Ruthless Game (A Captivating Suspense Novel)

by Danielle Girard

  "The receipt and the body. That was about it."

  "What are you going to do now?"

  "I need to track down this P.I." She thought about what Tim had told her. "And I need to switch hotels. Our friend is giving out my current room number."

  "Where are you staying?"

  "I was at the Red Roof Inn. I don't know where I'll go next." She tucked her hair behind her ears and hated the feeling that it, like everything, was getting out of control. "Something better break. If it doesn't, there's nowhere to go."

  "It will. Something has to." He sat up in the seat. "I'll get in touch with New York and find out what happened to Ben Androus. Chris was going to see if she could take another look at Androus's file. I was going to meet her at her house at four. Will you come?"

  She shook her head. "I don't think I should."

  "Where will you be?"

  She shook her head.

  "I'm not leaving until you tell me, Kincaid. We both know you'd be dumb not to have someone watch your backside. And you're not dumb."

  "You should go. James hears you're down here and he'll have your ass."

  "I'll cover my own ass, thank you very much."

  Greg opened the glove compartment and pulled out a pen and a folded napkin. He wrote something on it and handed it to her. It was an address and phone number. "We're going to talk about the case. Chris isn't going to let us down. Somehow, I'm betting you'll be there."

  She smiled. "I'll try."

  Out of the car, Greg leaned over and peered back inside. "You can catch this guy, but it's stupid to do it alone. Stupid and dangerous. Meet me at Chris's. We'll form a game plan then." When she didn't answer, he backed away. "Four o'clock. Don't make me wait."

  Alex drove away, deciding her partner knew her as well as anyone. And at least he was thinking clearly. She was dumb to believe she could handle this guy alone. He'd done nothing but handle her so far.

  She went straight back to the library and got on the Internet. She searched for N.T. Security and got a bunch of hits. Some were ones she'd already seen, but most were new, so she looked through them until she'd reached the last. Not a single reference to a private investigator. Refusing to give up, she tried variations of the name until she'd run out of options. Where the hell had N.T. gone?

  She remembered the reference to SQ and plugged that into the Internet. Nothing useful.

  Gathering her things, she relinquished the computer to an agitated-looking high school student and headed out the door. She had considered not showing up at Chris's, but the hope that either she or Greg had come up with something was all she had left. Revving the engine, she glanced at the clock on her dash. She had about forty minutes before Greg was meeting Chris.

  Before she pulled from the curb, she hesitated. The logical thing to do was to change hotels, but something made her pause. What was the killer going to do with the knowledge of where she was staying? It didn't seem likely that he would kill her. He'd had multiple chances to do that already. If she stayed in the same hotel, maybe he'd approach her again, which would give her a chance to catch him. If she was ready for him, she just might be able to do it. If she moved, she'd risk losing him. She couldn't lose him.

  She thought about Alfred. Was he going to be the messenger again? The more she thought about his history, the more she was convinced this wasn't Alfred's game. He was someone else's pawn. Maybe he was getting paid or maybe he was being blackmailed, but someone else was calling the shots.

  Alex pulled away from the curb and drove slowly around Palo Alto rather than going to her hotel room. She had paid for another night. She was staying. Let him come get her. She'd be waiting.

  As she drove, she kept a close eye on the rearview mirror. It was cop habit, but it had never felt more real than now, especially since he knew where she was staying. He must have followed her, but she hadn't noticed him on the drive down, and that fact made her uncomfortable. She was trained to notice things. She didn't know how she could have missed him, unless he was trained to keep from being noticed.

  She had to be careful. Her own attentiveness and some fast answers were the only things that could save her. She wasn't used to depending on luck, but she could sure use some now.

  * * *

  She drove down Chris's street and pulled to the curb a block from her house. Suddenly, everyone's motivation for helping had to be considered. Greg would be there, she reminded herself. And she needed whatever information they had gathered.

  She put the car in gear and had started down the street when she spotted a figure walking along the sidewalk toward her. The walk, slightly bowlegged, reminded her of James. Braking, she stared. It couldn't be James.

  The growing darkness shielded his face. She scanned the street in the direction he had come. Squinting, she caught sight of a car parked on the street. A black Toyota like her brother's. And beside it stood a man in a trench coat who looked just like Lombardi. Jesus, it was Lombardi.

  They were here to pick her up. Had Chris called them? Or had they somehow discovered Greg was her cousin and guessed that she would know where Alex was? Either way, Alex wasn't sticking around to find out.

  Her heart pounding, she watched Lombardi turn up toward one of the houses. A woman came out the door and looked down the street. Alex recognized the blond hair, the even gestures. Chris.

  Alex shrank down in her seat. Her stomach sank like a lead weight. James was there, come to arrest her himself.

  The two disappeared from view and Alex exhaled, giving them time to get inside before she left. On five she would move. "One. Two. Three. Four."

  She eased on the gas. She'd gotten halfway off the curb when she saw James come running down the front steps. Chris was only two steps behind him, waving at her frantically.

  Chapter 26

  Alex threw her Honda into reverse and maneuvered backwards to give herself room to turn the car around. She sped back, then shifted into first gear and peeled off.

