The Art of Eavesdropping

by Christy Barritt

  The gunman pointed his gun at me.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting in anticipation of the bullet that was sure to pierce my body. God, I know I haven’t been perfect. I know I need to do better. Please forgive me of my sins.

  I waited for the pain I felt certain would come.

  But there was nothing.

  I opened my eyes enough to see the man lower his arm and dart down the street.

  I remained frozen a moment, unsure if I could believe my eyes.

  Then I heard the sirens.

  The man was gone.

  Help was on the way.

  Praise the Lord.

  Footsteps approached from behind me. The next instant, Oscar knelt beside me.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  As I stared up at him, I had no idea what to say.

  Because I might be alive . . . but I felt anything but okay.

  Less than five minutes later, the police and paramedics had arrived. Even though I insisted I was fine, an EMT had checked me out and deemed that I was indeed okay. My arm and hip might be bruised from when I tackled the man, but I was otherwise in one piece.

  I still wasn’t sure what exactly I had been thinking when I took on that gunman by myself. Some type of internal instinct had just kicked in, I supposed. The reflex must have been lying dormant inside me because I’d had no idea it was even there.

  Right now, I sat in the waiting area of Driscoll and Associates. Someone had brought me coffee. When I say someone, I meant Velma. She and Michael had also shown up. Oscar had probably called them.

  Speaking of Oscar, the man was in his element right now, talking on the phone to a flock of reporters, as well as giving statements to the police. Too bad he hadn’t been in his element when the man pulled out a gun.

  Though my first instinct had been to protect him, where were Oscar’s instincts? Did he not carry a gun?

  The one piece of good news was that Detective Hunter had not shown up. Part of me had expected him to. But a man I’d never seen before had come instead. He’d introduced himself as Bellevue. I’d seen the man’s name plate at the station. He sat two rows and one desk over from Hunter.

  I wasn’t sure how much longer I needed to stay here. The cops had already gotten my statement. Not only did I hate being the center of attention, but I really wanted to get home and check on my family.

  “Are you sure you’re doing okay?” Michael lowered himself in the leather chair beside me. He looked sleepy, like he’d just gotten out of bed and thrown on a blue sweatshirt. The heel of his loafers had collapsed, and he wore them almost like slippers.

  I nodded.

  “It was awfully brave what you did back there.”

  “Or stupid. It was most likely stupid.”

  He didn’t argue with me. “There’s no telling who that man was. Oscar has a long list of enemies, even longer than my own list. It’s something that happens when you work this job for too long.”

  “I bet.”

  “Either way, you probably saved Oscar’s life.”

  “I guess that can be my one good deed before I say goodbye to this place.”

  Michael stared at me and squinted. “What do you mean say goodbye? Did you quit?”

  “Oscar fired me.” I glanced across the building and through the open door into Oscar’s office. The man was still preoccupied, talking on the phone with someone and making larger-than-life hand motions. “I figured you knew.”

  “Why in the world would he fire you?” Michael’s voice rose with emotion.

  “I didn’t find out as much information at the police station as he anticipated I would, and therefore I am deemed a failure at life.” Okay, I may have overstated that.

  Michael rolled his eyes. “Oscar can be out of control at times. He had no right to fire you. You did great work today. We wouldn’t have found that camera if you hadn’t been there.”

  “I appreciate your encouragement, but apparently Oscar doesn’t see it that way.”

  Michael glanced at Oscar, and his eyes narrowed. “I’m going to talk to him.”

  As he popped to his feet and started that way, I grabbed his arm. “You don’t have to do that. You have a family to take care of. Don’t put yourself on the line for me.”

  Michael shook his head, his jaw hardening. “I can’t let him be a bully. There are certain lines that can’t be crossed.”

  “But—”

  “This isn’t your decision.” Michael’s intense gaze latched onto mine. “It’s mine.”

  As Michael stormed over to Oscar, Velma left her desk and took his place beside me. Worry lined her forehead, and she held out a case of mints. “Would you care for one?”

  “Where did they come from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Oscar gave them to me.”

  I assumed they were safe and took one from the container, popping it into my mouth. The cooling mint somehow made me feel calmer.

  “I refilled the tin with some mints this lady at a restaurant threw away,” Velma said. “Don’t worry—they weren’t buried deep in the trashcan.”

  I froze, wanting to spit the mint out. But it was already in my mouth. Any germs had already done their damage.

