False Pretenses - Kathy Herman [53]
She fixed her gaze on the bend in the trail up ahead and couldn’t seem to move her feet. What happened to the confidence she’d brought with her? Was this insane? Was it too late to turn back? Her heart began to pound and then pound wildly, like the rhythmic beating of a tribal drum. How did she talk herself into this? Suddenly it seemed like a very bad idea.
She started to turn around and go back, but in the next instant was in a choke hold with something sharp pressed against the side of her neck.
“Make a sound and you’re dead,” said a male voice. “Keep your hands where I can see them and move forward nice and slow. I’ll guide you where I want you to go. Got it?”
Zoe nodded and put her hands up. He grabbed her hair from behind and pushed her forward. She took a step and then another and another. Why the show of force—to intimidate her? To establish the upper hand?
When she got to the bend on the trail, which angled left, he yanked her hair and forced her to the right and off the path, deeper into the woods. The ground beneath her was soft and muddy. Mosquitoes swarmed around her and lit on her exposed skin. She endured the bites, not daring to move her hands to swat the culprits—or to reach in her pocket for the pepper spray.
Finally the man pulled back on her hair until she stopped, the knife blade now pressed between her shoulder blades.
“I’m not resisting,” she said. “There’s no need to bully me.”
“I’m going to turn you around. If you make a sound I don’t like, I’ll push this blade all the way through you. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
He spun her around, his hand holding tightly to her wrist, and she looked up into the face of—Angus Shapiro. “You? It was you who left the notes? Why? What do you want from me?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
“Is this about the ring? Because I told Adele the truth. She knows everything.”
“I don’t know anything about an Adele or a ring. I want my money.”
“Money?”
He laughed. “Don’t play dumb with me. You pulled a fast one when your parents died. You collected the inheritance money and split before I got paid. But I always knew I’d find you one day.”
“What are you talking about? My parents aren’t dead. Frank and Raleigh Sieger live in Devon Springs, Texas.”
“Nice try. But your maiden name was Benoit, and your parents were Pierre and Violet Benoit. You grew up in Dallas. Your parents made their living trafficking heroine. They owed me almost a hundred grand when they died in the house fire. You should’ve paid me before you pocketed the inheritance money and split.”
“No, you’ve got the wrong person. I changed my name from Shelby Sieger to Zoe Benoit. The real Zoe Benoit is out there somewhere. Their daughter is out there. It isn’t me! I didn’t inherit anything.”
Shapiro rolled his eyes. “Give me a little credit, will you? I just happened to be in Lafayette a couple weeks ago and read a feature story in the Sunday paper about an eatery called Zoe B’s that was celebrating its tenth anniversary.”
Oh no, she thought. Why did I let Pierce talk me into doing that interview?
“What made my ears perk up,” Shapiro said, “was that the young entrepreneur’s parents died tragically in a house fire in Texas. And that she took her inheritance, moved to Les Barbes, and started an authentic Cajun eatery called Zoe B’s. How she went from the name Zoe Benoit to Zoe Broussard when she married her husband, Pierce, and never even had to change the name of the eatery. Any of this sound familiar?”
Zoe locked gazes with Shapiro. What could she say? Was she finally caught in her own web of lies?
“Cat got your tongue, Zoe?” He tightened his grip on her wrist and held the knife blade to her cheek. “Okay, this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to wire the hundred grand your parents owed me to my offshore account. This is your lucky day. I’ve decided not to charge you interest or carve you like a totem pole—if,