Page 121 of Triple Cross
“And auctioned to Hollywood,” Moore said. She drank deeply.
“Of course,” her agent said and she stared into her lover’s eyes as she drank from her own glass. “I have a feeling we’re going to need another bottle, don’t you think?”
“Mmm,” the newly minted writer said. “What a grand idea!”
Liu grabbed the bottle and refilled Moore’s flute. She was starting to refill her own when she noticed her companion glance up and freeze. The color drained from Moore’s face.
Liu twisted in her seat and saw Dr. Alex Cross, Detective John Sampson, and FBI special agent in charge Ned Mahoney heading right to their table.
Mahoney smiled at them and said, loud enough for half the restaurant to hear, “Lisa Moore and Suzanne Liu, you’re under arrest for the Family Man murders as well as multiple other crimes and conspiracies. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to …”
Liu barely heard any of it. She was staring at Cross in disbelief. “I’m innocent,” she said.
“No, you’re not,” Cross said.
“I didn’t kill anyone!”
“Maybe you didn’t,” Sampson said, looking at her and then at Moore, who had gone stone-faced. “Butyoudid.”
“Stop talking, Suzanne,” Moore hissed as Mahoney cuffed her. “Say nothing until you’ve spoken to a lawyer.”
CHAPTER 99
Manhattan
ON WEDNESDAY, IN ANempty hospital room in a section of the NYU Medical Center far from the maternity ward, Bree watched a screen that Rosella Salazar’s partner had set up for her.
Connie Ellis, the assistant Manhattan DA overseeing the Paula Watkins investigation, stood next to her, also watching the screen.
It featured a feed from an iPhone that Detective Thompson had mounted on a tall tripod and carried to the room Dusan Volkov had been moved into after being brought out of a medically induced coma. Volkov’s head was heavily bandaged, but doctors had told Thompson and Salazar that while Bree’s bullet had grazed the side of his skull, he had not suffered a severe brain injury.
The Russian was certainly alert when Salazar, who’d been released from the hospital just the day before, walked slowly andgingerly into the room, followed by her partner. She ignored Volkov, who was handcuffed to the bed, and said something to the uniformed officer who’d been guarding him.
The officer left the room. Thompson turned on the sound as Salazar eased into a chair by the foot of Volkov’s bed. He was watching both of them closely but said nothing until she and Thompson identified themselves.
“I know who she is,” Volkov said to Thompson, gesturing at Salazar. “You? No. Does not matter, I say nothing until lawyer comes here.”
“Someone from the public defender’s office is on the way,” Thompson said. “Not that it really matters. The evidence against you is overwhelming and it will get even more overwhelming once we execute search warrants on your home and businesses.”
“What evidence? I know no evidence.”
Salazar said, “Give me a break, Dusan. I saw you and two of your men kill Frances Duchaine and her bodyguards in cold blood. I shot your men. You were shot trying to kill me. I’ll testify to that in court. Security footage up and down Forty-Second Street ensures that you will never see the light of day as a free man again.”
The Russian said nothing.
“I wish this state still gave the needle, Dusan,” Thompson said. “You deserve it.”
A man who looked about seventeen knocked and entered. “I am Sergei Andreyev,” he said. “I will be representing Mr. Volkov.”
“You’re from the public defender’s office?” Thompson asked.
“No, I was hired by friends of Mr. Volkov.” He said something to the mobster in Russian. Volkov smiled.
Andreyev looked at Thompson and Salazar. “I would like a moment with my client, please. And turn the camera off.”
Thompson helped Salazar up and shut off the camera. A few moments later, they returned to the room Bree and Ellis were in.
Salazar groaned as she sat on the edge of the bed. “God, I hate getting up and down, and I’m going to need to pump if Junior takes a long time in there.”