peered over the top of her laptop and blinked. “Take good care of that cat, Ty.”
Coughing, Xander rubbed his eye. “It sucks, man. Talk at me if you need to, although I’ll probably make things worse. Talk to Dr. Oliviero instead.”
Ty raised two fingers and saluted in the air as he walked out of the room.
Lara caught up with him at the elevator. They rode in silence to the ground floor, and then Lara put her hand on Ty’s arm as he exited the car. “We’ll bring them down, Ty. We’ll make them pay...for everything.”
He turned to her on the sidewalk. “I know that. I believe that, but right now I just need to take care of that heartbroken cat.”
Lara took a taxi to Meghan’s place with a lump in her throat for Mei, for Ty and for the cat. Now she had to disrupt her sister’s life again.
Why did she have to be the bearer of bad news? Not that bringing good news would change Meghan’s opinion of her. In Meghan’s eyes, she was the bad guy and always would be.
And why should she care how Meghan felt about her? Her sister was no picnic, either.
Lara had worked hard to keep up the barriers she’d erected when she’d lost her parents. Once her mother had died, she’d essentially lost both parents. Her father had withdrawn—whether from grief or guilt, maybe Lara would never know—and she’d felt abandoned. She’d discovered the best way to deal with those feelings was to wall off her heart from further abuse.
Why had she let Andrew Moore in? He was good at spinning a story and had pushed all her buttons.
She shook her head. Lara was grasping at excuses for getting played by Andrew Moore, but she’d played him just as surely as he’d done her. Did that mean he’d let down his guard, too? The arms commander had seemed as needy and lost as she’d felt.
Whatever Andrew Moore had seemed, Moretti was a different animal altogether...and no soul mate of hers.
Had he plotted and planned out this life of his at seventeen? Hard to believe, but facts didn’t lie. Why else had he and his twin hatched this scheme? Why else had they committed murder as teenagers? Because unless that body currently taking up residence in Mason Moretti’s grave had already been dead, that’s exactly what those two teens had done.
She dragged in a breath and shoved her hair back from her face, murmuring, “Just don’t shoot the messenger, Meghan.”
Lara climbed the stairs to Meghan’s place. She filled her lungs with the stale air from the building and straightened her spine. She knocked on the door, putting on a serious but compassionate face for the peephole.
She heard rustling on the other side of the door and then an expletive. Meghan wouldn’t be rolling out the red carpet for her sister, but at least she was home and would open the door.
Wouldn’t she?
She knocked again. “Meghan? I need to talk to you.”
“What makes you think I want to talk to you?”
“I know I’m the last person you want to see.” Lara leaned her forehead against the door. “Look, it’s important. You’re gonna want to hear this.”
“I doubt that.”
Metal scraped metal as Meghan slid three dead bolts. She swung open the door, keeping one hand on the doorknob and one against the doorjamb. “What?”
Lara’s gaze skimmed across Meghan’s slicked-back ponytail and fresh face, devoid of makeup. “You look nice.”
“Cut the crap.” Meghan’s hand slid from the doorjamb and landed on her curvy hip, a sliver of skin visible between the low-slung jeans and loose peasant blouse. “What do you want now?”
Lara pointed past her sister’s shoulder. “Can we talk inside?”
“Oh, yeah, because it’s so important.” But she swung open the door and stepped back. “And keep it down. My roommate’s sleeping.”
“Is she sick?” Lara took in the tiny living room with one sweeping glance.
“He’s a comedian. Has an improv show in the Village tonight—late.” Two pink spots flagged Meghan’s cheeks, and an accusatory gleam flashed from her wide eyes as if Lara had somehow tricked her into revealing more personal details about her life than she’d wanted to reveal.
Hang on, sister, because it’s about to get a lot more personal.
“I’ll keep my voice down.” Lara took a few hesitant steps into the room, but Meghan, her arms folded over her chest, made no move to follow her. No invitation to sit down. No offer of refreshment.
What did she expect? This was no social call, and Meghan knew it.
“Can we sit?” Without waiting for an answer, Lara sank to the flowered, thrift-shop sofa.
“Help yourself, sis. You always do—you and your mother.”
Lara closed her eyes for a second, her nostrils flaring. Meghan’s bitchy attitude just might make this conversation a little easier.
“You’re seeing someone—a tall blond who wears sunglasses and a baseball cap, sometimes a cowboy hat.”
Meghan’s jaw dropped. “You have got to be kidding me. Are you spying on me now?”
“What’s he calling himself, this man?” Lara clamped her hands on her bouncing knees.
“I’m not going to tell you shit. It’s none of your business.” Meghan’s chest rose and fell beneath her low-cut blouse, the bird wings tattoo beneath her collarbone taking flight.
“He’s dangerous, Meghan. Today we found out that he’s the twin brother of the guy we locked up, the trafficking kingpin, Moretti.”
“So?” Meghan’s jaw hardened, and her eyes glittered, giving her face a frozen quality, a stubborn quality. God, just like their father.
“So?” Lara struggled against the soft cushions of the sofa to sit forward. “Are you crazy? Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
She rolled her shoulders. “His brother’s in prison. Trevor is not.”
Lara thrust out her hand as if she could physically stop the words coming out of Meghan’s mouth. “Someone connected to this case lures me to the Hot Spot, knowing you work there, knowing we’re sisters.”
“Half.”
“Half sisters, and then the brother of the man we locked up starts hitting on you? Really? You’re okay with that?”
“Since he hit on me and not you, what’s the problem?”
“You have no idea what this Trevor’s brother is
