At Wits' End - Kenzie Reed Page 0,108

of the homeowners’ association of the subdivision in Idaho received a call from Pamela, who had no authorization to contact him, and he was very annoyed at being harassed. He’s considering filing a complaint. You’re going to instruct her to back off, or she’ll be served with papers.”

That’s so ridiculous I burst into laughter. “Are you serious with this? Please, try to win against Pamela in court. It’d be a first.”

He continues talking, grinding his words out angrily. “Mr. Ferguson was kind enough to send over the most recent copy of the company’s bank statements, and I have forwarded those emails to your families. The statements show that they are financially solvent. That is all you’re going to get. Your harassment is at risk of tanking a very lucrative deal and costing hundreds of contractors their jobs, to say nothing of millions of dollars of property tax that would benefit this region. Your families’ names are tied to this, and it’s not going to look good for them. I don’t want to hear from you or speak to you again, other than having you show up and sign off tomorrow.”

He stands up. “You may go.” He gestures at the door.

“Holy frijoles. You actually thought any of that would work on me? On Pamela?” Shaking my head, I stand up.

My phone bleeps with the text message sound I assigned to Donovan. “Endless Love.” I know, cheesy.

I’ll just talk to him when I get home. I’m only about fifteen minutes away. I’m so mad right now I can’t even form words.

I stomp out of the office building, hop in my car, and tap out a quick message.

I’ve only been driving for a few minutes when my front right tire starts wobbling alarmingly. I step on the brakes, and it’s like stepping on a sponge. The brake pedal sinks to the floor. By a stroke of incredible good luck, I’m driving up a hill when that happens, so my car isn’t going too fast. I quickly head into a bank of bushes, and slam into the side of the hill. The seatbelt tightens, and the airbag explodes in my face.

There’s a chemical smell in the air. My ears ring, and my chest throbs, and my body’s rigid with fright.

The car’s wheels are still spinning, and my heart pounds with panic. Other than a bleeding lip and an aching shoulder, I seem to be mostly okay. When the airbag deflates, I turn the ignition off, grab my purse, and leap out of the car.

A car is screeching towards me, and my heart speeds up even faster. Murray? One of Mr. Ferguson’s goons? Is that them coming to finish the job? I bolt across the road and duck behind a tree, until I see that it’s Donovan, driving like a madman. He slams to a halt next to my crashed car just as I burst out from behind the tree.

“Here! I’m here!”

“Oh my God. Don’t scare me like that.” He grabs me and hugs me so hard I groan in protest.

“Ouch! My shoulder hurts, Donovan. I’m fine, I swear,” I say into his broad chest. He releases me quickly.

I step back and turn to look at my car, shaking my head. “My brakes just suddenly stopped working and my front tire was wobbling. I mean, you got me this car, what, like, three months ago? Brand new? I swear someone cut my brakes and loosened my wheel.”

“Then someone is a dead man.” Donovan’s eyes blaze with anger. He runs his hands up my arms, pats my shoulders, peers into my eyes. “Are you all right? Do you know where you are right now? What year is it?”

“I’m standing on a road in Greenvale being felt up by my husband. Not that I’m objecting. And it’s 2021. Why were you rushing here?”

He scowls at the car. “I called you at the winery, and the girl who answered the phone said you’d rushed out of the office to meet Murray, and I just had a bad feeling. I just got a report from my investigator. Mr. Ferguson’s real name is Lukas Goleb. He did time in prison in Slovenia, for racketeering and construction fraud. Only got out a couple of years ago, and it’s not quite clear why he was allowed to emigrate to the U.S. and change his name, but I suspect bribes. The Sunny Acres subdivision, in Idaho? Pamela gave me the contact info for the president of the homeowners’ association. After she talked to