by Julie Chase
Something else Mom had said circled through my mind. My thoughts shifted to Ryan and Josie. I’d seen genuine shock in both Ryan and Josie’s eyes the night Jack accused her of killing Annie. Maybe she’d faked the surprise, or maybe she was guilty and genuinely shocked that the cops were able to connect her to the murder. I wasn’t convinced of either. I wanted more time with Shannon Martin. If I was disappointed at losing a potential partnership with Annie, how upset was Shannon that she’d stolen his designs? Did she steal them? Maybe she’d bought them or had made some other arrangement with him. I needed to ask Jack if they’d brought him in for questioning yet.
Annie’s ex-husband had made a solid murder suspect before he died. Why was he dead? Was it a suicide? Did he feel guilty for killing Annie? Was it grief?
Or was he murdered?
I let the thought spin. Dylan Latherope was too tall to have been Annie’s killer, but he was obsessive. What if he’d skulked around long enough to figure out who killed Annie and then confronted them?
I flipped to my phone’s photo gallery and swiped through the pictures I’d taken this week. I was missing something.
I texted Jack.
Do we know what killed Dylan Latherope yet? Was he murdered?
The phone vibrated back instantly. Unfortunately, the response was my mom’s, not Jack’s.
I didn’t tell you he was my new neighbor because Chase wanted to tell you himself.
That was probably something I should think about, but not right now. I tapped the top of my phone, urging Jack’s reply to appear. When that didn’t work, I shook it a little.
With Latherope dead and Ryan and Josie in jail, there was no one left in Annie’s circle to gain from her loss. What would happen once her estate settled? I stared at a picture of Josie. It was Bryce, Annie’s attorney, who’d pointed me in her direction. He was also the one who’d warned me about Dylan Latherope wanting the kittens. Bryce had offered to take Cotton and Cashmere off my hands more than once. He was the executor of Annie’s will. He knew about the kittens’ trust. He knew about Ryan and the drugs. Bryce knew everything.
Including how to frame a pair of not-too-smart drug dealers for murder.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A Furry Godmother reality check: Honesty is the best policy. But insanity is a better defense.
Bryce killed Annie!
Sudden heart-pounding realization set in. Perspiration broke along my forehead. I’d thought two things the moment I met Bryce. He was good-looking, and he was short. Given recent findings, I was willing to bet he was roughly five foot eight.
The phone vibrated in my sweat-slicked palm. Jack.
Let’s talk in a minute. I’m parking now.
I’d nearly forgotten I’d invited Jack to join me tonight. That was perfect!
I stood and set the clipboards aside.
“Where are you going?” the woman beside me hissed. “The lights are going down.”
“Bathroom,” I blurted. I dashed into the aisle and jogged toward the closing double doors to the lobby.
Chase moseyed through, heavy-laden with snacks. “What’s up? Did I take too long?”
“No,” I huffed, out of breath and on the verge of a panic attack. “It was Annie’s lawyer. Bryce killed her for the kittens and the trust. I need to get to my parents’ house. Jack’s outside. I’m taking him with me. I’ll call you as soon as I can and fill you in.”
Chase stepped in front of me, effectively blocking my path. His hands were too full to grab me. “Jack’s outside the theater?”
“Yes. He just parked.” I wiggled my phone between us as proof. “He texted me a minute ago.”
Chase gave the doors a skeptical look. “Let the cop deal with Bryce. Tell Jack what you know, then come back inside. I’ll drive you home. Don’t get involved confronting a killer.”
“I won’t. Promise.” I lifted onto my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Cover for me with the other judges.” I tipped my head in the direction of our seats. “I won’t be long. If I am, I’ll text you so you know I’m okay.”
He took a big side step, allowing me to pass.
I ran easily through the empty lobby, thankful for impeccable timing. Everyone had taken their seats, effectively clearing a path for me. I pushed the front door open and bounded into the night with a thrill in my heart.
I didn’t see Jack, so I responded to his text.
Bryce killed Annie.
My car slid swiftly against the curb.
