Fred Wilson.

God rest his soul.

Dave fought back a wave of nausea and squeezed the cell, fingers trembling. If there was a way out of this, he’d take it in a heartbeat. But his nemesis held all the cards.

Sucking in air, he punched in the number.

The voice that answered was muffled, as always. It was impossible to tell if the person on the other end was male or female, and the name he’d been told to call his nemesis didn’t help, either. BK was genderless.

“I have a new client for you.”

Bile rose in his throat. “You said when we started this it would only be one a year.”

“That was the original plan.”

“This is the fourth one in the past two years—and the gap between them is getting shorter and shorter.”

“I don’t have to spread them out as much as I anticipated in the beginning. The scheme has been running smoothly, for the most part. And the window of opportunity with this new one is closing fast. She’s considering other investments.”

He tightened his grip on the phone. Sticking his head in the sand wasn’t going to make the situation go away. He had to address the suspicion that had been churning in his gut since Saturday at the diner.

“I saw Mavis Templeton’s death notice in the paper over the weekend.”

A millisecond ticked by.

“So? Old people die.”

“Fred died too.”

Another tiny pause.

“What are you suggesting?”

“You know very well what I’m suggesting.” He rose and began to pace. “Our agreement was supposed to be about money. You never said anyone would get hurt.”

“They were all old. It wasn’t as if they had many years left anyway. People that age die every day.”

His stomach bottomed out.

That response more or less confirmed his suspicion that all of the people he’d been instructed to see hadn’t just died.

They’d been murdered.

He massaged his forehead as he paced. “Why are you doing this? You already had their money.”

“The monthly payments are burdensome—and they drain my capital.”

“You mean their capital.”

“Semantics.”

“What if someone gets suspicious?”

“Why would they?”

“I don’t know—but we do have a new sheriff in my county.”

“I’m aware of that. But without evidence, there’s no case. And there isn’t any. Besides, barring extenuating circumstances, elder deaths are rarely investigated. No one raises an eyebrow when old people die—except maybe the county pathologist. But that annoyance can be dealt with. Now let me give you the contact information for your new client.”

As BK recited the particulars, he circled back around his desk and jotted them down, hoping he could read his shaky chicken scratching later. “How do you know about these people, anyway?”

“I have my sources. Trust me, every prospect I send you is ripe for the picking. Dangling an investment that pays high dividends in front of them will get you in the door.”

“You know, not everyone is receptive to cold calls.”