by Irene Hannon
Picking up her pace, she half jogged down the gravel driveway, hauling her trash can behind her.
Poor Tally. He hated to be left behind almost as much as he hated leashes.
But after she’d discovered his propensity to chase cars the one and only time she’d let him accompany her on her trash run, his whines fell on deaf ears. Better a disappointed dog than a dead one. Besides, she’d nearly had a heart attack as he’d loped after any passing car with gleeful oblivion to the danger, ignoring her frantic summonses.
She positioned the trash can at the end of her drive as a flash of lightning illuminated the western sky, followed by a low growl of thunder.
Tally let out a mournful wail.
Breaking into a full jog, she retraced her steps. He’d be making a beeline for his hiding place under her bed the instant she opened the back door. But if that made him feel safe, it was . . .
A dark form emerged from the shadows just ahead, to her left. Her step faltered as her hand automatically reached for her holster.
But who wore a gun when exercising?
The person before her, however, was far better equipped. Though the night was dark, she had no problem seeing the outlines of the pistol aimed at her heart.
“We meet again.”
At the familiar female voice, Lisa’s lungs locked.
What in the world . . .
“Nothing to say? Strange. You’ve had plenty of words for me—and the press—until now.” She moved slightly aside. “Keep walking toward the house. And don’t try anything. I know how to use this, and I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger. In fact, I have a feeling I’d enjoy it very much.”
Mind churning, Lisa forced her feet to carry her forward, any lingering doubt about Jessica Lee’s culpability evaporating. The woman was guilty of everything they’d suspected. Perhaps more.
As for whether she’d carry out her threat to use the gun . . . hard to say. That would be obvious homicide, and she’d been careful up till now to ensure the deaths she’d orchestrated appeared accidental.
But what if the pressure they’d exerted had at last made the woman crack? If so, she might change her modus operandi, be more willing to take risks.
Better to play this out for a few minutes, wait for an opportunity where the odds were a bit more in her favor before attempting to gain the upper hand. If the woman’s main objective was to shoot her, she’d have done so already.
Once they drew near the back gate, Tally’s happy, welcoming yips ceased. Gaze fixed on Jessica, he ground out an ominous snarl as they approached.
“Grab the mutt’s collar and put him in the kennel. Make one wrong move or let loose of him before he’s restrained, he dies.”
Would she shoot Tally? A gunshot would be heard for a long distance in the open country around them.
The woman spoke as if reading her mind. “The house on your right is vacant. Your neighbors on the left are out for the evening. No one’s at the church. The next closest sign of civilization is a quarter of a mile away. Do you really think anyone’s going to notice a gunshot over the rumble of thunder and air conditioners?”
Whatever had possessed her to take this extreme step, Jessica’s mind was still lucid. She’d thought this whole thing through, just as she’d thought the other murders through.
Except this time, there was one big difference.
Lisa was on to her, while the others might not have realized they were targets until it was too late.
“Move!”
Easing open the gate, Lisa grasped Tally’s collar.
The dog surged toward the other woman, but she held tight. “It’s okay, boy. Come on. Let’s go to the run.”
She had to drag him the entire way as he growled and snarled at Jessica, who was following at a safe distance.
As she lifted the latch on the gate, she hesitated for one split second. If she let Tally go, he’d barrel straight toward Jessica, do his best to protect the human who’d rescued him and lavished him with love.
But he’d die in that attempt. There was no doubt in Lisa’s mind that Jessica would carry out her threat—and in the end, it might not buy her enough of an opening to cover the distance between them and wrestle the gun away from her, anyway. They were too far apart.
She opened the gate, pulled Tally inside, and slipped out before he could squeeze past her legs.
“Now let’s go inside.”
Lisa wiped her palms down the stretch fabric of her capris and walked toward the back door.
After she twisted the knob and pushed through into the kitchen, Jessica spoke again. “Move to the middle of the room.”
She did as instructed.
The woman entered and closed the door behind her.
In the light, Lisa got her first clear look at the PR executive. Her attire was reminiscent of Catwoman—but it was the cold, hard, merciless hate glittering in the woman’s eyes that sent her adrenaline surging.
Jessica Lee had killing on her mind—and she wouldn’t waste a lot of time leading up to it. Whatever her plan, she was going to implement it and get out fast.
The clock was ticking.
Jessica gestured toward the hall with the gun. “Walk down to your exercise room.”
She knew about the exercise room?
Had she gotten into the house?
No. Lisa never left home without activating the alarm system.
Could she have looked in from the outside?
Once in the room, Lisa inspected the windows. There. On the far wall. There was a gap at the bottom of the blinds. Someone outside could have seen in.
Is that what Jessica had been doing on her out-of-town vacation? Stalking her quarry?
Lisa suppressed a shudder. She and Mac had always known the PR executive was smart, but she was even smarter than they’d thought.
“Drop the blinds all the way to the windowsill.”
As she complied, the woman surveyed the room, then motioned toward the stationary bike. “Why don’t you take a ride?”
Lisa stared at her.
This was getting more bizarre by the minute.
