Out of Sight Read online

  Her hand trembled on the pay phone receiver as she worked up the courage to dial.

  If Vince were to catch her, she would be dead for sure. Once again she cursed herself for not realizing sooner the kind of man he was. She’d been seduced by his expensive car and thick wallet—by his power.

  She fingered the two-karat diamond studs in her lobes. She had a case full of precious gems, a closet full of designer clothes—and for what? By the time she’d begun to suspect who Vince really was, what he’d done, it was too late. She was in too deep. He owned her.

  She had to do the right thing. Before she could talk herself out of it, she picked up the receiver, dropped in two quarters and dialed. It rang four times before someone answered in a gruff voice, “FBI.”

  She had to do it. It was the right thing to do. “I want to report a murder.”

  MICHELLE CELMER

  Out of Sight

  Books by Michelle Celmer

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  Running on Empty #1342

  Out of Sight #1398

  Silhouette Desire

  Playing by the Baby Rules #1566

  The Seduction Request #1626

  Bedroom Secrets #1656

  Round-the-Clock Temptation #1683

  MICHELLE CELMER

  Bestselling author lives in southeastern Michigan with her husband, their three children, two dogs and two cats. When she’s not writing or busy being a mom, you can find her in the garden or curled up with a romance novel. And if you twist her arm real hard you can usually persuade her into a day of power shopping.

  Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her Web site at: www.michellecelmer.com, or write her at P.O. Box 300, Clawson, MI 48017.

  To my grandma Irene, my most loyal fan.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Prologue

  New York City, Four Years Ago

  “Time to go, Gantz.” Special Agent Will Bishop hoisted his prisoner up by the arm from the motel room chair. “You’ve got a date in court.”

  “They ain’t gonna let me testify,” Gantz said. Sweat dripped from the man’s meaty face and soaked through his Italian silk suit. A suit that probably cost him more than Will made in a month. “I’ll be dead before I get to the courthouse.”

  “You’re breaking my heart.” Ryan Thomas opened the door, letting in a blast of hot, humid air and early-morning sunshine. He signaled to the men standing guard around the perimeter of the lot.

  It wasn’t often Will got to work with Ryan these days, but with his regular partner still out on maternity leave, they were paired for this case. It had made the long shifts in this sleazy little motel guarding Gantz easier to stomach. But he was glad it was finally over. His wife was really nagging him about the long hours he’d been working. Which meant she’d been nagging him only slightly more than usual.

  “Looks clear,” Ryan said.

  “Time to roll.” Will cuffed Gantz and shoved him toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m telling you, man. The family ain’t gonna let it happen. And don’t think they’ll stop at me. You guys are as good as dead.”

  Ryan held the door open. “There are five agents in that parking lot. If someone was out there waiting for you, we would know.”

  “What are you worried about Gantz? In a week you’ll have a new face and a new identity,” Will said, unable to mask the disgust in his voice. Lou Gantz, a hit man responsible for the deaths of at least thirty men—many of whom had been waiting to testify in court—was getting a walk in exchange for his testimony against the Sardoni family, New York’s most vicious organized-crime organization. Until now, nearly every member of the family had managed to avoid prosecution. Witnesses either recanted their claims, were found floating in the river or simply disappeared without a trace.

  Not this time. The family’s top associates were under indictment, and the bureau had taken every possible precaution to keep Gantz’s location secure.

  This time they were going down.

  “Move it.” Will gave him another shove, out the door into the parking lot.

  Full-fledged panic crept into the man’s tone. “I’m tellin’ ya, we’re all dead.”

  Ryan opened the sedan door and heaved Gantz in the back, then turned to Will. “Call and let them know we’re on the way.”

  Will reached in his jacket pocket, but it was empty. “Hell, I left my phone in the room.”

  “What’s with you and that phone?”

  Will shrugged. He was always forgetting the damned thing.

  “I think it’s subconscious. I think you forget it so you don’t have to talk to your wife.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, could be.”

  His current wife—bride number two—called him constantly. She was making roast for dinner, was that okay or would he prefer chicken—he would be home for dinner, right? Or she saw a dress on sale in the weekend paper that she’d like to buy, did he mind? And by the way, the mechanic said it would cost an extra fifty dollars to fix the car, should she tell him that was all right?

  It was as if she couldn’t make a single decision without first consulting him. Sometimes he wondered if he would have been better off staying single. Of course, if he divorced her, he would be paying alimony to two ex-wives. Between that and legal fees, it was probably cheaper to stay married—and miserable.

  Ryan on the other hand had one of those perfect marriages that made even the hardest of characters ripe with envy. He had a gorgeous, supportive wife, three beautiful children. Five years more and he would be retiring from the bureau.

  He had the kind of life Will had always wished for. Yet somehow Will kept ending up with clingy, dependent, whiny women. They had yet to hit their first anniversary and already his second marriage had begun to feel like a heavy chain around his shoulders, dragging him down.

