KILL FEE
©Loretta Jackson and Vickie Britton
“Can you believe it? Wyoming Today has decided not to print the article series I wrote for them, after all.” Aunt Mattie said with a note of surprise.
“Did they give a reason?” Sheriff Jeff McQuede, who was still mulling around in his mind details of a case he was working on, asked. His case—a senseless murder. Of course, all murders were senseless, but this one really had him puzzled. He shuddered when he thought of that helpless young wife and mother named Sarah Kent who had been gunned down in her home in broad daylight. No motive, no apparent enemies. She had survived but was still unable to talk as she lay in the hospital recuperating from a gunshot wound. He had come to discuss the details with Aunt Mattie, who sometimes saw what he missed, but found her distracted by her own turn of events.
“My guess is the piece about corruption in local government is just too controversial for them.” She frowned, brushing back a strand of silvery hair as her dark eyes scanned the contents of the formal-looking envelope. Then she broke into a smile.
“Then why do you look so pleased?”
“They’ve also sent me a check,” Mattie said. “For almost the full amount. It’s called a “kill fee.” Not only will I get paid for the articles, but I can turn around and sell them to the competition.”
“Double money. Sounds like a pretty good deal.”
“But enough about my news. How’s work coming along, Jeff?” Mattie, realizing something was troubling McQuede, put down the letter. She poured coffee and brought out a platter of his favorite chocolate chip cookies.
McQuede started to dunk one, then thought better of it. For some reason, Mattie thought dunking cookies was the height of rude manners and wasn’t above reprimanding him as if he were still the boy of eight she had taken in after his parents’ deaths.
Since it had been in the newspaper and there were no withheld details, he was free to talk about the case. “Why would anyone shoot a young wife and mother?”
“Can the victim tell you anything?”
“She’s expected to recover, but she’s still unable to speak.”
“What about the husband?” she asked.
“He’s got an airtight alibi. He was at work in his office south of town. I’ve had Sid trace his every movement. She was shot about ten-thirty in the morning. Kent arrived at work at eight and didn’t leave until after five.” He paused, saying, “The hit seemed execution-style. The perpetrator used a high-powered weapon.”
“Do they live in a bad part of town?”
“No, she’s a grade school teacher and her husband has a good job at the local credit union. They live on Vine Street, near the park. It’s always been a very safe community.” McQuede thought a minute, then added, “Except lately I have heard some questionable people have moved into that abandoned house not far from the Kents.”
“Questionable?”
“Yes, rumor has it they are dealing in drugs.”
“Crime is springing up all over. In fact, the growing drug problem was one of the themes in my now homeless article series.”
“We’ve had several calls about late night traffic. Last time, Sid checked the house thoroughly. No meth lab was found in the basement or evidence of illegal drugs. Still, I believe it’s only a matter of time before they slip up and arrests will be made.”
Mattie tilted her head, thinking. “Could the hit man have gotten the wrong house by mistake?”
“I suppose that could happen, but it isn’t likely. I’m looking into that angle. But it’s my gut feeling this crime is something personal.”
“In cases like this the husband is always the prime suspect,” Mattie said wisely.
* * *
Sarah Kent’s tearful husband, Alex Kent, sat by her bedside in the Intensive Care unit. Kent, who held a responsible, well-paying job as a loan processor for the local credit union, looked the part. He was dark-haired and clean cut and attractive, except for a slightly weak chin. McQuede saw something in his eyes that could either be guilt or grief.
“The surgeons removed the bullet. It missed any vital organs. She’s still weak, but she’s going to pull through!"
“That’s good news.”
Surrounded by tubes and pumping machines, Sarah looked small and frail. She lay still and motionless, her neck and shoulder swathed in bandages. Only the rise and fall of her chest gave proof she was still breathing.
McQuede took the spare chair next to him. “Tell me what happened.”
“I’ll never forget how I opened the door and saw her lying there...so still. All that blood.” He drew in a trembling breath. “I could hear our baby boy crying in the next room…” He covered his face with his hands as if warding away the memory of a sight no husband should ever have to see. With a catch in his voice he gasped, “It was horrible, like something out of a nightmare!”
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
Kent shook his head helplessly.
“Has your wife mentioned noticing anything suspicious lately? Phone calls or unwanted visitors?”
“Like a stalker?” Kent asked. “No, nothing of the kind.”
“Did she mention any trouble with her immediate family, at work?”
