“Force him how?” she finally asked, glancing around her as though she expected Feiney had eyes everywhere, watching.
“He can’t see you.”
“Just say what you want to say,” she spat. “The clock is ticking.”
Relieved that she still had her fighting spirit, he squeezed her shoulder. “There’s got to be a way we can turn his plan against him.”
“Well, if you’re going to come up with something, you’d better think of it quickly. We have less than thirty minutes!” Despite the briskness of her steps, she sounded tired.
“What I don’t understand is how Feiney can actually believe…”
“He’s a demented serial killer.” She shook her head. “There is no understanding how someone like him thinks.”
“All that matters is that we beat him at his own game.”
At his words, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Thanks. I needed that.”
Relief flooded him. He’d said exactly the right thing to bring her out of her dark cloud. Standing at the bottom of the steps leading to her apartment, a light breeze ruffling her hair, he’d never seen a more beautiful woman.
Dang, he was getting in deep. He needed to take a step back and be more careful or Feiney wouldn’t be the only one hurt by the time this operation was over.
Shaking off his unexpected melancholy, he took a deep breath. “We need more time to come up with a plan.”
“Time we don’t have.”
“Then you’re going to have to do it. Kill me off.”
“What?” She stopped in her tracks, her hazel eyes wide and shocked.
“Not for real. If we can stage my death, we might be able to fool him. If we can do that, we could draw him out. Then we’d stand a shot of capturing him.”
One hand on the lamp pole, she glanced back up at the landing, almost as if she expected Feiney to appear. Finally, her gaze came back to Marc and she nodded. “Keep talking.”
“I’m going off the top of my head. We go back inside and stage a fight. A horrible, nasty fight.”
“Go on.” Her dubious look would have been comical, if the situation hadn’t been so urgent.
“We escalate things to the point where you kill me.”
“What?” She took a step back. “Are you crazy? Do you really think he’ll buy that?”
“Why not? He asked for you to kill me. Be creative. Think outside the box. Feiney won’t expect that.”
Arms crossed, she stared at him.
“You kill me,” he repeated. “Pretend to, I mean. In the heat of passion. When I’m dead, you can cry and say you did it to save your mother, but now you’re as bad as him. How you realize you still love him.”
She recoiled in horror. “I’d never say anything like that. Not in a million years.”
“You know that, I know that. But Feiney doesn’t. He thinks you two are destined to be together. Convince him you really love him and nothing on earth will stand in the way of him coming to retrieve you.”
“You honestly believe…”
“It’s our only chance.” He took a deep breath, feeling his certainty build. “We’re dealing with a deranged psychopath. This is the only way I can think of to satisfy him and keep him from cutting your mom every hour.”
“It might work.” She still sounded doubtful.
He challenged her. “What have we got to lose?”
“It’s pretty far-fetched.”
“True, but if you’ve got a better plan, tell me now.”
“You know I don’t.” Resigned, she shook her head. “If we do this, we’ve got to make it believable.”
Her phone chimed again. “Twenty minutes.”
“Can you do this?” He studied her face, wondering if she’d actually be able to carry out their plan.
She nodded. “I can do it. Yes. What about you?”
“It’s just one more undercover assignment. I’ve had to do worse.”
“Me, too. But still. This is messed up.”
“We’re just giving him what he wants. On the surface. But you’ve got to be ready for him when he shows up. Follow me?”
“Yes.” She gave him a grim smile. “Okay, okay. You win. Since time is running out, tell me, what did you have in mind as far as, uh, me killing you?”
At least she was on board. Although reluctantly. Actually, he couldn’t blame her. Hell, it was his plan and even he wasn’t sure it was a smart one.
Bottom line—did he trust her? He really must, because it sure as hell sounded like he was offering himself up as some sort of sacrificial lamb.
Again, what choice did they have?
“I thought you’d just shoot me with your service pistol. Of course the gun would be loaded with blanks. It’d help if we had a fake blood bag, just like in the movies. If we play it right, we could convince him.”
“We don’t have time to gather up props.”
Glancing at his watch, he grimaced. “I know. You’re right.”
He thought for a moment. “Let’s get back to the apartment. Stage the fight, stab me. If you position the knife right…”
“Fine.” He could tell she didn’t like the idea, but it was all they had. “What are we going to argue about?”
“The plan. We need to discuss this in front of Feiney. He says he’ll trade your mom for you. We both know he’s lying, but what if you act like you think you can convince him to really do that? And I argue against it.”
“I’m still listening.” Crossing her arms, she regarded him with narrowed eyes.
“We go for it.”
“I’m not sure I like where this is going.”
“We make him believe you’d actually kill me, in the heat of this argument. We can make it believable.”
“I’m not shooting you.” Out came the chin. “Or stabbing you.”
“Club me over the head then, I don’t care. As long as you make it believable.”
“He’ll never buy it. How about I don’t kill you at all. What if we argue, I stun you and knock you out, then I can tie you up and tell Feiney we’re on for the trade. You won’t be able to stop me.” She looked over at him. “That’s better than killing you. Because then he’ll have the pleasure of killing you himself.”
