Bound and Determined (38 page)

Just in case, she listened for sounds of Tiffany in distress, but for a long thirty seconds heard no screams or tears, heard
nothing more than the mumble of Tiffany’s low conversation through the wall.

With a shrug, Kerry ambled into the master bedroom, intent on finding a shirt that didn’t smell like Rafe, didn’t remind her of the man she’d always love but never have. Traces of Mark still lingered in the bedroom. The masculine forest-and-taupe-striped bedspread, the heavy knotty pine furniture, pictures of Mark’s martial arts instructor—the one who’d been a father figure to him in high school when he’d had no father.

Tiffany’s presence was usually understated in this room . . . except today.

Her sister-in-law’s clothes were piled everywhere. Lingerie in one stack, shorts and T-shirts in another, dresses strung out across the floor. Weird. Tiff prided herself on fanatic cleanliness.

Puzzled, Kerry rounded the corner into the master bath—and stood stock still.

Two suitcases crammed to capacity sat beside her vanity, which had been wiped clean of her jewelry box and assorted perfume bottles.
What the . . . ?
Tiffany was going somewhere? But Mark’s trial started Monday.

Thoughts scrambled through her brain like lab mice on crack. This didn’t make any sense. Why would Tiff take a last-minute trip? She had no other family, so it wasn’t that someone back home needed her. The fact she and Mark had both been orphaned as youngsters had been a connecting point for them. So where the hell was she going?

A turn to her left showed her the closet—or rather the empty closet. It looked like Tiffany wasn’t just going away, she was leaving for good.

As in moving out? Leaving her brother?

Shock and cold betrayal seeped across her skin. Mark’s wife was leaving him on the eve of his trial? Was she ashamed? Did she believe he was guilty and wanted nothing more to do with him?

Kerry whirled around, nearly dizzy with her racing thoughts.
No!
Mark would be crushed if Tiffany left him, especially now and—

Then, on Mark’s vanity, Kerry saw an airline itinerary. Quickly, she scooped the page up. It listed a one-way trip for Tiffany from Tampa to Owen Roberts International on Grand Cayman Island. Her flight left at eight.

The paper fell from numb fingers.

Grand Cayman? Why would Tiffany want to go there now, just before the trial? She couldn’t possibly be taking a vacation without Mark. She couldn’t afford it. Besides, it was a one-way ticket. Why would Tiffany travel there? To the island where all the embezzled funds Mark had been accused of stealing had mysteriously disappeared. Unless . . .

No!
Not Tiffany. She couldn’t be guilty. She loved Mark.

Didn’t she?

Tiffany loves him so much she’s leaving, apparently for good, days before his trial starts?

Kerry’s blood turned to ice.

Exhaling a series of hard, fast breaths, Kerry felt her pulse accelerate as puzzle pieces snapped into place. Tiffany had had access to Mark’s system password. As the assistant who had taken over Smikins’s care and feeding after the other had left in a huff, she would likely have known where terminal 4389 was. That put her in a position to hide it. And use it. After all, the previous short skirt hadn’t simply snapped her fingers and made it disappear. Tiffany had known Kerry was working with Rafe to free Mark. From that, she could have guessed Rafe had stashed the money electronically in order to draw her out. Her brother’s wife had known where Kerry lived, had asked several times that day for the name of Rafe’s hotel and his room number, supposedly because Smikins was screaming for the information. But why had Tiff tried to torch her house, with her inside? And the woman had never been a genius, so how had she embezzled the money so cleverly, manipulated the bank’s records and computers for her purposes?

Maybe Kerry was jumping to conclusions, but it all seemed to fit.

She didn’t have all the answers, but when she read a good mystery, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up when the bad guy appeared. They were doing the same thing now. The info she had before her made her deeply suspicious. Enough to get the hell out of Dodge and call in the cavalry.

Easing out of the bedroom, she tiptoed down the hall. An odd sound sliced its way through the air from the kitchen just then. It sounded like a soft hiss. But with a faintly metallic clink. Kerry picked up her pace down the hall, toward the living room. What was that noise?

Then Kerry realized she’d heard that sound before—just before Mark had chopped meat.

Oh, God. Tiffany had drawn the knife big enough to take the head off Godzilla from its butcher block. A blade that size wasn’t necessary to cut a ham and cheese sandwich.

