“And one,” Shane turned to his friend, “is too much of a coward to pull off something like this.”
Shane’s radio crackled. “Sheriff, you there, copy?”
“What is it, Jennings? Over.”
“You need to get back to the department, ASAP. Murdoch and I found something you need to see.”
“On our way.”
With Con on heel, he exited the hospital. From all the excitement in the last five hours or so, Shane had forgotten about his wound. There was protest throbbing happening, but aspirin would have to be the fix.
Once buckled into the passenger seat of his own department truck—Con’s had been demolished when Emily careened into it and the building—Shane dug out his aspirin bottle and popped one pill more than the recommended dosage.
“When have you had to give aid to someone who had methanol poisoning before?” Con asked as he turned onto Eider’s main street.
“War.”
That straight answer made Con swivel his head to gape at Shane.
“Eyes on the road, Detective.”
“When in the . . . You know what? Don’t answer that. I know when. Those years you were missing from town, that’s when. Right after 9/11.”
“Idiots who had enough of being dry would drink some of the local swill, and it wasn’t exactly liquor. I never had to do that with someone as far along as Emily was. I’m just glad it worked.”
“Shane, what else are you keeping from me?”
“Nothing that you haven’t already figured out on your own.”
“How about your feelings for a certain FBI agent?”
“I’m okay with Cassy being married to Boyce, but he’s still an ass.”
Con’s mouth pinched as he tried not to smile. “You know who I mean.”
“That was never going to happen. Why are you even bothering to press the matter?”
“Because it’s as plain as the damn ring on your chest that you love her. So admit it already and go after her.”
Shane shook his head. “You’re nuts. Matter closed.”
“Matter not closed. If you don’t get your head out of your ass and realize she’s probably done more to open you up than anyone else, you’re doomed for the rest of your life. A man isn’t meant to be alone, Shane. And neither are women.”
“Why are you pushing? I told you, it’s not going to happen.”
“Sure, you’re great about doling out the advice and pressure on the rest of us but damn yourself to a lonely existence with no love. Whatever you’re punishing yourself for, you need to stop.”
“I’m not punishing myself. I already gave my heart to another. I’m not opening that wound again.”
“God didn’t make us to love one person for the entirety of our lives, or else He’d never have made families. Finish this case, get your suspect, and then go get her back.”
If he didn’t ache so bad from the wound, Shane would have punched his friend to shut him up. There was no going to get Liza. Except for a few kisses, nothing had passed between them. He’d been vulnerable and weak when she arrived, and that was all there was to it. Done. Over.
“Drive, Con. Jennings is waiting.”
• • •
His deputy was indeed waiting in the back of the department, away from the bustle of the crews clearing out Emily’s truck and debris.
“What is it?” Shane asked Jennings and Murdoch.
“Before anyone else touched the truck, we found Emily’s phone on the floorboard.” Jennings tapped the screen of a pink camouflage phone and then handed it to Shane. “Her passcode was easy to crack.”
Shane held up the phone as a video of Emily began playing.
“Sheriff, if you’ve found this, something horrible has happened to me like it did to Pamela. I’m not feeling well, I think I’ve been poisoned, and I’m trying to get to you or to the hospital, whichever is closest.” She paused, her face going white as she winced, the pain her body had to be going through as the wood alcohol did a number on her. When the wave had passed, she looked right into the phone recorder. Sweat glistened on her forehead.
“I never wanted it to happen like it did.” She choked on a sob, gathered herself and continued. “Roslin came into Pamela’s office four weeks ago, they talked about something for a long time, and when Roslin left, Pamela was furious. She went home that day, and I didn’t see her for the next two days. When she came back, she told me she found out her husband was having an affair with multiple women. And that she knew for a fact, because Roslin had shown her, that Derek was, too.”
A clicking sound, like a blinker, came through the audio. Emily paused long enough to make a turn, then the truck’s engine roared.
