Thrill Me to Death

by Roxanne St Claire

  “It just doesn’t make any sense that no one would remember seeing them together.”

  A man responded, but Billy couldn’t make out what he said. He waited, hearing nothing but crickets and a dog in the distance. Could he get in his car and drive it away without attracting their attention? He’d been counting on her being asleep at this hour.

  “I think the guy up at the Bayshore Marina seemed more than a little surprised to see me,” Cori said.

  “You said you never go out on the boat.”

  Billy’s face contorted. So she went cruising on the old man’s boat, enjoying the fruits of his labor. And he recognized that voice now. The human Doberman with the motherfucker of a gun.

  “What are you going to tell the insurance company?” she asked.

  Why would they be involved? Christ, did she wreck the boat or something?

  “Nothing until we hear from Dan and find out what the doctor says.” The baritone of the bodyguard was easy to make out as Billy moved closer. “They don’t have enough to open a case yet.”

  A case of what?

  “They have enough to investigate me,” Cori said. “Enough to suspect me of killing my own husband.”

  Billy stood dead still, excitement seeping through his veins like a shot of really good dope. The insurance company thought that she killed Dad?

  “Then…” The bodyguard was talking, but too low to understand. “Put the suspicions to bed.”

  Billy squinted, swearing because he’d missed critical words.

  “But what do they have? Nothing. A missing ME, and doubts. That’s certainly not enough to take to a grand jury.”

  “You have a motive, Cori.”

  Oh, yeah. Now we’re talking.

  “I’m the one who knows the truth, Max. I’m the one who saw him die and, except for that pathologist, I’m the only one who knows it wasn’t a heart attack.”

  Every hair on the back of Billy’s neck catapulted to attention. It wasn’t a heart attack? A grand jury? He inched closer, moving some shrubbery, unable to hear the bodyguard’s response.

  Damn. Billy eased closer to the edge of the patio, kneeling down because his legs felt shaky. If he got caught, that thug would kill him. But their voices had dropped and he had to hear what they were saying.

  “Until then…I’m accused of murder.”

  Holy shit. Did he hear that right? The insurance company actually thought she killed Dad? No wonder she hired a bodyguard. All that crap about him scaring her? Oh, this was rich. This was fucking rich.

  Billy tried to hear the bodyguard’s response, but his pounding blood deafened him. He knew enough. He knew now that Cori killed his father, just as he always suspected. And she was scared. He could hear it in her voice.

  He almost shrieked for joy. This was all he needed to change everything. He would ruin her. Even if she wasn’t guilty, if anyone even suspected it, he’d get everything. Everything.

  He stood up too fast, making his head reel and his legs wobble, knocking a branch against the wall.

  Cori went silent midword, and a sliding door opened and closed.

  Swearing silently, Billy raced through his options. He turned and peered through the bushes into the dark. What should he do? Haul ass and get shot? Come clean…and maybe still get shot? She’d call it self-defense. He should just walk to his car like he owned the place—which he would, soon—and get out of there. But he might still get shot. He waited, listening. Damn—if he’d only heard a little more, something more concrete to pin on her.

  He had to get the hell out of there.

  He bolted toward the driveway, digging for the key in his pocket, but that cost him his balance and he tripped, sucking in a breath as the ground came up and slammed in his face.

  Then something hard hit his back—a shoe—and that prick’s gun jammed into his neck.

  “I told you to leave her alone.” He seized Billy with one massive hand, yanking him up and back so hard that pain shot down his spine.

  Spit flew out of Billy’s mouth. “I just want my car, man. That’s all.”

  “It’s not parked on the side of the house.” The gun bit deeper into his neck.

  “Please…don’t…shoot.” Icy black fear closed his throat. “I’m leaving. I’m leaving.” He didn’t want to get shot. Not now. Not when everything was about to turn around.

  But the bodyguard wouldn’t let go. “What are you doing here, Billy?”

