Simon Says Die (27 page)

“Calhoun Square. Thanks Tessa. I owe you.”

M
ADISON KNEW SHE
was a coward. Pierce deserved to hear the truth from her, that she loved him. But she'd rather hurt him with a lie of omission than risk his life by allowing Damon to go free.

She crept toward the backdoor, hoping to catch Damon by surprise.

“I didn't really think you'd come.”

Before Madison could react, Damon's arms were suddenly around her, crushing her back against his chest. His hot breath tickled the hairs on the side of her neck, sending a shudder of revulsion coursing through her.

“Let me go. You don't have to hold on to me. I came here to see you of my own free will.”

“True, you did. Surprised me quite a bit when I saw you creeping through the bushes out front. I didn't think it would be this easy to get you here. But that doesn't mean I trust you. Let's get inside.”

She stiffened against him, and he laughed as he forced her through the door into the back hallway and into the mudroom.

When he let her go to shut the door, she dug into her pocket for the Colt .380 hidden there.

“Uh-uh-uh,” he clucked as he wrestled it away from her. “I'll take this.” He ran a hand across her body, making her squirm away in disgust when his hands squeezed her breasts.

“What's this?” he asked as his hand pressed against her midsection.

The electronic recorder she'd brought with her. She tried to wiggle out of his arms but he was too strong. He shoved his hand into her front pocket and pulled out the recorder.

He eyed it with scorn. “What did you hope to do with this? Wring a confession out of me and record it? Send me to prison?”

“It was a thought.”

He grinned and held the recorder up to his mouth like a microphone. “I confess that I killed Madison's father.” He shoved the recorder into his own pocket. “It doesn't matter what's on that recording. No one's ever going to hear it. Besides, I'm not the only guilty party here. You tried to kill me. You shot me, or don't you remember?”

“I wish I'd killed you that night.”

“I'm sure you do. Good thing for me your aim was off. You only winged me.”

He pushed her down the hall toward her home office. She balked, and he gave her a rough shove, driving her to her knees. Biting back a yelp of pain, she gritted her teeth and moved into the front room.

“How did you keep getting into my house?” she asked. “How did you get into it tonight, without tripping the alarm?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. Attached to the key ring was a security fob, like the one she used to have that had broken.

“It pays to have friends in the security alarm industry,” he said, “especially when the security company is the same one who changed your locks.” He pocketed the key ring.

She glanced around the room, trying to play up her nervousness so that he wouldn't feel threatened by her. Inside she was seething, and yearning to yank her other gun out of her ankle holster. But unless Damon lowered his guard, he'd shoot her before she had a chance.

“Would you quit pointing that thing at me? You could accidentally shoot me.”

“Like you shot me?” he sneered. He held the gun out in front of him, aiming it at her. There was no way he would miss at this range. “What? No pleading? You're not going to beg my forgiveness and tell me you didn't mean to shoot me?”

“Of course I meant to shoot you. You were trying to leave, and I wanted to stop you. I wanted you to pay for killing my father. ”

“Tell me, dear wife, what did you think when my body was found—without a bullet in it? Did you realize I was still alive or did you just assume the bullet was lost in the fire?”

“I . . . wasn't sure.”

He stalked toward her and leaned down in her face. “Does your boyfriend know you tried to kill your husband?”

“He knows I shot you. If I was trying to kill you, you'd be dead. I never miss what I aim at. Why did you marry me if it was all a lie?”

“I don't suppose you would believe I was in love with you.” He shook his head at her disbelieving expression. “I didn't think so.” He shrugged. “I don't know that I'll ever love anyone, but I cared about you, enough not to kill you like I've done every other woman in my life. I wanted you to be happy, and if your dad had died when he was supposed to all of this could have been avoided.”

She shuddered at his reference to killing, in that matter-of-fact tone. She wondered how many people he'd killed over the years, and counted herself lucky she'd managed to stay alive this long, after actually marrying the man. Bile rose in her throat, and she had to force it down. Then it dawned on her what else he'd just said. “What do you mean—‘if my dad had died when he was supposed to?' ”

“It's amazing what people know and don't realize they know. When I met you and you talked about your family, I immediately realized there was probably some money there, even though you didn't. It was easy to get your father to brag about his investments, man to man. He was so proud that he was providing for his family, that you'd all be taken care of in style when he was gone. We're talking millions of dollars. He'd lived a full, good life. If he'd died the first time I tried, you and I would probably still be together.”

