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“You killed her,” I say. “You finally struck it rich, and she showed up, and there’d be no way to hide that from her. No way to be sure, either, that she wouldn’t go home and shoot her mouth off, telling people what you found.”
“Tellingthem? Selling my claim, you mean.” He stops and pulls back. “I mean, maybe she’d have sold it. I have no idea. That’s why I didn’t tell her where I was. I didn’t trust her. But I didn’t kill her either.”
“You suspected she’d sell you out. That makes more sense. She’d see the mine and go home and find someone to buy it. That’s why she came out. Not for a reunion, but to spy on you, see what you were up to. Something you did or said made hersuspect you’d finally hit it big, and she hacked your computer and found those three sets of coordinates. She came out and pretended to just be here to surprise you, but you knew better. You started the reunion—had sex or were getting ready for sex—and you stabbed her while she was half dressed. In your panic to search her pockets, you missed the napkin with the coordinates, which came out when you were burying her.”
“Never happened.”
“No?”
He crosses his arms. “Nope.”
“You are under arrest for the murder of your wife. You have the right to retain and instruct counsel.”
Mark lunges at me. I’m ready for it, and I kick him, sending him toppling back. He rights himself and springs again, and I hit him with the gun barrel.
“Do you want me to shoot you?” I say. “Because I’m not. You are going to stand trial—”
He kicks, and I don’t quite get out of the way in time. His boot connects with my shin. That stings, but I’d be fine if I didn’t stagger back; something about the move makes pain rip through my side, reminding me that I’d fallen off the mountainside twenty minutes ago.
When my side stitches, Mark takes advantage and tries to shove me. Not a shove backward, where I’d just fall onto my ass—no, he shoves from my left side to push me over the edge. That’s where he screws up. In trying to kill me, he misses the obvious opportunity to knock me out of the way. It’s an awkward push that I easily brace against and use to duck out of his reach.
I raise my gun, the barrel less than a foot from his face. “Get back.”
“Or what? You’ll shoot me?” He sneers. “We both know youaren’t doing that,Detective.You think I’m fooled for a second? That I actually think you’re a cop?”
I lock down my expression. “You want my ID? Put your hands on your head, and I’ll get it out.”
“You know what I mean. You’re not a real cop. You’re a quota-filler. A woman and a minority. That’s two boxes checked off. Please don’t tell me you actually think you got the job because you deserve it.”
I laugh. That’s not fake—I can’t help it—and his face darkens.
“Do you honestly expect that to work?” I say. “You think I haven’t heard that five dozen times, from five dozen guys who all thought it was going to make me break down in tears? Oh my God, you’re right. I’m a fraud!” I look him in the eye. “Or is it supposed to make me mad. Piss me off enough to shoot you. If that’s what you want, Mark, you’re going to have to do a whole lot better.”
“You think I’m taunting you? Death by cop?” He snorts. “Do I seem distraught, Detective? You won’t shoot me. You won’t even take me in.” He waves down toward Gunnar. “If that’s your partner, he’s out of commission. If your partner is the guy you pretended was your husband, I don’t see him.” He makes a show of shading his eyes and scanning the forest. “Nope, no sign of backup. That means you’re alone, and there’s no way a little thing like you is taking me in without shooting me. So let’s make this easy. You’re going to let me go, and I’m going to forget all about this.”
I only shake my head.
“That’s not an offer,” he says. “I’m telling you what I’m going to do. I’m going to walk away, and I’m not going to hurt you. Not going to shove you off this cliff like I did to Bruno. Not going to crack you over the head like I did to that chick. Not going to stab you and let you bleed out, like I did to mydouble-crossing bitch wife. You should have seen the way she looked at me, theshockon her face. Why, Mark.Why?Well, no, she didn’t say ‘Mark’ because that’s obviously not my real name, but she did cry and beg—”
“Still not shooting you. Also, it’s getting late, so if we can wrap this up, please?”
He lunges at me. I back out of his reach.
“Nope, not shooting you for that either.” I whistle. “Hey! I could use a bit of help here! He’s unarmed. Biggest problem is that he won’t stop talking.”
Mark swings at me. I duck it and backpedal again. Then a sound comes from below. Not Yolanda’s shout but a familiar birdcall.
My laugh drifts down the mountainside. “’Bout time you showed up.”
“Heard the firecrackers,” Dalton’s voice drawls from trees below. Then he appears. “Thought you were having fun without me.”
“She is,” Anders says as he steps out. “Can’t you tell?”
“Let’s try this again,” I say to Mark as he stares down at the two men. “You are under arrest for the murder of your wife. You have the right—”
Mark runs at me. I back up, but at the last second he veers. He jumps. It’s not a plunge-to-the-death. It’s a leap, him aiming to jump down past the rock and land on the softer slope below.
“Eric!” I shout.
