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  “Sorry, work became complicated.”

  “I hear that.”

  Lara internally cringed. For years she’d tried to convince Lola to leave the streets—she could be so much more—but the woman had always refused. She’d had a hard life. One that had weighed upon her so long that Lara suspected the idea of anything different might scare her away from ever trying.

  The first time she’d met Lola was when her father’s mental state had gotten bad. Lara had pulled up one day to see Lola and him walking hand in hand down the sidewalk toward the house. She hadn’t been wearing leather then, but her outfit had been just as shocking. High-heeled boots that laced up her shins and thighs and a red dress that dipped low and rose high. She hadn’t bleached her hair yet, but she’d already been sporting her long ponytail.

  “Your dad?” Lola had asked when Lara, wide-eyed and ready to raise hell, had approached them.

  “Yeah, and you are?”

  Lola didn’t seem to mind the harsh tone. She outstretched her free hand.

  “Call me Lola, your friendly father walker.”

  It had taken a longer conversation after seeing her dad back to the house to get the full story. Lola had noticed Bartholomew walking around aimlessly, confused. She’d remembered seeing him watering the flowers in front of the small Cape Cod and had offered to walk him home. Apparently it hadn’t been the first time, either.

  Since then Lara had grown an odd attachment to the woman, speaking with her during her visits to the house. Sure, Lola led a life Lara didn’t approve of, but the woman was funny and sharp. Despite their differences, Lara felt an equality between the two. A balance between quiet and loud. Plus, after everything the woman had endured, Lola had managed to hold on to her good heart. Lara respected that.

  They continued to look at the house in silence for a moment. Lara reflected on her relationship with the woman next to her. They were quite the team. The FBI agent and the prostitute.

  “You know, when my father was dying from cancer, I told him I was totally off drugs.” Lola finally spoke up. “I said I was a bank teller, too. Made good, honest money and lived a good, honest life. I think he died happy.”

  Lara didn’t look away from the house, focusing on the front porch. “You know, you could be a bank teller,” she tried.

  Lola let out a laugh. It sounded almost hollow. Lara took the woman’s hand in hers and squeezed.

  They lapsed back into a companionable silence for a moment.

  “I need to get back to work,” Lara said, dropping her friend’s hand. “Take care of yourself, Lola.”

  The younger woman bumped her shoulder against Lara’s. “You too, Miss FBI. Don’t be a stranger.”

  The tapping of her heels against the concrete moved away, but Lara stayed still for a while longer. She wouldn’t go into the house today. She couldn’t find the strength or resolve to make her feet carry her up the sidewalk and through the door her family had once used daily.

  No, Lara wouldn’t be tackling that portion of her past right now.

  She turned on her heel and headed back to her car. An overwhelming sense of loss in her wake.

  * * *

  Lara went back to the office with little enthusiasm. There were no new leads. The other shoe would drop, she was sure, but at the moment it seemed firmly laced up and on. She fell into her desk chair with a sigh that matched its creak.

  Her day had, in a nutshell, been draining, to say the very least.

  The past had not only shown its face, it had bothered to force her hand in its own and had taken her for a stroll.

  “You saw Moretti.” Nick popped his head up over the cubicle wall to her left. If the day hadn’t already taken its toll on her emotions, seeing her partner she’d made out with in a public bar and then ran from would have rubbed her the wrong way. As it was, she merely met his gaze with one she knew embodied her tired frustration. “It didn’t go well.”

  She made a finger gun and shot. “Bingo. And before you ask, no, I don’t want to recount our conversation or tell you what I felt after seeing him. Just know it was a bust, and I don’t want to talk about it past that.”

  Nick held up his hands, ready to defend himself, when Lara’s phone vibrated. She sighed, ready for whatever shit storm she was sure it would bring.

  Drink tonight at Hot Spot, Eve?

  Lara froze.

  “What’s wrong?” Nick asked.

