The Killing Game (8 page)

“Don’t do anything rash. You need a good lawyer. Why did you file for divorce? You never said anything about filing.”

“What does it matter?”

“Well, because now things can escalate. You’ve thrown down the gauntlet.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying. If I don’t do something, Carlos wins. He’ll take Emily back to Colombia and that’ll be it. You’ve got to help me!”

“Myrna Mintz is an excellent divorce attorney. I’ll give you her number.”

When Luke turned toward his desk, his eye fell on the note left for Andi.
Little birds need to fly
. . . He was momentarily distracted until Helena grabbed him by his sleeve. “I don’t want a fucking lawyer. I want my daughter safe with me.”

“Helena,” he warned.

“If you won’t help me, I’ll get someone who will.”

“C’mon. Take a moment.”

“You haven’t helped me at all. You just tell me what not to do.”

“I don’t think Carlos is trying to kidnap Emily.”

“Good-bye,
Luke
. Thanks for nothing.” With that, she stomped out of the office and slammed the door. Luke carefully put Andi’s note back inside the envelope and tucked it beneath a few papers that were already inside his in-box.

* * *

Asian World was a rectangular room with a series of booths arranged in blocks with wooden half walls, painted black. The half walls rose three feet above the red Naugahyde bench seats, offering privacy. The smell of the restaurant’s dishes made Andi’s mouth water. She figured that was a good sign. Hunger. Even with everything that was going on, her body was signaling that she needed to take care of herself.

She wasn’t sure what she thought of Lucas Denton. He’d seemed approachable from the pictures she’d seen on television and in the paper, but in person he exuded a strength of character that hadn’t come through on screen. She’d been shocked by how much she wanted to just fold herself into his arms and let him take care of her.

Good. God.

An Asian waitress waved to her to take any seat, and Andi chose one of the booths near the front door. The thin metal blinds were drawn across the window against the heat, but there was a tiny vertical strip along the edge where she could just see Luke’s client slam out of the office and stalk toward her Escape.

Whatever her deal was, things must not have gone well.

“You like something to drink?” the waitress asked her, dropping off a menu. “Tea?”

“Two menus, please, and um, water would be great.”

She left abruptly, but Andi called after her, “Do you have decaf tea?”

A brief nod without a look back said she’d been heard.

The door opened and Luke stepped inside. He spied Andi immediately and slipped inside the booth across from her.

“That was your eleven-thirty?” she asked.

He glanced at the large watch he wore on his left arm. “More like a twelve-ten.”

“We’re on the clock, then. I assume I’m footing the bill for lunch.”

She said it matter-of-factly, and for some reason it pissed Luke off.

“Now see, that attitude really stinks. I was planning on going Dutch, unless you really want to fork over your hard-earned money.”

“Dutch is fine.”

“Relax,” he told her. “We’re going to get the Carreras.”

“Are we?” To her consternation, she suddenly felt tears burn her eyes.
Oh God . . . oh, please, don’t let me cry.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

And that’s when the waterworks started.

* * *

She couldn’t believe this was happening, especially in front of Luke Denton. It was mortifying. She desperately tried to keep from crying, but her throat grew hot and her eyes filled with tears. She ducked her head, horrifically embarrassed, and when he said, “Hormones,” she started laughing, swiping at the wet tracks on her face.

“I don’t think that’s strictly true, but I’ll take any excuse.”

She picked up her menu with its pictorial depiction of the available dishes.

“No excuse,” he said. “Fact.”

She couldn’t look up from the menu yet. She needed some time to collect herself. She finally managed a brief glance in his direction and was disconcerted to find him staring back at her. His eyes were blue, a deep cerulean shade she was a sucker for, and his hair was brown, a couple of shades darker than her own. He had a dimple and a really nice smile. She had the deep, dreaded feeling that she’d made a mistake with him. He was the kind of man/boy type she generally couldn’t stomach, the kind that oozed charm and cleverness, when in reality they were just a shade or two above empty-headed. But Denton had quit the force in his loyalty to his partner, and that showed character.