I froze. I’d arrived in a cab.
My driver’s-side window powered down, but the driver didn’t get out. Notes of an eerily familiar song drifted from my speaker system. You follow me. I follow you. You follow me. I follow you.
Bryce glared at me from behind the wheel. “Get in. Don’t make a scene, or your cat’s dead.”
Behind him, my cat carrier was strapped to the back seat. Penelope peered through the window, clearly annoyed.
“How’d you get my car?” I gasped.
“Spare keys in the kitchen.”
My head and tummy coiled with fresh panic and nausea. “I set the alarm.” The sting of tears bit my eyes. Conspiracy theories rattled around my head. Did the alarm company sell my information? Did Bryce use his attorney status to illegally request my code?
“I watched you type your password the day we met.”
“No.” I shook my head, disbelieving. “I didn’t.”
“Yes. First, you let someone break in and steal Cotton and Cashmere. Then I told you about their microchips.”
The memory overcame me. He’d seemed so kind and sincere, like a decent human being.
“You locked up on our way out. I watched.”
“Lacy?” Jack hollered from the corner, cupping his hands around his mouth.
“Get in now,” Bryce growled, “or Penelope’s going for a swim with Latherope in the mighty Mississippi, carrier and all.”
I reached for the passenger door and opened it slowly, hoping to simultaneously pacify Bryce while giving Jack enough time to be a hero. Jack went rigid. I gave him a long, desperate look, unable to put off the inevitable. My car began to creep forward. “Sorry,” I mouthed before climbing into a moving car with a murderer.
Jack scowled and broke into a run.
Bryce jammed the gas, and we peeled away from the curb, nearly hitting a construction dumpster. The passenger door swung shut, bouncing off my right leg before I could get it fully inside. “Ah!” I yanked my knee up and pressed my palms against the roof, praying I wouldn’t fall out.
Bryce swerved around a woman in Dior, flinging me into the center console and successfully slamming my door. The power locks clamped down a moment later, sealing me inside.
The sound reverberated in my head and pounded through my throbbing leg.
He honked and swore. “Why are there so many people?”
“Slow down!” I screamed, terrified for the pedestrians pressed against buildings as we tore past.
Bryce looked right, and his mouth fell open.
I followed his gaze.
Thanks to the human obstacle course, Jack had passed us, running parallel on the sidewalk. He slid across the hood of a taxi cab at the corner and landed feet wide, gun pointed at Bryce’s head. The lapels of his high-end suit jacket ruffled in the wind. His crisp white shirt screamed Bond. James Bond.
He made time to change before coming. My heart softened, stupidly.
Bryce stood on the brake, throwing my body forward like a rag doll and smacking my forehead into the dashboard until I saw stars.
I might’ve sworn while fumbling to lift my aching head and fasten my seat belt before the inevitable impact. I sent up a more fervent prayer that we’d all survive.
Bryce released the brake, changing plans and mashing the gas pedal to the floor.
“No!”
Jack launched himself out of the way, tumbling over the gravelly road.
I swiveled at the waist, hoping he wasn’t badly hurt. I fli
pped my visor down and checked the mirror.
Jack rolled to a stop against the tire of a large SUV.
Bryce jerked the steering wheel, and I faced forward, praying again for the public at large. We bounced onto a rare bare section of sidewalk and roared around the corner before landing back on the street inches from a gray sedan on my side.
I screamed and braced for a hit that didn’t come.
The sedan’s driver honked and gave me the finger.
“What the hell is with this guy?” Bryce marveled into the rearview mirror.
I angled for a better look.
Jack ran full speed down the middle of the street behind us. He’d stripped off his jacket, and his tie flew crazily over one shoulder. His black dress shoes weren’t made for a footrace or parkour or whatever he had in mind next, but his arms and legs pumped hard. Determination worked his face into a series of harsh lines and angles. Despite the unthinkable effort, we were in a car, and unbeknownst to Jack, apparently, he was only human. The distance between us grew until my hope faded with his features.
