by Sammi Carter
Maybe Savannah hadn’t gone jogging that morning. Maybe she didn’t always go jogging at five thirty. But that still didn’t explain who stole the candy from the second-floor meeting room. It must have been taken between eleven o’clock on Friday and . . . sometime on Saturday morning.
Too wired to sit, I stood and began to pace. Who was here? Me. Max. Karen.
And Miles.
I stopped walking so abruptly I nearly tripped myself. Miles was here that morning. Miles, who sat at my table and worried about his wife and ate my chocolate French toast and lied through his teeth to me. I knew that now as surely as I knew my own name.
Miles was the last person to see Savannah alive. She could have left the hotel room at any time. With her husband. Without him. Alive. Drugged. He was also the only one of the suspects I hadn’t watched fairly carefully the night of the contest. I hadn’t thought twice about him, in fact. He could have slipped outside at any time for an argument with Savannah.
Maybe I hadn’t thought of him then, but I sure did now. I thought about how he’d looked that morning. About his odd request that I tell him all about Savannah’s squabbles with her sister. Details he claimed not to know about his wife’s life. How he’d engaged me in conversation for a while and then suddenly changed his mind.
And why?
To establish an alibi. Nobody ever suspected him because he was with me, drinking coffee and playing the concerned husband. I wanted to throw up. My stomach pitched, and bile rose in my throat. My hands grew clammy and tears—of anger this time—burned my eyes.
Leaving the kitchen a mess, I grabbed my coat and keys and hurried outside. Jawarski needed to hear about this, and I wanted to tell him in person. I figured I’d be a lot more convincing in person.
The first few flakes of a new snowstorm were falling as I stepped outside. Normally, I’d stand there in the silence and enjoy the moment, but with a killer on the loose and the possibility that I knew his identity, it just didn’t seem like a good idea.
I was halfway inside the car when I realized that I hadn’t fed Max or let him outside in hours. Swearing at the delay, I bounded up the steps, clipped on Max’s leash, and did my best to ignore the toilet brush, bra, shredded roll of paper towels, sock, shoe, and VCR remote scattered around the living room floor.
Back inside ten minutes later, I filled his food and water dishes, thought about taking him with me, but decided to let him stay behind and eat. So he chewed another shoe or ten. So what?
I promised to come back soon, locked the door, and hurried downstairs again. It occurred to me, as I pressed the unlock button on my keychain remote, that I still had a couple of missing puzzle pieces. I had no idea why Miles might have wanted Savannah dead, and I still couldn’t connect the mysterious Jason to any of the puzzle in front of me. Who was he? How did he fit into all of this, and why would Miles care if he was upset?
It still didn’t make much sense to me.
“Abby?”
An unfamiliar male voice brought me around on the balls of my feet. When I saw Miles walking toward me, his hands inside the pockets of his overcoat, a bland smile on his face, my heart stopped.
“Miles,” I said. And then my brain stopped working. Or my mouth did. Whichever it was, I couldn’t seem to figure out what to say next. I tried a smile. It froze on my face for reasons that had nothing to do with the weather.
“Going somewhere? Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Oh, the responses that raced through my head! “Actually, yes,” I said, struggling desperately to sound normal. “I was just on my way to—” to where? Not to the police station, that’s for sure. “—meet a friend. For dinner.”
“Ah.” He tilted his head back and gave a jerky nod, all without taking his eyes from my face. I didn’t take that as a good sign. “Having dinner out?”
“Yeah.” Inwardly, I felt myself recoiling, but I tried not to let him see my reaction. I could hear Max whining on the other side of my apartment door and cursed myself for not bringing him with me.
“Someplace special?”
I shook my head and scrambled for an answer. “No, not really,” I said. “I’m going to my cousin’s house, in fact.” I pretended to glance at my watch and sidled closer to the car. “Wish I had time to talk, but I’m running late as it is.”
“The cousin who killed my wife?”
“She didn’t kill Savannah,” I said automatically.
“I think she did. It’s no secret she hated Savannah.”
“A lot of people did,” I reminded him. Including you, apparently.
“Yeah, but not everybody caught their husband hanging all over her.” He moved closer quickly—too quickly for me to react. Wearing a thin, frightening smile, he leaned against my car door and folded his arms. “It was a shame, that. Don’t you think? All those years as a devoted husband, and then along comes Savannah, and the whole thing goes right out the window.”
I toyed with the idea of mollifying him, but he’d already blocked my best escape route, and I didn’t think I stood much of a chance, anyway. Since flight looked like a slim option, maybe my best option was fight—at least until I could call attention to my plight.
“The only trouble with that story is, I don’t believe that’s what happened.”
“And yet it did.”
“I know Sergio and Savannah had a drink together, but that’s all.”
Miles pretended to be surprised. “Oh come on, Abby. I gave you credit for being smarter than that. That was never all when it came to Savannah.”
He was wrong. I knew it. He’d planned this somehow, coming to town and stirring up all the old controversies Savannah had been embroiled in to create a long list of suspects. Pretending he knew nothing about Savannah’s past here had all been part of his plan. But I had no way of proving any of this, and I wasn’t even sure I’d get the chance.