“Do you know what you’re going to order?” she asked him, aware he hadn’t looked at the menu.

“Yeah. Do you?”

“No.”

“You look like a salad type.” He hitched a thumb to the specials written on a chalkboard. “I’ve heard the green papaya salad is good.”

It felt like things were getting away from her. “I can order for myself.”

“That is not in doubt.”

“Have you had the salad?”

“Nope.”

“What are you having?”

“I like a lot of curry,” he said.

Her stomach did an uncomfortable twist, and suddenly the prospect of any kind of food was iffy. From being starved, she was now uncertain she would make it through the meal without disgracing herself. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead. “The salad could be good.”

The waitress came by and asked for their order, and Luke ordered the green papaya salad for her, then picked out a few items for himself, all with curry in the title, then turned to Andi, whose stomach gave a hard wrench.

“Excuse me . . .”

She walked quickly toward the back of the restaurant, relieved when she correctly guessed where the restrooms were. She locked herself inside the unisex unit and leaned against the door, willing her stomach to relax. Man, it was as if her hormones had just been waiting for her to catch on. Holy God.

She had to splash water on her face and fight back the urge to retch, but finally she got herself together. She looked at her wan reflection in the mirror.

What are you doing?

She’d had a boyfriend once who’d been the same type of character as Lucas Denton—amused, detached, maybe a little too cute—and she’d broken off that relationship after only a few months. But she could feel her heightened interest now, and it kind of pissed her off.

She returned to the table. Luke leaned on his arms and said, “You sure you’re all right?”

“Fine.”

“Okay. Tell me about Carrera. Word for word, as much as you can remember, about what he said to you this morning.”

“Didn’t I already tell you?”

“Give it to me again. The whole conversation. As much as you can remember. Everything.”

With an effort, Andi pulled herself together. She’d hired him and she was going to go with it. “The news was on at my club and someone kept switching the television station. Bolchoy’s hearing was on . . . and you . . . but then there was this archived segment with my husband . . . Greg . . . who was saying that the Carreras build steel-and-glass buildings but that the Wrens were constructing a lodge more in the vein of the one at Crater Lake. Something like that.”

The waitress returned with their meals and Andi looked down at hers, very aware of her jumpy stomach.

“That interview was about a month before Greg died,” she added, dragging her gaze from the food.

“Brian Carrera was on the treadmill next to you?” Luke asked, digging into his meal.

“Yes.”

“And he was watching the newscast, too?”

“Oh yes. Greg was going on about how the Carreras were the wrong choice because they would destroy the feel of the area.” She shook her head. “Again, it was something like that.”

“What did you say?”

“I ignored him. I didn’t really look at him. I didn’t know who he was.”

“He just happened to be on the treadmill next to you.”

“Well . . . yes.”

“Did you get there first or did he?”

“I did. When he took that treadmill I put my jogging jacket over the treadmill on my other side so I could save a place for my friend, Trini.”

“Could he have picked any another treadmill?”

“He did it on purpose. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

“You’re not going to faint, are you? You’re white as a sheet.”

“I don’t faint.”
Liar.
“At least not usually,” she amended.

“It sounds like Carrera set this up to talk to you. Warn you. Threaten you. Get a reaction.”

She nodded.

“What was the threat again? As close as you can remember.”

“Something like, ‘Maybe you can pass on some information to your brother- and sister-in-law. Tell them to be more reasonable. We make better friends than enemies.’” She carefully tucked her fork into the salad. “And then he said, ‘That lodge you’re building doesn’t look safe.’ And then I said, ‘Did you just threaten me?’ and he said we had common interests, and I said, ‘We have vastly different tactics.’”

Luke was listening, but he was also eating with an appetite she suddenly envied. It felt like her whole body was in rebellion. She realized she’d counted on sailing through her pregnancy with no problems at all, which was unrealistic to say the least. But whatever it took, it was worth it.

