Deadly Secrets (41 page)

“My brother is usually . . . easier,” he settled on, “than the rest of us.” He looked back at Jareaux. “But this? All of this . . . He rather hates you. You put his family in jeopardy. We Kinncaids are rather touchy on that fact.”

Jareaux put his shades on, even though they weren’t needed. “Sometimes we all make mistakes.”

Ian stilled. “See, my brother’s laid-back, he might take a swing at you, momentarily cut off your air supply, think about other things he could do. Me? I’d just kill you.”

“Threatening a federal officer, Mr. Kinncaid, is also frowned upon.”

“I’ve a feeling you won’t hold that title for long, Jareaux.” Ian only smiled, and knew it held no humor. “I never threaten, Mr. Jareaux. I simply take care of matters.”

Jareaux jerked open his car door. “I’ll just bet you do.” He fingered his tie until it loosened. “I wish I’d never heard the name Kinncaid.”

Chapter 29

Albuquerque, Tuesday, after midnight

Please forgive me. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe being around adoptions all the time let me see that there were more out there to help. I only wanted to help. I sold the Kinncaid woman’s baby to a wonderful couple. The way I went about it was wrong. I know. Now, he knows too and he doesn’t want me anymore. No one will understand. No one will ever forgive me and I don’t blame them. I don’t know why I did it and there’s no way to undo it. I don’t know what else to do. Please tell Ella I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. She really was my friend, I didn’t lie about that.

~ Lisa

He read back through it and realized there should be another
really
there at the end. With a black-gloved finger, he typed the rest of the note. Yes, that would work. Perfect.

He wondered again if the man he had hired had accomplished what he’d set out to do, if he’d managed to kill the stupid Kinncaid woman. Really, how hard could it be? She’d been released from the hospital earlier today. Whether that would make it easier or harder, he wasn’t yet sure. Either way, the bastard better do what he was paid to do.

At this point, though, it would hardly be over. If only it were that easy. Best thing to do is to clip the ends and hope things did not continue to unravel.

In the end, hopefully, his ass would be covered, but something told him he’d always be looking over his shoulder.

Walking to the bathroom, he cut off the faucet before the tub overflowed, felt the water and then wondered why he cared. It wasn’t like she could feel it.

Wiping his hands on his pants, he stood and strode back into the bedroom. Carefully, so as not to touch anything, he stripped her down to her underwear. “Not long now, dearie. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing. All those Ambien pills I put in your drink and blended with the fruit and alcohol, it won’t be long anyway.”

He slipped his gloves back on. It really worked great knowing what her scripts were. Sleeping pills and alcohol, one of the oldest tricks in the books if one wanted to off themselves. Personally, he had never wanted to, never truly understood when people did, but then most people would never understand why he did what he did. That was fine with him. He hardly needed approval. He just didn’t want to get caught.

This was another loose end to clip off.

He carried her to the bathtub and gently placed her in it. Then he put the knife into her own hand and studied it for a moment. No, wait, that’s not how she would hold it, is it? He placed her fingers a bit more naturally against the hilt of the sharp kitchen knife. Then he sliced it down her left arm. He frowned. Probably should have done the right first. Did a person who was right-handed slice their left wrist first? If tendons were severed and nerves, then how did they then hold the knife to cut the other wrist?

He’d never thought about it before. Maybe he should have just let the pills take their toll. Of course, he could just drown her in the tub, but that could leave bruising.

She’d wanted to sleep with him earlier and he never passed up a chance to fuck the woman. She knew her way around a man’s cock and he was more than happy to oblige. If anything came of it, it wasn’t like their affair wasn’t known about. He knew two of his nurses knew and Kevin had known.

There would be a reason his DNA and prints could be found here. It was a place they had frequently met. This time, though, he’d found out what she had done and was so shocked they’d fought and he left, telling her it was over.

Despondent over what she had done, over losing him, she’d swallowed her pills and alcohol. Or so he hoped it would be believed.

The note was already on her laptop, and would be found when the time was right.

The water was already red. He set the knife on the rim of the tub and tilted her head to the side; dropped to her chest as it was, she looked uncomfortable.

The earth-tone tiles hid the bright scarlet of the blood that had spurted from her opened veins. He stood and stepped back. Everything was as it should be.

He walked back through the apartment and stripped his gloves off, checking his scrubs. So there was a little blood on them, what else was new? He’d toss them and no one would think anything of it.

Had he thought of everything? He’d moved the money yesterday from the dummy corporate account he always used for delicate adoptions. He’d transferred it to hers. Of course the trail was now there. How to explain the money away?

Perhaps say she had access to that account?

After all, she was going to be found in this town house the corporation owned. Some of the deposits in her financial background would be traced back to the same company. The house the stupid woman had used was owned by the same.

He should just cut and run. The cops were looking for him. He knew because he’d checked his voice messages from a pay phone after he’d dumped his cell. His wife was a bit irritated at the police, their questions and insinuations. She’d wanted to know what was going on. He hadn’t returned her call.

He’d run the background on the McGregors, which turned up nothing, but they still didn’t feel right, felt off. Maybe he was seeing ghosts in shadows. Mr. McGregor had been too intense to his way of thinking.

Knowing his luck, they were probably working with the feds or the Kinncaids or something.

He glanced back down the hallway toward the bathroom. Damn Lisa. At least her death should buy him enough time to get out of the country.

