“Allegedly,” said Jean.
“The con artist?”
“She’s been living quietly in Colorado for the last decade. She agreed to help me with my investigation, as long as I promised her immunity from prosecution.”
Milton Buck exploded. “My God! The arrogance! In what alternate universe can an Interpol operative promise immunity to a U.S. citizen on U.S. soil?”
“Cool it, Buck. Has Ms. Whitney been helpful in your investigation, Inspector Rizzo?”
“As a consultant, she’s been invaluable. She understands the mind-set of the professional jewel thief. Plus she has a personal connection with Elizabeth Kennedy going back years. They were both romantically involved with Jeff Stevens.”
“Isn’t he one of your suspects?” Soltan asked Milton Buck, whose face was now livid, from anger or embarrassment or both.
Jean Rizzo answered for him. “Stevens is a person of interest in my investigation and Agent Buck’s. Tracy Whitney is convinced he has nothing to do with the murders. But he’s here in New York right now and he’s had contact with Elizabeth Kennedy within the last twenty-four hours.”
An uneasy silence descended.
“Is she still insanely hot?” One of the older agents was talking to Jean Rizzo. “Tracy Whitney, I mean.”
“She’s attractive,” Jean conceded.
“Is she single?”
Barry Soltan frowned. “Okay, Frank. This ain’t a dating service.” He turned to Jean. “Where is Miss Whitney right now?”
“She’s here. In New York.”
“Where exactly?” Milton Buck demanded.
“Somewhere safe.”
Barry Soltan said, “Can you convince her to come down here?”
“I can try. You’d have to guarantee she won’t be arrested.”
“We’re not guaranteeing anything!” Milton Buck snapped.
“Sure we are. For now.” Special Agent Soltan overruled him. “The main thing is that we get Miss Kennedy to talk. Bring her in, Inspector Rizzo.”
TRACY’S HEART RACED AS she approached the interview room. She’d dressed carefully when she left the hotel, in a black cashmere turtleneck and figure-hugging bottle-green corduroy pants tucked into flat boots. She hoped the look conveyed casual confidence, but the very obvious leers of the FBI agents when she walked into the building made her second-guess herself.
Why the hell am I feeling nervous? She’s the one going to jail, not me. I hold all the cards here.
The last time Tracy had seen Elizabeth face-to-face had been in L.A., in the alleyway behind the Brooksteins’ mansion. That had been a triumphant moment. This should have been too. So why were her palms sweating?
Of course, it could have had something to do with the venue. The FBI’s New York headquarters did not exactly qualify as one of Tracy’s “happy places.”
“You’re perfectly safe,” Jean Rizzo told her. “I’m on the other side of the glass, along with Agents Buck, Soltan.”
“Surrounded by the FBI. That’s very reassuring,” quipped Tracy. “Do I need my lawyer, Jean?”
“No. Nothing’s off-limits.”
Special Agent Soltan nodded his agreement. “We appreciate you being here, Miss Whitney. You say whatever you need to in there to get Kennedy to talk. You have complete immunity, so you won’t incriminate yourself.”
Tracy glanced at the short, good-looking agent next to Jean. He looked as if he’d just swallowed a handful of jalapeños.
Jean Rizzo patted her on the shoulder. “Good luck.”
ELIZABETH LOOKED UP WHEN the door opened, an expression of profound boredom etched on her face. Then she saw who it was and smiled broadly.
“Tracy!” She leaned back in her chair. If she were nervous, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. “Well, well, well. Playing for the other team now, are we? I must say I’m surprised. Especially after our last run-in. Out of curiosity, how much did you get for Sheila Brookstein’s rubies?”
“One-point-seven million,” Tracy said coolly. “You’re so sweet to ask.”
On the other side of the mirrored glass, Milton Buck’s jaw hit the floor.
“Tracy Whitney pulled the Brookstein job?”
“Shhh.” Jean Rizzo waved a hand dismissively, his eyes glued to the two women. Tracy was talking.
“I donated the money to charity.”
“Of course you did.” Elizabeth’s upper lip curled slightly. “You always were quite the saint.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Tracy smiled. “Then again, it’s all relative.”
Milton Buck hissed in Jean Rizzo’s ear.
“You knew about this! You knew Whitney did the Brookstein job! Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”
“And compromise my source? Why should I?” said Jean. “Besides, you weren’t exactly falling over yourself to help me with my investigation. Remember?”
