“Fine,” Garrett said. He let them in and shut the door behind them. Michael stood like a rock next to the door, watching.
“I don’t have a lawyer anymore, but I still don’t have to talk to you.”
“No, you don’t. Would you mind if I sit down? My leg is killing me.”
He stared at the bandage around her calf, then motioned for her to sit on the couch. She took the chair instead.
“How’d you get hurt?”
“Like you don’t know,” Kara said.
“Why don’t you tell me?”
Kara weighed giving him something, and decided that building a rapport would go a long way. She didn’t have to like him.
“Your wife—I still can’t believe you married that woman, she is a piece of work—shot Matt and me with a tranquilizer. By the way, she left one of the darts behind, which wasreallyhelpful for forensics to match with the other victims. But that’s neither here nor there.”
“Your coffee was poisoned,” Michael said from the door.
“My coffee?” Kara said. “Damn.” She almost forgot that she’d felt ill before the dart hit her. “How?”
“The mugs.” Michael glared at Garrett. Garrett averted his gaze back to Kara.
“Not me,” Garrett said.
But he knew. He had to have known. She didn’t say that. Instead, she said, “Your wife drove us across state lines to an abandoned cannery in Clinch County, Georgia—a place I had never heard of. We woke up about twenty hours later. Matt in a break room, me in an elevator. Long story short, it took us twenty-four hours to get ourselves out of the building.” She motioned to her leg. “I did that running across the flooded factory floor when Matt fell from one of the sabotaged catwalks. By then, we knew that there were booby traps all over the place, so we were super observant, tripped a few on purpose, and then bypassed the net of bowling balls. Lucky there.”
He didn’t comment. Did he look impressed? She thought so.
“Did you know that your wife kidnapped a woman and her son in order to blackmail a lawyer into helping get you out on bail?”
“That’s on her, not me,” he said.
“You know what I think? I think it’sallon her. Yes, you were a willing and able participant. But she’s the psychopath.”
“Audrey is not a psychopath,” he said.
“She’s perfectly aware that her actions are crimes and she does them anyway.”
Garrett didn’t comment. He also didn’t turn away.
“Do I look like your ex-girlfriend Becca?”
He flinched, shrugged. “Not really.”
“I don’t think so either,” Kara said. “Becca was very cute. Really pretty. Smart. Beyond the superficial hair and eye color, blonde and blue. Oh, and she was short, like me. She would have been thirty now, like you.”
“Do you have a point?”
“Do you know what happened to her?”
“The other fed has this ridiculous theory that Audrey killed her.”
“You mean Clara. Clara Dolan.”
“That’s what the female fed said. But I think she was pulling a name out of her ass.”
“Well, actually, Dr. Jones is right about Clara. Audrey. Your lawyer knew her as Amber. She was Hope at the resort. I wonder what name she’ll use next?”
