Simon Says Die

by LENA DIAZ,

  He jerked back as if she’d struck him. His eyes searched hers. He looked down at her hands, as if expecting her to move them. Pain streaked across his face. “So I’m just a good lay?”

  She grimaced. “That’s a crude way to put it, but yeah. We were great in bed, but that’s pretty much it.”

  He stared at her for a long time. Then he let her go, turned around and stood at the window looking out on the street.

  Unshed tears clogged her throat. She headed back into her bedroom and closed the connecting door.

  Five minutes later, she stepped into the hallway, armed with the two guns she’d retrieved from her house before going to the bank.

  THE HOUSE ON East Gaston Street was dark, and Madison wasn’t sure where Damon would be. Was he watching her now? Had he seen her creep down the street from around the corner? She was wearing the darkest clothes she had—dark jeans, a dark blue button-up blouse. Brown leather boat shoes weren’t her fashion choice, but her white sneakers would have flashed in the meager light from the street lamps.

  Concealed across the street behind some tall shrubs, she watched the front windows of her house. After half an hour, her patience was rewarded. A shadow, slightly darker than the rest, paused in front of the picture window in the family room. The gauzy curtains opened a few inches as the person behind them looked outside.

  Remaining as still as she could, barely breathing, so she wouldn’t give herself away, she waited. Finally, the curtains closed, and she let out a shaky breath. She gathered her courage and steeled herself for the meeting that was about to come.

  PIERCE DIDN’T KNOW how long he stood in his room, thinking about Madison, and kicking himself for being so pathetic as to offer his ring, his name, and his heart all so she could turn him down.

  Again.

  The bright numbers on the clock by the bed told him how late it was. Usually, he’d be asleep by now, but he doubted he’d be able to get any sleep tonight. He listened for the sounds from the other room that would tell him Madison had gone to bed, but all he heard was silence.

  Silence? Madison wasn’t the quiet type. Everything she did, she did with gusto. She wasn’t the kind to tiptoe around a room. And when she slept, she snored. He should hear her, but instead, he heard . . . nothing.

  As if she weren’t even there.

  A sinking feeling in his gut had him rushing across the room and throwing open the door to her bedroom. It only took a moment for him to realize the room was empty.

  Madison was gone.

  He grabbed his 9mm and shoved it in the holster he still hadn’t removed. He threw his shoes on and rushed downstairs. The TV was blaring in the family room, but the innkeeper, Mr. Varley, wasn’t in his usual spot in his favorite recliner. Pierce checked the kitchen next, softly calling out Madison’s name. She wasn’t there.

  Where else could she be? He headed out the front door and ran to his car parked at the end of the block. As he hopped into his car, he tried calling Madison’s cell phone. But after calling twice without an answer, he punched another number into the phone.

  “Someone had better be dying for you to call me at this hour,” the sleepy feminine voice grumbled on the other end of the phone.

  “I need a trace on a cell phone.”

  “Nice to talk to you too.”

  “Tess—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure you’ll explain later. Give me a second to log into work.” A moment later she said, “What’s the number?”

  He rattled off Madison’s cell phone number and started the engine, waiting impatiently as he listened to Tessa typing on her keyboard.

  “Tes—”

  “Hold on. I’ve got it, Mr. Impatient. The phone is stationary. Looks like it’s on Abercorn, near the intersection with East Taylor.”

  “Calhoun Square. Thanks Tessa. I owe you.”

  MADISON KNEW SHE was a coward. Pierce deserved to hear the truth from her, that she loved him. But she’d rather hurt him with a lie of omission than risk his life by allowing Damon to go free.

  She crept toward the backdoor, hoping to catch Damon by surprise.

  “I didn’t really think you’d come.”

  Before Madison could react, Damon’s arms were suddenly around her, crushing her back against his chest. His hot breath tickled the hairs on the side of her neck, sending a shudder of revulsion coursing through her.

