Thrill Me to Death

by Roxanne St Claire

“Who do you love more? Me or Corinne Peyton?”

  She searched his eyes, her clear green gaze clouded with uncertainty. Giff held his breath. Of course she’d say him. It was no contest. He was a man. Sort of.

  “Who?” he asked again, the pain tightening in his temples as he waited for the answer.

  “I love you both,” she said.

  He tightened his grasp. “More. Who do you love more?”

  “Giff.” She shook her head and tried to pull away. “She’s my best friend; you’re my husband.”

  “Who?” His voice hardened with the demand. Shit, he was backing her into a corner and there was nothing Breezy hated more. But he couldn’t stop. He was desperate.

  “Well, I love you, Giff,” she finally said, with just enough hesitation to worry him.

  “If you had to choose one of us—say, to save our lives—who would you choose?” His fingers dug into her hips and he could feel the bones. She was so thin, he could break her in two. “Breezy, tell me. Who would you choose?”

  “I can’t believe you have to ask.”

  The look in her eyes told him exactly what he needed to know.

  “I could kill you, Cori.”

  She finally released her grip on the chain-link fence. “You damn near did, Max.”

  He closed the space between them, wearing a scowl so deep it cut a slash in his forehead. “I can’t believe you would be so stupid as to run around this place by yourself at night. What the hell are you trying to prove?”

  “I didn’t set out to run around at night.” She rubbed her arms as the adrenaline that had just surged suddenly turned her blood icy. “I got locked out of the trailer. Someone moved my car. I don’t have a phone. I was looking for—What are you doing here?”

  “You left your computer on and the last file was still up.” He pulled her into the heat of his chest and she could feel his heart pounding as hard as hers.

  But that didn’t answer her question. What was he doing in California?

  “You scared me,” he said gruffly.

  “Then why did you try to run me over?”

  “To show you how easily it could happen. Plus I didn’t want you to tear off into the woods.” He hugged her even closer, burying her in the hard muscle of him. “Jesus,” he muttered. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you.”

  “No,” she said roughly, pulling away to singe him with a look. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “Let’s go home. I gotta call Ryker.” He started walking to the car, but she resisted.

  “I have to get back into the trailer, Max. The jump drive and the files are there.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “No,” she countered. “Tomorrow everything could be gone. I need to have the evidence together to confront Giff and the board about why this property has been rushed, and why we’re prepaying hundreds of thousands to subs.”

  “Tomorrow,” he insisted.

  “Max, something in my gut tells me this is going to lead us to William’s killer.”

  He held open the passenger door to the SUV—the Navigator from her garage that Chase had taken to the store. “All right. Let’s get what you need and leave.”

  “Can you get into the trailer?”

  He shot her a look and slammed the door shut.

  Like her, he couldn’t park closer than about a hundred and fifty feet from the trailer because of the blocks of cement and the temporary bathrooms. As they climbed out of the SUV, Cori suggested he lift her up to climb in the window.

  She just got that same look again as he crossed the gravel, took the two stairs in one step, and knocked the door open with one swift kick. “We’re in,” he said. “Make it fast.”

  “I just need to figure out what to take,” she said, heading to the back office.

  “Take everything.”

  “Can you go look for my car?”

  “No. I’m not leaving you.” He folded himself into one of the guest chairs as she picked up files.

  After a moment, she asked, “Max, why did you change your mind and come here?”

  He didn’t answer right away, and she looked over her shoulder at him. He balanced his chin on his fist, his elbow on the armrest and his eyes burned with…something.

  “Dan found something in Japan that worried me.”

  She dropped the file she’d been holding. “What?”

  “A note. In the file of the—” He jerked his head up and looked over her shoulder, at the window. “Get down,” he ordered, sliding out of the seat and pulling a gun in one swift move. “Get away from the window.”

  She fell to her knees, watching his face and not the window. “What is it?”

