Page 75 of Raging Inferno

“I lied when I said I had questions about the tax forms. I wanted to see you and woo, uh, poo, uh, do . . .” He started coughing.

When he didn’t stop, she asked, “Do you need a glass of water?”

He didn’t answer. The hacking grew deeper, wetter, and his face turned bright red.

Tamera pushed to her feet. “Dwight, are you okay?”

His green eyes were enormous orbs in his face as he shook his head from side to side. “Can’t. Breathe.”

When blood dribbled from his mouth, Tamera recoiled in horror.

“Oh, God. Oh, God.” She fumbled for her desk phone and knocked it off the cradle. Tamera dropped to her knees and searched for it, finding it under her desk. She snatched it and stood in time to see Dwight fall to the floor. She leaned over to peer at him. “Dwight? Are you okay?” No answer.

When a representative came on the line, she requested an ambulance. She hung up and waited for it to arrive. Dwight was eerily quiet now. She chanced another peek over her desk to see his wide eyes staring directly at her.Gah!

What could’ve happened to him? Her gaze whipped to the cigarette smoking away in an ashtray. Had she inadvertently poisoned him? Oh, Lord, she didn’t want to go to jail!

Tamera stubbed the butt out, then swiped the lotus dispenser and ashtray from her desk, stepping over Dwight as she headed to the kitchen to deposit them in the dishwasher, hoping the police didn’t search in there. Rummaging in a drawer, she grabbed a rag, stuck it under the faucet, and rang it out before hurrying back to Dwight. She wiped the blood from his face and mouth, slightly alarmed that, one, she was tampering with a potential crime scene, and two, he hadn’t so much as moved as she worked on him.

After she stashed the rag with the other items in the dishwasher, she dashed for the door just as the sirens grew closer.

When the ambulance pulled up, she waved a hand. “In here.”

Two medics hurried inside with a gurney.

“He’s over there.”

“Do you know what happened to him, ma’am?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea. He, uh, grabbed his chest and said something about sharp pain and fell to the floor.”

“Possible heart attack,” one of the paramedics said into a radio.

Tamera stood back, detachedly watching them work on Dwight, desperately wishing she had a smoke. Chewing her thumbnail would have to do.

Maybe Tamera should feel guilty for lying to the medics, but she was in save-her-hide mode. There was a very good chance the authorities wouldn’t believe that she hadn’t tampered with the cigarettes, especially when husband number two, Peter, had accused her of poisoning him—unsuccessfully, thankfully. She’d spent months and thousands of dollars defending herself.In the end, she’d crawled out of the ordeal broke, distraught, disillusioned, but acquitted.

Still, the paramedics were only trying to do their job and save a life. If she mentioned he might’ve ingested poison, would it save Dwight’s life? She thought about the fact that she’d withheld vital information, but the guilt didn’t materialize.

Was this what she’d become? An unfeeling, unabashed liar? What did it matter? She’d already punched her ticket to hell long ago.

“Ma’am, is he your husband?” one medic asked.

“Are you kidding me? No, he’s a client. I’m an accountant.”

“Do you have a contact for him we can call?”

She held out her hands. “I’m sorry. I barely know him. Maybe check his wallet?”

The woman gave her a look that Tamera couldn’t read. Was it because she tried to tell them how to do their job or that she was so matter of fact about a possibly dying man?

They loaded Dwight onto the stretcher and then whisked him away. Tamera stood at the door, watching until the ambulance disappeared. As soon as it was gone, she twisted the lock and raced to her room to pack. She did not doubt the poisoned cigarette was meant for her. First Margy, then Nancy. Charmaine had died last night. Tamera was next.

Once she had the essentials stuffed in her suitcase, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number.

“‘Lo?”

“Jessie?”

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