Walter pushed to his feet and weaved, almost floundering back onto the bed. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know that fire had to start right around the time you walked out of your office to accept an offer from Lydia. Strange coincidence, that. What do you think the fire investigator will find when he starts sifting through the evidence? You’re no good at being a criminal, Walter. Look at you—you’re still drunk from last night. Have you been sober since you killed my father?”
“He deserved it.” Walter swung around, his face a mottled purple. “That bastard was going to fire me. Did you know that? Ten years of being the sole attorney on retainer for Morningstar and he just up and decides that I’m no longer needed.”
Beckett hadn’t known that, but it didn’t surprise him. Walter was crafty and conniving, which were positives in his business, but he was also lazy and drank too much for it to be completely casual. It was only a matter of time before he did something that forced Nathaniel’s hand, and it must have happened while Beckett was out of the country, because his father hadn’t had a chance to communicate the plan to him. “You had to know it was coming.” He watched every move Walter made, ready to burst into motion if the man did something threatening. “Even if you didn’t, why target me? I had nothing to do with it.”
“You’re Nathaniel’s son.” As if that was reason enough.
“How did you manage to break into my place without anyone seeing you—including the cameras?”
Walter gave a little smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Maybe I’m just that good.”
Not a chance. “Maybe you had outside help.”
“You’re just mad because you didn’t see it coming.” If anything, Walter’s smirk widened. “You never saw me coming.”
Beckett replayed the whole conversation in his head. Got everything I need. That’s about enough of that. He pushed to his feet. “Get a shirt on. You’re coming with me.”
“The hell I am.”
He pointed at Walter. “Get your fucking shirt on or I will drag you out of here as you are now. Your choice. You have five seconds to decide.”
Walter glared. “Fine. I’ll get my damn shirt on.”
“Thought you’d see things my way.” He stepped back as the man went to round the bed, but Walter stumbled and fell against Beckett.
He caught the thinner man easily, but the second his hands closed around Walter’s arm, a pinprick of pain hit him in the other shoulder. Beckett looked over to see a tiny syringe sticking out of him. “What the fuck?”
“She said you might come here. I was prepared.” Walter leaned in, his breath reeking of stale alcohol. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”
He tried to respond, but his tongue felt too big in his mouth and his lips were numb. “What…”
“Just a little something to make you more agreeable.” Walter caught him as he tipped sideways and shoved him onto the bed. “Hold still, Beckett. We’re going for a drive.”
Just like my father did.
Tingling spread through Beckett’s body, followed by the damn numbness. He could move his arms and legs, but they wouldn’t translate his brain’s commands into anything but faint twitches. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He strained, but nothing happened. It can’t last forever. I can’t drive like this and there’s no alcohol in my system, so he can’t fake it as another drunk driving accident. Lydia has something else planned, which means I have time.
He forced himself to take as deep a breath as he was able. No telling how long the drug would last, but he’d conserve his energy and let Walter think he’d given up. If it meant the man kept talking, all the better.
Walter took what seemed to be a leisurely shower and came out of the bathroom dressed in a different pair of slacks and a dark gray button-down shirt that gave him the appearance of an undertaker with his cadaverous features. He chortled when he saw that Beckett hadn’t moved. “Gave you the good stuff, didn’t I? That tingling in your limbs can’t be pleasant, but it’ll keep you from being too much trouble in the meantime. We have a bit of a drive ahead of us.”
Good. More time to let this shit work its way out of my system.
Walter guided him up and shoved himself under Beckett’s arm. He had a good fifty pounds on the thinner man, and he had little control over his legs as Walter guided them to the door and out into the hall. It would look like he was helping a drunk friend, and when Beckett tried to talk, it came out as a jumbled mess.
“None of that, now.” Walter huffed and they teetered dangerously as he shifted to push the button for the elevator. “Don’t want to drag anyone else into this, do you?”
Considering Walter could barely handle maneuvering Beckett’s uncooperative body around, he didn’t know how much of a threat the other man was, but that was the problem—he didn’t know. If someone else got hurt because he was trying to call for help, he’d never forgive himself.
Got to handle this one on my own.
Like I handle everything.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he groaned slightly to cover up the faint sound. If Walter took his phone out, he’d realize Beckett had been recording all of this—was still recording. He needed this evidence, and it was all too easy to delete if the man knew it was there. A short pause as the call went to voice mail and then it started buzzing again.
Samara. It had to be. Frank wouldn’t call like that unless Lydia really had thrown Samara out a window, and Beckett didn’t believe for a second that had happened.
They staggered into the elevator and Walter leaned them against the back wall as it descended. “Christ, you’re a big fucker, aren’t you? Thank God I parked close to the entrance.”
Beckett expected him to head for the main entrance, but