Kerry paused, blood tearing through her veins. Fear crept in a cold chill across her skin. Tiffany meant to kill her? Her brain seemed to go numb with disbelief. She didn’t want to know what her sister-in-law might have planned. If Tiffany was guilty of framing her own husband for a felony, Kerry had been horribly guilty of underestimating her. Clenching trembling fists, she realized she couldn’t afford to underestimate her sister-in-law again.

Inching her way into the living room, toward her car keys, she stopped short when she realized they no longer sat on the coffee table.

“Looking for these?” Tiffany dangled her car keys in one hand, squarely blocking the front door. Her other hand, looking casually slung on the back side of her hip, was hidden behind her.

Holding the knife?

Play it casual. Be cool
. “I just realized that I really need to talk to my insurance company about the fire. If I want to start getting reimbursed for my damage, I’d better go.”

She held out her hands for her keys.

Tiffany merely slipped them into her pocket. “Not yet. You look shaken.”

Kerry offered her a smile that she hoped didn’t look as stilted as a laugh track on a bad sitcom. “Um, long day. I’m fine. I’ll just come back in a bit and we can chat more. How’s that?”

“Not a good idea.”

From the sharp look on Tiffany’s face, the bitch wasn’t buying Kerry’s innocent act, and the bulge in her pants pocket tempted her with the lure of her car keys. But Kerry didn’t dare
step any closer. That hidden hand behind the double-crossing criminal’s back didn’t hold a cream puff.

Continuing to play dumb, Kerry said, “It’s . . . um, good of you to care, but I’m okay. Really.”

Tiffany cocked her head to the side. The gaze she shot Kerry’s way could only be called shrewd. “Not until I make all your troubles go away. I promised you that.”

Blood stilled in Kerry’s veins, chilling her already cold skin. Moments later, as adrenaline pumped, it all reversed. Kerry broke out in a sweat.

Yeah, earlier Tiff had promised to make all her troubles go away. Kerry feared now that her sister-in-law hadn’t meant by talking through them.

Tiffany meant to solve all of Kerry’s problems by ending her life.

A
scant three minutes had passed when Jason’s phone rang again.

Stuck at a red light, Jason took in the caller ID’s display with a sigh. “What, Francine?”

As much as he didn’t like the little jerk, Rafe understood Jason’s impatience. If the woman thought closing the bank was more important than saving a friend’s life, she deserved to get chewed on.

“Oh, my God!” Jason uttered. Fear and shock gave gravity to his words, his tone.

That, along with the chalk white pallor of his skin, told Rafe something was dreadfully wrong.

“What?” he snapped.

Jason held up a hand to stay Rafe’s words. “No, no. Don’t cry. Don’t panic. I’ll call the police. You handle the employees. I’ll be there when I can.”

Ending the call with a grim voice, Jason rubbed a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead and uttered a hiss of a curse.

“Out with it, man!”

As Jason began to dial 911, he looked visibly shaken. “Smikins is dead. Someone slit his throat from ear to ear and stuffed the body in the storage closet in the spare office.”

Holy shit!
Rafe’s mind raced, every turn leading him to
frightening possibilities. Sure, a lot of people probably wanted the tyrannical Smikins dead. But the timing was too coincidental to be anyone besides the embezzler, the mastermind who’d framed Mark Sullivan. It wasn’t Jason. It obviously wasn’t Smikins.

“Tiffany!” he shouted, then shouted at Jason, “Where the hell is Tiffany?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Call Francine back,” he demanded, fear revving his heart like an LS1 V-8 engine on a ’Vette.

Jason cleared his display and hit his speed dial as he gunned the car forward through the green light.

Damn it, Kerry had left his hotel room and walked straight into a murderer’s lair. Why the hell hadn’t he just told her he had feelings for her that he couldn’t comprehend and that scared the shit out of him, instead of crushing her heart with his panic? His crappy relationship skills had sent her fleeing straight into danger.

He was every bit as stupid and selfish as Jason had accused him of being.

Someone finally answered Jason’s call because he barked, “Where’s Tiffany Sullivan?” After a pause, he exploded, “You don’t see her? When was the last time you did?” Jason cursed. “If you don’t know, ask someone else.”

Tiffany wasn’t there because she was the thief who’d framed her own husband for embezzlement, then killed her boss when he—what, discovered her? And now Kerry, sweet, unsuspecting Kerry, had walked trustingly right to Tiffany’s door.

“What?” Jason said suddenly. “No one has seen Tiffany in nearly an hour!”

