were a few subtle differences between Nicky and her new identity, Vanessa Grant. Most people wouldn’t notice.
Luke noticed, but he could still see the real Nicky underneath Vanessa’s softer persona.
“I have to say, I like this look on you. But a schoolteacher, Nicky? You never cared for kids—this score must be really something for you to put on this kind of performance day in and out.”
She turned on him.
“Stop. Calling. Me. Nicky.”
“The cat will soon be out of the bag, why pretend? You might as well get used to these accommodations. You could be here for a while.”
She shook her head and made a small, feral growling sound before she walked to the bars, curled her hands around them very tightly and looked at him hard.
“The way I see it, Mr. Berringer, if that’s even your real name, you’re behind bars, too. At least I’m here as a victim. It’s you they’re investigating. Convenient that you happened to be there right before the place blew. That you knew exactly how much explosive was in the house, what kind and that it would go off right at that second. But why? That’s what I want to know. Why would you want to kill me? I don’t even know you.”
Luke vaulted across the cell, his hands curling over hers, holding her there as she tried to pull away.
“Oh, you know me. You know me very well. Intimately, even. The same way I know you. I know how you feel, how you taste and how you cry out when you—”
“Stop!” she spat, and pulled her hands free. “You know nothing about me, especially not that.”
Her eyes flashed, cheeks blooming with color as she heaved breaths, drawing his attention to the fit of her blouse.
“Had a little work done there, too, hmm? You look...smaller on top.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. He laughed.
“Still very nice, but you know, less showy. I guess you’d want to draw less attention in your new position. Apparently, it didn’t work, since someone wanted you to go boom right along with your house. I saved your life. That’s one fact you left out. Believe me, after the evidence I handed over to the detective, you’re the one in trouble here, sweetheart. And I couldn’t be happier about it.”
Her expression changed and gone was the fierce, angry woman. In her place was a shaken, clearly exhausted one who faced him with eyes full of tears.
“Why are you doing this? You did save my life, but you act like you hate me. And you don’t even know me. You clearly have me confused with someone else. This Nicky person, whoever she is.”
Luke felt a pinch of sympathy—and a fleeting moment of doubt—before he capped it off. Nicky was an expert at manipulating emotions, hers and others’, with precision. It was why she was such a good con artist and thief.
“I don’t hate you. I want you to pay for what you’ve done. To me, and to others. Innocents.”
She looked at him, pensive, wiping the tears away.
“What is it exactly that you think I’ve done?”
So this was the game she wanted to play? Fine. He had nothing better to do at the moment. Sitting down on the bare-bones cot on the other side of the cell, he took a deep breath before speaking.
“You stole very sensitive computer code, obviously with the intention of selling it to the highest bidder. I have to figure that plan fell through, since you’re here in Florida, trying to make another score. Also, the programming has never surfaced since.”
He paused before continuing. “You slept with me and almost convinced me that we had something. Enough of something that I didn’t watch you as closely as I should have. You took advantage of that and of me. You set me up, and you set up Marcus Yates, who killed himself after I accused him of being the thief. So, we’re both guilty, Nic. You and I both caused someone else to take his own life. But you were the one who orchestrated it all, and you don’t get to walk away from that.”
The words came out calmly, smoothly, and she listened, transfixed.
“That’s awful, but I never did any of those things. I’ve been a teacher here for eight years. I’ve never even met you let alone slept with you, and—”
He put a hand up. “Please. I really don’t want to hear it. You played me once, shame on you. If I let you play me again, well, you know how that goes.”
Luke was suddenly tired. He closed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t want to play the game anymore. He wanted this to be done.
She didn’t say anything else, and he started to drift off into a mental fog when a noise had him bolting upright. The detective was unlocking his cell.
“Mr. Berringer, you’re free to go.”
“What? Are you kidding me? He’s probably the one who tried to blow up my house!” Nicky exclaimed.
“No evidence of that, Ms. Grant. In fact, Mr. Berringer is a bona fide bodyguard—professional security—and he did save you. We’re just waiting on a few confirmations concerning your statement and then we’ll let you out, too.”
“But—”
Luke smiled, suddenly reenergized as he headed out of the station. Nicky was still looking at him as if she couldn’t believe it.
He waved smartly to her before he left and grinned at the outraged look she gave him. She was gripping the bars so tightly he could see her white knuckles from a distance.
Tough.
He had no doubt that the police would find that none of her story was true, and she wouldn’t be out anytime soon. Luke would be happy to testify at her trial.
Finally. Justice.
His phone rang as he proceeded down the long hall to the exit. It was his cousin, Garrett, calling to check in. Luke made his way out into the parking lot in front of Tampa Police Headquarters, filling his cousin in on what had happened.
People passing by slid wary looks in his direction, and he couldn’t blame them. He was dirty, scraped up and reeked of smoke and sweat. None of that was important.
“Garrett.”
“Luke. So, they spring you yet?”
“Yeah. Thanks for the speedy response.”
“Sure. Though Jonas thought we should let you simmer in there for a day or two, for kicks.”
“Funny. Did you find anything?”
Luke had his cousins do the background research on Vanessa Grant. It was likely that she had developed a sturdy fake background, maybe even one that the police couldn’t break through. Garrett would dig deeper.
“Sorry, Luke. You’re not going to want to hear this, but Vanessa Grant looks legit—work history, fingerprints, adoption certificate, all match her picture. She was in the foster system for seven years, then adopted, graduated high school, went on to college. It’s all here. I’ll give you that she does look a lot like Nicole Brooks, but she was a new teacher back when you were with Nicky. They have school year photos that show her in them at the time. It’s not her.”
Luke paused and closed his eyes. Could it be possible? Was this some kind of mix-up? No. He’d seen her. Close up. He knew.
“Gar, how many elementary teachers do you know who are targeted with several bricks of explosives? Obviously, someone other than me is after her, and there has to be a reason for that.”
“Well, you have a point there. Still, if this is a cover, it’s one of the best I’ve ever seen. She’s living out in plain sight, not trying to hide anything, and it has been the case for over a decade.”
“That does sound airtight,” Luke said, trying to figure out how