooled at least one FBI agent. I have no intention of letting out the truth about who you are.”

“I need to talk to her, Mercedes. Please.”

“Contact Marissa Hunter. That’s the only way to speak with Karen—er, Cara.”

She wasn’t going to get anywhere badgering this woman. Not yet, anyway. “If you hear from her, will you tell me? Immediately?”

She barely nodded. “Now you just get situated and comfortable and your bags will be up shortly.”

She left the room and Vivi headed to use the bathroom, locking the door in case Lang came barreling up to let her have it for leaving the utility room. She paused at the mirror, startled for a split second at her own image, still not used to her new reflection.

Leaning on the counter, she got closer, looking at her face. This disguise was supposed to be from a distance, or under a hat and sunglasses. She couldn’t fool Lang, and she probably couldn’t fool those other agents if they spent time here.

She just had to hope Cara would understand that new evidence changed everything and the FBI could be
trusted. Exhaustion and jet lag pressed down on her and a muscle throbbed at the base of her neck, as it always did when things weren’t quite right. Since she was a teenager, since… that night… she’d carried her stress in her neck and she usually listened to that miserable muscle when it screamed at her.

Like it was doing now.

She dropped her head forward to stretch her neck, the weight of all the fake hair making it worse. Closing her eyes, she reached up to rub the throbbing pain, bending farther over the sink, tempted by the faucets just inches away. Was it too soon to take off all the crap off her face and—

The force from behind knocked her right into the mirror as one hand slammed over her mouth and another yanked her head farther into her chest with brute strength.

A scream bubbling up with a flash of revulsion and horror triggered by the crush of a man from behind.

She fought the panic, managing to flip her elbow around and get a dig into the ribs of her attacker. The jab of a gun in her back made her freeze.

“Welcome home, Cara.”

H
ow the hell did you find this place?” Cara stepped into the cool morning air, the pungent, distinctive smell of salt air clearing her head from the hours of travel and a few milligrams of Xanax.

Next to her on the wide porch, her sister gave a smug shrug. “This is me you’re talking about.” She lifted a steaming mug to her mouth, her brown hair getting frizzier by the moment this close to the sea. Dry California air was much kinder to Joellen’s kinks. “I’m the original miracle worker.”

Or so she liked to think. No doubt Marissa had dug it up and paid a small fortune out of Cara’s bank account for it. A hundred yards away, the surf crashed on a wide beach, the dunes blocking the view to the left and right. “It’s so private.”

“That’s the idea, sister mine. You’re safe here.”

Cara turned to eye Joellen. “This is not Nantucket.”

She shook her head, sharpening mud-brown eyes. “And they say you’re not bright.”

They did? Or she did? “My guess is the Vineyard or Cape Cod, close enough but not on the island crawling with media.” And other people.

“You don’t want to take the chance of being on Nantucket,” Jo said, avoiding the question. “Not even to see Stella.”

At the mention of her dog, Cara let out a sad sigh. No one had been able to find a dog that matched her baby, and it would have been weird for “Cara” to be seen without Stella. And if
he
saw, he’d know that woman wasn’t Cara.

“I’m going with the Vineyard,” she said, based on the color of the sand and the height of the dune grass. She’d been born and raised on Nantucket; these islands off the coast of Cape Cod were in her blood.

“You don’t need to know where we are, hon.” Joellen took a step closer and put a patronizing hand on Cara’s arm. “You’ll slip and tell someone. And he’ll find out. You know he’ll do everything to hunt you down, with his god-awful—hired help. You know he has those minions everywhere, all willing to do anything to—”

“Stop.” Cara held up her hand. She hated when Joellen talked about it. “I won’t tell anyone anything. I haven’t yet, and I won’t.”

“But now he has an excuse to kill you, Cara, and never risk getting blamed.”

Cara gripped the railing as a wave rolled through her with the same power as the surf. Just a little travel nausea mixed with Xanax and Oscar fatigue, she told herself. Not fear.

Didn’t he know she’d never risk her career by telling anyone anything? Even those creepy FBI agents who’d
come to her house last month, mentioning his name, scrutinizing her for any response? She’d just played dumb. She’d
acted
dumb. Because Joellen was right about one thing: She
was
the smart sister,
and
she could act. And this was the role of her lifetime.

But still he’d want to get rid of her, just in case. Now he could lay her death at the feet of the Red Carpet Killer, a fact so loaded with irony she could laugh, except it just wasn’t funny.

There had to be a way out of this; she just hadn’t figured it out yet.

“Are you sure no one knows we’re here?” Cara asked her sister.

“I’m sure,” Joellen said, dropping onto a chaise and propping up her feet like royalty. “First, the free world thinks you’re in Nantucket. Second, Leon and Bridget are a few miles away. Marissa and I will be the go-betweens, and God knows Mercedes has everything under control over in Nantucket. You can relax.”

“I don’t want to relax,” Cara said. She wanted to figure a way out of the mess she’d gotten into.

“I know,” Joellen said, lifting her foot to pick at her pedicure. “You want to celebrate. Too bad the Red Carpet Curse had to ruin all that fun for you.”

Cara glanced at her sister. Had she already had a drink, or maybe she just hadn’t slept enough on the flight here? “Yeah, too bad.”

“And too bad he has an excuse if you end up dead.”

Cara closed her eyes, sick of how Joellen kept harping on it. She
knew
, already. “He’d have to be pretty clever to make it look like an accident or not leave any evidence.”

Her sister snorted. “He
is
clever, Cara.”

“Then why hasn’t he killed me before this?” she shot back.

“Because the FBI wasn’t on his ass. You know damn well they’ve practically got him. He’s being smart now, but you are the wild card, sister mine.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You know as well as I do that I have no intention of ruining my career with that kind of scandal.”

