She pushed with the language. Pushed with the sarcasm. Pushed him to the edge. Max figured when he made his move, cramped under the desk as she was, his maneuverability would be severely hampered, too. Then she’d turn the tables on him.
Remy only laughed and shook his head. “I know you must have been a friend of hers, but you really didn’t know her at all.”
“Yeah, I was a friend, and I know she hated your guts.”
Still smiling. “She needed me. I made her feel special.”
It was Max’s turn to laugh even as she braced her hands on the floor, waiting, watching for an opportunity to spring. “That’s the most pathetic bullshit I’ve ever heard.” She deepened her voice, mimicked him. “She wanted me to sexually harass her.”
“You had no idea what made her tick. Making me want her was power, and Wendy craved power.” He wound the other end of the cord around his left palm and pulled it taut.
Never let them see you sweat. “Did you do all this psychoanalysis before or after you forced her to have sex with you?” None of what he said fit the vision Wendy had given her.
Did it? Stronger than Wendy’s futility, a rush of the dead woman’s adrenaline high throbbed in Max’s veins. She shivered.
“She could have left any time, but she kept on doing it.”
“Right,” Max scoffed, but his words made her wince. She injected every ounce of venom into her voice. “So that’s why you killed her when she finally told you to go fuck yourself and called you a dickhead.”
“I killed her because—” He stopped, as if suddenly realizing the enormity of his admission. No matter the nylon in his hands. But once out, he just had to explain. Isn’t that what killers always did? “She shouldn’t have betrayed me with Nick. She shouldn’t have chosen him over me.”
“Guess that’s why you framed him by writing his name in her date book.”
Dropping one end of the rope, Remy lunged. The move took Max by surprise. She’d dropped her guard, listening to his lies about Wendy. Fingers digging into her arms, he dragged her upright, her head whacking the desk. Jerking free, Max stumbled, spots of light flashing. She fell against the filing cabinet, catching herself with both hands.
She’d be damned if she’d go down on her knees for him again.
She rested, head spinning, his voice close behind her. “She knew it was a game. She went to him. And when she was done, she came to me. I think she even knew I’d watched them.”
“You’re a fucking liar.” Her breath stuck in her throat.
Remy didn’t know how to lie. Panic flashed across her skin and raised goose bumps. She leaned her cheek against the cool metal, then rolled on her shoulder to look at him. “He put you up to this, didn’t he?”
He curled his lip. “Nick?”
“Bud Traynor.”
“What the hell does Wendy’s father have to do with it?”
“He goaded you into killing her, didn’t he?”
“It was my idea,” he shouted, as if it was a great achievement someone might steal from him. Then he calmed just as abruptly. “You’re trying to sidetrack me. It won’t work. Your Royal Canadian Mountie isn’t going to rescue you.”
“Witt?” She choked back a laugh, the sound almost frantic. Witt didn’t have a clue where she was. She faced the cabinet again, pulled herself upright as if she were doing chin-ups.
Stalks of Wendy’s spider plant caressed her face, the earthy scent of moist soil cleared her head. She felt Remy at her back, heard the snap of the nylon between his hands. “You can’t kill me here. They’ll know it was you,” she told him.
“I’ll clean everything up.”
“They’ve got that stuff that detects blood even after it’s washed away.”
“I’m going to strangle you. There won’t be any blood.”
She held her arm out to show him the scratch he’d left along her flesh, then rubbed the blood across the top of the file. “The mini-mart across the street is open all night. Someone’ll see you carry my body out to your car.” She smeared blood on the wall beside the file cabinet, too.
His swallow was audible. The smell of his acrid sweat reached her nostrils. “Keep your hands where I can see them.” His voice quavered. She felt him back off, one step, a scuff on the carpet, then another step.
She held her arms aloft, chanced a glance behind. He stood to her right, his hands busy with the rope, twisting, untwisting. “What are you going to do when they start asking you questions, Remy? Direct questions? They won’t let you get away with those ambiguous answers.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m thinking.”
“You’ll have to lie. No two ways about it.”
“Shut up,” he shouted. Agitation was good. Very good.
Max judged the distance between her hands, Wendy’s plant pot, and Remy’s head.
She saw him move, a flicker at the corner of her eye.
One second. Two.
She grabbed the pot, aimed, and met his lunge halfway.
The crack against his skull reverberated up her arms. The ceramic fell apart in her hands. Remy crumpled at her feet.