A Deadly Game

by J. P. Bowie

  Garcia handed back the magazine. “Have you made the call to Fallon’s office?”

  “I will in a moment.” She took his arm. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen and have coffee with me?”

  He allowed himself to be led from the living room. “I am impatient for this to be over,” he muttered.

  “Of course you are.” Angelina smiled demurely at him. “And to get on with your life, I have no doubt.” She poured Garcia a cup of coffee and pushed it toward him across the counter. “I have the number right here.” She frowned at the tiny gold watch she wore. “It’s still a little early.”

  “Leave a message then.”

  “I wanted to speak directly to him. It might sound all the more convincing that I am anxious for him to see me.”

  “Call anyway,” Garcia growled.

  Angelina sighed. “Very well.” She picked up the phone and punched in Nick’s number, using her knuckle so as not to damage her exquisitely painted fingernails.

  Monica could hear the office phone ringing as she pushed her way in through the heavy glass doors. As she ran to her desk, juggling her purse, her car keys and the bag of Danish she’d brought to share with Nick, she noticed his door was closed. Must have a client already, she thought, picking up the phone.

  “Stevens and Fallon Investigations. How may I direct your call?”

  “Nick Fallon, please.” The woman’s voice had a faint but exotic accent.

  “One moment, please.” Monica buzzed through to Nick’s office. “Nick? You have a call on line one.”

  “Take a message please, Monica.”

  Nick sounded tense, Monica thought. “Okay. Sorry to interrupt.” She pushed the call-waiting button. “I’m sorry ma’am. Mr. Fallon’s in a meeting right now. Can I take a message?”

  “It is extremely important that I speak to him immediately.” The woman sounded distressed.

  “I’ll have him call you as soon as he’s free,” Monica said in her most conciliatory manner. “I’m afraid I can’t disturb him at the moment.”

  “Very well.” A long sigh followed. “Tell him it could be a matter of life and death.”

  “Let me have your number, please.” Monica wrote the telephone number down. “And your name?”

  “Maria Fuentes.”

  “Okay, Ms. Fuentes, I’ll be sure to have him call you as soon as he can. Bye.”

  Nick glowered at the two FBI agents who sat across from him. “How much longer is this going to take?”

  “As long as it takes, Nick,” Tomlinson chuckled. “You should know, being an ex-cop and all, that these things take time.”

  “So, Saturday night,” Johnson broke in. “How did he get you up to that house?”

  “He was holding a friend of mine hostage, and threatened to kill him if I didn’t show right away.”

  “This friend have a name?”

  “Eric Jamieson.”

  Johnson entered Eric’s name on his laptop. “Good friend is he?”

  “Good enough.” The corner of Nick’s mouth twitched with amusement—they were going to have to ask.

  “So you go up there alone,” Tomlinson said with a sneer. “How smart was that?”

  “He told me to come alone and unarmed or he’d kill Eric. Believe me, I know what Garcia is capable of, and I knew he’d kill him without a second’s hesitation if I didn’t do what he asked.” He narrowed his eyes at Tomlinson. “You guys have no idea just what a cold-blooded killer Garcia is, and I hope you don’t ever have to find out.”

  Tomlinson sniggered. “Don’t worry about us, Fallon. We’ve dealt with murderers before.”

  “I’m sure you have.” Nick shrugged and sat back in his chair. “Anyway, I get up there. He’s got Eric drugged, and me at gunpoint. It didn’t look good, but I managed to surprise him, or so I thought—but the bastard shot me. That’s how I got this.” He pointed to the livid bruise on his temple. “Lucky for me, his aim was off, only nicked my skull and knocked me out. Next thing, I’m tied up and he’s going to have me torture Eric. This is where Garcia fucked up. This was not his M.O. at all. He likes to get in quick, do the deed and get out. This playing around with us, for whatever reason, screwed him. With Eric’s help, I managed to loosen the rope he’d tied me with, and this time got the gun away from him.”

  “But he got away,” Johnson said, looking up from his laptop keyboard.

  “Yeah, and took my car. McKenna’s following up on that.”

  “Where d’you suppose he went?”

  Nick shook his head in disbelief at the agent’s question. “If I knew that, that’s where I’d be headed.”

  “You claim to know so much about this guy,” Tomlinson said. “We just figured you’d have it all worked out.”

  “Why would I want to do your job?” Nick asked, smiling.

  “Okay, Fallon,” Tomlinson snapped. “Drop the superior attitude.”

  “That’s what I’ve been wanting to say to you since the moment we met,” Nick said, getting to his feet. “Now, if you’ve quite finished, I have work to do.”

  Tomlinson flicked his eyes at Johnson, then stood up. “I guess that’s all for the time being. We’ll be in touch.”

  “Don’t be in any hurry.” Nick chuckled as the two agents left his office.

