unloaded.”
She handed me her purse. It was like holding a brick. I peeked inside and saw Trey’s H& snuggled in the red velvet lining, the magazine nestled beside it.
I closed it back up. “Why?”
“Why did I take it? Or why did I bring it back?”
“Both.”
She sighed. “You won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“Very well. I had a vision.”
I stared at her. “A what?”
“It was horrible—blood everywhere, and Trey…” She trailed off, one pale hand trembling at her temple. “All I could think about was what happened last time, when he shot that man at the convenience store. Do you know that story?”
I folded my arms. “I don’t see—”
“The vision wasn’t clear, but I could tell he was angry, and that he was very close to hurting someone, just like then. And I knew I had to stop it from happening.”
“So you decided to steal his weapon?”
She ignored me. “Only once I got home, I realized I might have misinterpreted the vision. So I laid out the cards. And there it was—Justice. And I knew then that no matter what, he’d be all right, being of pure heart. So I brought the gun back.”
She laid the story out so simply, as if this happened to everyone all the time. Visions, cards, thievery, pure hearts. I was at a loss.
“You went in his computer.”
“I sent him an e-mail, to explain. Didn’t he read it?”
“No, he didn’t read it! There was a freaking key logger…” I rubbed my temples. Why was I explaining this to her? “Never mind. Just tell me—how did you get on the property tonight with that in your purse?”
She waved her hand dismissively, as if that were the dumbest question ever. “I bribed the person in the van, the curly-haired one? Two thousand dollars.” She made a face. “Terribly rude young man. But he knows how to bargain, I’ll give him that.”
***
Trey sent me a message about an hour later, telling me to meet him on the deck behind the Beaumonts’ cabin. I found him standing at the railing, his hands resting lightly on the white wood, one finger tap-tap-tapping a steady rhythm.
I handed him the purse. “Your girlfriend is a fucking lunatic—I’ll explain why later. Other than that, I have nothing to report.”
Trey looked inside the purse and his jaw clenched. “How did she get past security with this?”
“She waved two thousand dollars at Steve Simpson and he let her through. When I see him again, I am going to strangle him with his own hair.”
“This is what happens when people break the rules. I try to explain this, but nobody listens.”
He checked the gun—it was unloaded. The secondary magazine was full, but unengaged. Satisfied, he handed the purse back to me. “Take this to the suite, please, and secure it in the safe. I’ll use the one you provided for the rest of the night.”
He looked exhausted. I imagined his every sinew pulled tight, every nerve stretched thin. I put a hand on his shoulder and the muscle tensed beneath my palm.
“How’s Charley?”
“She’s resting. One of the guests gave her a tranquilizer.”
Nothing like a classy Schedule IV opiate to make things all better, I thought. “What happened?”
“She said she got dizzy because she hadn’t eaten and that Jake grabbed her to steady her.”
“Bullshit! Jake said something to her, and it upset her so much that she fainted. She can’t blame that on an empty stomach.”
I leaned on the railing beside Trey. In the distance, the sun set in a slow melt of honey and amber. I kicked my shoes off and wiggled my toes. The wood under my stocking feet felt cool and moist.
“What happened to Jake?”
“Mark had him thrown off the premises.”
“And that’s it?”
The tap-tapping of Trey’s finger on the wood railing intensified.
“Look,” I said, “something’s up and nobody’s talking, not Charley, and especially not Mark.”
“Mark and Landon are heading back to the reception. Charley’s staying in the cabin.”
“She shouldn’t be left alone, not with Jake lurking about.”
“Mark asked me to stay with her. Charley wants the cabin empty, however, so I’m supposed to wait here until she goes to sleep.”
He looked across the lake as he spoke, the polished water a darkening void before him. And suddenly nothing made sense, nothing in the whole world, and all I wanted to do was get out of my ridiculous dress and into some jeans.
And I especially wanted to lose the heavy cargo in the spangled purse. One gun was protection, but two was a burden. Dexter was right—guns aren’t