Page 82 of Sinner’s Game

“Sheldon Cartwright.”

“Oh God,” Ronan said. “This is the job with the bearer bonds. This Tiffany woman—this fake Brandy—stole from Sheldon Cartwright.”

“It looks that way.” Seagrave sighed. “My guess is that Cartwright doesn’t know what she really looks like. My guess is also that he’s seen the security footage, too. As far as Sheldon Cartwright is concerned, Brandy stole his money.”

“She deliberately put Brandy in the line of fire,” Ronan said, his voice harsh with fury.

“And he has no way of knowing that the real thief is dead and that our Brandy has no information about those stolen bonds. And son, as one of the new designers at the Expo, her face has been in the newspapers, local magazines, and even on advertisements during local morning shows. Her face and her name.”

“That’s why he came to LA,” he said, then cursed when he realized he’d almost missed his exit. He crossed over three lanes of traffic, endured the horns and brakes, then careened down the ramp to the street. “He’s been waiting for today. For the Expo to open.”

“Or not open. The event doesn’t start until this evening. My guess is there are only a few exhibitors there. I have a team on the way with orders to answer to you.” He gave Ronan the details of where to meet the three operatives, all that Seagrave had in the area.

Ronan thanked his friend, ended the call, then floored it, blowing through intersections as he sped to the expo center even as he issued the voice command to call Brandy.

Her voice mail answered, and he cursed. “Get out of the center,” he said. “Don’t argue, just go. Head to my place and call me when you get this message. Avoid the main exits and—shit,” he said as the call went dead.

He cursed again, unsure if she’d even get the message. Cell service was terrible in the center, and she may not have bothered to hook into Wi-Fi.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He needed a plan. He needed a surefire way to ensure Brandy’s safety. If he had the damn briefcase, he could bargain, but he didn’t have a clue where that was. How could he—

He knew.

It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was the only shot he had.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Are you using this cart?” I smile politely, but I’m silently seething. Cara and I have been moving boxes, display cases, banners, and posters from the rented van to my little corner of the Expo for last two hours. We’d both gone over to the vending station to get a snack, and when we came back, the cart that we’d been using was gone. Unfortunately, the van is still half-full.

Now Cara is at the booth, and I’m in search of a replacement cart.

“Yes, I am,” the man in the dapper suit says. He looks me up and down, then sniffs. “I’m sure if you continue to look around, you could find a grocery cart or something.” He turns on his heel and walks away.

I roll my eyes. Apparently, fashion really is a dog-eat-dog business.

I have a small grocery cart that I keep in my car, but I forgot to put it in the van. Which means that unless I find a cart, I’m stuck carrying one box at a time. I’m not excited about the prospect—especially since the repetitive walk leave too much time for my mind to wander to Ronan—but I don’t see that I have a choice.

I’m resigned to that plan and heading for my car when my phone rings. I see that it’s Cara and answer it right away. “Tell me that you found a cart,” I say.

The fact is, it’s lunch hour now, and the expo center has pretty much cleared out, so there should be carts galore. I’m assuming everyone is desperate to keep theirs for when they return and finish unpacking. Honestly, it’s terribly unfair.

“No carts,” she says, her voice tight and strained.

“Cara? What’s wrong?”

“I—Brandy, he says he’s going to kill me.”

Her words—and the tangible fear in her voice—turn my blood to ice.

“Who?” My hands are shaking, and I force them to hold still so that I don’t drop my phone. At the same time, I hurry back toward the main hall. I need to see what’s going on. I need to see who has her.

“Who?” The voice at the other end of the line is low, smarmy, and male. With just the hint of an unplaceable foreign accent. “Why, me, my dear.”

I don’t know this voice, but it scares me. It scares me a lot. “Who are you?”

“You should know. You’re the one who betrayed me.”