Allison Brennan - Playing Dead

“Why did they want Taverton dead?”

Collier licked his lips. He was shaking. “Riordan, Hamilton, and Mancini-they killed Rose Van Alden and the judge forged a will so that she’d sell the land to Waterstone. She was old, she was stubborn.”

“Where does Frank Lowe fit into it?”

“He saw Riordan leaving the old lady’s house. He didn’t know who he was at the time, he was a nobody, but Lowe later figured it out and kept his mouth shut. I guess he wanted to live. Then he was arrested and facing major time, and he talked to Taverton. Taverton brought in Judge Drake, not knowing he had a hand in Van Alden’s death, and Hamilton called this guy from his fraternity. He told me later that they used this guy for murders. He was their own personal assassin. Hamilton thought that was funny.”

“He’s not laughing now,” Mitch said. “His blood is spattered all over 4th Street.”

Finger shaking, Collier tapped a name. “Bruce Langstrom. He changed his name to Philip Palmer, but they are one and the same.” He stared at them, his face white. “I’ve only met him once, but he’s the coldest bastard I’ve ever seen. He’ll kill me. I’m not leaving this room until you have him in custody.”

Phil kept the large-screen television replaying her most private life while he bandaged her leg. Claire was numb inside. Her privacy, which had been so important to her especially since her father’s conviction, had been violated in ways she’d never imagined.

This psychopath-someone she’d thought was a friend-had watched her for years. Getting undressed. Sleeping. Stretching. Doing crunches and push-ups and leg-lifts in her bra and panties. When Claire had thought she was alone.

Bile rose to her throat. Her life wasn’t hers. He’d sullied it, every private moment. Her tears. Her laughter. Her friends. He’d watched her dress and undress. He’d seen her naked. He’d seen her try on new clothes, new bras, looking critically at her body in the mirror.

“How long?” Her voice was hollow.

“Long enough. I couldn’t find a place for the camera in your McKinley Park house, not a well concealed place. And it was a lot harder getting in there undetected.”

But Bill’s house, and her first apartment.

The men she’d dated. Oh God, she’d slept with men in her bed. And Phil watched.

Ian walked into her room on-screen. Ian Clark, her first serious boyfriend.

“You saw everything?” she whispered.

“When you were nineteen you brought that boy home and gave him your virginity.”

He slapped her so hard that her head whipped to the side.

He fast-forwarded the disk, then pressed play when it reached a spot he obviously anticipated. She was naked in bed going through the awkward motions of her first sexual encounter. They had both been seniors. Two days later, Ian had broken up with her for no reason. At least no good reason, nothing she understood at the time.

“I’m done,” he said.

“What?”

“I just-it’s not a good idea for us to see each other anymore.”

“What do you mean? But-” He’d said he loved her. She thought she loved him too, at least that’s how she felt when they were together. She hadn’t told him, because she wasn’t sure about anything in her life. She was still getting used to trusting someone, she’d thought she trusted him. .

“I’m going away to college, and you’re staying here. I don’t want any ties.”

“You lied to me.”

He looked her dead in the eye. “Yeah, I did. I got what I wanted, and now it’s over.”

Ian had hurt her more than anyone. . until Mitch. But what she’d felt for her first boyfriend was nothing compared to the complex emotions she had for Mitch. Mitch had touched a part of her she hadn’t seen or felt before. He’d brought out a better Claire, better all the way around because Mitch was the first person she had truly been herself with.

But he’d lied to her. Just like Ian, just like. .

But her father hadn’t lied. He’d told the truth and she hadn’t believed him. Claire had seen what she wanted to see, the obvious, and blamed him.

She’d looked at the facts with Mitch, at the obvious, and accused him of using and manipulating her. And he had lied. . but had he lied about what was most important? Had he lied about his feelings?

Did he love her like she loved him?

What was going to happen if he found her dead? After what she’d said to him. After he poured his heart out to her. She’d been angry with him, but mostly she’d been hurt. Hurt because she loved him so deeply.

More than anything, Claire wanted to live. She knew what Phil was doing. He was playing a psychological game to strip her of her spirit and will. She hardened her heart, ignored what was on the screen, pushed aside the theft of her privacy.

“Did you have anything to do with Ian breaking up with me?”

“He made his own choice. The right one.”

“But you pushed him?”

“I’ve always protected you.”

“You’re sick.”

He sighed. “I know.”

That was the last answer she expected.

“You pushed Dave to tell me about Mitch.”

“I didn’t know he was a Fed. That was unfortunate. But Dave took care of it. I knew he would.”

“Dave trusted you. I trusted you!”

“Then you only have yourself to blame for what’s about to happen.”

He finished taping her leg. It hurt like hell, but it wasn’t bleeding anymore. She certainly wouldn’t be able to run from him. He’d taken off her jeans, but he hadn’t touched her anywhere but her leg.

Yet.

Her only hope was to find a weapon. Disarm him, perhaps, and shoot him. She’d have to shoot him. Could she?

She stared at the television, at her young naked body. Oh, yes, she could kill him. .

Her teddy bear. The room she’d woken up in, a replica of her bedroom when her mother had still been alive.

The perfect frame. Another killer, someone without a connection to the victims. Someone like Phil Palmer. He hadn’t moved to Sacramento until months after her mother was killed. How did he know what her room looked like? How had he gotten the picture of her and Amy? How had he found her teddy bear?

He’d been in her room before.

“You killed my mom.”

“Yes, I did.”

She reeled as if hit. She’d expected him to deny it, to yell at her, to slap her.

Her voice cracked, but she asked, “Why?”

All these years, she’d been friends with her mother’s killer. She’d blamed her father, and ate dinner and went to ball games with the real killer. She’d been so wrong, both about her father and about Phil. Phil was Dave’s partner. Phil had saved Dave’s life, made a lifelong friend in Bill Kamanski. He’d practically been family.

It was all a lie. All an act. He was a brutal murderer who had slithered his way into her life.

She wanted to throw up. And she wanted to kill him. He’d stolen everything from her: her mother, her father, her privacy, her life. She had lost everything, grew up practically an orphan, angry and lost inside. Unable to love anyone, unable to trust. .

Until Mitch.

“It was nothing personal. I was blackmailed into it.” He sighed, as if it had been a minor irritation. “In college, I accidentally killed a girl. I didn’t know anyone had seen me bury her body. But they’re all dead now. I’m free. Or I will be free, as soon as I bury you.”

He stared at her forlornly. “I protected you all these years. I was supposed to kill everyone in the house. When you walked in, I was already there, hiding in your room. Waiting for the perfect time. I heard the door and feared it was O’Brien. That would have ruined everything. But it was you. I’d already fallen in love with you-I’d spent hours in your bedroom that morning-though I would have had to kill you if you’d seen me. But you ran out. Good thing. That gave me enough time to kill them and leave. You calling your father was icing on the cake. I couldn’t have planned it better myself. All I knew was that he was alone during his lunch hour while his wife was fucking another man. I did him a favor.”