He shook his head. “No family problems. And she’s been off work since the baby was born. She wanted to stay home with little Joey.”
“Mr. Kent, can you think of anyone who might want to harm your wife?”
“You mean, does she have any enemies?” The idea seemed to amaze him. “No, Sarah is gentle and kind and good. Everyone loves her.”
“What about yourself, Mr. Kent? Have you had any trouble at work that might have found its way home?”
“You think someone might have been after me?” He looked astounded as if this was a new thought.
“A man in your position, responsible for making big loans, is bound to have a disgruntled customer or two,” McQuede said.
“You believe some crackpot may have hurt my wife to get back at me…for some kind of revenge?”
“We have to explore every angle.”
For a moment an odd look came into his eyes, then just as quickly disappeared. “I don’t think so. Everything’s fine at the office.”
“So you can’t think of any reason why anyone would want to attack Sarah?”
“I’m sure I’ve told you everything. We lead very quiet, uneventful lives. This has to have been a terrible mistake. They must have been after someone else. That’s the only answer.” The lines tightened between Mr. Kent’s dark brows. “There’s this place close by…well, I’ve heard rumors they run some kind of illegal drug operation in that old, ramshackle house that just sold.”
“I know the one. We’ve had that place under surveillance for some time.”
“It must have been one of them who shot Sarah. That’s the only answer!”
If that were the case, it wouldn’t have been a random shooting. Maybe McQuede was on the wrong track. Someone from the suspected drug house could have connections with the Kents.
Alex Kent gave a strangled cry, “We were so happy! Why did this have to happen? Oh, I wish there was some way to just turn back the clock.”
* * *
Unfortunately, turning back time was something no human had ever been able to do, McQuede thought as he returned to his office. Following Aunt Mattie’s line of thinking, McQuede went through Alex Kent’s records, searching for evidence that he had tried to murder his wife.
Their life insurance policy was generous but had been purchased years ago with none of the sudden upgrades that McQuede looked for as red herrings in a suspected homicide. But one incident stood out as suspicious.
“Last week Mr. Kent made a large cash withdrawal from the bank,” McQuede’s deputy, Sid Carlisle, had told him. “Twenty thousand dollars. He says he purchased some rare sports memorabilia at a trade fair, that the seller demanded cash. No receipt.”
“A transaction that would be nearly impossible to trace.”
“Still, we can’t jump to conclusions. The unusual bank withdrawal and the shooting of his wife could be just a coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” McQuede said stubbornly.
The amount was just enough to hire a hit man, with a promise of an additional payment once the deed was done. But if Alex Kent had hired someone to murder his wife, how could McQuede ever prove it?
* * *
McQuede entered the big credit union office where Alex Kent worked. Kent’s boss, Darrell Jamison, who had already been questioned once by Sid, seemed surprised at McQuede’s visit. But McQuede knew that sometimes new information surfaced the second time around.
“What happened to Alex’s wife was such a tragedy. Is there some new development in the case?” Jamison asked.
“I just need to go over the statements again.”
“It’s exactly as I told your deputy. Alex was here all day,” the serious, gray-haired man insisted.
The boss followed McQuede’s gaze. Through the glass partition, there was a bird’s eye view of the main office. It overlooked a large room with many employees working at desks through which Mr. Jamison could observe his subjects, presiding over all like a monarch on a throne.
“I can see everything that goes on in the office. Alex was here all day, working. Even brought his lunch.”
“You’re sure he never went out.”
“He left his desk a couple of times, but there’s no way he could have slipped away from the building without me or one of the staff noticing him.”
“Which employee is Rachael Hawes, who also made a statement to my deputy?”
Mr. Jamison pointed her out to him. Light from the window brought golden highlights to the young woman’s shoulder length hair and enhanced her delicate features.
“It’s like I told your deputy,” Rachel confirmed. “He was here all day, working beside me.” She had about her an air of innocence, but the way she glanced down, not quite meeting his eyes, made him wonder if she had something to hide.
“And you are sure of that statement.”
Before she had a chance to respond, the sandy-haired man with dark-rimmed glasses in the next cubicle, who had obviously been listening in, slid his chair toward them. “Jim Goldman,” he introduced. “I’m sure he never left the building.” He turned to Rachael saying, “Alex was acting strangely all day, though, wasn’t he, Rach?”
“Not that I noticed, Jim,” she muttered.
