The Forgotten by Heather Graham
They ate Chinese food out of the cartons and talked about the case and its similarity to past cases Matt and Meg had worked. He was sitting close to Lara, and when she looked at him now and then, he could feel the strange connection that he couldn’t deny was growing between them. He frowned when Meg and Lara talked about visiting the voodoo store. He wasn’t worried that they’d gone to the store or talked to Papa Joe. He had met a number of people who practiced voodoo through the years—good people, all of them.
It was Lara’s involvement in the case that bothered him.
Then again, he was the one who had gotten her involved so deeply.
Neither Miguel nor Maria made an appearance during dinner. But he learned exactly what had happened to Lara, the truth behind all the press surrounding her abduction and the Walker scandal, and his admiration for her grew. She’d endured so much. She’d been kidnapped by a serial killer, held prisoner under god-awful circumstances, and yet she had survived. And now this.
Perception. It was everything, really.
He had thought of Lara as an extremely attractive woman. Any man would have found her appealing, even in a city where beautiful women could be found in abundance.
But now...
Now he also saw her as strong. Now...
Now her smile turned his insides molten.
He didn’t want to leave her—not even with her best friend, not even with agents he trusted.
And now he felt even more determined to solve this case.
It was growing late, and despite the fact that he was actually working and his line of work didn’t adhere to an eight-hour day, he needed to sleep, and that meant he needed to leave.
At last he regretfully stood. “Tomorrow is going to be another long day. I’ve got to get home. Thank you, Matt and Meg, for your help. And thank you, Lara. You’ve been great through all of this.”
She smiled, rising. “Thanks. Is home far?”
“Not even five miles. If you ever want a brisk walk in the blazing heat, I’m in South Miami, just past the Gables.” As soon as he said the words, he wondered what had gotten into him.
Matt stood, too, and said to Brett, “We’ll be at Sea Life in the morning, and I’ll meet you at the cemetery around one. I’m going to try to find connections between all these people—the staff at the funeral home, the dead we know about—and the Barillo family. I know the local task force is working it, but I also know your Special Agent Bryant isn’t getting anywhere and his informants aren’t giving him anything useful, so since Meg and I are here, we’re going to help if we can.”
“All help appreciated,” Brett replied. “And I can’t help but thinking that this might be an unwitting conspiracy.”
“What’s that?” Lara asked.
“What I mean is that a number of people might be doing things that are illegal without any idea how their efforts are being combined for a much larger—and deadlier—end,” Brett said. “Someone may be supplying whatever drugs and poison are being used. Someone else may have been bribed or blackmailed into supplying a body. A third person may be sharing the know-how without any idea that someone is actually using it. So the more connections we can make between any of the players, the better.”
“In other words, if we start at the end of the string, it may lead us to another string, then another, and eventually they’ll lead us to the spool of thread,” Meg said.
“So is there any indication that Miguel or Maria Gomez knew Randy Nicholson or anyone at the Diaz-Douglas funeral home, or anyone at the cemetery?” Lara asked.
“No. Miguel might not even have known anyone else involved. Except the Barillo family. Because I know they’re in on it somehow,” Brett said. “There’s no other way things could have gone down that way in the warehouse unless someone in the Barillo family was involved. No one else would have known he would be there.”
“What about his family?” Matt suggested.
Brett shook his head. “No, Maria loved her husband, and Miguel made sure his children and grandchildren were far away after he contacted the FBI—even when he caved and started working for Barillo, he wanted his children and grandchildren living elsewhere. They’re out in the Midwest, and they’ve agreed to stay where they are until we’ve gotten some answers. They’re not happy about it, but they understand it’s a safety issue.”
He told them all good-night at the gate, wishing he felt entirely sure that Lara would be all right even as he told himself it was foolish to want to stay. As an agent, he’d quickly learned that no man was an island. They depended on one another. Trusted one another. They had to. He was usually pretty good at it; it was pure ego to think he was the only one who could manage any particular task.
But this was different. Still, he managed to leave, his fingers lingering on Lara’s as she shut the gate, his eyes meeting hers. “Good night. You’re in good hands,” he told her.
She smiled and nodded. He thought that maybe she was wishing he could stay, too.
Or was that just wishful thinking on his part?
He got into his car and drove home. As he neared his house, he saw that a car was parked in front of his neighbor’s house, and there were men just sitting in it.
Watching his house.
An assassination team? he wondered.
He told himself for the second time that night that no man was an island. It was late, but he sat in his own car down the street, lights off, and felt for his Glock and his phone. He dialed Diego.
Diego answered right away, instantly alert, even though Brett was sure he’d been sleeping.
“Men in front of my neighbor’s house,” Brett said.
“I’m on my way. Should I call for backup?”
“No, this time of night, you should only be five minutes. I’m parked down the street, and let’s leave the line open.”
“On my way.”
Brett set the phone on the seat next to him. He didn’t get out of the car—he would be an easy target if they spotted him—just sat, watched and waited.
