The Killing Game

by Nancy Bush

  “One of them was at Lacey’s,” he said. “Don’t know which one.”

  “What?” Andi’s pulse leaped. Jarrett was regarding her intensely, waiting for her reaction.

  “One of the Carreras. In fact, Trini was talking to him, or trying to, anyway.”

  “Trini?”

  “She walked right over to him and gave him some shit. You know Trini.” Jarrett smiled.

  “Oh no. She shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Relax. She was half drunk. Blake or Brian or whoever didn’t pay much attention.”

  “How do you know that? I don’t trust the Carreras as far as I can throw ’em. And none of this is like Trini.”

  “I know. How well does she know them?” he asked.

  “She doesn’t. She didn’t, anyway. I don’t get what this is about.”

  “I guess she was just drunk and flirty.”

  “She was flirting with him? You said she got in his face.”

  “Yeah, well.” He shrugged, as if dismissing the conversation. “It coulda been anything. I didn’t talk to her.”

  Andi sensed he was starting to shut down on her, but now she wanted more information. “She was in a relationship the last I heard, although it wasn’t going well,” she admitted.

  “Must be over now. Or else she’s cheatin’ on the guy.” He hitched his chin toward the window and the darkness beyond. “You oughta get a boat. This’d be a sweet place to keep one, take it out on the water at night.”

  “Why were you at Lacey’s?” Andi asked again. “I mean, seriously.”

  “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Another lift of a shoulder, but he was suddenly tense. “I stopped in at the bar. Don’t make a federal case out of it.” He moved toward the door.

  “Wait! I didn’t mean to piss you off. It’s just you’ve never gone there before, at least to my knowledge, and I get the feeling you’re holding back.”

  His expression shifted, his lips flattening. “I knew Trini’d be there, okay?” he finally spat out. “I texted with her and that’s where she was going.”

  “You planned to meet her?”

  “I just wanted to talk to her. But like I said, I think she went there to find somebody.”

  “Bobby?”

  “Who’s Bobby?” he asked.

  “The guy she was seeing. The relationship that’s maybe over now.”

  “Well, she gave the impression that she was there to meet other guys. Her eyes were on the door until Carrera walked in.”

  “And then she got in his face?”

  “I was talking to her and she just lost the conversation as soon as he came in. She went right over to him.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “Like how great the lodge you’re building was and how happy she was that some properties were going to stay intact. A kids’ camp, or something?”

  “I didn’t know she knew so much about it.”

  “I think she said something about you and a treadmill?”

  “Oh God.” Andi paced across the room. “What the hell is she doing?”

  He dismissed her. “I wouldn’t worry about it. He just blew it off.”

  “She wasn’t waiting for him, was she?”

  “Nah. She kept looking at the door, so she was waiting for someone, but I don’t think it was him.”

  “Was she still there when you left?” Andi asked.

  “Uh-uh. She took off. By herself,” he added when he saw the question forming on Andi’s lips. “She was picked up by Uber.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  Jarrett headed back toward the front door and Andi said, “You’re not leaving, are you?”

  “I should probably get going.”

  “What did you want to talk to Trini about?”

  His answer was another shrug. “Nothing that matters.” He gave her a quick smile, then he was out the door and striding toward his Land Rover. Through the front window she watched him reverse in a tight circle and head back toward her green canopy of firs, evergreens that didn’t lose their needles. His vehicle disappeared beneath the trees like a magician’s trick.

  As soon as his taillights flashed out, she grabbed up her cell and texted Trini: You were at Lacey’s and saw one of the Carreras?

  Her answering text came back a bit slowly. Who did you talk to?

  Jarrett said he stopped by.

  Yeah, I saw him.

  He said you saw one of the Carreras, Andi texted rapidly.

  Brian. I gave him hell for scaring you.

  Don’t rile them up. Please.

  K. I gotta go. Call you later.

  Not trying to be a bitch. I’m just worried.

  No need. I’m good.

