Allison Brennan - Playing Dead

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My name is Tip Barney. Real name’s George, but no one calls me that.”

“We were just at your mother’s house. Betty has a whole photo album of you and your dad.”

Frank paled. “You’re making a mistake. You’re going to get me killed. Please don’t do this!”

“If you talk now, there’ll be no reason why anyone would kill you. Spill the beans and you’ll be safe.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Mitch said, “What was the plea agreement between you and Chase Taverton?”

“I’m not talking.”

“Fine.” Steve yanked Frank’s arm to force him to follow around the end of the bar.

Mitch announced, “Okay, folks, go home.”

Lora Lane, the woman they’d spoken to earlier, frowned. “I don’t understand. Did you catch him doing something?”

“Ma’am, this isn’t your concern,” Steve told her.

“But you can’t arrest him.”

“Ma’am, please leave.”

The patrons were leaving, murmuring among themselves. “Lock up, Frank,” Steve said.

The door opened, and Mitch was about to tell the customer the bar was closed when he saw Claire standing there.

She was pale, much too pale. She glared at him, hurt and anger in her expression. But Mitch was so relieved to see her-to know that she was okay.

“Did you follow me here?” she asked, one hand on her hip.

“No, we’re following up on Oliver Maddox’s murder. I had no idea you were here.”

She grinned without humor. “You had someone sit on me.”

“Didn’t last long.”

“I’m too smart for you.”

“How did you end up here?”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“Claire, we need to talk. About your father and what you’ve learned about Maddox.”

Frank Lowe said, “I didn’t kill anyone!”

“No one said you did, Mr. Lowe.”

Claire blinked and rubbed her temples. “Lowe?” She turned to him. “You’re Frank Lowe?”

“No,” he said while both Mitch and Steve said, “Yes.”

Claire stared at Lowe. “You can clear my father. You bastard, why did you lie to me?”

“You’re going to get me killed! Don’t you understand, this is way above you. I’m going to die. ”

“If you don’t talk, my father is going to die!”

Mitch watched the exchange, wondering if Frank was going to crack. He was clearly between a rock and a hard place.

“I can’t clear your father,” said Frank. “I swear, I don’t know what happened that day.”

“But you know why Chase Taverton was killed.”

“I’m not saying a word.”

“You’re still under arrest,” Steve said.

Mitch walked over to Claire. “I will find out the truth. I promise.”

She stared at him, arms crossed.

He continued, “Your father called me a few days after the earthquake and tipped me off to where Blackie Goethe’s gang was. We took down the gang and your father risked his life to save mine. He told me he was innocent. I didn’t believe him, but I owed him. Out of curiosity I looked into his case. Saw some things that made me question whether he was even guilty. I befriended you because I wanted to bring him in safely and knew he’d be in danger if he went into state custody.”

He stepped toward her, reaching out and touching her cheek. Claire flinched. Her mouth trembled.

“I never expected to fall in love with you, Claire.”

She whispered, “I don’t believe anything you say.”

“I’m not sorry I met you, but I’m sorry I had to lie. I did it for the right reasons.”

“And what right reason did you sleep with me for?”

“I’d do anything to prove to you that I care.”

She turned and left.

“Ready?” Steve asked quietly.

“Let’s get Lowe to headquarters,” said Mitch.

Mitch stared at the door. Claire didn’t look herself. More than because he’d hurt her. He wondered if she was sick. She’d rubbed her head like it hurt.

Or maybe it was all because of him.

Claire’s stomach was queasy. Damn Mitch. Why’d he have to say anything to her? It would have been easier if he just acted like a damn FBI agent. Why’d he have to tell her he’d fallen in love with her? Was it another game? Why?

She was going to puke. No, no. She had nothing to throw up. She turned the ignition of Bill’s truck and started toward River Road. Just get home. No, the hospital. See her dad.

She couldn’t even think straight, Mitch had upset her so much. She slowed to focus on driving. She hadn’t even drunk half the beer at the Rabbit Hole. She wasn’t drunk or even slightly impaired. But she felt. . impaired.

Had Frank Lowe drugged her? That didn’t make sense. She’d ordered her beer before he knew who she was. Could he have done it without her seeing? Maybe. Maybe when she was talking to Phin and turned away for a minute. But why?

Maybe that’s what he’d done to Oliver Maddox. Drugged him at the bar so he crashed into the river and drowned. Again, why?

She focused on the reflective markers in the middle of the winding road. The lines were blurry. She slowed down. Stop driving. Her foot was so heavy. She couldn’t move it.

Bump bump bump.

She jerked her head up, eyes wide, turning the wheel to the right. She’d gone over the line. She thought she heard ringing. It was her cell phone.

Stop the car!

She tried to lift her left foot up to push down on the emergency brake. Her foot wouldn’t move, like a pile of bricks weighted it down.

She stared at her hands gripping the steering wheel as she swerved again. Weaving. Over, under, around, through. There were six hands. Did she have six hands? Now eight.

She focused on the white lines. Bright. Bright lines. Yellow. Red. Orange. Purple. Sparkling.

Stop!

She was hallucinating. Drugged. She knew it, but her mind couldn’t order her body to behave. Her eyes saw things she knew in her head couldn’t be there.

Her foot slipped off the gas, but she had no strength to lift it to the brake. But she was slowing down. Good.

So tired.

Mitch was quiet as Steve drove toward Sacramento. Frank Lowe was silent in the back, cuffed to the door. Mitch was turned slightly to watch the prisoner as Steve drove.

Steve said, “Your love life notwithstanding, this is turning out pretty good. O’Brien is turning himself in and we have a major lead in the Maddox homicide.” He jerked his head toward Lowe.

“I swear, I didn’t know the kid was dead until his body was pulled out of the river.”

“But you knew it was Maddox when he came into the bar in January.”

Lowe stayed quiet.

Steve said, “Frank, we have enough to arrest you, and you’ll have to answer to the Sacramento PD about who really died in that fire fifteen years ago.”

“No. As soon as my name gets out, I’ll be dead.”

“I don’t buy it.”

“Don’t you see? The only person I told was Taverton, and a week later he was dead and someone tried to kill me. I don’t know who Taverton told, but it couldn’t have been many people. It was someone inside. So I’m not talking.”

“You’re still wanted on the home invasion robbery from fifteen years ago, plus I’m sure there are a whole host of tax laws you’ve broken. And identity theft, lying to federal-”

“Stop. Please don’t do this.” Lowe was scared shitless, and that was fine with Mitch. It just might make him talk.

“Look,” Mitch said, feigning disinterest, “talk to my boss, okay? She might be interested in cutting a deal. Or not. I don’t know. What do you think, Steve?”

“Elliott’s a hard-ass,” Steve said. “And it’s Friday. She might not even want to talk until Monday morning.”