“Sheriff, I know Derek was with another woman the night he was killed. But I’m telling you right now; it wasn’t me. I didn’t pull the trigger. I wasn’t there. All I know is that Roslin and Pamela had been plotting to get back at their husbands. And they did. But now I think Roslin is trying to kill off anyone who knew about it. She came to my house last night, upset about Pamela—we talked and she left. This morning, I started feeling sick. I don’t know why or what she did, but I think Roslin poisoned me.”
She heaved and then started vomiting. The video ended.
“Where’s Neil Lundy?” Shane asked, his voice cold even to his ears.
“Nash is sitting on him. The man is scared spitless after seeing Emily,” Murdoch answered.
“As he should be.” Shane cut a hard stare at his deputies. “Find that woman and bring her to me.”
“Already on it, sir. Since she never gave anyone an address or a number to contact her with, we’re having a hard time.”
“Jennings, tell me you’ve got your mad computer hacking skills at work.”
He smiled. “That I am, sir.” He beckoned them over to his reestablished computer center. “I went through my system from the day she called into the office and was able to snag a phone number. She’s had it on a few times, and the GPS has pinged on towers in the area. But she’s not stupid; the phone is off.”
“When was the last time it was on?”
Jennings scrolled through his computer jargon. “An hour ago.”
“Where?”
Accessing a different program, Jennings typed something into the search bar, and the spinning wheel popped up. Once it finished, a map jumped onto the screen, a red flag at the last point of contact. Jennings zoomed out the map.
“Damn it to hell. She’s heading for Cedar Rapids.” Shane turned on his heel.
“Why would she be going there?” Con asked after him.
“She’s after Liza.”
“Where are you going?” Con demanded.
“To stop her before she kills Liza.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Liza finished drying the last pan, putting it away in the cabinet when Quinn came barreling into the kitchen. He grabbed her sleeve and tugged hard enough to make her waver as she lost her balance. The kid did not know his own strength.
“What is it, buddy?”
He tugged harder, trying to drag her to the doorway.
“Okay, hang on.” She tossed the drying towel onto the counter and allowed Quinn to lead her into the living room.
Quinn was in the midst of his evening ritual of watching the news. He released her and jabbed a finger at the screen. Liza inched closer, watching the talking heads as they described the scene of an accident in McIntire County. She sank onto the sofa, glued to the screen.
What had happened? Was Shane okay? Her heart catapulted like it was thrown from a trebuchet right into her throat. He couldn’t be hurt. Not after what he’d already gone through.
The sofa shifted next to her. Given Quinn’s perplexed face, she forced a smile she damn well didn’t feel.
“Is this what you wanted to show me?”
Quinn stared at her, trying to get a read on her. He struggled to understand normal emotions, but there were times where he got this uncanny sense. Hide all she wa
nted, he knew something was wrong. Why else would he have brought her in here to see the news report?
She cupped his cheek. He allowed it for three seconds before wiggling out of her touch and scooting over to his normal spot on the sofa. Liza glanced back at the TV, confirmed the newscast had moved onto another report, and then got up. Walking behind the sofa, she pulled out her phone.
He hadn’t called her or left a message. And for some stupid reason, she wasn’t getting any reception inside the house.
“What the hell?” She glanced back at Quinn. Too absorbed in his information overload, he didn’t hear her. “Kurt, I’m stepping outside to check my phone.”
From down the hall, he grunted a response. She frowned. That was weird. Oh, wait, he was supposed to be talking with his boss at the oil company. She shrugged off his non-committal response and went outside.
It took five minutes of walking around and finally standing in the middle of the yard with her phone out in front of her to get enough bars. Once the phone recognized the connection, she was blasted by ding after ding after ding of message alerts.
“Crap,” she muttered, bringing the iPhone closer to scroll through the list.
There were a few messages from Montrose, requests for her to return to the office tomorrow to finalize her resignation and the typical processing out of a federal agent. Another message was an urgent request for her to call Montrose, right now. Well, Liza wasn’t calling her right now. She was tired, and whatever her former supervisor needed to discuss with her could wait.
