When She Dreams (Burning Cove #6)(65)

“Either way, it worked.”

He wasn’t going to push her on the subject. She relaxed a little and shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat.

“Okay, so maybe Oxlade didn’t murder Jennaway,” she said. “Do you think he killed Nevins because she was blackmailing him over his connection to the Jennaway death?”

“If she was threatening his professional reputation, he definitely had motive—and probably means. He’s a doctor, after all. He knows a lot about drugs, and he knows how to obtain them.”

“If he didn’t murder Jennaway, we’re back to square one,” Maggie said, frustrated.

“No. The pot has been stirred and Oxlade is about to piss in it.”

“By leaving in the middle of the night?”

“It will be interesting to see how the Guilfoyles react tomorrow when they discover he’s gone.”

“They won’t be happy,” Maggie said. “But you and I are going to have another problem. Tomorrow is the last day of the conference. There’s a farewell cocktail party in the evening, and that’s the end. We won’t have any excuse for staying on to investigate.”

“I don’t think we’re going to need an excuse,” Sam said.

She shot him a quick, searching look. She still couldn’t make out his expression, but once again there was no mistaking the conviction in his words.

“What makes you so sure?” she asked.

“The Guilfoyles are trying to build an impressive business, but there are major cracks in the foundation. Lies. Murder. Blackmail. Drugs. Sooner or later it’s all going to fall apart. I’m betting on sooner.”

“Is that your intuition talking?”

“It is.”





Chapter 38




Oxlade checked the cap on the cologne bottle, making sure it was tightly fastened before he positioned it securely in the leather Dopp kit.

In a few more minutes he would be in the car and heading for L.A. Safe. That was all that mattered now, getting away from the Institute. The panic that Margaret Lodge had triggered was getting worse. His heart was racing and his hands were trembling so badly he could barely get the Dopp kit closed.

From the start he had been worried about the arrangement with the two con artists who called themselves Guilfoyles these days, but he had been desperate to continue his experiments. They had offered him what he needed to complete his research: an unlimited pool of test subjects. When he discovered Margaret Lodge on the opening night of the reception and realized he might be able to resume his experiments on her, he was certain the risks were worthwhile. It had all seemed too good to be true—and, of course, it was.

Like a gullible fool he had fallen for the Guilfoyles’ lures. He, of all people, should have known better than to get involved with them again.

He sensed a presence in the bathroom doorway behind him and stopped breathing. He looked up from the shaving kit. His shocked gaze locked with that of the figure reflected in the mirror over the sink.

“What are you doing here?” he squeaked.

The hammer slammed into the back of his skull. The pain exploded through him and then there was nothing. He never felt the next three entirely unnecessary blows.



* * *





The killer stared at the body on the floor, fascinated. So much blood. It was everywhere—the tiles, the sink, the mirror. The mess was . . . unexpected.

The killer stopped focusing on the bloody scene and started searching for the drug. Oxlade had almost finished with the packing. He would have made certain the enhancer was secured, most likely in one of the suitcases.

A few minutes later panic set in. Both suitcases had been dragged out of the car and were now open on the living room floor. There was no sign of the enhancer.

The killer returned to the bathroom and tried to think logically. Oxlade had been about to pack the Dopp kit. He had saved it for last. But the suitcases had already been closed and latched. That indicated Oxlade hadn’t planned to put the shaving kit in one of them. Why pack it separately?

The killer stepped over the body, opened the shaving kit, and examined the contents for a moment.

The cologne bottle.

The killer unscrewed the cap, sniffed cautiously, and smiled. No scent.

Cologne bottle safely tucked into a coat pocket, the killer turned to leave—and stopped. The partial imprint of a shoe was clearly etched into one crimson blob on the floor.

A towel took care of the problem. The last of the rain would muddy any prints left on the ground outside the villa.

The killer turned off all the lights on the way out. Oxlade would not be found until mid-morning, when someone at the Institute finally noticed he had not arrived to give the farewell lecture.





Chapter 39




I ’ve been thinking about what almost happened to you tonight,” Maggie said.

They were in her room. Sam lounged in a chair, legs outstretched, and watched her pace. They had been discussing how the Guilfoyles might deal with the bad publicity that would strike the Institute when they and everyone else discovered that Oxlade had vanished.

Without warning Maggie had abruptly reverted to the topic of the near miss in the parking lot. Sam reminded himself she had a tendency to take unpredictable turns at a high rate of speed.