“He’s wasn’t happy about bringing me right inside the family, but, considering his other choice is jail, he’s managing.” Carter rubbed the back of her neck, belatedly realizing that she was far more tense than she’d realized. Tonight had been the first time that Rizzo, a trusted, high-ranking Pareto captain and a very reluctant FBI informant, had actually tied himself to her in public. He had introduced her as a business associate, thereby guaranteeing her legitimacy in the eyes of the organized crime members and sealing his own demise if her cover was ever blown.

“That’s good, because he’s been acting a little nervous,” Allen said with obvious relief. “We want to get him wired before he panics. That will save us months of trying to infiltrate the organization one operative at a time.”

“If you put a wire on him, you’re signing his death warrant,” Carter said. “Sooner or later someone will pick up on it and you’ll find him in pieces in the bay.”

“As long as it’s later, that might save the taxpayers some money,” Toome, Allen’s fellow FBI agent, muttered.

“Let’s call it a night,” Kevin said quickly. “We’ll meet tomorrow morning with the whole team and go over what we’ve got.” He glanced at Carter. “I think the daughter will be the key to at least one big question…how Pareto’s hiding the money trail. She’s perfectly situated to move big bucks through those art galleries of hers. She’s got to know where it’s coming from.”

“And from what we’ve heard,” Allen said, not bothering to hide the disdain in her voice, “you should be just her type, Wayne.”

Carter stared at her. They hadn’t worked together all that long, but Allen had taken an obvious and immediate dislike to her and didn’t bother to hide it. Guess the FBI hasn’t heard the directive on detente.

“Maybe it’s not such a bad thing she saw you tonight,” Toome offered into the breach. “She might trust you more…you know, since only the upper-level players got invited.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Carter said as she pushed the door open and stepped out into the dark. There was no point in telling them that the one thing she had not seen in Ricarda Pareto’s eyes had been trust. For an instant she’d thought she’d detected appreciation, perhaps even a little bit of interest, but that had quickly been eclipsed by suspicion. And oddly, something that had resembled disappointment. It wasn’t at all what she had expected from the woman who stood to inherit one of the largest organized crime machines on the East Coast.

As Carter drove toward her apartment in Cambridge, she contemplated the goal of the joint state police, DEA, and FBI task force that she had been part of for almost a year…to shut down one of the major drug portals on the Northeastern Seaboard. With the amount of cocaine and heroin being run through the Port of Boston, the Justice Department estimated that millions of dollars were being laundered and carefully siphoned into the operations of the Pareto family annually. Dozens of agents from almost as many branches of law enforcement were working on the project…tracking cargo ship and truck manifests, money trails, and street-level drug distribution patterns. Her assignment was much more up close and personal. She was going to have to seduce Ricarda Pareto, or at least convince the crime boss’s daughter that that was her intention. Having met Rica, Carter didn’t think that feigning attraction to her would be too hard a task. What might be difficult was remembering that it was all strictly an act.

Chapter Two

April 2003

Provincetown, Massachusetts

A chime sounded in the rear office of Beaux Arts where Rica sat alone with an espresso and croissant, announcing that someone had come into the gallery. Setting aside the pile of invoices she’d been checking against the stock that had yet to be displayed, she rose to greet the visitors. She’d been in her new house in the west end of town only ten days, and the gallery had been open for business for just a week, but she already felt more comfortable than she ever had in the exclusive establishment she’d run in SoHo for the last three years. She ran it, but it never felt like hers. Not really. She chose the art, developed the client list, courted the agents for the wealthiest buyers from coast to coast, but her name wasn’t on the deed. The business had been a gift from her father when she’d finished graduate school, and as she’d learned over the years, every gift came with a price. There had been the occasional piece that she would not have carried had her father not requested it of her. A favor to an old friend. She never recognized the artists, but she knew better than to ask her father for information. At first, she’d been taken aback at how quickly the vase or statue or painting would sell…almost as if the buyer had been waiting for it to appear on her shelf. As the pattern recurred, she’d stopped being surprised.

“Hello?” a female voice called from the front of the shop.

Rica shook her head impatiently as she pushed the unsettling thoughts away, reminding herself that this place was hers. She’d left the gallery in SoHo under the capable direction of the assistant manager, a daughter of a friend of her father’s. Rica hadn’t thought she’d like Angela Camara when Angie had first come to work for her, expecting another pampered offspring of another rich and powerful man, but she’d been pleasantly surprised. Angie knew the market and was easy to work with, and she had become more than an associate. She was Rica’s best friend, and Rica already missed her.

“Sorry,” Rica said to the two women who stood in the main gallery surveying the paintings that had arrived just the day before. They looked like locals in casual jeans, boat shoes, and Tshirts. The older woman, a blonde with a year-round tan and piercing blue eyes, had liberal doses of paint splattered on her clothes. “I’m still getting organized.”

The blonde turned from the canvas she’d been studying and smiled. “I don’t envy you. I have a gallery about half this size, and I know how time-consuming it is. You paint, too?”

Rica shook her head. “I wish I did, but my talent seems to be in selling them, not creating them. I’m Rica Grechi.”

“I’m Kate,” the blonde said. “My place is just down the street. K&J Gallery.”

“I know, I’ve been in it. I admire your work.”

Kate looked pleased and drew her companion forward. “This is Caroline Clark, a good friend and a wonderful artist. I have several of her paintings in my gallery.”