“What do you mean by acting strangely?” McQuede asked.
“He seemed tense, excited. He kept glancing at his watch.”
“He always does that,” Rachel said with a wave of her hand and a short laugh. “It’s a nervous habit.”
“But he looked as if he were expecting some kind of news.”
McQuede glanced at Rachel, but she continued to avoid his gaze. Yet something was present in the air, secrets that were yet to be disclosed. Whatever she was hiding, she did not intend to confide in him. McQuede pushed back his chair, saying, “I may want to speak to both of you again.”
As he was leaving the office, he turned toward the sound of quick footsteps behind him. Jim Goldman caught up with him in the hallway.
“Have you thought of something else you want to tell me?”
Goldman glanced nervously behind him. “Mr. Jamison spoke to me confidentially about Alex last week. He’s been considering him for a promotion, but it seems there are…trust issues.”
“Do you know what about?”
“He wasn’t specific. Just wanted to know if I thought he was the best man for the job.”
Goldman lowered his voice, saying, “There’s something else. It’s about Rachael and Alex. I hate to be the one telling tales out of school,” the sandy-haired man said hesitantly, “But, well, there’s been rumors that the two of them have been carrying on.” His light blue eyes glowed as he imparted this juicy bit of gossip. He paused a moment before going on. “I don’t know whether or not it’s important, but I saw Alex making a phone call that morning.”
“When was this?”
“About ten. When I came into the hall, he slipped a cell phone back in his pocket.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
McQuede had checked Mr. Kent’s phone and had found no evidence that a call had been made. But he could have used another, untraceable phone.
McQuede filed this information away in his mind with all the other clues he had gathered. He now saw the possibility that he was dealing with a love triangle gone wrong between Kent, his wife, and pretty, young Rachael. Unless Jim Goldman was nosing in to make Alex Kent look bad either because he wanted that promotion himself or he was in love with Rachael and hoped to rid himself of the competition by sowing distrust.
* * *
McQuede found Sarah Kent sitting up in bed, chest swathed in bandages, a plate of barely touched food before her. With her long blonde hair tied back away from her face, she looked young and vulnerable. McQuede’s heart rebelled against the thought of someone determined to kill her.
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you much,” she said. “It all happened so fast. I heard a knock at the door. I wasn’t expecting company, but I thought it must be one of the neighbors.”
She stopped, aghast. “The minute I opened it I saw a stranger standing on the porch. And then… he pointed that gun at me.” Her voice lowered to a whisper, “And everything went black.”
“And the man was no one you recognized.”
“No, he was a complete stranger.” She gave a little shudder. “You should have seen his eyes, so cold, so threatening. I was so scared!” She drew in a breath. “My first thought was for little Joey. But he was in the other room. Luckily, he didn’t harm him. Just shot at me and left.”
“Is there anything about him you can recall?”
“He had a cap pulled low over his head, but I could tell he had dark hair. And was of medium height. And that smile…I’ll never forget that evil smile on his lips.”
The fact that the shooter hadn’t been more careful to conceal his identity meant that he had intended not to leave a witness. At least one who could talk. Even if he knew about the baby in the next room, he would pose no threat.
“You don’t have any enemies, anyone who might want to harm you?”
“No,” she replied adamantly.
“And your marriage? How is that going?”
“Fine,” she insisted, and she sounded completely sincere. “Alex is a wonderful husband.”
* * *
The old house supposedly being used by drug dealers was last in the row on Vine Street. If not for the fact that it was separated from the other homes by a stretch of trees and foliage that nearly obscured it from view, the dilapidated wooden two-story would have been considered a blight on the neighborhood. McQuede slowed on the path midway and looked back toward the Kent house just visible through the enclosure of trees.
As McQuede crossed the tangled yard he heard the warning bark of a Rottweiler. From behind a fence, the dog bared his teeth and growled. Ignoring him, he pounded on the door. He and his deputy had been called out to this particular house several times to break up complaints of excessive noise and episodes of fights breaking out. A couple in their mid-thirties, the Doogans, had recently purchased the place, but people were always coming and going. They had checked out the rumors of the house being used for drug trafficking, but so far they had not been able to prove their suspicions that they were running a meth lab or some other kind of illegal scheme in this otherwise quiet and respectable neighborhood.