  The sound of fists pounding on the trunk made her jump. Her foot slipped off the clutch, and the car stalled.

  She cursed, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the keys.

  James was at the window. "Alex!"

  She ignored him, glancing down at the inside of the door. The passenger door was locked. With a quick breath, she turned back to the keys.

  James jerked at the door, trying to open it. "Alex. Stop. You have to listen to me. You're in trouble."

  "No shit, Sherlock," she mumbled, locking her own door with her elbow as she fumbled to restart the car. The engine sputtered twice and rolled over.

  "Alex. Listen to me. I'm your brother. Let me help you."

  Anger streamed down her spine like hot oil at the thought. James's help was the last thing she needed now. He'd help her all the way to San Quentin. Something tickled her brain, but James pounded on the window again and she lost it.

  "You're making it worse. You should come in while you can."

  She shuddered as she hit the gas. James ran after her as she pulled down the street. From the corner of her eye, she could see him grow smaller in the rear-view mirror, Lombardi behind him.

  A lump of thick emotion caught in her throat. She welcomed tears, knowing they would bring some much-needed catharsis. But she also knew they wouldn't come.

  She needed a plan. And she didn't have one. The only thing she could think to do was to go back to the hotel and hope he came to her.

  She sped toward the freeway, one eye on the rear-view mirror. At any moment, she expected a line of police cars to appear and surround her. The traffic light started to turn and she raced through it.

  As she reached the middle of the intersection, she spotted a black Toyota coming at her from the side. Her heart roared like an engine in the red and she pumped the gas pedal, missing the car by inches as the screeching sound of tires filled the air.

  Her car fishtailed and she quickly straightened the wheel. Without pausing to look back, she sped on.

  Less th
an a block later, the black car had caught up and was now right behind her. She squinted at the license—3APC461. She slammed her hand against the steering wheel and pushed the pedal to the floor. It was James. His license had always stuck in her mind because he was born in April of 1961. Lombardi was in the passenger seat.

  Racing another light, Alex pulled onto the freeway and changed lanes. James stayed right behind.

  She watched him in the mirror, trying to predict his next move. There had to be a way to escape. She scanned the traffic, but there was no sign of other cops. Still, James wasn't stupid. He knew where to get backup if he needed it.

  His hand emerged from the driver's window.

  Her heart hammered in her chest, and adrenaline sparked every nerve. He was going to shoot at her.

  Her hands reacted without her brain, swerving her car and ducking into traffic. Tires screeched behind her. The blare of horns followed.

  She glanced back, relieved and amazed that she hadn't caused an accident. "Calm down, Alex." With a deep breath, she glanced back again. James was still in the far right lane, two cars back. His hand was back in the car, but something unrecognizable on the top of his car caught her eye.

  She blinked as a red light flashed and swirled. "Shit." He had his police light on.

  Cars yielded to him and he pulled into the lane behind her. She sped out again, dodging traffic and passing the exit for her hotel. She didn't dare pull off the freeway. Experience had taught her that it was much more difficult to pursue a suspect on the freeway than in town. She glanced at her gas indicator and wondered how far a third of a tank would get her. Petaluma at least, maybe farther. If only he was on empty. Not James, though. He would be prepared from every angle.

  He was right behind her now, his headlights flashing to motion her to the side. She concentrated on the road. She wasn't pulling over. She kept her speed consistent and continued on.

  From the next lane, a horn blasted and Alex started. As she looked at the car beside her, her shoulders sagged. It was over.

  A highway patrolman in a marked car motioned her over, his expression an angry grimace.

  She returned her attention to the road, hoping he'd go away, but he honked again. Glancing back at him, she could tell it wouldn't be long before he called in backup.

  He shook a fist at her. She could see his lips form the words, "Pull the hell over."

  "Fuck." Slowing, she pulled the car to the shoulder. She was dead, going to jail, and her own brother was sending her there. Her eyes suddenly heavy, she blinked back an onslaught of emotions. When had this happened to her? When had she fallen apart?

  In the rearview mirror, she could see James speaking to the patrolman. Lombardi stood behind them, listening.

  Alex shook her head. They were probably arguing over who got to claim credit for her arrest.

  The patrolman lifted his hands in surrender and headed back to his car, shaking his head. His shoulders hunched, he seemed unhappy with whatever James had told him.

  But instead of approaching her, James waited, his eye on the other officer.

  Alex considered darting into traffic again, but she knew it was worthless. With the police light, James would be back on her tail in a matter of seconds.

  As the officer pulled back into the stream of traffic, his eye caught hers. He slowed and scowled at her, studying her face as though he might be required to help a police artist draw it later.

  A knock on the window made her jump.

  "We need to talk," James insisted, peering into the car.

  Leaving the keys in the ignition, she released her seat belt and stepped out, following her brother back to where Lombardi waited. Arms crossed over his chest, Lombardi leaned against the front bumper.

  Cars were beginning to use their headlights as the day faded to dark. Alex used to be a night person, thriving when others were sleeping. These days she hated the nights most.

  Lombardi approached her. "You know you almost got us all killed," he said, patting his lucky coat as though it were the reason he was still breathing.