  “Hurry up, we’re gonna be late,” Ryan said and slipped into the driver’s seat.

  Will shouldered his way back through the hotel room door, spotting his phone on the table next to the window. As he reached for it, he heard the car start. Then there was a flash and an earsplitting rumble. The window imploded and he was flung back against the bed. Too late he threw up his arm to shield himself from the blast, screaming in pain as shards of glass and debris tore into the left side of his face. For a second he sat there, stunned. What remained of the curtains hung smoldering in the window, and thick black smoke belched in from the parking lot. Then the reality of what had happened hit him square in the chest.

  Car bomb. And Ryan had been inside.

  Noxious black smoke filled the room, gagging him, and through the ringing in his ears he heard people shouting. He slid to the floor, where the air wasn’t so thick, trying to get his bearings. Keeping his body low to the ground, he crawled toward the dim light coming through the open door. Pulling himself up in the door frame, he staggered out of the room and turned to see the car. His knees buckled and he went down hard on the blacktop.

  It was completely engulfed in flames.

  Las Vegas, one week later

  Crystal’s hand trembled on the pay-phone receiver as she worked up the courage to dial. She’d committed to memory the number for the New York office. If Vince were to catch her with the number on her, she would be dead for
sure.

  Once again she cursed herself for not realizing sooner the kind of man Vince was. She’d been seduced by his expensive car and thick wallet—by his power. And sure, she’d had a pretty good idea that wherever that money and power had come from, it probably wasn’t legal. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d dated a guy that preferred to keep his business dealings under the radar. Hell, this was Vegas. It was all a part of the charm, the excitement.

  She fingered the two-carat diamond studs in her lobes. She had a case full of precious gems, a closet full of designer clothes, and for what? By the time she’d begun to suspect who Vince really was, begun to put it all together, it was too late. She was in too deep. He owned her.

  When she’d overheard him talking about a package being delivered and heard Gantz’s name, then later found the duffel bag full of money in his office closet—more money than she’d seen in her whole life—her worst fears had been confirmed.

  Vince was a hit man.

  Not only had Gantz been killed, but an FBI agent had been in the car with him. A family man. When Crystal had seen the agent’s wife on the news, three young children clinging to her side, something inside her had snapped. She’d decided right then, for the first time in her life she had to do the right thing. Even if that meant they would get her, too, just as they had gotten Gantz. She had to take that chance. She would never be able to live with herself otherwise. Even though most of the people Vince took out were scum, they were still people. They had wives and children who loved them.

  It had to end here.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she picked up the receiver and dropped two quarters into the phone. With trembling fingers, she dialed. It rang four times before someone answered in a gruff voice, “FBI.”

  She clutched a hand to her sequin-covered bosom, feeling as if her heart might beat clear through her surgically enhanced chest. She had to do it. It was the right thing to do. “I want to report a murder.”

  Chapter 1

  Present Day, New York

  Will tossed a manila folder on Dale Robbins’s desk. “I think I found her.”

  The assistant director set down his pen and gazed up at Will, a look of barely contained annoyance on his face. “Found who?”

  “Crystal.”

  “Jesus, not Gantz again.” Robbins opened the file and scanned its contents, then shoved it back across the desk. “You’re talking about a four-year-old closed case. You know as well as I do that Crystal is probably buried in the desert somewhere. Give it up already.”

  He wished he could, but finding Crystal had become an obsession. She was the last one who could testify against Ryan’s killer. By the time they’d discovered who the leak was—the man in the bureau responsible for giving away the location of the hotel where they were holding Gantz—he’d been floating in the East River.

  If it was the last thing he did, Will would bring Vince Collucci to justice. He owed it to Ryan’s family. “Hear me out. This time I think I’ve really got something.”

  His superior leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “You have two minutes.”

  “Remember the girl we were watching right after Crystal? Stephanie Fair?”

  “The Vegas showgirl?”

  “That’s the one. Because of her connection to the Sardoni family, she’s still on the hot list. She got a call the other day from Colorado.”

  Robbins shrugged as if to say, Yeah, so?

  “As far as we know, she doesn’t have any ties there. So I traced it. The call originated from a divorce retreat outside of Denver. A place called Healing Hearts.”

  “So what? Maybe she’s got a friend staying there.”

  “Highly unlikely considering the class of people she associates with. It’s an upscale place. I did some digging and found something interesting. The retreat was started a little over three years ago, just months after Crystal disappeared with Vince’s money. The owner is some sort of recluse, rarely shows her face, so I ran her name.”

  Robbins sat a little taller in his chair. “I’m listening.”

  “It’s a fake. The retreat is owned by some private corporation. Unfortunately that’s all I was able to find out.”

  “So what do you want from me?”

  “I want you to put me in undercover.”

  Robbins shook his head. “I know you want to solve this one, Will, but the director is not going to go for this. I’m going to need more. If you can get a positive ID—”

  “Sir, I know it’s her.”