A woman he recognized as Bette Doogan opened the door wearing a bath robe even though it was well past noon. She spoke to him through the half-closed door, tugging at tangled hair. “Never saw anything suspicious,” she responded in answer to his questions. “No, I can’t tell you anything.” Then she called loudly, “Jack!”
A large, burly man with a shaved head suddenly appeared in the doorway beside her. He rested a muscular, tattooed arm on the doorframe. “Why are you here bothering us?” Jack Doogan demanded.
“Just routine questions. I’m sure you’ve heard there was a shooting in the neighborhood.”
“We keep to ourselves.”
“So you didn’t see or hear anything that might help in our investigation?”
Doogan hesitated, stroking his bristly chin. “I did see a man that day lurking around. It set Sam off barking when he passed by our place. When he saw me he took off in a hurry. If you ask me, he was up to no good.”
“What did he look like?”
“He was about medium height, brown hair, all dressed in dark clothes. Average-looking, except I noticed he had a stiff leg, limped a little.”
“What did he do?”
Just walked around, looking at the houses. But he doesn’t live around here.” He straightened indignantly as if putting on airs. The tattoo of a cobra on his beefy arm rippled. “It got me and my wife worried. We moved here because it’s supposed to be a safe neighborhood. We don’t want people like that around, causing trouble.”
“If you spot him again, you let me know,” McQuede said.
For a moment Jack Doogan stared at him in silence, then he said, “Will do,” and slammed the door shut in McQuede’s face.
* * *
MQuede’s deputy Sid followed him into his office. McQuede settled into the chair behind his desk and said, “I just came back from the Doogans.”
“What do you think, Jeff?”
“It’s possible this shooting case could have something to do with them and illegal drug dealing.”
“One of the Kents might have gotten in over their heads,” Sid agreed. “The victim might have become involved in drugs and was afraid to tell her husband.”
“More likely,” McQuede speculated, “Alex Kent was the one buying and possibly even selling drugs to make extra money.”
“Maybe they got to her as a warning to him.”
“Someone who might know more about this is Sammy Ratone,” McQuede said. “I’m going to see him now. Want to come along?”
“No, I’ve got some leads to follow up here,” Sid replied.
* * *
Sammy Ratone, also known as Sammy Rat, had after selling out his casino interests, moved from Las Vegas to Black Mountain. He had become partners with Frank Larsh operating the Drifter bar, which McQuede suspected was a hub of local criminal activity. Sammy sat at one of the booths near the window, nursing a beer.
“Hello, my friend.” He peered at him through eyes shaded by the sunglasses he always wore. “I suppose you’re seeking my help with a case.”
Sammy was as big a player as Doogan, yet he greeted him as an old friend. Sammy was in the know about everything that went on around the area.
McQuede eased himself into the bench across from him. “I do need your assistance. I suppose you’ve heard all about that shooting that took place recently out on Vine.”
“How is Sarah Kent?”
“She survived, but I believe she’s still in danger.”
“From that fancy pants husband of hers, you think?”
“Not necessarily.” McQuede added, “What do you know about Jack and Bette Dugan? They bought the old abandoned house just north of the Kents.”
“Close to where the shooting occurred.” Sammy thought a minute. “Jack’s a man to reckon with.” He shrugged heavy shoulders. “But leave him alone and he’ll leave you alone.”
McQuede gave Sammy a description of the shooter—dark hair, medium build, slight limp.
“Ah, I may know who he is. I heard there’s a guy in town from Vegas matching that very description,” Ratone said. “Arlo Terrance.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
“A freelancer. Does odd jobs here and there.”
“What business could he have here in town?”
Sammy shrugged and turned back to his beer.
“Do you think he could have been hired to shoot Sarah Kent?”
“This Arlo Terrance. He’s bad news.” Sammy leaned his bulky form back against the bench as he watched McQuede through eyes shaded by dark lenses. “I’ve heard he’ll take out anyone for the right fee.”
McQuede thought of the suspicious Doogans who lived down the street, people much more likely to have provoked gangsters on the wrong side of the law. “Think this Arlo Terrance could have made a mistake, went to the wrong address?”
“Anything’s possible.” Ha!” Sammy snorted. “But he’d be a pretty dumb hit man to get the wrong house.”
* * *
McQuede returned to his office. He sank down at his desk, a sharp feeling of discouragement washing over him. His gaze wandered toward the clock which told him evening was fast approaching. He strongly believed Sarah Kent’s life was still on the line and that he was running out of time. He must be missing something.