  “Lights. A car.” He held her down with one hand, crouching as he moved toward the window. He nudged the blind with his gun and peered out. “I saw headlights.”

  She stayed low as time ticked by. “Are they still there?”

  “Shhh.” He put his hand against her mouth, closing his eyes as he listened. “Son of a bitch,” he murmured.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “Listen to me,” he said, still looking outside. “You do exactly what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. “Are we going to stay in here or try to get to the car?”

  “We are not going to do anything. You are going to stay low to the ground and follow my instructions, which will not be delivered nicely. We’re going to—shit.”

  “What?”

  He just shook his head to quiet her. She listened but heard nothing.

  “There’s someone outside,” he mouthed.

  Blood pounded in her ears, and every muscle tensed. “It could be Sandy,” she whispered. “Or Nash. They work here.”

  He looked at her, his gaze darting from eye to eye, thinking hard. “Why wouldn’t they come up to the door? The lights are on. They know we’re in here.” He frowned, listening again, sniffing the air. “We have to get out of…” He sniffed again, harder. “Now.”

  He seized her by the arm and yanked her to her feet, twisting toward the desk to grab the SUV’s keys. “Do the lights flash when you unlock this car door?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then we’re not going to unlock it until we’re next to it.”

  As he pulled her toward the trailer door, a whiff of gasoline assaulted her.

  “When I say go, we’re going to run like hell,” he told her. “Stay with me every inch of the way until I tell you to let go. I’m going to unlock the car and open the doors. The minute I do, you throw yourself in the backseat, driver’s side. Don’t stop, don’t look, don’t do anything but that. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  He grabbed the trailer door with the hand that held the gun and pulled her with the other. “Go!” he barked, rushing her down the steps and breaking into a run. The Navigator looked like it was a million miles away, out in the open, an easy target.

  She sprinted with every ounce of power she could muster, deafened by air rushing over her ears. Her heels slid on stones and Max pulled her up from a stumble, the car still about fifty feet away. Her feet pounded in rhythm with his, gravel stabbing into the soles of her shoes. Thirty feet.

  He held up the key toward the SUV. Fifteen feet, ten, five.

  “Wait,” he ordered just as the headlights flashed with the keyless entry. She froze and he closed the space to the car, but something moved in her side view. Jerking her head to the right, she saw a man standing between two portable bathrooms.

  A red sweatshirt, hood up, arms extended, gun aimed directly at…

  “Max!” she yelled, hurling herself toward him and pushing him so hard, he stumbled with a vicious grunt. Like a firebrand, heat smacked her arm, a whizzing, tearing noise whipped through the air and burst against the side of the car.

  She’d been shot.

  He yanked the back door of the SUV and shoved her in so hard, she lurched to the other side. Before she righted herself, he was behind the wheel.
>
  Another bullet hit the back door with a thud. “Get on the floor!” he shouted. She rolled down and the SUV flew forward as he slammed on the accelerator.

  “Are you hit?” he asked.

  She slapped her hand over her upper arm, expecting to feel blood. But all she felt was the crispy edges of a torn blouse. “No,” she said on a breath. “It grazed my shirt.”

  “Jesus Christ, Cori!” he hollered, pounding the steering wheel. “What the hell were you doing?”

  She sat up to defend herself. “Saving your life.”

  “Get down!” he bellowed, whipping so hard to the right she really thought they were only on two wheels. “I don’t need you to save my life, damn it!” He revved the engine until they had to be hitting seventy, cinders crackling like popcorn on the undercarriage.

  “He was going to shoot you, Max. You didn’t see him and I did. I just acted—I didn’t think!”

  “Just like your father,” he muttered.

  Just like her father? Slowly, she rose up from behind the seat, clinging to the leather pocket for stability as he careened toward the site exit.

  That wasn’t how her father got killed. Just as she opened her mouth to argue, a flash of orange burst in the rearview mirror. Whipping around, she saw the trailer engulfed in flames.