  She handed him the phone, already standing with the intent to go straight to Cass to see if anyone currently working at the Hot Spot was named Eve. Though, she doubted it would be that simple. “The other shoe.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Hot Spot was located in Union Square on Fourteenth Street. It was large, had an eclectic, urban vibe and was obviously popular. A constant stream of patrons flowed from the sidewalk inside while the sound of chatter and clinking glasses floated out. Lara shifted her weight from one boot to the other.

  Now she was standing across the street, trying to ready herself. For what? A dead body to be found or a dead body to be made?

  Lara rolled her shoulders back and gave herself a nod.

  It was time to find out, either way.

  Without focusing on Ty dressed down and leaning against the wall of the building next door, looking intently at his phone, Lara walked into the Hot Spot. As she suspected, the place was packed. She stopped just inside the door and scanned the crowd.

  Mei sat a few tables away from the bar, a glass of water in front of her. The seat opposite was empty. She checked her phone and looked around before checking it again. The frown that grew at not finding the person she was looking for made the cover that she was waiting on a date that much more believable. Lara spotted Nick next. Perched on a bar stool with a beer in his hand, he had positioned himself in the middle of the bar. From his profile, Lara could tell he was tense. His eyes were focused on his beer, but she had no doubt he was well aware of his surroundings. Xander had agreed to cover the back of the building, setting up a camera after casing the alley. He was out there now, attempting to look like a man on a smoke break. Ready and waiting.

  Lara walked farther into the moving throng of people bustling around, talking and drinking, a rolling sea of post-work lemmings. She rescanned the room but had no idea what she was even looking for. Women and men of varying ages, ethnicities and garb filled the Hot Spot. Some looked her way, others didn’t care.

  Was one of their names Eve?

  Was she going to be killed tonight?

  Maybe she already had been?

  Lara’s stomach tightened. She spotted the hanging bathroom signs and made her way through the crowd. The image of Elizabeth Grant lying on her side in the Macy’s dressing room pushed to the forefront of her mind. She hoped she wouldn’t find the same scene waiting for her again.

  The bathrooms were at the end of the hall, close to the back door for employees only. If the Black Stamp Serial Killer had wanted, he could have easily snuck in from the alley earlier in the night and taken out his prey with little to no visibility. At least now Xander was in position, watching all of the team’s collective backs.

  Lara pushed into the public two-stall bathroom with her hand already on the butt of her gun beneath her jacket. The soft sounds of a radio looping Nineties music filled the blue-walled bathroom, mixing with the smell of spilled perfumed hand soap and stale cigarettes. Making the scenery much different than the bar down the hall.

  Both stall doors were closed.

  “Anyone in here?” Lara asked, hand not leaving her gun.

  No one answered. She dropped down to look beneath the doors, careful not to put her knees on the tile. Lara let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding on to. There were no feet or bodies on the ground. Still she pushed open each door to make sure.

  Bathroom’s clean, she texted her team. She moved her jacket back so it would conceal her piece again and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair lay flat against her head, mimicking
the wariness she had been battling since being called by Victoria that morning. Her eyes also told the same story. On a normal day the green of them looked alive. Now they stared back at her with a dull glint. The beginnings of dark circles ringed beneath them. She let out another breath. It shook. Nothing was going right. Nothing was making sense. Cass had tried to trace the cell number that had texted her but it couldn’t be traced. Of course it couldn’t be traced. That would have made things slightly more controllable for them. Having one answer instead of just another few questions of who the texter was and how had they gotten her number. Cass had also checked. No one named Eve worked at Hot Spot. Lara let out another not-so-stable breath. Waiting for their killer to strike had her more keyed up than she had originally thought.

  Her attention returned when her phone vibrated in her hand.

  Nothing suspicious out front. Moving back to the van in five, Ty responded. On the heels of that text came Xander’s.

  All’s clear out here too.

  Which meant whatever was going to happen was going to take place inside of the packed bar. Lara gave her reflection a smile before leaving. It was weak, and not even she bought its authenticity.

  Mei was in the middle of doing another scan of the room as Lara walked past to the bar. She was doing an excellent job of looking dejected. It made Lara wonder if the female agent had been stood up before. That thought led to the man sitting at the bar. Nick had opened up to her about his past, and she had let her guard down enough to let him see the more personal side of her. One topic they hadn’t broached was their past relationships. Was he the man who would wait at a bar for his date, or was he the man who kept the other waiting? On cue Lara’s cheeks heated. Her lips tingled at the memory of their quick kiss in another bar.

