by Emmy Grace
Something pulls my attention to the door to my right. I should check it out first.
Cold fingers dance their way up my back as I creep across the floor. When I’m within a couple of feet of the door, I hear a muted trill coming from inside.
I stop dead and hang up my phone.
The ringing stops.
Could be coincidence. I doubt it, but it could be, so I count to twenty before I hit redial.
Once I do, the ringing starts again.
Holy crap.
Holy. Crap.
It was Leia.
Princess Liar is the one who killed Dahlia.
20
I reach for the door, twist the knob, and slowly push it open. As I suspected, it’s a bedroom. A really big and posh one. There’s an enormous bed pushed up against the back wall, and enough room between that monstrosity and me to do a reenactment of Custer’s Last Stand. Cannons and all.
The mattress is covered in pale beige sheets. The top one is twisted into a lump in the middle, and a matching duvet is hanging off the foot of the bed. Looks to me like either a very restless sleeper spent the night here, or somebody was getting busy.
Very busy.
The ringing gets louder the farther I walk into the room, toward the bed. I scan the bedding with my light, but don’t see a phone, so I bend down and look around on the floor for it. It’s somewhere close.
There is some luggage stowed under the bed, which I push aside to look behind. I don’t see a phone, but I see a small wooden box. It strikes me as incongruous with the larger items under here, like maybe someone stashed it among the suitcases to hide it.
I pull it out and open it up. Sure enough, there’s a cell phone inside. It’s a pretty nice one, too. When I think of a burner phone, I picture those really crappy flip phones that you can buy at Target for twenty bucks.
This is not that kind.
I pull a latex glove out of my pocket and slip it on before I pick up the phone. When I tap the HOME button, a graphic shows up to tell me that it’s reading my face for recognition.
And not finding what it’s looking for.
Obviously.
“Crap,” I whisper, letting the screen go dark again. I wasn’t expecting a sophisticated phone.
I let my head fall back on my shoulders. There’s only one person who can help with this, and I’m already two favors in with Felonious. And that’s just for this one case. At this rate, she’ll be having me do embarrassing things until Christmas.
“Why can’t I be a tech genius?” I ask the dark.
“Having trouble?” a voice says from behind me.
With a startled yip, I whirl around on my knees, fumbling with my own phone to try and aim the light at the intruder.
A man is standing a few feet away. I don’t know how I didn’t hear him coming. He’s practically on top of me now, and I’m still on my knees. It’s probably the most defenseless position there is except for being facedown in the mud or something.
“Wh-who are you?” I ask, keeping my flashlight trained on him.
He’s looking right at me. Doesn’t seem to be the least bit bothered by the light shining into his dark, dark eyes.
Something about him seems vaguely familiar, but I can’t put my finger on where I might’ve seen him. Blond hair is slicked back from a broad forehead, revealing a nicely chiseled face. Stubble dots his lean cheeks and his lips are twisted into an unperturbed half smile. It gives me a little chill. For some reason, it reminds me of the smile a psycho might wear right before he eats someone’s liver and then straightens his tie and walks away.
A tie much like the one he’s wearing, which is wide and crimson and knotted in a perfect double Windsor at his throat. Granted, I have an extremely vivid imagination, but I’m almost certain this man is the villain in every James Bond movie ever.
“Do you really think you’re in a position to be asking me questions right now?”
His voice is smooth and without a twang, like he might not hail from the south. There’s a strange touch of humor in it, though.
Yep, he’s gonna eat my liver and then go to a nice restaurant somewhere for a glass of Merlot.
I can’t let him see how unnerved I am, so I force myself to relax my butt back onto my heels and tilt my head. Then I do what I do best.
I totally and completely wing it.
“Are you trying to scare me?”
I hope he can’t see that it’s working like nobody’s business.
“Should I be?”