  With a stiff jaw, I shoved the mint to the side of my mouth to let it dissolve. But I really shouldn’t ever take any food from this woman. Ever.

  “I can’t believe all of this happened,” Velma shook her head, her dangly earrings chiming.

  Despite the late-night call, somehow she had time to put her earrings in. Or was she the type who hadn’t settled in for the night yet? I wasn’t sure.

  “You mean, it’s not a normal day in the life of a PI?” I held my breath as I waited for her response.

  “No, not at all. I mean, Oscar did get some death threats after the Ernesto case. But that was several years ago, and I thought all of that had passed.”

  “I had no idea this line of work was so . . . exciting, for lack of a better word.”

  “It usually isn’t. But, every once in a while, Oscar gets a good case, the kind that stirs things up.”

  Noticing movement, I glanced around. Were the police and reporters leaving? Were things wrapping up? That’s how it appeared.

  The detective stepped from Oscar’s office, nodded at me, and then stepped out the door, followed by two patrol officers.

  I stood, relieved that this might be over. “You know, I really don’t think I’m needed here anymore. And I am exhausted. I’ve been on my feet all day, and I haven’t been home. I think I’m going to take off. Can you tell everybody I said goodbye?”

  “You’re not going anywhere, Dora,” a deep voice bellowed.

  I froze as I saw Oscar approach me. I said nothing, only waited. Was that a threat? His tone certainly hadn’t sounded kind.

  Speaking of which, I’d looked up Dora earlier, while I’d been waiting for the police to arrive. I’d realized she was a cartoon jungle explorer. Oscar had meant the words as a veiled insult, hadn’t he?

  “I made a mistake.” He stopped in front of me. “It takes a lot for me to say that, but I did. You saved my life tonight, and I need to say gracias.”

  The man was actually apologizing? Now I just needed to see a flying anaconda. Both held the same likelihood.

  “You’re welcome. I’d like to think you’d do the same for me.” Even though I said the words, I wasn’t sure there was any truth in them.

  “I shouldn’t have fired you. What can I do to convince you to stay?” Oscar stared at me, his intimidating stance not matching his words.

  My mind raced. Part of me wanted to say that being fired was the best thing that could’ve happened to me. It had given me an out. No longer would I have to wrestle with moral choices as to whether or not I could do the job. No longer would I have to lie to my mom.

  Something else wouldn’t let the words leave my mouth. I hadn’t felt this alive in so long. I didn’t want to go back to a desk job. I didn’t want the ordinary, the predicta
ble, the boring. Working this case had lit a fire in me that I didn’t know was there.

  Instead, I was just as surprised as anybody when I said, “I’ll stay, but I need a raise.”

  As Oscar stared at me, everybody in the office went silent.

  I had no idea how my boss would respond to my demand or if I’d just permanently messed up my chances of working here longer.

  Finally, his face twitched. “Fine.”

  “And don’t call me Dora.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t treat me like I’m beneath you because I’m a foreigner and a woman.”

  “But—”

  “I mean it. No buts.”

  “Fine.” Oscar scowled. “I know quality when I see it. Good employees are hard to find. We’ll talk more in the morning. Actually, for that matter, why don’t you wait until around lunchtime to come in? You’ve had a long day.”

  “Thank you.” I released my breath. I couldn’t believe my negotiations had actually worked.

  I stood, ready to leave. Before I even reached the door, Michael joined me.

  “I’ll walk you out.” He fell in step beside me as we walked on the sidewalk to my car.

  “You didn’t have to do that with Oscar,” I told him. “Pleading my case could have gotten you fired.”

  “I only did it because I meant what I told him. You have a lot of potential. It would be a big mistake to let you go now.”

  It felt good to hear that someone believed in me. “Thank you.”

  We paused by my car. Michael stared at me, something swirling in his gaze. Was that sincerity? Admiration? Curiosity? Maybe it was a mix of all three.

  “I mean it. You did good work today. You’re a little different. But it’s in a good way. I think you could really bring some good change around here, Elliot.”

  “Thanks, Michael.” I offered a smile. “Good night.”

  Ever since I’d moved here, I’d prayed that God would send me a friend. I’d assumed it would be a female. But what if Michael was my answer to prayer? Out of everyone I’d met, he seemed the closest to understanding me, and he was so easy to talk to.

