Skip had no idea that Chris was increasing the pressure on me on behalf of Acelia, sending his henchmen to move my Synthroid medication onto my bureau, follow me to my doctor’s office, and even pose as a new client.
I was looking at your appointment calendar that night when you caught me coming out of your office, Skip confessed. But it was only to see if you were meeting with Marissa. I swear I had nothing else to do with what Chris did to you.
When I got over being pissed off at Skip, I told him I was flattered by the faith he’d placed in me.
Now I walk a little farther down the path at Candy Cane City, enjoying the feel of the sun warming my face and the laughter of a group of kids tossing around a Frisbee.
Marissa catches sight of me and waves me over. “Avery, you made it.”
Her father-in-law whips around at the sound of my name.
Chris’s poker face is impressive. He must need one, in his line of work. His only other reaction to me is a tightening around his lips.
I’ve taken precautions to prepare for whatever he might do next—I did kill his son, after all, and now I know exactly who Chris is, whom he works for, and how he’s connected to my life in ways that have nothing at all to do with his family.
But Chris merely nods at me. I exhale and slide my hand out of my coat pocket.
Marissa turns to Bennett. “Sweetie, this is my friend Ms. Chambers.”
“Can I pet your dog?” Bennett asks.
“Sure. His name is Romeo.”
Bennett holds out his small hand to let Romeo sniff him. “His tongue tickles.”
“Do you want to take him for a walk?” I suggest. “Maybe your mom can help.”
Marissa nods; she’s in on my plan. I hand Romeo’s leash to Bennett.
Romeo ambles off with the two of them, looking back a few times to make sure I’m not going anywhere.
When they are out of hearing distance, I say simply, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Chris shakes his head. “I lost my son when he was sixteen and came home with blood on his shirt the night that girl was murdered. My wife went to bed early that night, but Matthew told her to say he and Skip watched a movie with her, so she did. She always covered for him.”
Chris knew all along what his son was capable of.
I take another good look at Chris, finally putting a face to the dark menace that has been looming over me ever since I blew the whistle on Acelia.
Chris knows where I live, and where I keep my prescription medication. He knows what kind of car I drive and where my doctor’s office is located. But Chris still doesn’t know the singular piece of information that led him to infiltrate my life in the first place: the name of the client who told me about the faulty Rivanux drug trials.
He’s never going to know that.
I’ve spent the past few days collecting more information on Chris than he’ll ever be able to amass on me. With Skip’s help, it has been easy. I know who many of Chris’s other secret clients are. I know where he lives. What keeps him up at night.
I stare at Chris for a long moment.
“Skip told you,” Chris finally says. “I can tell.”
I nod.
Chris spreads out his hands. “It was only business.”
“I understand your clients are important to you,” I tell Chris as he watches me with his flat eyes. “Mine are important to me, too. I know a lot about them and their families. For example, I know Bennett is allergic to shellfish. I know the parking lot at Bennett’s school gets busy at pickup time and can be dangerous if the children aren’t carefully monitored. I know random criminals break into private homes in expensive neighborhoods like the one Bennett lives in. And I know that in another year or two, Bennett will be old enough to take the bus to school all by himself.”
The most important bit of information I’ve gathered about Chris is his weak spot: his grandson.
Bennett is the only person in the entire world that Chris loves.
I would never hurt a child. But I’m good at bluffing.
“So, nothing is going to happen to my clients or their families, right?” I lean closer to Chris. “Any of my clients.”
He continues to stare at me.
In the distance, Bennett’s sweet, high voice calls out, “Grandpa! The ice cream truck is here. Do you want a strawberry shortcake?”
“That would be great,” Chris shouts back, still staring at me.
Then he breaks our gaze and replies, “Understood.”
I’m not done with him yet. “Someone contacted an insurance company and leveled a charge against me.” I shake my head, as if I’m bewildered by the very idea of it. “Apparently they got an anonymous tip that my husband’s death wasn’t due to natural causes.”