He opened an access panel above a darkened massage therapy room. Taking hold of both of Clare’s wrists, he lowered her until she could stand on the white-sheeted table. He was aware of the pain in his left arm but with his senses wide open he could push the sensation to the edge of his awareness, at least for a while.
Clare found her footing on the table and looked up at him. He knew she could not see him in the dense shadows of the ceiling crawl space.
“Be careful,” she said softly. “Please.”
“I will,” he promised. “Go on, get out of here.”
He waited until she had opened the door and slipped out into the hall. There was enough moonlight filtering through the skylights out there to illuminate her way to the lobby.
When she was gone, he made his way back across the ceiling to the illuminated access panel. The voices of the two people in the room below were loud and clear, thanks to his jacked-up hearing.
He realized at once that something had changed in the atmosphere. Shipley was throwing off even more of the disturbing, abnormal psychic energy.
“You bastard,” Kimberley shrieked. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t kill me.”
“Of course I can,” Owen said calmly. “In fact, it is absolutely necessary. I need to throw some red meat to Glazebrook and the local cops.”
“You’re crazy. You need me. We have a plan, damn you.”
“I have a plan,” Owen said. “Sadly, it is somewhat different from the one we discussed. You are going to commit suicide.”
“No one will believe that.”
“Of course they will. As the months went past you became despondent after you murdered McAllister. The gun you used to kill him will be found in your desk drawer. I put it there myself a few minutes ago.”
“You can’t do this,” Kimberley said, frantic now.
“Valerie’s death will remain a probable accident as a result of drugs and alcohol. You will leave a suicide note on your computer explaining the other deaths, however. You murdered Brad McAllister because he dumped you in favor of Clare. When she came back to Stone Canyon, you couldn’t stand it. You lured her here to the spa with the intention of murdering her tonight. Unfortunately for him, Jake Salter showed up with Clare, no doubt anticipating a couples’ massage. You had no choice but to get rid of him, too. You locked them both in the steam chamber.”
“We’re partners in this,” Kimberley pleaded.
“As I said, there has been a slight change of plan.”
“You need me.”
“Not any longer,” Owen said. “In a few days Archer Glazebrook will suffer a heart attack following the shock of Clare’s death. His son, Matt, will die in a car crash on the way home to his father’s funeral. And in their grief, Myra and Elizabeth will turn to me, an old friend of the family. I will take control of the company and lift that burden from their shoulders.”
Jake sensed movement in the room below. Kimberley was edging toward the door. She was probably going to make a desperate bid to flee into the hall. That would be good. He could use the distraction.
“You can’t shoot me from across the room,” Kimberley said. “No one will believe I committed suicide if you do.”
“I am fully prepared to make adjustments to my plan,” Owen said, unruffled. “If you make me kill you this way, I will simply take your body into the steam room and stage what will appear to be a battle over the gun. You lost.”
Jake let the access panel swing open. He put one hand on the edge of the dropped ceiling and plummeted, feet first, straight down.
Owen’s head jerked up at the sound of the panel falling open. Startled shock and then rage flashed across his face. Instinctively he brought the gun around, trying to aim for an impossibly awkward shot.
Jake landed inches from his prey. He brought his hand down in a short, chopping action, striking Owen’s arm. The gun clattered to the floor.
Owen skittered backward, clawing at the desk for support.
“Son of a bitch,” Owen snarled, his face a demented mask. “You want to know how bad it can get? I’ll show you.”
Pain slashed across Jake’s senses, enough to make him stagger, but not enough to cause the lights to go out again. It wasn’t easy keeping his senses dampened when everything in him wanted to make the kill.
“Clare’s right,” he said. “Your little psychic trick doesn’t work nearly as well when I’m running cold.”
Owen’s eyes widened with real fear for the first time.
“No,” he breathed. “Wait—”
“Still hurts, though,” Jake said. “And that really pisses me off.”
Owen threw up his hands to protect himself. Jake delivered two solid blows to Owen’s midsection. Owen clutched at his belly and sank to his knees, gasping for air.
Jake turned quickly, seeking other prey. Kimberley Todd was gone. So was the gun.
That would not have happened if he’d been working at full capacity, he thought.
He used his belt to secure Owen’s wrists behind his back.
“We both know you aren’t going to kill me,” Owen said. “And there’s no evidence Jones & Jones can give to the local cops. Kimberley murdered McAllister, not me.”
“But you murdered Valerie, didn’t you?”
“You can’t prove that.”
“Maybe not. But it shouldn’t be too hard to prove that you conspired with Kimberley to murder Clare Lancaster and me tonight.”
“Wait. Listen to me. You don’t know what’s going on here. I’m using a new version of the founder’s formula. It works, damn it. I can get some for you, too.”
“No thanks.”
“Hear me out. We’re talking power here. Incredible power. I can make you a member of the new cabal. Once you’ve taken the drug you’ll see what I mean. Nothing can stop you when you’re running hot on the formula.”
“People have said that before. They’ve all come to a bad end.”
Jake drew the small leather tool kit out of his pocket and removed the prefilled syringe.
Owen’s eyes followed Jake’s hands. “What’s that?”
Jake jabbed the needle into Shipley’s arm.
“It’s a J&J thing,” he said.
Owen slumped forward, unconscious.
Jake headed out into the dark hall, all senses wide open.
Time to continue the hunt.
Chapter Forty-six