Page 52 of Lake House Killer

“This is quite the circus.” She chortles before looking to the left and right of us near the floor. “Buddy couldn’t make it?”

“I’m afraid not,” Fallon says. “Probably for the same reasons Mr. Darcy couldn’t be here. They’d be the stars of the show.”

And she’s funny. I shoot her a short-lived grin and she glowers at me.

She’s feisty, too. And I do like to be punished. I’m pretty sure that’s the draw here.

Heck, Fallon is smart, funny, beautiful, and fierce. And I’m betting she has a bullet with my name on it.

She’s the entire package.

“Well?” Adrienne laughs as she leans my way. “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry, I missed the question.” I touch my ear. “The acoustics are terrible here.”

“Don’t I know it.” She rolls her eyes. “I was just asking if you were going to the panel on suspense in modern thrillers. Damien will be there.” Her cheeks pinch pink. A visceral response is typically reserved for moments of embarrassment or arousal. I’m guessing it’s a fair combination of both.

“You seem especially interested in him,” Fallon runs with it. “Has Damien Cole ever been inappropriate with you?”

The woman opens her mouth and gags. “What? I—I’m not sure. I don’t think so.” She gives a series of rapid blinks. “I mean”—her hand rides to her neck and her fingers tremble like mad.

“His wife is missing.” Fallon doesn’t let up. “She’s out there somewhere and so is our colleague. The Becks are dead. Nora Archer is dead. Whoever did this to those people is looking at life behind bars. What do you know about Damien? Is he the kind of man who would betray the trust of his wife? Is his moral compass pointed on the straight and narrow? Or is the man a monster?”

A sickly moan comes from the woman as she traipses over to a small waste bin and promptly vomits in it.

“Good work,” I muse. “You got something out of her.”

“That I did.” She nods past me. “Well, look who the devil dragged in.”

I turn that way and my adrenaline kicks in.

33

Special Agent Nikki Knight

The dim light of the shed casts shadows across Lydia’s face as she shares the heartaches her husband has put her through. Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“I’m so sorry to hear it,” I say, my own voice growing weaker by the second.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she teases with a sigh. “Damien was never faithful. He was a philanderer through and through. I just never wanted to admit it.”

“I can understand that.”

Honestly, I can’t. I would have had his cookies on a platter and served them to him for breakfast. That would have taken care of his urge to warm another woman’s bed.

I nod, processing each confession Lydia Cole has offered up as if I were a priest. However, it’s not her sins that need absolving.

It’s a sordid puzzle, one that paints Damien not just as unfaithful, but as a man who might kill to keep his secrets.

And amidst the heavy silence that follows her rather sad soliloquy, a faint yet acrid scent tickles my nostrils.

I sniff again, inviting the biting cold air into my lungs.

I know that scent all too well.

Gasoline.

My heart begins to drum as my thoughts go wild. But I manage to mask my alarm, not wanting to spiral poor Lydia into a panic. Instead, I get on my feet and begin feeling around in the dark for anything that might aid in our escape.

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