Page 39 of Secret Weapon

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NINE

It was almost over.

If you didn’t know about the dog, you’d never suspect the disaster that had happened in the store earlier.Despite Paulo’s fears, the bloodstains had sponged off the floor easily, and the only lasting damage was a few smashed beads and one broken sculpture.I’d pay Deck for the piece anyway.Why should he suffer financially because Shauna couldn’t hold on to her damn mutt?

Or because Ottie Marquette had dated the wrong man?

I’d sent Brooke and Paulo home an hour ago.Brooke had a dinner date with Sara Baldwin—something I’d encouraged in my Bad Samaritan persona because I thought Sara could use a friend—and Paulo had a dinner date with the wealthy New York businessman he pretended he wasn’t fucking.Ana, Emmy, Hallie, and Bradley had stuck around to help with the last of the clean-up.At least Emmy wasn’t holding a grudge for my earlier headbutt.An occupational hazard, she said.

Together, we’d worked out what had most likely happened to Ottie and her dog.According to one of the housekeepers from the Peninsula, Ottie had been in the habit of letting Gidget out onto the grass in front of the staff block to do her business—Ottie always picked up the poop, the woman assured us—and this morning, an as-yet-unknown subject had tossed the pooch a snack laced with rat poison.Ottie had freaked when the dog began convulsing and ran out of the staff entrance with the mutt in her arms, heading for the veterinarian, which was only a ten-minute walk, and probably faster on foot than waiting for a cab.The only cab driver in Baldwin’s Shore was Selwyn, who prided himself on driving at the speed of half-baked lava.

Our working theory was that Ottie’s felonious friend had waited for her in a vehicle, but he’d had to change his plans when Rodrigo, one of the Peninsula’s porters, had seen her hurrying toward the clinic and given her a ride the rest of the way.Nico had told Emmy that Rodrigo was angry with himself for not waiting with her, but he’d been on his way to a meeting with his parole officer.

We’d leave that one for Luca to unpack.

Assuming Ottie’s assailant wasn’t Rodrigo himself—which was a possibility that couldn’t be discounted right now—there’d been an attempted snatch as she headed back to the hotel.But something had gone wrong, and what should have been a simple operation had ended with a chase through the forest and a beating.

One of Nico’s security cameras had been taken out two days ago, hit with a stick by a vandal who stayed below its field of vision.Again, Rodrigo had been one person with the opportunity, but as a suspect, he didn’t feel right.If Gidget had fallen ill five minutes later, he’d have missed his meeting, and if the dog had been DOA, then Ottie would have left the veterinarian before he’d completed his parolee requirements and gotten into position.On the one hand, a parole meeting made an excellent alibi, but on the other… No, he’d have chosen a different day, and he wouldn’t have come forward so readily when Nico questioned his staff.

So, who had done the deed?

That puzzle would have to wait for Colt and Luca’s investigation.

Ottie was in a medically induced coma, breathing on her own at least, but she wouldn’t be answering questions anytime soon and the deputies wouldn’t be searching the woods until daybreak.Hell, they hadn’t even interviewed Emmy yet because Elda Tucker decided to hold her husband at gunpoint after he left the toilet seat up and they had to deal with that drama first.I suspected the couple’s issues ran much deeper than Old Man Tucker’s bathroom habits, but having spent years living with a bunch of military men, I could quite understand the sentiment.Was it really that difficult to take the pubic hairs out of the plughole?

Anyhow, Ana and her buddies were heading home tomorrow after they’d spoken with Colt and Luca, and as the investigation progressed, I’d take a view on whether I needed to have any further input.Brooke would keep me updated.She always did, even if she wasn’t technically supposed to.

I’d traded email addresses with Ana.Now that our earlier surprise at running into each other had subsided, we’d been able to have a proper conversation, and it might be nice to stay in touch.You know, like regular people.

Pen pals.

On balance of probabilities, I thought that Zacharov was indeed dead.Ana—and Emmy—could have killed me ten times over today, yet I was still breathing, and the only logical explanation for this was that the general wasn’t.I’d still have to watch my back for Vik and Ilya because they were in the wind, and there was still a good chance Nico would try to slit my throat if he realised what I’d done to his father, but maybe in time, I’d sleep a little easier.

Overall, it had been a good day.

Perhaps I’d even open a bottle of champagne?

“You want to come for dinner with us?”Ana asked.

“I shouldn’t, not around here.”

Emmy rinsed the last of the soap out of a bucket and kicked it into the corner.“So we’ll go farther afield.What time is it?We could drive to Coquille?Or Eugene?That’s big enough?”She rolled her eyes.“I’ve lived in the US for nearly twenty years, and I still don’t understand the cities here.Americans call Coquille a city, but in England, we have bigger villages.”

“Then maybe I should have hidden out in England.”

“I tried that once.It was…messy.”

“Messy?”

“I wasn’t in a good place mentally, so I ended up fucking some posh guy, and now he’s married to one of my best friends.And his sister’s besties with Bradley.Messy.”

Her candour was…strange.I’d gotten used to the concept of TMI with Brooke and Addy—Brooke’s motormouth of a friend—but Emmy was an assassin.We lived in darkness.We didn’t fuck posh guys or have besties or hire sequin-loving personal assistants.

Yet Ana had a boyfriend and a daughter.

She went to PT-fuckin’-O meetings.

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