He raised a brow. “There’s only one problem with his scenario. He’ll never believe you could overpower me. I’ve got a hundred pounds on you, easily.”
Her phone pinged again. “Fifteen minutes. Damn.”
He frowned. “Explain to me how you plan to overpower me and we’ll go inside and do it.”
“I can take you if you’re distracted. Like if we’re kissing.” Though she turned bright red, she doggedly continued. “Plus, I have training in martial arts.”
Training might be an understatement. He’d heard she was a black belt.
“Put that way…” With a dip of his head, he conceded the point. “We’ll go with your plan.”
“All right then. Plan of action decided. Let’s go.”
Hanging back, he gave her a sideways look. “How good an actress are you?”
Taking a deep breath, she hesitated. “I… Pretty good.” She lifted her chin, appearing to gain confidence. “I just have to hang on to how much I despise Feiney. I can do this. I know I can.”
“Do you know what?” Though he wanted to kiss her, he settled for a light touch on her shoulder. “I believe you can. Whatever you do to me, I’ll pretend it’s worse. Let’s go.”
“Okay.” Her answering smile, though wobbly and uncertain, felt like a punch to the chest. “One, two, three, let’s do it.”
Chapter 13
Pretending to kill Marc or at least overpower him was not only the strangest idea Lea had ever heard, but quite possibly the only one that might work. Feiney would never expect this much creativity from a pair of buttoned-down law-enforcement officers. Not in a million years. Hell, Lea had trouble believing it herself.
In fact, she suspected this was the only reason she’d agreed to such
a wild and crazy plan. The sheer outrageousness of it practically guaranteed it would work. That and the fact that she had no alternative.
Hopefully, Feiney would believe it.
She prayed he stuck to his ridiculously short time frame and that he hadn’t yet harmed her mother. She wouldn’t be responsible for her own actions if he had.
Concentrate, she told herself. Focus on what you can control. Pretending to knock Marc out was a million-to-one shot, and if Feiney didn’t buy it, they’d be right back where they’d started. Nowhere.
Now to get in character. Marc would help her with that. She realized with some surprise that she completely trusted him. Still wanted him, though that desire had of course been relegated to a secret, private part of herself. Maybe, once they got past this and Feiney had been returned to prison, she’d take it out and examine it. Perhaps even allow something to come of it. Who knew?
For now, her focus had to be on this. Acts one, two and three, all rolled into one.
Since they had less than ten minutes remaining before Feiney called in his marker and cut off her mother’s finger, right now she had to concentrate and do this. She could do this. For this miniature play, Marc would become the enemy and all she had was herself. Her anger, her rage, her fury. Her absolute, unshakable hatred of Feiney.
In the apartment, she paced, constantly checking her watch.
“Calm down,” Marc told her, appearing supremely unruffled, hands in pockets, slouching on the couch.
“He hasn’t called. Why hasn’t he called?” Since she didn’t know where the camera was this time, she couldn’t play to that. “He’s late.”
“So?” Marc deadpanned. “Five minutes is nothing. What’s time to a serial killer?”
Gritting her teeth, she rounded on him. “How dare you! Time might not be anything to Feiney, but it’s everything to me. This is my mother he’s got now.”
“Calm down. It’ll be all right.”
“It occurs to me that I should try to call her.” She pulled out her cell phone, opened it and punched in her mother’s number. “Why should I take your word that you talked to her when Feiney called?”
The call went straight to voice mail.
Impassive, Marc watched her close her phone. “Satisfied now?” he asked softly. “If you’re done questioning my integrity, maybe we can focus on coming up with a solution.”
Though she knew the entire conversation was an act, it felt like it was getting more personal, more real, than she’d thought it would be.
She hadn’t expected the barbs to sting quite so badly.
“Maybe we can,” she retorted. “Assuming Feiney sticks to the time schedule he gave you. Or did you possibly misunderstand that, too?”
“Too?” Crossing his arms, he cocked his head. “What are you implying?”
“I don’t know.” She began pacing again, wishing she had more room to stretch her legs, more room to run. “I hate dealing with someone whose word can’t be trusted.”
“He’ll do what he said.”
“How do you know this?” she asked, unable to mask her wrath and her pain. “What magic crystal ball tells you that Feiney won’t send my mother’s hand back to me in pieces, right before he dumps her body, all without giving me a chance to take her place?”
He pushed himself to his feet. “Lea, you need to settle down. This is not the way to deal with this crisis. You need to—”
Cutting him off with a look that would have melted steel, she shook her head. “You have your methods and I have mine. Don’t tell me how to act. You don’t have nearly as much at stake as I do.”
“Maybe not, but I do care,” he said, his voice unbearably gentle. This made her falter. She sensed he was actually telling the truth, not acting. Bad move and one that frightened her so badly she grew even more incensed.
“Well, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Care.” She glared at him. “I don’t want you to care. He has my mother. She wouldn’t leave and she thought I’d protect her.” More truth. This improved acting could be more dangerous than either of them had realized, in more ways than one. Still, she’d chosen a path and now had no choice but to take it.
