Killer Charms

by Marianne Stillings

  Chapter 24

  If your morals make you dreary…they are wrong.

  Robert Louis Stevenson

  This was it. Time to set a trap for a rat.

  Andie had agreed with Logan that Bostwick was too slippery for any kind of conventional sting. They knew the commander had to be nervous after what Logan had said to him during the interrogation. The fact they hadn’t seen Bostwick or any sign of a tail since then meant he was probably worried going after Logan would raise questions he didn’t want to answer.

  Or he didn’t know where Logan was hiding out, which was probably closer to the truth than anything.

  Bostwick apparently hadn’t put a tail on Andie, or she’d successfully evaded any followers. Either way, Logan couldn’t hide out in the mansion forever. Who knew which police officers Bostwick had in his pocket, or what their orders were if they spotted Logan.

  Turning the corner onto the Embarcadero, Andie pulled over into a minimart parking lot. After a deep and fortifying breath, she pressed the speed dial on her cell. Bostwick answered on the first ring.

  “Sir. I need to talk to you. Can I meet you somewhere?”

  “Inspector,” he said jovially. She could almost see him leaning back in his chair, putting his feet up on his desk, pleased with himself that he still had her on a short leash. The jerk. “I was wondering when you were going to come groveling. I had intended to contact you today vis-à-vis your status, but now, here you are. Great minds do think alike.”

  “Whatever. Sir.”

  “Ah, it’s nice to hear the deference in your voice,” he said smoothly. “It reminds me of our very divergent positions. Speaking of which, are you still riding Sinclair’s ass?”

  “With great enthusiasm, sir.” Snort. If he only knew.

  “Good,” he said sharply. “But he hasn’t been back to his hotel. Do you…happen to know where he’s gone?”

  “Negative, sir. He contacts me by phone, and we meet in public places. After your conversation with him at the station the other day, he seemed to feel it best to take up residence elsewhere. I’m not sure I understand what went on that day, but—”

  “Enough!” he snapped. “Status report, Inspector.”

  “Okay,” she said calmly. “I’ve uncovered some new information.”

  “Such as?”

  “Sinclair’s not his real name,” she said flatly. “And he’s not a con man. He’s a cop.”

  Let him sweat that one out, she thought.

  A little time ticked by, then a little more. She could almost hear the wheels turning frantically in Bostwick’s head as he tried to decide if he should just cut his losses and run, track Logan down and kill him, or stay the course and go for the necklace.

  Forcing the issue, she said, “We need to meet, Commander. I am in possession of…the item.”

  “You have…” He halted midsentence. She could almost hear him salivating. “You have it?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sure you can see now why we need to meet personally.”

  The noise she heard must have been his chair falling over as he jumped to his greedy little feet. “Well, why in the fuck didn’t you say so in the first place!”

  And the hook is set…

  Ignoring his question, she said, “How about we meet in thirty minutes in Golden Gate Park? It’s very public, and yet we can find a quiet place to…talk.”

  “Sure.” Then he laughed and lowered his voice. “If you think to set me up, Andie, I warned you before about that. Just so you’ll know, don’t bother wearing a wire because I’m going to search you.”

  “Knock yourself out, Commander. Where in the park—”

  “Tell you what, sweetheart,” he said. “You just go to the park. I’ll find you.” The line went dead.

  Glancing up the street, she pulled back out into traffic and pressed the speed dial for Logan’s number. When he answered, she said, “The meet’s in thirty minutes. Golden Gate Park. I’m on my way now. I’ll stall him as long as possible.”

  “Be on your guard, lass.”

  She snorted a laugh. “What would he try? When I told him you were a cop, he was quiet so long, I thought he’d fainted.”

  “Blacked out.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot the men-don’t-faint thing.”

  Turning left at the next corner, she headed north toward the park.

  How Bostwick would find her in a place that size, she had no idea, and didn’t really care. As long as he stayed away from his house for about an hour, whether she actually ran into him or not didn’t matter.