  The heat that pulsed through them where they had joined.

  The craving to push the boundaries until nothing was between them but skin and sweat.

  Lara shook her head. She needed to refocus and ask the bartender if they knew any regulars who went by the name Eve.

  It was a simple plan—direct, even—but Lara needed to find the connection and quick if they had any chance of potentially saving a woman’s life.

  She went to the end of the bar, to the far left of Nick, and cleared her throat. The two men hanging against the counter paused their conversation long enough to shuffle to the side, giving Lara barely enough room to squeeze in. She thought about flashing her badge or gun to make them learn some manners, but all entertaining thoughts quickly flew out the window as Lara’s eyes settled on Hot Spot’s current bartender.

  Lara found her connection all right.

  Slinging drinks as if she’d been born to do it was none other than Meghan Leary.

  Her sister.

  What the hell?

  Meghan was thirty-two, had long brown hair, wide hazel eyes, legs that kept going, and Bartholomew Grant’s strong nose. What she didn’t have was the same mother as Lara.

  Bartholomew had left Meghan and her mother when she was barely one for a pregnant Anna. It was something that her half sister never forgot and definitely never forgave. Meghan claimed Lara’s mother stole her father. It had created an always present rift that had widened tenfold when Anna was killed.

  “Your home-wrecking mother got what she deserved,” the eleven-year-old Meghan had yelled, chilling the young Lara right to the bones.

  Meghan’s mother and all her close family and associates had alibis for the murder, so any bitterness they had all felt had been just that. But that didn’t stop Lara from not fighting the rapidly growing disconnect between her and her half sister. They’d barely had contact before then, and, Lara quickly calculated, the two hadn’t talked or seen each other since they were teens.

  And now here she was, staring at a memory in the flesh.

  But was that memory the one haunting her now? The one sending the texts? Catching Nick’s eye, she pulled his gaze to the phone in her hand and started a message to her team.

  The surprise seems to be in the form of my half sister, the bartender. Not sure how’s she connected. Meghan Leary. Cass, check her background?

  Lara didn’t get a chance to see if Nick read the text before the bartender moved over to her.

  “What can I get—” Meghan stopped. Her question fell away. Her hand and the rag in it froze midair.

  Lara might not have liked her half sister, but right then and there she made a decision without any concrete facts. Meghan wasn’t the instigator. She was a potential victim.

  Meghan’s surprise at seeing Lara was so pronounced, so genuine that for a moment Lara forgot to speak.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Apparently Meghan could handle the shock better than her younger sister. Her face twisted into a scowl. She still hadn’t forgiven Lara for the actions of their father.

  “We need to talk,” Lara said, raising her voice above the conversation next to her. Meghan’s frown turned to an expression of incredulity at her request. Before she could refuse, Lara pulled out her badge and placed it on the bar top. “Now.”

  Meghan looked between the ID and Lara.

  “I heard you were FBI,” she finally responded. There was no note of surprise or appreciation in her tone. “I have a twenty-minute break coming up in five. Can you at least wait until then?”

  Lara wanted to say no. She wanted to tell Meghan that for once in her life she needed to absolutely listen to Lara. And to do it now. However, as Lara looked at her only living relative, she couldn’t help but back down.

  “I’ll stay right here until then,” she consented. “Your five minutes start now.”

  Meghan rolled her eyes and went back to taking orders.

  Five minutes later, on the dot, Lara led them to the table against the wall that Mei had vacated. She took the seat opposite the woman and marveled at how much she’d changed since they’d seen one another. Taller, for sure. Curvy but purposely so. A cluster of outlined birds was tattooed below her collarbone and Lara quickly noted the several piercings on the woman’s right ear. Meghan the bartender wasn’t as clean-cut as she had been when they were younger. What had once been an almost prissy, preppy disposition had obviously evolved throughout the years they had been apart.

