Free The Killing Game by Nancy Bush

that showed character.
    “Do you know what you’re going to order?” she asked him, aware he hadn’t looked at the menu.
    “Yeah. Do you?”
    “No.”
    “You look like a salad type.” He hitched a thumb to the specials written on a chalkboard. “I’ve heard the green papaya salad is good.”
    It felt like things were getting away from her. “I can order for myself.”
    “That is not in doubt.”
    “Have you had the salad?”
    “Nope.”
    “What are you having?”
    “I like a lot of curry,” he said.
    Her stomach did an uncomfortable twist, and suddenly the prospect of any kind of food was iffy. From being starved, she was now uncertain she would make it through the meal without disgracing herself. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead. “The salad could be good.”
    The waitress came by and asked for their order, and Luke ordered the green papaya salad for her, then picked out a few items for himself, all with curry in the title, then turned to Andi, whose stomach gave a hard wrench.
    “Excuse me . . .”
    She walked quickly toward the back of the restaurant, relieved when she correctly guessed where the restrooms were. She locked herself inside the unisex unit and leaned against the door, willing her stomach to relax. Man, it was as if her hormones had just been waiting for her to catch on. Holy God.
    She had to splash water on her face and fight back the urge to retch, but finally she got herself together. She looked at her wan reflection in the mirror.
    What are you doing?
    She’d had a boyfriend once who’d been the same type of character as Lucas Denton—amused, detached, maybe a little too cute—and she’d broken off that relationship after only a few months. But she could feel her heightened interest now, and it kind of pissed her off.
    She returned to the table. Luke leaned on his arms and said, “You sure you’re all right?”
    “Fine.”
    “Okay. Tell me about Carrera. Word for word, as much as you can remember, about what he said to you this morning.”
    “Didn’t I already tell you?”
    “Give it to me again. The whole conversation. As much as you can remember. Everything.”
    With an effort, Andi pulled herself together. She’d hired him and she was going to go with it. “The news was on at my club and someone kept switching the television station. Bolchoy’s hearing was on . . . and you . . . but then there was this archived segment with my husband . . . Greg . . . who was saying that the Carreras build steel-and-glass buildings but that the Wrens were constructing a lodge more in the vein of the one at Crater Lake. Something like that.”
    The waitress returned with their meals and Andi looked down at hers, very aware of her jumpy stomach.
    “That interview was about a month before Greg died,” she added, dragging her gaze from the food.
    “Brian Carrera was on the treadmill next to you?” Luke asked, digging into his meal.
    “Yes.”
    “And he was watching the newscast, too?”
    “Oh yes. Greg was going on about how the Carreras were the wrong choice because they would destroy the feel of the area.” She shook her head. “Again, it was something like that.”
    “What did you say?”
    “I ignored him. I didn’t really look at him. I didn’t know who he was.”
    “He just happened to be on the treadmill next to you.”
    “Well . . . yes.”
    “Did you get there first or did he?”
    “I did. When he took that treadmill I put my jogging jacket over the treadmill on my other side so I could save a place for my friend, Trini.”
    “Could he have picked any another treadmill?”
    “He did it on purpose. There’s no doubt in my mind.”
    “You’re not going to faint, are you? You’re white as a sheet.”
    “I don’t faint.” Liar. “At least not usually,” she amended.
    “It sounds like Carrera set this up to talk to you. Warn you. Threaten you. Get a reaction.”
    She nodded.
    “What was the threat again? As close as you can