A Murderous Game

by Paris Patricia

  ~~~

  "I'm sorry to do this at the last minute, but Claudia just called five minutes ago to say she was suffering a bad case of morning sickness, and no one else can do the cuts tonight. I don't have a choice but to fill in for her."

  "Don't worry about it, Rach." Abby hooked the phone under her chin so she could sift through her desk file drawer for the account folder she needed. "You can't control a pregnant lady's stomach." She spotted the one she wanted and pulled it out.

  "I suppose not," Rachael agreed, "but shouldn't morning sickness be confined to the morning?"

  "That would be too easy." Abby took hold of the phone again and sat back in her chair. The prospect of spending another night alone with only thoughts of Gage for company was almost enough to make her turn the computer back on and put in a few more hours before leaving the office.

  "Well, if you want my opinion, I think we've all suffered quite enough because Adam didn't have the willpower to turn down that stupid apple."

  Abby smiled. "Makes you just wonder what Eve ever saw in the guy, doesn't it?"

  "I gotta go, Ab. We're getting ready to start some of the cuts for the ten o'clock."

  A crack of thunder splintered Abby's thoughts when she walked out of the building an hour later. She snapped open her umbrella before stepping away from the protection of the overhang and felt fortunate when she only had to wait a couple of minutes before snagging a cab.

  "Third and Delancey," she told the driver then leaned back and glanced out the side rear window.

  In the week since she'd ended their relationship, Gage had left her alone. He hadn't stopped by to see her or even called to see how she was doing. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but the ease with which he seemed to have put her out of his mind hurt in a way she hadn't anticipated.

  Despite the break up having been her decision, she couldn't stop the old doubts. Perhaps, once given his freedom, Gage realized his feelings for her weren't as strong as he'd said. Maybe he'd gone out with someone else over the weekend and was already moving on. She wanted him to move on. No matter how painful it was to think another woman would be the recipient of his teasing grins, or smoldering gaze, or tender loving, she wanted him to be happy.

  She swallowed back the lump in her throat. She hadn't known it was possible to miss someone so much. What had filled that part of her that he now vacated?

  Three months ago her life had seemed full enough. She still had the same job, same goals. How could it seem so empty now when much of what fulfilled her before was still in place?

  The cab pulled to the curb across the street from her townhouse. Abby paid the fare and climbed out, not even bothering with her umbrella, and made a dash for the front door.

  She'd survive. If nothing else, her ordeal with Dick had taught her she was a survivor. People moved on, and so would she…so would she.

  Home, she thought after entering and turning the deadbolt behind her, where she didn't have to smile at anyone, or force her chin up, or pretend indifference. She could have a good crying jag if she wanted, and no one would know. She wouldn't; she'd already cried too many tears but she could if she wanted to. She was safe here from prying eyes that darted away when met and voices suddenly hushed when she approached.

  She bent down and picked up the mail off the entry floor and headed for the kitchen to put on some water for tea. She hadn't taken more than a dozen steps when her body went completely still and her breathing halted. She spun around, her eyes darting around the room. Nothing. She let her breath out slowly.

  Whoa, that was weird. She'd just had the strongest impression of something, something that didn't belong. An unfamiliar scent, she thought. She sniffed the air but failed to pick it up again. Her imagination must be playing tricks on her.

  She dropped her briefcase on the club chair then fingered through the mail. Nothing but bills and credit card solicitations.

  She walked into the kitchen and tossed the stack on the counter. After filling the teakettle, she set it back on the burner to heat. Before she had turned fully around, she picked up the same, unfamiliar scent again. Almost simultaneously, she was struck by another powerful sensation, only this time it felt more like a presence, as if she wasn't alone.

  Okay, now she was spooked. No way could she relax until she went through every room, checked inside every closet and cupboard, under the bed, and walked off her small back yard in case someone was hiding behind the rhododendrons she'd planted last April.

  Not alone, though. She wasn't brave enough or stupid enough to ferret out an intruder alone. It was probably nothing more than her imagination. But if she didn't check it out, her imagination was likely to conjure up every horror movie creep she'd ever watched and hide them in her bedroom closet to wait for her.

  She was going to get Carl, her neighbor two doors down, Carl who topped off at six-five and packed about two hundred and forty pounds of muscle beneath it. Carl would probably think she was flaky. So be it. People were thinking a lot worse about her right now. She could handle flaky…better a little crazy and safe than dead and sorry in her book.

  Abby turned the burner back off and turned around. It was then she noticed the back door was slightly ajar. She caught her breath when she saw broken glass on the floor.

  She'd been burglarized. If she was lucky, the thief was long gone, but she definitely was getting Carl now. She hurried from the kitchen.

  She was halfway to the front door before she saw the man standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom with a gun trained on her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Simms crunched the paper coffee cup in his hand and tossed it into the wastepaper basket beside his desk.

  "You're sure Harold Billings was in the office all afternoon?" He hadn't expected Roger Norwell to pick up Billings's line.

  "Yes. He was out on calls this morning. Got in sometime around three and left sometime after five thirty or six," Norwell confirmed.

  "Do you happen to know if he was going home when he left the office?"

  "No. I only talked to him once this afternoon and that was about business."

  "How did he seem when you saw him?"

  There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before Norwell said, "What's this about, Detective? This whole scandal with Abigail Carpenter has been a public relations mess for the firm. If you're going to start focusing on Billings now for some reason as well, I have a right to know what the hell's going on."

  "At this point I can't answer that. But I've left three messages for Billings, one yesterday and two today, and he hasn't returned any of my calls. I find that a little odd considering you said he was in all afternoon."

  "He was probably too busy following up on things for clients after being on calls all morning. I'm sure he'll call you tomorrow."

  "Did he seem overly busy when you talked to him earlier?"

  "I don't know, a little distracted maybe, like he had something important on his mind. So yeah, I suppose you could say he seemed busy."

  "You said distracted. Did he seem more distracted or busy?"

  "How the hell am I supposed to know? Busy, distracted, what's the difference?"

  Simms tapped his pencil eraser against the edge of the desk. "Maybe none."

  Billings had had plenty of time to get back to him. Something was up. Experience had taught Gene when people with something to hide felt threatened, they usually acted in one of two ways. They ran, or they tried to cover their tracks.

  "I'll try to reach him at home. If he happens to come back to the office, tell him to call me."

  Gene called Billings's home line but got the machine and decided not to leave another message.

  After talking to Eldress, Simms was convinced Billings had been the one the developer had spoken with in Florida. The description fit the guy to a tee.

  If it turned out Billings had been involved in helping Carpenter swindle his wife out of twelve million dollars, then it stood to reason he would have expected som
e kind of cut for his part. Had the two men argued over the money and the argument turned deadly?

  Apprehension began to coil in his gut. Maybe he should check in with Abby Carpenter. He'd discovered she usually worked late so he tried her office first. He got Norwell again.

  "Norwell, I'm trying to reach Abby Carpenter. Is she there?"

  "No. She left about a half hour ago. And if you want to talk to anyone else at the firm, don't bother calling back until tomorrow. If you haven't figured it out yet, Detective, I'm the only one here, and I'm getting damn sick of playing receptionist."

  "I'll try her at home, thanks."

  Simms checked his file for her home number. Since he didn't have her cell number, if she wasn't home, he only knew one other place to try.

