The Killing Game

by Nancy Bush

  “I guess I’ll take the magenta one.”

  He completely relaxed. “I figured. The blue one’s good, too, though.” He ripped open the magenta bar and placed it into her palm, then started unwrapping the blue bar for himself. “I thought of you because of the bird.”

  Trini smiled. “My friend Andi’s last name is a bird, too. Her married name anyway.”

  He grunted in acknowledgment as he bit into his bar. Trini remembered she’d told him all about Andi being a Wren, so she added a bit lamely, “It was just so funny when she married into the Wren family and I was already a Finch.”

  “Trinidad Finch,” he said.

  Trini took a bite and Bobby sat back down beside her on the couch. While she chewed, he leaned forward and rubbed his thumb over her lips. “You’re so kissable,” he whispered.

  “My mouth’s full,” she mumbled.

  “Well, swallow it and kiss me.”

  She did, and he gave her a quick peck on the lips, then pulled back and thrust his own energy bar toward her mouth. “Take a bite of mine.”

  “You think maybe we could retire to the bedroom for a while after this? A quickie before dinner?” she asked as she bit into his bar.

  “Maybe we’ll make it a longie,” he said suggestively. “One more bite.”

  “I’ve hardly swallowed this one.”

  “One more.”

  She obediently bit off a chunk of her bar with the blueberries while Bobby bit into his. An uncomfortable heat had started to fill her up inside and she found herself swallowing hard, her throat feeling as if it were constricting. “Uh-oh,” she said on a strangled gulp.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Something . . . in it.” She was suddenly struggling for air, her windpipe closing. She knew immediately she was in the beginning of an allergic reaction. A bad one. “EpiPen,” she gasped.

  He was frozen in the act of biting into his bar. “What?”

  “Epi . . .” She couldn’t get anything more out. Her lungs felt on fire. She couldn’t breathe!

  “EpiPen? Why? What? From the energy bar? No way. Look at me, I’m fine.”

  She signaled frantically toward the bathroom. “Med . . . . med . . . cabinet!”

  “Are you faking?”

  “No!”

  She was frantically clutching her throat. She couldn’t breathe at all! “Help . . . help . . .”

  He got to his feet and looked down at her. Her hands were clawing at her throat. She gazed up at him in mute horror, sliding her eyes toward the hallway. When he just stood there, she tried to scramble up from the couch. He suddenly pushed her back down, pinning her in place. She flailed about, struggling to pull air through a windpipe that was all but closed.

  “Trinidad Finch,” he said, saying her name as if he were tasting it.

  He let go of her to take off his pants. She clambered wildly to her feet, but as soon as she was upright, he pushed her back down, hard. Her head slammed into the wooden arm again, the one Jarrett had sat on less than an hour earlier.

  “Oops.” He laughed.

  Then he was stripping off her pants as she raked the skin at her throat, her fingernails gouging her own flesh. He crushed down on her with his full weight. She begged him with her eyes, but the smile on his face was filled with cruel enjoyment.

  Then he was inside her again, laughing and laughing, as he rhythmically thrust into her ever harder, watching her face, smiling coldly as her lungs felt ready to burst and her world receded to a black dot.

  “Good-bye, little bird,” he whispered.

  She tried to scream one last time, but it was no use. She could do nothing but stare into the eyes of her killer.

  At the moment of her death, she saw him throw back his head as he climaxed with the wild howl of a conqueror.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Andi woke up feeling sluggish. She’d fallen into a comalike sleep after leaving Luke to sort out his sleeping arrangements on the couch or the floor. He’d assured her he was fine, and she’d reluctantly headed to bed, hurrying through the bathroom so he could use it whenever he needed to. She’d thought she would toss and turn, thinking about him in the next room, but it turned out to be one of those nights when she felt like she was drugged.

