A Murderous Game

by Paris Patricia

  "I've already considered that. It can't hurt." He sat down in one of the club chairs and clasped his hands in front of his chest. "Look, I've got to tell you straight. This could be serious."

  Quentin looked at Abby. "I believe your story, but I don't think the cops bought it. They're suspicious by nature; they have to be. They don't know you, so when you tell them you used to think up ways to murder your ex-husband, they're going to see that as premeditation."

  "I tried to explain it was just a game."

  His eyes flicked to Gage. "Yes, a game, a game in which you murdered your husband who then turns up dead."

  She nodded, knowing he was right. "So what happens now?" she asked, embarrassed she could have been so foolish.

  "You don't say anything to anyone—cops, the press, your mother—no one. My guess is Detective Simms is a step ahead of us. He's probably already contacted your friend Miss Gooding to try and corroborate your story before we could get to her."

  "That should work in our favor," Gage said. "If Rachael tells him the same thing, and he knows they haven't talked about it, then it proves Abby wasn't lying."

  "If he's able to get in touch with her this evening and if he believes she hasn't already talked to one of us."

  Abby groaned. "I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore tonight." She was so tired. She just wanted to take a shower, maybe have a glass of wine, and then go to bed and sleep for ten or fifteen years.

  Gage stood up, taking her with him. "She needs to get some rest," he said to Quentin. "Thanks for coming back here to fill me in."

  "Not a problem."

  Abby turned to Quentin. "I promise to follow your advice from now on. I really didn't mean to make things harder for you."

  "It's not me I'm worried about." He picked his briefcase up off the floor. "I've got to fly to Dallas in the morning. You've got my cell number if anything comes up. I'll be back the day after tomorrow unless I hear from you sooner."

  Gage walked the attorney to the door. They exchanged a few words but spoke too low for her to hear what they said. And after everything that had happened, she felt too tired to care.

  ~~~

  Gage steered Abby toward the stairs.

  "Why don't you go get your shower? I'll take care of things down here and be up in a few minutes."

  She didn't argue. He couldn't stand the dejected look he saw in her eyes. He wanted to take her away, get her anywhere they couldn't hurt her. He recognized it as his need, not hers, because he hated feeling so damned impotent.

  Cursing, he went into the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of cabernet from the rack and then searched the cupboards until he located a couple of wine glasses.

  He'd built a billion dollar corporation from nothing but sweat and the brains God had blessed him with. He put fear in the heart of corporate executives. He'd pulled off mergers Wall Street had touted as impossible. But he didn't have a clue how to help the woman he loved right now.

  He wasn't sure how much more she could take before she caved in from the pressure. In the last year she'd had to endure public humiliation over Carpenter's affairs, a bitter divorce, and becoming the prime suspect in the guy's murder. On top of that, Harold Billings had started threatening to cause trouble for her at work.

  At least he might be able to do something about Billings.

  He hadn't planned to spend the night. He had a seven o'clock conference call in the morning that he couldn't miss. He'd already rescheduled it twice. He hated to leave Abby alone, though, after what she'd been through today. He could always shower here in the morning and just wear the same suit he had on. No one would probably even notice.

  Taking the wine and glasses with him he headed upstairs to the bedroom. As he passed the bathroom he heard a noise that made him pause and listen. Pressing his ear against the door, he closed his eyes and issued a silent curse.

  Cry it out, he thought as he absorbed the sound of her tears. Just cry it all out.

  Knowing she probably needed these few moments alone, he turned and walked into the bedroom to wait for her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "Did you hear back from the developer?" Simms asked his partner late Thursday morning.

  "Not yet, but I'm working on it," Baker assured him.

  "What specifically do you mean by working on it?"

  "I sent him an email and asked him to contact me."

  "An email?" Gene dropped his head. "And what," he asked, doing his damnedest to control his frustration, "if he doesn't check his emails every day? What if he only checks them once a week, or once a month?"

  "I guess I didn't think of that. I just assumed—"

  "Don't!" Gene threw his pen on the desk and stood up. "Close the door."

  "Look, it's no big deal. If I don't hear back from him by this afternoon, I'll call him."

  "Close the door." He waited for Baker to comply. He did, grudgingly, then turned to face Gene and crossed his arms over his chest.

  "You assume nothing." He gave his partner a hard stare until the defiant look in the rookie's eyes wavered and then took on something more closely resembling nervousness.

  Satisfied, he sat against the front of his desk. "I told you to get in contact with that developer three days ago. And since when did emailing someone become acceptable department procedure?"

  "You didn't specify I should call him."

  Gene gave him a look that communicated clearly the rookie didn't want to go down that road with him.

  "Three days ago," he repeated evenly. "We've got a murder that's threatening to go cold on us. We've got conflicting information regarding a very pricey piece of property that could very well be motive for that murder."

  To prevent himself from grabbing the guy by his starched shirtfront, which he was sorely tempted to do, Gene crossed his arms. "Just so we understand each other in the future. When I tell you to do something, do it. If I ever hear you say you assumed something without covering every base, or shrugging something off as no big deal, you'll be writing parking tickets."

  Baker rolled his jaw.

  "You want to be a detective, start thinking like one." Gene pushed off the edge of the desk. "As soon as you get back to your station, you get on the fucking phone and call the developer. If you have to fucking track him all over the state of fucking Florida, you do it."

  He walked around to the back of his desk and snapped his jacket off the chair. "I've got to leave for a meeting with Wallace Forrester. And Baker," he paused just long enough for his partner to squirm under the weight of his dissatisfaction, "when I ask you about the developer tomorrow, don't tell me you left him a message on his voice mail."

  At three o'clock that afternoon Simms leaned back in his chair, rubbing the two index fingers of his joined hands up and down over his chin. The more people he talked to, the more convinced he was that Abby Carpenter was not his murderer.

  He'd thought her explanation of the waiter's testimony a little farfetched at first, but he'd gotten the same story from Rachael Gooding, and there was no way they'd had time to corroborate what they'd say before he'd talked to Gooding yesterday.

  He'd also been able to verify Gooding's claim that Carpenter's diary had been nothing more than a young girl's imaginings. He'd contacted the woman's father, Tom Sheridan, who basically, albeit reluctantly, confirmed his daughter's diary had been a ridiculous fabrication. If the entries in the diary had in fact all been made up, it changed a few other assumptions as well.

  "Simms, your visitor is here."

  Gene glanced at his watch. "Show him into my office," he said, wondering how much, if anything, Gage Faraday would be willing to give up.

