Fatal Fortune

  “Lenny runs surveillance on Saline. He discovers Candice at the Bellagio. He makes contact with her. They meet. She then meets Saline. Next she meets with Kato. Kato gives her money. Somewhere in there Candice also hangs out with Dr. Robinowitz. She rents this place under an assumed name and has it furnished and fully stocked. She and Lenny meet again, and that night he’s murdered. Candice flies home. Robinowitz flies to Austin. Candice shoots him in the parking garage. She calls me and tells me about the file in her safe; then she disappears, but tails me from time to time. Someone breaks into our offices and then the Witts’, searching for the file. Somewhere in there Saline flies to Austin, and meets up with Candice. Candice renders her unconscious and sends her over the bridge in the Porsche. Candice comes back to Vegas, bleeding from a mysterious injury. I sit here rambling on and on about facts that don’t add up or make any kind of sense.”

  With a heavy sigh I got up from the table and headed to the kitchen. I had a headache and I was hungry and hoped there was something edible in the pantry.

  Luckily, the place had a few supplies, and I even found some herbal tea that promised to relax me. Setting the pasta and sauce I’d recovered from the pantry aside, I fished around in the cabinets for cookware, coming up with pots, pans, and even a gorgeous ceramic blue teakettle.

  “It’s a shame to put this away when it’s so lovely,” I mused, moving to the faucet to fill it with water. As I lifted the lid, however, I realized why the teakettle had been tucked into a cabinet. There was a piece of paper jammed inside. I lifted it out carefully, so as not to tear it, and unfolded it with a racing heart. I just knew it was big.

  I wasn’t wrong. The paper was actually two pieces of paper, stapled together. The top piece was a copy of something I’d seen before. Something I had with me, in fact, and I raced to my suitcase to dig it out from the inside pocket.

  I held the original DNA report in my hands, comparing it to the copy before flipping the page to the one stapled behind, which, I quickly discovered, was a legal name change for Olive Wintergarden. A judge in the state of New York had granted her the new name of Saline Hamon. “No way!” I whispered, just as my cell pinged with an incoming text.

  Distractedly I picked up my cell and glanced at the display. The text was from “Cassidy,” and it read:

  Get the hell out of that apartment!

  Chapter Twelve

  • • •

  I was so stunned that for long seconds I simply stood there, staring at the screen. It went dark and I swiped at the display to light it up again. I thought of a dozen replies to text back, but what could I say that would make Candice reveal where she was?

  Finally, I simply texted back, No.

  If Candice wanted me out of here so bad, she could damn well come in and get me. (Swearing doesn’t count when your BFF—an accused murderer and possible psychopath—orders you around.)

  Not even three seconds later there was a knock on the door. I clutched my phone. Maybe being obstinate wasn’t such a great idea.

  The knocks came again—this time they seemed impatient. Creeping to the door, I peeked through the peephole. All I saw was black. Leave it to Candice to be difficult. Marshaling my courage and plastering what I hoped was an annoyed look on my face, I swung the door open and nearly kissed the muzzle of a gun.

  I reacted by stumbling backward, and the gun followed me into the apartment. I didn’t even know who was holding it, so focused was I on that giant muzzle, poised to take my head off.

  As my back hit a wall, I began to lift my gaze, and in a flash there was a flurry of movement along with the buzz of electricity, and all of a sudden the person holding the gun crumpled to the ground, taking me down with him.

  I screeched and pushed and shoved away from him, but the foyer was tightly cramped and there wasn’t much room to maneuver. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” I cried, frantic to get away.

  My right arm was grabbed roughly, and I was yanked away from the still form puddled around me. “Stop fighting!” I heard a familiar voice say.

  My gaze flew up to the new figure in the doorway, and I realized Candice was standing there with a grimace on her face, attempting to free me from the tangle of the heaped figure at my feet.