A familiar black Camaro plunged into my periphery, tearing down a pitted brick alleyway and heading straight for us. Police lights flashed beneath the custom grill.
I turned and winced. Pain shot through my head and down my spine. “Oh.” I pressed a hot palm to the back of my neck. “I think you gave me whiplash.” My vision blurred. I touched the window with my fingers. “Henri,” I whispered. Tears of hope blurred my eyes. Could he catch us? Force Bryce to pull over? Help me?
“What the—?” Bryce spotted the police lights and groaned. “Man, the cops down here are insanely dedicated. What are you? Like a local princess or something?”
“Something,” I sniffled. “To a few people, anyway.”
Bryce yanked the wheel again. “Well, where I’m from, a person can take a few minutes to reflect on their wrongdoings and formulate a plan without being hounded. This is borderline harassment.” He jammed the gas again, cutting through the crush of stalled traffic and entering a side street from the wrong direction, leaving Henri in the alley across the way.
I pressed my nose to the glass as we barreled around the corner, avoiding miles of taillights.
Behind me, Penelope meowed.
A small sob escaped my lips. Penelope rarely said anything. Clearly, she understood this was not going to end well. For me, anyway. “Please don’t hurt my cat.”
Bryce pulled my car into a parking deck and wound his way to the top at an uncomfortable speed. “Shut up. I need to think.” He shifted hard into park between the last empty pair of white lines. “Excuse me.” He pointed to the glove box at my knees.
I moved out of his way.
“Thanks.” He opened the compartment and retrieved a gun.
“Holy smokes!” I yelped. “Why do you have a gun?” An even better question was why I’d move my legs aside so he could get it so easily? Damn southern manners. I hadn’t even considered what he might’ve put inside. All I kept in the glove box were some unpaid parking tickets and a half-eaten granola bar.
Bryce gripped the gun in one shaky hand and covered his eyes with the other. “This is not what was supposed to happen.” He pounded my steering wheel with his free hand. “You were supposed to get Annie’s kittens for me. I was going to tie you up and leave you behind while I made my escape. Now I need a new plan.” He gave up on the steering wheel and pounded his forehead instead. “Think. Think. Think.”
“Maybe you can still let us go,” I suggested. “I’ll grab Penelope and get out. You can go wherever you want. I’ll tell the local authorities you didn’t hurt me, and everything will be okay.” The throbbing in my head and leg said I was far from okay, but I wasn’t dead, and I planned to stay that way.
Bryce slowly turned his face toward mine. Panic danced over his pale features. “Everything will be okay?” he whispered. “Everything will be okay? That’s what you think?” His voice boomed with the final question, sending pain flares through my brain.
I nodded carefully. “Absolutely.”
He pointed the gun at me. “I need you to get Cotton and Cashmere from your dad. Oh, don’t look so surprised. They have trackers, and hiding them at your next of kin’s house is a little obvious. Your dad is a vet.”
“Why do you want them? Why not just leave us here and go? You know the police are on to you.” Why worry about her kittens at a time like this? “Oh. For the money. Sorry. I knew the answer to that.” I pressed my lips shut before I said anything else stupid and got myself shot. I pretended to lock up my mouth and toss away the key.
He grimaced. “Well, you don’t have to make me sound like some callous monster. I need the money, and I care about those kittens.” His erratic gaze jumped and darted through the quiet parking deck. “Annie always left them behind. She put them in Camp Bow Wow and Meow while she traveled the world. It was awful, so I offered to keep them instead. I wanted to show her they mattered to me. I thought one day, maybe we’d make the situation permanent.” He made a little smile. “I could’ve made them happy.”
I wasn’t sure who he meant anymore. “Annie and her kittens?” I peeked into the back seat to check on Penelope. She’d flopped onto her side, having given up the hopes of escaping anytime soon. Not me. I felt along the seat’s edge for my fallen clutch.
Bryce rested his head against the seat back and looked at my roof. He bounced the hand with the gun against his bobbing knee. “This is all her fault, you know?”
I tried to wiggle the toes on my aching leg. Searing pain put a stop to that experiment. “Whose? Annie’s?” I croaked.