  In her ear, Logan said, “I want you to be careful, lass. He’s killed twice that I know of. He’s a rapacious bastard who covers his tracks well. You may be too much of a liability to him at this point, and he may decide to—”

  “Don’t worry about me, laddie. He knows I don’t have any evidence that can be used to prosecute him, only accusations, which he can refute. He doesn’t know you and I are working together. He’ll want the necklace too badly to pull anything. But I’m not stupid, I’ll be on guard, just in case. You just do your part so we can hang this guy by his balls, okay?”

  “As retribution goes, that’s a start.”

  Ahead of her, the park’s entrance came into view. “That reminds me, Logan. I’ve been wondering about something.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, you’re pursuing this case on your own time, right?”

  “Aye.”

  “Can you tell me why?”

  Logan was quiet for a moment, then said, “I was at university when my family died in a car accident. My father, mother, and sisters.”

  “Oh, Logan. I’m so sorry…”

  “It all but destroyed me, especially since…especially since it was my fault.”

  “Logan, no. Oh, God, I’m so—”

  “I was near suicidal with grief and guilt, but my university roommate kept me sane. He saved my life, not that I wanted it saved at the time. He was a good friend, a good man. Even when he came to the US, we never lost touch. Not until a year ago, when he was murdered.”

  Andie heard him swallow, take in a deep breath.

  “Tolley Mochrie was the best friend a man could ever have, and that’s a fact. Loved him like a brother, I did. When I found out what happened, what Bostwick did, I swore…I…I…”

  Everything Logan said confirmed what Ethan had discovered about Logan Macmillan, but she hadn’t wanted Logan to know she’d had her brother do a background on him, not with their history of trust issues.

  Though she knew what had happened, she hadn’t been prepared for the profound grief she heard in Logan’s voice. The accident had happened fifteen years ago, but he was still punishing himself; perhaps he always would.

  And because she loved him, she had to know…

  “Logan?”

  Silence. Then a quiet, “Aye?”

  “Tell me the truth now.”

  “Aye.”

  She licked her lips. “Tell me, is it your intention to capture Bradley Bostwick,” she said, “or kill him?”

  Andie parked her car in the small lot near the pagoda. According to her information, Dylan had been shot somewhere near here, which was why she’d chosen it. Maybe the location would make Bostwick nervous, and if anyone deserved to be nervous, it was that son of a bitch.

  One of the perils of setting up the commander was that she had to do it alone. Had to. She hadn’t even told her brothers what she was up to. They either would have tried to stop her, or butted in. Bostwick was her commander. He’d tried to take down her partner. He’d bullied her, blackmailed her, and basically treated her like shit, and now it was payback time.

  She didn’t want anybody else horning in on taking the bastard down. Anybody except Logan, of course. But then, she couldn’t begrudge Logan; he had his own axe to grind with Bostwick.

  The afternoon was waning; it would be evening soon. The spring air felt cool but not cold against her face as she walked down the empty pathway that led to a
rose garden.

  It would go like this: Bostwick would approach. She’d tell him about Sinclair and what the Scotland Yard detective had in mind. A frantic Bostwick would then race back to his home only to find Logan and the San Francisco PD waiting for him, evidence in hand linking him to his crimes. The commander would be arrested and indicted on two counts of homicide…and one count of theft. The DA’s office would prosecute, they’d go to trial where Andie—and others, hopefully—would describe in detail the skanky defendant’s proclivity for manipulation and blackmail. Good old Bradley would be professionally disgraced, publicly humiliated, and ultimately convicted.

  Sure, the case would drag on and on; she was prepared for lawyers’ tricks. Favors would be called in. There’d be appeals, but in the end, justice would prevail.

  It had to, or all this was for nothing.

  The only hitch in the plan was Logan. He wouldn’t throw away everything for a chance to kill Bostwick, would he? Dammit, would he? Not that she cared one way or the other about Bostwick’s sorry hide. She didn’t want Logan ruining his life—or their life together—to avenge his friend.

  When he came face-to-face with the commander, Logan would do the right thing, wouldn’t he?