  She threw on a robe and peeked outside the bedroom door. She had a direct view to the living room, where Luke’s sleeping bag was rolled up and set on the couch. He was nowhere to be seen, but then she heard him in the kitchen, opening cupboards quietly.

  She headed into the bathroom, checked her hair, made a face at herself without any makeup, and tried to force herself to go out to see him as she was. No dice. She quickly brushed her teeth, put on some eye shadow and mascara, and took a moment to conceal the circles beneath her eyes. Then she walked toward the kitchen.

  Luke was in jeans but was shirtless. She saw the whorls of light brown hair on his chest and the sculpted muscles. The man was in great shape. She had a moment of comparing him to Greg and was mad at herself. Greg had been Greg. He’d had good points and bad, like everyone, and he was part of her history.

  He was making a cup of coffee from her Keurig machine, brown liquid pouring into the cup he’d placed beneath the machine’s spigot. Hearing her approach, he looked up. “Good morning,” he said. “Thought I’d rustle up some coffee.”

  “There’s cream in the refrigerator. Sugar bowl’s up there.” She pointed to a cupboard.

  “Black’s fine.”

  Luke had returned to her cabin the evening before with Asian food from the restaurant where they’d first had lunch together. “Figured we could use some food,” he’d said, and they’d sat at her table and shared the same dishes they’d ordered before and a few more as well.

  Of course once she was away from the threat of the Carreras she’d started having second thoughts about having him stay over. She’d said as much, but he’d swept her protests aside. “I’ll feel better,” he insisted, and that had decided it for the moment.

  “Want a cup?” he asked, sweeping a hand toward the rack of small cups of coffee, flavored, decaffeinated, and regular. “I can make you anything you want. How about hazelnut? Or vanilla?”

  “Regular,” she said, smiling.

  “Coming right up.” He pulled another mug from the cupboard above the machine, removed his steaming cup, then put hers in its place and pressed the button. Immediately coffee began to pour into it. “Cream? Sugar?” he asked.

  “A little cream.”

  He pivoted to her refrigerator and found the half and half. By the time he got back to the machine her mug was nearly filled. Taking the mug from the Keurig, he lifted a questioning eyebrow as he began pouring a slow stream of cream into it.

  “Perfect,” she said, and he lifted the spout, put the carton back in the refrigerator, and picked up his own cup.

  They stared at each other. Then both began to talk at once.

  “You don’t have to stay—” she began.

  “I want to ask you something—” he said.

  “Okay, you go first,” Andi told him, motioning toward him with her mug.

  “I’ve been thinking. Psychologically, the ‘little bird’ cards aren’t like the Carreras. It could be them,” he added quickly, apparently feeling she was about to protest, “but, like I said before, the brothers are generally more confrontational. I’d like to go at them hammer and tongs, but it wouldn’t be smart.”

  She nodded in agreement.

  “The Carreras are dangerous, and I don’t like that your brother-in-law is trying to do business with them, but one thing about it: As long as they’re working out a deal, I don’t think they’ll risk hurting you. They’re already under a microscope and that would bring the authorities down on them like a tsunami.”

  “Okay.”

  “But I want to keep staying with you. Someone out there is threatening you, purposely scaring you, and I want to know who it is before you stay another night here alone. Maybe it’s the Carreras, maybe it isn’t, but e
ither way, that’s what I’d like to do. With your permission.”

  “Absolutely. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re wasting your time.”

  “It’s my time to waste.”

  “I know, but you know what I mean.”

  “I’ll work up the paperwork for our partnership today. I have work to do for my brother.” He gulped some coffee. “What are your plans?”

  “It’s Saturday, so I’m not going into the office.”

  He frowned. “You just plan to be around the cabin?”

  “Would you rather I was somewhere else?”

  “You’re kind of isolated out here.”

  “I’ll go into Laurelton. Shop or something. Just gotta shake the cobwebs out of my head.”

  “Stop by my office. I’ll be there later.”

  “Okay. You can use the shower first,” she invited.

