offering the right price to get them to talk.
If any of them had information...if Moretti was really behind these latest crimes, then hopefully they could tap into a rat to find out what they needed. There was no question that Dunst hadn’t been acting on his own. The sniper bullet between his eyes said otherwise.
The murder of an innocent young girl, a sniper shot to the forehead of a low-level drug dealer and a stabbing of a beautiful young woman on a jogging trail...how were they possibly connected?
His stomach growled, reminding him that it was well past lunchtime, and he hadn’t had a chance to eat breakfast that morning. He glanced at his watch. Seven minutes had passed since he’d last spoken to Lara.
He pushed his chair away from his desk and leaned toward her once again. “I have an idea.”
“That’s novel.” She didn’t bother to look at him.
“Very funny. I was thinking maybe we’d grab something to eat and then head back over to the hotel where Dunst died.”
“And why would we do that?” She turned in her chair, and her green eyes stared at him without emotion.
“Because I’m starving and I’ve been reading over the initial reports that NYPD sent us when Dunst was killed, and I can’t find any interview with the doorman. And how did Dunst afford to stay in a place with a doorman? He used cash, but from where? The police interviewed the manager who was on duty at the time and several hotel patrons and other staff, but not the doorman.”
“And doormen usually know more about people than anyone else in a building.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Okay, we can grab a hot dog off the street truck at the corner and then head back over to the hotel and see if any information was missed.”
“You eat dirty water dogs off street trucks?” He looked at her incredulously.
“You don’t?” she countered.
“I never have before,” he admitted.
Lara pushed back from her cubicle and stood. “Then I’m about to rock your taste buds.”
Minutes later they stood in front of one of the many food trucks that dotted the streets in all parts of the city. It sported a bright red-and-yellow awning, and the older Hispanic man working it greeted Lara with a smile.
“I’ll have the House Special,” she said to him.
“Give me what she’s having,” Nick said. He was just glad that Lara seemed to be over being angry with him.
The scents wafting from the cart caused Nick’s stomach to growl again. He’d always steered clear of the food carts and trucks, afraid of getting salmonella or some other dreaded disease. He’d just never thought it was right to eat food that came on wheels unless you were a senior citizen and the food was being delivered to your door.
The man handed them each a hot dog with mustard and ketchup, smothered in chili and topped with cheese. Lara grabbed a handful of napkins and passed several to Nick.
They stood next to the truck to eat. Lara ate in small, concise bites, managing not to spill a single drop, while Nick finished his dog in four big bites, wiped a spot of chili from the front of his leather coat and then ordered a second one.
“Okay, I’ll admit it; those were the best hot dogs I’ve ever eaten. But if I come down with Ebola or some other deadly disease, it’s totally on you.”
For the first time since he’d met her, she smiled. It was a real, genuine smile that momentarily lit up the darkness in her eyes and transformed her sharply defined features into something softer, something utterly appealing. “We haven’t been partners long enough yet for me to be ready to be rid of you, although you might not realize how close you came to death at my hands earlier.”
The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him wishing she would do it more often. “Let’s get moving,” she said.
“According to what I read in the initial reports from the NYPD, Dunst checked into the hotel around noon the day before he climbed out on the ledge,” Nick said. They were once again in a company-issued car, headed back to the scene of the original crime.
“I can’t believe nobody thought to interview the doorman. How on earth was that missed? We need to speak to both the night and the day doorman. Maybe one of them saw something,” Lara said.
“We also need to speak to some of the shopkeepers in the area,” Nick replied. “Hopefully somebody saw something that might be of interest to us.”
“Why weren’t more interviews done just after Dunst’s death?” Her annoyance was obvious in her sharp tone.
“That sniper bullet put everyone in an uproar. As you already know, NYPD scrambled to check rooftops and nearby buildings in an attempt to figure out exactly where the shooter had been, but they didn’t find anything to answer the question. Besides, I think it was also a matter of jurisdiction. The NYPD assumed we were on the case because of your presence there, and of course we didn’t officially invite ourselves into the case until yesterday afternoon.”
“Witnesses forget, they get confused.” Her frustration was like a third living presence in the car. “I should have stuck around yesterday. I should have done some of the investigating on my own. I could have questioned people, maybe figured out where that shot came from.”
“Lara, you were right to get the hell out of there,” Nick replied firmly. “Once that sniper bullet found him, you had no choice but to get out of Dodge.”
“I was just hoping that my picture wouldn’t be taken, that nobody from the crime syndicate would recognize me as Eve, the woman who had worked and lived among them for a year. I was hoping the new job with the team would keep me out of the spotlight. I didn’t want Moretti’s crew knowing I was in New York.”
“You acted smart, Lara. Besides, who’s to say that if you’d stood next to Dunst’s body one second longer a sniper bullet wouldn’t have found your forehead, too?” He glanced toward her.
Her gaze met his, her eyes flat and unfathomable. “If Moretti is behind all of this, then I don’t believe he would have taken me out yesterday with a shot between the eyes. He would have considered that far too easy a death for me.”
She broke eye contact with him and instead stared straight out the front window. “If this is Moretti’s work, then he’ll want me to suffer. He’s a sadistic bastard who won’t be happy until he’s taunted and tormented me into madness.”
A short silence ensued. “Do you have any relatives or friends you talk to?” he finally asked. “People to maybe have drinks with and download?”
“My mother was murdered when I was young, and my father died a few months ago from Alzheimer’s. I am close to Victoria and Cass, but other than that, I don’t have friends. I don’t need them. Besides, once you’ve gone deep undercover and lived that lifestyle, it’s hard to come back to whatever normal life consists of.”
Definitely defensive, Nick thought with an inward sigh. Make it work, he reminded himself as they pulled up in front of the hotel where Dunst had died.