Her nemesis sat on the single chair in the room. “Ride.”
Getting on the bike would put more distance—and barriers—between them. That wasn’t going to give her any opportunity to lunge for the gun.
“Stop thinking so hard, Lisa. Just do it. Now.”
“Why?” She had to stall. Figure out a way to maneuver herself closer to the woman.
Jessica smiled, but only evil shone from her eyes. “Vigorous exercise never hurt anybody . . . unless they happen to be diabetic.”
As the woman’s intent suddenly became clear, the bottom dropped out of Lisa’s stomach.
Jessica had seen the glucometer that day in the Peterson-Bradshaw office when it had fallen from her purse. She’d been married to a doctor . . . and she clearly knew enough about diabetes to use the condition as a lethal weapon.
Just as she’d used alcohol and a bee allergy against Erika and Joe.
A surge of anger—and adrenaline—stiffened Lisa’s backbone as she locked gazes with the gun-toting woman.
That ploy might have worked in the past, but this time she’d picked the wrong target. If Police Chief Lisa Grant did die tonight—and that was a very credible possibility—it wasn’t going to look like an accident.
No matter the outcome for her, she was taking Jessica Lee down.
25
Why wasn’t Lisa answering?
Crossing to the sliding doors that led to his balcony, Mac took a swig of soda as a distant flash of lightning lit the night sky. The storm the meteorologists had predicted was approaching fast.
When the call rolled to voice mail, he disconnected. No need to leave a second message. The one from fifteen minutes ago said all he had to say.
He weighed the phone in his hand. It was possible she’d been called out to help handle some crisis and was too busy to deal with phone calls.
But that didn’
t feel right.
Even on the Fourth of July, in the midst of all the chaos with the underage drinkers, she’d answered her cell.
And if she’d been in the shower for his first call, she’d have gotten his message by now and called back.
Should he try her home phone? That number was tucked in his directory too—though he’d never used it.
He scrolled down to it. Hesitated. Were three calls within fifteen minutes overkill?
Yeah—under normal circumstances.
But this was out of pattern. He’d been checking in with her every night around nine-thirty since the day they’d visited Jessica Lee’s office and condo and begun the ten-day case-closed countdown. She’d always answered by the second ring or returned his calls within minutes.
Always.
Without further debate, he tapped in her home number.
Three rings in, he got another answering machine.
His apprehension ratcheted up another notch.
Lisa was always home by nine-thirty, barring an emergency at work.
On a whim, he tried her office number. Not that there was much chance she’d be sitting behind her desk if she had been called in. On the contrary. She’d be in the field, in the thick of things. Maybe setting herself up for another sock in the jaw.
No answer.
When the aluminum crinkled beneath his fingers, he loosened his grip, finished off the soda, and set the can on the pass-through counter between his galley kitchen and eating area.
This wasn’t making any sense.
He moved into the living room. Began to pace.
She had to know he’d worry if she didn’t answer—and Lisa wasn’t the type of woman who brought unnecessary worry to those she cared about. That list now included him. They might have kept things professional between them, but her eyes didn’t lie. She was as eager as he was to shift their relationship into high gear.
Maybe he could call that young cop who’d been on the construction site the first day he’d met Lisa. He still had the man’s card somewhere. If there was some action in Carson, he’d know about it.
In his bedroom, he rooted through the overflowing dish on his dresser that held all the stuff he pulled out of his pockets each night. One of these days he’d have to sort through it and pitch the nonessentials—but for once, procrastination was going to pay dividends.
He found Craig Shelton’s card at the bottom, a half-melted peppermint stuck to it, but once he scraped off the candy, the man’s cell number was legible.
Unlike his boss, Shelton answered on the first ring.
Mac reintroduced himself, then hesitated. Had Lisa mentioned to anyone at her office that the two of them were . . . friendly? Not likely. Better to keep this official.
“Officer Shelton, I’ve been trying to reach Chief Grant this evening to discuss the cases we’ve been investigating.” Not quite a lie; the subject always came up during their conversations. “She’s not answering her cell, and I wondered if there might be some trouble in Carson that required her attention.”
In the background, a police radio cackled to life. “No. I’m on duty, and it’s a quiet night. Maybe her battery is dead.”
“The phone would have gone straight to voice mail if that was the case. It rang.”
“Hmm. Would you like her home number?”
A gust of wind whipped the branches of the tree outside his window, and Mac squinted at the black sky. Should he admit he already had it?
Why not? Their relationship would be public knowledge soon enough.
“I’ve already tried that. No answer.”
If the guy was surprised, he gave no indication. “I’m not that far from her place. If it’s important, I could swing by and see if she’s home.”
“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate that. If she’s there, ask her to call me.”
“Will do. You should hear back from one of us within ten minutes.”
“Thanks. I’ll stand by.”
While he waited for the return call, Mac slipped a section of his belt out of the loops on his jeans and slid on his holstered Sig Sauer. He also pocketed his creds, dug out his personal binoculars from the guest room closet, and grabbed some extra batteries for the flashlight in his car.