  “No, go ahead. I’ll call Dallas.” He reached toward the counter where his cell phone lay.

  “Dallas is your brother?”

  “A defense attorney.” He grinned suddenly. “We didn’t see eye to eye when I was on the force. I thought a lot of his clients were dirtbags. People he was just trying to get off. Meanwhile, he kept trying to get me to quit. I kept saying I didn’t know what I’d do. He thought I should be a writer. Then I did quit, and he really pushed it after that.

  But now he wants to hire me as an investigator.” He shook his head. “Life’s circular sometimes.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Andi headed to the shower. It was strange to have no plans. Normally she would just stay home, but Luke’s comments about her isolation had resonated and she didn’t want to be anywhere without other people around.

  Trini, she thought. Andi didn’t think she gave classes on Saturdays, so she might as well drop by to see if they were still on for tonight.

  * * *

  Tracy Farmgren stopped by the Sirocco Realty offices and smiled at the girl with the big eyes at the reception desk. It was her desk. She was the receptionist and this girl—Heidi—the daughter of one of the principal brokers, was a growing problem. First just weekends and then a few more days here and there . . . Tracy had been through the same thing before and this time she was staking her claim before things got out of hand.

  God. Her name was Heidi and she actually wore her hair in two braids. It was enough to make her puke.

  “Hi,” Tracy greeted her with a big smile. “I forgot something in my desk.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Heidi zoomed the rolling chair back and sat back and waited, which really pissed Tracy off.

  “Um, would you mind getting me a cup of coffee?” Tracy asked. “I might be just a few minutes. . . .”

  “Sure,” she said somewhat reluctantly, then finally got her butt out of the chair and moseyed away.

  What a nightmare. Tracy opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the small locked case within. It held duplicate keys to some of the homes, mostly expensive ones, that Tracy liked to walk through and pretend were hers when she knew the owners weren’t home. No one had noticed when she’d sneaked the keys away and had the duplicates made. She’d only done it a time or two.

  Of course, that’s where she’d met him. Handsome, lots of money, dressed well. He caught her coming out of one of them and getting into her car, and he knew she was lying when she said she lived there because he knew the actual owners. She’d been sick at heart. She’d begged him not to tell. What she did was harmless. She just liked pretending. Was it so wrong?

  She’d expected him to turn her in, but instead he told her that her secret was safe with him. But he would call her in a day or two and ask her to do something for him. Just a little thing. No big deal.

  She’d lived in utter fear those seventy-two hours. Three days, not two. What was he going to ask? She had a feeling it was going to be big, no matter what he said, and she would have to confess to the principals and lose her job. Then he showed up at her work and asked her to lunch. She sat across from him at a bistro while he persuaded her there was no reason to worry. They were friends, he assured her. But the way he’d looked at her, she’d been pretty sure his little ask might be a few times in the sack with him.

  She could do that.

  So she had a few drinks, just a couple of vodka martinis, and let herself loosen up. He told her he was an investor. Just moved out from New York a few years earlier. He didn’t ask her for anything that day, but she knew it was coming. When a few weeks went by and all they did was have lunch in some out-of-the-way places, she started to think she was wrong. In her fondest dreams she wondered if he really just wanted to date her.

  And so she dated him. The lunches . . . a couple of dinners, a few drinks, and finally he came over to her place and they went to bed together. Truthfully, Tracy wasn’t all that fond of sex. Kinda messy and sort of stupid. Half the time she wanted to clap her hand over her mouth to stop from giggling. But she managed to play the part and do a lot of moaning and breathing hard, and all in all, it was okay. She did really like him. He had a way of listening to every word she said that made her feel important.

  And then came the day he asked her for the key to the cabin on Schultz Lake.

  “That’s what you wanted?” she asked, disappointed.

  “And you,” he assured her. “But don’t worry. I’ll bring the key back,” he promised.

