“The screening and approval process for loans.”

“I suppose. Although from what I’ve seen, it’s not rocket science. Pretty straightforward stuff.”

“You mean you learned how easy it would be to have fraudulent loans approved. With the right associates, of course.”

Son-of-a-bitch. Val wasn’t trying to frame only Carla’s murder on him, but to tie him to all of them.

Rick narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t about to let the other man maneuver him into a corner. “No,” he corrected, “that is not what I meant.”

Before his former friend could fire another question at him, Rick fired one of his own. “Tell me something, Val. How does it feel to know you’re one of the bad guys?”

“I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind.”

“But I do mind.” He leaned forward, keeping his tone and body language conversational. “You see, I really want to know. What does it feel like to kill a fellow officer in cold blood? How did it feel to hack at her until her chest resembled Swiss che-”

“That’s fucking enough!” Val shouted, jumping to his feet. He snatched up a file folder from the end of the table and slammed it down in front of Rick. “Take a look, my friend.”

Rick flipped open the folder, aware of Val behind him, watching. It contained several copies of correspondence between him, Larry Bernhardt and Naomi Pearson. Rick read them, feeling himself begin to sweat. The correspondence detailed a plan between the three of them to begin defrauding Island National Bank by writing bogus loans.

He twisted his head to look at Val. The gleeful expression in his former friend’s eyes infuriated him. “I’ve never seen these before.”

“Is that your e-mail address?”

Rick glanced at it, though he knew beforehand it would be. Val had thought this through. And judging by the date on the correspondence, he had been planning it for some time. “Yes, it is.”

“But you’ve never seen any of these e-mails before?”

“That’s right.”

“And I suppose you’re going to stick to that story even after we get a search warrant for your computer. Pathetic, Rick.”

They had gotten to his computer, Rick realized. Who’d helped him? Libby? Margo? Both of them?

The Horned Flower.

Rick’s thoughts raced to put the pieces together. Suddenly Liz’s theory about a conspiracy of evil, of a cult of Satan worshipers on a killing spree, didn’t seem so wild.

But there had to be more to it than that. He took a stab. “So is it all about money, Val? About wanting more. Did you sell your soul to the devil for that?”

A muscle in the man’s jaw spasmed. “You really are crazy. I feel sorry for you, Rick.”

“You prepared to go to hell, Val?”

“As long as I can take you with me.”

Fury took his breath. Val felt no remorse. None. Carla’s life had meant nothing to him. She had been a loose end, Rick realized. Nothing more than an annoying detail to be taken care of.

“She was your colleague, you son-of-a-bitch!” He fisted his fingers. “She thought the sun rose and set on your head.”

“Carla made one fatal mistake, Rick. Besides falling for a heartless prick like you, that is.”

“Yeah? And what would that have been? Trusting you?”

Val laughed. “Hardly.” He bent close to Rick’s ear. “She decided to grow a brain.”

With a roar of fury, Rick threw back his chair, knocking Val off balance. Before he could right himself, Rick had slammed him up against the wall, arms at his throat.

“Back off!” Walters shouted, drawing his weapon. “Back off now!”

“Let him hang himself,” Val managed to say, eyes on Rick’s. “This would be assaulting an officer, my friend. Not a smart move for someone in your position.”

“Bastard!” Rick hissed, knowing he was right. He released him. “You’re not going to get away with this. I’m not going to let you get away with it.”

Val smiled and glanced at Walters. “Thanks for the backup. Holster your weapon.”

The patrolman did as his superior ordered, then returned to his post by the door. Val smoothed a hand over his hair, then motioned to the chair. “Have a seat, Rick. We’re not done here.”

His cell phone rang, interrupting him. Val checked the display and flipped it open. “Lieutenant Detective Lopez here.”

He listened, expression growing smug. “Stay calm and don’t worry. I’m leaving now. It’s going to be okay, I’ll take care of everything.”

He ended the call and looked at Walters. “I’m needed at Paradise Christian. There’s been an accident.” He started for the door. “Don’t take your eyes off him, Walters. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

CHAPTER 57

Wednesday, November 21

9:00 p.m.

Liz gripped the steering wheel tighter, fighting against gusts of wind to keep her car on the road. The muscles in her shoulders and neck hurt from the effort and her eyes and head ached from the strain of trying to see past the blinding sheets of rain and focus on the road ahead.

Thank God, she had almost made it. The last marker had announced Key West five miles ahead.

She had made good time from Islamorada. She’d done it by eschewing safety for speed. It had helped that she was alone on the road. No one else, it seemed, was foolhardy enough to be heading into Key West with a tropical storm churning steadily toward the island.

She had tried Rick before leaving Islamorada. There had been no answer at the Hideaway or his home; she had left a message on his cell phone. She had pulled over once and tried again. When she hadn’t reached him that time, she’d dialed the KWPD and asked for either Lieutenant Lopez or Detective Chapman. She had come up empty again and left an urgent message that they call her.

Something was wrong. Liz darted a quick glance at her silent phone, then yanked her gaze back to the road as a gust of wind nearly forced her off. Something had happened.

A murderer was on the loose. A killer storm threatened. And she thought something had happened. She laughed, the sound high and nervous-sounding. Some premonition.

She was getting punchy, she admitted. She was running on adrenaline, caffeine and nerves.

When she reached Key West, the overseas highway became Roosevelt Boulevard, then Truman Avenue. Liz took a right from Truman onto Duval and eased slowly down the street. The usually bustling Duval was deserted, the windows of all but a few of the shops either boarded over or shuttered. Branches and other debris littered the way; an inverted umbrella flew past her windshield; the lid of a garbage can rolled down the sidewalk, then spun crazily on its edge before crashing into a telephone pole.

For weeks after, the bodies washed ashore. Entire families, lashed together.

She must have been crazy to come back here. To be on the road. If she had any good sense she would be inside, kitchen stocked with emergency provisions: things like a flashlight and batteries, drinking water, canned food.

Her heart sank when she saw the Hideaway. The windows were boarded over, no light shone from within. Like every other responsible citizen of Key West, it looked as if Rick had closed shop and headed for home-or drier climes.

She had counted on his being here, she realized. She hadn’t thought it through. Of course he wasn’t here. Of course he wasn’t open for business during the height of a tropical storm.

She stopped the car in front of the Hideaway anyway. Taking a deep breath, she flung the door open and darted for the bar’s front entrance. The force of the wind was incredible, it tore at her and she had to fight her way to the sidewalk. There, she pounded, praying she was wrong, that Rick was here. She didn’t even know where he lived, she realized. If he wasn’t here, she might be unable to find him.

“Rick!” she shouted. “Rick! It’s Liz, open up!” She waited, then pounded again. “Rick, please! It’s Liz!”