“He’d blackmail them. Wonderful. So he saw Lindsay getting in a car?”

“Yeah, but he said he didn’t have the list anymore, that he’d sold it, and he didn’t remember what kind of car, but he remembered the date and time. I didn’t believe him, but I got him to tell me who he’d sold the list to.”

Olivia sighed. She knew Jonesy. “How much did you pay him?”

“A hundred.”

“Tom.”

“I know,” Tom spat, frustrated. “He said he sold it to some guy named Damon. Another hundred got me Damon’s ‘business address.’ ”

A shiver tickled down her spine. “You’re on thin ice, kid. Damon is a major dealer.”

“I figured that out. I found him, told him what I wanted. He looked at his list. And this is the paranoid part. He said he saw her get into a black SUV. Lincoln Navigator.”

Olivia blinked, wondering how many Navigators could be on Twin City roads.

“You know,” Tom said when she said nothing. “Like the one that hit David.”

“Yeah, I got it. That’s weird, but not impossible.” Besides, they’d gotten Dell Farmer. But not his SUV. He’d been driving a beat-up old Corolla and had just laughed uproariously when she’d demanded to know where he’d parked his Navigator.

“I know and I almost didn’t bother you with it. But I figured better safe than sorry.”

“Damon didn’t happen to share the license plate, did he?”

“No, and frankly I didn’t want to push it. He scared the bejesus out of me.”

“That’s the first smart thing I’ve heard you say all night. Dammit, Tom, he would have stabbed you as easy as breathing. I’m shocked he told you anything at all.”

“He’s a basketball fan,” Tom said wryly. “I had tickets in my pocket. If you don’t pick him up sooner, I know where he’ll be sitting come game time on Sunday.”

Olivia massaged her temples. “Your mother is going to kill me.”

“My mother and Dana taught me. All those years in the shelter, the new identities, transporting women and kids in the dead of night… No way Mom can yell at you.”

“Good point. Okay. Here’s the deal. I don’t tell your mom what you’ve been doing and you don’t go out with Liza alone anymore.”

“She’s not going to give up until she finds her sister. Or her body.”

Sisterly bonds. That Olivia understood. “Tomorrow I’ll go with you. Where’s Liza?”

“I dropped her off at her apartment. I walked her to the door,” he added defensively.

“You’re a good man. Maybe too much so. No more sleuthing by yourselves. Deal?”

“Deal. Thanks, Olivia.”

“Tom, wait. Where are Liza’s parents in all this?”

“Her mom’s sick, and Liza doesn’t want to worry her yet. No dad in the picture.”

“Okay. Let me see what I can find. Get some sleep.” Troubled, Olivia hung up, then placed a call to an old friend in narcotics. Hopefully they’d have enough to bring Damon in and she could find out what he really knew.

Chapter Twenty-two

Thursday, February 25, 4:00 a.m.

He was so tired. He parked his car next to his wife’s BMW and was tempted to go to sleep right there in the garage, but his wife would wonder where he was when she awoke to an empty bed. He didn’t hate his wife. They had a mutually beneficial relationship. She received a generous allowance for her support, showed up on his arm at all the right functions, never expected sex, and conscientiously kept his secret.

Or what she believed to be his secret. Through twenty years of marriage, she’d believed him to be gay. It wasn’t the optimal solution, but it did explain to her satisfaction why he never touched her. He closed the door into the kitchen, frowning when he switched on the light. Something was different. It took him only a second.

She’d moved the cat’s bowl. He didn’t like it when she changed things. She knew this. It had been the only occasion he’d needed to strike her during their marriage. She’d learned quickly and kept things the way he liked ever since. Until tonight.

He opened cupboards, careful not to wake her. He didn’t care a whit if she got her beauty sleep, but she was his cover. That’s all she’d ever been. The cat’s bowl was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she’d broken it and hoped he wouldn’t know.

He always knew, could always instantly see any item out of its place. He climbed the stairs, his temper seething. It was exhaustion and he reined his temper in. He’d deal with her in the morning, after she’d woken to see him soundly asleep beside her.

He’d brought her a cup of tea tonight, as he always did. Laced it with enough narcotic to have her sleeping through the night, as he always did when he was going out. As he’d done every night this week. He closed the bedroom door behind him.

And stopped. She wasn’t in the bed. Carefully he turned. And stopped again.

She was sitting in one of the chintz chairs by the window and in her hand she held a gun. His heart began to beat harder. He recognized the gun. It was one of the many he kept at his place. She’d been to his place. “What’s this?” he asked quietly.

“I didn’t drink the tea tonight,” she said. “Or last night. Or the night before.” She paused meaningfully, tilting her head. “Or the night before that.”

Sunday. “Why didn’t you drink your tea?” he asked, injecting a note of hurt into his voice. She was small, manageable. Taking the gun would be no issue.

“Because of your cat. I was sneezing all the time, so I took an allergy pill.”

“What does this have to do with the tea?” He took a step forward and she brought the gun up, smoothly. Interesting. They’d been married twenty years and he never knew she could handle a weapon. Looking back, he probably should have asked.

“Don’t come any closer,” she said and he could hear the underlying fright. Panic. Disgust. “And keep your hands where I can see them. The allergy pill interacted with whatever it is you put in that tea. It made me sick. I threw up the tea. And I was awake when you came in on Sunday night. Monday morning, actually. You were out all night.”

“I was with a patient,” he lied.

“You had sex. I can always tell. I thought you’d gone discreetly about your business with your newest boy of the month. Which was fine, but then you were gone Monday night, too. You slipped into bed, thinking I was asleep. I smelled perfume. Ladies’ perfume. I could accept your alternate lifestyle. I was willing to be your cover. But you were cheating. With women.”

He tilted his head, feigning puzzlement. He needed to get to the gun in his pocket. “Let me get this straight. You’re angry because I’m not gay?”

“Don’t,” she said, disgusted. “Don’t even try to charm me. I followed you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And?”

“I know what you did. I saw you last night. I followed you to your other house, saw you change cars, then I watched you wait for that woman outside that bar and follow her home.” She sat back and leveled him an even stare. “I thought, ‘He has another home. Another life. Maybe even another wife. That’s why he doesn’t want me.’ I couldn’t stand wondering, so I went back to that house today.”

His fists clenched. “You had no right.”

She laughed, hollowly, dully. “My God. You can stand there and speak to me of rights? I saw your basement. Your… shoes. My God. You’re a monster. How long? How long have you been killing?”

“Thirty years,” he said, oddly pleased that he could finally tell someone.

She shook her head, helplessly. “I… opened the pit. I can’t stop thinking about it. I see that hand, sticking up, every time I close my eyes. Why did you do it?”

“Because I wanted to,” he said simply and she shook her head in disbelief.

“You’re a monster. And no one will believe that you’re capable. You have everyone fooled. Everyone but me. I know what you are and you aren’t going to get away with this.” She started to pull the trigger, but he was faster. He leapt forward and wrested the gun from her hand, her cry of pain barely registering. He tossed the gun to the bed and dragged her up against him, his arm over her throat. Her gun had no silencer and the shot would wake the whole neighborhood.