Game of Fear (Montgomery Justice #3)(53)

“God, I hate that bastard.”

Gabe stormed down the stairs, barely remembering to emphasize his limp. Deb raced to keep up.

“Forget him,” she whispered. “He’s blowing smoke. He just arrived a few minutes ago and doesn’t know about the recording.”

Gabe stopped. “What recording?”

“I called 9-1-1, then left the line open. The dispatcher has the whole thing recorded. I might take risks, but I’m not stupid.”

Hmm. Evidence had been disappearing a lot from the sheriff’s office lately. At least, if he nabbed it today, they couldn’t blame it on Wexler. He wasn’t there.

Crap. Wexler.

He turned her in his arms. “Deb?”

She met his gaze and her eyes widened. “I’m not going to like what you have to say, am I?”

Her entire body had gone taut with tension.

No way to soften the truth. “Neil called. A body was found off I-25 between here and Colorado Springs.”

Her face went gray. She shoved him away and wrapped her arms around her body. She shook her head, again and again. “No. It’s not Ashley. It can’t be.”

Gabe’s eyelids burned as he pulled Deb’s rigid body close. She didn’t break down. She didn’t cry. She was in shock.

He held her tight, knowing all he could do was be there for her.

“Is it her? Is it Ashley?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I don’t know, Deb. I just don’t know.”




The Warden leaned back in his chair and looked across his wide expanse of desk at the man standing there, flanked by two guards. “Niko, it has come to my attention that you are spending an inordinate amount of time talking with Ashley Lansing. This disturbs me. I don’t have reason to suspect your motives. Do I?”

“No, sir.” Niko’s face was like stone, giving nothing away. “I am trying to keep her on track. Whenever she seems to slow down, I remind her of the stakes. Her performance usually improves immediately after.”

The Warden picked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “I see. So your undue interest in her has nothing to do with her striking resemblance to another girl who caught your attention eight years ago?”

The Warden watched and caught the momentary flicker in Niko’s eyes. So the man had a weakness. It could not be allowed to interfere with the plans.

“No, sir. She does resemble Shannon, but I would simply prefer not to lose another valuable asset. You gave me the job of controlling her, and I’m doing it. She’s a brilliant programmer. Her death would not help us right now.”

The Warden considered that. The man had a point, but sentiment could not be permitted in his team. “I see myself as a fair man, Niko. Floyd was beaten for talking too much to Ashley Lansing. It only seems fitting for you to share that fate. As a reminder that you are here to guard and control, no more. Step out of line, and the rules apply to you.”

The Warden stood. “Gentlemen, see that your colleague gets the message very clearly.”

The guards grabbed Niko’s arms. Hatred flared in his eyes, but not the fear the Warden had hoped to see. How unfortunate.

“Take him away.” The Warden stroked his chin. “And watch the girl. Closely. She needs to learn exactly who holds the key to her living . . . or dying.”




Gabe pressed on the gas, mentally urging the slow-moving traffic forward. They’d gotten caught up in rush hour, though at least they were moving south, away from downtown, instead of north on I-25. Horns honked around them.

Inside, the car was silent.

He glanced over at Deb. Her face was hard, determined, stoic. The muscle just below her jaw throbbed, and her eyes were rimmed red, not from crying but from holding back. Agitation seemed to pulse from every pore, and her legs bounced in an unconscious release of nerves.

“Almost there.”

She gave him a quick nod, and he exited the freeway to the crime scene location. Up ahead, yellow tape marred the scenic foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Several vehicles surrounded the cordoned-off area, including a crime scene investigation vehicle, its white boxy silhouette obvious.

Deb’s knuckles whitened as they pulled up. Neil met the car.

“Ms. Lansing,” he said politely. “We still don’t have an identification.”

They ducked under the barrier and Neil led them toward an area where several technicians processed the scene, one taking photographs, the other collecting evidence.

Deb didn’t hesitate. She rushed toward the shallow grave. “Please, God, don’t be Ashley.”

Neil grabbed Deb by the arm. “You can’t go any closer. You’ll contaminate the scene. They’re still marking evidence and shooting stills. Not to mention taking molds of shoe and tire prints. This is a huge area to process.”

The winter grass shifted in the wind, but it couldn’t hide the coppery stench. Deb gagged, all color leaching from her cheeks. “Then why did I come?”

Wexler held out a photo. “To start with, can you identify your sister from this?”

Deb grabbed the picture and viewed the nude body. “Where’s the face? Her hair? Why is the photo cropped just below her neck like that? Let me see down there. How am I supposed to know if it’s Ashley?”

“You don’t want to view the body if you don’t have to, Ms. Lansing. We haven’t found her head. Or her hands,” Neil muttered, barely able to look at her.