Page 133 of Luck of the Devil
Before I could think it through, I aimed for her extended forearm and squeezed the trigger. Her scream confirmed I’d hit my target.
The men were already turning their weapons up. I dropped the closest two in quick succession. The remaining two opened fire. I ducked and took out the third, then swung to the fourth. He dove for cover behind a shelf. He died before he hit the floor.
Nicole clutched her bleeding arm and scrambled behind Malcolm’s chair, using him as a shield.
I emerged from the shadows, the rifle trained on her. “I heard you were looking for me.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
Malcolm lifted his head, giving me a grim look, not that I’d expected him to give me a wave and a smile. I knew exactly what I’d just set in motion. James had left this life behind, and I’d dragged him right back into it. Sure, he was after Simmons’s successor, but if Gerry Knox wasn’t that guy, then I’d just made a powerful enemy—and brought him straight to James’s door.
Gerry Knox wouldn’t forgive me for taking out so many of his men, even if they’d struck first. And James would be caught in the fallout.
“If you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was ask, Nicole.” I took two steps closer. “Because I want to talk to you too.”
She cast a nervous glance at the dead man a few feet away, then swung her gaze back to me. Some of her poise returned, but I saw it for what it was: false bravado.
“You have something I want,” she said.
“Yeah, I know,” I said dully. “I saw you at the bank, trying to get it yourself. I take it you planned to forge my mother’s signature?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she countered with a question of her own. “Where is it?”
“Somewhere you can’t access it,” I said. “But if you tell me exactly which document you’re after, maybe I can get it for you.”
Her upper lip curled. “You expect me to believe you don’t already know?”
“There are several documents,” I said, “You’ll have to be more specific.” I grinned when panic flickered across her face. “Then again, you’re probably not surprised. I’m sure your hands are filthy enough if you killed my mother for them.”
She didn’t deny it, which, to me, was as good as an admission.
“I know you showed up at her house last Tuesday,” I said, each word clipped. “What I don’t understand is how you got her to trust you.” When she stayed silent, I said, “Or how you got that burner phone number to her.”
“That part was easy,” she said with a short laugh. “Your mother was so gullible.”
“Funny. Gullible isn’t a word I’d ever use to describe her.”
She rolled her eyes. “People believe what they want to.”
“How’d you know she had the documents?”
“A month ago, your father warned me that your mother had been collecting papers for years. He was concerned she might have something that could incriminate my husband and our family. I told him to make certain it was recovered—or we would do it ourselves. Of course, I never expected Paul to come through. He’s incompetent on his best days. But my foolish husband had a soft spot for him.”
None of this surprised me, and I wondered if their meeting had taken place by the lake. I was guessing Dad’s partner had seen this meeting, not a lover’s tryst.
“So I took matters into my own hands,” she continued. “Your father had left her in a last-ditch move of desperation. He was hoping to scare her into handing them over, but she wouldn’t budge. I befriended her at the grocery store. I told her a sob story about my husband leaving me. It took a couple of ‘coincidental’ run-ins before she trusted me enough to tell me she was separated too. A few coffee dates later, she admitted she’d collected evidence of illegal activity.”
She was discussing this so casually, as if my mother’s life meant nothing. Like she was merely a pawn in Nicole’s game.
“When I asked how she kept them safe,” Nicole went on, seemingly proud of her deception, “she said she’d put them in a safe deposit box. But she wouldn’t tell me which bank, no matter how I pushed. “
“Where did the burner phone number come from?” I asked.
“You found out about that, huh?” She chuckled, then winced as her injured arm shifted. Her pain must have been covered by her adrenaline and the endorphins flooding her system as she regaled her accomplishments. “I gave her the number the last time we met for coffee. I told her to call me if she was ever in danger. It only took her two days to call.” Her smile turned cruel. “The threatening messages she started getting helped nudge her along.”
My mother had met this woman the Sunday before her death. I’d been too drunk to realize she’d even left the house.
And when I’d cancelled on her for the luncheon, she’d turned to this woman. Nicole Knox had baited the trap and waited for my mother to spring it.