“Who else? I’m in debt up to my jockey shorts, and she pays me a retainer I could cash with the office vending machine. It’s ridiculous. I’m a valuable asset to her team.”
I did my best to look as if I cared. “You’re the one who tried to break into my house that night after Charlie took the kittens.”
He tapped the gun on my steering wheel. “Tried. I’m not exactly a professional lock-picker, and a nosy neighbor interrupted me. I just wanted the kittens, and I needed that ten grand back. I still do. How did you get your door fixed so quickly?”
“Detective Oliver knows a guy.”
“Oh.” He rolled his head in my direction. “This time I had to bust the door. Your insurance plan should cover that.”
“Great.”
“I grabbed your car and cat but couldn’t find the money. Where’d you put it?”
“I don’t know.” I scraped my mind to recall where I’d last seen it. It was hard to concentrate with mind-numbing pain and a far-too-calm killer pointing his gun at me. Jack. “Detective Oliver has the money. You know the kittens weren’t at my house that night either, right? I’d already moved them. In fact, I was with my parents while you were trying to break in.”
“Of course I found that out later, but they were supposed to be with you.” He made a choking sound. “They were supposed to be at the pound, but you got involved and decided to keep them. Did you even have them twenty-four hours?”
“They were stolen,” I snapped. “You didn’t have to tell us about their trackers. Why didn’t you go get them yourself and be done?”
“What if the abductor refused to hand them over? What could I do then? You were the one with the cop.”
Right. I kept forgetting Bryce was a weasel. “Why not insist on taking them from me as soon as I got them back?”
“I don’t know,” he growled. “Why is hindsight twenty-twenty? I never dreamed I’d even have to ask for the cats. I thought you’d beg me to take them after that dumb blogger broke into your house. Besides, the cops had already deigned you as the caregiver. I could’ve picked them up from the pound and been long gone if you’d let them go there as planned. And after all that, you didn’t even keep them! You gave them to your dad who lives and works at the southern Fort Knox.”
“I was trying to protect them.” I pressed a palm to my throbbing head. “What about the money? Why tell me a
bout it, leave it with me, then come back for it a few hours later?”
“I wanted you to assume the trust was her killer’s motive.”
“Your motive.”
He made a sour face. “I wanted to point you at Ryan or Dylan. Ryan’s a drug dealer. He should be in jail. And Dylan is a jerk.”
“Was.” My tummy churned. Penelope and I were at the mercy of the world’s worst criminal, and he’d threatened to pitch her into the river.
He shot me a feral expression. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“You killed him, right? They found his body.” I softened my voice and dropped my hand to my lap. “He’s huge and a little crazy. How’d you manage it?”
His lip curled back, either in a sinister grin or distaste—it was hard to tell with the double vision beginning. “I met him at the river to talk with him about ways he could regain possession of the kittens.”
“But you weren’t going to give them to him.”
“And he was never going to stop coming for them.” Bryce’s voice cracked. Tears pooled in his eyes. “They’re all that’s left of her.” He sniffled and ran a sleeve under his nose for good measure. “I wasn’t letting them go.”
“Because you want to collect the trust,” I said.
“No! Not everything is about money! Don’t you know that?” He grabbed his hair in both hands and pulled until his scalp reddened from the pressure. “Everything’s gotten completely out of hand.” He tipped his head back and screamed.
I needed my phone before he turned his crazy on me. My clutch had slid onto the carpet between my seat and the door when he’d wheeled away from the curb like a lunatic. I winced at the reminder of my aching shin. Thanks to the head injury, I’d almost forgotten I had legs. My calf was swollen and turning black and blue where it had been smashed in the slamming door. Forget wiggling my toes. I could barely stand to move the whole leg.
I stretched my fingertips deeper until they brushed the rough edges of my beaded purse. Adrenaline surged. My phone was in that purse. I leaned slightly toward the door, hoping not to draw my captor’s attention. My fingernail caught on a bead and inched the purse up, only to drop it again.