  ~~~

  Abby slapped a hand against her chest. "God!" The air whooshed from her lungs, a burst of relief born from recognition. "You scared the life out of me."

  It took a second to catch her breath and another for her anger to spark. Narrowing her eyes, she put her hands on her hips and turned to face him.

  "Just what the hell are you doing here, Billings?" Her eyes strayed to the gun. He was still pointing it at her. She blinked, the relief she'd felt a few moments ago evaporated when she remembered the broken glass on the kitchen floor.

  Abby's gaze snapped back to his face.

  "Get over by those chairs," Billings said, motioning with the gun. "Now," he ordered when she hesitated.

  Abby sidled her way across the room, keeping him in view as she went.

  He moved away from the bedroom and went to check the lock on the front door.

  Turning, he smiled at her, a smile that reminded her of Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

  "We wouldn't want to be interrupted, would we?"

  "What's going on here, Harold?"

  Abby fought back her fear. She told herself she couldn't be in any real danger. She didn't know why he'd broken into her house, or why he had a gun, but she couldn't believe he'd actually use the thing on her. But if by some chance she was wrong, she'd best keep her wits about her.

  "I didn't expect you. You were supposed to be out having dinner with the queen bitch." He shook his head at her. "You're always messing up my plans, aren't you, Abby?"

  "I don't know what plans you're referring to. But I do know breaking into other people's homes without their permission is against the law."

  The phone on the trunk between the two chairs rang, and Abby darted a glance at it. It was less than two feet away. She looked back at him, considering her chances, and he narrowed his eyes.

  "Don't even think about it." He lunged toward her so quickly all she could do was step back. "You're not going to ruin things this time," he said grasping her chin in a tight hold and raising her head.

  The machine clicked on. "Miss Carpenter, this is Detective Simms. I need to speak with you. It's important." Simms left his number and urged her to call him as soon as possible.

  Billings stared down at her. His eyes looked wild. His fingers were digging into her skin, hurting her.

  "Why are you doing this? What do you want?" She heard the fear in her voice but could do nothing to prevent it. She was scared. He wasn't acting rational. Rational people didn't break into other people's homes and threaten them with guns and not let them answer their phones.

  He slowly loosened his fingers and stepped back a few feet.

  "Are you trying to find more dirt you can pass on to that reporter?" she asked, voicing the only possibility that came to mind. It seemed crazy he'd risk such a thing, but what other reason could he have for being here?

  She was sure he'd been Lerner's source. He was convinced she'd stolen the Riv One account from him so it wouldn't surprise her if he'd done it to get revenge. But breaking into her house to find some juicy tidbit to use against her?

  "It doesn't really matter now if you know I was his source." Billings narrowed his eyes as he studied her. "It doesn't matter what you know about anything anymore. If you'd gone where you were supposed to tonight, I would have been gone long before you got home, and everything would have worked out the way it was meant to."

