Tough Justice Series Box Set: Parts 1-8

Almost an hour later and Lara was standing in front of a small, brick-wrapped Cape Cod and trying her best to not feel like a child. Bartholomew Grant’s last home.

It never got easier thinking about the man. Whenever she did, the image of Anna sprang up and blossomed. Normally a child’s thoughts of a mother weren’t synonymous with the father potentially being a murderer.

Lara sighed, feet planted firmly on the sidewalk.

She had spent the first years of her career poring through the case files of her mother’s murder and hadn’t found a thing. All of that hard work had been for nothing. That meant her mother’s killer was either buried beneath a tombstone Lara hadn’t visited or was possibly still out there, a free man or woman. Regardless, whatever answers Bartholomew had once known had died with him.

Now all Lara had left of either parent was a few yards away, hiding behind walls covered in aged brick.

Lara felt her feet filling with lead. She needed to go inside to do what she’d come to do. Since Bartholomew had gone into hospice care, the Cape Cod and all its things hadn’t been touched. It was Lara’s job to sort through it all and set everything right. If such a thing was possible.

Yet she couldn’t bring herself to move.

“Hey, girl!”

Startled, Lara turned to see a woman in too-tall stilettos waving from down the street. It had been a while since she’d seen her unusual friend. Lara waved back.

“Hey, Lola,” she greeted as the woman had made her way over. Along with her unrealistic shoes, she wore a skimpy outfit of a black bustier and a leather miniskirt. Her bleached blond hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, falling somewhere near the middle of her back. She was twenty-six and pretty. Two details that kept her career as a prostitute thriving.

“Long time no see,” Lola said, stopping next to her. They both faced the house.

“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 (#ulink_1112be35-1193-5876-b4aa-2d2a65962a63)

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.