  And inside were the files and, oh God, that jump drive with the subcontractor spreadsheet on it. Turning, she caught his gaze in the rearview. He gave her a hard, closed look.

  She’d seen him shut down and shut her out before. She’d begged, she’d pleaded…and then she’d assumed she knew what he wouldn’t say and why he wouldn’t say it.

  Just like your father.

  Had she assumed wrong?

  Chapter

  Eighteen

  C hase Ryker moved through Cori’s house with military precision, snapping out orders to another Bullet Catcher and the police officers brought in to patrol the property. From the corner of a chintz-covered sofa in the softly lit den, Cori sipped coffee. An endless pot had been brewing in the hours since her house became overrun with large men bearing handguns.

  The former Air Force commander rallied the troops with exactness, telling them where they would be stationed that night and when their shifts would end. The police officers seemed outranked, outsized, and wholly outclassed by Chase and the younger Bullet Catcher, a man named Johnny. Though neither reached Max’s height, the two men had the same quiet sense of control, authority, and fearlessness.

  Max sat at the game table with a local detective and fire chief, answering questions and giving them information to help them find the arsonist. He paused at the soft ring of the house phone, then continued talking. Cori picked up the receiver, barely getting a “hello” out before being interrupted.

  “My husband is getting emergency wake-up calls and I’m sleeping alone. I don’t like that,” Breezy said in a harsh whisper.

  Cori rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Breeze, but he’s on the crisis contact tree. We woke up quite a few unhappy employees and spouses tonight.”

  “What gives? He said there was a fire at the Petaluma Mall site. Were you there?”

  “Yes.” She mouthed “Breezy” to Max who responded with narrowed eyes of distrust. “It was arson,” she said quietly.

  “Really? Are you sure?”

  She could instantly feel Max’s glare on her. She stood, turning away and walking toward the kitchen. “It’s too complicated for this hour.”

  “Cori, I have to know.” There was an edge of desperation in her voice; this wasn’t just hunger for gossip.

  “Some things at the job site don’t seem right,” she said. “We’re going to halt construction for now, for the company’s best interest.”

  “Cori fucking Peyton, don’t you hand me that corporate BS. What’s going on?”

  Cori stepped into the kitchen, where Johnny, talking to Chase, shot her a friendly smile. Another heartbreaker.

  “Come on,” Breezy prodded. “You can trust me.”

  The fact that Breezy even said those words made Cori uneasy. “Don’t do this, Breezy. Don’t put both of us in the situation.”

  “What situation?” Breezy sounded insulted. “Are you holding something back because of Giff? Do you think he was…involved?”

  “Of course not. But the Petaluma property has been under his watch, and I’m afraid he’s going to take this mess personally.”

  Breezy was quiet for so long, Cori thought she’d lost the connection.

  “Okay,” Breezy whispered. “I just checked. He’s in the library on the phone. Tell me what you found, before he comes back.”

  “Breezy, I just told you—”

  “Goddamn it, I’m trying to help you.” The urgency in her voice sent a chill down Cori’s spine.

  “I found a document with William’s signature forged on it, dated the day after he died,” she said quietly, aware of the men’s eyes on her. “And I discovered that subs have been prepaid, some a year in advance.”

  “Could it be a clerical error?” Breezy asked. “People make mistakes, you know.”

  “But arson isn’t a mistake—and neither is being shot at.”

  Breezy was dead silent, and Cori reached for the patio door to get some privacy. “I’m in the middle of something, Breeze, and it’s not good. I just found out that the guy who did the autopsy on William is dead, and he left—”

  A strong hand closed over Cori’s shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She turned to meet Max’s blistering gaze. “Talking to my best friend.”

  He took the phone from her and stabbed a button, tossing the receiver on the counter with a clunk. “Not in the middle of a murder investigation.”

  “We are not—”

  “Oh yes we are. Dan Gallagher just called.”