  “Let me go. You don’t have to hold on to me. I came here to see you of my own free will.”

  “True, you did. Surprised me quite a bit when I saw you creeping through the bushes out front. I didn’t think it would be this easy to get you here. But that doesn’t mean I trust you. Let’s get inside.”

  She stiffened against him, and he laughed as he forced her through the door into the back hallway and into the mudroom.

  When he let her go to shut the door, she dug into her pocket for the Colt .380 hidden there.

  “Uh-uh-uh,” he clucked as he wrestled it away from her. “I’ll take this.” He ran a hand across her body, making her squirm away in disgust when his hands squeezed her breasts.

  “What’s this?” he asked as his hand pressed against her midsection.

  The electronic recorder she’d brought with her. She tried to wiggle out of his arms but he was too strong. He shoved his hand into her front pocket and pulled out the recorder.

  He eyed it with scorn. “What did you hope to do with this? Wring a confession out of me and record it? Send me to prison?”

  “It was a thought.”

  He grinned and held the recorder up to his mouth like a microphone. “I confess that I killed Madison’s father.” He shoved the recorder into his own pocket. “It doesn’t matter what’s on that recording. No one’s ever going to hear it. Besides, I’m not the only guilty party here. You tried to kill me. You shot me, or don’t you remember?”

  “I wish I’d killed you that night.”

  “I’m sure you do. Good thing for me your aim was off. You only winged me.”

  He pushed her down the hall toward her home office. She balked, and he gave her a rough shove, driving her to her knees. Biting back a yelp of pain, she gritted her teeth and moved into the front room.

  “How did you keep getting into my house?” she asked. “How did you get into it tonight, without tripping the alarm?”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. Attached to the key ring was a security fob, like the one she used to have that had broken.

  “It pays to have friends in the security alarm industry,” he said, “especially when the security company is the same one who changed your locks.” He pocketed the key ring.

  She glanced around the room, trying to play up her nervousness so that he wouldn’t feel threatened by her. Inside she was seething, and yearning to yank her other gun out of her ankle holster. But unless Damon lowered his guard, he’d shoot her before she had a chance.

  “Would you quit pointing that thing at me? You could accidentally shoot me.”

  “Like you shot me?” he sneered. He held the gun out in front of him, aiming it at her. There was no way he would miss at this range. “What? No pleading? You’re not going to beg my forgiveness and tell me you didn’t mean to shoot me?”

  “Of course I meant to shoot you. You were trying to leave, and I wanted to stop you. I wanted you to pay for killing my father. ”

  “Tell me, dear wife, what did you think when my body was found—without a bullet in it? Did you realize I was still alive or did you just assume the bullet was lost in the fire?”

  “I . . . wasn’t sure.”

  He stalked toward her and leaned down in her face. “Does your boyfriend know you tried to kill your husband?”

  “He knows I shot you. If I was trying to kill you, you’d be dead. I never miss what I aim at. Why did you marry me if it was all a lie?”

  “I don’t suppose you would believe I was in love with you.” He shook his head at her disbelieving expression. “I didn’t think so.” He shrugged
. “I don’t know that I’ll ever love anyone, but I cared about you, enough not to kill you like I’ve done every other woman in my life. I wanted you to be happy, and if your dad had died when he was supposed to all of this could have been avoided.”

  She shuddered at his reference to killing, in that matter-of-fact tone. She wondered how many people he’d killed over the years, and counted herself lucky she’d managed to stay alive this long, after actually marrying the man. Bile rose in her throat, and she had to force it down. Then it dawned on her what else he’d just said. “What do you mean—‘if my dad had died when he was supposed to?’ ”

  “It’s amazing what people know and don’t realize they know. When I met you and you talked about your family, I immediately realized there was probably some money there, even though you didn’t. It was easy to get your father to brag about his investments, man to man. He was so proud that he was providing for his family, that you’d all be taken care of in style when he was gone. We’re talking millions of dollars. He’d lived a full, good life. If he’d died the first time I tried, you and I would probably still be together.”