He was too cold. Too much in control. Every move, every word had been calculated, maybe months before. My only chance was to take the control out of his hands, but how should I do that? If I goaded him into losing control, I might very well meet the same fate Savannah had. Then again, that was probably going to happen if I let him move through the orderly steps in his head. “Did it bother you?” I asked. “The way Savannah played up to other men?”
“Bother me?” He barked a laugh. “Why would that bother me? I’m the one she came home to. I’m the one she chose to be with. I gave her everything: money, position, respect. I took her from being the town tramp to being one of the most respected women in Colorado. She would never have left me.”
The slight emphasis on that word made me wonder if she’d been about to walk out on him. Maybe I was just reading too much into what he’d said. I could feel my heart pounding in my head, my pulse thrumming in every pore. “Did she know it was you, Miles?”
“Me?”
“Behind the wheel of the car.”
He laughed again, and the sound rumbled like distant thunder in the space between us. “You think you’re clever, don’t you, Abby? You’re going to trick me into confessing my sins.” He pushed away from the car and moved in close. I could smell onion on his breath and grease. Burgers, I thought irrationally. He’d had fast food for dinner. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you. I have nothing to confess.”
Focus, I told myself sharply. Find a weakness. Figure out what makes him vulnerable. He’d been so cool through this whole ordeal. He’d played his part perfectly. How was I going to find a chink in his armor?
His eyes bored into mine. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t turn away. “I think,” he said, his voice soft and oddly compelling, “I think you’re going to have to disappoint your cousin. Poor thing. First her husband. Now you. I hope it’s not enough to send her completely round the bend.”
He was looking for my weaknesses. I could see it in his eyes. I reached into the bag of tricks I’d used during my courtroom days and pulled out my game face. Completely impassive a
nd unrattled. “Oh, I think she’d survive. But I don’t have any intention of changing my plans. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
I tried to slip past him, but he blocked my path and clutched my arm with a monster grip.
Instinctively, I tried to pull away, but he was too strong. That wasn’t the way to fight him anyway. I’d had self-defense courses. I knew what to do, if I could only remember.
“Come on. We’ll take my car.”
No. I realized I hadn’t spoken aloud, so I tried again. “No, Miles.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”
Think!
He started walking, dragging me along behind him. I tried going limp, hoping that dropping with my full weight might break his grip. It didn’t seem to make any difference. I couldn’t get close enough to jam my heel into his instep or attempt any of the clever thumb-to-eye—or was it thumb-to-throat—maneuvers that were chugging around in my head. The only chance I had was to outsmart him.
I was in serious, serious trouble.
“You were good,” I told him, still making efforts to resist. “It took us a while to figure out what you’d done.” We drew even with the kitchen door of Divinity, and I tried again to break free.
No luck.
He didn’t seem to notice the “we” I’d purposely thrown at him, so I tried again. “We know you did it. We know you injected the poison into the candy, and we know you ran Savannah down while she was jogging. The only thing we can’t figure out is why you did it. I mean,” I said, trying in vain to latch onto a streetlamp with my free arm, “why both? The poison would have worked, wouldn’t it?”
He didn’t say a word. What was wrong with him? I thought all villains were supposed to leap at the chance to share their brilliance.
“So what went wrong? Didn’t it take effect fast enough? Were you so determined to get rid of her that you couldn’t wait?”
Something happened then, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. A slight shifting of his shoulder? The faint hesitation over his next step? Whatever it was, I decided I’d touched a nerve. At least, I hoped I had. “You really needed to get rid of her, didn’t you?”
We reached the street, and though I didn’t think it was possible for his grip to get any tighter, somehow he managed it. Through clenched teeth bared by a cold smile, he said, “Just shut up. We’re going to walk to my car, and we’re going to look happy about it. A couple of friends going to dinner together.”
“I’m not your friend.”
He pretended to be hurt. “Oh, but you were.”
Yeah. Just stamp Sucker on my forehead. But I was letting him retain control. I couldn’t do that. “I felt sorry for you. That’s completely different.”
“It’s good enough for me.”
Okay. Another about-face. He’d be a harder nut to crack than Faith had been, but I was desperate. “I saw Savannah that night. Did she tell you?” And just in case he didn’t catch my meaning, “You two were arguing just down the street there, by the candle shop.”
That finally got his attention. I felt a definite shift in his stride. “You’re bluffing.”
“Am I? We talked afterward. You came up the street in this direction. She and I walked the other way. I guess I don’t need to tell you what we talked about.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped, but then he smiled again. “If that were true, why haven’t the police been knocking on my door?”
Okay. Hold on. That was almost a confession. My stomach turned over, and the blood moved like sludge through my veins. My brain fell all over itself trying to find something to say. “You’re not the only one who can wait for something,” I said, and I prayed frantically that the raw fear in my throat didn’t come out in my voice. “Things aren’t always the way they appear, Miles. You know that better than anybody.”
I didn’t know exactly what I’d said, but he stopped walking abruptly and gripped both of my arms tightly. Pulling me close, he looked me hard in the eyes. “And I won’t let anyone ruin what I’ve worked so hard to create. Now shut up.”
