Page 117 of Luck of the Devil

I stared at him, confused. “It’s not that big of a deal, Malcolm. I’ll stand next to the slide, and you’ll be able to hear everything.” Then like a fool, I added, “If you like, I’ll position my father at the bottom of the slide, so all you’ll have to do is come down and knock him over like a bowling pin.”

“This isn’t a goddamn joke!” he shouted, giving me a look of frustration.

That was a lot of goddamns, even for him. But I had to admit he had a right to be pissed. I’d changed the plan last minute and now I was treating it like it was a trip to the grocery store. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that other than I was trying to make you realize it’s not as dangerous as you think it will be. Besides,” I said, lowering my voice and hoping it would help calm him down. “You have the paperwork. If something happens to me, you’ll still be able to use it.”

That only seemed to make him angrier. The veins on his neck bulged and throbbed. “You think I’m worried about—” He cut himself off, then shook his head.

“All I can tell you is that my gut says it’s a better location, and I’m going with my gut.”

He wrung the steering wheel with his clenched hand, his knuckles white. I suspected he wished it was my neck he was wringing. “It’s too damn late to change plans now, so we’ll go with it.” He turned and shot me a dark look. “But I’m fuckin’ not happy.”

“Really?” I countered before I could stop myself, because this man brought out my ornery side. “I couldn’t tell.”

Something in him loosened, not much, but enough that the line of his shoulders eased. He was still wrapped up tight, but if he was a boa constrictor wrapped around me, I would have gone from being strangled to being able to take shallow breaths.

His gaze jerked to the rearview mirror. “Someone’s following us.”

I turned around in my seat to see the headlights of a car, gaining on us.

“Did your father know you were at the tavern?” he asked.

I kept my eyes on the car, which looked like a large SUV. “No. I didn’t tell him where I was, and he didn’t ask. If anything, I think he thought I was at my apartment.”

Malcolm sped up, and the car sped up too, tailing us at a distance of about twenty feet.

“They’re probably after the papers,” James said, sitting up straighter as he maneuvered around a curve.

“Why would my father send someone after us to get the papers when he thinks I’m bringing them to show him?” I countered, then I realized I’d been stupid. “It’s the woman.”

“His mistress?”

“He said she wasn’t his mistress. I’m starting to think he wasn’t lying.” I groaned at how closed-minded I’d been. “What if she’s one of the people listed in those documents?”

“We didn’t see any women in those documents.”

“She doesn’t know that. Maybe she thinks she is,” I countered, the pieces starting to fall into place. “What if she showed up at my mother’s house, offering to help her, but she wanted the papers? Maybe she tried to get my mother to open the safe deposit box for her—the woman had the key—and my mother refused, so she killed her?”

“You think that older woman pushed your mother’s car into the river?” he asked derisively.

“You think that woman is driving that SUV that’s gaining on us?” I snapped. “She’s obviously got help. Those are pros, Malcolm, and you of all people know that only takes money.”

“Fuck,” he grunted, then activated the AI on his phone, telling it to call Carter.

“Hey, Skeeter.”

“I need a photo of Rutherford Knox’s wife.”

Carter must have heard the urgency in his voice. “I don’t know if that I’ve ever seen a photo of her. Knox was always careful about keeping his family out of public view.”

“See if you can find something,” James said, glancing up at the rearview mirror. “Because I think she’s sent someone to run us off the road.”

“His son Gerald took over after Rutherford was killed.”

“Maybe so, but I think his wife might be involved in the family business too. Get a name, an age, a photo if you can. Anything, and make it fast. I’m gonna try to lose them up ahead.”

“On it.” Carter disconnected the call, and I glanced at the road in front of us. “Where do you plan to lose them? There are no turn-offs for at least a couple of miles.”

He made a face. “If he thinks I have a plan, he’ll be less worried.”