A moment later the other car’s driver’s door opened; a man stepped out and walked around, then opened the passenger-side door. He reached in to help a second man out.
It was Barillo. Even in the dark, Brett knew. He’d seen video and pictures of the man often enough.
The two men walked over to where he was parked. So much for hiding in the shadows, Brett thought.
“Agent Cody,” Barillo called.
Brett drew his Glock and stepped out of the car. Barillo lifted his hands. The younger man at his side did the same. They weren’t holding weapons, though Brett was certain that one of them, at least, was armed.
“What?” he asked, Glock aimed at the older man.
“There’s no need for that,” Barillo said to him. “I came in person to tell you that you don’t need to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Brett said.
“Then, you’re estupido!” the other man said angrily.
Barillo nudged him, and the man went silent.
“I’m here to tell you I don’t murder women,” Barillo said. “And I didn’t kill Miguel. You need to look somewhere else and find out what is going on. I came here in peace. I’m old. I’m done with my old ways. Do you understand? If you want to catch a killer, you need to look elsewhere. I came in person to tell you. That’s all. Good night, Agent Cody.”
Barillo turned around and headed back to the car. Brett watched him go. The man was in his mid-sixties, though he looked at least fifteen years older. When his name was said, people imagined a tough virile man who could take down half an army.
That wasn’t the Barillo Brett had seen tonight.
I’m old, he’d said.
He was more than old, Brett thought. He was also sick.
The Barillo
Diego slammed to a stop and jumped out of the car. “Gone?” he asked.
Brett nodded. “Barillo and a younger man, maybe forty, forty-five,” he told Diego. “Oddest thing. I was afraid of an ambush when I stepped out of the car, but he came out to tell me ‘face-to-face’ that he didn’t kill Maria or Miguel.”
“I wonder why it’s so important to this guy that we believe he didn’t kill Miguel,” Diego said. “Or why he’s so focused on you.”
“Maybe he knows that Miguel came to me. We have informants, they have informants,” Brett said. “I’ve never seen the younger man. Some lieutenant, probably.”
“Must be, since he keeps his kids out of the family business.”
“What a good father,” Brett said.
“Do you think it was a ploy, something to get us off his tail?” Diego asked.
“No,” Brett said thoughtfully. “I actually don’t. He seemed sincere.”
“Lots of criminals seem sincere—the same way murderers find Christ just before they go up in front of a parole board,” Diego said.
That was true enough, Brett knew. “Come on in. Might as well get out of the street.”
At his door, Brett keyed in the alarm code and they went inside. “Want coffee or something?” he asked.
“Coffee? I’m still dreaming of getting something called sleep for part of the night,” Diego told him. “I’ll take a water, though.”
Brett grabbed a bottle of water for Diego and made himself a cup of coffee. It wouldn’t keep him awake once he lay down to sleep, he knew.
The two of them sat on the stools at the kitchen breakfast bar.
“You know what struck me as odd?” Brett asked.
“Besides dead men going around killing people?”
“Barillo himself. He’s a shell of a man. Quite frankly, he looks weak in every way. How does a shriveled little man like that command such an empire? I think he has something, Diego, some kind of disease. I wish I knew what it was.”
Diego shrugged. “Heart disease? Cancer?”
“I don’t know, but it was interesting. The man with him was twice his size and plainly hostile, but Barillo shut him up effortlessly.”
“Like The Godfather. There can be only one don until the don steps aside.”
“Well, I doubt it will be one of the sons,” Brett said. “According to Bryant, there are three kids. Jeremy is going for his law degree. Apparently he’d like to go into politics, but I think his father’s reputation will put an end to those ambitions. Then there’s Felipe. Smart kid—he’s in anatomy or something premed like that. Anthony Barillo himself has a medical degree, not that he uses it now. Maybe everything Felipe does is to impress his old man, who knows. Then there’s the daughter, Cecelia. She’s about thirty and already has master’s degrees in two fields, I forget what, and she’s going for a third. It really is like The Godfather. He’s a major crime lord, but he wants his kids to be above reproach—like Michael Corleone. Of course, Michael would up being the one to take over the family. Maybe Barillo’s kids are starting to feel the pressure, too. The man who called me the other night said ‘my father.’ The guy tonight was too old to be either of the sons, though. Maybe it was his brother.”
“Barillo’s brother?”
Brett nodded. “Now that I think about it, it could be his youngest brother, Tomas. There were originally four brothers, but one died of natural causes and one died in a shoot-out. Tomas is the youngest, and Bryant thinks he’s being groomed to take over, not that Barillo has loosened his grip by a millimeter.”
“Sounds almost like a royal dynasty. When Anthony Barillo is gone, it will be like, ‘The king is dead, long live the king!’ No wonder poor Bryant has been at it so hard all these years. They have to root out the whole dynasty if they’re going to have a real effect.” Diego yawned.
