“My mother told me you had a key for me.”
“She did? She didn’t tell me what was in the envelope,” Kate said.
Damn. She was so tired, she had told Kate more than she needed to.
“I’d like to collect it now, please. I’m leaving.”
“Before the funeral?” No missing the edge to her mother’s lawyer’s voice.
“I’m coming back.” It was a blatant lie, and she hated the defensive quality in her voice.
Kate got under skin like that. Made her feel inadequate. As if she could never measure up to her sterling character.
“I’ll drop the envelope over at Finn’s place. I can be there in an hour.”
“An hour? I have a flight to catch.”
“Sorry. I can’t make it sooner than that.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “If you want, I can put it in the mail.”
Bitch.
Kenzie’s teeth clenched, but she managed to keep her tone even. “Okay, but can you meet me at the tattoo studio? I have to pick some stuff up from there.”
Kate agreed. Kenzie disconnected and strode into the coffee shop. She ordered another extra-large coffee and returned to her car.
She would need as much caffeine as possible to get her through this night.
* * *
Frances was dead.
And now Kate had one final duty to her client that Kenzie Sloane would not let her forget—even when she had forgotten it herself.
The envelopes.
Frances had given her two envelopes, one for Kenzie, the other for Kate.
She spun on her heel, bumping into Charlie, who had ambled over in hope of a treat, and hurried to the kitchen. Her briefcase sat next to the kitchen table. She fished around the bottom and found the two envelopes.
It was hard to believe Frances had given them to her mere days ago.
A pang squeezed her heart when she saw the names printed on the envelopes. Clearly not written by her client—she had lost the ability to write.
She held Kenzie’s envelope up to the light. The paper stock was too opaque to see what it concealed. She ran her finger along the outline of the hard object. It was thin, flat, with a triangular shape.
Not a key to a safety deposit box.
But a key to a storage room.
What had Frances locked in a storage room that could only be given to Kenzie after her client’s death?
Was it a simple “Grandma’s locket is in the box on the right?”
Or “I hid the murder weapon all these years and it’s on the lower shelf.”
Her gut screamed it was the latter.
But her client had clearly told her that she threw the gun in the ocean. She’d given a sworn statement.
Kate had no evidence to suggest that the storage room held anything but Kenzie’s belongings.
In fact, when Frances gave Kate the key, Kenzie was not a suspect and Frances had not confessed.
There was no hint from her client that this key led to a murder weapon.
Could she, as Frances’ counsel, call Ethan and tell him what she suspected?
No.
She would have to give it to Kenzie.
But she would do anything to be a fly on the wall in that storage locker.
She dropped Kenzie’s envelope onto the bed and picked up the envelope with her name printed on it, her heart thudding.
A quick tear of the flap, and the contents slid out into her hand.
A pair of old 4 X 6 photos.
The images were blurry and dark.
But Kate could clearly see her sister, smiling.
Her throat tightened. Gennie had been so full of life. The vibrant one. The one who laughed easily—and cried just as easily.
In the first photo, her sister stood with her head leaning against Kenzie’s shoulder, a broad smile on her face. Kate’s heart twisted. Her sister used to put her head on Kate’s shoulder, just like that.
She studied the second photo.
In this shot, her sister and Kenzie stood with their backs to the camera, pulling the collars of their shirts to reveal the backs of their necks, glancing over their shoulders with grins on their faces.
Kate stared at the picture. Her mind whirled.
Her sister had a tattoo. Kate held the snapshot up to the light and squinted. But she couldn’t tell what it was. The quality of the image was too poor.
Kate had walked into Imogen’s room to see if she could borrow a T-shirt. Imogen had whirled around, a sweater clutched to her chest, a snarl on her face.
“Get out!” she yelled.
Kate froze.
“You didn’t even knock!” Imogen smoothed her hand down the back of her hair, momentary panic in her eyes.
The strangeness of her gesture had been lost on Kate. She blinked back tears of hurt and anger. They had always roamed into each other’s bedrooms, flopping themselves down on the bed next to the other, sharing their day, their hopes, their dreams, their secret crushes.
Everything.
But it had been slipping away. Kate knew that. Her sister had ebbed out of her life, as inexorable as the tide and beyond Kate’s control. There were other forces, stronger forces, eddying her sister into a world where neither of them belonged.
She had hoped that tonight she might gain some ground, pull her sister back from enemy territory. They were both going to the same party, to the house of a girl Kate despised: Kenzie Sloane. At the very least, she could scope out why Imogen was so enthralled with Kenzie.
She studied her sister’s face.
The drug use had been shocking enough.
She supposed she shouldn’t be shocked by the tattoo.
What else had her sister been hiding?
She grabbed her jacket and stuffed the envelope that Frances had left for Kenzie in her purse.
Then she headed to Yakusoku Studio.
48
McNally was, as usual, waiting.
He sat in his truck at the tattoo-studio parking lot, gripping the steering wheel.
His nerves jumped in little sparks under his skin. He unscrewed the vodka bottle and took a long pull.
It burned down his throat, a fuse to his adrenaline.
When Kenzie’s car eased into the parking lot, he threw open the truck door with such force it swung on its hinges. He strode over to her car and jumped into the passenger seat.
“Hi.”
The strain of the past twenty-four hours showed on her face. She gave him a cool smile.
He cupped his hand around her jaw and kissed her.
Sweet Jesus.
He had waited for seventeen years for this kiss. Every nerve exploded. He leaned closer. Her lips were full. Just as he remembered.
He could never share her with another man again.
She was his. For eternity.
Even if that meant a different type of eternity.
She was not going to leave him ever again.
Not for jail.
Not for her life in Manhattan.
Not for another man.
She broke the kiss. But she stroked his cheek. “I need to talk to you.”
