Fatal Cover-Up. Lisa Harris
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a few pieces of her jewelry. At the time, she’d thought it was nothing more than a random break-in, but now... What if there was another explanation? What if the thief had been looking for something specific, like three valuable paintings?
But she didn’t have them. Or did she? Her mind raced. The days after Thomas’s death were still a blur, but she’d told Joe the truth. She’d given most of her husband’s personal things to her mother-in-law in an attempt to get rid of the memories. And while the paintings Joe had shown her seemed vaguely familiar, she wasn’t sure what she might have done with them. Could they really be there?
She eyed the gun that still pointed at her as the attacker continued searching. She needed to get someone’s attention. The balcony door to her bedroom was open. She could scream. Mrs. Lamberti from downstairs wouldn’t hear her—the woman was almost deaf—but someone else might catch her cry for help.
She started toward the door, but the man shifted at the movement and aimed his gun at her heart. “I want you to drop the knife and don’t even think about making a sound.”
She hesitated as her options vanished, then let the knife fall against the wood flooring.
Show me what to do, God. Please...
“Here’s the deal. If you’re lying to me, they will come after you. And in the meantime, I was told you might need some motivation.” He pulled an envelope from his back pocket and dropped it on the bed beside him. “I understand that you and your sister are close.”
She picked up the envelope and pulled out a handful of black-and-white surveillance photos of her sister. She stared at the shots of Shelby getting into her car at work, pumping gas at the local station, walking her Maltese poodle after school...
No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.
The room began to spin. She couldn’t breathe. “You can’t do this.”
“Except I can.” His cocky smile sent a chill down her spine. “And if you really don’t have the paintings, you’ve got seventy-two hours to find them.”
Joe found Talia’s name and number on the entry phone next to the doorway of the apartment block. He hesitated, wondering if he should buzz her, then changed his mind as an older woman with an armful of groceries opened the locked lobby building door. He slipped in behind her, then ran up the stairs to the fifth floor.
He paused at an open door on the landing—Talia’s door—and his senses automatically shifted to high alert. He’d seen Talia slip into the building ahead of him, which meant she was here. But something wasn’t right. He stepped inside. The living room had been trashed, leaving couch cushions, books and photos scattered across the floor.
“Talia?” He crossed the empty room, wishing that the Italian government allowed him to be armed. “Talia?”
A man bolted out of an adjoining room and shoved past Joe, knocking him into the wall. Five foot ten, dark hair with a streak of blond... It was the man from the Colosseum!
He pointed a Glock at Joe as he headed toward the door. “Don’t even try and follow me.”
Joe shouted again for Talia. He needed to go after the man, but if she was hurt... “Talia? Are you okay?”
She stepped into the doorway of the living room, her face ashen, and nodded.
“Then I’ll be back.”
Ignoring the man’s warning, Joe spun around and strode after him. They needed to get this guy and find out who he was and who he was working with.
God, I need some help here. Both for Talia’s sake and for my own.
He needed to know the truth. Joe needed closure—not only in the string of art thefts the FBI was investigating, but also in his personal life.
Shoving back the distracting thoughts and forcing his mind to focus, he ran down the narrow hallway to the stairwell. The sound of the other man’s footsteps echoed as Joe flew down the flight of stairs, trying to bridge the gap between them. The door to the front lobby slammed open against the wall below him, then shut.
And he still had two more floors to go.
His heart was racing by the time he made it to street level and stepped outside the structure into the afternoon sunshine. He searched the movement of pedestrians and traffic. The air smelled like fresh bread and chocolate. A car honked. A moped whizzed by as he hurried to the corner, debating which way to go. The intruder had to be here somewhere, but there was no sign of him. And the problem was, he could be anywhere. Joe glanced to his right past the busy intersection lined with stores and restaurants and the occasional bakery. Another two blocks to his left was the subway. Tracking him at this point was going to be impossible.
Irritated, he headed back to the apartment building. He needed to make sure Talia was really okay. A minute later he pressed the number of her apartment, waited for her to buzz him back into the building and headed up again to the fifth floor. His mind worked to sort through the few bits of information he had. Reopening the case had triggered someone to go after the paintings. But who? It had to be someone who believed that at some point Thomas had possession of them. Which led him back to his original theory. Whoever was after the paintings had most likely been there the night Thomas had been murdered.
When Talia opened the apartment door for him, she was on her cell phone. She signaled for him to wait a moment, then turned away, but not before he caught the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Shelby, as soon as you get this message, call me.” She dropped her phone onto the kitchen counter, then caught his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey...it’s okay. He’s gone.” He couldn’t blame her for being terrified. It was one thing to have someone snatch your bag in public, but having someone invade the privacy of your home with a weapon was going to take a lot longer to forget. “I’m going to use some of my connections with the Italian police and find a way to track this guy down. We’ve got a good description—”
“No.” She was crying harder now. “It’s not okay. He threatened my sister. He’s got surveillance photos of her at her house, and at her job...”
“Listen, I know this is hard, but I need you to tell me exactly what happened,” he said. “And we will figure this out. I promise.”
She grabbed a tissue off the counter. “I can’t get a hold of my sister. If anything happens to Shelby because of this I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Show me the photos.”
He followed her into the bedroom, where she sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up one of the pictures. “There are ones of Shelby outside the school where she works in Dallas, outside her house...”
Joe flipped through the photos, understanding her concern. Someone had killed her husband, and now they’d shown her that they could get to both Talia and her sister.
Joe pulled out his own phone. They needed to find a way to put an end to this. “If you’ll give me her address, I’ll have someone sent to her place right now. And if she’s not there, I’ll make sure they track her down and ensure she’s okay.”
She grabbed a piece of paper and a pen off her desk and started writing down the address. “The man gave me seventy-two hours to come up with the paintings.”
“And if you can’t?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but they’re clearly not playing games.” She glanced back at the photos. “I also called Thomas’s mother. I described the paintings and she thinks she remembers seeing them. If she does still have them, the artwork is probably somewhere in my in-laws’ apartment.”
He started to touch her arm, then pulled back at the intimate gesture, wishing she didn’t look so vulnerable. But