It’s half past six. I’m back at Christian’s for the second time today, after going back to Grace Park, returning Simon’s laptop and green journal to their spots on the desk in his home office, then doing some work on the shelter’s website from home, or at least trying to do some work, wondering what Christian will come up with.
“And I’m not saying we’d do it,” says Christian. “But I can’t think of any other way—”
“Spit it out,” I say.
“Okay.” He puts out a hand, as if to calm me. “I took all afternoon going through every possible plan, and this is the only one, in my opinion, that could accomplish our objective.”
“Speak,” I say.
“Well, we . . . y’know.” He makes a gun with his hand, points it at his head. “Y’know.”
I stare at him.
“We . . . make her go away,” he whispers.
“You mean kill Lauren?”
“I . . . yes. Yes,” he says.
It took him all afternoon to come up with that?
It took me ten seconds.
“I was afraid you might say that,” I say.
Actually, I was afraid he might not say that, and I’d have to raise the idea. But it’s much better that it came from him.
“I know it’s extreme.” He opens his hands. “I don’t think there’s any way of just scaring her off. The only viable option is to take her out of the equation entirely. I’m not saying we’d do it, just that . . .”
“It would be the only way to stop this.”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Uh-huh.” I nod. “And . . . hypothetically—”
“Right, just hypothetically.”
“—how would that happen?” I peek up at him. “If Simon’s been having an affair with her, he’s probably left a trail all over the place. If she dies, if she gets shot or stabbed or strangled or whatever—the first person they look at is the man who was having an affair with her. The second person they look at is that man’s wife.”
“Yeah, I figure Simon, you, and Conrad would be suspects,” says Christian. “You’d be right in there. And if you’re a suspect in any way, or even if Simon is—you wouldn’t be in a position to take Simon’s money. There’d be too much scrutiny on you.”
“You’re right,” I say. “You’re absolutely right.”
“Which is why I think . . . I have to be the one who does it,” he says.
“You . . . ?” I look at him. “But . . .”
“But what?” he says. “You said yourself, you can’t be anywhere near this. They’ll look hard at everything about you.”
“I know, but—Christian, you’re like this successful—you have all this money and you’re so successful. You don’t have to get mixed up with something like this.”
He moves over to me, kneels down, takes my hand. “This money means everything to you. It’s a chance for a new life.”
“For me, yes. But you? You have more money than God.”
“I wouldn’t be doing it for me,” he says. “I’ll do it for you.”
“I can’t . . . I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask.” He touches my face. “You still don’t get how I feel about you, do you?”
I look down and shake my head. “I’ve never been in . . . I’ve never—”
“Me neither,” he says. “Until I met you. I didn’t think I was capable.”
I laugh. “I didn’t think I was capable.”
He reaches for my shirt, starts to unbutton it. “I’ll do this for you,” he says. “If you’re okay with it. You have to be okay with it.”
If I’m okay with it?
I am one hundred percent, absolutely, totally, completely okay with it.
Why do you think I’m with you, Christian? Because I care about you? Because you’re hot? Because I’m a “lonely wife” who can’t get enough of your giant, throbbing manhood?
Please. I picked you for this very task. I’ve known about Lauren since before I first met you. Today was just the day I decided to tell you. I’ve been planning this since the first time I walked into your office.
You’re not a successful investor. You’re Nick Caracci, a two-bit swindler, a con man, a grifter, who thinks he’s hit the jackpot with me.
You were never going to invest that money. I was never going to let you near that money.