Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) (40 page)

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even put the phone back up to my ear, even though I could hear the emergency operator calling my name. I sat in the chair like a rag doll, staring up at the ceiling.

“Not everything you do turns to shit,” he said.

“Name something that hasn’t.”

He thought for a bit.

“Can’t think of one thing, can you?” I knew he wouldn’t be able to. It was all my fault.

“Well, not off the top of my head, but give me a minute.” He thought a bit more, and then shrugged. “You’ve had an eventful couple of weeks.”

He tried to keep his voice light, like I had all the time in the world. Like there wasn’t a big, probably ugly guy coming to kill me. Still I couldn’t move. It
was
all my fault.

“You can think all day,” I said. “You won’t come up with anything.”

I put the phone back to my ear. “Yes, I’m still here,” I said to the 911 operator, and then slapped my hand over the receiver again.

“What should I do now?”

“I would suggest getting the hell out of here,” he said. “If you want to live.”

“First I have to get rid of some of those files,” I turned on the computer. “Before the cops get here.”

I clicked on the Farley file, and deleted the document that James had read. The one about Farley moving through the Three Phases.

“What was wrong with me?” I asked. “Starting a file like that?”

“Maybe you wanted somebody to find it,” Farley said. “Maybe you want somebody to know your secrets.”

“No,” I said, making absolutely sure the deleted document was gone, never to be retrieved. “If people knew everything about me, they’d think I was crazy or something. And then they’d leave.”

“Not everybody leaves,” Farley said. Then he glanced over at the half-closed door and frowned. “Where is Jimmy? It wouldn’t take a monkey this long to pay a fucking restaurant bill.”

“I don’t know.”

I opened the document I’d taken from Carruthers’ computer called “my bio” and stared at it, wondering if I needed it, or if I should delete it too.

“Did I tell you that I finished reading Carruthers’ biography? He met Don Latterson in college. They were best buds.”

“Interesting,” Farley said. “I guess.”

I decided to keep it, and moved on to the next document. It was the spreadsheet Carruthers had put together, showing how he would turn downtown Edmonton into Las Vegas north, if he could just get rid of the Palais. That one needed to stay, too.

Farley looked back at the door. “I have a suggestion, since it looks like you’re not going to leave this office. Instead of dicking around with the computer, why don’t you come up with ways to protect yourself?”

“Why? We got them,” I said, holding up the receiver. “It’s all good.”

“Just call it a feeling,” he replied. “At least lock the fucking door. Something.”

I shook my head. “I have to wait for James.”

Farley frowned and pointed at the partially open door. “Maybe that’s who I hear,” he said. “I think he’s listening to you, Marie.”

“Jesus,” I growled. “Just what I need.”

If James was outside that door eavesdropping on me, after all our talk about being able to keep our own secrets until we were ready to divulge, then it was a good thing I’d called the police. I was going to kill him.

I dropped the telephone receiver on the desk and stormed over to the door.

“James,” I said, flinging open the door. “You promised my secrets were my own.”

That’s when I found James lying unconscious in the doorway of the outer office, and George Carruthers standing outside the door, listening to every word I’d said.

See? I was right. Everything I touch does turn to shit.

Marie:
Looking Down the Barrel of a Gun

I always thought if I ever found myself face to face with a maniac with a gun that I’d keep my cool and figure out a way to disarm him, possibly with a neat karate move or something. It didn’t happen quite that way.

I barely even saw Carruthers past the barrel of the gun. It looked huge, and deadly, and I knew at that instant that I was going to die. So, I screamed like a girl and tried to slam the door shut. It didn’t work. Carruthers got his foot in the door, then muscled his way inside.

I made a move toward the desk, thinking that if I could get the desk between him and me, I’d be a teeny bit safe. “Stand perfectly still,” Carruthers said, in a slow measured tone that did nothing to make me feel any better at all.

I stopped, and went back to staring at the black hole of the business end of the gun. It was starting to look a mile across.

“Where’s your friend?” he asked.

“He’s out there with his head kicked in, you bastard!” Farley yelled.

I didn’t say a word. Just stared at the gun, and tried to keep from wetting myself.

Carruthers looked around. “I heard you talking to someone in here. Who was it?”

“I’m right here, you prick!” Farley screamed, which did no good whatsoever.

“There’s no one here but me.” I tried to make my eyes move, to look at Carruthers, but I couldn’t. They were glued to the end of that gun. “I was talking to myself.”

“Oh.” Carruthers glanced around the room, then back at me. “You talk to yourself. Well, who knew.” He brought the gun up a hair, so that is was pointing at my head. “Stand perfectly still. You and I need to have a talk.”

I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to. I felt absolutely frozen.

“Good girl.” Carruthers took a deep quick breath in, and blew it out, as though steadying himself. “Very good. Now I want to be very clear about this next bit, because if I’m not and you screw it up and I end up killing you, I would feel bad. Understand?”

I nodded.

“Where have you put the originals?”

“The what?” I could barely breathe out the words.

“The original documents. Where are they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I hazarded a glance up at him, and wished I hadn’t. Believe it or not, the look on that man’s face was more frightening than the gun barrel. He looked like he was ready to pull that trigger. Like he didn’t care whether he got the documents. Like he just wished I was dead.

“Quit playing with me, girl. I’ve had as much as I can stand. You have fucked up EVERYTHING—” and he suddenly screamed the words as fury overtook him—“EVERYTHING since the Palais. You stole my files from the computer in my old office, and you read my biography, which is in the first draft stage and you should never read the first draft of anything . . .”

He took another deep breath, trying to pull himself together, and then spoke in a monotone that scared me more than his screaming fit had. “Get me the bank statements you stole from Don Latterson’s office right now, before I put a bullet between your eyes. Have I made myself clear yet?”