Cold terror slid through Rafe’s veins.

Ahead, traffic stopped. Rafe opened the passenger window and looked out. Stalled car in the right lane. Damn it all to hell! He didn’t have time for this. The seconds of Kerry’s life could be ticking away. She was sitting next to a cold-blooded bitch of a killer and probably had no idea.

“Drive down the shoulder,” he demanded of Jason. “I’ll call the police.”

Jason steered the car onto the shoulder and gunned it. Rafe grabbed his cell phone and dialed 911.

Rafe quickly explained the situation both at the Sullivan house and at the bank to the dispatcher.

“What’s Mark’s address?” he barked at Jason.

Jason recited it. After relaying that information to the dispatcher and giving them a description of Kerry’s beat-up car, which should be out front, Rafe was thrilled when the dispatcher promised to send silent squad cars out to Mark’s house.

Ending the 911 call, Rafe turned to Jason. “Do you know Tiffany’s cell number?”

“Yeah.” Jason handed Rafe his phone. Speed dial number five. “Do you think we should call? Won’t that tip Tiffany off that we’re on to her?”

He was right, Rafe realized. If he called Tiffany, she would smell something very fishy. Lord knew what she would do to Kerry. The woman had already proved that she would stop at nothing—not even murder.

Think!
He had to stop the panic racing, clear his head. Shit, how was he supposed to think like a killer? Cursing, Rafe beat a fist on the dashboard. He had to do something. Something that would distract Tiffany but not let her know they were on to her.

“You call.” He handed Jason his phone again. “Tell her you’re calling to tell her Smikins is dead.”

Jason sent him an incredulous glare. “I don’t think she’ll be surprised by that information.”

“I know, but if you act like she should be, she won’t suspect anything. Just keep her talking. If she’s talking, she can’t be killing Kerry.”

With a nod, Jason reached for his phone. “And if she doesn’t want to talk about Smikins?”

Rafe took a deep breath. He might go to prison for this but . . . “Tell her I’ll give her the access codes to the money if she gives me Kerry alive and in one piece.”

K
erry looked for a place to run. Tiffany blocked the front door.

She needed to get out of the house. She needed a car. Her own was locked, and Tiffany had the keys. A neighbor’s? No.
No one conveniently kept their keys in an unlocked car in plain sight. And she knew as much about hot wiring a car as she knew about nuclear physics. Absolutely nothing.

“You’re getting paler. Sit down,” Tiffany invited.

But Kerry heard the underlying demand.
Should I confront her?
No, giving Tiff more reason to demonstrate the various uses of the Ginsu on human flesh wasn’t a good idea. Could she play dumb and get the criminal to believe it?

“I . . .”

While she grasped for words, Tiffany’s cell phone rang again, slicing through the tense air.

Her sister-in-law flinched as she diverted her gaze just long enough to grasp the phone from holster at her waist and find the Talk button. “Hello?”

Kerry didn’t wait around to see who was on the other end. While she was distracted, Kerry darted down the hallway toward the garage. The thieving bitch was lighter and had been a sprinter in high school. Not to mention the fact she had a weapon and could likely slice and dice Kerry with it before she saw daylight again.

“Can’t talk now,” Tiffany said.

Looking back, Kerry caught a glimpse of her shoving the phone back in its holster. In the other hand, she held the knife. The stark silver of a four-inch, serrated blade gleamed in the sharp, streaming light. The pound of Tiffany’s footsteps down the hardwood floor, now following, echoed in Kerry’s ears as she sped toward the nearest way out of the house: the garage.

Terror sped through her body, powering her legs into a sprint so speedy, she’d never accomplished it on her gym’s treadmill. A tight ball of fear settled into her stomach, bundled up with nausea. God, was she going to die here, in a house she’d always thought of as a home, at the hand of a woman she’d trusted as family?

Not without one hell of a fight.

Her heart pounded as she reached the end of the hall and spied Tiffany’s car keys, still on the little table. She had just one chance to scoop them up at a full-out run.
Don’t screw up!
Her life literally depended on it.

As she scurried toward the garage door and what she dearly prayed was freedom, Kerry reached out for the keys.
She nearly missed—two fingers closing over one key dangling off the central ring. Still, she grasped it tightly in her knuckles and pulled, knowing that if she didn’t succeed, if she dropped them, she was a shish kebab before she even opened the door to the garage.