“Of course not. I got lost. I’m not even sure how I ended up down here.” Slowly, I make my way to my feet. I doubt it’s a very graceful process because my thighs are still very upset with me for the earlier abuse of sneaking across the giant front lawn.
“Is that right?”
Clearly, he doesn’t believe that. Probably because he’s neither a four year old nor a brain-dead senior citizen. Those are the only two classes of people who might believe such ridiculousness.
When I’m finally up, I casually dust off my pants and give him a disapproving side eye. “A gentleman would’ve offered to help me up.”
My insides, including my frightened liver, are quivering with fear and adrenaline, but my hand is steady when I wave it in a “howdy” way.
“I’m Annabelle. And you are?”
“Greg. Pleasure.”
The name Greg rings a distant bell, too. I know I saw a Greg somewhere in my research, but my thoughts are scattered like leaves on Halloween night right now. The connection is eluding me.
I nod and glance around into the shadows that are so thickly surrounding us. “So, is this your room, Greg?”
“Sometimes. I must say that I’ve never come home to find a beautiful woman snooping through it, though.”
“I guess there’s a first time for everything then, right?” I smile.
He takes a step toward me and it takes every bit of courage I have not to take a step back. Instead, I jack up my chin and remind myself that Liam is just a scream away.
At least I hope he is.
If he can even hear me down here.
Greg nods at the phone I’m still holding. “It seems you have something that doesn’t belong to you.”
“Oh. Is this yours? I heard a ringing and came to investigate. I thought maybe I was having a stroke or something. Hearing things that weren’t there.”
I laugh lightly.
“Why am I having a hard time believing that?”
“I don’t know. Are you a naturally suspicious person?”
“Only when I have reason to be. And latex gloves usually give me reason to be.” He folds his arms across his chest drawing my attention to the plain white shirt he’s wearing. There are dark spots on it. Splatters. And they look red-tinged in the beam of my flashlight.
I gulp.
I start to go around him. “You know, I should be getting back upstairs. I—”
He moves directly into my path. “Don’t rush off. I think we must have a lot to talk about.”
“No, I don’t think we do. I’m a pretty boring person, actually. Unless you just like to talk to boring people.”
“I don’t think you’re boring at all. In fact, I think you could be very enlightening.”
He takes another step closer and my internal alarms start blaring CODE RED! CODE RED! CODE RED! like my crazy parrot Squishy has been known to do.
All I can think is that I need to get past this guy and out into the next room where Liam has at least half a chance of hearing my frantic calls for help.
“You know, Greg,” I begin and then, as fast as I can, I feint to the right and then fling my body to the left to try and get around him. I almost succeed, too, but for the arm that catches my wrist as I pass by.
Greg yanks and, between my forward momentum and his sharp tug, my shoulder snaps out of joint.
I scream in pain and whirl back around, because if you’ve never had your shoulder pulled out of the socket, you don’t know what
true joy is.
“Did I say you could leave?” Greg asks. His nose is an inch from mine, and his teeth are bared like fangs on a rabid dog.
“Didn’t you?” I quip, trying to catch my breath, which is being held hostage by the horrific party that’s going on in my rotator cuff. “Maybe I need to get my hearing checked. F-first random ringing, now I’m missing wh-whole words.”
I dropped the phone I found when he jerked my arm out of place, but I’m still holding my own cell, which is still giving enough light that I can see his face, even though I’m not sure I want to. His expression has shifted from casual, congenial guy into something entirely different. His dark eyes are cold as a snake’s butt and his mouth is one straight, severe line.
He looks callous.
Hard.
Ruthless.
“What are you doing down here?” he grinds out from between his gritted teeth.
“I told you I heard the phone ringing.” Sweat is popping out across my forehead. The pain in my shoulder is growing by leaps and bounds.
“And you just happened to have a latex glove in your pocket?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” The laugh I give is breathy, but not because I’m trying. It’s because I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. Sweet Mary!
“Not people who don’t plan to get into some kind of trouble. And believe me, you’re in some kind of trouble.”