Shocked, she could do little more than stare at him.

“Poor little Madison. You really haven't learned much about me, even after helping your new boyfriend investigate me. What did he tell you? Did he figure out who I really am?”

“You mean, an identity stealer, a con artist, and a loathsome serial killer—
Simon
?”

He laughed. “Well, I'm all that—although I do think loathsome is a bit strong—and so much more. Your family was a means to an end. And eventually, when I tired of you, I'd have been set, a wealthy widower grieving the loss of his beloved wife. I could have lived off the money for years before I ran through it, or before I made a mistake and killed too close to home, forcing me to switch identities again.” He cocked his head. “Enough reminiscing about old times. Where's the cashier's check?”

“I don't have it,” she lied. If she gave him the money, she was dead. The only reason she'd brought the check was to use it in exchange for his confession. But without her recorder, or her gun, the check in her bra was now a liability.

She needed to stall him, distract him, so she could go for her other gun.

“You wouldn't have come here without the money. Where is it?” he demanded.

“In the safe.”

“Safe? What safe?”

“Over there.” She waved toward the far wall.

He shoved her forward. “Go on.”

She pulled a picture down, revealing the wall safe.

Damon ground the muzzle of his gun in her back. “Open it.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Six

P
IERCE CUT HIS
headlights and inched the car forward until he was fifty feet behind a parked car he didn't recognize, the only other car on Calhoun square. It had to be the car Madison had taken, but he didn't know where she'd gotten it.

What was she thinking to sneak out of the inn this late at night? Why had she gone to Calhoun Square of all places and parked on the darkest curb far away from the nearest street lamp?

He was going to give her hell just as soon as he was certain she was okay. He could see someone sitting in the driver's seat, a shadow among shadows. But something wasn't right. The shadow sat too high in the seat, with shoulders far too broad to be petite Madison.

A deep feeling of unease swept through him. He got out of his car and eased the door shut. Gun drawn, he crept forward. He crouched down when he neared the other car, careful to stay in the driver's blind spot. A few more feet, then he stood up beside the driver's window, gun and flashlight pointing at the occupant inside.

Startled, the driver jumped then threw up his hands as he blinked against the harsh light.

Pierce swore viciously as he recognized the man inside. “Open the door, Mr. Varley.”

Varley, shaking so hard he could barely manage the door handle, finally unlocked the door.

Pierce shoved the door open and hauled Varley out of the car with a quick twist of his shirt collar.

Varley landed on the street. Pierce did a quick sweep of the car's interior. Empty. He turned his attention on the frightened innkeeper owner.

“What are you doing out here?”

Varley's eyes were as wide as an owl's. He held his hands up in the air, his mouth opening and closing like a fish but making no sounds.

“Oh for the love of . . . put your hands down. I'm not going to shoot you.” Pierce shoved his gun into his waistband and hauled the man to his feet. “Speak, before I change my mind about shooting.”

The man stared at Pierce's gun for a few more seconds then finally managed to raise his gaze. “I was watching a late movie in the common room when Mrs. McKinley came downstairs. She told me a friend had called her, that she'd had car trouble and Mrs. McKinley was going to help her.”

“Go on,” Pierce urged him.

“I told her it wasn't safe to go by herself at this hour. I insisted that she take you with her. She told me you were sleeping. She said she didn't want to wake you to get your keys, and asked if she could borrow my car. I . . . I couldn't let her go by herself, so I agreed to drive her. Once she got to this square she told me to wait for her, that she'd be back in a few minutes.” He looked around as if he expected her to appear at any moment.

“She didn't tell you where she was going?”

“No.”

“Did you at least see which direction she went?”

Varley scratched his head. “I'm not really sure. It's too dark to see anything out here.” He shivered and looked around, as if he were afraid someone was going to jump out of the shadows at him.

Pierce gritted his teeth against the urge to shake him. Something wasn't adding up here. Tessa had triangulated Madison's phone to this car. “Where's her phone?”

“Her phone? I don't under—”

Losing patience, Pierce turned and conducted a more thorough search of the car. Just as he'd suspected, Madison's phone was inside. She'd shoved it down between the passenger seat and the middle console.

“Special Agent Buchanan, sir?” Mr. Varley was standing a few feet back from the open door, twisting the hem of his shirt between his hands.

“What?” Pierce growled.

“Do you think I should . . . ah . . . call the police or something? Do you think Mrs. McKinley is in some kind of trouble?”