  Shocked, she could do little more than stare at him.

  “Poor little Madison. You really haven’t learned much about me, even after helping your new boyfriend investigate me. What did he tell you? Did he figure out who I really am?”

  “You mean, an identity stealer, a con artist, and a loathsome serial killer—Simon?”

  He laughed. “Well, I’m all that—although I do think loathsome is a bit strong—and so much more. Your family was a means to an end. And eventually, when I tired of you, I’d have been set, a wealthy widower grieving the loss of his beloved wife. I could have lived off the money for years before I ran through it, or before I made a mistake and killed too close to home, forcing me to switch identities again.” He cocked his head. “Enough reminiscing about old times. Where’s the cashier’s check?”

  “I don’t have it,” she lied. If she gave him the money, she was dead. The only reason she’d brought the check was to use it in exchange for his confession. But without her recorder, or her gun, the check in her bra was now a liability.

  She needed to stall him, distract him, so she could go for her other gun.

  “You wouldn’t have come here without the money. Where is it?” he demanded.

  “In the safe.”

  “Safe? What safe?”

  “Over there.” She waved toward the far wall.

  He shoved her forward. “Go on.”

  She pulled a picture down, revealing the wall safe.

  Damon ground the muzzle of his gun in her back. “Open it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  PIERCE CUT HIS headlights and inched the car forward until he was fifty feet behind a parked car he didn’t recognize, the only other car on Calhoun square. It had to be the car Madison had taken, but he didn’t know where she’d gotten it.

  What was she thinking to sneak out of the inn this late at night? Why had she gone to Calhoun Square of all places and parked on the darkest curb far away from the nearest street lamp?

  He was going to give her hell just as soon as he was certain she was okay. He could see someone sitting in the driver’s seat, a shadow among shadows. But something wasn’t right. The shadow sat too high in the seat, with shoulders far too broad to be petite Madison.

  A deep feeling of unease swept through him. He got out of his car and eased the door shut. Gun drawn, he crept forward. He crouched down when he neared the other car, careful to stay in the driver’s blind spot. A few more feet, then he stood up beside the driver’s window, gun and flashlight pointing at the occupant inside.

  Startled, the driver jumped then threw up his hands as he blinked against the harsh light.

  Pierce swore viciously as he recognized the man inside. “Open the door, Mr. Varley.”

  Varley, shaking so hard he could barely manage the door handle, finally unlocked the door.

  Pierce shoved the door open and hauled Varley out of the car with a quick twist of his shirt collar.

  Varley landed on the street. Pierce did a quick sweep of the car’s interior. Empty. He turned his attention on the frightened innkeeper owner.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  Varley’s eyes were as wide as an owl’s. He held his hands up in the air, his mouth opening and closing like a fish but making no sounds.

  “Oh for the love of . . . put your hands down. I’m not going to shoot you.” Pierce shoved his gun into his waistband and hauled the man to his feet. “Speak, before I change my mind about shooting.”

  The man stared at Pierce’s gun for a few more seconds then finally managed to raise his gaze. “I was watching a late movie in the common room when Mrs. McKinley came downstairs. She told me a friend had called her, that she’d had car trouble and Mrs. McKinley was going to help her.”

  “Go on,” Pierce urged him.

  “I told her it wasn’t safe to go by herself at this hour. I insisted that she take you with her. She told me you were sleeping. She said she didn’t want to wake you to get your keys, and asked if she could borrow my car. I . . . I couldn’t let her go by herself, so I agreed to drive her. Once she got to this square she told me to wait for her, that she’d be back in a few minutes.” He looked around as if he expected her to appear at any moment.

  “She didn’t tell you where she was going?”

  “No.”

  “Did you at least see which direction she went?”

  Varley scratched his head. “I’m not really sure. It’s too dark to see anything out here.” He shivered and looked around, as if he were afraid someone was going to jump out of the shadows at him.