There was a ton of missed calls from a number in the McIntire County area. But who would have tried calling her from there besides Shane? She cleared out those missed calls . . . and found one from Shane.
Her heart squeezed. Please, oh please let this be a message from him telling her he was all right.
“Liza, Shane. Whatever you’re doing, stop it and find a safe place with your weapon. We think we’ve figured out who the murderer is, and Roslin’s heading your way.”
Roslin?
Turning back to the house, Liza stared at it. This was supposed to be her safe haven. No one should find her here.
No one.
And if they did . . . Her gut twisted into a sailor’s knot. If they did, they had found a way to track her. Her phone.
Damn it! How could she have been so stupid? She turned the offending object off and shoved it in her pocket, then went back inside. Quinn was still watching TV; he didn’t even look at her when the door clapped shut. Halfway down the hall, she halted. She didn’t have her backup weapon. It was still locked in her rental car. She never carried her weapon around Quinn.
You’re being paranoid. Kurt is fine. You’re fine.
Then why would Shane tell her to prepare? Something wasn’t right.
Oh God, how she wanted to turn right around and run for the car to get her weapon. But how the hell was she going to explain it to Kurt when Quinn saw it and freaked out? Quinn was calm, in his world, and needed an emotional break from a meltdown. He’d had way too many in the last few days. Even she needed an emotional break.
Move it along. Ease your mind.
She stepped up to Kurt’s closed bedroom door and listened. Silence. Frowning, she lifted her hand to knock but hesitated. It punched her right then. That tension she always got when danger was nearby. Her gaze flicked to the part of the hall that led to a back patio. Kurt always kept that door locked and triggered with an alarm in case Quinn tried to leave without anyone knowing. Her gaze returned to the door in front of her.
Screw it! She rapped hard. “Kurt?”
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi . . .
“Yeah?”
Liza’s back muscle tightened; she reached for the gun. Not there. Damn it!
“Can I come in?”
The pregnant pause was enough to make her want to throw up.
“Uh, not right now. I’m . . . not dressed.”
Kurt would have answered the door in his boxers. He didn’t care; she was his annoying younger sister. Liza wanted to sob. Someone was in there with him. Someone was going to hurt him. She’d brought this on them.
Get your act together, and do what you’ve been trained to do.
First thing, secure Quinn. She turned and froze. Quinn stood in the middle of the hall, staring at her. Liza rushed him, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him toward his room. She stilled in the next second when a door latch clicked. She turned back just as Quinn let out a scream.
Liza wrapped her arms around his body and dove for the open doorway, cradling his fragile frame against her chest. They slammed into the floor as bullets ripped through the wall and wood trim.
Quinn continued to scream as she inch-wormed them farther into the room. The moment her feet passed the edge of the door, she kicked it shut. More bullets thwacked into the wood. Liza held fast as Quinn began to thrash, screaming his lungs out. If she weren’t focused on their safety, she would be singing praises that he was using his voice.
But death in the form of Roslin Avery with a gun was coming down that hall.
Liza rolled on top of Quinn and pinned him to the floor.
“Quinn, stop it!”
He froze at her command. She jumped to her feet and reached the door handle in time to lock it. Whipping around, she ran for the window. She threw the latch and shoved it up, as alarms began screaming. Every possible escape route was rigged to an alarm. And right now, she didn’t give a damn.
She reached back and grabbed Quinn’s arm, hauling him toward the window. “Out you go.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Roslin called through the door.
That’s when Liza smelled it. Smoke rolled past the window; less than fifteen feet away flames licked the air. A huge circle of fire surrounded the house. Quinn would never make it out; he’d have no clue how to get away. She clutched him to her body.
“That fire will soon reach this house.” Hannibal Lector’s cadence rolled over her, sending a fist of fear to Liza’s chest.