  "What would have worked out?"

  "Your arrest for Dick's murder. I expected the police to do it a couple of weeks ago, but they're taking too long."

  "You're not making sense. I didn't kill Dick. And what does any of that have to do with you being here?"

  "I'm making perfect sense. You just don't get it."

  No, she didn't get it, and whatever it was didn't feel comfortable. She was also afraid if she didn't get out fast, it was going to get a whole lot worse.

  "Give me a hint," she said, wondering what the chances were she could overpower him. Not likely. Too bad she wasn't telepathic. Then she could send someone a mental message to send in the troops.

  "Evidence, Abigail. Evidence."

  Evidence? "That's the hint? I'm sorry, I still don't understand."

  He gave her a long-suffering sigh. "You're the leading suspect. Everyone believes you did it. Once Simms has the evidence proving you killed Dick, they'll arrest you, and the case will be closed."

  "I didn't kill him! They can't prove I did because I didn't do it. There is no evidence."

  His grin became lethal as he dangled the gun by two fingers. "There is now," he said chillingly.

  Abby slowly raised her eyes to the gun and stared at it. It couldn't be the murder weapon. If it was, how did Billings get it? The only way he could have—

  Something close to terror seized her. She didn't want to accept her mind's suggestion. She jerked her gaze back to his.

  "You…you?" She shook her head. "You k-k-killed Dick!?" Her tongue tripped over the words, the notion too horrible to believe.

  "Ahhh, the light dawns."

  Abby went cold inside. He'd killed Dick. Murdered him! She felt lightheaded, wavered on her feet. She thought for a moment she might be sick and covered her mouth with her hand. Swallowing, she looked at him again. Struggling beyond the shock, she realized her situation was much more dangerous than she could have imagined. She wrapped her arms under her suit jacket and around her waist. She needed to buy time until she could think of a way out.

  "Why?" she asked, hoping he'd take some kind of morbid pride in what he'd done, or in the least have an urge to unburden his soul. She didn't care which. She just wanted to distract him long enough to come up with a plan. "You were friends."

  He shrugged. "It was an accident," he said and started to tell her what happened.

  Abby mentally calculated the distance to the kitchen. If she caught him off guard, was she fast enough to make it to the backdoor and get out before he caught her? She shot him a glance. He seemed absorbed in the telling. Any sudden movement on her part would alert him, though, and he might actually shoot her. Making a dash for it was too risky. There had to be another way.

  "I told him I'd give him the developer's information if he agreed to cut me in. We had a deal. Sixty-forty. I thought it was more than fair. Dick never would have known if it hadn't been for me, and the developer would have eventually discovered you held the deed to the property."

  Billings seemed to get more agitated. "If he hadn't gotten greedy, he'd still be alive, and we'd both be rich. I wasn't going to let him double-cross me, though. I did my part."

  "So you killed him?"

  "Like I said, it was an accident. I told him if he didn't give me the cut we agreed on, I'd expose his role in the investigation into Faraday's company."

  "How did you expect to get the money if you killed him?" she asked to keep him talking.

  "He was the one who pulled the gun. He went ballistic, threatening me, saying I wouldn't be talking to anyone. I tried to get the gun away from him before he could use it. It went off during the struggle."

  Abby shook her head. "Why didn't you just tell the police it was an accident?"

  "Like they would have believed it?"

  "They might have; they still could," she
said, hoping to convince him.

  "Not now, it's too late. And I'm not taking the chance I could get hung with a murder rap."

  She could see by his expression he wouldn't listen to reason. Her situation was no better than before, and she was running out of time.

  "Of course, you realize I won't be able to let you live now that you know what happened," Billings said.

  She'd already figured that out on her own. She wouldn't just sit down and die easily, though. If it came to it, she'd fight him tooth and nail. Make sure she gave him a few souvenirs to remember her by.

  "Just what do you intend?" she asked, not that she really wanted the details, but she needed to stall for more time.

  "You're going to help me convince Simms of your guilt."

  "I don't think I'm interested in helping you."

  "But you will. You're going to write a nice note explaining how you murdered your cheating husband. Then you're going to explain how the guilt drove you to take your own life."

  "You're crazy." Abby hugged herself tighter, wrapping her arms around her waist, her left hand nervously fingering the cell phone clipped to the side waistband of her skirt. Her pulse jumped. Her cell phone. Was there a way she could use it to get help? She'd heard about a kidnap victim who'd used their cell to send a distress signal. Her heart started to race. God, was it possible she could do the same without alerting Billings?

  "You'll do it, though," Billings said. "You don't have a choice. I'm the one with the gun, remember."

  Play along, she told herself. Let him think you're cooperating. Buy more time. She had a plan. She may not be telepathic, but perhaps telecom would be just as good. She knew it was a long shot, but at the moment it was all she had. She had to try.

  "How can I forget when you keep waving it in front of me?" She ran her index finger over the face of her phone until she found the top key for the number three and pressed the button.

  "You always did have a smart mouth, Abby. I used to imagine you pleasuring me with it. Did you know that?" He ran the gun down the front of her blouse and circled her breast with it. His eyes flared