  Monica looked up with surprise as she recognized at once what the men represented, nor did she miss the way Johnson’s eyes swept over her face and body as he passed her desk. What a creep, she thought while pasting a little smile on her face.

  “Bad start to the day?” she asked Nick as soon as the agents were on the other side of the door.

  “It can only get better, I hope.” Nick managed a grin. “Do I smell coffee?”

  “And Danish.”

  “You are the perfect secretary, Monica. I’m going to talk to Jeff about him giving you a raise when he gets back.”

  Monica smiled cheekily. “Actually, I think that’d have to come from both of you, Nick—you being partners, after all. So if you want to approve it in his absence, I don’t think he’d mind.”

  Nick laughed then bit into a Danish. “You got me. Seriously though, I will talk to him about it.”

  “How was your weekend?” Monica asked, taking a dainty bite of her Danish.

  “Funny you should ask.”

  Monica gasped as Nick turned to face her and she saw, for the first time, the bruising on his temple. “Wow. What happened to your head?”

  “Eric got mad and decked me one.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Yeah, I am. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  “Nick, what’s going on?”

  “Later,” Nick said firmly. “Who called when I had Heckle and Jeckle in the office?”

  Monica handed him the message she had taken earlier. “She sounded kinda distraught. I said you’d call her soon as you were free.”

  “Okay.” Nick looked at the name and phone number. “I’ll get right on it, boss.” He took his coffee and Danish back into his office and picked up the phone.

  Angelina, checking her phone’s caller ID, answered before the first ring was finished. “Oh, Mr. Fallon,” she said in a breathless rush, “Thank you so much for calling me back. I am so scared, so worried.” She smiled to herself as she heard Nick’s voice deepen with concern.

  “What seems to be the problem, ma’am?”

  “Please call me Maria. May I call you Nick?’

  “Of course. How may I help you?”

  “It is my husband. He is abusing me.”

  “That sounds like something you should be reporting to the police.”

  “Oh no. I cannot involve them. The scandal, you know. I just want a divorce. He has a mistress, but of course, he denies it. I need you to find me the proof of it. Can you do this for me?”

  “Well, I am kinda busy right now.”

  “Oh please, Nick, please. I am so scared that he will, you know—hurt me more.”

  “Okay, calm down, uh…Maria. Why don
’t you come to my office and we can talk about this.”

  “Oh Nick,” Angelina interrupted. “I cannot drive my car. My wrist—he twisted it so badly.”

  “Jeez. Uh, I’m sorry. Okay, I’ll come to you.”

  “Oh, thank you. Come as soon as you can. He’s out of town today.”

  “Right. How about noon—is that good for you?”

  “Wonderful. Here is my address.”

  Angelina looked at Garcia with a triumphant gleam in her eye as she put the phone down. “I was good, was I not?”

  “You were magnifica.” Garcia beamed at her. “Mario, was she not?”

  Mario Torres looked at them both through bloodshot eyes and gave them a weary smile. Long after his wife and his guest had retired for the night, Mario had stayed up staring into the fireplace, thinking of ways to extricate himself from this horrendous situation in which he was now embroiled. During the course of his ruminations, he had consumed far too much brandy. His head ached miserably, his stomach roiled with queasiness and he felt every one of his sixty-two years. He wanted to be left alone, but most of all, he wanted Francisco Garcia out of his house, out of his life—and away from his wife. He had seen the way the two of them looked at one another. Once upon a time, he would have called the man out, accused him to his face of trying to seduce another man’s wife, but now… He was too old and tired for such aggression. He just wanted this to be over.

  Angelina looked at her husband with disdain. Having a vibrant force like Francisco in her home had awakened a need within her. No longer could she be satisfied with this boring, suburban life. Garcia would take her to Puerto Rico with him, of that she was sure. She was convinced that she had already ensnared him with her beauty and all her womanly wiles. He would not leave her behind. Of course, there was Mario—but Francisco could take care of that small problem.

  “He will be here in two hours,” she said, looking at Garcia. “Plenty of time for you to set your trap.”

  “I know exactly how he will die,” Garcia said, his lips thinning with a grimace of pleasure. “He will die knowing that I have beaten him, but also wondering if I will leave his little puta alive, or if I will hunt him down also.”

  “Surely, this is no time for talk of such things,” Mario Torres quavered. He had been watching and listening from a seat in the corner of the room. “Kill him quickly and be done!”

  “My husband has lost his stomach for vengeance.” Angelina’s laughter was vicious. “Once upon a time, he was fearless—now he has become one of the afraid.”

  “Watch your tongue,” Torres warned her, rising from his seat. “I am still your keeper.”

  “Mario is right, Angelina.” Garcia flicked her a look of admonishment. “A husband must be obeyed, and never mocked. That is the way of things. Know your place, my dear.” As if to soften his words, his hand on Angelina’s arm caressed her gently. She responded with a subtle pressure against his chest.