According to Sammy, Arlo Terrance was a brutal hit man. So who had hired him? An image of Jack Doogan flashed before him and with it an impression that he was a man who did his own dirty work. That sent him back to thinking about Alex Kent, whose motive must be linked to some kind of an illegal deal or possibly a love triangle.
Kent’s co-worker, Jim Goldman’s mention of trust might refer to some kind of crooked dealings within the credit union Kent had gotten involved in.
The way Goldman had rushed right in told him he also might have a strong interest in the lovely Rachael Hawes.
McQuede went back to Alex Kent’s place of business to see what else he could find out. “Alex isn’t here,” Goldman called. “He’s taken the rest of the day off.”
He stepped over to McQuede, saying, “I came in early this morning and overheard Rachel and Alex arguing. Alex stormed out and she left a while later in tears.”
“Do you know what they were fighting about?”
“If the two of them were having an affair, it’s finished. Rachel’s finally come to her senses. I heard Rachael tell him it was over.” He finished proudly, the blue eyes behind the dark-framed glasses gleaming. “I told Rachael she’s done the right thing by breaking it off with him, that she can count on me to be there for her from now on.”
Jim Goldman’s statement made McQuede feel the web was becoming even more tangled. Though it was possible Kent might have planned to get rid of his wife and marry Rachael, it was just as likely Jim Goldman might want to portray Alex in a bad light because he wanted that promotion or was in love with Rachael himself.
* * *
“The wife, they’re going to release her from the hospital tomorrow,” McQuede told Sid. “I think I’ll go on down there and talk to her.” It was important he find out what was going on before she left the hospital and another attempt could be made on her life.
McQuede found Alex Kent in the room with his wife. He paced the floor as if stressed and worried, unable to keep still.
Sarah, the gauze from bandaging visible at the top of her button-down shirt, looked pale and brave. “I’m glad to get out of here, but I’m afraid to go back home. I’m having Mother keep little Joey for a while.”
“We’ll be watching the house,” McQuede said.
“Why can’t you find out who did this?” Alex Kent demanded. His voice was tense and the same frantic look he had noticed earlier came into his eyes, as if he knew something he wasn’t telling. “I’m more convinced than ever that this was a drug deal gone wrong. Whoever shot my wife was sent to get even with those riff-raff down the street. That bullet was obviously meant for one of them.”
“It would be much easier if your wife could identify the suspect.”
McQuede showed Arlo Terrance’s picture to Sarah Kent. “Do you recognize this man?”
She studied the picture. “I’m not sure. As I told you earlier, I didn’t get a very good look at him. It all happened so quickly. And he had a cap pulled low over his eyes.”
“Just take your time and look carefully.”
“How can you expect her to remember anything?” Kent demanded, taking the photo away from her and returning it to McQuede. But not before he caught a vague glimpse of recognition in Kent’s eyes. Maybe his wife didn’t know Arlo Terrance, but for a moment he got the fleeting feeling that Alex Kent did.
“I have to go back to work for a while,” Kent said, looking tense and strained. He stepped forward to kiss his wife. “I’ll be back later,” he said. “Try to get some rest.”
After Kent left, McQuede cautioned, I don’t want you going back in that house, either, Mrs. Kent. Why don’t you go and stay with your mother, too?”
Sarah Kent looked bewildered. “I can’t leave my husband there all alone. I’ll be all right.” With a look of complete trust, she affirmed, “Alex will protect me.”
* * *
Back at the office, McQuede paused a moment to lift his lucky paperweight, watching the colored sand that shifted with every movement. The simple motion often calmed him and helped him to think, but today he kept seeing the image of Sarah Kent lying dead in a pool of blood. Though he and his deputy continued sifting through the Kents background, searching for motive, so far they had failed to find any evidence that would lead to an arrest. He feared for Sarah Kent’s life, but without some kind of proof he was unable to save her.
He heard the ringing of a phone, which Sid hastened to answer.
“Bingo,” Sid called. “One of our tips just paid off. Kent’s banker just called. Alex Kent just requested to make another big withdrawal from the bank. He’s on his way down there now to pick up the money.”
“Tell Mr. Hill to stall him as long as possible.”
* * *
Like a practiced team, McQuede and his deputy sprang into action. The sheriff’s unmarked car pulled in close to the bank and McQuede tensely waited for Alex Kent to come out. Once Kent got into his vehicle, McQuede pulled out on the street and taking great caution followed after him.