  “I heard voices,” he said, haltingly. “And I just wanted to be sure Cori was okay.”

  The man pulled Billy into a band of light from the front of the house. “Maybe you need to visit the Miami Beach PD now.”

  Billy closed his eyes. He had to negotiate. He had to buy time to figure this out. “Listen, man, I’m sorry. I really just want to get my car.” He noticed the beast’s grip relaxing. “Honest. But no problem, man. Forget the car. I got a ride out front. I’ll go home with her. I’m outta here, man. I’m outta here, I swear.”

  Max grunted, pushing Billy forward to the gate.

  “Just lemme go.” He was begging now and didn’t give a shit. “You can watch me leave. I’m with a woman, I swear. I just wanted to pick up my car.”

  Relief washed over Billy with each step they took, with each centimeter the gun eased up against his neck. He was going to get out. Alive. And fully armed with information.

  When the gate clanged into place behind him, Billy wasn’t that surprised to see the chick had left. He stumbled out to the road, pulled out his cell phone and called a cab.

  Life as he knew it was really about to change. He just had to enlist the right help.

  And there was someone who had as much to gain as he did—someone who would help him bring that whore down for good.

  Cori dreamed that Max had slept beside her.

  She’d gone to bed, nursing a headache, shortly after he’d dealt with Billy. Turning toward the nightstand, she peered at the alarm clock. Four fifty-eight. What was she going to do today? Go through William’s files again? His phone book? His secret life?

  Dragging herself from the comfort of bed, she brushed her teeth and rinsed her face. She pulled on silky drawstring pants under the lace camisole she’d slept in, then tiptoed down to the kitchen. As the coffeemaker bubbled and hissed, she leaned against the island, her heart heavy.

  How could she ever think of William again without wondering who he’d slept with? One woman? More than one? Someone she socialized with at a fund-raiser or had dinner with as a couple?

  Could he really have betrayed her like that? It seemed so preposterous and unreal.

  She stuck her cup under the dripping coffee, unable to wait for the pot to finish.

  They’d found out nothing yesterday. Lots of people had seen William on his boat before he died; none of them had seen him with a woman. He hadn’t been having sex with someone while the boat was docked here, had he? Could a wife be that blind and stupid? He had to have gone somewhere with her. How did she get on board? Surely not from their dock.

  She went toward his office to start digging for clues again. Now that she suspected a woman, she’d look at everything differently: credit card receipts, travel itineraries…She stopped at the sight of Max, bare-chested, dark-bearded and rumpled, hunched over the computer.

  “You’re not going to like this,” he said without looking up.

  Oh, Lord. “Now what?”

  He turned from the screen, his gaze sliding over the camisole and sleep pants before settling on the coffee cup. “Only one?”

  “We can share,” she said, padding barefoot into the office. “Assuming you still take it black with a quarter teaspoon of sugar.”

  “Some things never change.”

  She handed him the cup and scanned the papers and files he’d spread out. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

  Half her coffee disappeared in one gulp. “I rested.” He raised the cup. “Bless you.”

  “Any time,” she said, taking in the shadows of his unsh
aved face, then drifting down to devour the hard muscles of his chest darkened by a tangled mess of curly hair. “So, what won’t I like?”

  Reaching over to the printer, he grabbed the top sheet and handed it to her, then drank more coffee. She settled her hip on the corner of the desk and focused on the pages, still warm from the printer. According to the heading, they’d been sent to an e-mail address, mpr3@bc.com.

  “Maximillian Phillip Roper the third at bullet catchers dot com?” she asked.

  “Guilty.”

  Swensen Raynor…standard background check…Helsinki, Finland. “Swen? You’re investigating Swen?”

  “I didn’t like the way the guy touches you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, it’s totally professional.”

  “Then he’s gay.”

  “Nope, just a natural healer.” She flipped the page and scanned the words. Place of birth, last known address, schools, financial data, and…“Oh.” Her stomach dropped. “He has a record.”

