A Murderous Game

by Paris Patricia

  A Murderous Game

  By Patricia Paris

  Copyright 2011 Patricia Paris

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, and events are either the product of the author's imagination, or were used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual names, characters, places or events are purely coincidental.

  As always, I owe a great deal of thanks to the many people who helped make this book possible, including the Anne Arundel County Police Department, for providing me the opportunity to go through the Citizens Police Academy program and giving me access to many officers who were kind enough to answer my many questions. I am also, and forever, grateful to my amazing editor, S.M. Ray, who painstakingly and patiently goes through revision after revision with me. And of course, many thanks go to my loving family, for understanding the time commitment necessary to bring this book to fruition and never once making me feel guilty when the keyboard called.

  For my husband, John. Thanks for always believing in me.

  This one is for you, babe.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Abby Carpenter was positive not one of her six coworkers, gathered around the conference room table for their weekly staff meeting, would believe she'd just committed the perfect murder.

  The corners of her mouth lifted in wicked satisfaction. How many times had she done it? Too many to count, and really, did she even want to know?

  Her initial weapon of choice had been poison. She read somewhere women preferred it, less messy she supposed. Dick just fell asleep and never woke up. One could argue it lacked creativity, but in all fairness she had been a novice.

  This morning's kill had been her best. The stunned surprise in Dick's eyes when he woke up to find his hands tied to the bed posts with the black silk stockings she'd found under the back seat of his precious Mercedes had been priceless.

  Oh, he had tried to bully her into releasing him. Dick was a master among bullies. But she shut him up quite nicely with the leopard bikini panties the clerk at the dry cleaner had found in Dick's suit coat pocket and mistakenly thought belonged to Abby.

  Yesterday she murdered the cheat in the Super G while she waited in line for the checker to get a price on an organic eggplant. She dispatched him one day last week when she had been stuck in a three mile backup on the Schuylkill Expressway. Of course driving the Schuylkill, or Sure-kill as some locals un-lovingly referred to it, could spur anyone to acts of violence. At least she never flipped anyone the bird like so many other rude drivers. She had her limits.

  No doubt some therapist would tell her dreaming up ways to knock off her soon-to-be ex was the result of an entangled neurosis involving latent antagonism over Dick's inability to keep his pants zipped. Whatever!

  She didn't need a therapist's spin. Some people worked their frustration off with exercise. She imagined killing Dick. She got the idea from her best friend, Rachael Gooding, who had majored in psychology until halfway through sophomore year at Temple, before she found her true calling and switched to Communications and Media.

  When Dick makes you so angry you feel like you could kill him, Rachael had said, just imagine doing it and get it out of your system. Exorcising your demons she'd called it, insisting it was actually healthy. Abby wasn't sure about that, and her little game did make her feel juvenile sometimes…but it beat marking him as an adulterer by spray painting the hood of his car with a fluorescent green A…or tie-dying the pristine white Egyptian cotton shirts he paid a small fortune for.

  Imaginary killings aside, she didn't really wish Dick ill will. She just wanted him to stop delaying their divorce so she could get on with her life. She wouldn't hold her breath, but after nearly a year of drawn out proceedings, it appeared till death do us part would soon be replaced with a property settlement.

  The speaker phone next to her boss, Roger Norwell, buzzed loudly. Abby jumped. Norwell scowled and jabbed the intercom button.

  "What?" he barked with blatant annoyance. Bully Bulldog, she thought. She'd given him the nickname shortly after being hired four years ago. With his flaccid jowls and stocky physique the moniker fit.

  She'd accepted the job with no misconceptions. No, she'd done her homework. She'd known the guy was a bastard, but he was a brilliant bastard, and while time served with The Norwell Group was difficult at times, she considered it time well spent. She planned to stick it out a couple of more years, learn everything she could, and then go out on her own and start her own marketing firm.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Norwell." Madeline didn't sound sorry, not to Abby, but Madeline was one who seemed immune to his brusque manner. "Mrs. Carpenter has a visitor."

  Norwell turned the full force of his squinty gaze on Abby.

  She gave a negative shake of her head. "I don't have anything scheduled until this afternoon."

  Norwell pressed the speak button, his accusing glare still on her face. "Carpenter isn't expecting anyone. Tell whoever it is they need to call later and schedule an appointment."

  "They're insistent," Madeline said.

  "I don't care," Norwell said. "Carpenter's tied up. She'll need to get back to them."

  "I only need ten minutes of my wife's time, Roger." The voice Abby had silenced during her morning shower snaked over the intercom. "I promise not to keep her long."

  "Dick," Norwell said, his tone doing a 360. "Madeline should have said it was you. Abigail will be right out."

  Abby frowned. Her boss was no different from anyone else. Dick had powerful connections, garnered during his father's two terms in the senate, and most people were afraid to cross him.

  The moment she entered the lobby, she saw Dick laughing with Tammy, the new receptionist, an oversexed flirt all the men in the office drooled over and the women wanted to throw up on.

  Tammy bent forward, showing off more cleavage than a billboard for Hooters. Dick leered as if he'd never seen breasts before. Bastard. Abby crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her gaze to Tammy. Skank.