  “You are right, of course,” she said, smiling at both men. “I am sorry, Mario, if I offended you. I fear the tension of what is to happen has blurred my senses, and my manners. Forgive me.” She looked around her as if she had just remembered something. “Today is the maids’ day off. I will prepare us a small repast while we wait for Mr. Fallon’s arrival.”

  Garcia watched as she made her sedate way across the room, then his eyes met those of his host, who was staring at him with undisguised hatred. Torres quickly averted his stare, and clearing his throat said, “So Francisco, what do I bring you—a gun or a knife?”

  Garcia pretended to think for a moment. “Mmm…I think both, Mario. Perhaps a little cutting first, might give me some pleasure.”

  Torres shuddered, then rose to do as he was bid.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Eric awoke to the sound of insistent knocking at the apartment door. Mumbling to himself, he shuffled to the door and peeked through the security glass.

  “Andrew,” he muttered, recognizing the tall, slim man with fair curly hair standing outside. Swinging the door open, he gave his friend a bleary-eyed smile. “Hey, Andrew. Why so early?”

  “Actually, I’m late. You said ten-thirty and it’s almost eleven.” Andrew gave him a critical look. “So I guess you’re not ready for our workout?”

  “Sorry, I overslept. Come on in.”

  “Nick keeping you up?”

  “Something like that,” Eric chuckled. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be right with you.”

  “Nick at work?” Andrew asked, following him into the bedroom.

  “Yeah, he left real early. He had some calls to make.”

  “Everything all right with you two?”

  “Couldn’t be better.” Eric paused. He was dying to tell Andrew about what had happened on Saturday night, but he knew Nick would be mad at him if he did so. He’d made Eric promise not to say a word to anyone until it was all over.

  “What?” Andrew asked, noticing Eric’s hesitation.

  “Nothing, I was just remembering something.”

  “Something good?” Andrew watched as Eric pulled on a pair of workout shorts and a sweatshirt.

  “You might say that.” Eric grinned at him, tying his sneaker laces. “Okay, just gotta clean my teeth, then we can go. How’s David?”

  “Fine. He’s out of town till Thursday night—some conference in Seattle.”

  “Bummer. Well, if you get lonely, you can always come over, or we can catch a movie.”

  “Thanks. Oh, I heard from Peter yesterday. Sounds like they’re having a great time. He said you’d sold one of his landscapes.”

  Eric froze in mid-toothbrush stroke. “Oh yeah—right. Well, that sort of fell through, unfortunately.”

  “Too bad. Eric, are you sure you’re all right? You seem kinda tense.”

  Eric rinsed his mouth then looked at his friend. “What are you now, doing a Peter Brandon?”

  Andrew sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m no psychic, Eric, but I know when a friend is out of sorts. Maybe if you talk about it, you’ll feel better.”

  Eric sighed and sat down next to Andrew. “Okay, it’s Nick.”

  “I figured.”

  “It’s not what you think. It’s just that… Okay, promise you won’t ever say anything to him about this?”

  “I promise.”

  “We got into some trouble Saturday night. That guy, Garcia, I told you about, the one that escaped from prison.”

  “What about him?”

  “He came out here looking for Nick. I guess he found out where I work. He came into the gallery, pretending to buy one of Peter’s landscapes.”

  “Oh…” Andrew grimaced. “I get it.”

  “Yeah, unfortunately it was all a ruse to get me up to his place in Mystic Hills so I’d be the bait in the trap he’d set for Nick.”

  “My God, Eric.” Andrew’s eyes were filled with concern for his friend. “That’s unbelievable.”

  Quickly, Eric told him the rest of what happened, culminating in Garcia’s taking off in Nick’s car. Andrew listened in silence, his face registering his total amazement at what he was hearing. Finally, he said, “You guys have the police on this, of course?”

  Eric nodded. “Nick called Louis McKenna, but Andrew, my fear is that Nick’s going to try and find Garcia first, and that just scares me to death. I’ve seen this guy in action. He’s cold and ruthless. And that’s not all. Nick’s got it into his head that he’s putting me in danger. He even went so far as to say we should split up.”

  “What?” Andrew looked at him in amazement.

  “Yeah, but I talked him out of that…at least I think I did. With Nick, you just never know. He’s so damned macho. He just has to be the one in charge.”

  Andrew smiled and put his arm round Eric’s shoulders, giving him a friendly squeeze. “I know what you mean. I saw some of that in New York. He was the one who took my statement after I found Jeremy Kennedy’s body. He has that intense way of looking into your eyes when he’s talking to y
ou. Makes you feel guilty even when you’re not.” He laughed at the memory. “He came across so butch and all business, but at the same time, I felt I could trust him, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “And I was right. Peter, on the other hand, didn’t trust him an inch near Jeff.”