  Next week at the gym?

  There was no further response, and Andi stood for a moment locked in indecision. She gave up texting and put a call through, but Trini didn’t answer, which was also kind of her way. She half wanted to go over to Trini’s apartment right now, but she knew she wouldn’t appreciate it. But Trini didn’t really know the Carrera brothers, and Jarrett was looking at the situation through his own filter, thinking she was being flirty even while she’d confronted Brian.

  She gazed at the flickering candle. She didn’t want to stay home tonight. She’d had enough nights “in.” If that was a signal that she was moving on with her life, all to the good.

  She went to her medicine cabinet, shook out one of the antidepressants, and took it with a sip of water from the glass she’d left on the counter. If these were the reason she was better, she didn’t want to mess with success.

  Back in the living room, she picked up her cell phone again and ran her thumb lightly over the keys, thinking. What if she called Luke? What would she say? I’m tired of being alone and I could use some company? God, that was dumb. Almost as bad as pretending you’re nervous and want that bodyguard after all. Oh yes. That idea’s been circling your mind, hasn’t it?

  “No.”

  Andi made a face. Maybe she should go over to Trini’s and bang on her door. It was sad how few friends she had. She supposed she could call Emma . . . well, no. They weren’t friends, and at this time of night Emma could be more than a few drinks ahead of her.

  Instead, Andi went to the bedroom and changed into pajamas even though it was early. She thought about looking for something to eat, but she wasn’t hungry. She decided to pour herself a glass of white wine, get into bed, and turn on the television, which she did, and then she flipped unseeingly through the channels.

  She tried to remember how she’d spent her time before Greg’s death. They’d rarely watched the same programs, and sitting down to a meal had become a rarity. She’d spent a lot of time alone then, too, though it hadn’t felt as lonely as this did. He wasn’t home much at all those last few weeks, maybe months. If it hadn’t been for that one night when they’d both dropped their defenses and made love, Andi would have basically said she was single.

  And then there was the day when Mimi Quade was shepherded into the Wren Development offices by her brother, Scott, who explained that his much younger sister, barely out of her teens, was pregnant with Gregory Wren’s child. Andi had been at the office that day and witness to this debacle because Greg had asked her to bring him his glasses, which he’d left on the kitchen counter. Andi had stared at Mimi, whose eyes were only on Greg. Greg’s face had turned a brick red. He’d ordered Scott and Mimi from his office. Carter, who’d allowed them in, had looked stunned and quickly ushered them out, with Scott shouting that he and his sister demanded a DNA test. The thought of Mimi’s pregnancy had crushed Andi and she’d left Greg and wouldn’t listen to his denials, though they were long and hard. He’d railed that she didn’t trust him, and it was true, she didn’t. If she’d known she was pregnant herself, she might have tried harder, but in those heated moments she’d just locked him out of their bedroom, and Greg had pounded on the door, yelling that he would prove the truth to her.

  And then his vehicle had careened off the r
oad and he’d died of his injuries. Andi had gone from depressed and angry to totally numb. She’d sleepwalked through those weeks until learning of her own pregnancy.

  * * *

  She woke up slowly, confused about where she was. The television and lights were still on, and it took a few moments before she recognized her own bedroom. Glancing at the clock, she was surprised to see it was two a.m. For a moment she was frightened. Had she just fallen asleep? It felt a lot like her other episodes. Blackouts, Carter had insisted. But those had just been a few minutes.

  She got out of bed and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Swallowing the water, she realized every time she thought about Mimi Quade’s pregnancy, she seemed to shut down, if not physically, then mentally.

  Maybe it was time to confront Mimi to ask what had really gone down between her husband and the young woman. Was she even pregnant? Greg had insisted it was all a hoax perpetrated by Scott Quade, and it was true that since Greg’s death she’d heard nothing from either Mimi or Scott. Andi had pushed it all out of her mind. She’d had other things to think about.

