The Killing Game

by Nancy Bush

  Luke was trying to place her. Not the sister. That woman was a bit shorter and heavier. “You’re Gregory Wren’s widow?”

  “Yes.”

  “How were you threatened?”

  “I was at the gym and he was on the treadmill next to mine. Your . . . ex-partner’s case came up on the TV and you were interviewed.”

  “Ah.” Luke made a face.

  “Brian started talking to me, and I realized who he was. He said something to the effect that it would be better if we all got along. How the Carreras were good friends and bad enemies.”

  “Well, that’s definitely true.”

  “I don’t want to go to the police. With this lawsuit against your partner, it seems like they’re all just covering their . . . covering for themselves.”

  “They are covering their asses,” he agreed. “But they also do their jobs. The Carreras don’t play nice. You’re right to be concerned.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  He noticed how flawless her skin was. “Did Carrera say or do anything else?”

  “He told me that I need to make sure my brother- and sister-in-law understand that part, about being better friends than enemies.”

  “I’d like nothing more than to put the Carrera brothers away for the rest of their natural lives,” he stated flatly.

  That netted him her first real smile. She’d set the bag beside her chair, but now she reached into it and gingerly pulled out a white letter-sized envelope with ANDREA printed on the front. She carefully unfolded the paper from it and slid it across his desk.

  Written in block print was: Little birds need to fly.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “I just bought a cabin on Schultz Lake and last night this was waiting for me, on the bed. This morning Brian Carrera was on the treadmill next to me.”

  “You think he left it for you?”

  “I’ve never had any contact with him before, so why is he targeting me? How did he know about my cabin? But I don’t know who else would have left the note. It feels like a threat. I just . . .” She trailed off. Luke tried to hand the note back to her, but she shook her head. “Keep it.”

  He stared down at the message. “It’s a play on your last name.”

  “The lock on the cabin’s front door was broken, so anyone could have wandered in. Or maybe they broke in. I don’t know. I called my real estate agent and she was going to send someone out to repair it.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to find out who sent me the note. If it was the Carreras, I want to stop them, make sure they can’t get away with threatening me, or any one of us.”

  “But no police.”

  “No police.” Her green gaze was steady, but he sensed the tension coiled within her. “I don’t know what the range of your services is, but I may also need protection.”

  “Personal protection?”

  She shifted in her seat. “I have . . .” She seemed uncertain how to continue. He waited, knowing sometimes silence worked better than questions. “I have an issue I learned about yesterday that I’m still working out.”

  “What kind of issue?”

  She was silent so long he thought she might not answer him. Then she drew in a breath and expelled it in a rush. “I’m . . . pregnant,” she blurted out. “About three months. It’s my husband’s. I’m still adjusting to the news, and I really don’t know what to do about the Carreras, but I want to feel safe. I want my baby to be safe.”

  As Lucas absorbed that information, the smell of eastern spices drifted to his nose. It apparently reached hers, too, because she turned toward the aroma like a bloodhound with a scent.

  “Any chance you and the baby might like some Thai-ish food?” he asked, hooking a thumb toward the wall that separated his office from the restaurant.

  “Thai-ish?”

  “Asian fusion.”

  She relaxed a bit for the first time. “The baby and I would love it.”

  Chapter Four

  They headed out together and he was locking the door to his office when he remembered Helena. She was late, not the first time she’d forgotten the time or been a no-show. Still ...

  “Go on in and get out of the heat. I gotta make a call.”

  “No, I’ll wait.”

  “Okay, but ...” He trailed off as he looked across the front lot and saw Helena slam the door on her Ford Escape. She saw him, too, and barreled his way. “I had a client scheduled for eleven-thirty,” he explained to Andi. “I thought you were her, but there she is now.”

  Andi looked past him toward Helena, whose red hair was flying out behind her like a cape as she stalked toward Lucas. “Hmm. I’ll get that table,” Andi said and wisely headed inside.

  Helena flicked a glance at Andi’s retreating back as she approached Luke. “Who was that?”

  “Someone I’m meeting for lunch. You were late.”

  “Barely. Carlos wants full custody of Emily and it’s your fault!”

  “Whoa ... whoa ... How is it my fault? And since when are you getting a divorce?”

  “Since I filed papers last week. Now, all of a sudden, he wants to be a daddy, and he’s never been there for her!”

  That was patently untrue, but Luke knew better than to say so. He guided Helena back to his office and hustled her inside. “Make it quick,” he told her.

  “Why? So you can meet your date?”

  “Helena, Carlos hasn’t shown any indication that he’s anything but a model parent. I never found anything that said otherwise. I’m not a lawyer, but—”

  “You didn’t try hard enough. Now he’s going to take Emily away from me!”

  “He can’t do that. Neither of you can.”

  “I’ve got to get away from him. He’s a crazy man. You just don’t see it.”

  “Don’t do anything rash. You need a good lawyer. Why did you file for divorce? You never said anything about filing.”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Well, because now things can escalate. You’ve thrown down the gauntlet.”