Brett remembered that he’d roused his partner from a sound sleep and shook his head. “You want to just sleep here?” he asked.
“No, that’s okay. I’d only have to get up early and go home to shower and change.” Diego indicated the old AC/DC T-shirt he was wearing. “They’ll frown on it if I come to work like this. I’ll take off and see you in a few hours.”
“Thanks for the backup.”
“You’d have my back, too, amigo,” Diego said.
Brett saw him out to his car, and he didn’t head inside and lock up until Diego was out of sight.
It was disturbing that Barillo had come to his house. Despite the job, agents didn’t usually fear for their own lives unless they were in armed pursuit; it just didn’t pay for criminals to attack them. Law enforcement never came after you with greater ferocity than if you killed a fellow officer.
He set his alarms and double-checked that his Glock held a full clip before going to bed. His head was filled with questions and theories as he tried to sleep—and in the middle of every one he found himself thinking about Lara Ainsworth Mayhew.
He thought about her eyes.
And then her body.
Her smile.
And the way he had felt when she was so close to him in her swimsuit, nearly touching, when they’d been in the water and on the boat.
She was still on his mind when he finally fell asleep.
* * *
He woke with a jerk, dreaming about Lara in a way he shouldn’t have, but his dream vanished as he came instantly alert, almost as if someone had poked him. Instinctively he reached out, ready to grab his Glock, though with the alarms set it should have been impossible for anyone to get in without him knowing.
There was no danger. Even as he noticed the shadowy figure at the foot of his bed, he knew there was no danger.
Maria Gomez was back, looking at him with eyes filled with sadness.
Looking at him...and asking for his help without speaking a word.
When she did speak, she said nothing new.
“Miguel did it... It was Miguel, and yet it was not Miguel.”
“I know, Maria,” he said, wondering if he was imagining things because he’d gotten so damned obsessed with this case. “Maria, I know he loved you. He never would have hurt you—not if he was himself.”
The ghostly woman shimmered in and out of focus. And then she said, “Please. Please...”
The first pale sliver of morning light seeped through the drapes. For one minute more, she was there.
And then she was gone.
* * *
Lara thought it would be impossible to concentrate on her job, but throughout the morning she worked on the plans for the Sunday event, sending out emails to their members, replying to veterans who wanted to know what to expect, addressing their special concerns.
She thought that Meg would be bored to tears, but she wasn’t; she was on her laptop the whole time, wrapped up in what she was doing.
At about eleven-thirty they were interrupted when Lara received a call from the front; Sonia Larson was there to see her.
“One of our sponsors,” she explained to Meg. “A major sponsor—she loves the place and donates heavily.”
“Tax write-off?” Meg asked.
“Well, it’s a tax write-off for everyone, but I’ve seen Sonia at the lagoons. She really does love the dolphins.”
“You are talking Sonia Larson the fashion queen, aren’t you?”
Lara laughed. “I think she’s more like a goddess. You’ll see.”
Meg did.
Sonia walked into Lara’s office loaded down with bags bearing her company logo. She smiled with genuine pleasure on being introduced to Meg and apologized because she didn’t have anything for her. “But I have a feeling this one shares,” Son
Among many other things, she’d brought Lara a slightly daring bikini and matching lace-edged cover-up in a rich blue with just a hint of green.
“Matches your eyes perfectly,” she said.
“This is lovely. And I thank you so much. But I’m not sure I’m supposed to accept gifts like this,” Lara said. “And aren’t you supposed to be in Rio?”
Sonia waved a hand in the air. “You’re not going to believe this, but they had to put the show back a week. It’s one of the biggest in the world, but Jean Paul Genet—the host, you’ve heard of him, yes?”
Lara and Meg had both heard of him—yes! He had a makeup line, a perfume line, a clothing line and now he was designing yachts and cars.
“Well, anyway, the man got sick. So they have postponed the show. It’s all right with me. My schedule is my own. So I’m here and able to bring you a few presents.”
“And you’ll be here on Sunday?” Lara asked. “It would be wonderful if you can. The soldiers would be so thrilled.”
“I will come,” Sonia promised her. “But you wear the bikini I brought you and they’ll be more thrilled with you.”
Lara smiled. “Well, thank you. But we’re required to wear our regular wetsuits, and I’m not even sure I’ll be in the water at all. I’m media. The trainers are the ones who’ll work with the vets and the dolphins. You’re a celebrity. They’ll love seeing you.”
Sonia smiled. “I understand about the suit. And if you think I will do some good by being here, of course I’ll come. But for now I have a doctor’s appointment and my chauffeur is waiting.”
“Is anything wrong?” Lara asked, worried.
“No, no. I have an irregular heartbeat, so I see Dr. Treme for regular monitoring. I had to cancel my next appointment, but luckily he was able to fit me in today.”
“Treme?” Meg said.
“He’s the best down here,” Sonia said. She blew kisses. “I must go, but I will see you on Sunday.”