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He could win, or at least make sure it was a draw.
Both cat and mouse dead.
My final show.
He liked language, plays on words.
My final show.Like the documentary. Created by Kate Tashibi. She was a part of whatever he had planned.
“That was someone who thought they could stop me,”Conrad had said. Whothought.Past tense.
Raisa stood, her chair dragging against linoleum with a terrible screech.
She pounded on the door, and the guard popped his head in.
“Where was Conrad before he was brought to us?” Raisa asked.
Kilkenny stood, too, now hovering at her shoulder, backing her up even though he didn’t know what was going on.
“He was in the special visitation room,” the guard said. “Inmates are allowed to receive guests there on execution day at any time.”
“Please call and find out if Ms. Tashibi has an appointment with Nathaniel Conrad scheduled for tomorrow,”Pierce had said.
“You don’t have to make that poor woman go through all that work just to make your point. Okay, you’re right. I have an appointment with Mr. Conrad in the afternoon.”
Kate had wanted to make sure she got to Conrad first. Her appointment had been in the morning, and she hadn’t wanted to risk them finding that out. So she’d admitted to a half lie to make it seem like she was telling the whole truth.
Whatever Kate and Conrad had planned together depended on Kate getting a head start on Raisa and Kilkenny.
“Who was he visiting?” Raisa asked, just so she could have it confirmed.
The guard held up a finger and pulled out his walkie-talkie.
“He met with Katherine Tashibi,” he said after a quick consultation. “For twenty minutes before he came here.”
Raisa pressed her lips together.
The only way to win was for the impostor to die sometime before Conrad.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Shay
January 2014
Two months before the kidnapping
Shay talked her way into Callum’s next trip to Houston.
He didn’t want her to come, but she needed to help iron out the Beau and Max situation. Even from Seattle, she could tell the two were on rocky ground. How could they not be? Max had thought Beau was a serial killer for years, and even if she hadn’t confessed to that thought, Beau would still have been able to tell something was off.
As Shay had done all her life, she decided to simply go to Beau.
Except when she pulled into the neighborhood in her little, nondescript rental car, Beau was headed toward his own sedan at a light jog. He checked up and down the street—his eyes skating over her Honda—and then ducked into the driver’s seat.
Shay hesitated, her foot coming off the pedal. She could beep, wave, and get his attention. If he had plans, he might invite her along. If it was work, then at least she’d know he was about to start a shift.
But she didn’t do any of that.