  ~~~

  "I'm a little surprised you didn't bring your lawyer," Simms said after Gage sat down in the vacant chair on the other side of the desk.

  "Are you planning on charging me with something?"

  "Should I be?"

  They took each other's measure, each one sizing up the other as one would an opponent, both men too
seasoned not to realize they had come face to face with a worthy adversary.

  "You tell me, Detective. You called this meeting."

  Simms leaned back in his chair. Gage did the same, propping his right ankle across his knee.

  "I had an interesting talk with the Attorney General earlier today."

  "Really?" Gage lifted his hand and studied his thumbnail. "I've never found Forrester to be particularly interesting."

  Simms chuckled and under different circumstances Gage might have grinned.

  "Actually, I'm inclined to agree with you on that. The topic of discussion was, however, very interesting."

  "The suspense is killing me," Gage said blandly, dispensing with his thumb perusal and crossing his arms.

  "Why did you request to have the details of the AG's probe into your company kept confidential?"

  "GFI was cleared of any wrongdoing. That's all our stockholders care about, and that's all anyone needed to know."

  "Hmmm. When did you find out Carpenter's lover forged a letter to initiate the probe?"

  Simms had been a busy man, Gage thought with begrudging respect. "About three days ago when Forrester notified our legal group he was dropping the probe." And agreed not to disclose the specifics of the case.

  "Are you sure you didn't somehow find out before Carpenter was murdered?"

  "If you want to know when I suspected Carpenter was behind the allegations, that would have been several weeks ago, after he raised slanderous accusations against GFI at a joint press conference I had with Mayor Phillips."

  Simms's mouth curled up on one side. "I guess I should be more specific with my questions." He tapped his pencil against the yellow tablet he held on his lap. "The AG usually doesn't make an issue out of cases they drop, so I have to ask myself why you felt compelled to request confidentiality."

  "Why don't you tell me your theory, Detective? I'm sure you've got one."

  "On the surface it would appear you have nothing to hide; you were cleared. But to your request," the detective continued with a wry grin, "let's say an ambitious reporter happened to be at the press conference, and after Carpenter gets popped, he remembers the accusations. He decides to dig around a little and discovers Carpenter bid against you for the riverfront deal and lost. He's a reporter, so he naturally wonders if there's a story in there somewhere."

  Simms angled his head, probably watching for a reaction. Gage kept his expression neutral. He knew where the man was going. It was a good theory, one he'd expected someone would stumble on sooner or later.

  "Please go on," Gage drawled. "I'm fascinated."

  The detective gave him a mock smile. "He's got sources, and he discovers Carpenter's ex is working with you to market your new development. Now things are getting interesting. He thinks that's a lot of coincidences. Since Carpenter seemed to have inside information about the AG's probe, maybe he should see what he can turn up on that in case there are any other connections."

  Gage refrained from clapping. "You left out the part about Abby and me being lovers."

  "Speculation. Are you officially verifying it?"

  "You know damn well what we are. You've had a tail on both of us since the night of Carpenter's murder. Neither one of us can walk out a door without tripping over one of your people."

  Simms shrugged. "You're consenting adults. I don't care what the two of you want to do with each other beyond how it impacts our investigation."

  He made a note on his pad. "Back to my theory," the detective said, rubbing a hand over his chin. "If the AG reveals only that GFI was cleared, no one's the wiser. If, however, our reporter finds out Carpenter put someone in Forrester's office up to implicating your company in fraud, then you start looking like a person who has a valid reason to dislike our murder victim."

  "Forrester's got a loose tongue," Gage said, furious the AG hadn't respected his request to keep the probe confidential.

  "He really didn't have a choice. If he'd refused to disclose, I would have gotten a subpoena, and he'd have had to let me see the file, anyway."