“Anything else?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I wish I had said something about the note they left, but I was too stunned and blindsided.”

“You’re sure they left it?”

“Well, no . . . but logically, I get the note and the next day Brian Carrera’s on the treadmill next to me?”

“You don’t have any other enemies?”

“I didn’t even really know I had these. I haven’t been involved in the business until recently.”

Luke nodded. “The fact that it’s a play on words for your last name, which is part of the corporation name, points to the Carreras in a way. They’re attacking Wren Development and the Wren family as a whole. But it’s strange for them. Unless . . .”

“Unless?”

He shrugged. “I’ve followed the Carreras for a long time. They’re money-motivated thugs.
Little birds need to fly
suggests they want you to leave, and that makes sense, but they usually don’t have that much imagination. His threats to you this morning? They were on the nose. ‘We’re good friends and bad enemies.’ That sounds just like them.”

“So?”

“I don’t know. I don’t like the idea that someone has some deeper, hidden message. The note inside your cabin was directed at you, whereas Brian coming to see you at the gym today was in order to make you the messenger. It’s psychologically different.”

“I guess you’re right.” She put down her fork, unable to eat.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s . . . the pregnancy, I think.”

“Ah.” He regarded her soberly. “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just spitballing here.”

Andi’s pulse had elevated. Her mind was jumping all over the place. “You think they’re specifically targeting me.”

“I don’t know. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, say what you’re thinking. Please. I need to know.”

“I think you might be a target,” he said carefully.

“That’s why I came to you.” Her voice was rising. “They left me that message. They . . . chose me because I’m the majority stockholder.”

“Wait . . . don’t jump to conclusions. It could be more personal.”

Andi gazed at him. Perplexed, she asked, “What do you mean?”

“Could they know you’re pregnant?”

“No!”

“I just thought maybe they’re targeting you because they think you’re the most vulnerable. That you’ll cave easiest.”

“They don’t know about the baby because
I
just found out.” Andi stood up and Luke stood, too.

“That’s not it, then. Shit. I’m doing this wrong. I shouldn’t have said that. Bolchoy would have my head if he were here.”

Andi felt dizzy. “I’ve gotta go pack my house.”

“I’ll take you home. No packing. You need to lie down.”

“I’m fine . . . really . . . I just need to rest a while.”

Luke threw some cash on the table and Andi felt like she was moving through water as she pulled up her bag. She heard his terse, “I’ve got it,” and then he was guiding her back to his office. She realized he hadn’t given her a chance to pay her half.

* * *

Andi sat on her couch amid the boxes, feeling like an idiot, while Luke glanced around, taking in the signs of her packing. “I’m fine,” she said with more conviction than at the restaurant. “I don’t need to lie down.” She’d been scared that she was facing another blackout, but she’d known almost immediately that it was a reaction to the news and maybe too little food that had accounted for her faintness. Luke had gotten her a glass of water as soon as they’d entered her house and she’d bounced back.

“When is this move taking place?” he asked.

“Movers are coming tomorrow afternoon. A lot of this is going to storage. My cabin’s too small for most of it.”

“The movers are taking everything. You’re not lifting anything yourself.”

A part of her was irked that he sounded so authoritative. Another part wanted to just close her eyes and say, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” It had been too long since she’d been able to lean on anyone.

“Yes, the movers are doing the heavy lifting. My friend, Trini, said she’d help,” she added, though all Trini had said was that she wanted Andi to meet her new guy. That was the extent of their weekend plans together, and that one was iffy at best.

“You said you just found out you’re pregnant.”

“After I sold this place, yes. The cabin’s small, but I wanted to move.”

He nodded.

“Do we need to write up a contract or something?” she asked. “This has all been kind of weird.”

“First I want to get clear what you want me to do. Keep an eye on the Carreras. Keep them from threatening you and carrying out those threats. Find out if the Carreras are behind the note that was addressed to you, and offer you protection.”

“Yes. Right.”

“What about the broken lock—at the cabin?”

“I think it’s being taken care of.”