Page 62 of The Murder Inn

“You’re gonna die now, Nick,” Breecher said.

“Not if you still want that million dollars,” Nick replied.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

NICK LISTENED, WAITING, hearing only her breathing. He knew what would come next. An envelopingwhumpas the bullet entered his brain, splitting his skull, closing him in blessed blackness. Or her voice. Her hips were on his, her legs straddling him. They’d been in this position before, a million years ago, earlier this same day. In Nick’s bed. He put his hands on her thighs and remembered, relished the absurdity of it all.

“We can’t go back to the house,” she said finally. Relief, temporary but still delicious, washed over him, competing with the pain of his shattered knee. “They’ll kill us. Driver will know I took out his guys. I—”

“You think I’m dumb enough to keep that kind of money in the house?” Nick asked.

She was silent. His head spun, pain and blood loss already dragging at him.

“You’re bullshitting me,” she finally said.

“You must have searched my room while I was sleeping, right?” Nick asked. “Didn’t find it. So if I’d stashed it in the house, it must have been somewhere outside my own room. You think I’m that stupid? I’d leave it where it could be discovered by another guest? We have strangers coming in and out of the house every week. It would be too risky.”

“You could have hidden it anywhere,” Breecher said. Her voice was quivering. The phone was still dinging, insanely fast, as person after person discovered and shared Nick’s confession video, the horror of what they’d done. “You… you probably stuffed the million dollars in a safe-deposit box somewhere.”

“It’s in these woods,” Nick said.

“Bullshit!”she roared, jamming the gun in his jaw so hard his teeth clacked together. “Bullshit, Nick. Why in the name of God would I trust you now?”

“Because you have to!” Nick said. “You’re done, Breecher. It’s over. It’soverfor you! You thought you were desperate before? Try being on the run for covering up a goddamn massacre of civilians. By tomorrow morning, all our faces will be on every television screen in America. They willneverstop looking for you.”

“I don’t trust you,” she sobbed suddenly.

“Trust your instincts then,” Nick said. “Why would I put the money in a safe-deposit box? Or a bank? Why would I put it somewhere it could be discovered by other people? I wouldn’t do that. You know me. I’m not an idiot. I’d put it somewhere that I could access it quickly, in case you or Dorrich or Master ever did what I just did and told the whole world our little secret. I would put it in a bug-out bag here in these woods. You know that. It’s the smartest thing to do.”

She was quiet again. Calculating. Nick gripped her thighs and willed himself not to pass out.

“Is it far?” she asked.

“No.”

“So show me.”

“You’ll have to help me up,” Nick gasped.

“No way.” Breecher got up and kicked him over. “You can crawl like the rat you are.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

I TRIED TO remember the last time I’d scaled a drainpipe as I pulled myself, hand over hand, up the side of my house. I’d done it a few times on the job. Especially as a rookie. You always send the new guy up over the roof. New guys are disposable. I gripped the sill below Neddy Ives’s window, thinking to myself how much easier it had been all those years ago. My socked feet found purchase on the window frame below, and I hauled myself up, praying Neddy’s window wasn’t latched. It wasn’t. I inched it open, imagining the nose of Driver’s gun edging around the curtain, the blast of light that would end me.

There was a clock ticking in the darkened room somewhere. I pushed the curtains all the way back to give myself some moonlight. I was stunned for a moment by what I saw.

The recluse’s room was strangely orderly. I’d always imagined a hoarder’s nest, but two walls were lined with filing cabinets, the drawers neatly labeled.EYEWITNESSES. CASE NOTES.CRIME SCENE. Above the bed, the wall was completely covered with photographs, newspaper articles, little pink sticky notes. Trying to drag myself away from my curiosity, my eyes caught headlines as I headed for the door.

POLICE HUNT HUSBAND IN SHELLEY IVES DISAPPEARANCE

SPENCER EDWARD IVES SENTENCED TO THIRTY YEARS

I put my hand on the doorknob and froze. I’d been hoping to silently twist the knob, pull open the door, and check where Driver was in the hall, but as I gripped the cold brass in the dark I realized the knob was one of the old-style ones that had existed in the inn when I bought it. I’d replaced every knob the year before, but was unable to get access to Ned’s room, so this one remained. It was likely squeaky or rattly, like the others had been. I had no choice but to yank open the door and hope I caught Driver by surprise, if he was indeed still standing at the top of the stairs.

I took my hand off the knob, lay flat on the floor, and tried to look down the hall through the crack in the bottom of the door. I couldn’t see far enough. Taking the knob again, I filled my lungs with air, held my breath, and pulled open the door.

The door smacked against the latch holding it shut. I looked up, spotted the latch and bolt that I’d completely missed in the semidarkness, sitting at the very top of the door. It was a makeshift hidden lock, accessible from the outside, something Neddy must have installed himself. There wasn’t time to domuch more than fling myself sideways as Driver arrived at the other side of the door and started firing.

---