“It’s all my fault,” she continued. “I screwed up again.”
“No.” The hard lines in his handsome face didn’t soften. “You have no reason to feel guilty. If—”
“No reason?” Familiar rage filled her. She allowed it, welcoming it and letting it deepen. “Don’t tell me I have no reason. Who are you to think—”
“I’m the one who’s going to get Feiney,” he snarled. “So don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
To her amazement, she nearly lost it then and there, even knowing this was all staged. But losing her cool would only lead to more intimately personal details becoming revealed—to both Marc as well as Feiney—and she wanted to avoid that if at all possible.
Instead, she mentally took a step back. “I think we both need to calm down,” she said, using a measured, even tone.
Marc did the absolute worst possible thing—or the best, depending on the point of view. Staring at her, he laughed.
A hearty, masculine laugh, the kind a man makes when he thinks a woman is a complete, incompetent idiot. The kind practically guaranteed to set her blood boiling.
Still, despite the flash of fury, she still was clearheaded enough to realize she needed to try to plan ahead to the next step. Pretend to kill him? Or pretend to overpower him and knock him out, then tie him up?
Maybe he was waiting for her.
“He should have called by now.” She checked her watch yet again. “It’s been a full ten minutes since he was supposed to call me back for an answer.”
Marc grabbed her shoulder. “An answer to what?”
“Let go,” she yelped. Then, hoping she didn’t hurt him, she took him down at the knees. He went over like a ton of bricks, his head slamming against the side of her end table.
“Marc?”
He didn’t move. Heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst from her chest, she reminded herself that he’d said he’d feign unconsciousness.
Glad he hadn’t worn his sheriff’s uniform with the regulation handcuffs, she went to her bedroom in search of something to use to tie him up. Something she could rig loosely so he could free himself when the time came.
She’d just settled on two of her old belts when her cell phone rang and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Feiney.
“Hello?”
“What are you doing?” he hissed. “He’s down, he’s out. Finish him off.”
“I’m looking for something to use to tie him up, in case he comes to.” Heaven help her, she nearly choked on the words she had to say next. “I thought you’d like to do that. Kill him, I mean. It’s sort of what you specialize in, isn’t it?” She gave a self-conscious, utterly false-sounding laugh.
The line went quiet while he considered.
Damn. She didn’t want him to take time to think.
“Put my mother on the line,” she demanded. “I want to talk to her and make sure she’s still alive.”
“You don’t give orders to me.”
“Cut the crap, Feiney. Put her on right now or I’m assuming she’s dead and the deal’s off.”
“Deal?” His voice rolled over her, oily and serpentine, and she suppressed a shudder. “I wasn’t aware you’d agreed to my terms.”
“You never called back for me to tell you.” Keeping her voice even, she lobbed the ball into his court. “I’m agreeing to the trade. Even better, it’s two for one.”
“I told you to kill him.”
“I can’t.” Truth whenever possible always worked better than lies, especially to sweeten a deal. “If you want him dead, you’ll have to do it yourself. Two birds for one stone. Me, and you get to kill Marc.”
For the space of a few heartbeats, he said nothing. She refused to be the one to break the silence.
> “I don’t believe you.” He sounded suspicious, as well he should be. Feiney might be many things, but he wasn’t stupid.
Neither was she.
“Then that makes two of us. I don’t believe you, either. Let me talk to my mother or the deal’s off.”
Holding her breath, she waited for him to decide.
Then Lillian Cordasic’s voice came over the line. “Don’t worry about me, honey. I’m fine.”
“Mom,” Lea breathed. “Has he touched you?”
“No.”
But there had been the barest hesitation, enough to make Lea wonder. “I’m gonna get you out of there, do you hear me?”
“I’m fine. Lea, I—” Her mother screamed, a shrill sound so full of pain and so unlike her that Lea had to clutch at her stomach with one hand to keep from doubling over.
“Mom? Mom?”
“Run!” Lillian shouted. The next thing Lea heard was the click of the call being disconnected.
Immediately, she hit redial, only to get a recorded message saying the call could not be completed as dialed.
“Damn it.” Wanting to kick something, punch something, she restrained herself from throwing the phone into the wall. Lot of good that would do.
The two belts she’d taken out of her closet caught her eye. Should she go tie Marc up or not bother? Feiney’s lack of direction or instruction was seriously pissing her off. Each passing second that her mother remained in his hands…
The thought was too unbearable to contemplate.
Out of her control. Not acceptable.
Snatching up the belts, she went back into the other room to see if Marc was still unconscious or, rather, feigning unconsciousness.
He hadn’t moved. This was both good and bad.
Just in case, she pulled his arms behind him and wrapped the first of the belts around him, right above the elbow. The second she twined around his wrists, careful to give him enough wiggle room. Since she had no idea where the camera was situated, she didn’t dare try to communicate with him, just in case Feiney was watching and listening.
Standing, she eyed her handiwork, trying for an objective eye. She needed one more belt, to make it look like Marc was securely tied, while in actuality he wouldn’t be. She headed back to her bedroom. Halfway there, she heard a sound and froze.
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