“Yes. You have. Please don’t kill me, I know what you want now, I was scared, they’re in the desk drawer, can I go back and get them?”

I had no idea where James had put the originals of the bank statements. I just needed to figure out a way to keep the maniac from pulling that trigger before the cops arrived. The emergency operator was still on the line, and if I could just get close enough to the receiver, she’d hear everything.

Finally, I’d have a witness who wasn’t dead. If I could survive the next five minutes.

I was so afraid, I could barely control the shaking of my hands as I pointed at the desk. Carruthers took a menacing step toward me, and I cowered back.

“Please, please, please, don’t hurt me,” I begged. “I’ll do whatever you want. I promise. Just don’t pull the trigger. Please!”

“Jesus, shut up!” he barked. “Yes, go to the desk. Get them, right now.”

I skittered over to the desk, trying not to look at the telephone receiver sitting next to the keyboard. “Do you want me to delete your biography from this computer?” I asked. My voice sounded so shaky, I almost didn’t recognize it.

“That’s a good idea,” he said. “Delete all the files. You have three minutes.”

“All the files off the computer? I’ll need more time than that.” The gun came up and aimed between my eyes again, and I nodded. “Okay.”

Very carefully, I sat down at the keyboard. “I’ll delete the files first, okay?” I said. I started clicking on the keyboard, my hands still shaking so badly, I couldn’t make the stupid thing work properly, and all I brought up was one of James’ dead uncle’s Solitaire games. I deleted it, and Carruthers smiled. He obviously thought I’d deleted some of his stuff. So I clicked on one more of the Solitaire games, and deleted it, too. Just as long as he stayed on the other side of the desk, I didn’t need to lose any of the proof I’d gathered. However, if he decided to watch what I was doing, and caught me deleting nothing more than Solitaire games, I was dead. Literally dead.

“Once I’m done here, I’ll get the bank statements,” I said. My voice sounded strangled. “Would that be all right?”

“Whatever.” Carruthers acted bored, and the stubby nose of the gun pointed down, a little. “I have a meeting in half an hour, and it’s across town.”

“Oh.”

I heard a faint noise from the reception area of the office. I glanced up at Carruthers’ face, but he didn’t look like he’d heard it. “What kind of meeting?” I asked.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Farley cried. He looked absolutely beside himself, but I wished he’d shut up. I needed to listen, hard. “He’s a fucking looney, don’t antagonize him . . . “

I chanced a glare at him, and he looked confused, but shut his mouth. Thank goodness. If James was waking up, we were still in lots of trouble. But if it was the police . . .

“It’s none of your business, little girl,” Carruthers said. He brought the gun barrel back up to level. “Get to work on those files. You have two minutes.”

“No, a minute can’t have passed yet,” I said. “Are you sure a minute’s gone by?”

I glanced past him to the half-open door, seeing a grand total of nothing in the darkened reception area. I hammered away at the keys, bringing up files and deleting, deleting. “It only felt like a half minute,” I said. “Maybe even less than that. Maybe it’s because you have a gun pointed at me that time feels like it’s slowing down. Is that the way that works? If a gun is pointed at your face, time slows down, but if you’re holding the gun, time seems to go by quicker?”

Movement. I saw movement in the darkened reception area. I prayed it wasn’t James, and looked at Carruthers again. I could tell by the look on his face that he suspected nothing.

“I’m sure it was only half a minute,” I said again, trying to fill the office with the sound of my voice so he wouldn’t suspect anything until it was too late. “Did you look at your watch? Does it have a stopwatch feature? Maybe you can time me—”

“Shut up!” Carruthers yelled. I’d gone too far, because he’d pulled the gun up to eye level again, and all I could see was the big black hole, with his crazy eyes just above it, and movement behind him, dark movement behind him . . .

“Put the gun down.” Sergeant Worth touched her gun to Carruthers’ left ear. He screamed and inadvertently shot off a round, hitting the computer monitor right in front of me.

I screamed and threw myself to the floor under the desk, then watched as Sergeant Worth deftly knocked Carruthers on his ass and took the gun away from him, tossing it to the side before quickly handcuffing him.

“Clear!” Before the words were properly out of her mouth, a bunch of guys in uniform hut-hutted into the small office and swarmed over Carruthers. Then they hut-hutted out again, with Carruthers in tow. He’d howled out his outrage once, but after he’d been tased to bring him under control, he got really meek really fast. Then he was gone.

“Are you all right?” Worth walked over to the desk, where I was still cowering and making little screechy noises. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m safe,” I whispered. “I’m really safe.” Then I bounded out from behind the desk like a demented gazelle and grabbed the flabbergasted cop in a bear hug.

“Oh my God, it was you, I thought it was you, but then I was afraid it was James and that if that guy heard him, he’d go back and kill him—and Oh! My! God! You saved my life!”

I kept pulling her around in circles, doing my version of a dance of joy until Worth none too gently pushed me away from her.

“Is James all right?” I asked. Then fear pierced my heard when she didn’t answer immediately. “He isn’t—”

Farley popped in from the reception area. “Quit screaming,” he said. “He’s alive.”

“He’ll need to go to the hospital,” Worth said. “Nasty bump on the head, he’ll need X-rays, but I think he’ll be all right.”

“Did you save Helen Latterson?”

“Yes,” Worth said. “She’ll be fine. We picked up Big Randy Ferguson, too. Thanks for the tip, Marie. You saved that woman’s life.” She stared at me oddly for a moment. “Some day, you’ll have to tell me how you did that.”

“But not today,” I said. “All right?”