  Cori braced for the blow. “William was murdered?”

  Max shook his head. “A witness came forth in Japan. The medical examiner didn’t commit suicide. He was shot to death.”

  Breezy stared at the receiver, then looked up at Giff. “I lost her.”

  “Lost the connection, or she hung up, or what?” he demanded, rubbing his temples and blinking at her.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What was the last thing she said?” His eyes were red-rimmed and all the color had drained from his face.

  “That subs were prepaid,” she said, lavishing insinuation in her voice. “She’s going to find out, Giff.”

  “Call her back.”

  “Giff—” He looked so old and decrepit, with a vein throbbing on the bald spot she detested. She put a hand on his arm and added sweetly, “Do you really want me to do this?”

  “I need help, Breezy. If they find out how much money I stole, I’ll go to jail for the rest of my life.”

  She closed her eyes. “I’ll do what I have to, Giff.”

  “You better,” he said, “or life as we know it is over.”

  With bodyguards stationed around the property, Max could almost relax. At least, he could think. Cori had disappeared upstairs for a bath, carrying a goblet of red wine. Once the crew had their duties and placement, he’d followed her to the bedroom, but she’d locked the door.

  After a moment, he went in search of a guest room and shower. When he opened the last door in the hall, he discovered a set of stairs that ended at another doorway. Opening it, he stepped into the glass-enclosed octagonal room perched high atop the house.

  It couldn’t have been ten feet across, with a cushion-covered window seat encircling the room and giant throw pillows on the floor. Moonlight bathed the tiny area in white light, illuminating the flowered patterns on the pillows and window seat.

  He knew he’d found one of Cori’s spots. The whisper of her fragrance was in the air; the essence of her seeped into his flesh. Closing the door, he sat on a window cushion, dropped his head in his hands, and sucked in an agonizing breath.

  His chest hurt. His throat hurt. His head hurt.

  Just l
ike your father.

  He’d lied to her five years ago. He hadn’t meant to lie, he just wanted to spare her pain. And he certainly hadn’t meant the truth to stay buried this long, but it had. And it cost him everything that mattered. He’d seen the look on her face when he made that verbal slip, greased by fear and adrenaline.

  Eventually, she’d ask what he meant. Could he tell her the truth…and let her realize he’d lied, and because of it they’d thrown away their life together? Could he not? Would she ever trust him again? Would she ever believe him again? Could she ever love him again?

  Jesus. Nice work, Roper. Way to keep those emotions off the job.

  He lifted his head at the sound of a footstep on the stairs. He leaped to the door and whipped it open to find Cori, her glass of wine in one hand, a deck of cards in the other.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said, “you got the watchtower duty.”

  He smiled, taking in her strappy tank top and tight-fitting sweatpants, bare feet and damp hair. “Come up for a quick round of solitaire with the devil, kid?”

  She brushed by him and settled on a floor cushion, placed the goblet next to her, and rapped the deck. “Unless he wants to play poker.”

  Ah, man. Cori Cooper, cross-legged with a deck of cards and a look of pure sin in her eyes. For one moment, he was back in Chicago and life was perfect again.

  “You don’t have much on,” he said, sitting across from her. “I’ll have you naked in three hands.”

  She shook her head. “We’re not playing strip.”

  Disappointment curled in his gut. “Okay. I already have my first favor lined up.”

  “No favors, either.” She handed him the deck to cut. “I like that game we played the other night.”

  He tapped the top card and mentally cursed himself for inventing answers. Now he’d have to cough up a few. “Fine,” he said. “You deal.”

  She did, then looked at her cards, set two down, and picked up her wine. “Want to taste what the neighbors grow?”

  He took the glass, sniffed it, letting one drop touch his lips. “I’d prefer the neighbors to grow some hops.”

  “When in Rome.” She took the glass and took a healthy sip. “How many cards do you need?”