Free Final Sins by Michael Prescott

side—”
    “Abby—”
    “Whatever it is, I don’t care. We’re not friends anymore. I told you so the last time I saw you. I meant it.”
    “I know you did.”
    “So I don’t need you to scare up business for me. Okay? And where Faust is concerned, scare up is the appropriate phrase.”
    It took Tess a moment to sort this out. “You mean to say you’re working for Faust? And you think I hooked you up?”
    “Yeah. I know, you’re just shocked, shocked , to find gambling going on in this establishment.”
    “Gambling? What gambling?”
    Abby blew out an exasperated sigh. “I forgot you’re not a movie fan. Let’s just say I don’t take your protestations of innocence too seriously.”
    “I haven’t talked to Faust since the interview. It’s not as if he’s on my Christmas card list.”
    “Nice try. But I know what I know.”
    “You’re wrong . And whoever did hook you up isn’t doing you any favors. Faust is a sociopath.”
    “Gee, ya think?”
    “He can’t be trusted.”
    “I figured that out on my own.”
    Tess tightened her grip on the phone. “You should steer clear of him, Abby.”
    “Too late. I’ve signed on. And I’m still convinced you had something to do with it. I don’t know why, but then I’ve never cared to explore all the emotionally repressed corners of your Catholic-schoolgirl mind.”
    “The way you’re talking, you’re the last one to be making any psychological diagnoses right now.”
    “Yeah, I got it. I’m nutty as a squirrel. But you’re the only link between Faust and me. So whether you were trying to help or trying to hurt, just knock it off. I don’t want you in my life again, Tess—ever. Have you got that?”
    “I’ve got it.”
    “Well ... good.” She sounded surprised Tess hadn’t put up a fight. “I guess that’s all I had to say.”
    Click, and the call was over.
    Tess stared at the phone. The pin oaks and the false nettles were forgotten. The breeze from the river barely registered in her thoughts. Even the crackle of reports from the ranges had faded away. Her mind had room only for Peter Faust.
    It had been three years since she’d interviewed him, but the memory hadn’t faded. The memory of his cultured speech, his lashless ice blue eyes, his long-fingered hands.
    He had been kind to her—no, not kind; that was the wrong word. Courteous. He had conducted himself with impeccable charm. But beneath the facade there was nothing charming about him. He was a snake, coldblooded and deadly.
    Why the hell would Abby be mixed up with him?
    Abby could take care of herself, of course. She had dealt with all sorts of psychopaths. Even so, Tess wondered if Abby knew, really knew , what she was getting into.
    “Not my problem,” she reminded herself. “She said it. We’re not friends.”
    Tess slipped the phone into her pocket and headed inside to talk about chemicals and death.

8
     
    Abby felt a little better after her phone call to Tess. It had been a way for her to blow off steam. And no matter how roundly Tess denied it, there was no doubt she had been Faust’s contact. Why Faust would call her, Abby had no idea. But he had, and Tess had given him Abby’s name. Doing her a favor, conceivably.
    Well, that was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.
    There was a time when Abby had genuinely liked Tess. Even though the two of them were opposites in most respects, she thought she had felt a connection. That was ancient history now. Funny how a relationship could change completely over the littlest things. Like, in this instance, Tess having arrested her and held her in FBI custody for the better part of a day, facing the prospect of life in prison for a crime she hadn’t committed.
    On second thought, it wasn’t such a little thing.
    The last time they had seen each other was in Abby’s condo last August. Tess had come to apologize or make amends or something. Abby wasn’t buying.
    She’d told Tess they weren’t friends.
    What are we, then?