“Look, just let me go and we can get this sorted out. I’m…I’m a little uncomfortable right now.”
He’s still putting tension on my right arm and I see spots where I’m pretty sure there aren’t any. The last thing I need to do is pass out. I could wake up with my skull cut open and a lobe of my brain being sautéed right in front of me.
And I can’t afford to be losing any brains, y’all.
Also, I may need to cut back on the intense movies.
Greg is glaring down at me and I know the time for my antics has passed. I might as well get down to brass tacks. I mean, there’s no reason to pretend we don’t both know what’s going on here.
“You killed her, didn’t you?” I ask surprisingly steadily.
“You talk too much. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Only everyone I’ve ever met,” I say with a semi-snort. He still doesn’t move to answer my question, so I repeat it. “So, did you?”
This seems to confuse him enough to suppress that awful psychotic expression that had taken over his face. “I think you’re smart enough to realize that I’m going to kill you, and yet you spend your last minutes asking me questions that won’t matter. Why is that?”
I wonder if he’s like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He’s back to sounding like he’s perfectly reasonable. But still perfectly willing to study my blood vessels from the inside out, of course.
I shrug the shoulder that’s not screaming in agony. “It’s my one rule. Don’t die with questions.” When he doesn’t seem convinced, I add something I hope will push him over the edge. I just need to keep him talking and keep myself alive long enough to think of a plan. “It’s not like I can tell anyone.”
The other phone, the one I found in the box, starts to ring again and Greg curses under his breath. “I told her to turn it off and hide it, but did she listen?” he growls.
“Told who? Leia?”
“Yes, Leia. Of course Leia. Who else would have a phone hidden here?”
“Other than her accomplice, no one that I can think of,” I offer.
“Her accomplice?” He laughs. “Not quite, sweetheart. Guess again.”
“Maybe accomplice wasn’t the right word, but I know she’s involved. Somehow, she’s involved.”
“She made a very stupid mistake. That’s how she’s involved.”
“Stupid mistake?”
“She tried to protect me.”
“Uh, you don’t really look like the type that needs protecting.”
“She’s not used to dealing with the kinds of people I work with. She panicked.”
“Exactly what line of work are you in?” I ask, but I think I already know. It’s fairly obvious this guy has zero problem with hurting someone.
I lick a drop of sweat that has formed on my upper lip. My shoulder is killing me, and I feel damp all over. I’m pretty sure that’s not a good sign.
“I’m a…problem solver.”
“Oh, like in math?”
Lucky! What in the world?
I chastise myself, but it doesn’t help. My mind is blurred by pain and, Lord help me, I think I’ve found the one situation I can’t get myself out of.
“Only the most basic kind. Like one problem minus one problem equals no more problem,” he deadpans.
“Oh. Simple math. I can do that kind.”
“So then you can see that you are one problem.”
“I think we’ve already established that. But what I don’t get is why Dahlia was killed before the wedding. I thought the whole point was to get rid of her after the fact so that her family wouldn’t suspect any foul play.”
Some might call this throwing spaghetti at the wall to see if it will stick, but it’s actually more like my brain’s last-ditch efforts to put the pieces of this puzzle together.
“Did Dahlia say that?”
“I never met her. How should I know?”
“Then how do you know so much?”
“It’s what Leia said.” I just throw that out there, too. Long before I can think better of it. I figure it might buy me some time. If he has to try and deduce who knows what, maybe he’ll realize he needs me alive.
“Leia?”
“Yeah. She’s the one who started this whole mess, right?”
He stares at me long and hard. “Dahlia found out about Ari’s plan. He needed to marry her to solidify the business he and his father have with Drummond Sorensen. He was just biding his time until he could get rid of her on their honeymoon. Somehow Dahlia found out about this and she told Leia that if Leia didn’t help her, Dahlia would turn me in to the police. She knows of my…trade. She was bluffing, of course, but Leia didn’t know that and she panicked.”
