Andi took a drink from her water bottle, her gaze still fixed on the television. She didn’t want to engage with him or anyone else. The picture had changed to a view of Schultz Lake. The reporter was explaining how the lake, which sat on the westernmost edge of Winslow County, just outside the Laurelton city limits, had always been a mecca for outdoor sports enthusiasts—camping, canoeing, kayaking, hiking—but over the past few years its rustic cabins and winding trails had been undergoing a change to more high-end housing and full-time residents. The area wasn’t that far from Portland’s city center and it was even closer to the Nike campus. Its main drawback to full-time living was the winding two-lane access road that took at least twenty minutes to connect with Sunset Highway, the artery that ran from Hillsboro, Laurelton, and all points west into the city center. Still, people liked living on the lake and the extra twenty minutes of commuting was a small price to pay. Consequently, the values of the lots were skyrocketing.
Andi had tuned out. She knew all this information backward and forward. But then the latest newscaster said, “Wren Development is building a lodge at the northernmost point of the lake and they plan to keep the ‘summer camp’ feel of the cabins closest to the lodge. To quote deceased CEO Gregory Wren, ‘We want to keep the architecture and nostalgia, just with modern amenities. Our competitors, Blake and Brian Carrera, have a different plan in mind. Their mow-down mentality doesn’t take public input into account. I haven’t seen their design, but take a look at their Portland developments and see for yourself. They’re constructed of chrome and glass, not shingles and timbers.’”
The man on the treadmill next to her snorted his disgust. He’d turned his machine off as well, and his steps were slowing with the belt. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him wipe his face with his towel. He was still breathing hard, but his huhs had disappeared when he’d stopped running.
She considered heading for the showers without waiting for Trini.
“. . . brothers Blake and Brian Carrera have filed suit against Detective Roy Bolchoy for falsifying evidence, along with other members of the Portland Police Department, Detective Opal Amberson and former Detective Lucas Denton.” Another picture of Bolchoy, looking dour and cranky. “... among others the brothers believe were all part of a smear campaign against them and their development company, Carrera Limited,” the newswoman reported.
There followed more shots of Detective Opal Amberson, slim, black, and fierce-looking, and more of Lucas Denton. Andi assessed Denton thoughtfully. He was rangy, dark-haired, with a slight smile that probably invited a lot of confidences. He looked capable. More than capable. Andi had seen lots of photos of both Amberson and Denton. They’d been and still were Bolchoy’s staunchest defenders. Denton had left the force, switching to private investigation, she’d heard, over what he believed was the department turning its back on one of their own.
The newswoman finished with, “More later after we learn whether Ray Bolchoy’s case is headed to trial.”
“Bolchoy’s guilty all right,” the man now standing on the treadmill said. “Tried to frame us and it blew up in his face.”
Andi turned to stare fully at the man. Curly dark hair and a scar across his chin. Oh God. She’d seen his picture a hundred times, too. “You’re Blake Carrera.”
“It’s Brian, actually. And you’re the Widow Wren.”
Her heart lurched. “You know me?”
“Sure. You’re the beauty with the cheating dead husband. I hear you ended up with the lion’s share of the company.”
“You ... planned this?” She could hear the thread of fear in her voice as she indicated their side-by-side treadmills.
“Let’s just say I knew you came here,” he said around a cold smile.
He was too thuggish to be called handsome. There was something cold about him, and his dark eyes were black, emotionless pits. Why? she almost asked, but she knew the answer. “Schultz Lake.”
He held out a sweaty palm. “Right the first time.”
She ignored his outstretched hand. She almost asked him how he’d known when she would be here, but the answer was evident: he knew her routine.
“My friend Trini is meeting me,” she heard herself say.
“Good for her,” he said.
“I’ve got to go.”
“So soon? We’ve barely had a chance to talk.”
“All talking should be done through our lawyers.”
“Sure, sure. But maybe you can pass on some information to your brother-and sister-in-law. Tell them they should be more reasonable. That lodge you’re building? It doesn’t look like it’s safe, y’know? Anything could happen to it.”
Andi gazed at him in shock. She had to resist the urge to cradle her abdomen. “Did you just threaten me?”
“I’m just saying, all of you should be more reasonable.” He spread his palms. “Given a chance, we could really be good friends. We have common interests, after all.”
“Our tactics are vastly different.”
He flipped his towel over his shoulder. “Friendship’s your best bet. You don’t want us for enemies.” He winked at her as he strolled away.
Andi’s heart was climbing up her throat as she stared after him. With an effort, she jerked her eyes from his retreating figure and back to the newscast, but it was over. She glanced again at his retreating form as he sauntered nonchalantly away, probably whistling. Her knees quivered and she wanted to sit down, but just then Trini came rushing in, her short, tough, gymnast’s frame a hard bundle of muscle as she jumped onto the treadmill Carrera had just vacated.