10. Chapter Ten #2
I turn the frame over and remove the backing.
There is nothing hidden inside.
I replace it.
I am starting to understand why the police built their case so quickly. Genevieve’s apartment says almost nothing that would show the contrary. Just a quick scan shows that there's no one else in her life close enough for something like this.
Which would make her perfect for what Rachel had in mind.
But, again, is that a coincidence? Did Rachel find her and know that she could use her somehow?
Or did someone put Rachel on her path?
Either way, this started before the night of the murder.
I check the time.
I have been inside longer than I intended.
I move through each room once more, making sure nothing is out of place. Drawers closed to the same position. Frames returned. Cabinet doors left as I found them.
At the front door, I turn off the lamp and wait in the dark.
No footsteps or voices in the hallway.
I open the door, step out, lock it behind me, and reattach the police tape.
The adhesive holds.
From a distance, it looks untouched.
I remove my gloves as I walk toward the elevator.
Genevieve’s public life was complete.
Her apartment is the same.
But somewhere between this closet and the Halston, another woman put on her dress, used her face, and led Alessio right to her murder.
The elevator doors open.
I step inside and press the button for the lobby.
Now I need to find out who had enough access to Genevieve’s life to dress her twin for the part.
I step out of the apartment building and turn toward my car, parked a block away.
The night air hits colder after the stale warmth upstairs. I tuck my gloves into my jacket pocket and keep walking, replaying the apartment in my head.
The missing dress. The absence of any visible connection to Rachel. The front door as the only reasonable way inside.
I am halfway down the block when my car comes into view.
A man is leaning against the driver’s-side door.
Lorenzo.
I narrow my eyes and continue toward him.
He straightens when I get closer, adjusting the cuffs of his coat as though waiting beside my car after dark is the most ordinary thing in the world.
“How did you know I was here?”
I haven't noticed anyone following me.
That alone irritates me.
“I was having the building watched,” he says.
“You were watching Genevieve’s apartment? Why?”
“Because I knew you'd be here eventually.”
I stop a few feet away. “So you're here to check on me? What? Did you think I would find Rachel sitting in the middle of Genevieve's apartment?”
“I simply like to be kept up-to-date,” he says.
“Are you tailing me?” I ask.
His lips curve slightly. “I considered it, but I thought you would notice a tail and shake them off.”
“That is an invasion of privacy.”
“So is breaking into someone's apartment.”
I look back at it. “She's dead. I don't think she minds.”
“Crude,” he says, amused.
“If you want me to be more PC, it'll cost you more,” I say. “You can afford it.”
“I find the bluntness refreshing.” His gaze moves toward the apartment building behind me. “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing obvious.”
“Which means?”
“Which means Rachel or whoever helped her knew enough about Genevieve’s life to take what they needed without leaving much behind.”
His amusement fades. “The dress.”
“Yes. It had to come from that apartment.”
“Could Genevieve have given it to her?”
“Possible. Unlikely.”
“Why?”
“There is no trace of Rachel anywhere in Genevieve’s life. No photographs. No messages I’ve found. No shared addresses or public connection. And Genevieve’s apartment doesn’t suggest someone else was spending time there.”
Lorenzo studies me. “They could have hidden the relationship.”
“Yes, but I just don't get that feeling.
Genevieve's public life was perfectly curated.
But her apartment, while still very neat, is more relaxed.
If she's the only one living in it, I don't see why I would find no signs of a sister, even a new one, in there.
No more of her clothes were missing, as far as I could tell.
And there were no clothes in there that looked like they didn't belong to her.
“If they were close enough to be exchanging clothes, I would have seen some sign of it.”
His gaze shifts past me toward the building.
“Rachel could have entered the building without her knowing.”
I turn and look at the building as well.
“The only obvious way in is from the front door. I'm sure if she tried hard enough, she could find another way.”
“Have you considered that Rachel went in as Genevieve?” he asks. “No one would look twice.”
“Briefly,” I say, “but I didn't find any signs of forced entry, which means she would have to have a key.”
Lorenzo steps closer. “Why do you look dissatisfied?”
“Because I haven't solved the mystery yet,” I say.
“But you know more now than you did going in.”
“Not satisfactorily.”
He smiles. “What specifically is bothering you?”
