The gun. Watch where he puts the gun . . .
“And yet you fell for Greg, and now that ex-cop? You like ’em big and dumb? Is that it?” He shook his head, the small smile on his lips full of self-importance. “I guess it’s only fair to tell you that Greg didn’t really sleep around. Yes, there was Mimi. I worked to get that affair started. But there really weren’t any others. Greg wasn’t a player. I just told you that to keep the game going, fan the fires to keep you confused and misdirected. All part of the game.
“Want to know what it’s called?”
Of course she couldn’t answer.
“I named it: Cover up your misdeeds and get all the inheritance for yourself. Y’see, dead old Dad didn’t trust me with the company. Thought Greg was a better shepherd of the Wren inheritance. I knew I had to get rid of Greg eventually,” he admitted, slipping his gun into his belt. “He was a liability. That’s why the Carreras took care of it for me.”
Andi started, unable to hide her surprise.
“Oh, you didn’t know that, did you? You thought it was an accident. Greg, driving away from Mimi’s, in a confused state over his love for two women. . . .” Carter chuckled. “He didn’t have that much emotion. He was a robot. But he did discover I’d helped myself to some company money without asking . . .”
Andi’s brain burned with rage. The horror of what he was saying added fuel to the fire of her fury. Greg may not have been the perfect husband, but he hadn’t deserved to be murdered. Her hands clenched and she forced them to straighten so she wouldn’t give herself away.
“Of course Greg was only half of the problem; there was Emma, too.”
Andi flashed to Emma’s unlikely fall down the stairs, when she’d been stone-cold sober. And she thought of her lying in the hospital bed, broken and pumped up on pain pills.
“I was willing to wait, but the Carrera boys, they’re impatient. Brian just gave her a little push this morning. He let me know ahead of time that he’d planned to take care of her today. Of course he thought she’d be shit-faced drunk as usual. Who knew she’d choose today to sober up? But that’s all part of the game, isn’t it? Surprise.”
When he looked down at the chessboard, she tested her bonds. They were tight, digging into her ankles and shoulders, her hands still tied together behind her, her arms aching. But they had feeling now, and she could command them to do her bidding.
Patience. Outwait him.
“So now we come down to you, my beautiful little bird. What am I going to do with you?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Carter wasn’t at the lodge. Luke had tried phoning both him and Ben. Ben had returned to the hospital and Emma; he’d spoken to both of them, and they’d been alarmed when he’d said Andi was missing. And then Emma had asked in a frightened voice if Andi was with Carter. His blood chilling, he’d asked her what she meant, but all she’d said was that she wanted him to find Andi soon.
Carter’s phone kept going to voice mail, so after a while Luke stopped calling. He knew Carter’s address, as he knew Emma and Ben’s. He’d made a point of acquainting himself with Andi’s family, more in case he needed to reach them for any reason, but now . . .
Something was off with Carter. Emma knew something, or thought she knew something, and that was good enough for him.
There was a reason Andi’s phone was in the bushes and he was starting to fear that reason was Carter Wren.
*
Carter was watching Andi like a snake with a mouse.
“How am I going to come up with your demise?” he asked her conversationally. “There are just too many deaths right now, too many accidents, too much suspicion. As stupid and ineffective as the police are, they do have their means, don’t they? With computers and sharing records, DNA testing, and all that forensic crap of trace evidence and the like, I have to be more careful than before.
“I miss the pre-DNA days, before iPhone cameras and microphones on every damned civilian. That’s why I bought the car for cash from an illegal.”
Andi watched him warily, and, when he wasn’t looking, searching for a weapon or a means of escape. There had to be some way to trip him up, some way to get the upper hand.
“So, now what I need is misdirection,” he said, warming to his subject. “A little sleight of hand. That’s what the bird thing was all about. You were a Wren and your bestest friend was a Finch. I started this campaign long ago. Way before Greg’s death. I had to plan many steps ahead. That’s how you play chess, you know; plan moves way in advance of the one you’re making.”