  Somehow I found my footing and pushed my way to a standing position before backing away from the door. I watched Candice bend low and take his gun away. A gun she then turned on me.

  “Candice, don’t!” I cried, my hands flying up in surrender.

  She looked at me like I was an idiot, before pocketing a Taser, then sliding back the muzzle on the gun to release the clip. It dropped into her palm and she pocketed it before popping out the bullet in the chamber and tossing the gun across the room to the couch. “Grab your stuff,” she commanded.

  I felt slow to react. I couldn’t quite figure out what was happening. I kept blinking at her, wondering if she was real. She looked terrible—bone thin, pale, with a swollen black eye, and her hair was matted with a bit of dried blood on the back right side of her head. “Abby!” she yelled angrily, while she pulled free an electrical cord from a nearby lamp. “Get your stuff!”

  I jumped and that got me moving. I ran to the kitchen table and scooped up my laptop and my purse. Leaving the note cards where they were, I simply shoved what I could into my suitcase and turned to Candice, hoping she hadn’t strangled the gunman while I was gathering my things.

  To my relief I saw that she’d only tied his hands, and was attempting to drag him inside. “A little help here?” she said when she saw me standing there, gaping at her.

  I rushed over to help heave the man, who I realized belatedly was Arlo, into the apartment. “Come on,” she said, reaching for my arm once we’d dragged him all the way inside. “We have to go.”

  Frail as she looked, her grip on my arm was still quite strong. I barely had time to nab my suitcase and purse before she was shoving me out the door and locking it behind her. “Move,” she ordered, motioning with her head toward my car.

  I didn’t argue. Candice had just saved my life (again), so the least I could do was follow instructions. When we got to my car, she put her hand out for the keys. I dug in my purse and handed them over. A moment later we were speeding out of the apartment complex and heading toward the highway.

  We were both silent for much of the initial part of the drive, mostly because I was still a little too stunned by what’d just happened. But then I turned to Candice and looked at her—really looked at her—and what I saw alarmed me even more.

  Candice’s clothes hung on her, and in addition to the black eye, I saw a fading bruise on her cheekbone; at her temple was a cut that looked like it should’ve gotten stitches. There was another cut on the back of her head that looked mean and matted the short blond locks that were normally kept so perfectly coiffed.

  Defensive bruises lined her arms where the sleeves slipped back and her knuckles were also bruised and swollen. “What the hell happened to you?” I asked, and I meant much more than just the obvious beating Candice had received.

  “I can’t get into that with you,” she told me curtly.

  My own temper flared. “Really, why? Because if you told me, you’d have to kill me?”

  Candice cut me a look and in her eyes I could see anger, sure, but also a sadness and fear that I was unprepared for. “You shouldn’t have come here, Abby.”

  “Candice, please tell me what the hell is going on,” I begged. (Swearing doesn’t count when you find your BFF in such condition.)

  But Candice shifted her gaze back to the road and ignored me.

  “Brice is out of his mind with worry,” I said, hoping that’d make her crack.

  Her shoulders shifted, but she remained stubbornly silent.

  I sighed and turned away to stare out the window. “I can help, you know.”

  “By getting yourself killed?”

  I knew she was ref
erring to the incident back at the apartment. “Maybe I wouldn’t have been in jeopardy if you’d leveled with me.”

  Candice pulled over to exit the highway. At the stop sign at the bottom of the exit she turned to me and said, “I have leveled with you, Sundance. I’ve never once lied to you.”

  “Omitting the fact that you’re a hit man . . . hit woman . . . hit person for the mob is still a lie, Candice!”

  “So even you believe that bullshit?” she asked, hurt evident in her eyes.

  My jaw dropped. “Bullshit? Candice, how the hell could I believe otherwise?! Saline Hamon is lying in a hospital bed fighting for her life as we speak, and she came in wearing your clothes, your wedding ring, and driving your car! Your ex-husband was murdered a few hours after meeting with you! And if that weren’t enough, there’s video of you executing Dr. Robinowitz in a parking garage and look what I found in that mailbox at the apartment you were using!” I held up the envelope I’d taken containing Robinowitz’s photo and his flight info, and waved it in her face.