“Someone entered Genevieve's apartment and took her dress. I suspect it was Rachel, but it could have been someone else.” Now I lean against the car. “The part that bothers me, though, is that Genevieve didn't notice.”
“We don't know how long it's been missing,” he says. “Perhaps, when they took her that night, they lifted her key, got the dress, and put it on Rachel.”
I shake my head. “You know that's not right.
That timeline doesn't match up. If someone was watching Alessio to see when he was going out, then they would have found out that same night.
That doesn't leave enough time for them to kidnap Genevieve, take her key, go get the dress, and put Rachel in the club before he got there.”
“No,” he says, “it doesn’t. I was simply trying to offer some suggestions to help you out of your rut. Tell me your theories.”
I blow out a breath. “Somebody got in here and took the dress. Then when Alessio was going out, they were already prepared with their plan so Rachel could be there, and while she was doing her thing, somebody was taking care of Genevieve. They had to have been in the hotel somewhere,” I mutter.
A car passes at the end of the block, headlights briefly sweeping over us.
Lorenzo waits until it is gone. “There is a lot of room for errors in that plan. A lot of spots that are dependent on other people. The boys could have chosen somewhere else to go. Alessio could not have noticed her. Maybe he decided not to go home with her at all.”
“Yeah, it's not foolproof, that's for sure. It was risky.” I turn toward him. “But we don't know if this is the first time they've attempted it.”
He lifts his brows at that. I can tell he hadn't considered that.
“Maybe they've tried this before. Hell, maybe the boys went out last week, and they did choose a different place.
Or maybe they chose that same club, and Alessio didn't notice the woman in the red dress. Even if Genevieve noticed the dress was gone, so what? She would never suspect that her long-lost twin stole it to enact her evil plan, right?”
“This plan may not have had a time limit,” he murmurs to himself. “That suggests someone willing to play the long game.”
“Know anyone like that?” I ask.
“Perhaps,” he says quietly.
“Mind sharing?”
“Not quite yet.”
“So it's not a two-way street?”
“You're not the one paying me,” he says.
“Hmph,” I say, miffed. “Well, just remember, I can't do my job effectively with only half the information.”
“Your job right now is to locate Rachel Monroe and free my son of murder charges. Then we'll talk.”
“Don't worry, Rachel is at the top of my list.”
“Then why are we standing here instead of looking for her?”
“Because finding someone with no public footprint takes more than typing her name into a search bar.”
“I have people.”
“So do I.”
“My people are better.”
I smile without humor. “That confidence must be exhausting to carry around.”
“It has served me well.”
“I’m sure it has.”
He smiles as well. “In the meantime, next time you go breaking in somewhere, how about you let me know first?”
I let out a short laugh.
“That wasn’t our agreement.”
“It is now.”
I narrow my eyes. “You really believe you can change the terms whenever you feel like it.”
“I believe I can make a reasonable request.”
“That was not reasonable, nor did it sound like a request.”
“No,” he says simply.
“Look, Lorenzo,” I say. “I agreed to call you when I found Rachel. I did not agree to inform you of every single move I make. That is a hindrance. I can't do my job properly if I'm stopping every hour to give you an update.”
“You do not need to call me every hour,” he says. “Only before you put yourself in danger on my behalf.”
I waved him away. “I peeled some tape off a door.”
“And how did you manage to enter the hotel room at the Halston?”
Well, he's got me on that one.
Instead I say, “I can assess my own risk.”
“I am sure you can.”
“That sounded almost sincere.”
“It was.”
I study him. “Then trust me to do my job.”
“I trust your ability.” His gaze holds mine. “I do not trust the people you are hunting.”
I turn toward him fully and hold his eyes so he knows I’m not just waving this off despite my earlier attitude.
“I’ve hunted worse,” I say. “I know what I'm doing, and I'm not careless. I value my life.”
“And how is it you came to be doing that?” he asks softly.
I'm not going into my past, here on the street, with Lorenzo Conti.
“Your retainer doesn't entitle you to that story.”
His mouth shifts, considering me. “Everything has a price with you.”
“Not this,” I say, making sure he knows I'm not joking now.
My past is off limits.
He studies me for another moment, then gives a slow nod.
“Understood.”
I reach for the car door. “I’ll give you an update once a day and if I find anything significant. That's the best I can do.”
“Very well,” he says.
He backs up a step as I get in my car. When I drive off, he's standing in the middle of the street, watching me, a figure in black.