Out of Sight

Will reached in his jacket pocket, but it was empty. “Hell, I left my phone in the room.”

“What’s with you and that phone?”

Will shrugged. He was always forgetting the damned thing.

“I think it’s subconscious. I think you forget it so you don’t have to talk to your wife.”

He laughed. “Yeah, could be.”

His current wife—bride number two—called him constantly. She was making roast for dinner, was that okay or would he prefer chicken—he would be home for dinner, right? Or she saw a dress on sale in the weekend paper that she’d like to buy, did he mind? And by the way, the mechanic said it would cost an extra fifty dollars to fix the car, should she tell him that was all right?

It was as if she couldn’t make a single decision without first consulting him. Sometimes he wondered if he would have been better off staying single. Of course, if he divorced her, he would be paying alimony to two ex-wives. Between that and legal fees, it was probably cheaper to stay married—and miserable.

Ryan on the other hand had one of those perfect marriages that made even the hardest of characters ripe with envy. He had a gorgeous, supportive wife, three beautiful children. Five years more and he would be retiring from the bureau.

He had the kind of life Will had always wished for. Yet somehow Will kept ending up with clingy, dependent, whiny women. They had yet to hit their first anniversary and already his second marriage had begun to feel like a heavy chain around his shoulders, dragging him down.

“Hurry up, we’re gonna be late,” Ryan said and slipped into the driver’s seat.

Will shouldered his way back through the hotel room door, spotting his phone on the table next to the window. As he reached for it, he heard the car start. Then there was a flash and an earsplitting rumble. The window imploded and he was flung back against the bed. Too late he threw up his arm to shield himself from the blast, screaming in pain as shards of glass and debris tore into the left side of his face. For a second he sat there, stunned. What remained of the curtains hung smoldering in the window, and thick black smoke belched in from the parking lot. Then the reality of what had happened hit him square in the chest.

Car bomb. And Ryan had been inside.

Noxious black smoke filled the room, gagging him, and through the ringing in his ears he heard people shouting. He slid to the floor, where the air wasn’t so thick, trying to get his bearings. Keeping his body low to the ground, he crawled toward the dim light coming through the open door. Pulling himself up in the door frame, he staggered out of the room and turned to see the car. His knees buckled and he went down hard on the blacktop.

It was completely engulfed in flames.

Las Vegas, one week later

Crystal’s hand trembled on the pay-phone receiver as she worked up the courage to dial. She’d committed to memory the number for the New York office. If Vince were to catch her with the number on her, she would be dead for sure.

Once again she cursed herself for not realizing sooner the kind of man Vince was. She’d been seduced by his expensive car and thick wallet—by his power. And sure, she’d had a pretty good idea that wherever that money and power had come from, it probably wasn’t legal. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d dated a guy that preferred to keep his business dealings under the radar. Hell, this was Vegas. It was all a part of the charm, the excitement.

She fingered the two-carat diamond studs in her lobes. She had a case full of precious gems, a closet full of designer clothes, and for what? By the time she’d begun to suspect who Vince really was, begun to put it all together, it was too late. She was in too deep. He owned her.

When she’d overheard him talking about a package being delivered and heard Gantz’s name, then later found the duffel bag full of money in his office closet—more money than she’d seen in her whole life—her worst fears had been confirmed.

Vince was a hit man.

Not only had Gantz been killed, but an FBI agent had been in the car with him. A family man. When Crystal had seen the agent’s wife on the news, three young children clinging to her side, something inside her had snapped. She’d decided right then, for the first time in her life she had to do the right thing. Even if that meant they would get her, too, just as they had gotten Gantz. She had to take that chance. She would never be able to live with herself otherwise. Even though most of the people Vince took out were scum, they were still people. They had wives and children who loved them.

It had to end here.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she picked up the receiver and dropped two quarters into the phone. With trembling fingers, she dialed. It rang four times before someone answered in a gruff voice, “FBI.”

She clutched a hand to her sequin-covered bosom, feeling as if her heart might beat clear through her surgically enhanced chest. She had to do it. It was the right thing to do. “I want to report a murder.”

Chapter 1

Present Day, New York

Will tossed a manila folder on Dale Robbins’s desk. “I think I found her.”

The assistant director set down his pen and gazed up at Will, a look of barely contained annoyance on his face. “Found who?”

“Crystal.”

“Jesus, not Gantz again.” Robbins opened the file and scanned its contents, then shoved it back across the desk. “You’re talking about a four-year-old closed case. You know as well as I do that Crystal is probably buried in the desert somewhere. Give it up already.”

He wished he could, but finding Crystal had become an obsession. She was the last one who could testify against Ryan’s killer. By the time they’d discovered who the leak was—the man in the bureau responsible for giving away the location of the hotel where they were holding Gantz—he’d been floating in the East River.

If it was the last thing he did, Will would bring Vince Collucci to justice. He owed it to Ryan’s family. “Hear me out. This time I think I’ve really got something.”

His superior leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “You have two minutes.”

“Remember the girl we were watching right after Crystal? Stephanie Fair?”

“The Vegas showgirl?”

“That’s the one. Because of her connection to the Sardoni family, she’s still on the hot list. She got a call the other day from Colorado.”

Robbins shrugged as if to say, Yeah, so?

“As far as we know, she doesn’t have any ties there. So I traced it. The call originated from a divorce retreat outside of Denver. A place called Healing Hearts.”

“So what? Maybe she’s got a friend staying there.”

“Highly unlikely considering the class of people she associates with. It’s an upscale place. I did some digging and found something interesting. The retreat was started a little over three years ago, just months after Crystal disappeared with Vince’s money. The owner is some sort of recluse, rarely shows her face, so I ran her name.”

Robbins sat a little taller in his chair. “I’m listening.”

“It’s a fake. The retreat is owned by some private corporation. Unfortunately that’s all I was able to find out.”

“So what do you want from me?”

“I want you to put me in undercover.”

Robbins shook his head. “I know you want to solve this one, Will, but the director is not going to go for this. I’m going to need more. If you can get a positive ID—”

“Sir, I know it’s her.”

“Get me some proof.”

Will took a deep breath, shoving back the frustration rising up inside him. “I’ve done all I can from here. I’ve hit a dead end.”

“You know, even if you do find her, you can’t force her to testify. If she wouldn’t before, you can be sure she won’t now.”

“If I charge her with accessory she will, if she’s faced with life in prison. She took the hit money. We have no idea the extent of her involvement.”