  Candice took it from me and pulled out the contents, her shoulders slumped as she looked it over.

  “Tell me that’s not someone trying to supply you the information about your target!” I yelled. I was really getting worked up now that I was sitting next to her. “I mean . . . come on!”

  Candice’s reaction shocked me. She looked up and stared at me with wide eyes for a long moment before her eyes misted and a tear leaked down her cheek. I felt my heart soften. Even though she’d done terrible things, Candice was still my very best friend. “This is a plant,” she said softly, tossing the envelope on the floor. “It was sent to make me look guilty.”

  I bit my lip, torn between hugging her fiercely and shaking her. “If you want me to believe you, you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

  Candice sighed wearily. “How many times have you looked at the video?” she asked me, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Her question shocked me. “Once. It was enough.”

  She nodded and wiped at her tears. Turning her focus back to the road, she turned left and headed down the road to a motel with a blinking neon sign. She parked at the office and said, “Did you happen to take the cash from the safe?”

  “Yes,” I said, hugging my purse to show her that I had it with me.

  She held out her hand and I dug into my handbag to retrieve the wad of cash stuffed into my makeup case and give it to her.

  Candice peeled off about a thousand dollars and held it out to me. “Here,” she said. “Use this to pay for the room tonight, and tomorrow get a cab to take you to the airport. Use the remaining cash for the first flight home you can catch, Abby.”

  I stared at her. “I don’t understand—”

  “I’m going to take your rental. Don’t worry—I’ll drop it off tomorrow at the rental agency. I just need to borrow it for a few hours.”

  “Candice—”

  She took my hand and slapped the money into my palm while looking at me earnestly. “Don’t argue with me, Sundance. Please just grant me this one favor and do what I tell you to. You can’t be here. As long as you’re in town, you can be used against me, which is way too dangerous for both of us.”

  I could tell it’d be useless to argue, so I took the money and got out of the car. After grabbing my luggage from the backseat, I stood there, waiting to see if maybe she’d change her mind. Instead she rolled down the window and said, “You need to look at that video again. Really look at it before you decide who I am and what I’m capable of.”

  With that cryptic message, she was gone.

  * * *

  I spent much of the night at the motel wearing a track in the carpet of my room, the image of Candice’s earnest face imploring me to leave town burning a hole in my brain. Around two a.m. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried. I’d never felt so helpless in my entire life. Candice needed me. Intuitively I knew that. But I also realized that her warning to me was also true. If I stayed, I was endangering both of us, simply because I didn’t know the full story, and by investigating and trying to help, I could absolutely do more harm than good.

  It was like being caught between the frying pan and the fire. There was no move that didn’t come with serious consequences. If I left to save my own ass, I was leaving Candice vulnerable to capture by either the FBI or Kato. And it looked like he’d already gone back on his word to give me seventy-two hours. Arlo hadn’t shown up at the apartment to welcome me to the neighborhood.

  But how could I help Candice by staying? What could I possibly do that I hadn’t already done? My radar hummed and that’s when I remembered her cryptic message to me. “You need to look at that video again. Really look at it before you decide who I am and what I’m capable of.”

  I got up from the bed and dug out my laptop. I’d left all the three-by-five cards at the apartment, which was a bummer, but I could always map it out on the computer. Using my cell as a hot spot again, I logged on to the Internet and Googled the video of Robinowitz’s murder. I knew the story was juicy enough for there to be at least one posting of the video.

  I was wrong about that. There were ten sites dedicated to the “Shocking!” video. I logged onto the first and took a deep breath before hitting the play button. It’s an awful thing to watch your best friend commit murder.