  Max leaned back in the chair and nodded. “Yes, he was arrested in Esbo, Finland, and charged with possession of cocaine. Not green tea and red clover,” he added pointedly.

  She shot him a look, then reread the second page. “It was nine years ago.”

  “That’s right,” he agreed. “And to be honest, the arrest doesn’t really bother me. He was young enough to be considered naive, and stupid enough to get mixed up with the wrong people.” He reached over the desk, and handed her the next page. “What intrigues me is his marriage. Or should I say, his divorce.”

  “I didn’t know he’d been married.” And didn’t care. Swen was not on the boat with her husband using condoms. Swen was not the last person, other than herself, to see William alive. She tossed the papers back on the desk. “You’re wasting your time.”

  “He’s was married to a very rich widow.”

  She frowned at him. He couldn’t be implying…. “Fill in the blanks, Max. I’m not following you.”

  Max leaned on the desk and looked hard at her. “Didn’t you tell me you and William were two of his best customers?”

  “Yes. In fact, William had an appointment the very day he…” Her voice trailed off and she seized the pack of documents again, swearing softly under her breath.

  “Swen worked for a well-established drug runner when he was nineteen, but he was a low-level middleman. Nothing too incriminating, actually. But I checked into his former wife and found more information. Come here.” He beckoned her with two fingers to the side of the desk and cocked his head toward the computer screen.

  She studied the e-mail message, reading the sender’s name. “Who’s Jazz Adams?”

  “A great cyber investigator. She used to be a Bullet Catcher principal, now she’s one of us.”

  Cori leaned over toward the screen. “She must have been one happy client to join the company.”

  “She liked her bodyguard.” He pointed to the computer. “Read.”

  She did, out loud. “Elina Kallarson is a multimillionairess who was widowed, then remarried to Swen Raynor. They married less than a year after her husband, Jan Kallarson, died in an automobile accident in bad weather. Swen and Elina divorced three years later, the courts granting Swen a sizeable settlement.” She looked at Max. “All right, he married a wealthy woman and divorced her. How can you possibly tie this to William’s death?”

  “He got enough money to get him to America, gain him entrance to an elite world, and land himself a job as a manager of a highbrow spa where he could meet more rich young widows.”

  “But I wasn’t a widow when we met. I…” She stopped at his look. “Are you suggesting he killed William so that I could be free for him?”

  Max grabbed another piece of paper. “As you have said several times, Swen is an herbalist.”

  The coffee turned bitter in her mouth as she watched him pull out yet another page.

  “Here’s a list of natural ‘remedies’ that can induce a coronary arrest. Here’s a few that have been used to treat a number of different ailments, from arthritis to…” He leveled his gaze on her. “Impotence.”

  She stared at the names of plants and herbs, disbelief spiraling through her. “You think William could have taken something that induced a heart attack?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “This is really a stretch, Max.” She walked to the leather sofa, studying the paper. “Swen has never said or done anything inappropriate.”

  “He’s biding his time. Waiting for you to get through the mourning period. But he will, believe me. I saw the way he looked at you.”

  “There are plenty of wealthy widows hanging around the Mandarin, if he’s interested in marrying for money.” She glanced at the list of herbs again, then back to Max. “He wouldn’t have to kill a man to free one up.”

  “But how many of them are worth billions? And how many of them look like you? And who the hell else knew what room you were in yesterday?”

  She nodded, considering that. “He would have to have slipped it to William somehow. My husband didn’t believe in holistic treatment. He wouldn’t even take vitamins, and prided himself on being sixty-three and on no medication.”

  “Cori, you don’t know. If the man was truly impotent, you have no idea what he might do to fix that.”

  Truly impotent? But of course he…oh. Then why the condoms?

  “Wouldn’t something like that show up in the autopsy?” She opened a filing cabinet and pulled out a copy of the report. While Max read it, she perused the information on Swen, the herbs, and the e-mail from Jazz Adams.