  Damn. Why did she let it bother her? She glanced at Madeline. The sympathy in the other woman's eyes only pricked Abby's anger. Dick could do whatever he wanted elsewhere, but he had no right to humiliate her in front of the people she worked with.

  Squaring her shoulders, she made her way across the lobby. She kept her gaze steady and her head high. She was going to kill him…again.

  ~~~

  Two hours later, with frustration over Dick's latest demand fueling a headache, Abby popped open the aspirin bottle she kept in her top desk drawer. She shook out two pills and washed them down with the cold remains of her morning coffee.

  "Carpenter!" Norwell's trademark bark broke the silence, and her head snapped up with a mental groan. "I want to see you and Billings in my office in five minutes."

  She glanced at her watch then back to the man filling the doorway. "I've got a luncheon appointment in twenty minutes. Would it be—"

  "Reschedule it. This is more important." He left her staring at an empty hallway with her mouth open—matter settled. Abby blew out a resigned sigh and reached for the phone.

  "Hey, Rach, lunch is off. Norwell pulled rank on you."

  "No problem. It's been crazy here all morning anyway. I'll see you tonight at dinner. I've got something important to tell you." Rachael hesitated. "You might not like it, but I think you'd want to know."

  Abby hung up the phone. Rach probably wanted to give her a heads-up about another one of Dick's affairs before it made the next edition of The Daily Dish. It didn't matter, Abby told herself; she wouldn't let it bother her the way she had in the past.

  She stopped by Madeline's desk on the way to the meeting and hitched her head toward Norwell's office. "You know what's brewing?"

  "Same old, same old." The
secretary pursed her lips in an amazing likeness of their boss. "Some big new account we better get or heads will roll."

  Abby grinned. "You've really got that perfected."

  She made a quick stop in the ladies' room in case the meeting turned into a long one. If the firm stood to get a big account, she wanted it. It would give her resume some necessary oomph. Product didn't matter. It could be edible chocolate jock straps for all she cared.

  Her biggest challenge would be convincing Norwell to assign her and not Billings. If they were about to get a major account, Billings would fight for it. She planned to do the same. Unfortunately, she knew from experience he'd fight dirty.

  ~~~

  When Abby got to Norwell's office Billings hadn't arrived yet. She stepped through the doorway and cleared her throat. No sooner had she opened her mouth for a shot at first dibs than Billings came up behind her. He sauntered past and made an insulting clicking noise too low for Norwell's ears. Pond scum, she thought. No wonder you and Dick are such good friends.

  "We've got a chance to get the new riverfront development account." Norwell sat forward, wasting no time. "After working through some kinks with the Planning Commission, the developer's getting ready to break ground."

  Abby was vaguely familiar with the proposed development. Dick bid on the job before they'd separated. When it was awarded to an out of state bidder, he'd been so outraged she'd half expected him to start punching things, her included. That was over a year ago. Why hadn't Norwell asked one of them to research the project before this?

  "Somehow Fitch and Lerner found out a company named GFI got the bid a week before it went public and stole the damn project out from under everyone's feet. I wouldn't be surprised if the bastards bribed someone at City Hall."

  Well, Abby thought, that explained why they hadn't gone after the account before now.

  "Serves them right," Norwell said with a harrumph. "Idiots screwed something up and GFI gave them the boot. I called their CEO as soon as I got wind of it. He's agreed to meet with us on Monday."

  He narrowed his eyes until they were mere slits through which his gaze shifted back and forth from her to Billings. "I'm putting you both on this for now. Dig up everything you can find on the company and their CEO, Gage Faraday."

  Abby caught her breath on a sharp intake. It couldn't be the same Gage Faraday she'd known as a teenager. She slowly let her breath back out. It couldn't be, because that Gage Faraday she had humiliated herself over by acting like a complete dweeb. That Gage Faraday her father had falsely accused of statutory rape. It couldn't be, because if it was that Gage Faraday, she was in big trouble.

  Norwell stood up. "I'll check in with each of you during the week. Carpenter, I want you to put together a Power Point presentation. If we do our homework, there's no reason we can't get this contract—so you damn well better not screw up or heads will roll."

  Several minutes later, Abby's head was still spinning as she sat at her desk trying to absorb the shock. How would she ever be able to face Gage? She could tell Norwell her plate was full and hope he considered her for the next big account. Billings would probably get the assignment anyway. And Norwell didn't know it, but there was a reason they might not get the account—her. Maybe she should bow out before her past could humiliate her again?