He hoped he didn’t need any of that equipment—but he intended to be ready.
Just in case.
“This is taking too long.” Jessica frowned and glanced at her watch. “Increase the resistance.”
As sweat trickled down her temple, Lisa stopped pedaling to fiddle with the adjustments on the bike.
Her fingers were still steady. That was good.
But if this strenuous exercise continued, symptoms of hypoglycemia would soon set in.
Exactly what Jessica had planned.
She needed to buy herself a few resting minutes while she tried to figure out how to get from the bike to the gun without taking a bullet in the process.
“Look . . . what’s going on here? Why are you targeting me?”
The woman’s features hardened. “I don’t like people who steal.”
Lisa cocked her head. “What are you talking about?”
“You stole from me as surely as Erika tried to. I spent years building my place at Peterson-Bradshaw, then you swept in and did your best to rob me of my future.” A muscle twitched beside her eye. “I don’t have a lot of patience for thieves. I would think you’d understand that, in your line of work. Behavior like that deserves to be punished.” The woman’s voice was cold. Steady. Merciless.
A faint throb began to pound in Lisa’s head, and her fingers started to tingle.
Bad sign.
She did her best to rein in her panic. “How did Erika steal from you?”
Jessica rose, but the gun never wavered. “She threatened to go to the police and tell the story about Alena if I didn’t give her an exorbitant amount of money.”
Blackmail.
Not an uncommon motive for murder.
Lisa tightened her grip on the handlebar as a wave of dizziness swept over her. Steady, steady. Hold on. “So you killed her.”
The woman smiled. “It was an accident. She always did drink too much.”
“What about Joe?”
She shrugged. “I got the distinct impression he was sorry we’d ever covered up Alena’s death and wouldn’t mind in the least if the truth came out. That was the last thing I needed.”
“And what is the truth?”
“Start pedaling again.”
She flexed her fingers on the handlebar and began cycling again. “Look . . . I’ve spent weeks trying to piece together this puzzle. At least tell me what happened that night.”
Jessica watched her in silence for a few moments. “I don’t suppose it can hurt. It’s not like you’re going to be sharing the information with anyone—and I did come up with a masterful plan.”
As the woman recounted the tale of that long-ago night—of the marijuana; of Alena’s reckless decision to sit on the top of the backseat of the convertible; of the sudden high-speed dip that sent her flying into a ditch; of their trek through the night to the wooded property Erika’s neighbors owned to dispose of the body—Lisa’s vision began to blur. Her rhythm faltered, and one foot slipped out of the strap on the bike pedal.
“Having a little trouble?” Jessica took a step toward her.
“You know I am.” If she exaggerated the symptoms, she might be able to lull the woman into a false sense of security. Draw her closer.
Jessica tut-tutted. “You should monitor your blood sugar more carefully. Letting it drop too low can be very dangerous. Fatal, even.”
“You do realize that three accidents are going to be a lot for the authorities to swallow.”
The woman gave her a smug smile. “Ah, but I’m very good at making accidents happen. No one found a thing to suggest the deaths of Erika and Joe were anything more than tragic mishaps. Nor will they with you. Exploiting your enemy’s weakness is a classic battle strategy
—and every enemy has one. Combined with careful research and planning, the technique works every time. Great leaders have—”
Headlights swept across the front of the house.
Lisa stopped pedaling.
Keeping the gun aimed straight at her, Jessica backed up to the front window. Eased the blinds a whisper away. Muttered an oath.
“It’s a Carson cop car. Why would one of your cops be coming here at this hour?”
“I have . . . no idea.” She pretended to have difficulty forming her words—but they were true. There would be no reason for one of the Carson police cars to be in her driveway.
Unless . . .
Might Mac have gotten worried when she didn’t answer his call? He’d been phoning every night around nine-thirty. The land line had rung too—a follow-up after he’d been unable to reach her by cell? Had he somehow contacted one of her guys, asked him to swing by?
Or was she grasping at straws?
God, please let this be more than desperate wishful thinking!
Jessica edged closer. Not close enough to risk a lunge, but close enough for Lisa to see the hate in her eyes. “Don’t move a muscle.” The directive came out in a whispered hiss.
As they waited in silence, a crack of thunder rattled the walls.
On the heels of that came Tally’s faint, mournful wail.
No other sound intruded on the room—until the doorbell rang.
Jessica extended her arm straight out, putting the gun less than four feet away from Lisa’s face.
She remained motionless—but she had to get off this bike soon. Free her arms and legs so she could lunge the instant an opportunity presented itself.
The bell rang again.
Silence as the minutes ticked by.
One.
Two.
Three.
Jessica returned to the window, raised the edge of the blinds a hair, and flicked her attention back and forth between the stationary bike and the driveway.
She was too far away now to rush. That would be suicide.
Lisa remained frozen, using as little energy as possible. Her blood sugar was dropping into the danger zone quickly, thanks to all this exercise. She needed to get some glucose into her system.
Fast.
Meaning she had to make her move very soon, before she became too weak and disoriented.
