She paused. When she did, he heard the faint sound of a furnace turning on, warming the cool morning. Furnace meant basement.

He motioned to Anderson and mouthed “basement.” The bodyguard lumbered off.

Chandler realized the line had stayed quiet. “Miss Larsen?”

“You’re not even going to pretend you have no idea who I’m talking about?”

Chandler inwardly cursed. He’d been paying too much attention to that furnace to react properly to her accusation about Gunderson and Gray. He should deny it, and yet . . . Well, he hadn’t gotten to where he was by doing what he should. Especially when that instinct to deny was really just his old CIA training. It worked most times, but a smart and independent man also had to know when to give a little. Just a little.

“I know who Mr. Gunderson is,” he said carefully. “And I know that Mr. Gray contacted Will, who called me about it. He was concerned. I told him to take care of it. Naturally, I only meant for him to speak to Mr. Gray, and if he did more, that’s regrettable, but hardly my fault.”

“It was Evans who wanted to get close to me, wasn’t it? You disagreed—like when you disagreed with how he wanted to handle Peter’s discovery.”

“That was unfortunate.” Chandler paused. Play the string out a little and then stop it short. Keep the fish on the line while the shark moved in. “I didn’t kill Peter, though. Again, I merely told Will to take care of it. When I learned of the deaths, I confronted Will. I knew what had happened. They’d argued and there was an accident. The girl came in. Will panicked and killed her. He denied it, but the fact that he staged the scene to look like the work of your parents sealed the matter.”

“How?”

“My dear girl. You do know his field of expertise, do you not? Sociopaths. He followed the murders very closely. Even discussed it with friends on the police force, which is how he knew details that were never made public. He was fascinated by sociopathy. Which is why he was fascinated by you.”

A moment of silence as she worked it out. “Because I could, potentially, be what MKULTRA was searching for. The perfect assassin. I have the genes but not the experience. I’m a blank slate for his experiments. And I’m not currently serving a life sentence.”

“That is an advantage.”

“You let him build a relationship with me, because you were intrigued by his theories. You still are.”

“Possibly. Is that what you’re offering, Miss Larsen? Yourself as a guinea pig?”

“Not sure I have much choice.” She went quiet for a moment. “You said Evans denied it. But he ultimately confessed?”

Chandler hesitated only a split-second before smoothly lying. “Yes, he confessed. To me, acting as his doctor, not his friend, though, which meant I wasn’t at liberty to reveal it. With his death, that changes. I have proof—”

A gunshot sounded in the basement.

“What the—?” She shrieked. “You—you bastard!”

Chandler smiled. “Calm down, Miss Larsen.”

“I’m negotiating with you in good faith, you son of a bitch, and you sent your lackey down here to shoot me. All I have to do is hit the send button. It only takes one second.”

“It was a mistake,” he said smoothly. “I told him—”

“Call him off! If I see his face, I will send this e-mail. I swear it.”

The line went dead.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

I hung up. Then I opened the door and peered out. Gabriel was crouched by the foot of the stairs. He waved me over.

As I headed to the steps, a phone started to ring. It came from the body sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. Anderson. Unconscious. Blood seeped from the back of his head. Judging by the way his hair stuck up on one side, I guessed Gabriel had grabbed him by it and cracked his head against the concrete. There was more blood on the steps. Bits of shoe, too. And flesh.

I looked over at Anderson’s foot. It was a bloody mess, half of it blown off.

“How’d you manage that?” I whispered to Gabriel.

“I waited behind the stairs and shot his foot through the risers as he came down.”

“Smart.” I looked around. “Messy, though.”

“It’s a big gun.”

Anderson’s phone had stopped ringing. Mine started.

I answered and said to Chandler, “You’ve called him off?”

A hesitation, then, “Yes, of course. I’m sorry about that, Miss Larsen. I—”

“Whatever. Now, let’s negotiate. I want—What the hell? I thought you said you—”

On cue, Gabriel fired his gun. I dropped the phone and fired my own gun, aiming somewhere across the basement. Then I hit the floor, groaning.

“Miss Larsen?” Chandler called from the fallen phone.

I stopped groaning.

“Anderson?”

Silence. Then a curse. I could still hear Chandler’s breathing, quickening now, as buttons clicked. He hung up. Anderson’s phone began to ring.

I winced as I rubbed my shoulder. “I need to work on my pratfalls.”

Gabriel motioned for me to save the commentary and play dead. I did, lying on my back, gun gripped in my hand. Gabriel crossed the room, his left foot dragging now, breath coming ragged. How badly was he hurt? Too badly to play this game much longer.

Too badly to finish it? I hoped not. Really hoped not.

A few minutes later, the basement door creaked open. A long pause. I imagined Chandler peering through. A curse as he saw Anderson’s fallen body. Then a louder one as he saw me lying several feet away. He started down the steps. I counted them off.

Four, five, six . . .

“Stop,” Gabriel said. He didn’t bark it. Barely even raised his voice. Just a calm and steady, “Stop.”

I sat up, gun aimed.

“You know the routine,” I said. “Drop the gun. Don’t bother backing away this time. Just drop it over the side of the steps.”

He paused. Then he started to raise his gun. Gabriel fired, the bullet passing close enough to make Chandler lose his footing and tumble down the stairs, gasping, gun falling.

“Or we can do it like that,” I said as I walked over to where he lay, moaning as he struggled to get up. “I’d stay down there. I’m sure you broke something. The cops are on their way, and lucky for you, they’re bringing an ambulance. Unluckily, yours will be going straight to a prison hospital.”