“What the hell do you want?”
“Why, you, Agent Bartholomew. The proverbial thorn in my side.”
“Liza! Go! Get Quinn out!”
“I told you to shut up.” Roslin tapped on the door. “Come out, and I’ll let these two boys go free.”
Liza’s arms tightened around Quinn. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“That’s your choice. But I’d say this fire is getting really close to letting loose.”
Quinn squirmed, pushing against Liza’s hold. If she let him go, he’d run to the door and open it. How long did she have before someone noticed the fire and called the fire department? Kurt’s place was the last home on the block and surrounded by trees on one side and a huge sports complex beyond that.
“Clock is ticking, Agent Bartholomew.”
“Why do you want me so bad? How was I ever a thorn in your side?”
“I always knew you were thickskulled. It’s what made getting away from you so easy.”
This was wrong. How could Roslin have been . . . ? Two years ago. Liza looked back at the fire rising above the window divider. The warehouse, the victims dead in a horrific fire. Her gaze swung back to the closed door. A man hell-bent on never getting caught so he changed his M.O. to fire.
Gene Avery was her quarry, not Roslin. Gene was dead.
“Who are you?”
Roslin chuckled, a sadistic kind of chuckle that made Liza’s blood run cold. It wasn’t right for a woman. It was almost . . .
Liza’s grip relaxed on Quinn, and he took advantage of it. Breaking free, he bolted for the door, flipping the lock and yanking it open before Liza could get a hold on him. Her hand covered his mouth before he screamed again.
Kurt’s chin was pointed to the ceiling with the gun barrel jammed into his throat. His eyes pleaded with Liza to do what she must to get Quinn out of this.
Behind him, Roslin’s features were twisted into an ugly sneer. It was then Liza fi
nally saw it. Saw past the surgical changes, the enhancements, and the changed voice. The boo-hoo widow who pulled off the perfect airhead personality. Despite all that, the eyes had never changed. Dead, soulless eyes. The eyes of a stone-cold killer.
“Came to your senses, I see.”
“It’s you.” She swallowed back the bile. “All this time. It was you.”
“Figured it out, did you?”
He had killed all the witnesses in the fire. It was the same time that Roslin claimed she met Gene Avery, married him and moved to McIntire County. Liza had been right about one thing: it was where Ripley had disappeared to stage his next scam. But Ripley had never been Gene Avery. That poor bastard had been one more pawn in the game.
But never had Liza imagined . . . “A woman?”
He laughed. “Oh, dear. It was the perfect disguise. You would have never figured it out.”
Now she had.
“And you know what that means.” He cocked his head to the side so as to get a better look at her. “You all die.”
“No!” Kurt stomped down on Ripley’s foot, and managed to twist himself free, punching Ripley in the face as he bent over.
Liza shoved Quinn toward his father and went for Ripley. Blood pouring from his busted nose, he straightened right as she tackled him. They slammed into the hallway wall. She’d wrestled with this asshole before and won; no way was she going to lose.
“Get out of here, Kurt! Take Quinn and run!”
Ripley freed a hand and smashed his fist into her chin. Dazed by the blow, she lost her hold and staggered to the floor, crashing down. She rolled over in time to watch Ripley aim and shoot at the fleeing Kurt.
“No!”
Kurt jerked as the bullet ripped through him. Quinn flew from his arms and landed inches from his father’s prone body.
Red-hot anger pulsated through Liza. She pushed to her feet and rushed Ripley again as he aimed for her nephew.
“I’ll kill you!”
He swung around, his punching arm missing her by inches. She plowed into his body and rammed him hard into the wall a second time. The clatter of metal hitting the hardwood floor bolstered her. Rearing back, she drove one hand into his throat, pressing his neck into the wall to choke him out. He clawed into her arm, ripping away the skin and drawing long, bloody trails. Liza punched him. His head jerked sideways and whipped back.
Liar, Liar Page 24