  But if Mimi is truly pregnant with Greg’s baby, how are you going to feel about that now?

  Andi shook her head, headed back to the bedroom, and crawled back into bed. The idea made her feel like she was under a heavy weight. Firmly, she thrust her own grief to the back of her mind. If Greg truly were having a child, the Wrens needed to step up and acknowledge that fact. That was the bottom line. Even if it meant working things out with the odious Scott Quade and his sister, Greg’s ex-lover.

  Chapter Eleven

  Luke walked over to his coffeemaker and poured himself another cup. He kept a pot going all day when he was in the office and generally managed to make it to the bottom before quitting time, which tended to vary dramatically, depending how many cases he was working on. He also had a bottle of rum stored in a bottom desk drawer, but he was a beer man, so he only brought it out to share with the occasional client.

  The coffeemaker had shut down hours before, so Luke placed his cup in the microwave and zapped it for two minutes. It came out hot as Hades. He carefully took a sip, trying to avoid burning off the top layer of his taste buds, but he couldn’t abide coffee unless it was blistering. Something about a one-time ex-girlfriend who’d poured him a cup and said, “Lukewarm. Made for you, sweet thing.” She, of course, was long gone. Anyone who called him sweet thing and/or made a play on words of his name would be long gone. Luke’s motto was get real or get out. He’d bent that rule with Iris to unwelcome results.

  His cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID. Speak of the devil . . .

  He almost didn’t answer the call, but that was the chicken’s way out. Hitting the Answer button, he said, “Hello, Iris.”

  “Well, you don’t have to take that tone,” she replied. “I’m calling to give you some good news.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Corkland isn’t pursuing Bolchoy any longer. Not enough evidence, and well, the Carrera brothers haven’t been screaming for your old partner’s head. Guess we’re all just getting along.”

  “Kinda figured as much, after the hearing.”

  “Just thought you’d like to know once and for all.”

  “Thanks,” he said. Actually, it was a relief, though Bolchoy would still give his right arm to be back with the force.

  “Want to catch a drink tonight for a belated celebration?” she asked lightly.

  He’d been ducking her calls the past weeks. The last thing he wanted was to start something up again with her. When his thoughts turned to women, they went to Andi Wren. Their relationship was a nonstarter in the romance department, but she’d affected Luke more than any other woman in recent history. Whatever happened there—good, bad, or indifferent—he knew he wasn’t going to backslide with Iris just because it was convenient.

  “I don’t think it would be a good idea,” he said.

  “Now what does that mean?”

  “I’ve got a lot to do, and I don’t know when I’ll be free.” Bock, bock, bock, you chicken. Just tell her! “Iris, I—”

  “What the hell, Luke,” she cut him off angrily.

  “I want us to be over.” There.

  “I just asked for a drink. God.” She was fuming.

  “Yeah, well. No. I’m out.”

  “Fine. Be a bastard.”

  The click in his ear sounded final and he hoped that was truly the case. With Iris, it was hard to say.

  His cell rang in his hand and he gazed at it with a certain amount of trepidation. The number was familiar, but it took him a moment. Helena. She’d made the colossal mistake of attempting to kidnap Emily. Just what he’d told her not to do under any circumstances. But no, Helena had driven with her to Los Angeles, ostensibly to save her from being taken by Carlos back to Colombia. But it had turned out that Carlos was just part of the picture. There was another man in LA Helena had taken up with. He was a Hollywood producer—uh-huh, tell me another one—who was on the verge of putting together a blockbuster film, and it seemed Helena had dreams of being an actress.