He was like a leopard, ready to pounce on his prey.
Ready to bite into the tender, moist flesh and carry it away to his den.
“I want you to take a drive with me,” he said.
Her hand traced the tendons of his neck. His skin grew hot. “Where to?”
“Where do you think?” He gave her a lazy grin. He had left the duffel bag in a safe place by the bunkers. It was stocked, and ready to rock ’n’ roll.
She tensed. “We can’t go to the bunker.”
“Why not?” he asked. “We can bring Kate Lange out there. It will be just like old times.”
“The police have been crawling all over it. So have the media. We’ll be seen for sure.”
He threaded his hands through her hair. The tangles wound around his fingers. He yanked it. “You need to listen to me. I’m in charge now. This is my plan.”
&
nbsp; Something shifted in her eyes. “You’re right,” she said, her voice throaty.
His fingers relaxed their grip, but he left his hand lightly wrapped in a tendril by her ear. It was a sensitive spot. It didn’t take much pressure to bring tears to her eyes. And besides, her hair felt so damn good. He wouldn’t let go.
He would never, ever let go.
Not now.
Not ever.
The pistol he’d stolen from Lovett’s safe guaranteed he would succeed.
* * *
Adrenaline coursed through Kenzie, giving her one last, desperate burst of energy.
She shifted closer to McNally, leaning over the narrow console between the car seats. “Look, McNa—
I mean John, I’ve been thinking.” She forced a placating smile. “You’ve been right all along.”
“What do you mean?” His eyes narrowed.
“I shouldn’t have run away that night. I should have stayed.”
There was a flicker in his eyes—was it pain?—but he said nothing.
“I was too young. I freaked.” She lowered her voice, made it seductive. “But I made a big mistake. No one has satisfied me the way you did.”
His neck reddened under the collar of his jacket.
She felt a surge of excitement. This was working.
Take it slowly, Kenzie.
“And when I heard about Heather’s body being found, it was like a sign, you know? It brought back all the old urges. All the old desires.” She licked her lips. “Remember how we used to play Russian roulette?”
“Yeah, I remember.” His voice was rough.
“Well, remember that gun we used?”
His eyes sharpened. “Yeah.”
How could I forget? his eyes said. It was the murder weapon.
She smiled. “I know where it is.”
“Yeah? So where is it?” Kenzie could tell he was trying to sound casual, but he couldn’t disguise his interest. If he got hold of the murder weapon—with her fingerprints on it—he would never let her go. She knew that.
“It’s in a self-storage locker. And Kate Lange is bringing me the key.”
His hand tightened in her hair. Tears pricked her eyes. “Why would she do that?” He didn’t believe her.
“It’s true.” She told him about her mother giving Kate the envelope. “We could play Russian roulette again. Like we used to.” She gave him a sideways glance. “It was the best sex I ever had.”
His lips curled. Was it a smile or a grimace? She couldn’t tell.
“It would be a perfect circle,” he murmured. “Imogen was killed by her sister before we could kill her, and now we get to kill the sister.” He grinned.
Kenzie smiled at him, her heart pounding.
It was going perfectly.
Now all she needed was to find the gun.
And hope it was still loaded.
Headlights flashed in her rearview mirror.
Kate Lange had arrived.
49
Kate jumped out of her car, envelope in hand. She strode to the entrance of the tattoo shop and stood under the light.
Kenzie walked out of a lane by the tattoo studio.
The past few days had taken a toll on her. Her long hair was tangled, pulled back in a messy knot on the back of her neck. Tension tightened her face.
Kate thought of the photos of the younger, more beautiful, defiant Kenzie. Did she regret any of what she had done to Kate’s sister?
Or, if Kate was correct in her suspicions, what she had done to Heather Rigby?
And, she couldn’t help wondering, had she had a role in her mother’s death?
But these suspicions had to remain unvoiced. Her client had confessed. Kate had no proof her client had lied. She had no proof that Kenzie had committed a crime. Even the photo at the bunker meant very little. They were taken months before Heather’s death. The police already knew Kenzie hung out there. She had been on their radar from the beginning.
“Hi, Kate. Thanks for coming,” Kenzie said. She had a friendly smile pasted on her face.
Kate did not, could not, reciprocate. She held out the envelope. “Here it is.”
Take it.
I never want to lay eyes on you again.
“Thanks.” Kenzie tore open the envelope, glancing at Kate. “My mom told me that this was a key for a storage locker at Bluenose Self-Storage. She said she put my old things from my bedroom in there to prepare the house for sale.”
Why are you telling me this?
“And she says that there were some belongings of Imogen’s that she found in my room that she wanted me to give you.”
Really? When did you ever do what your mother wanted you to do?
Yet she found herself asking, “What kind of belongings?”
Kenzie frowned. “I’m not sure. I didn’t realize that I had any of her stuff. But I was kind of self-absorbed back then.” She gave Kate an apologetic smile, an acknowledgment of the bitch she had once been. “Kate…I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time—”
The hair on Kate’s neck quivered. She’d been waiting to hear this for a long time.
Kenzie took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about what happened to your sister.”
Was her apology for real?
“Do you want to come with me?” Kenzie’s gaze was open. “I’m not sure I’d recognize Imogen’s stuff if I came across it.” She glanced at her watch. “I don’t have a lot of time, Kate. My flight leaves later tonight.” She stuffed the key into her pocket.
Kate’s mind raced through the labyrinthine possibilities of Kenzie’s offer.
Before she had died, Frances had alluded to the fact that she still might have the gun that killed Heather Rigby. Could it be in the storage locker?
But Kenzie wasn’t stupid.
If she thought the gun was there, why would she ask Kate to come?
She wouldn’t want Kate to be a witness.
Unless… The hair on the back of Kate’s arms rose. Unless she was she planning to kill Kate.
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