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“We can protect you,” Soren said. “Somehow. We’ll figure it out.”
“Good. Otherwise, I’m going to be the one on the run,” Cutter said.
* * *
Sammie and Finley were in the living room when we arrived back at the house. Finley had fallen asleep on the couch, but Sammie was awake, sitting in an armchair staring into the fireplace. She startled when we came in, clearly lost in thought, but sprang to her feet when she saw we had a guest with us.
“Are you all right? I’ve been worried. You were gone so long,” Sammie said, sounding breathless.
Finley stirred and then woke, sitting up to see what was happening.
“We have something to tell you,” Soren said. “You better sit back down.”
Sammie did as suggested, as did Cutter, taking a spot at the end of the couch where Finley had been napping.
“Okay, I’m sitting,” Sammie said. “What’s going on?”
“This is Dan Cutter,” I said. “He’s a private detective hired by the Underwoods.”
All color drained from Sammie’s face. “Okay.”
“He’s not going to hurt you.” I crossed over to perch on the wide arm of the chair. “It’s a long explanation, but he wasn’t given all the information about why he was looking for you.”
Soren had gone to the bar and poured our guest a whiskey. After he delivered it to Cutter, my brother took the chair next to Finley and looked over at me. “You want to tell her?”
I nodded, turning to Sammie. “This is going to come as a shock. I don’t know how to say it, other than to just spit it out. John’s still alive. The bullet wound didn’t kill him.”
Sammie went very still, other than her pupils dilating. She clasped a hand over her opposite wrist, as if to take her own pulse. “A-alive? That’s impossible. He was dead. I saw him die.”
“Nope, he’s alive,” Cutter said. “Very much alive. Still a bastard, as far as I can tell.”
“The obituary was fake,” I said. “We think, anyway, but we need you to confirm that it’s him on the voicemail he left for Cutter yesterday.”
Cutter had taken his phone out of his pocket and cued up the voicemail while we were talking. He now set his phone on the coffee table. “It’s ready when you are.”
Sammie drew in a deep breath and slipped a clammy hand into mine. “Go ahead.”
Cutter pushed Play, and a rough voice came from the speaker.
“I’ve had about enough of your incompetence. We’ve waited long enough. If you don’t have news within a week, we’ll make sure you regret betraying us. And it will be a painful death, you hear me?”
Sammie trembled, and her breathing hitched. “That’s him. I can’t believe it. That’s him.”
“They faked his death,” I said, “to fool you into thinking you killed him.”
“That’s why there was nothing about it in the papers,” Sammie said, sounding as though she was talking more to herself than anyone else. “Not because they were hiding it but because he was alive. The fake obituary was meant for me—so I would think he’d died and come home to confess. If I had, he’d have grabbed me and done God knows what. John thought I’d be susceptible to guilt, but he didn’t understand the extent I would go to protect Chloe.”
“But this means you’re not guilty of anything,” Finley said. “You don’t have to hide any longer.”
“Except that he’s alive and wants me found so he can finish off the job he started,” Sammie said. “I’ll never be free as long as he and his family are around.”
“Yes, but this gives us a fighting chance,” I said. “We know that whatever happens next, it’s not going to involve prison time. All we have to do is trap him and turn him in to the police.”
“How are we going to do that?” Sammie asked.
“I have an idea,” Soren said. “I think we should lure him out here and get him on video threatening Sammie. She can goad him into confessing to everything.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It seems dangerous. Wouldn’t it be better just to call the police? We have the voicemail proving he’s alive.”
