Overkill(91)

But Eban’s attention immediately reverted to Cal. “I took the precautionary measure of going to your workplaces today and putting a transmitter—courtesy of Simply Simon, who keeps a warehouse stocked with toys like that—on each of your cars. What’s funny…” He stopped to laugh. “I was doing that during our phone call when I offered to send a limo for you. You declined so graciously, Cal.”

His voice changed to one of feminine sweetness. ‘Thanks all the same, Eban, but Theo and I can handle our own transportation.’ You were downright syrupy. But you were lying through your teeth. You never intended to fly to Belize with me.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Cal said.

Eban snapped his fingers. “I bet you feared that you wouldn’t come back from that trip. You were afraid that you and Theo would fall victim to a violent crime, or get eaten by a jaguar in the jungle, or drown in the Caribbean. Did the thought cross your mind that the two of you might never return from one of our jaunts?”

Cal only glared.

“After all we’ve meant to each other, Cal, how could you think that I might arrange a fatality? Although,” Eban said, dragging out the word, “your demises would have been convenient because, let’s face it, you do—did—pose a threat to the quality of my future.”

Cal still said nothing.

“Anyhow,” Eban continued, “you picked up Theo right on schedule. So far, so good. But you didn’t steer toward the airfield. No, you sped off in the opposition direction. I can’t tell you how much that disappointed me. My two best friends, cutting out on me.”

He shook his head in sadness, then shrugged. “The transmitter led me right to you. I parked my car next to yours there among the trees at the turnoff. Hell of a trek to this house, though, what with the fog and all. But I’ve got excellent night vision.”

Suddenly, his affable posturing vanished. His eyes narrowed on Cal with malice. “You fucking traitor. Did your Pollyanna wife talk you into betraying me? Hasn’t she realized yet that behind your sexy smile and bedroom eyes you’re nothing but white trash? She—”

“Shut up about my wife.”

“Or what? You’re gonna engage me in fisticuffs?”

“You’re going to burn, Eban.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Dollface there thought she had it all figured out. Didn’t you, Ms. Lennon?” He looked at Kate. “State prosecutor,” he scoffed.

With his free hand, he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out what appeared to Zach be a scrap of black cloth. But then Eban dangled it, and Zach realized it was a thong panty.

“You’re nothing but pussy,” Eban said to Kate. “Strutting through the halls of justice in your stilettos, trying to do a man’s job. Sorry, baby, your little project failed. You underestimated me.” He balled up the thong and threw it at her, striking her in the face with it.

She didn’t flinch. She let the thong drop into her lap. Looking him squarely in the eye, she said, “Yes, Mr. Clarke, I egregiously underestimated you.”

“She speaks!” he chortled. “Using big words, too.”

“I underestimated your depravity,” she said. “However, I do understand why you exploit it with such enthusiasm. It’s all you’ve got. Without it, you’d be a waste of the space you occupy. You’d be a speck.”

Zach wanted to cheer her. Without a qualm, she was facing down a monster. Inside, she might have been quaking in terror, but outwardly her demeanor remained cool. Her voice was low-pitched, definitive, tinged with scorn.

However this ended, she had achieved her goal. She might never prosecute Eban Clarke in court, but, by showing no fear of him, she had reduced him to insignificance. It was the best offensive play she could have devised.

The affront wasn’t lost on Eban. His face had turned florid.

“She’s right,” Cal said. “You’re a waste of space. All posturing and guff. I can’t believe I ever bought into your bullshit.”

“You never bought a goddamn thing,” Eban sneered. “I paid your way, and I don’t remember you ever griping about my generosity.”

“Generosity? That’s a laugh. Anything you ever did, you did for you.”

Eban pretended to ponder that, then sighed theatrically. “Too true.”

“What thrill did you get out of killing Theo?” Cal said, his voice cracking. “Harmless Theo? For years he licked your boots. He tried so hard to please you, to get one kind word from you, and you killed him! How could you do it?”

“Well, I pulled the trigger. Like this.”

Zach saw it coming but was helpless to prevent it. Eban couldn’t have missed if he’d tried. Cal was too close, his torso too large a target. His arms flailed as the bullet struck, and he dropped.

Kate shouted in outrage and horror, “No!”

Eban swung the pistol toward her, but Zach was already on him, having lurched from the chair just as he’d fired on Cal. He grabbed Eban’s right arm and redirected the lethal apparatus away from Kate and toward the ceiling. The next burst of gunfire shattered the globes of the chandelier. Glass rained down.

Eban caught a shard. He yelped and raised his left hand to his cheek. Zach wrapped both hands around the encased barrel of the pistol and angled it away from himself, away from Kate, as he rammed his shoulder into Eban’s middle like he would a tackling dummy. Digging in, he pushed and kept going until Eban lost his footing and fell backward. His head banged hard against the granite of the wet bar.