  “This is a copy,” Max said, flipping through the pages. “It could have been altered. Dan might know more after he finds this guy. In the meantime, I’m going to talk to Swen.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll get more out of him if you don’t. You better stay here.”

  “I’ll go crazy, Max. Can’t I at least meet Breezy while you’re with Swen?”

  “Don’t say a word to her,” he warned. “She talks too much.”

  “Okay. I’ll see if she can meet me at the Mandarin while you talk to Swen,” she said. “Is that all you have in mind for today?”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “Not all.”

  The way he said it made a flock of wild butterflies take flight in her stomach. “What else?”

  His gaze dropped over her camisole briefly, then settled on her face. “You’ll see.”

  Chapter

  Twelve

  “S o I need to know, and I need to know now, Corinne Peyton. When, where, and how often?”

  Cori looked across the table she shared with Breezy on the terrace outside the M-Bar, squinting at the light that glimmered off the infinity pool below and the endless blue of Biscayne Bay beyond that.

  “Do we have to sit out here? I’m sweating.” More important, Max would hate that they’d taken a table out in the open. But he was behind closed doors with Swen, after leaving her a corner table inside, with a simple “Be careful” in her ear when they’d parted.

  “Yes, we have to sit outside. I can’t smoke in there.” Breezy waved her cigarette at the cherry wood and cushioned couches of the chic martini bar inside. “Do not avoid the question any longer, my love.” She put both elbows on the table and leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m dying for details.”

  Cori shook her head.

  “Come on,” Breezy urged. “Tell me something. Anything. Is he huge? Does he growl when he comes? He looks like the type.”

  Cori laughed. “You’re awful.” The urge to spill her guts to Breezy tugged at her. She yearned to tell Breezy about William, about his dying words, about the condoms on the boat. She wanted to open up and wallow in Breezy’s inimitable ability to make her feel better.

  But she’d promised Max, plus Breezy would tell Giff. And Giff would be devastated.

  Breezy leaned back and puffed. “So how long were you climbing Mount Max?”

 
Cori smiled, taking enough of a sip of her French martini to let the Grey Goose and Chambord tingle her lips. “A year.”

  “A year?” Breezy flicked her ash. “And this was in Chicago? Before I met you?”

  “Right before. We…we split up just a few months before the fund-raiser where I met you.” Cori frowned for a minute. “Did you actually introduce me to William? I know I met you both that night.”

  “Oh no, no, no.” Breezy shook her head with a sultry laugh. “Thou shalt not change the subject.”

  Cori grinned back at her. “You’re relentless.”

  “Thank you. Now.” Breezy repositioned herself as though settling in for a good long talk. “You were together for a year, and then you broke up. Why? No, no. We’ll get to that. How serious was it?”

  Serious? Oh, it was rarely serious. It was fun, wild, delicious, exhausting, unforgettable. Back then, Max laughed more than he scowled. “We were going to get married,” she said quietly.

  “Married?” Breezy could barely keep the amazement out of her voice. “You never mentioned that you’d been engaged before.” The accusation held a good dose of resentment.

  “It wasn’t ever official. We never had a chance to announce anything.”

  No announcement. No ring. No celebration. She’d told her father, he’d gone crazy, they’d argued and gone to bed. The next morning, Max knocked on her door to tell her that Paul Cooper was dead. She hadn’t said good-bye to her father before he left for work. She hadn’t said she was sorry. She hadn’t said she loved him.

  And that was the end of her brief engagement.

  “So why did you break up?”

  “My father was killed. I think I told you that.” Cori took another sip of her drink.

  “Well?” Breezy prodded, tapping her lighter with a creamy colored nail. “Weddings happen, even after funerals.”

  “Not in this case.”

  Breezy notched an eyebrow and flipped her blond hair over her shoulder. “I’ll have to hate you for real if you don’t tell me more.”