In the meantime McQuede had sent Sid in the surveillance van to tail Arlo Terrance. Sid’s radioed voice came from the van parked close to the Drifter bar. ““Terrance is leaving the building now. He’s heading for the back alley.”
Darkness was falling as McQuede trailed Kent to the Drifter bar, then leaped from his car and followed at a distance as Kent ducked into the deserted alleyway. He hid in the shadows and waited.
Soon, Arlo Terrance, wearing a dark coat, limped through the alley toward them. Just as McQuede suspected, Kent had paid him once for the hit on his wife and Terrance must be demanding a second payment to complete the job.
McQuede watched as Kent approached the man in the dark coat. He heard them speaking in low tones. “I want my pay.”
“You’ll get it. All of it, just as promised. Just do as I asked.” McQuede waited until he saw the packet of money exchange hands, then he stepped in, gun raised.
“Nobody move.”
Sid suddenly appeared from the back way out of the Drifter. He rushed forward, immediately apprehending Kent, who stood closest to him, while McQuede started closing in on Arlo Terrance.
With a cry of outrage, Arlo Terrance turned and darted away down the alley. McQuede, drawing his gun, followed in rapid pursuit.
McQuede caught up with him, and the two of them struggled. McQuede punched Terrance in the jaw and he reeled back against the rock wall of the alleyway. Then in one swift, practiced motion, the hit man leaped at McQuede with unleashed fury, pushed him hard, and knocked the gun from his hand.
Quick as a flash of lightning, Terrance drew a weapon from the pocket of his coat and aimed it at McQuede.
McQuede stood staring into cold, gray eyes and the barrel of the gun that had shot Sarah Kent. He saw the evil smile spread slowly across his face. How many had Arlo Terrance killed? Fury rose in him. No matter the number, McQuede didn’t plan to be another notch on his belt.
McQuede lowered his head and rushed at Terrance, taking him by surprise. Terrance fell under the force of McQuede’s weight. The two of them grappled for the gun, which was just out of McQuede’s reach.
Just at that moment Sid came rushing up and together they subdued him. McQuede cuffed Arlo Terrance, then brought him back around to where Alex Kent stood looking stunned while Sid read the men their rights.
“This--this isn’t what it seems,” Alex Kent protested. “I was trying to prevent—I was trying to make things right.”
“You can tell your story down at the station.” McQuede didn’t need a full confession to know what had happened. Alex Kent had tried to cancel the hit on his wife, but Arlo Terrance wanted the rest of the money so he was determined to complete the job he had been hired to do.
At that moment McQuede realized because of the talk he had with Jim Goldman this afternoon that Kent’s plans to free himself from his wife and marry Rachael had gone up in smoke. And possibly Kent, seeing the reality of what he had done, truly regretted his attempt to kill his wife in the first place.
“Does she have to know?” Alex Kent gave an anguished cry. He looked stricken, as if he suddenly realized that he had lost everything—his wife, his child, and now faced a long term in prison.
As McQuede ushered Kent into the patrol car, Sid snatched the packet of money from Arlo Terrance to hold as evidence.
* * *
The next morning McQuede stopped to see Aunt Mattie. “If not for you, I’d never have solved the case,” he said as she brought in their coffee. Late yesterday evening I caught Alex Kent trying to pay off the hit man.”
“So it was the husband all along, just as I suspected.” Mattie lifted one dark brow. “He must have been desperate to rid himself of his wife if he was offering him more money to complete the job he hadn’t finished.”
“Just the opposite,” McQuede replied. “It was a comment Alex Kent made in the hospital about wanting to turn back the clock that made me realize that Kent actually regretted his decision. Kent was living in a dream world. People like him who have led sheltered lives have no idea what it is like to really be responsible for murder. The affair with Rachel was over. When he saw his wife lying on the floor in a pool of blood, Kent came face to face with the stark reality of what he’d set in motion. The hit man had botched the job, but Kent knew he’d be back. And he had to stop him. Kent wanted his old life back.”
“What are you telling me?” Mattie asked, astounded. “That he was attempting to give Arlo Terrance money, just like the publisher sent me, to bribe him not to go through with the contract?”
“That’s exactly right. Alex Kent was trying to offer the hit man a kill fee.”
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AN ICY DEATH
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A DEAL ON A HANDSHAKE