“Hello,” Rica said, taking the young woman’s hand. Blond like Kate, she appeared to be in her early twenties, judging by the bit of smooth abdomen revealed in the space between her short T-shirt and skintight hip huggers and the row of piercings along the curve of one ear.

“Hi,” Caroline said. “Great place.”

“Thanks. I take it you live here in town?”

Caroline nodded. “I’ll be here all summer, and then I have one more year of school in Manhattan.”

“Caroline just returned from studying in Paris,” Kate said proudly.

“Really?” Rica said with interest. She looked from Kate to Caroline. “Are you two…related? Does painting run in the family?”

“No,” Kate said, sliding her arm affectionately around Caroline’s shoulders and giving her a hug. “Although I certainly wouldn’t mind if she were mine.”

“Oh yeah,” Caroline said, grinning. “Like anyone would trade Reese for me.”

“Who said anything about trading? My daughter, Reese Conlon,” Kate said by way of explanation, “is a sheriff here in town and…”

“Completely… awesome,” Caroline finished.

Rica laughed. Ordinarily, she didn’t find the thought of anyone in law enforcement particularly appealing, but Caroline’s obvious crush was endearing. She couldn’t remember ever having had an innocent crush on a woman, even when she’d been young. By the time she’d been old enough to recognize her interest in women, she’d already lost her naive faith in love. “I’ll have to come down to the gallery and look at your works again.”

“Absolutely,” Kate said. “Actually, we stopped by because I wanted to let you know that there’s a meeting of the Provincetown Women’s Business Association tomorrow night. We’ll be talking about advertising, fund-raising events, that sort of thing. I thought since you’re new here you might not know about it.”

“Thanks,” Rica said, surprised by the absence of any overt competition from another gallery owner. That was certainly a refreshing change from what she was used to in New York. “I’ll be there. Where and when?”

“Seven at Town Hall.” Kate gave a little jump and looked down at the phone on her belt. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should get this.” With an apologetic shrug she stepped outside.

“So how was Paris?” Rica asked Caroline.

“It was amazing,” Caroline said, her eyes lighting up. “It’s so beautiful, and I learned so much.” She frowned. “I missed my girlfriend like crazy, though. That was the only thing I didn’t like about it.”

“Ah,” Rica said. “Is she an art student too?”

Caroline laughed. “Not hardly. She’s a cop here in Provincetown. She works with Reese.”

Mentally Rica shook her head. Perhaps getting out from under the watchful eye of law enforcement wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d thought. Thankfully, no one here knew her, and since she wasn’t using the family name, hopefully that would continue.

Kate stuck her head back in the door. “That was Reese. She’s got an emergency call and needs me to babysit.” She waved. “I’ll see you at the meeting, Rica.”

“I should get going, too,” Caroline said. “See you soon.”

Rica waved as both women hurried away. She turned in a slow circle, taking in the bi-level gallery that took up most of the ground floor of the building she’d purchased on Commercial Street in the east end…the plain white walls, the counter with a computer and credit card machine tucked into one corner, the pedestals displaying sculptures and hand-blown glassware, and the paintings spotlighted by recessed track lights. The gallery was every bit as fashionable as the one in New York, but it lacked the chic veneer that kept everyone at a safe distance. She had to be careful not to forget that as simple as life here appeared, accessibility would never be an option for her. The distance she maintained was a matter of survival, and went far deeper than the surface.

“Okay, champ,” Reese Conlon muttered, tugging cotton play pants decorated with a menagerie of brightly colored animals over the chubby legs of the wriggling, squealing child in her lap. “Almost there. Just hold on for a sec…”

Regina Conlon King laughed joyfully and smacked her mother in the face.

“Ow,” Reese exclaimed and then grinned as she saw the nine-month-old studying her seriously, as if trying to determine if what had transpired was a good or bad thing. “Nice left hook.”

Seemingly reassured, Regina went back to wiggling. Reese glanced over her shoulder as the door from the side deck adjoining the driveway opened. When she saw Kate, she sighed in relief and stood. “Help is on the way, Reggie. Hi, Mom.”

“Here, let me have her,” Kate said, holding out her arms. “I thought you worked the night shift. Aren’t you supposed to be off today?”

“I am. Well, I was,” Reese said, rubbing her face in the hope that she’d wake up a little bit more. “I was going to sleep until Tory went in to the clinic at two, but she got called about some kid who swallowed her tooth about an hour ago. Then Nelson phoned just now and wants to see me in the office right away.”

Kate bounced her granddaughter on her hip as she adroitly tucked in the baby’s T-shirt and closed the snaps on her pants without looking. In the process, she regarded her own daughter intently. She couldn’t be certain whether Reese was half undressed after ending her shift or partially dressed and ready to return to work, since she wore the dark green T-shirt that went under her protective vest along with her uniform pants, and could be headed in either direction. The pressed khaki uniform shirt was draped over the back of a nearby couch. One thing she was sure of was that Reese was tired. Her short black hair was wet from a recent shower, but she was pale and shadows darkened the lids beneath her vibrant deep blue eyes. Now that she looked closely, Kate realized that while still muscular, Reese was thinner than she’d ever seen her. Kate handed Reggie a plastic baby bottle of apple juice and hiked her hip onto a stool in front of the breakfast bar that divided the large living room from the kitchen/dining area. “Is there something bothering you?”

Reese pulled on her shirt. “No, everything is fine. Just a little tired.”