  Lara wondered if Meghan was cataloging all of the changes in her. Were there any? Yes, there were. She felt it in her bones. The day her mother had been killed had changed her. The day her father had been blamed had only pushed her further. Meghan might still see her as the naive, innocent little girl she’d once been.

  Lara straightened her back.

  She wasn’t that girl anymore.

  “It’s been a while,” Lara started, trying to ease into hostile territory. Meghan had her arms crossed over her chest, a clear look of annoyance on her face.

  “Could have been longer, if you ask me,” she said.

  Apparently Lara’s presence alone was enough to damn her, so she didn’t bother walking on eggshells. She wanted her sister to know she wasn’t here to play either. “Thought I might see you at the funeral. You know Dad died, right?”

  Meghan’s eyes widened a fraction. Lara didn’t read guilt or sadness in it, just acknowledgement.

  “No, I didn’t hear,” she said with a shrug. “But I also don’t care. I’ve wanted nothing to do with that man for years. My name is Meghan Leary, not Grant. Why would I care if he died?”

  Lara’s training kept her emotions from flickering across her face. Which was good; she wasn’t sure what would have registered there. Anger? Sadness? Empathy? Her hands fisted beneath the table in her lap. Broaching the subject of their father wasn’t pertinent to the case. It would only distract her even more from her current objective.

  Finding out if Meghan was the Black Stamp Serial Killer’s next target.

  “So, why are you here, Lara?” Meghan asked before she could form a new verbal route.

  “I was supposed to meet someone,” she said, giving a half-truth. “But they haven’t shown yet.”
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br />   “Oh, don’t give me that bullshit,” Meghan spit out. “Out of all the places in New York City, you picked the one I tend bar at?” She shook her head hard. “I don’t think so. But, you know what? I also don’t give a shit either. I’m going back to work, and I’d like it if you’d leave.” She started to stand.

  “Sit down,” Lara commanded. The underlying steel to her words halted the other woman’s move. She paused, mid-stand, and met her sister’s stare. “I’m working a case that brought me here. I had no idea you worked here—or lived in New York, for that matter—until I walked up to that bar.” She pointed for emphasis at the still-crowded area. A male bartender had taken Meghan’s place. He was talking to a man sitting next to Nick, who was still nursing his one beer. “And, no, I don’t think it was a coincidence,” she tacked on. It was enough to make Meghan take her seat back. Lara took it as a sign to continue before the brunette’s mood soured even further. “My team and I are tracking a very dangerous person, and this person wanted me to come here tonight. I think they wanted me to see you.”

  “Wow, sounds vague and slightly made up.” Meghan recrossed her arms over her chest, unimpressed. “Why would they want you to see me? And why is this ‘very dangerous person’ messing with you? Or did you ruin another’s person life? You seem to be pretty good at that.” Lara felt heat crawling up her neck. Her hands fisted tighter in her lap. She didn’t want to disclose too much, but at the same time it was obvious Meghan wasn’t going to heed any warnings without some incentive.

  “My last job I worked undercover and made some enemies. One that has spent the last few days killing people who share my name.” Lara pulled up the text on her phone and slid it over. Despite her need to distance herself from her younger sister, Meghan’s curiosity got the better of her. She leaned over a fraction to read it.

  “Eve?”

  “My name while undercover.” Meghan took another look at the text. “You could be in danger, Meghan. We need to keep you safe.”

  The brunette snapped her head up like a whip.

  “You keep me safe?” she growled. “Are you kidding me?” She stood so abruptly that Lara’s hand moved automatically to the part of her jacket that concealed the bulge of her gun. “It’s just like you to come back into my life only to start up some crazy shit! I don’t need your drama, Lara. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was eighteen. Since then I’ve done just fucking fine without you, and I can keep that train going as soon as you leave through that door.” She pointed toward the entrance. A few people around them turned to stare at the increasingly loud bartender. Lara started again to defend her worry that Meghan was in danger, but the woman wasn’t having it. “My name is Meghan, not Eve. I have my own life, and you have no part of it. Now, get the hell out of my bar.”