A Murderous Game (35 page)

She stopped at the door, half
turning and looked at him. "I'm not threatening you. It was merely a
warning. You may not be afraid of me, Harold, but if Gage Faraday ever
discovers you were responsible for those stories in the paper, you should be
very afraid what might happen then."

He pushed out of his chair.
"Don't go running to your boyfriend accusing me." He knew all about
Faraday's reputation for dealing with people who crossed him. "I told you
it wasn't me."

"Then I guess you have nothing
to worry about, do you?" she said matter-of-factly, and walked out of his
office.

~~~

Sitting at her desk several minutes
later Abby covered her mouth with her hands, her fingers still shaking from the
encounter with Billings.
What if he hadn't been the one to talk to the reporter? Maybe Lerner
had
been
waiting around just to
talk to someone who knew her. That's what people like him did.

She didn't know what to think now.
Other than the police, the only other person who knew about both her diary and
details of the state investigation was Gage.

There were maybe four or five
others who knew about her diary, but none of them could have known about Dick's
involvement with the probe. None knew about his affair with the woman who'd
forged the letter. Gage had told her the Attorney General hadn't released any
of the specifics about the case except to Detective Simms.

Abby pushed her hands over her face
and dragged them through her hair. So who was giving information to the press?
She'd thought she had it all figured out, that Dick must have told Billings about his scheme.
But if Billings
was telling the truth and wasn't the source for the story, the only other
logical assumption was that someone with the police had leaked the information.
She couldn't believe it was Simms. Would Baker have said anything? Maybe, but
wouldn't he be jeopardizing their case by doing so?

Of course, Billings could be lying. Was he really
capable of the kind of loyalty he professed to have for Dick and his father?
Not being the most objective person in his case, it was hard for her to imagine
the man possessed many redeeming qualities, but he and Dick had been best
friends. Dick had once said Harold Billings was the closest thing he'd ever had
to a brother.

She wasn't an adulteress. She
closed her eyes. How many people would believe the reporter's insinuations and
slap the same label on her that Billings
had? What would her parents think? Had they heard about this morning's story
yet?

How naïve she'd been to hope
Friday's article would be the end of it. Hadn't she learned better?
The Dish
was just the beginning. Other papers would pick up on the stories, and they'd
become legitimized in the eyes of readers. It would get worse, much worse, and
the scandal would be even more horrific. It was bad enough when she'd been made
out the pathetic victim. Now she'd be portrayed as a murdering adulteress, and
Gage would be crucified right along with her.

"I don't think I can do it
again," she whispered to the room. The pointing fingers, the stares, the
whispered words behind a hand as eyes followed her every move she—was afraid it
could destroy her if she had to face it all again.

When Madeline had shown her the
tabloid this morning, Abby hadn't wanted to believe it. In a moment of weakness
she'd left the office with one thought in mind. She had to see Gage. Gage would
know what to do. Gage would make everything all right.

He'd comforted her. He'd promised
her they would get through this, that it would blow over and all she needed to
do was trust him and let him take care of her.

She smiled with bittersweet
remorse. If only it were that simple. How she'd love to let him take care of
her, but that would be weak, and she'd never liked feeling weak.

Her throat tightened convulsively
as she fought the urge to cry. She wouldn't give in to histrionics, especially
not when anyone could walk in and witness her defeat.

If she got through today, then
surely she could get through tomorrow. That was how she would deal with it. For
the time being, she would only think of her life in terms of one day. And every
day she would only have to concentrate on getting through that one day.

What of Gage though? Her heart
ached, silently weeping, because she already knew the answer.

Her ex had accused Gage of fraud.
The police considered him a suspect in Dick's murder, something that wouldn't
have happened had it not been for her. Now his reputation was being slandered,
and he'd been embroiled in a scandal…because of her. After Lerner's
insinuations, she feared Gage would be portrayed as a ruthless murderer who'd
killed Dick to eliminate his competition.

Abby got up and went to the window.
The sun ricocheted off the mirrored panels of the building on the corner, and
she squinted from the glare.

She'd loved him forever. She would
not let them destroy him. And as hard as she tried to think of an alternative,
there was only one way to protect him. She knew what she had to do.

~~~

At five twenty-eight that afternoon
Eugene Simms thanked a certain developer in Florida
for his patience with the Philadelphia
police in the ongoing murder investigation of Dick Carpenter, hung up the
phone, and leaned back in his chair. He scanned the notes he'd scribbled across
the yellow legal pad on his desk.

After finally getting in touch with
the guy late Friday afternoon, Baker had gotten the same story as they had the
first time they'd questioned him. So Gene had decided to call him again, just
in case Baker had missed something.

Why had Carpenter waited so long to
give the developer an answer rather than agree to sell while he was in Florida? That was a new
piece of information. But according to the developer, Carpenter took almost two
weeks before calling to say they had a deal.

Maybe he hadn't been convinced his
wife would sign the property over to him. Abby Carpenter claimed he'd been
holding up their divorce but had said he'd let it go through if she would sign
the land over to him as part of their settlement.

Gene picked up his pencil and
tapped it against the edge of the desk, mulling possibilities. Carpenter
wouldn't have waited. Abby Carpenter had said she wasn't attached to the
property. Carpenter knew that. The deceased knew how badly she wanted the
divorce to go through. He would have agreed to sell knowing she'd agree to
almost anything to get out of the marriage. Everything Gene had learned about
the man told him that's how it would have gone down.

The point stuck in his craw. He
couldn't get past it. If Carpenter didn't agree, he ran the risk of the
developer discovering it was his wife who held title to the property, in which
case he could have, most probably would have, contacted her and the deceased
would have been out a pretty chunk of cash.