He was rattled. I just didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad one. “But she was going to ruin it, wasn’t she? She told me all about it. She was going to tell Jason.”
White-hot anger exploded behind his eyes. I wanted to duck and close my eyes, but I forced myself not to move. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to breathe. “She would have destroyed it all. Everything. And why? Because she suddenly developed principles?”
He let go of one arm, but the circulation was nearly cut off in the other. He began to walk quickly now. His stride was longer than mine, and I instinctively tried to match my pace to keep up with him before I remembered that I couldn’t let him take me anywhere if I wanted to stay alive.
Prospector Street was teeming with people window-shopping, laughing together, and talking. No one had noticed us yet, but obviously something had to change.
Miles had some momentum going, and I’d never be able to match his strength, but one thing I’ve always been good at is being a loudmouth. I pulled back hard and turned myself into dead weight, opening my mouth and letting out a bellow at the same time. “Help! Somebody help me!”
It took a couple of steps for him to react to my screaming, and sure enough, just like all those self-defense experts had promised, he let go of me as if my arm had burned his hand. I fell on the icy sidewalk, hard! My leg twisted under me, and pain tore through my knee and shot through my hip.
I ignored it and kept shouting.
Miles backed away, slowly at first, then faster. I saw him reach into his pockets, pull out his keys, and dart toward his BMW. “Don’t let him get away,” I shouted, but either the stunned people staring at me couldn’t understand what I said, or nobody wanted to get involved.
I tried lurching to my feet so I could go after him, but I couldn’t get my leg to hold me up, and the excruciating pain made me almost sick to my stomach. I fell back to the sidewalk and lay there while people, finally beginning to realize that I was hurt, gathered around and asked if I was all right.
And while they worried about me, a cold-blooded killer drove off into the night.
Chapter 21
I don’t know who finally helped me to my feet, but someone did. I remember handing over my keys to a woman, who unlocked Divinity’s front door, and I remember someone else bringing me the phone so I could call Jawarski.
Naturally, he didn’t pick up. I left a message on his voice mail and tried his number at the station. When I rang through to his voice mail there, I tried one more call to the main switchboard.
I tried very hard to make the good old boy who answered understand that he had an emergency on his hands, but good old boys will be good old boys, and I’ve never met one of them who will take a “little woman” seriously. By the time I realized I wasn’t going to get anywhere with him, my head was throbbing, and my knee felt twice its normal size.
Someone brought me some ibuprofen and a swallow of water. I took both gratefully and tried to think what to do. I couldn’t drive. My knee would never stand the clutch work. But I couldn’t just sit here while Miles got away. I needed someone willing to drive me, which meant I needed someone adventurous enough to do something dangerous, but not stupid enough to get us killed.
I did the only thing a girl can do under such circumstances—I called my big brother.
Wyatt arrived within minutes, mainly because since his separation, he doesn’t have anything else to do in the evenings. He left his big red Dodge truck idling at the curb and burst inside like Divinity was the OK Corral. The way his mustache swagged down across his lip told me he was ready to take care of business, which was exactly what I wanted.
He scooped me up like I was nothing more than a twenty-five-pound bag of sugar, waited impatiently while my rescuers filed out the front door, and locked up behind us, then settled me in the truck’s cab and hoisted himself inside. “Any ideas which way he’s gone?”
I could smell oil—t
he kind you use to clean guns—which didn’t surprise me. Wyatt’s been working at Harrison Rifle Works since he was a kid. He’s not the type to head into trouble without a gun. While guns usually terrify me, tonight Wyatt’s obsession gave me an odd sort of comfort.
In answer to his question, I shook my head. “I have no idea. He might have gone back to the hotel so he can clear out, but he might have done his clearing out before he came after me.”
Wyatt slid the truck into gear and jerked his head toward me. “You got that cell phone of yours on you? Call ’em. See if he’s still registered.”
Brilliant. I should have thought of that myself. The irrational thought that I’d have to pay forty-nine cents for directory assistance shows just how jumbled my thoughts were right then.
Now that Wyatt was with me, the reality of what had happened finally started to hit. My fingers trembled as I pushed the numbers on my phone pad, but I only needed to push three of them. I went through all the rigamarole to get connected, asked for the front desk, and found myself talking to a soft-spoken man who identified himself as Shane.
I did my best to sound normal while Wyatt, the truck, and I careened around a corner and my head began to pound. “Could you tell me if Miles Horne is still registered there?”
Shane clicked around on the keyboard for a minute before he answered. “I’m sorry. It looks like Mr. Horne has checked out already. Is there something else I can help you with?”
I could feel Wyatt watching me, so I shook my head once to give him the answer. At the speed we were traveling, I wanted his eyes on the road. Turning my attention back to Shane, I said, “Do you have any idea how long ago he checked out?”
“Only a few minutes, and I believe he’s gone back upstairs for his things.”
I think I remembered to thank him before I disconnected. I’m not sure. “He’s still there,” I told Wyatt.
He planted his foot even harder on the accelerator. “You know what this guy drives?”