  “I don’t know what you’re saying. If I don’t do something, Carlos wins. He’ll take Emily back to Colombia and that’ll be it. You’ve got to help me!”

  “Myrna Mintz is an excellent divorce attorney. I’ll give you her number.”

  When Luke turned toward his desk, his eye fell on the note left for Andi. Little birds need to fly . . . He was momentarily distracted until Helena grabbed him by his sleeve. “I don’t want a fucking lawyer. I want my daughter safe with me.”

  “Helena,” he warned.

  “If you won’t help me, I’ll get someone who will.”

  “C’mon. Take a moment.”

  “You haven’t helped me at all. You just tell me what not to do.”

  “I don’t think Carlos is trying to kidnap Emily.”

  “Good-bye, Luke. Thanks for nothing.” With that, she stomped out of the office and slammed the door. Luke carefully put Andi’s note back inside the envelope and tucked it beneath a few papers that were already inside his in-box.

  * * *

  Asian World was a rectangular room with a series of booths arranged in blocks with wooden half walls, painted black. The half walls rose three feet above the red Naugahyde bench seats, offering privacy. The smell of the restaurant’s dishes made Andi’s mouth water. She figured that was a good sign. Hunger. Even with everything that was going on, her body was signaling that she needed to take care of herself.

  She wasn’t sure what she thought of Lucas Denton. He’d seemed approachable from the pictures she’d seen on television and in the paper, but in person he exuded a strength of character that hadn’t come through on screen. She’d been shocked by how much she wanted to just fold herself into his arms and let him take care of her.

  Good. God.

  An Asian waitress waved to her to take any seat, and Andi chose one of the booths near the front door. The thin metal blinds were drawn across the w
indow against the heat, but there was a tiny vertical strip along the edge where she could just see Luke’s client slam out of the office and stalk toward her Escape.

  Whatever her deal was, things must not have gone well.

  “You like something to drink?” the waitress asked her, dropping off a menu. “Tea?”

  “Two menus, please, and um, water would be great.”

  She left abruptly, but Andi called after her, “Do you have decaf tea?”

  A brief nod without a look back said she’d been heard.

  The door opened and Luke stepped inside. He spied Andi immediately and slipped inside the booth across from her.

  “That was your eleven-thirty?” she asked.

  He glanced at the large watch he wore on his left arm. “More like a twelve-ten.”

  “We’re on the clock, then. I assume I’m footing the bill for lunch.”

  She said it matter-of-factly, and for some reason it pissed Luke off.

  “Now see, that attitude really stinks. I was planning on going Dutch, unless you really want to fork over your hard-earned money.”

  “Dutch is fine.”

  “Relax,” he told her. “We’re going to get the Carreras.”

  “Are we?” To her consternation, she suddenly felt tears burn her eyes. Oh God . . . oh, please, don’t let me cry.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  And that’s when the waterworks started.

  * * *

  She couldn’t believe this was happening, especially in front of Luke Denton. It was mortifying. She desperately tried to keep from crying, but her throat grew hot and her eyes filled with tears. She ducked her head, horrifically embarrassed, and when he said, “Hormones,” she started laughing, swiping at the wet tracks on her face.

  “I don’t think that’s strictly true, but I’ll take any excuse.”

  She picked up her menu with its pictorial depiction of the available dishes.

  “No excuse,” he said. “Fact.”

  She couldn’t look up from the menu yet. She needed some time to collect herself. She finally managed a brief glance in his direction and was disconcerted to find him staring back at her. His eyes were blue, a deep cerulean shade she was a sucker for, and his hair was brown, a couple of shades darker than her own. He had a dimple and a really nice smile. She had the deep, dreaded feeling that she’d made a mistake with him. He was the kind of man/boy type she generally couldn’t stomach, the kind that oozed charm and cleverness, when in reality they were just a shade or two above empty-headed. But Denton had quit the force in his loyalty to his partner, and that showed character.

  “Do you know what you’re going to order?” she asked him, aware he hadn’t looked at the menu.

  “Yeah. Do you?”

  “No.”

  “You look like a salad type.” He hitched a thumb to the specials written on a chalkboard. “I’ve heard the green papaya salad is good.”

  It felt like things were getting away from her. “I can order for myself.”

  “That is not in doubt.”

  “Have you had the salad?”

  “Nope.”

  “What are you having?”

  “I like a lot of curry,” he said.

  Her stomach did an uncomfortable twist, and suddenly the prospect of any kind of food was iffy. From being starved, she was now uncertain she would make it through the meal without disgracing herself. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead. “The salad could be good.”

  The waitress came by and asked for their order, and Luke ordered the green papaya salad for her, then picked out a few items for himself, all with curry in the title, then turned to Andi, whose stomach gave a hard wrench.

  “Excuse me . . .”

  She walked quickly toward the back of the restaurant, relieved when she correctly guessed where the restrooms were. She locked herself inside the unisex unit and leaned against the door, willing her stomach to relax. Man, it was as if her hormones had just been waiting for her to catch on. Holy God.

