Tough Justice: Twisted (Part 5 Of 8). Gail Barrett

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      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      About Tough Justice

       About the Author

       Dedication

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Extract

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      Lara paced from her cubicle to the window and back, so panicked she could hardly think. She’d phoned the safe house dozens of times since the previous night, and always with the same result—that high-pitched tone, followed by an ominous recording. The number was no longer in service. The line had been disconnected.

      But why?

      Had Moretti finally found the Minnow family? Had she inadvertently led him to them or done something to tip him off? She stopped, her nerves almost at the breaking point, unable to get that awful image out of her head—that red target on the baby’s photo.

      What if they were dead?

      Calling on all her strength, she battled to compose herself, anger fueling her determination to think this through. Victoria was checking on the family and had promised to let her know the instant she had any news. And right now, that was the only thing she could do. No matter how she felt, no matter how desperately she wanted to mount a manhunt to find the Minnows, she had to sit tight and bide her time. Keeping their existence a secret was the only way to keep them safe.

      Assuming they were still alive.

      Turning toward the bank of windows, she gazed out at the surrounding skyscrapers, their top stories shimmering in the morning sunshine, their lower floors draped in perpetual shadow like the understory of a jungle floor. But everywhere she looked, she kept seeing Cass’s ashen face and the knife sticking out of her leg.

      She hated feeling so out of control. She felt manipulated, trapped like a rat in an impossible maze, chasing down lead after lead to no avail. The note attached to the knife. The kidnapper’s rattle. That painting in the sewer. The mysterious blond guy and the black SUV. None of it led anywhere except to frustrating dead ends. And this continual apprehension, this constant fear that another crisis was about to erupt had her so on edge she wanted to scream.

      But that was Moretti’s goal. He wanted to keep her off balance, to prove to her that he was in charge—even from prison. And damn if he wasn’t winning. While he sat there, issuing orders, her life was falling apart.

      Unable to stand it, she pivoted on her heel and strode down the carpeted hallway to the elevator to go upstairs. Reaching her destination, she rapped on the psychiatrist’s door.

      “Come in,” Dr. Oliviero called.

      Not giving herself time to reconsider, she opened the door. She hesitated on the threshold, taking in the sunlight streaming into the room, the potted plants that added a touch of nature to the urban décor. Next to the windows were some armchairs upholstered in soothing shades of aqua and gray.

      Dr. Oliviero was seated at his desk. He looked up СКАЧАТЬ