  Of course, if Dylan died, maybe her feelings about all that would change. If the situation were different, and Bostwick had killed somebody she loved…Ethan or Nate…would she be able to stay her hand, keep her weapon holstered, or would the taste of revenge be too sweet, too seductive?

  If she was brutally honest with herself, she’d have to say she just didn’t know…and that fact alone was terrifying.

  She glanced around. No more cars on the road behind her, the path ahead was empty, too. How Bostwick would find her, given the size and complexity of Golden Gate Park, she wasn’t sure, so she stayed within view of the pagoda. In the distance, a car drove slowly by; not the commander’s, at least, not one she recognized.

  Wandering up and down the path, she tried to stay calm, relaxed. Everything would work out. If Bostwick showed up and gave her any trouble, she felt confident she could handle him. After all, he’d been sitting behind a desk for twenty years and hired his dirty work done.

  Even so, it wouldn’t be prudent to underestimate him. A caged animal had a certain motivation for prevailing, and Bostwick might not be as lame as he appeared.

  Her stomach began to feel queasy as her instincts kicked into gear. It wouldn’t be good to get too confident, or cocky. The guy was no dummy; he could probably pull a fast one on her, so she’d best be on guard. Her .38 was in easy reach under her jacket, and she was in a public place. It would be okay.

  Of course, Dylan had been in the same public place, and look what had happened to him. But no, she thought. This was different; it would play out differently. She was out to get Bostwick, not the other way around.

  She rubbed the bridge of her nose. God, she was way overthinking this whole thing. What she needed was to relax a little…

  Blowing out a breath, she wandered back toward the rose garden. This early in April, the buds were just beginning to open, and the honeyed scent of a Peace rose met her nose. She stopped and bent to touch one of the fragile petals.

  Someone moved up quickly behind her and she whirled to face him, her hand automatically darting under her jacket. “Commander.” She slowly lowered her arm.

  Bradley Bostwick looked awful. His skin seemed too tight for his face, his eyes were bloodshot, and his mouth turned down at an ugly angle.

  “Do you have it?” Though he all but snarled the words, his voice held a weary note. Thrusting his hand toward her, he quietly ordered, “Give it to me.”

  “I, well, I didn’t exactly bring it with me—”

  His eyes widened, and he lunged toward her, grabbing at her purse. He tore it open and tossed the contents onto the path. When he didn’t find the necklace, he stalked toward Andie. “You stupid bitch! If you set me up—”

  His arm snaked out and before she could move back out of reach, he took hold of her wrist. With his free hand, he curled his fingers over the collar of her shirt and jerked at the fabric. Buttons popped as the blouse gave way, ripping open, revealing bare skin and nothing more.

  Bostwick let go of her arm as he simply stared at her chest.

  “I told you I wasn’t going to wear a wire,” she drawled, then reached up to tug the edges of her shirt together. “Did you really think I was dumb enough to drive around with a necklace worth ten million dollars in my handbag?”

  He stood a couple of feet from her, his back bent, shoulders hunched, his arms out, and fingers splayed like a gymnast preparing to do a handstand. “I hate to sound like a broken record, Andie,” he choked, “but where is the goddamned necklace!”

  “You answer one of my questions,” she said, “and I’ll answer one of yours.”

  “What in the hell are you—”

  “Did you personally shoot Dylan Jericho?”

  His head came up, and his eyes narrowed. He gave a little shrug as though he didn’t care one way or the other what she did with the information. “Yeah, I shot him. He was doing some valuable favors for me in return for me keeping what I know about him to myself.”

  “You blackmailed him,” she said flatly. “The way you did me.”

  “Yeah. What of it?”

  “If he was so valuable, as you say, why’d you shoot him?”

  Bostwick eyed her for a moment, then calmly, he said, “Because I promised to punish you if you didn’t get me the necklace, and I am, after all, a man of my word. So if anyone’s to blame, it’s you, Inspector Darling. Not me. You. I was simply fulfilling my obligation.” He grinned a little then and offered up another casual shrug.