Going away for fraud and kidnapping was one thing, murder was a whole other kettle, wasn’t it? And he wasn’t about to go down because the woman currently bleeding out in the bathtub where they’d made love a few days ago had been greedy and stupid. She’d wanted to return to her house in Taos, claiming she needed to check on her cats. He probably should have checked it himself Saturday evening when she’d called him after seeing the cops in the street. But he hadn’t, and then it was too late. He hoped to hell she hadn’t had anything incriminating at her place. Be like her, though. Stupid and impulsive she might be, but she was damned shrewd and greedy.

Greedy he could handle. When greed bred stupidity and the stupidity thrived . . . that he couldn’t tolerate.

How long it would take the cops to find Kevin he had no idea, and it probably didn’t matter. Charred remains were charred remains and at least Kevin wouldn’t be able to tell all his secrets.

Checking to make sure everything was as it should be, he eased out of the house and down the stairs, staying to the shadows. In the lot, he climbed into a car he’d bought with cash off a used lot yesterday morning with a fake ID.

He fisted his hands on the steering wheel and knew it was all falling down. He needed to leave. Maybe he could catch a flight out to California and then . . . Thailand. Or Brazil. Hell, Mexico would work too. He had a couple of fake passports and had set up places in the two previous locales and Mexico . . . well, many got lost in Mexico. His wife though . . . and daughter?

They could never know. If it all came out, his own family would never forgive him.

Too much was at stake to leave any loose ends hanging. It wasn’t the affair he was worried about. His wife knew him well enough that would not come as a surprise. They had an understanding.

But there was understanding small lies she didn’t really care about and understanding lies that impacted their lives forever.

Some lies could never be discovered. He’d do whatever he had to to keep some secrets buried.

Chapter 30

Albuquerque, Wednesday evening

Quinlan walked down the hotel hallway with its plain colorless walls. There was great art if you were an O’Keeffe fan, or loved
Kokopelli
and the damned flute. He freaking hated New Mexico. It had taken too much from him. At any other time, he might have admired the hotel they were staying in, but honestly, he couldn’t care less. What he wanted was answers. There were yet to be any.

What he had was only more questions.

Dr. Merchant was now missing. No one could find Lisa Hammerstein or some guy named Kevin who had worked at the Retreat.

Ella had rested for most of the day. She’d been released yesterday afternoon and between the Richardsons and his brothers, they’d gotten everyone here. The Richardsons had left this morning, wanting to check on things at home. They said they’d be back, probably tomorrow. He was both glad and nervous that she was out. But they were close to the hospital if anything came up. She had answered a few questions, a few and far too many for his way of thinking. Even when speaking to the police. She’d answer some and then it was like someone pressed the pause button and she’d shut down for a minute, staring off into space. Then she’d ask a question and the process looped all over again.

He didn’t know what to do to help her.

They talked. They whispered. They danced around the issues that needed to be resolved.

She was his. If he’d wondered about it months previously, of letting her go, he knew now how futile that was.

She. Was. His.

However, like Ian said, if they really wanted space, you gave it to them . . . even when you didn’t want to. Though when space led to nightmares, then what did you do?

He walked into the dining room, the wrought iron chandelier hanging from the beams of the
latilla
ceiling adding to the macabre feeling he seemed blanketed in.

And there she sat, near the kiva fireplace.

When space led to nightmares you helped battle them.

Ella. Just seeing her had him wanting to pull her into his arms, and yell at her at the same time. He didn’t do either.

He’d told her she was coming out here to eat with his family, if he had to drag her. He knew she didn’t really feel like it. Hell, he didn’t feel like it, but that was just too damned bad. She’d hidden in their suite since yesterday, room service bringing her whatever she wanted, which was nothing. He felt like he was force-feeding her.

She didn’t eat, nightmares ripped apart what little sleep she managed. She hardly spoke at all. She would sit staring off into space with tears streaming down her face, as if she wasn’t aware she even cried.

He wanted Ella back. His Ella, bright, vibrant Ella.

Even if they hadn’t taken his child, hadn’t tormented his wife, he’d kill them for putting that broken look in her eyes.

He paused and just watched her as she watched the flames. The scent of wood smoke mixed with the scents of grilled meats, spicy peppers and alcohol. Someone cleared their throat and he looked over to the large dining table. He wondered if she’d eat anything tonight.

Agents Sabino and Landry lounged back against the chair listening to something Ian and Rori were saying. John Brasher was also there. Aiden sat jotting something down on paper. Man had every gadget currently on the market but he still preferred pen and paper. The normalcy of that small, stupid act settled something in Quin.

Ian looked up and quirked a brow at him.

He walked over to his wife and wondered yet again how the hell to reach her.

Squatting down beside the log chair she sat curled in, he reached out to take her hand. Just the brush of his fingers and she jerked her hand back. Her eyes flashed to his, and in them he only saw fear.

“Hey,” he whispered.

She swallowed. “Sorry.” This time, she reached out and gently settled her fingers on the back of his hands. He looked down at her hand as he laced his fingers through hers. White bandages still wrapped around her wrists. The zip ties had bit deep enough, often enough, the doctor said there would be permanent scarring. They’d met with a physical therapist yesterday before her release who worked with them on exercises for her to do. Mostly finger and wrist movements. Which reminded him, he wanted to get her a keyboard. One, it would be great physical therapy, and two, it might help her—somehow. Woman loved music, maybe it would help her deal with all of this. He knew she played, had played in the past.

He bit down and took a deep breath, shaking off the thought.