Tough Justice: Trapped (Part 4 Of 8). Gail Barrett
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in his eyes increased.
“Who kidnapped Anna?”
“What makes you think I know?”
“You know.” He had to. Nothing else made sense. He was toying with her, punishing her for her deception. Kidnapping her boss’s daughter was only his latest ploy. “So who did it, Moretti? Was that your work? I expect some answers this time.”
“Answers.” He leaned back in his chair, as if savoring the word. “And what do I get in return?”
Nothing. That was the hell of it. She had nothing to offer. And he knew it. His grin turned insolent.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, relenting. “I’m in the mood for a story. A bedtime story, if you will. It’s been a long time since I’ve had one of those. And maybe if you amuse me enough...” He arched a brow, his suggestive tone making her stomach roil.
“A story about what?” she asked, determined to ignore the innuendo.
“You already told me about how the FBI found out about the Moretti syndicate. Now I want to know about the arms broker, Andrew Moore.”
Her heart skidded hard. “Forget it. I’ve got nothing to say about him.”
“Too bad. That’s my price for the information you want.”
Her belly churned. Protests swarmed inside her, every cell rebelling at his demand. She wanted to get up and walk away. She wanted to condemn this bastard to the depths of hell. She wanted to forget he’d ever existed and end his repulsive game.
But she couldn’t afford to tick him off. Not now. Not yet. Not until she had the answers she desperately needed to keep the people around her safe. There were too many lives at risk.
He shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way.” He reached out to disconnect the phone.
“All right,” she said. Too fast. His grin widened, the triumph in his eyes making her loathe him even more. “So, what do you want to know?” she asked.
“Everything. How you met. Exactly what happened between you.” He leaned toward the glass, his dark eyes suddenly intense. “And especially how he made you feel.”
Her face turned hot. She curled her hands into fists, trembling with the need to lash back, to smash through that wall of protective glass and knock the smirk from his handsome face. This was an obvious attempt to humiliate her and subject her to his control.
But she could do this. If she wanted to save that family, she had no choice.
God knew, she’d done far worse.
With effort, she dragged in a breath, struggling to separate herself emotionally from the sordid past. Shifting her gaze, she focused on the dark stains streaking the concrete wall, trying to block out the hurt and shame. “You already know what my mission was, to infiltrate your crime syndicate.” To catch him, Moretti, the kingpin no one had ever seen.
“To do that, I went undercover running guns, as you know.” She pushed that thought aside, not wanting to dwell on the time she’d spent as Eve Johannsen, committing crimes with the dregs of humanity in an attempt to gain their trust.
“I learned that Andrew Moore was in charge, so I engineered a meet. I facilitated the sale of some high-powered rifles he was after. Turns out, he liked what I’d brought.”
Moretti’s lips quirked up. “And you liked him.”
Liked him? The man had blown her away. He was intelligent and strong. Gorgeous in a blatantly virile way. But more importantly, he’d struck a chord. He’d seemed to share her same inner drive for justice, the same determination to fight for what he believed in—or so she’d thought.
Even so, she’d tried to resist him. She’d done some murky things over the years in her efforts to solve a case, but falling for a criminal was something else. It was wrong. Taboo. It violated every moral scruple she possessed.
And yet, Andrew Moore had tunneled through all her defenses. She’d gradually come to trust him—as nauseating as that now seemed.
“I liked his story,” she corrected.
“His story. Right.” Moretti shot her a knowing look. “And what was that?”
“You already know it. There’s no point—”
“The story, Lara. That was the deal.” The barked command stopped her cold.
Stifling a spurt of resentment, she managed to nod. Her dignity didn’t matter. She had too much riding on this meeting to end it now, no matter how much her confession galled.
“His childhood was a lot like mine,” she said. “We both grew up in New York. Both our fathers were blue collar. Mine was a cop, and his worked for the city. And both our mothers died when we were young.” His to an accident, hers murdered. But the loss had shaped them both.
“He lost his brother in a house fire.” She had a half sister she’d rarely seen. “He went into the army after high school. I went to college and joined the FBI.” Both had been searching for a purpose to give meaning to their fractured lives.
“You didn’t find the similarities coincidental?” Moretti asked.
“Maybe at first. But his story checked out. The Bureau verified all the facts. He’d even been wounded in Afghanistan like he’d said.”
“A war hero. How patriotic.”
Lara ignored the snide remark. “The war disillusioned him.” Or so he’d claimed. “After he got out, he floundered for a while, drifting from job to job, mostly working as a mercenary. But he said he’d had a buddy in the war, a friend who’d died, and he’d made him a promise to look out for his younger sister when he got back. But by the time he looked her up, it was too late. She’d gotten involved in drugs and sold to your syndicate.” And trafficked as a sex slave, experiencing the most heinous acts of depravity.
She paused to catch her breath, her revulsion for the man opposite the partition making her want to retch. How could anyone inflict anything that despicable on another human being?
“He said he felt responsible,” she continued, struggling to keep the emotion from her voice. “He thought if he’d looked for her sooner, maybe he could have seen the direction she was heading and kept her safe. So he vowed to track her down. He started running guns for the syndicate, then worked his way up the ranks to broker. He figured the higher up he went, the better chance he’d have to find her. He’d already made arms broker when we met.”
“Touching story.”
The story had touched her, damn him. She’d sympathized with Andrew Moore, a tortured ex-soldier struggling to honor his promise to his fallen comrade, no matter how long it took. She’d respected his desire for justice, his need to bring closure to his painful past. She’d believed him. She’d slowly begun to confide in him. And in the end, she’d fallen for him. Hard.
But what mortified her the most was how close she’d come to blowing her cover and revealing the truth about her job. She’d nearly confessed it to him so many times—that she was an FBI agent, that she was trying to bring down Moretti just like he was, and that she was on his side. Only the need to protect her fellow operatives had held her back.
Thank God for that.
“Who initiated the first...intimacy?” Moretti asked.
Her cheeks burned. She closed her eyes, fighting the collage of erotic images the thought evoked—even knowing what a fool she’d been. “We were in Englewood selling some guns. The deal went south. The buyer tried to cheat us, and we ended up in a shoot-out with his gang. We barely escaped. We made it to an abandoned warehouse and were waiting until it was safe to leave...and that’s when he kissed me.” A predictable enough reaction in the circumstances: life-threatening danger, adrenaline rocketing through their systems, the very human need to confirm that they’d survived.