  “But Dylan didn’t die,” she said evenly. “He might even recover.” In the fading light, she glared at him. “And if he does, what you have on him will be nothing compared to what he has on you.”

  Bostwick ran splayed fingers through his hair. His eyes gleamed with malice and fear. Judging by his jerky motions, his nerves were getting to him. He was disasssembling before her very eyes, making him more unpredictable and dangerous than ever.

  He nodded a few times, absently, as though checking off a grocery list inside his head. Then, “Where is the necklace?”

  Andie waited a moment until she had his full attention. When his eyes met hers, she said, “It’s at your house, Commander.” When Bostwick’s brows raised, she said, “Sinclair’s on his way there right now, planting it for the police to find. He who has the necklace did the Mochrie murder, isn’t that what you said, Commander, or words to that effect? You did kill your girlfriend to get it, didn’t you?” She began backing away from him. “If you hurry, you might be able to find it and get to the airport before the good guys close in.”

  “You set me up.” His voice was hoarse, the words barely audible.

  She didn’t so much as bat an eye. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely, you bastard.”

  He took a step toward her, so she jabbed her hand under her jacket, reaching for her weapon.

  But Bostwick was a lot faster than she ever would have given him credit for. His hand darted behind his back, and the next thing she knew, a blade flashed in his hand.

  The butt of her gun was in her palm…

  The long blade in Bostwick’s fingers flashed in the dying sunlight…

  She threw the safety on her weapon, raised her arms, aimed…

  Bostwick lurched forward, his arm down, the knife pointed up to gut her…

  She fired point-blank just as the blade sliced into her ribs like a white-hot lance. She choked, and buckled under the pain. Her weapon fell from her paralyzed fingers.

  Bostwick’s free hand clamped down hard over her open mouth while his knife hand encircled her waist. He tried to jab her again, but she kicked at him and let her body go limp, trying to use her deadweight against him, but he dragged her backwards into a thick copse of trees.

  She struggled, tried to claw at his hands and face, keep t
he knife away, but the pain from her wound made her dizzy and weak. Nausea threatened to overtake her, but she fought on, slamming into his shins with her heel as hard as she could.

  In the shadows under the trees, she caught a glimpse of his face. Bostwick, his features contorted into a grim and hideous mask. He said nothing, but shoved her to an arm’s length and grabbed her throat, choking her as he raised the blood-slicked knife over her head.

  With the last ounce of strength she possessed, she gripped his wrists and brought her knee up directly into his crotch, sending him backwards, doubled over in pain.

  She was free of him, but the effort cost her control of her balance. She fell, landing on her wounded side, agony turning her muscles to useless jelly. Helpless to stand, her body began rolling down the steep slope that led to a dark and secluded pond. Twigs, rocks, broken leaves bit her face and hands as she tried to slow her downward motion, but nothing worked. She slammed into the trunk of a small tree, her feet resting in the shallow water at the edge of the pond.

  Dazed, she opened her eyes to see the silhouette of a man standing at the top of the hill, the knife gripped in his hand. Slowly, she dragged her body into the shadows where she was sure he couldn’t see her. He seemed to be trying to decide whether to come after her or not, but to do so might cost him the necklace.

  In the end, greed won out, and the commander disappeared from view.

  Andie tried to reach for her phone, but the muscles in her arms seemed dead, and would not respond. It felt as though hours passed before she edged her hand near enough her waistband to grab the phone, but when her fingers finally found the cell’s holster, it was empty.

  Gasping for breath, she let her head fall back onto the stiff grass. She narrowed her eyes and looked to the top of the hill to see if Bostwick had returned, but the night shrouded the entire woods, leaving her essentially blind.

  God, her lids weighed a ton, too heavy to keep open. Closing her eyes, she silently moved her lips.

  “Logan, can you hear me? He’s on his way…careful, careful now…stay safe…stay safe…love you…”

  Too dark…too much pain…going to faint…no, not faint, goddammit…black out…