Carpenter might have been a sleazy
bastard, but he wasn't stupid. He would have cut the deal on the spot, unless—

Unless why, damn it?
He wanted
time to think of a convincing explanation he could use to convince his wife as
to why he wanted the property.
Yeah, that's brilliant. Shit.
He couldn't
because he had an attack of conscience.
And all the fish in the lake jumped
out, stood on their tails and clapped. Gene threw the pencil on the desk.

Something was there, just beyond
his reach. He was missing it.
Even if he were to have gone on vacation, it
wouldn't have been there. He didn't even like the place.
Abby Carpenter's
words came back to him.
But he did go, Mrs. Carpenter
, he thought. His
eyes widened. Or had he? He grabbed the handset and hit redial for the last
number called.

"Baker," he barked while
he waited for an answer, "get in here."

The rookie appeared in the doorway,
a fine example of conscientious eagerness. Amazing how motivating the threat of
writing parking tickets for the next three months could be.

Gene held up a finger when he got
the developer's voice mail. "This is Detective Simms again. I know you
were leaving for the day, but something's come up you may be able to help us
with. It's important we speak as soon as you get this message." He left
three numbers, including his home number.

Withdrawing three photographs of
Dick Carpenter from the case folder, he addressed Baker. "Take these up to
Madison. Tell him
I need eight by tens of each and see if he can do anything about the resolution
on this one." He held up a picture of Carpenter standing next to his
father at one of the senator's rallies and put it on the top of the other two.
The photo had been taken a few years ago and was the best full face shot they
had of their
vic
.

Baker came forward and took the
pictures. When he was still there a moment later, Gene glanced up without
lifting his head. His partner shifted his weight, looking indecisive. "Are
you on to something?" he asked, swallowing.

Gene took pity on the guy.
"It's just a hunch, but Mrs. Carpenter may have helped us out more than
she realized." He hitched his head toward the door. "Tell Madison those enlargements
are a priority. I'm going to see what I can do to hurry along the subpoena for
Carpenter's bank records."

He stood up, hooking his jacket off
the back of his chair with his thumb. "If the twelve mil turns out to be
our motive, we need to get on the paper trail before the
perp
realizes he may have left a few tracks."

With a little luck, Gene thought,
they wouldn't have to step over any more dead bodies along the way.

CHAPTER
NINETEEN

A
bby obsessed over the
words, the right ones, the wrong ones, the least hurtful, and the most convincing.
And the more she obsessed the less confident she felt. The only thing she knew
for sure was she didn't want to hurt Gage, and she was equally sure that was
unavoidable.

Having reconciled herself that the
only possible way to shift focus from Gage would be to disassociate herself
from him, she turned her attention to the how of the matter. She knew he would
want an explanation. And if she told him her reasons, he'd tell her not to
worry about
it,
he'd take care of the press. Only this
wasn't something he could pick up the phone and take care of.

Luke Lerner was not a man of
principle.

Tell him to back off, and he pulled
out a bigger tablet and started writing faster. She covered her untouched
dinner and put it into the refrigerator. Her appetite had disappeared with her
calm.

The doorbell rang as the
refrigerator door clicked shut.
Gage
.
All the
words she'd been practicing danced out of her reach like dandelion puffs
spirited away on a breeze.

She went to answer the door on stiff
legs, feeling not unlike one of the zombies in the opening scene of
Night of
the Living Dead.

Swinging open the door, she pasted
on a smile, and wondered if it looked as stiff as it felt. Since Norwell hadn't
taken her off the
Riv
One account, she had to find a
way to end their affair but convince Gage they could still work together as
professionals.

Gage pulled her into his arms
before the door shut behind them.

"I've been worried about
you." He pressed his face into the curve of her neck, his breath warm and
moist against her skin, and she shivered.

"I've been worried about you,
too," she said truthfully.

He caught her chin, lifting it to
stare down at her, his eyes the cloudy gray of an approaching storm.
Bad
omen that
, she thought.

"I can take care of
myself," he said, quintessential Gage.

"Ditto."

His lips twitched. "I know.
You're all tough stuff. But humor me, I like to feel needed every once in a
while." He opened his mouth over hers, and she tasted his hunger.

"Gage, no." She backed
away from him, away from the temptation, away from everything she could no
longer have if she wanted to see him safe from harm.

"What's wrong?" he asked,
his brows snapping together.

The quicker she broke things off
the easier it would be on both of them.
Distance.
She
needed to put physical distance between them to clear her head. She backed
further away, trying to locate her conviction.

"Sweetheart, what's
wrong?" He tracked her across the room. "I knew I shouldn't have let
you leave my office this morning when you were so upset."

"No." Abby held up a hand
to stop him. "I never should have come. I, I overreacted. The article in
The
Dish
is my problem not yours. You've got enough—"

He took two long strides and caught
her by the shoulders.

"Stop it," he ordered,
giving her a little shake.
"To hell with this need to do
everything on your own.
You don't have to."

"I do have to," she
insisted, throwing the words back without thinking.

"Not this
time you don't.
My name's been sacrificed to the wolves, too. Like it or
not we're in this together."

"That's just it. I don't want
to be in it together." Oh, but she did. She wanted to roll into him,
huddle against the world and everyone who wanted to turn what they'd tended
into something ugly.

The muscle in his jaw twitched.
"Do you want to explain that so I don't jump to any wrong
conclusions?"

Abby closed her eyes. "
We.
. .I, I don't want to hurt you." She looked at him
again, begging him with her eyes not to hate her for what she was about to do.
"I never meant to hurt you."

He stared at her, his expression
guarded. He put his right hand in his pocket and shifted his weight to his left
foot.