  But Carlos had learned where his wife was and had dutifully gone down there and picked up both Emily and Helena. He’d brought his wife back, kicking and screaming, apparently. Luke had learned of the fiasco from Carlos himself, who’d come into Luke’s office and calmly asked Luke if he was having an affair with his wife. Luke had told him no, that he was in a business arrangement with Helena. Carlos had put two and two together and said quietly, “So, she is sleeping with someone else again,” and left Luke mildly alarmed. He’d phoned Helena and told her Carlos had been to see him, but she wasn’t interested in talking to him. She believed he’d been the one to sic Carlos on her and the producer, though Luke had had nothing to do with it, and wasn’t interested in listening to reason. She’d snapped, “I’m not paying you,” before she ended the call, just in case he’d had ideas about going after her for the two hundred dollars she still owed him. Luke had let her off the hook. Sometimes it was in everyone’s best interest to just walk away. So, now she was phoning him . . . ?

  “Luke Denton,” he answered.

  “You bastard! You told him where I was again!” Helena shrieked.

  Called a bastard twice in the space of a few minutes. Luke generally considered himself an affable kind of guy and was immediately annoyed. “Told who? Carlos? I had no idea where you went.”

  “He hired you. He told me he went to see you. And now he’s pressing charges, you fucking asshole. I’ll have your license for this!”

  “One: He didn’t hire me. Two: If he had, he would have been afforded the same confidentiality I gave you, so if I had known where—”

  “He had me arrested. He was just waiting for a reason to get me out of the picture and you gave it to him!”

  “Nope.”

  “What am I going to do?” she wailed. “You’ve got to help me. You owe it to me!”

  “Take a breath, Helena. And put your listening ears on. Carlos did not hire me. He asked me if I was your lover and I said no. He’d already brought you back from LA. That whole idea that Carlos was going to kidnap your daughter? That was a story you gave me. You tried to use me to prove you had a reason to take her first.”

  “How do you know this? It’s not true!”

  “I know people in law enforcement and the DA’s office. You wanted a credible ally. That’s why you hired me in the first place.”

  Silence. He could hear her rapid breathing. She was quick to anger, quick to blame, quick to fight. Iris was cut from the same cloth, which said something about him that he wasn’t sure he liked. Maybe that was why Andi had affected him so much. She was calm. She was an observer. She had yet to blame him for something beyond his control, and that in itself was worth its weight in gold.

  “I’ll find a way to make you pay,” she threatened.

  “Helena, Carlos is a good guy. You can’t make him out to be a Colombian gangster and expect everyone to believ
e you just because you say it’s true.”

  “You’re all the same!” she spat, and then she clicked off as well. This time he feared the finality he hoped for was a distant dream.

  He was back at his laptop, writing up the final report for Helena even if he never gave it to her, when his cell phone rang again. This time he recognized the number immediately because he’d been calling it every week for the past six weeks. “Luke Denton,” he answered.

  “Mr. Denton, it’s Peg Bellows.”

  Her voice held a modicum of reluctance, something he often encountered when people knew they were returning the call of a private investigator.

  “Hello, Mrs. Bellows. Thank you for calling me back.” He kept his voice neutral. Now that he finally had her on the phone he didn’t want to scare her by sounding too eager.

  “I’ve been unavailable.”

  “Sorry about all the messages. I’m in the middle of an investigation and am trying to interview people who’ve had dealings with the Carrera brothers.”

  “You don’t have to be shy about it, Detective,” she said dryly. “I know who you are. You want to put the Carreras away.”

  Remembering Bolchoy’s warning that she’d been attracted to the brothers in the beginning, he said carefully, “I know you talked to my partner, Roy Bolchoy, after your husband’s death.”

  “Do I think Brian Carrera killed him? You bet. Is there something I want to do about it? No. I just want to be left alone. I don’t want any further involvement.”

  “I understand, but—”

  “Do you? Understand? I doubt it. I put my trust in them and Ted died because of it. Sometimes I can’t even . . . speak . . .” she said, her voice tightening. “The enormity of it all, and it’s my fault.”

  “I don’t think that’s entirely true,” Luke said softly.

  “You’re wrong. It is entirely true. I urged Ted to go on the boating trip, and I knew Brian was going to put the pressure on to sell. I hate this cabin. I wanted to sell. I begged Ted to listen to them. They were offering a good price.”