Free Sleight of Hand: A Novel of Suspense (Dana Cutler) by Phillip Margolin

fortune if you tell anyone about the agreement or if you have an affair before it terminates.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Carrie, you told me all about the agreement the evening you stayed here.”
    “What?”
    “You were pretty drunk, so you probably don’t remember what you said.”
    “If such an agreement existed I would have nothing to worry about because I haven’t cheated on Horace since we were married.”
    “Actually, you have. Remember when I told you that nothing happened between us the evening you were here?” Benedict cast down his eyes shyly. “I lied.”
    “You what!”
    “I have a—what do they call them on those celebrity news shows?—a sex tape. It shows a naked Carrie Blair in several intimate positions on my bed. It’s pretty risqué.”
    “You drugged me!”
    “Of course not. You were horny, we felt a connection.” Benedict shrugged. “These things happen between soul mates.”
    “You bastard,” Carrie said as she fought to keep from panicking. “You gave me a date-rape drug.”
    “That would be illegal.”
    “That’s why I don’t remember what happened. They cause amnesia.”
    Carrie was filled with rage but she forced herself to stay calm.
    “Assuming you actually have this DVD,” she said, “what do you want for it?”
    “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars should do it.”
    “Are you crazy?”
    Benedict’s features hardened. “Don’t fuck with me, Carrie. You told me exactly how much money you’ve salted away during your marriage. And you’re going to be a very rich woman when the prenup terminates. A quarter of a million dollars will be chump change then. Get cheap with me and I’ll sell Horace the DVD. Then you’ll be out in the cold without a penny. Just be thankful that I’m not greedy.”
    Carrie felt sick. “Let me see it,” she said.
    “Have a seat,” Benedict said, pointing to a couch that faced a forty-six-inch TV. He turned on the set, inserted the DVD, and pressed PLAY . There was no sound track. On the screen, Carrie Blair was being embraced by a man. The man’s face was hidden but Carrie’s face was easy to make out, as was the fact that she was naked. Carrie’s fists knotted. The son of a bitch had set her up; he’d drugged her and raped her and now he wanted her to pay for the privilege.
    On the screen, the man kissed Blair and lowered her to the bed. She fell back and the man mounted her.
    “It goes on like this for a while,” Benedict said. “Then we do it doggie style, and there’s a little oral sex thrown in. Shall I pause the entertainment?”
    Carrie showed no emotion. Benedict stood up and crossed to the TV. When he turned his back and bent over to eject the DVD, Carrie grabbed a vase and rushed at him. Benedict stood and threw up a hand. The vase crashed against his forearm. Benedict jumped back and fell against the TV. Carrie flew at him and stabbed at his face with a shard. As he spun away, Benedict pulled the .38 out of his pocket. Carrie was so intent on stabbing Benedict that she didn’t see the gun. They crashed together and there was an explosion. Carrie’s eyes went wide and she stopped her assault. Benedict jumped away from her. Carrie stared at her stomach. Blood was spreading across the inside of her blouse, dying the white fabric red. She stumbled backward and slipped to the floor.
    “I’m shot,” she gasped. “You shot me in the stomach.”
    Benedict had killed people but not in his apartment. He stared at the blood and was suddenly afraid. Blood had DNA in it, and DNA would tell the crime lab that Carrie Blair had been bleeding on his floor.
    Benedict rushed into the bathroom and grabbed a thick towel. He gave it to Carrie and told her to hold it against the wound. He wanted her to think that he was helping her stop the bleeding, and he was, but not to save her life. He just didn’t want any of her blood in his apartment.
    “Get me to a hospital,” she wheezed as she struggled