  A muscle in Gage's jaw flinched. "I don't give a damn what you know about me or Carpenter, just make sure anything Forrester told you doesn't get leaked to the press. If it does, I won't be a happy man. And trust me, Simms; you do not want to make me unhappy."

  The detective studied Gage with probing interest. "I didn't think you cared about public opinion."

  "I don't. Nor do I care if you think your little theory constitutes motive. I'm perfectly capable of defending myself if need be. If I wasn't, we wouldn't be sitting here."

  Gage realized he'd responded with more emotion than he'd intended or than was wise. He didn't want to give Simms an edge. The man was too perceptive.

  Silence bounced around the interview room like a handball on steroids, turning the seconds into a long drawn out pause that punctuated the standoff with each pa-ping.

  Gage glanced at his watch. Simms's gaze trailed off to the left, seemingly studying nothing in particular, his expression thoughtful. When he finally looked back, his eyes had turned sharp, as if they held a newfound awareness. He chuckled softly.

  "You're trying to protect Abby Carpenter," he said with an air of confidence that told Gage it would do no good denying it. "Does she know anything about the probe?"

  "She knows GFI was being investigated, and she knows we were cleared."

  "But not about her ex's involvement, or that he had a lover working for Forrester who tried to help him implicate your company."

  "No."

  Simms dropped his tablet onto the desk and leaned forward. He rested his elbows against the edge then clasped his hands together.

  "I'm going to level with you, Faraday," he said, as if he relished doing so about as much as he would having his legs waxed.

  The image of Simms having the hair on any part of his body ripped off strip by strip brought a sardonic grin to Gage's lips. He draped an arm over the back of his chair and, raising his left brow, met the other man's gaze.

  Simms frowned. "I'd have to be stupid to think Mrs. Carpenter hasn't told you everything we've talked to her about, and you'd have to be stupid not to know we've considered her our prime suspect up to this point. Whatever else we may think about each other, neither one of us is stupid."

  "Up to this point?" Gage asked, curious about Simms's choice of words. "Does that mean you've changed your focus after talking to Forrester? Perhaps I should have asked Robertson to come with me after all."

  "If you want your attorney present, we'll end the discussion now since his presence will have the same outcome. Or we can call off this pissing contest so I can try to find out who murdered Dick Carpenter and clear your girlfriend."

  Gage knew he could call Simms's bluff and walk out now. But what if the detective was on the level? What if Gage had information that could help Abby's cause? The last couple of days had hit her hard. She was persevering, but at what cost?

  "What do you want to know?" He might be making a mistake, but his concern for Abby outweighed any reservations he had about Simms's agenda.

  ~~~

  Abby closed her laptop and set it on the trunk. "I'm meeting with Norwell tomorrow afternoon to show him the print ads I did for phase one."

  "Fine," Gage said with a nod. "Let him know I've already approved the copy." He gathered up the paperwork he'd scattered across her coffee table and stacked it back into his briefcase.

  Pulling out a large manila envelope, he held it in the air a moment then let it drop onto the now cleared table and said, "I got this from Cheryl Stevens, the VP in charge of our marketing group today. It's a response to your implementation plan with some suggested revisions. I thought I asked you to call her last week," he said, looking slightly annoyed.

  Her defensive juices stirred. "I did call her last week." She remembered thinking at the time the woman hadn't seemed too friendly, but she'd shrugged it off. Maybe she should have paid more attention to her first impression that Cheryl Stevens didn't
sound happy about having to work with her.

  "Then why the hell is she bothering me with this kind of stuff? Did you make it clear I wanted everything to come through you?" He stood up.

  Okay, now he was in boss mode, expecting everything to be what he wanted, when he wanted, how he wanted. Well, she'd done what he wanted, when he wanted, how he wanted, but it appeared her contact at GFI's headquarters had a different idea about what, when, and how things should be done.

  "Yes, Mr. Faraday," she said, stressing the formal use of his name, "I introduced myself and explained to your employee that I would be managing the account and that everything regarding Riv One should be directed to me. I'm not sure why she sent a revised copy of my implementation plan directly to you." She stopped short of voicing her suspicions but then figured the hell with it. He wanted to know, she'd tell him. "Maybe she likes the idea of dealing directly with you. Maybe she was trying to impress you by suggesting my plan fell short somehow."

  Abby got out of the club chair and stalked to the coffee table, snatching up the envelope. "Who knows," she suggested, slinging one hand on her hip, "maybe Miss Stevens has a crush on her boss and doesn't like the idea of an interloper coming between you and her."

  He put his hands in his pant pockets, observing her through hooded eyes.

  She shook her head. "Just forget I said that." She walked back to the chair and dropped the envelope next to her laptop. "I'll look over her ideas and call her again tomorrow."

  He caught his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger and tugged on it a couple of times. "I probably could have approached that a little better, huh?"

  She turned and looked at him. "My vote would be yes." She read the regret in his eyes and sighed. "And instead of morphing into Cruella de Ville, I could have been a little less bitchy and tried discussing it with you instead of getting defensive." She slanted him a glance. "And your vote would be?"

  His look turned tender. "Whichever answer would make you most likely to kiss me so we can make up."