“She's always in some kind of trouble.”

Varley's brows crept up to his hairline. “Sir?”

“Just give me a minute.” He tried to ignore the nearly apoplectic man standing beside him. He punched the screen on Madison's cell phone and the light came on, showing that a message was waiting to be read, a message she'd texted to her own phone. He opened the message.

Pierce, I couldn't risk Damon being free to hurt anyone else. I went to get his confession. If you're reading this, I didn't succeed. I had to do this. I had to see it through to the end. And I couldn't risk your life, not again. I had to protect you, which is why I couldn't take that ring. I needed you to be angry enough to leave the room, so I could go home and meet Damon. Please forgive me. I have always loved you. I will always love you. Always.

He cursed and threw the phone down on the seat. He glanced around the square, trying to get his bearings. Madison's house wasn't far from here, a short hike. She'd probably just walked there after leaving Varley sitting in the car.

Digging his phone out of his pocket, he punched up a quick message and pressed send, before handing his phone to Varley. “Call the number on that screen as many times as it takes to wake up the person on the other end. Ask for Lieutenant Hamilton and tell him to read the text message that I just sent him. Can you do that?”

“Well, uh, sure. I guess so. But why don't you call him yourself?” He held the phone toward Pierce as if it were a snake, and he was afraid of getting bitten.

Because Hamilton will order me not to go in without backup.

“You can drive back to the inn, but not before making that call. I know where Mrs. McKinley is, and she needs my help. Just promise me you'll make that call. It's vitally important. You could be saving Mrs. McKinley's life.”

As Pierce had hoped, Varley puffed his chest out with self-importance. “Yes, sir. I can make that call.” Just then the phone rang and Varley jumped in surprise. “Should I answer it?”

Pierce leaned over and looked at the screen.
Hamilton.
He'd gotten the text after all and he'd called the phone that had sent him the text.

“Yes, that's the man I wanted you to call. Make sure he sends help. I'm relying on you. Mrs. McKinley is relying on you.”

“You can count on me, Special Agent Buchanan.” Mr. Varley punched a button on the phone. “Hello?” He winced and held the phone away from his ear.

Pierce could hear the yelling coming through the phone. He shot Varley a sympathetic glance and ran for his car.

O
NE MORE SPIN
of the dial. Click. Madison pulled the lever and the safe opened.

Damon shoved her to the side and reached his arm into the safe.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Madison jumped up and kicked his wrist, sending his gun flying across the carpet. He whirled around. She ducked and rolled out of his way.

He lunged after her, but she came up with the gun from her ankle holster. He stopped inches away with the muzzle of her gun pressed against his forehead.

“Back off. Now.”

He slowly backed away, his hands in the air. “You'd begrudge your husband a few lousy bucks?”

“Quit saying that. You're not my husband anymore.”

“Sure I am. Until death do us part, sweetheart.”

He suddenly dove to the side and came up with the other gun.

A shot rang out, deafening in the small room. Damon cried out as the gun sailed out of his hand. He screamed in agony, clutching his bloody hand to his chest. Pierce stood in the doorway, his own gun leveled at Damon.

He glanced at Madison. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I'm . . . I'm fine.”

Damon lunged for the gun on the floor, grabbed it, and ran through the archway, disappearing into the darkened house beyond.

“Stay here,” Pierce ordered. “Hamilton is on his way.”

The blackness swallowed him up as he ran after Damon.

D
AMON HAD RUN
into the closet to the basement stairs.

Pierce waited a few seconds to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, then he crept down the staircase, hunched down in case Damon got off any wild shots. When Pierce reached the bottom, he dove onto the floor and rolled behind some boxes. He crept through the dark to the light switch, and flipped it on.

Damon stood about twenty feet away, unarmed, clutching his hurt hand to his chest.

He laughed harshly. “Can you believe I dropped the damn gun while I was running down the stairs? Couldn't find the thing in the dark. I guess you got me.” He slowly raised his hands.

Pierce eyed him suspiciously, not trusting him. “Raise your hands higher. Spread your legs. You're under arrest.”

“No.” Madison's soft voice called out from the stairs. “If you arrest him, he'll just get out again. We can't let him go.” She slowly walked down to the bottom of the steps, all the while pointing her gun at her former husband.

“Madison, stay back,” Pierce ordered. “Put the gun down.”

She shook her head violently. “He killed my father. He threatened to kill you, my family. He has to be stopped.”