  "You never should've left Berkeley," James chastised.

  "I should've just sat around, waiting for you to come and arrest me?"

  "You've only made matters worse by coming down here."

  "At least I've been searching for answers."

  "And gathering witnesses," Lombardi added.

  "What does that mean?"

  "The kid came forward, Alex."

  She shifted forward. "What kid?"

  "Tim," James said. "He says he saw you kill Nader. Gave us a tape with you threatening him."

  The words were more potent than a physical punch to the gut. "That little asshole. The killer is paying him—"

  "Zip it," Lombardi snapped. "We know something's wrong with his story."

  "What?"

  Lombardi raised an eyebrow. "He said he saw you off Nader this morning, but the M.E. says he's been dead at least three days."

  Three days meant he was dead before Alex called. "Tim's lying. I didn't kill him."

  "He's definitely lying about something," Lombardi agreed.

  Alex ignored the implication that he might not be lying about the murder. "You guys have to talk to him. He was hired by the killer to come down. The killer—Ferguson or whoever Ferguson's working for—gave him five hundred in cash and a brand-new camera."

  Lombardi nodded. "I'll tell the detective down here."

  Alex looked shocked. "What do you mean? You're not working this case?"

  "Why would I? It's not my jurisdiction."

  "What about the fact that Nader's death is related to Loeffler's?"

  Lombardi shook his head. "We don't have any proof of that yet."

  "We were all survivors of the same mass murderer thirty years ago. Now, they're both dead, shot in the neck, and I'm being framed." Alex spun around on the edge of the freeway, feeling every bit out of control. "How much more damn evidence do you need?"

  "Right now, we need to get you up to Berkeley," James said, interrupting. "If more evidence comes up here, Lombardi will head back down."

  Glancing at the ground, she tried to think of a way out. She needed time. "James, I can't go to jail."

  He reached out to her. "You won't, or not for long. I'll talk to the captain. We'll work together. But we need to go up there before things get worse."

  She shook her head. "I mean, I can't go now. I have to do this."

  His expression hardened. "No. It's over. No more running. Anything you do will only make things worse. I have to bring you in. I told the deputy chief I would. Alex, I'm not even sure I can help you anymore. It's gone that far."

  "You didn't do anything to help me to start with."

  "Oh, Jesus," Lombardi said, rubbing his head.

  Watching James's face, she knew the look. She had seen it in a hundred different forms on his face, a thousand different times: Don't screw with the job. The next step would mean stepping over the line. It wasn't about her anymore. It was about him, about his job. He was always a cop first.

  He wasn't going to change his mind. He was taking her in. "You understand how it looks, don't you? Even if you weren't involved, Alex—" He shook his head. His eyes clouded with doubt. "Even if you're not, it doesn't look good... You were there that night. You have to face the consequences."

  Lombardi was watching her, shaking his head. He believed it, too.

  Straightening her back, she prepared to fight. She wasn't going to jail. Once she was behind bars, there was no chance she'd catch the son of a bitch who put her there.

  As she shifted, she felt the cool handle of her gun against her stomach. Stiffening slightly, she caught herself and nodded slowly. "Okay."

  James gave her a slow once-over then gestured to his car. "My car?"

  Alex nodded, heading to the car. Holding her breath at what was to come, she got in behind him.

  Lombardi sat in the passenger seat and turned sideways to watch Alex. His eyes darted under the d
ark fur of his brow like tiny rodents under brush.

  James watched her in the rearview mirror.

  Without blinking, she stared back.

  Finally, he looked at the road and started to turn the key.

  In one fell swoop, Alex pulled the gun from her belt and held it to Lombardi's head. "Hands in the air." She should have been appalled at her own behavior, but suddenly she felt the part. She was a renegade, a fugitive. Solving this mess herself was the only chance she had left.

  "Holy shit," Lombardi said, raising his hands. "A fucking psycho woman. This was a dumb idea, Kincaid. I told you she wouldn't come easy. You didn't listen. Got to come down here like a fucking hero instead of letting the locals bring her up for us." He shook his head. "Christ, I'm going to get offed by a chick."

  "Shut up," Alex snapped. She blinked fast, horrified at what this had come to. She'd had no choice—no choice, she repeated to herself. It didn't help.

  James didn't move.

  Alex pointed the gun at him. "Hands up."

  He lifted his hands slowly, though he didn't look the least bit scared. "Alex, don't be ridiculous. You could never shoot anyone."

  "That's what I thought. But I was wrong."

  His eyes widened, and Lombardi let out a low moan.

  Alex swallowed the self-disgust like bile in her throat.

  James's gaze grew distant, appraising. The cop had taken over. She had driven away whatever little piece of brother had been there.

  "What are you talking about, Alex?"

  She would give him what he wanted. "I shot Androus."

  James frowned. "Androus has been dead for thirty years."

  Alex gave him a twisted smile and nodded, playing the part. "I know. I shot him."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "That I'm probably the youngest murderer alive. According to the police theories, I killed Androus. In 1971, after he had killed eleven children, I took his gun and shot him."

  "That's outrageous," James refuted.

  "It's worse than that, James—it's true. Ask Chris, ask Roback."