If I Should Die

FIFTEEN

I kept quiet after my pet cop told me what had happened at the Kelley Mine. I didn’t know what made me angrier: that Tim Hendrickson’s friend was a private investigator or that someone had tried to kill the two interlopers.

I’d taken over my brother’s office, such as it was. Made a few aesthetic adjustments to suit my taste, rearranged the furniture so no one could sneak up behind me through the door or window. Ian had arrived that morning and watched from the corner. He didn’t like Tyler Weddle any more than I did.

“Who fired the shots?” I asked my cop.

Tyler’s Adam’s apple bobbed unsteadily. “I–I don’t know. You made it clear-”

“Yes, I made it perfectly clear that you all were to stand down. I’m giving the Hendricksons time to do the right thing, and I’m confident they will. The fire was a dumb move, but what do I expect from idiots?”

I didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “It’s Friday. We have two days”-I looked at the clock-“just under fifty-eight hours to make sure the resort project is dead. Now a private investigator is snooping around. You think shooting at him is going to scare him off?”

“I didn’t-”

“And what is this so-called evidence left in the mine?”

“The girlfriend works at a morgue, apparently. She noticed things no one else would have noticed.”

“What things did she fucking notice?”

Tyler shifted his feet. He knew better than to sit without an invitation, and I hadn’t issued him one. “Some hair and, um, some bugs she said were on the body.”

“And were they from the bitch’s body?”

He actually turned green. “Yeah.”

“You didn’t clean up your mess very well, did you?”

“It was Jimmy-”

I put up my hand. I wasn’t going to discuss Jimmy with anyone. He was the thorn in my side. I couldn’t kill him and I couldn’t let him live. Not when everything I’d been working toward for six long years was finally happening in two days. I swear, that bitch was haunting me from her grave. I should have cut her up and fed her to the pigs like they did in the good old days. I might just do that to Jimmy. And Tyler. Hell, I should fucking buy stock in a hog farm!

“You were supposed to make sure the job was done, and you let him go down there alone. That makes it your fault and your responsibility.” I stared him down. He was sweating. That made me as happy as I could be considering the mess in front of me. “What, are you scared of the mine? Of the dark? Ian, look at the big, bad cop who’s scared of the dark.”

Ian grunted, his eyes on Weddle.

“It’s all taken care of, really.” Tyler glanced at Ian, then faced me.

I didn’t like what I was hearing.

“What do you mean?”

“I heard on the scanner this morning that Jimmy’s truck was found in the reservoir.”

I froze. My heart just about stopped. “What?”

“They have to drag the bottom because his body wasn’t in the car, but-”

“Go back. What did you do?”

He backtracked. “It wasn’t me, I just heard about it. Carl said he had to clean up some loose ends, and I assumed-”

Carl Browne.

After we inked the deal Sunday, Carl Browne was a dead man.

I looked Tyler in the eye and pictured him dead, too.

The images calmed me.

“Get rid of any evidence still in that mine today and I won’t punish you,” I lied smoothly.

“I will. I promise. Thank you.”

“Did the girl and her P.I. take anything with them?”

“No.”

“You know that for sure? Like you ‘knew’ Jimmy had dumped the bitch in the Hell Hole?” The Hell Hole was the deepest exploration shaft, drilled in the 1940s during the height of World War II. An accident resulted in three men falling to their deaths-more than 150 feet. My daddy used the Hell Hole whenever he needed to disappear someone. I suspected skeletons were stacking up down there like cordwood.

“They would have told me,” Tyler said. “I threatened to arrest them for obstructing justice.”

I simply didn’t believe that Tyler had any skill in reading people. If he had, he would know he was already dead.

“Good. Take care of the evidence and report to me when it’s done.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Go.”

“Ian,” I said after the fool left. “I’m not happy.”

“I can see why. What do you want me to do?”

“I need you to discreetly search Jimmy Benson’s house. No one can know you were there. Anything you find that even remotely connects back to me or my family, bring to me.”

“Of course.”

I had no need to tell Ian the entire truth. If he found what Jimmy had on me, he would instantly think traitor, and that would suit my purposes, but I didn’t think he’d find anything. I’d already had Jimmy’s place searched after my brother turned on me, and found nothing. But I had to believe the threat-and if Jimmy was dead, the information could be leaked.

My instincts were on fire. Something was wrong. I needed to know everything going on in town, starting with the strangers.

“I want everything on the P.I. Sean Rogan and his bed buddy Lucy Kincaid,” I told Ian. “Start with how they know Tim Hendrickson, and then move into their backgrounds. What kind of cases he works. What the bitch does at the morgue. Where they live, siblings, parents, everything.”

“Not a problem.”

Nothing was a problem for Ian. He was perfect for me. Young, beautiful, strong, smart-and he did everything right the first time I told him. I’ve gone through so many personal assistants I’ve lost count. The longest running was Zachary, who was with me almost two years before I found him screwing a cheap whore. It pained me to kill him. What a waste.

Ian had been with me for seven months, and was amazing in all parts of his job. After my one failed marriage, I’d never again give control to a husband. Killing husbands was a messy business because there were official marriage records and crap like that. A hired, under-the-table assistant was far preferable.

“We’re going to have some fun tonight.”

His blue eyes sparkled. “The cop?”

I grinned. Ian got the same thrills I did.

“May I kiss you?”

My skin tingled. “You may.”

He came around the desk and kissed me. I reached down and touched him between his legs. He was already growing hard.

I pulled away. “Save it. We’ve got a lot of work to do today.” And no way was I wasting time screwing.

Ian walked over to the couch and opened his laptop. “Sean Rogan. Lucy Kincaid. Let’s see what I can find.”

“While you do that, I have people to punish.”

I couldn’t tell from his look if he was concerned about my safety or merely disappointed he couldn’t participate.

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him, “and I promise to let you help with the fun punishments later.”

“You’re so good to me.”