“Be quiet, both of you,” Special Agent Soltan snapped.
Tracy had sat down now, face-to-face with Elizabeth.
“It hasn’t been your year, has it?” she said mockingly. “First you screw up the Brookstein job and now you manage to get arrested by not one but two law enforcement agencies on the same night. Not very impressive. Especially when you consider that a monkey could have outsmarted Bianca Berkeley.”
“Bianca took the bait hook, line and sinker,” Elizabeth shot back. “I executed the job perfectly.”
“Hmm. That must be why you’re here.”
Tracy’s confidence was returning now. She was starting to enjoy herself. Elizabeth radiated the same cold beauty Tracy remembered. Her features were perfect, but she was as dead inside as a marble statue. Running her eyes up and down her slender figure, Tracy said, “They’re going to love you in prison. Trust me. I’ve been there.”
Elizabeth looked at her curiously.
“Why do you take things so personally?”
“Probably because I’m a person. Not a machine, like you.”
“A machine?” Elizabeth smiled, composed again now. “Come now, that’s not fair. We’re the same, Tracy, you and I.”
Tracy’s eyes narrowed. “The same? I don’t think so.”
“Why ever not? You’re a thief. I’m a thief.”
“I only robbed from the greedy, from people who deserved it.”
“Deserved it according to whom? You?” Elizabeth snorted with derision. “Who made you judge and jury?”
Outside, Milton Buck muttered under his breath, “Exactly.” He couldn’t understand how Rizzo and the others could listen to this baloney.
“You prey on the old and the weak,” said Tracy.
Elizabeth shrugged. “Sometimes. The old and weak can be greedy too, you know.”
“All you care about is money.”
“Again, not true. I care about Jeff. That’s something else we have in common.”
Tracy jumped in her seat as if she’d been shocked. The atmosphere inside the room was suddenly electric.
“Where’s your sense of sisterhood, Tracy?” Elizabeth taunted. “I’ll admit, in the beginning it was just business. I seduced Jeff as part of a job. But the sexual chemistry between us was so insane, it soon became more than a job. For both of us,” she added, like a scorpion delivering its sting.
Beneath the table, Tracy dug her nails into her palms so hard they bled.
Don’t cry. Don’t show emotion. Not to her.
“So what was this job?” Her voice was calm and measured. “I’m curious.”
“I was hired to split the two of you up.”
“Why? Who hired you?”
Elizabeth smiled. “That would be telling. Let’s just say that not everyone out there is as convinced of your saintly status as you seem to be. Some people just see you as a conniving, thieving little bitch who deserves to get her comeuppance. And did you ever get it, Tracy!” She laughed cruelly.
Tracy kept her cool. “How much were you paid?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand,” said Elizabeth. “Of course I wouldn’t get out of bed for that today. But this was a decade ago. And all I had to do was get into bed, Jeff’s bed. Which wasn’t exactly a hardship.”
Jean Rizzo winced. He knew how much this exchange must be hurting Tracy, but he prayed she stayed on this track. Elizabeth was getting emotional, giving far more away than she intended to. If Tracy could just press the right button, surely, he told himself, she’d crack.
Tracy said, “They think Jeff’s involved in this, you know.”
“Oh, I know.” Elizabeth laughed. “Agent Buck seems to believe Jeff masterminded my entire career and that odd little Canadian fellow thinks he’s running around bumping off prostitutes. Or that I am, I wasn’t quite sure. He showed me some horrible photographs. Not very gentlemanly of him.”
“So you don’t work with Jeff?” Tracy pressed her
Attagirl, thought Jean Rizzo.
“No. I don’t. And I don’t know anything about any murders either. I wouldn’t have the stomach for that sort of thing.”
“If you don’t work with Jeff, what were you doing at his hotel last week? You were seen meeting in the park, then returning to the Gramercy together.”
“Was I now?” Elizabeth smirked.
“What were you doing?” Tracy repeated.
“What do you think we were doing? Playing Scrabble? Dear oh dear, poor Tracy. Has it really been that long?” Elizabeth laughed. “I’m not a nun and Jeff’s certainly no monk. We were enjoying ourselves. You interrupted us in London all those years ago. So let’s just say we made up for lost time. I’m not in business with Jeff. Our relationship is based purely on pleasure.”