  “But we sold the cabin. The new owner’s going to move in soon.”

  “I’ll only use it for a couple of hours. That’s all.”

  Tracy could practically feel her blood freeze. “Don’t make a copy, whatever you do.”

  He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  She’d given him the key, and true to his word, he’d brought it back that same day. She’d wanted to ask him what he needed it for, but something about him suggested that would be a bad idea. So she’d gone on as if nothing had happened. She’d replaced the copy she’d made of that key in her little box.

  After that they kind of drifted apart, however, which hurt her feelings. She called him a few times, but he let her know very clearly that he would call her, not the other way around. He’d asked her to dinner on a couple of other occasions, but he’d had to cancel before the plans were hatched, and he stopped coming over for sex.

  She’d just been lamenting her boring life when those police detectives had shown up and wanted to talk to Kitsy, who’d had the listing for the cabin. Edie Tindel had been the buyer’s agent, and Tracy had lived in fear that the detectives would want to talk to her, too, but she didn’t know if they had. Edie could tell them about the break-in, which, Tracy worried, had something to do with the key, though she didn’t know what.

  Scared, she’d called him after the detectives left. He’d flipped out, but she’d said it wasn’t her fault. There was no way they could know about the extra key. No way. But saying it seemed to remind him of that fact, and he asked her to meet him and bring the key.

  So now they had another date. But it was all over the fucking key.

  She took the little case in its entirety and left before stupid Heidi could return with the coffee. Let her drink it, the bitch. Tracy hated coffee.

  * * *

  Luke drove to Mimi Quade’s address and parked down the block, where he could watch the unit without being noticed. He’d done some research on Scott Quade and it looked like the man was currently in between addresses, so it stood to reason he might be bunking with his sister. If not, he would see what he could learn about Mimi and the baby. He called his brother as he was waiting, and Dallas picked up on the fourth ring.

  “Thought you weren’t going to answer,” Luke greeted him. He could hear sounds in the background, music and someone asking if they were ready to order.

  “I’m in a meeting with a client,” Dallas answered.

  “Having an early lunch?”

  “Coffee.”

  He could tell by Dallas’s careful answers that he couldn’t talk, which was fine. “I’m watching a place,
so I’ll be here a while. What time did you want to meet?”

  “I’ll call you.”

  “Okay.”

  He hung up and let his mind wander back to Andi Wren, a wandering that was becoming more and more frequent. The last thing he wanted was a romantic entanglement. He’d been trying to extricate himself from Iris for months and had determined he was bad at breakups. And every new relationship had a breakup waiting for it; Taylor Swift sure had that one right.

  But . . . he liked Andi. Her quiet ways. Her ability to understand her own motivations. Her strength in times of terrible loss. She’d been tousled and fuzzy this morning in a thoroughly charming way.

  Were the Carreras behind the scare tactics? Brian Carrera had sought her out at her club and threatened her, so it seemed likely. Or was there someone else hiding in the shadows with their own agenda?

  The thought brought gooseflesh rising on his skin. A warning. A whisper. He scoffed at all things clairvoyant, but he trusted his own instincts, and the message he was picking up was that he’d missed something. What? He did a quick recap in his mind of the people surrounding Andi and chronicled the events that had taken place both before and after they’d first met.

  One: Scott and Mimi Quade come to the Wren Development offices and announce her pregnancy.

  Two: Gregory Wren skids off the road to his death in a one-car accident.

  Three: Andi learns she’s pregnant.

  Four: Brian Carerra threatens her at her club.

  Five: Andi comes to see Luke at his office.

  No, that wasn’t quite right. Five was that Andi’s cabin was broken into and the note was left on her bed. Six was when she came to his office.

  Seven: Andi miscarries.

  Eight: A period of inactivity from the Carreras, but in the background Carter Wren is working to form a financial partnership with them.

  Nine: Andi goes to see Mimi Quade and determines Mimi is pregnant.