A light goes off in my muddled brain. “Greg. Greg Carson.”
“Very good.”
“Now I get it! You’re the fiancé.”
Something cold and blunt pokes into my side. It goes right between two of my ribs and I yowl in pain. “Who are you?”
“Is that a gun?”
“Of course it’s a gun. Tell me what I want to know.”
“I’m a friend of Leia’s. She told me everything. Well, most everything. I just don’t get the murder part.”
The sound of a gun cocking somewhere across the room splits the air like an atomic bomb. Okay, maybe not quite that loud, but it’s a definite attention getter.
Before I can see his silhouette, I hear his voice. The sweetest and most welcomed voice I’ve ever heard in my life.
Liam.
“I might know the answer to this one,” he says, his tone cool and steady. “When Leia followed Dahlia to my place, she thought Dahlia was turning you in to the Bureau, right? So she called Dahlia and the two met. They fought. There was struggle. And Leia ended up choking her. Is that about it?”
“You must be the Dunning I’ve heard so much about,” Greg sneers, stepping slowly behind me. He drapes his left arm casually across my chest and snugs my back up to his front.
Human shield anyone?
“And you must be Ari Jameson’s fixer.”
I feel Greg nod behind me. “I would say it’s a pleasure, but we both know that’s a lie. I can’t say that I don’t look forward to putting a bullet in your brain, though. Right after I take care of this little problem.”
He slithers his arm up higher, wrapping the bend of his elbow around my neck and giving my throat a squeeze. I make a gagging sound.
In the movies, I always thought that was probably exaggerated, but they have it right. As soon as Greg applies that little bit of pressure, my eyes start watering immediately an
d I feel the uncontrollable urge to cough and gag. Weird.
“I’ll blow your head off before her body hits the ground,” Liam growls.
“You might’ve been some kind of agency star in your heyday, but now you’re a rusty old farmer. I think I’ll take my chances.”
A deafening shot rings out through the room. It’s like setting off a concussion grenade in a bathroom. The boom of it makes my eardrums rattle.
It startles me. I don’t know who shot. Or what was shot at. Or who was shot at. All I know is that the pressure of the choke hold eases up and the arm disappears from around my throat, allowing me to take a breath.
My eyes are trained on Liam’s silhouette to make sure he doesn’t drop like a fly. When he doesn’t, I exhale and do a body check of my own, just to make sure I’m not ventilated a little differently than I was when I got here this evening. Other than my shoulder, I don’t feel any extra mind-numbing pain, so I guess I’m intact.
I know what happened when I hear the voice at my back say, “I liked this shirt, too.”
I assume that means Liam grazed Greg somewhere. Or maybe shot him through and through. Maybe he even hit a major vessel and this guy is going to pass out soon.
Lord, I hope that’s what it means.
Liam responds. “I can’t say I’m impressed, Carson. You didn’t do a very good job of helping Leia cover this up.”
“Oh, this wasn’t my handiwork. Leia thought she killed Dahlia, so she called me for help. I’d just gotten back from taking care of some…other business.”
“Thought she killed her?”
“Yes. You were right. She did choke her, but she didn’t kill her. I’ll take full credit for that part. When I arrived, Dahlia was still clinging to her pathetic life, so I helped her take a quick bath in the lake. Leia didn’t want to tell Ari that she was the one who messed up his plan, though, so she told him that Dahlia found out what he was going to do and threatened to go to the authorities, and that Leia killed her to protect him. He was so grateful, he sent one of his imbeciles to take care of the body. Clearly, that person had no idea how to correctly sink a corpse to the bottom of a lake.”
As he’s talking, all the evidence clicks into place. The small marks that were on Dahlia’s neck, semi-circles of them on both sides, were undoubtedly fingernail imprints from Leia choking her. And that explains why her cause of death was drowning. Leia hadn’t managed to actually kill her, so Greg drowned her.