  Wimp. She squeezed her eyes shut. She'd be handing the account to Billings. And the creep would think she didn't have the confidence to go after it. Forget that! She'd find some way to deal with Gage Faraday.

  ~~~

  That evening, Abby gazed out the window of the Westville Café where she met Rachael for dinner every Tuesday. Absently, she reached for the lead crystal goblet that held her favorite cabernet, and sighed.

  "What if he refuses to work with me?" They'd known each other since kindergarten. If anyone understood her angst, it would be Rach.

  "You're overreacting," Rachael told her.

  "How can you say that?" Abby set the wine back down. "You know what happened between us. Gage will probably take one look at me and storm out of the meeting."

  "So you had a crush on the guy, big deal. Every female between twelve and forty thought Faraday was the hottest thing to hit the shore that summer. You just had it worse than the rest of us."

  "Right." Abby smirked. "Fourteen years ago you called it stalking. You told me if I didn't stop following him around he'd get a restraining order."

  Rachael waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Yeah, well, I lacked subtlety back then, and I was jealous you spent all your time trying to get his attention instead of focusing on moi."

  "I really want this project, Rach. But with our history, I'm worried he won't view me objectively."

  "What history? Honey, he barely noticed you. And he's probably forgotten all about the diary debacle. Besides, you've changed so much I doubt he'd recognize you now. If he even remembers Abby Sheridan, it would be as a skinny, weird looking kid with a mouthful of braces and a pair of glasses that were always halfway down her nose."

  "Gee thanks, my self-image grows by leaps and bounds."

  "Get over it, Ab. You were fifteen. He was a college heartthrob and galaxies out of your league." Rachael forked the olives out of her linguini and put them on her salad plate. "And that was the same summer Carly Simmons decided she wanted to go to beauty school. You let her give you that awful haircut that made you look like a hotwired punk rocker."

  Abby smoothed back a stray lock. "It wasn't that bad."

  "Oh, it was bad. Chain saw chic didn't become you. Stalling out in that gangly Olive Oil phase didn't help get guys like Gage Faraday's notice either." Rachael twirled the diamond stud in her ear and frowned. "What was it Denny Peterson used to call you?"

  "Chicken girl," Abby mumbled, hating Denny Peterson all over again.

  "Right, that was it."

  Yeah. Abby's chest rose and fell on a sigh. Thanks for the memories. At least she'd finally filled out, such as it was. Better late than never, as everyone said, even though she hated to admit she'd spent a lot of shallow years worrying that never would be her fate, positive that boobs were the be-all and end-all.

  "If Peterson could see you now, he'd be spitting feathers trying to deny it." Rachael wagged her finger the way she always did when she wanted to make a point. "You're proof late bloomers often unfurl into the most stunning blossoms."

  Despite her deteriorating mood, Abby smiled. With her sassy attitude, most people would never peg Rachael for a romantic, but few people knew her as well as Abby did.

  "You've been reading too much Byron lately."

  "Probably," Rachael agreed, "but it's the truth. Or don't you notice how all the men preen when you enter a room?"

  "I suppose that's why Dick started having affairs within weeks of marrying me?"

  "Dick's an ass." Rachael's eyes sparked indignation. "I doubt he ever stopped seeing other women."

  Abby looked down at her hands.

  "Sorry, Ab, but it's the truth. And don't you dare think his philandering is your fault. He's the one with the problem."

  Abby cleared her throat and looked across the table at Rachael. "He came by the office this morning to say he wanted the Florida property."

  "What! That was part of your inheritance."

  "I know. The weird thing is Dick never even liked the place. I swear he's just dragging things out to be spiteful."

  Laughter drifted from a nearby table, and Abby glanced over at the young couple sitting there. They seemed oblivious to everyone but each other. Lovers. It was in their eyes, and their smiles, and their fingers twined together in the center of the table as if they couldn't bear not to touch. She swallowed and looked away.

  "I'm going to let him have it. I don't even care why he wants it. I just want out."

  "Aw, honey, I know you do. But if you keep making concessions, all you'll end up with is the townhouse."

  "It's not a tough choice if it buys me my freedom." Abby pushed her dinner plate aside, her meal barely touched. She w
as so sick of arguing over property and payouts and who got what she didn't care about any of it anymore.

  It wasn't as if she needed the money--not really. She made a decent salary. In less than six months when she turned thirty, she'd receive the trust Gram left her. She'd be a wealthy woman by some people's standards.

  She'd been so upset by all the delays these last few months she'd begun to lose focus. Now Gage Faraday could drop back into her life and further complicate her well laid plans.

  "I can't believe it." Abby shook her head, the irony still hard to grasp. "I had to make a fool of myself over the one guy who became CEO of the largest account to land on Norwell's doorstep since I've been there."

  Rachael smirked. "It'll be fine."

  "Says you." Abby tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Why couldn't I have stalked someone who wanted to be an insurance salesman, or who aspired to go off to Tajikistan and become a hermit?"

  "He'd have to know how to get there first."

  Abby ignored the quip. "I never thought I'd have to face Gage again. Now I've got to convince him to hire me."

  "I have several articles on Gage and his company that I can send you," Rachael offered.

  Abby looked across the table, surprised. "You did a piece on him and didn't tell me? You know I would have wanted—"

  Rachael raised a hand. "The station covered a press conference Gage held with the mayor last week. Since I was out of town, I didn't know until I saw the release this morning. That was the news I said I had when you called about lunch, but when 'Gage Faraday's in town' were the first words out of your mouth tonight, it was obvious you knew."

  "Oh. Sorry, I'll take whatever you've got."

  Rachael tapped a perfectly manicured nail against the side of her wine glass. "Just don't believe everything you read about him. A man in Faraday's position makes for sexy headlines. I can assure you half of what's written is speculation and the rest is probably hype."