Chapter 29 #2
“I see,” Lucy says. She’s almost composed, but her hands begin to tremble, despite how hard she clenches them. “Is there anything else?”
“Approximately four months before her death, his late wife initiated divorce proceedings. The case was subsequently discontinued.”
“Did she stop it, or did he?”
It’s almost rhetorical, but I answer anyway. “She did.”
Lucy nods. We both know what she was really asking. “Is that everything?”
Your sister’s husband carries a wickedly curved knife everywhere he goes and chops off fingers for a living.
“Yes, that’s all.”
Lucy draws a breath and lets it out in a long sigh, like it’s cathartic to hear confirmation, even if her suspicions were as she feared. “At least now I know,” she says, after a while. “I think I need some time to process this, but I’ll wire your payment in full.”
“I’m very sorry, Lucy,” I say, standing.
Lucy rises too, offering me a shaky smile. “Thank you for helping me. I can’t express enough how grateful I am. You’ve done as much as I could hope.”
I haven’t really done anything. Not while Van Wyk is still out there, and Amelia’s still trapped. But that’s why I hate taking personal cases.
“You’re welcome. Again, I’m sorry.” Sorry I couldn’t see him behind bars.
I walk Lucy to the door while Carol stays back, giving her support in silence.
Lucy pauses in the entranceway. “I’m glad I found you,” she says. “When I heard you left Dalton Reed, I thought I’d never get any answers.”
I tilt my head. “I thought you came to me because Carol told you I was familiar with Northbridge.”
“Oh… she did. But I already knew that, of course. No, I came to you because you were recommended.”
Always good to hear, and possibly more business. “May I ask by whom?”
“It was luck, really,” Lucy replies. “I spoke to another PI who wouldn’t touch this, then he called me back a day later and told me to try Dalton Reed.”
“Who was that?”
“Andrew Knight.”
Maybe I’ve worked with him in the past, but it’s not a name I recognize. Never mind. “Interesting, thank you.”
“I don’t think it came from him, though,” Lucy continues, “because I called him back and told him you’d left, and I couldn’t find you.
” She smiles apologetically, as though my lack of advertising was her fault.
“It was almost two weeks before he let me know he’d ‘fixed it.’” She nods past me. “Then Carol reached out.”
“Uh-huh.” My heart begins to beat faster. “Did this Mr. Knight say anything else?”
“No…” Lucy pulls at her sleeve. “Um… now that I think of it, he did ask me not to mention his name. So… sorry? I forgot.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I give her a smile and open the door. “Good luck, Lucy.”
“Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome.”
I close the door behind her and lean against the wall. Then I turn and face Carol, who’s staring at me, her face pale.
“But… I got that file by accident.”
“How by accident?”
“Franklin emailed it to me, thinking it was a different one. It had a different name and everything. He told me to ignore it, saying it was an admin cockup and it was dead.”
And of course, Carol brought it straight to me.
I’ve been played, and I don’t know by who or why.
“A coincidence?” Carol asks, voice filled with worry.
“Sure.” I give her a reassuring smile.
But I don’t believe in coincidences.
My judgment, my instincts, my case—all of it. Used.
Is nothing mine anymore? I feel dirty.
Someone’s pushed me toward Van Wyk, and I can’t help but think that someone is the Company. This isn’t about helping Lucy, it’s about keeping me close. Knowing exactly how much I know, and when I know it. Controlling me.
And through me, Alex.
Alex tries to get me to go back home that evening, but I’m too freaked out.
I know I won’t be able to hold myself together when he does… whatever he wants to do. He won’t take no for an answer—obviously—and I don’t have the emotional strength to resist him.
Luckily, it’s late when he texts.
Sorry, I’m still not feeling well. Feeling worse, if anything. Aches and pains all over.
Half true, save that my period would’ve been due two weeks ago, but I run packs together. Because screw that shit.
His reply comes in. You’re still at Carol’s?
I suppose that’s a reasonable question given my habit of holidaying in Miami. Still, the lack of trust hurts.
Do you want a picture of her living room?
Of course not. It’s enough to know where you are.
Maybe I was hard on him. Sorry. I’m grouchy. For… reasons.
I quite understand. Tomorrow, though? I’m going to leave early. I’ll pick you up if you’re not feeling well enough to travel.
Is that care, or possession? Does Alex know the difference?
And it gives me one more day of freedom.
Sounds good.
I need to figure out how to not be here when he comes.
But where the hell can I go?
Wednesday morning, I’m up early, making coffee and hatching plans.
But where to even start? All I know is I’m going to run from Alex, and find a new life. Somewhere. Somehow.
Options are limited. I half-consider a flight abroad, but Alex has my passport, and I’m not going to his apartment. Obviously.
Money is a problem too, though I no longer care about spending the seed money I have left. That, plus Lucy’s payment, and the paycheck I got from investigating the daughter’s love interest. Not much to begin anew, and no one left to help me do it.
I can’t go to my brother; he’ll look there.
I’m not even sure it’s wise to take my car. It’s probably trackable. Maybe I’ll drive it out of state, then abandon it and switch to a Greyhound or something.
And then?
I really have no idea.
