Red Handed(84)

She jumped, startled by Tasha’s voice coming from behind her. She whipped her head around to see her stepmother standing in the doorway, her perfectly groomed eyebrows furrowed as she squinted at the screen.

Should she lie? She didn’t want to involve her, but as she’d learned from before, not having all the information put them both at risk. “My father left it for me. It’s a list of some kind.”

Tasha hummed in her throat and moved into the room. “What language is that?”

“I’m not sure.” She frowned. Some of the letters looked like the modern-day Roman alphabet. Was it a code? All the numbers were backward. “Wait. I have an idea. Leonardo Da Vinci used mirror writing in his notebooks. He wrote from right to left.”

Tasha stood right behind her now. “But some of those figures don’t look anything like English letters.”

“They’re not.” She typed in a search into her web browser, brought up a couple samples of foreign alphabets, and compared them to the file. There were similarities to a few Eastern European languages, but only one stood out to her. “I think . . . maybe they’re Russian.”

“Russian. Why would your father leave you a document of Russian written backward? No one could read it.”

“No, not at first glance.” Nervous excitement shot through her. She quickly found a program on the Internet which would reverse the text for them. Then she copied and pasted a section of the list into the site. The symbols morphed before her eyes. She highlighted the text once again and plugged it into an online Russian-to-English translation program.

The list was converted into what appeared to be names, dates, and locations along with notes about drugs, murder, and human trafficking. “It’s a list of crimes. My father was working for the Russian mafia. That’s who Rinaldi convinced to invest with my father. I don’t think Rinaldi was working alone.” She peered up at Tasha, who had paled from a golden tan to a snowy white. “I think your kidnapping was about more than the money. They were probably looking for this. We need to call the FBI.”

Tasha nodded. “I’ll do it.”

As Tasha left the room to make the call, Danielle swerved back around to read more. Wanting to protect the information in case something happened to her, she sent the file in an email to Cole.

She caught a flash of black from the corner of her eye, and at the same moment, excruciating pain exploded at her temple. She tumbled off the chair and onto the floor, her hands folded over her abdomen to protect her child.

Tasha stood over her with a gun.

Pointed it at her head.

Then blackness.





Chapter Thirty-Three


THE HARSH SCENT of acetone invaded Danielle’s nose, rousing her from unconsciousness. Her head bobbled as if she couldn’t control her muscles, and a searing pain shot through her skull. A warm, sticky wetness dripped down her cheek. She tried to remember what had happened, but she felt as if she was hitting a brick wall and the memories were on the other side of it. Was she in a nail salon? Had she been in an accident?

Nausea choked her.

Her baby. Was her baby okay?

Frantic, she opened her eyes to slits and fought against the pitching of the room. Her stepmother was splashing nail polish remover on the window drapes.

“Tasha?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Sleep well, my darling?”

She swallowed and wiggled her body, awareness of the dire situation sinking in. “What’s going on? Why am I tied to a chair? Again?”

Tasha turned to her and slammed the plastic bottle of acetone down on the desk. “I thought you enjoyed being bound. When you whored yourself for DeMarco, I’m sure you allowed him to use his filthy ropes and chains on you.”

This didn’t make any sense. Tasha couldn’t be involved. She’d been married to Danielle’s father. Danielle had lived in the same house as her for ten years. They were family.

“I didn’t whore myself,” Danielle snapped. “I was there to save you.”

“Were you?” With a hand on her hip, Tasha arched a brow. “You didn’t enjoy yourself and have sex with your crush, Cole DeMarco?”

“Why are you talking like that? Is Rinaldi behind this?”

Tasha folded her hands over her heart. “I think it’s adorable you’re so worried about him when the person who should scare you is standing right in front of you.”

“But your finger . . . ”

She wiggled her remaining digits. “Rinaldi was actually squeamish, if you can believe it. For days while we stayed in that cabin, he tortured Michael’s sister yet he balked at cutting off my finger. I told him it would get you working quicker to find the account information. Losing a finger was a small sacrifice to make for my cause. At first, I worried how the society women would view it. They can be so catty. But then I realized it would be a great opportunity to start yet another charity I can use to fund my real cause.” Before Danielle’s eyes, the woman she’d known disappeared, leaving a monster in her place. “These women are such idiots. All they do is spend their husbands’ money and donate to fake charities just so they can feel good about themselves. America is truly the land of opportunity for people like me.”