“Not like this, Mads.” Pierce lowered his gun and angled over toward her.

“Don't try to stop me. He won't go to prison. You said so yourself. Not enough
evidence.
” She practically spit that last word.

Damon laughed. “That's right. I'm not going to prison. Because, hey, I'm innocent.” He grinned.

The gun jerked in Madison's hand.

“Shut up, Damon,” Pierce said. “If you value your life, shut up.”

Damon looked at the gun in Madison's hand, then his gaze raised to her eyes and his grin faded.

Pierce slowly reached a hand toward Madison. “Give me the gun, sweetheart.”

She stepped away from him, keeping her gun trained on Damon. “No. Don't you understand? I have to kill him. To keep my family safe. To keep you safe. For
Daddy
.”

“Would your father want you to go to prison?”

Her lips thinned into a hard line. “I don't have a choice. Damon is going to kill you, or the rest of my family. I have to kill him, to keep you safe. And he deserves to die for killing my father. If bringing his killer to justice means I have to go to prison, so be it.”

“What about Logan? Your mom? They've already lost your father. They won't want to lose you too.”

Her lower lip trembled. “Damon has to die.”

The bleakness in her voice touched something deep inside him. He sighed heavily and trained his gun on Damon again. “All right. If it means that much to you, fine. But I'll do it. The paper work is easier that way.”

“What are you doing?” Damon hissed.

Madison's gun wobbled, and she blinked in surprise. “You can't shoot him.”

He raised a brow. “Why not? If it's okay for you to shoot him, then it's okay for me. No one else will care if he dies. He's a lowlife. A murderer. He deserves it.” He carefully aimed his gun. “Say your final prayers, McKinley. Make it quick.”

Madison's arm dipped. “You can't just shoot him.”

“Why not? Hurry up, McKinley. I don't see you praying.”

She glanced back and forth between Damon and Pierce, confusion etched on her brow. She lowered her gun, and stepped forward. She put her hand on Pierce's arm. “I can't let you do this.”

“You said it yourself. He deserves it.”

She blanched white. “Yes, he does. But killing an unarmed man would destroy you. All you care about is the law.”

“No, all I care about is you. I can't let you shoot Damon. I can't let you bear the burden of that guilt. But if it's what you really want, then I
will
kill him. Just say the word.”

He watched her intently, waiting for her decision.

She glanced back and forth, from him to Damon, and back again. Finally, she let out a sob. “No, no, you can't kill him. I can't let you do that.”

“What about justice for your father? It ends here, Mads. One way or the other. You have to make a choice.”

“He'll come after you. I can't let him hurt you,” she cried.

“Trust me. I won't let him hurt me, or anyone else. Trust me,” he repeated.

Her face crumpled. “Let him go.”

Pierce lowered his gun.

Lieutenant Hamilton stepped through the opening into the basement, his gun at his side. “I thought for sure you were going to shoot him.”

“How long have you been standing there?” Pierce asked.

“Long enough.” He glanced at Damon before looking back at Pierce. “That was a hell of a chance you just took, bluffing with Mrs. McKinley like that.”

Pierce raised a brow. “What makes you think I was bluffing?”

Hamilton cocked his head. “I guess I'll never know for sure. Mrs. McKinley, you don't have to worry about your former husband coming after you again or getting away with murder. Your brother has been working hard on your behalf and has uncovered a wealth of information in Montana. We have enough evidence now to arrest Damon McKinley for the murder of the
real
Damon McKinley. And before the week is out, I expect I'll be able to arrest him for the ‘Simon says' murders too. He's going away for a long, long time.”

A shout of rage had all three of them turning back toward Damon. He dove to his side and grabbed the gun he'd dropped earlier. Gunshots filled the air as Madison, Pierce, and Hamilton raised their guns and fired.

F
LASHING LIGHTS FROM
the police cars outside lit up Madison's family room, shining through the front windows of the adjoining home office. Madison waited beside the couch with Agent Casey, where the lieutenant had directed her to stay out of the way. He and Pierce and a dozen police officers were in the basement, dealing with the aftermath of Damon's ill-fated attempt to blast his way to freedom.

Damon would never hurt anyone else ever again. Her father's murderer was dead.

Finally, the lieutenant and Pierce appeared in the back hallway and walked into the family room. Pierce looked around, his gaze lightly touching on everyone there until he spotted Madison. He strode across the room, grabbed her hand, and didn't even slow down as he tugged her behind him out of the house.