Simon Says Die

avoided.”
    She shuddered at his reference to killing, in that matter-of-fact tone. She wondered how many people he’d killed over the years, and counted herself lucky she’d managed to stay alive this long, after actually marrying the man. Bile rose in her throat, and she had to force it down. Then it dawned on her what else he’d just said. “What do you mean—‘if my dad had died when he was supposed to?’ ”
    â€œIt’s amazing what people know and don’t realize they know. When I met you and you talked about your family, I immediately realized there was probably some money there, even though you didn’t. It was easy to get your father to brag about his investments, man to man. He was so proud that he was providing for his family, that you’d all be taken care of in style when he was gone. We’re talking millions of dollars. He’d lived a full, good life. If he’d died the first time I tried, you and I would probably still be together.”
    Shocked, she could do little more than stare at him.
    â€œPoor little Madison. You really haven’t learned much about me, even after helping your new boyfriend investigate me. What did he tell you? Did he figure out who I really am?”
    â€œYou mean, an identity stealer, a con artist, and a loathsome serial killer— Simon ?”
    He laughed. “Well, I’m all that—although I do think loathsome is a bit strong—and so much more. Your family was a means to an end. And eventually, when I tired of you, I’d have been set, a wealthy widower grieving the loss of his beloved wife. I could have lived off the money for years before I ran through it, or before I made a mistake and killed too close to home, forcing me to switch identities again.” He cocked his head. “Enough reminiscing about old times. Where’s the cashier’s check?”
    â€œI don’t have it,” she lied. If she gave him the money, she was dead. The only reason she’d brought the check was to use it in exchange for his confession. But without her recorder, or her gun, the check in her bra was now a liability.
    She needed to stall him, distract him, so she could go for her other gun.
    â€œYou wouldn’t have come here without the money. Where is it?” he demanded.
    â€œIn the safe.”
    â€œSafe? What safe?”
    â€œOver there.” She waved toward the far wall.
    He shoved her forward. “Go on.”
    She pulled a picture down, revealing the wall safe.
    Damon ground the muzzle of his gun in her back. “Open it.”

 
    Chapter Twenty-Six
    P IERCE CUT HIS headlights and inched the car forward until he was fifty feet behind a parked car he didn’t recognize, the only other car on Calhoun square. It had to be the car Madison had taken, but he didn’t know where she’d gotten it.
    What was she thinking to sneak out of the inn this late at night? Why had she gone to Calhoun Square of all places and parked on the darkest curb far away from the nearest street lamp?
    He was going to give her hell just as soon as he was certain she was okay. He could see someone sitting in the driver’s seat, a shadow among shadows. But something wasn’t right. The shadow sat too high in the seat, with shoulders far too broad to be petite Madison.
    A deep feeling of unease swept through him. He got out of his car and eased the door shut. Gun drawn, he crept forward. He crouched down when he neared the other car, careful to stay in the driver’s blind spot. A few more feet, then he stood up beside the driver’s window, gun and flashlight pointing at the occupant inside.
    Startled, the driver jumped then threw up his hands as he blinked against the harsh light.
    Pierce swore viciously as he recognized the man inside. “Open the door, Mr. Varley.”
    Varley, shaking so hard he could barely manage the door handle, finally unlocked the door.
    Pierce shoved the door open and hauled Varley out of the car with a quick twist of his shirt collar.
    Varley landed on the street. Pierce did a quick sweep of the car’s interior. Empty. He turned his attention on the frightened innkeeper owner.
    â€œWhat are you doing out here?”
    Varley’s eyes were as wide as an owl’s. He held his hands up in the air, his mouth opening and closing like a fish but making no sounds.
    â€œOh for the love of . . . put your hands down. I’m not going