  Pierce gritted his teeth against the urge to shake him. Something wasn’t adding up here. Tessa had triangulated Madison’s phone to this car. “Where’s her phone?”

  “Her phone? I don’t under—”

  Losing patience, Pierce turned and conducted a more thorough search of the car. Just as he’d suspected, Madison’s phone was inside. She’d shoved it down between the passenger seat and the middle console.

  “Special Agent Buchanan, sir?” Mr. Varley was standing a few feet back from the open door, twisting the hem of his shirt between his hands.

  “What?” Pierce growled.

  “Do you think I should . . . ah . . . call the police or something? Do you think Mrs. McKinley is in some kind of trouble?”

  “She’s always in some kind of trouble.”

  Varley’s brows crept up to his hairline. “Sir?”

  “Just give me a minute.” He tried to ignore the nearly apoplectic man standing beside him. He punched the screen on Madison’s cell phone and the light came on, showing that a message was waiting to be read, a message she’d texted to her own phone. He opened the message.

  Pierce, I couldn’t risk Damon being free to hurt anyone else. I went to get his confession. If you’re reading this, I didn’t succeed. I had to do this. I had to see it through to the end. And I couldn’t risk your life, not again. I had to protect you, which is why I couldn’t take that ring. I needed you to be angry enough to leave the room, so I could go home and meet Damon. Please forgive me. I have always loved you. I will always love you. Always.

  He cursed and threw the phone down on the seat. He glanced around the square, trying to get his bearings. Madison’s house wasn’t far from here, a short hike. She’d probably just walked there after leaving Varley sitting in the car.

  Digging his phone out of his pocket, he punched up a quick message and pressed send, before handing his phone to Varley. “Call the number on that screen as many times as it takes to wake up the person on the other end. Ask for Lieutenant Hamilton and tell him to read the text message that I just sent him. Can you do that?”

  “Well, uh, sure. I guess so. But why don’t you call him yourself?” He held the phone toward Pierce as if it were a snake, and he was afraid of getting bitten.

  Because Hamilton will order me no
t to go in without backup.

  “You can drive back to the inn, but not before making that call. I know where Mrs. McKinley is, and she needs my help. Just promise me you’ll make that call. It’s vitally important. You could be saving Mrs. McKinley’s life.”

  As Pierce had hoped, Varley puffed his chest out with self-importance. “Yes, sir. I can make that call.” Just then the phone rang and Varley jumped in surprise. “Should I answer it?”

  Pierce leaned over and looked at the screen. Hamilton. He’d gotten the text after all and he’d called the phone that had sent him the text.

  “Yes, that’s the man I wanted you to call. Make sure he sends help. I’m relying on you. Mrs. McKinley is relying on you.”

  “You can count on me, Special Agent Buchanan.” Mr. Varley punched a button on the phone. “Hello?” He winced and held the phone away from his ear.

  Pierce could hear the yelling coming through the phone. He shot Varley a sympathetic glance and ran for his car.

  ONE MORE SPIN of the dial. Click. Madison pulled the lever and the safe opened.

  Damon shoved her to the side and reached his arm into the safe.

  Taking advantage of his distraction, Madison jumped up and kicked his wrist, sending his gun flying across the carpet. He whirled around. She ducked and rolled out of his way.

  He lunged after her, but she came up with the gun from her ankle holster. He stopped inches away with the muzzle of her gun pressed against his forehead.

  “Back off. Now.”

  He slowly backed away, his hands in the air. “You’d begrudge your husband a few lousy bucks?”

  “Quit saying that. You’re not my husband anymore.”

  “Sure I am. Until death do us part, sweetheart.”

  He suddenly dove to the side and came up with the other gun.

  A shot rang out, deafening in the small room. Damon cried out as the gun sailed out of his hand. He screamed in agony, clutching his bloody hand to his chest. Pierce stood in the doorway, his own gun leveled at Damon.