  The video began playing and I forced myself not to blink or look away. I saw Candice’s Porsche pull up and park. Then she got out of the car and stood next to the open door. From the left side of the screen Dr. Robinowitz appeared, pulling his luggage behind him. He waved slightly to Candice and he seemed to smile. His body relaxed at the sight of her, but then it stiffened suddenly and his step faltered. Candice pulled out her gun, took two steps forward, and fired. I jerked even though I’d seen the video before and knew it was coming.

  Robinowitz crumpled backward, his luggage falling back with him. Candice turned back to the car, got in, and put the Porsche in reverse. A moment later she was gone.

  I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm myself. The header was right; it was shocking.

  So why had Candice wanted me to look at it? And not just look at it—really look at it.

  I hovered my finger over the touch pad, debating whether I could stomach another viewing. I figured that in order to make my decision to stay or go, I pretty much had to look at the video at least once more. Candice wanted me to see something that I’d clearly missed, so just because I loved her, I played it again. And then again. And then six more times and every time it was as ghastly as the first.

  “What is it that you want me to see, Cassidy?” I said, replaying the video for the seventh time. I talked it out aloud as the video played. “Candice arrives in the Porsche. Parks. Gets out. Robinowitz appears. He’s happy to see her. Then he’s not. He stiffens. She draws the gun. Takes two steps. Pow . . . wait,” I said. “Hold on!” Using the touch pad, I backed the video up to the moment Robinowitz appeared. He smiled and waved at her, and then he paused, his posture stiffening, but Candice hadn’t yet drawn her gun. It was subtle, but it was as if Robinowitz had seen something about Candice that had immediately caused him to become startled, or afraid, or both.

  I replayed that part of the footage three more times. I wasn’t wrong. Robinowitz had been alerted to danger prior to Candice drawing a gun on him. I switched my focus over to Candice. What had she done to alert Robinowitz? Her face was only in profile, partially hidden by her hair, but her lips never seemed to move. She hadn’t spoken to him, so what was it?

  And then I focused on her coat. Had he seen the bulge in her coat from where she drew her gun? It came out of her coat from her left side, but the way her jacket draped her body I couldn’t really make out the bulge of the gun. I squinted hard at the screen and replayed that section frame by frame. On the final frame before Candice withdrew the gun, I nearly fell off the bed.
>
  “Oh . . . my . . . GOD!” I gasped. Finally seeing exactly what Candice had wanted me to pick out from the video.

  Reaching for my phone, I dialed as fast as my fingers could slide across the screen. “Pick up, pick up, pick up!” I pleaded.

  “Harrison,” said a gruff voice, foggy with sleep.

  “Brice! It wasn’t Candice! It wasn’t her! She didn’t shoot him! She’s innocent!”

  “Abby?” Brice said.

  “Listen to me!” I demanded. “Candice is left-handed. The woman in the video shot Robinowitz with her right hand! It’s not Candice! It’s someone made to look like Candice!”

  There was a pause and I knew Brice was trying to wake up enough to keep up with me. I kept talking, hoping something I said would click for him. “You need to go online right now and look up the video of the shooting in the parking garage. Watch her pull out her gun, Brice. She uses her right hand. And then watch Robinowitz’s reaction as he gets close to the woman posing as Candice. He thinks it’s her, but as he gets close, he can see that it’s an impostor. He stiffens even before she pulls out the gun!”

  “Where are you?”

  I grunted impatiently. “It doesn’t matter where I am, Brice! Get your damn ass out of bed and go online!” (Swearing doesn’t count when you’ve just learned your BFF is innocent of murdering a man in cold blood.)

  Brice cleared his throat. “Yeah, okay—hang on.” I heard him shuffle around in the background, and I imagined he was setting up his laptop.

  “Are you ready for the link?” I asked impatiently.

  “No, Cooper. I’ve still got the copy APD gave me.”

  I waited for several more seconds through the silence that followed and couldn’t help but ask, “Are you watching?”