Page 9 of Out of Sight

I walked inside. One of the guys on Morelli’s payroll was talking to someone at the front desk. If this didn’t work out and I needed to split I could probably explain away my presence there; weren’t they worried the girl would go to the police? But I still pulled up my hoodie, covering my face before he could see me. Just in case. I slipped around him, looking for a detective that could talk to me without any witnesses. I stopped at a desk out of earshot of Theo Gates and nodded to the detective sitting there. “Homicide?”

He pointed a finger behind him, and a man with curly brown hair and lighter brown eyes looked up, nodding me over. “Detective Rosenberg,” he introduced himself.

“Will Bracco,” I returned, shaking his hand. “I really need to talk to you. Somewhere no one can see or hear me.”

I glanced furtively over my shoulder, but Gates was still engrossed in taking a statement. He wasn’t looking in my direction so I was still safe for the time being.

He followed my glance, frowning in Gates’ direction, but led me back across the room—staying along the perimeter and far from Theo Gates—until we entered a back corridor, then into a small conference room. He closed the blinds and moveda couple chairs over to a corner, out of sight from the smaller window in the door.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on, Mr. Bracco?”

“Not really, but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

He sat there, waiting patiently while I worked up the nerve to say what I came to say. Several minutes passed before I could get the words out.

“Last night I was accidentally an accomplice to the murder of a man named Mario Costa because I work for the mafia. And now I’ve been ordered to hunt down an innocent girl and bring her back to be killed because she got into some info she shouldn’t have.”

Detective Rosenberg looked like he was hiding a smile. Did he think I was kidding? Nothing about this was funny. At all.

“Who are you supposed to find?”

“Her name is Claire or Clara I think? Last name is Reynolds. Gorgeous blonde, I know that much.”

“Hold on just a minute,” he said, chuckling. He stood up and headed to the door, pausing to let out a loud laugh as he looked back at me one more time.

I crossed my arms, leaning back defiantly in my chair. I didn’t like being made fun of, especially since I didn’t know what the hell was going on.

The detective left the door wide open. I could see him take three steps and knock on the door across the hall, opening it a crack without waiting for an answer. He looked back over his shoulder and saw my confused face, barely managing to hold in a laugh.

“Blake, you’re never going to believe who’s in the next room waiting to talk to you.”

four

Claire

Special Agent Blake was handsome in a clean cut, white collar sort of way.

He had his dark hair parted to the side, styled without a single hair out of place. His hazel eyes were open and friendly, even before that wide smile made its appearance when his mouth was still set in a straight line. He stood with the preciseness of a man whose every movement was measured, done exactly as he wanted, but with the chiseled jaw of a movie star.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” he said, sitting back down as he gestured to the chair across from him. That charming smile was still in place, his teeth practically gleaming like a toothpaste commercial. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

I shook my head, suddenly nervous again. I was sure my hair was a mess from my retreat from the Morelli office and my foundation was probably running. We looked like polar opposites. I hastily raked my fingers through my hair, trying to smooth it down.

Detective Rosenberg cleared his throat. “I’ll let you two love birds get to it then. I’ve got a desk I should be pretending to work at.”

And with a salute farewell, it was just Agent Blake and I alone in the room.

“Do you mind if I record our conversation?” he asked, already pulling a recorder out of the briefcase at his side. I nodded in relief, glad I probably wouldn’t have to go through everything a second time. “Alright. Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“Well, I started working for Carlo Morelli six weeks ago. He found me through a temp agency and decided to hire me. I guess he thought I was trustworthy since he recognized my name; I was his daughter’s college roommate for a semester freshman year.”

He made a note on the legal pad in front of him. “College…roommate. Go on.”

“I don’t think I ever met her parents, and I didn’t know her background, but maybe Carlo thought I already knew? And that’s why he and Angelo didn’t care what I overheard?”

I phrased it as a question, but once I voiced it out loud it made a lot of sense. This was probably all because I knew Bianca Rose.

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