“Then why don’t you just give him what he wants and get out of it?”

“Because I don’t trust him. He’d still want me dead.” A chill crawled down Cara’s arms despite the hoodie she’d been wearing since she’d gotten on the small private jet that had brought them… wherever they were. She backed away from the railing and perched on the other chair. “I’m scared, Jo.”

“You don’t have to be,” she said. “We’ve been through worse. And we were younger, and dumber.”

“Hey, where are you two?” Marissa’s voice reached the porch, the front door slamming behind her. “We’ve got a problem.”

“We’ve got a lot of them,” Joellen said bitterly.

“What is it, Marissa?”

“Leon just called. He’s monitoring all the media. The ‘bodyguards’ who are supposed to be with fake Cara?” Marissa put her hand on her hips, thoroughly disgusted. “FBI agents, every one of them. One of the reporters identified them.”

Joellen looked surprised and a little horrified, but Cara easily covered her reaction. Of course they already knew there was an FBI agent on the plane. That was why she’d
come up with the whole escape plan and sent Vivi by herself.

But Marissa knew nothing about why they were really hiding, and Cara intended for it to stay that way. “As long as Vivi doesn’t shoot her mouth off about being a body double, it’s fine,” Cara said. “Frankly, I don’t care if the Secret Service is guarding her. If they don’t know her she can pull it off. And it looks legit to have protection.”

“You were very clear with her, Cara,” Joellen said. “Maybe I ought to hop over there and keep an eye on things.”

“I’ll go for you,” Marissa said quickly.

Cara shook her head. “I need you two here. And, call me crazy, but I trust that woman. At least I trust her not to break a nondisclosure that would ruin her life. And she totally fell for the secret listening devices, like I really had the ability to do something so James Bond–ish.”

Joellen grinned. “It was brilliant—I gotta give you props.”

Marissa came closer. “You look pale,” she said. “And you seem upset.”

Cara just eyed her, still unsure just how much of herself she could reveal to her awkward, but efficient, assistant.

“What she seems is in need of a cup of coffee.” Joellen leaped off the chaise and gave the assistant a nudge. “Do your job and make it, Marissa.”

Color rose in Marissa’s long face, all the way up to her hairline, then she turned, going back inside.

“Why are you so nasty to her?” Cara asked. “She’s just trying to be kind.”

“She’s got her hawk’s beak too deep in your business.”

Cara closed her eyes in disgust. As if Joellen had any room to make fun of other people’s looks.

“Don’t act like you’re a fucking saint, Cara. You’ve called her butt ugly, too.”

“I’ve also called her the best assistant I’ve ever had, so be nice to her. She knows a lot, too.”

“Not everything. Let’s send her away.”

“No, I need you all with me. You’re my support, my foundation.”
My protection
.

“
I
am,” Joellen corrected. “The rest of them are just hangers-on.”

Cara gave her a blank look, holding her thoughts at bay. The rest of them had jobs to do, but Joellen was the
definition
of a hanger-on. “I just want everyone near me, and not the pretend version of me.”

“Well, now she’s got the FBI near her,” Joellen said, heading inside. “So I hope you did the right thing by sending a total stranger into that situation.”

“Of course I did,” Cara said. “If he tries to kill her, he’ll get caught.”

“One of his hired guns will, you mean.”

She cringed. “Who might not cover for him. The FBI will have something on him, and that’s all they want.”

“But your name will be dragged into it.”

“But the media is obsessed with a Red Carpet Killer and I’ll just look very smart for having a decoy take the hit for me.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I hope so, too.”

When she was alone, Cara returned to the railing, looking out at the distinct blue gray of the Atlantic beyond
the lower dunes. In the far distance, maybe a mile away, she thought she saw something glint, a split-second flash of light or glass. A camera? A gun scope?

Or her cursed imagination?

Could he have found her already? Or a Red Carpet Killer wannabe? She had that to worry about, too.

She peered again, seeing nothing but the edge of the world, sand, surf, and dune grass. No, she was fine.

Vivi Angelino, on the other hand, was a sitting duck.

“Just give it up, Cara,” he breathed into Vivi’s ear. “Just give it up, and you’ll live.”

He had her in a head lock, the solid, effortless grip of a man who knew exactly how to immobilize a victim. The pressure of his silencing hand, the threat of his heavy body, the wave of helpless vulnerability—and a cocktail of an old terror bubbled up, momentarily stealing her ability to think or fight or breathe.

“Tell me where it is and I’m gone, out the same way I got in, and everything is cool.”

His voice was accented, a weird mix of an Asian tone with guttural English.

She still didn’t move, all her options exploding in her head, too shocked to settle on one, too many questions to risk a fast, but dumb, move. The longer she stayed just like this, the longer she had to get those questions answered.

And for Lang to come up and kick the holy shit out of this guy.

“Come on, Cara. You know you can’t win this. The whole game changed when you got that fucking Oscar. You’re dead now. So just give it to me.”

Give what to him?

“What do you want?” she asked into his hand, praying that he didn’t realize it wasn’t Cara’s voice. Or this could be the last question she ever asked.

“You know what I want.”

Cara might; Vivi didn’t. With her head locked down, she couldn’t see him, but he couldn’t see her face.

“How did you get in here?”

He snorted softly. “Roman’s alleys.”

Roman Sallies?

He squeezed her. “Good thing, too, because the place is crawling with Feds.” He dug a knee into the back of her legs. “We think that’s a pretty ballsy move on your part.”

We?

“You just open the door and let them in, like you are a complete innocent.” He twisted her neck a little, jabbing the gun deeper at the same time. “Roman wants the fucking key, Cara.”