  “Get me some proof.”

  Will took a deep breath, shoving back the frustration rising up inside him. “I’ve done all I can from here. I’ve hit a dead end.”

  “You know, even if you do find her, you can’t force her to testify. If she wouldn’t before, you can be sure she won’t now.”

  “If I charge her with accessory she will, if she’s faced with life in prison. She took the hit money. We have no idea the extent of her involvement.”

  “We think she took the money.”

  “Why else was Vince so hot to find her after she disappeared?”

  “Even if she did, charging her with accessory is a stretch. And besides, how are you going to know if it’s her? The pictures we’ve got from the surveillance tapes are grainy as hell. Not to mention, she’s probably changed her appearance.”

  “She does have one distinguishing mark—a heart-shaped birthmark high up on her inner thigh. The information supposedly came from Vince himself. So if I find the birthmark, I find the girl.”

  “I don’t even want to ask how you plan to see it.”

  “I’m hoping I won’t have to.” He leaned both hands on the desk, feeling desperate. For the first time in four years he knew he was close. He could solve this. He had to solve it so he could close his eyes and not see the vision of Ryan’s charred remains slumped over the steering wheel. So he could look Ryan’s wife and children in the eye and no longer feel as though he’d failed them. “You have to let me try.”

  Robbins shook his head. “I’m sorry, Will, but I can’t sanction an operation of this magnitude without proof.”

  He’d gone into this knowing it was a long shot. The truth was, he’d expected as much, and like any good agent, he had a backup plan. “Then I respectfully request a four-week leave of absence.”

  “For…?”

  “It’s no secret my last divorce was messy. No one will question my need to take a month off for a trip to Healing Hearts. The next session begins in two weeks.”

  Robbins laughed. “I’m not denying you could use some headshrinking, Bishop, but you at a divorce retreat? I just don’t see it. Besides, this place must cost a fortune.”

  “I’ve got some money stashed away, stocks I can cash in. I want to do this. I have to, for Ryan’s family. They need closure.”

  “They need closure or you do?”

  They both knew the answer to that.

  Robbins sat back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “Look, if this is something you need to do, I can’t stop you. But if you find yourself in hot water, I’m not going to be there to drag you out. You do this, you’re on your own. Understood?”

  “Understood. Although…”

  “Although, what?”

  “The retreat has a fairly vigorous screening policy. They can’t know I’m with the bureau.”

  Robbins sighed. “Anything else?”

  “Nope.”

  Robbins studied him for a moment, as if he were weighing his options. Will would resign before he let anyone stop him from solving this case, and he was pretty sure the assistant director knew that. Despite being mildly belligerent and slightly obsessive at times, Will was a one hell of a good agent—one of the best in the New York office. They wouldn’t want to lose him.

  “Okay,” he finally said. “You’ve got your four weeks. But if anyone asks, we never had this conversation.”

  “Divorce impacts every family member. It is a death of sorts
. It affects self-identity, financial security and lifestyle. Here at Healing Hearts, we’re dedicated to guiding families though this difficult, devastating time….”

  Abi Sullivan stood in her boss’s office watching through the two-way mirror into the common area as Eve, the in-house psychologist, gave her opening speech to the retreat guests—forty in total, half of whom were children. As children’s activities director, she would know them all by name by week’s end. She studied their faces, memorized them. Some looked inexplicably sad, others angry and bitter, while some just looked lost.

  One boy in particular, Eric Stillson, caught her attention. He looked to be sixteen or seventeen and sat off by himself near the back of the room. Unlike the others, he looked bored, indifferent, as if he felt nothing at all—a pretty good indication he was tortured on the inside. She would know. It was like looking at a mirror image of herself half a lifetime ago.

  She knew without even meeting him he would be her special project. There was one in every group.

  She turned to her employer. “So his mother just dropped him off and left?”

  “It wasn’t even the mother that brought him. It was one of their staff. A butler or something. Scary-looking guy.” Maureen Kelly, founder of the resort, sat at her massive mahogany desk, a stack of files in front of her. “So much for the concept of family counseling, huh?”

  “And I suppose his parents expect him to be fixed by the time he leaves here.”

  Maureen gave her a rueful smile. “Don’t they all?”

  Abi walked over to the open picture window. In the distance, white-tipped mountains kissed a cloudless blue sky, and at their base Lake Cillito shimmered in the morning sunlight. East of the sprawling main building, guest cabins dotted the landscape, and to the west was the employee lodging where her own cabin was located.

  She breathed in the clean mountain air, a feeling of peace washing over her. She could be having the worst day in her life and needed only to look at that view to remind herself how lucky she was to be there. She would never know if it was chance or divine intervention that had caused her and Maureen to cross paths. All she did know was that in her thirty years she’d never been more happy or content. She’d found her calling—taking all the rotten experiences from her miserable childhood and using the knowledge she’d gained to help others. And she’d found a kindred spirit in Maureen.