Maybe head to Austin. I remember hearing it’s the largest per-capita proportion of lawyers anywhere, but I don’t know if that’s still true. If it is, there must be work for an investigator.
Except shit, all my licenses are in my name. That won’t work.
It’s only just gone seven, and I’ve got lots to figure out. I need to pack, I need to get on the road, but there’s no point leaving during rush hour. I may as well use the time to plan—as much as that’s a thing.
My throat tightens before I've even opened the first suitcase.
My eyes are burning before I've filled it.
Everything I own is in the same three cases I took when I left Westchester, almost a month ago to the day — and it doesn't take long, because there isn't much.
I'm tempted to swing past Westchester, strip it of everything sellable.
But the risk of running into Alex, while small, is just too high.
I have to leave him, I know that.
I have to leave before the world he’s in drags me deeper into it. Before he gets bored of me again, and I become Amelia—or worse, Juliette. Before he knows I’m going, and his rage turns murderous.
The tears come then. I’m in fear of what he’ll do to me, and I know I have been for far too long. Ever since Fournier’s study. No… even before then.
It doesn’t help that I still love him. I know I always will. But it helps that he doesn’t love me.
The problem there is that I don’t think he’s capable of it. And that is a problem, because he comes ever so damn close for someone who can’t, like he’s really trying to, and the failure isn’t for lack of effort.
It almost makes me want to believe in him.
But I tried that, and look where it got me.
By the time Carol comes out, dressed for work, I’m done and ready, my face washed and my bags packed. She still knows I’ve been crying, but she doesn’t say anything. My last link to my past life, and I’m abandoning her, too.
“You’ll let me know when you’re settled?”
“Sure.”
“But not where, right?” She winces, face taut. “We both know Alex will get it from me if you do.”
“I’m sorry you’ll have to deal with that.”
“It’s all right. I’ll tell him…” She hesitates. “What shall I tell him?”
“Tell him I left this morning to go back home.”
“Right… right.” Her brow creases. “Are you going back home?”
Of course not. “Absolutely.”
“Got it.” She gives herself a little shake, offers me a tight smile, then comes in for a hug. “Be safe, back home.”
“I will. Don’t worry about me.”
She draws back, eyes filled with worry. “Regular texts, okay?”
I lift my phone and waggle it. “You got it.” I want her gone now. I’m crap at goodbyes. I’ll probably never see her again, and she knows it too. There are tears in her eyes, and if she cries, she’ll set me off again. “Go on. The traffic gets ten times worse with every minute that passes.”
She nods, sniffs, and heads for the door. Pauses in the hallway. “Do you want to take the Next Gen box set? We only reached season three.”
That’s true love, right there.
“I’m good. I’ll probably steal some of your Marvel instead.”
“Okay… just… not anything with Loki in it.”
“Tom Hiddleston is hot. I get it. Thanks for everything, babe.”
“You too. See you when—”
A knock on the door interrupts us, and for a moment I think Alex is already here.
Then comes a bored voice. “.”
“I got it.” Carol opens the door.
A cardboard box into her face, and she flings up her hand in reflex, knocking it out of the way; too light. It’s empty. A man pushes in, shoving her back. His baseball cap is pulled low, his eyes lifeless. He’s holding a gun with a goddamn silencer on it.
He takes barely a second to register me, shove Carol to the floor, and fire twice.
Phut, phut. Carol jerks with the first hit; barely twitches with the second.
Blood sprays the wall of her apartment. The white wall.
The wall I got muddy after a run in the rain, and had to clean while Carol laughed at me.
Carol’s not moving.
He kicks closed the door before I can even react. I stare at Carol’s body, look at him, back to her. In shock.
In my mind’s eye, I can see her leaning against the wall, telling me I missed a spot. I can see her standing right there, in the hallway, ten seconds ago.
Now she’s gone. Two bullets in the head, just like that.
That’s when I scream. I scream and I scream, and he doesn’t care. He crosses the apartment in quick strides, grabbing my throat. The next scream comes out as barely more than a squeak. He shoves, his leg behind mine, and there’s nothing I can do. I hit the ground hard, his weight on top of me.
It knocks the breath out of me, but I won’t go down without a fight. I reach for his face, clawing with my fingernails.
My strength is nothing to him, and he bats my hands away with ease.
“Enough,” he says, bored, his accent cultured and British. The barrel of his gun pushes into my stomach. “Hold still, unless you want a gut shot. I hear it’s a very painful way to die.”
I’m tempted to fight anyway, because what’s the point of not? Except that if he wanted me dead, I’d be dead already. He killed Carol.
The silencer is the scariest part. It makes his threat that much worse. It pushes past my fear, into my rational thoughts. I know he can follow through, and no one will hear. They didn’t come for my screams anyway. And why would they?
I stop fighting, sick with horror. Carol is three feet away. I can’t look away, and I can’t look at her. The man came because I’m here. She’s dead because I’m here.
“Good girl,” he says, in macabre imitation of Alex.
Then a needle stabs into my arm, and he pushes the plunger.
My head is fuzzy in two seconds, my vision greying in five.
I almost welcome it. This is on me. All of it.
Carol is dead because of me.