  She had to splash water on her face and fight back the urge to retch, but finally she got herself together. She looked at her wan reflection in the mirror.

  What are you doing?

  She’d had a boyfriend once who’d been the same type of character as Lucas Denton—amused, detached, maybe a little too cute—and she’d broken off that relationship after only a few months. But she could feel her heightened interest now, and it kind of pissed her off.

  She returned to the table. Luke leaned on his arms and said, “You sure you’re all right?”

  “Fine.”

  “Okay. Tell me about Carrera. Word for word, as much as you can remember, about what he said to you this morning.”

  “Didn’t I already tell you?”

  “Give it to me again. The whole conversation. As much as you can remember. Everything.”

  With an effort, Andi pulled herself together. She’d hired him and she was going to go with it. “The news was on at my club and someone kept switching the television station. Bolchoy’s hearing was on . . . and you . . . but then there was this archived segment with my husband . . . Greg . . . who was saying that the Carreras build steel-and-glass buildings but that the Wrens were constructing a lodge more in the vein of the one at Crater Lake. Something like that.”

  The waitress returned with their meals and Andi looked down at hers, very aware of her jumpy stomach.

  “That interview was about a month before Greg died,” she added, dragging her gaze from the food.

  “Brian Carrera was on the treadmill next to you?” Luke asked, digging into his meal.

  “Yes.”

  “And he was watching the newscast, too?”

  “Oh yes. Greg was going on about how the Carreras were the wrong choice because they would destroy the feel of the area.” She shook her head. “Again, it was something like that.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I ignored him. I didn’t really look at him. I didn’t know who he was.”

  “He just happened to be on the treadmill next to you.”

  “Well . . . yes.”

  “Did you get there first or did he?”

  “I did. When he took that treadmill I put my jogging jacket over the treadmill on my other side so I could save a place for my friend, Trini.”

  “Could he have picked any another treadmill?”

  “He did it on purpose. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

  “You’re not going to faint, are you? You’re white as a sheet.”

  “I don’t faint.” Liar. “At least not usually,” she amended.

  “It sounds like Carrera set this up to talk to you. Warn you. Threaten you. Get a reaction.”

  She nodded.

  “What was the threat again? As close as you can remember.”

  “Something like, ‘Maybe you can pass on some information to your brother- and sister-in-law. Tell them to be more reasonable. We make better friends than enemies.’” She carefully tucked her fork into the salad. “And then he said, ‘That lodge you’re building doesn’t look safe.’ And then I said, ‘Did you just threaten me?’ and he said we had common interests, and I said, ‘We have vastly different tactics.’”

  Luke was listening, but he was also eating with an appetite she suddenly envied. It felt like her whole body was in rebellion. She realized she’d counted on sailing through her pregnancy with no problems at all, which was unrealistic to say the least. But whatever it took, it was worth it.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I wish I had said something about the note they left, but I was too stunned and blindsided.”

  “You’re sure they left it?”

  “Well, no . . . but logically, I get the note and the next day Brian Carrera’s on the treadmill next to me?”

  “You don’t have any other enemies?”

  “I didn’t even really know I had these. I haven’t been involved in the business until rece
ntly.”

  Luke nodded. “The fact that it’s a play on words for your last name, which is part of the corporation name, points to the Carreras in a way. They’re attacking Wren Development and the Wren family as a whole. But it’s strange for them. Unless . . .”

  “Unless?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve followed the Carreras for a long time. They’re money-motivated thugs. Little birds need to fly suggests they want you to leave, and that makes sense, but they usually don’t have that much imagination. His threats to you this morning? They were on the nose. ‘We’re good friends and bad enemies.’ That sounds just like them.”

  “So?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t like the idea that someone has some deeper, hidden message. The note inside your cabin was directed at you, whereas Brian coming to see you at the gym today was in order to make you the messenger. It’s psychologically different.”

  “I guess you’re right.” She put down her fork, unable to eat.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “No, it’s . . . the pregnancy, I think.”

  “Ah.” He regarded her soberly. “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just spitballing here.”

  Andi’s pulse had elevated. Her mind was jumping all over the place. “You think they’re specifically targeting me.”

  “I don’t know. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, say what you’re thinking. Please. I need to know.”

  “I think you might be a target,” he said carefully.

  “That’s why I came to you.” Her voice was rising. “They left me that message. They . . . chose me because I’m the majority stockholder.”

  “Wait . . . don’t jump to conclusions. It could be more personal.”

  Andi gazed at him. Perplexed, she asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Could they know you’re pregnant?”

  “No!”

  “I just thought maybe they’re targeting you because they think you’re the most vulnerable. That you’ll cave easiest.”

  “They don’t know about the baby because I just found out.” Andi stood up and Luke stood, too.

  “That’s not it, then. Shit. I’m doing this wrong. I shouldn’t have said that. Bolchoy would have my head if he were here.”