  Only time would tell me the answer to that question.

  But my heart felt lighter as I climbed into my car.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I’d gotten back home and muttered good night to my mom. I’d called her earlier to let her know I’d be late because something had come up. Miraculously, she hadn’t asked that many questions.

  I’d escaped to the shower to get the scent of Clorox and Electric Youth off me. As I stood under the spray, I remembered seeing the gun. I remembered the realization that I was alone with a dangerous man twice my size with no backup plan.

  Fear hit me again, and my lungs tightened.

  I wished I could wash away the memories.

  Instead, I turned the water off and dried my skin.

  Then I sat in bed, surprisingly not tired. I had too much on my mind.

  I picked up the jewelry box again. It seemed to be my go-to when I felt stressed. Somehow feeling the wood beneath my fingers reminded me of my dad.

  What would he tell me right now? Would he say to run far away from Oscar Driscoll? To get a respectable job? I wasn’t sure.

  He’d always had a gleam of adventure in his eyes. He’d been a jungle guide when my mother met him. He’d go on month-long trips with tourists who wanted to explore the Amazon.

  When he’d gotten married, he’d decided to take a government job. Though there was still some travel, it wasn’t nearly as much. Once, he’d told me it was quiet, boring work, mostly behind a desk.

  Papa had told me I was a good person for working behind the scenes. For supporting those in power. For helping organizations run smoothly.

  Now that I’d had a taste of what it was like not to play it safe, I didn’t want to return to living in the background. I wanted to feel alive again.

  I opened one of the drawers again. Part of me wished I had something inside. But this drawer was empty. The one above it had some costume jewelry from Yerba, but I only wore it on special occasions.

  I opened a door on the side of the jewelry box and touched one of the necklace hooks. I tugged on it and imagined hanging something there. Maybe a simple gold chain with a diamond pendant at the end. Not a huge rock. Maybe a half a carat, at most.

  As my finger lingered there, something popped.

  Had I broken it? The way my day was going, it wouldn’t surprise me.

  As I looked at the bottom of the case, I noticed a piece of edging had come off.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Yes, the one material object in this life that was important to me I’d somehow managed to mess up.

  As I tried to press it back in place, I realized that it wasn’t a piece of trim at all. It was actually a hidden drawer disguised as edging.

  I could hardly breathe as I pulled it out.

  That’s when I saw a little leather-bound journal inside.

  My heart pounded in my ears.

  I gently lifted the book out and muttered a quick prayer before opening the worn cover. As soon as I saw the words on the front page, I knew that whatever was inside was going to change my world.

  “My precious bambina,” my father started.

  I held back tears as I read the words in my father’s familiar scrawl. Precious bambina. That’s what he’d always called me, using a mix of Spanish and English.

  I closed my eyes as realization rolled over me.

  My father had left this here for me. Hidden. On purpose.

  He’d wanted me to eventually find it.

  Questions swirled in my head, and I kept reading.

  If you have found this, there’s a good chance that I am no longer alive. I want you to know how much I love you, your mama, and your sister. You all are the whole world to me.

  But I have not always been truthful with you.

  I paused. My dad not truthful? That didn’t fit everything he’d ever taught me. He was the one who’d drilled into me why honesty and integrity were so important.

  The truth is, I didn’t work as a diplomat for the intelligence wing of our government. For the past ten years, I’ve worked as a spy, and I’ve made a lot of enemies. It was just one more reason why I had to get you and the rest of the family out of the country. There are people who want me dead.

  I sucked in a shallow breath. What? Had I read that correctly?

  I know I put too much on you. I know you probably feel pressured to help pay bills, to help with Ruth. I’m so sorry for that. But I also know that you always do the right thing.

  I’m counting on you to do that now.

  The way he wrote the words . . . it almost sounded like he knew he might die. That couldn’t be possible, right? But what sense did all of this make?

  My head spun for a moment until his words came back into focus.

  I need you to protect your mother and sister. I’ve always seen those qualities in you, but I tried to suppress them. That’s why I encouraged you to get a job as chief of staff, something behind the scenes. Otherwise, I was afraid that you might follow in my footsteps. While I knew you’d excel in the field, I also knew that it would put you in danger. I couldn’t stand the thought of that.

  But the time for those things is gone now. I’m afraid my enemies are now targeting my family. So I’ve written down everything that you need to know about protecting your mom and sister and . . . staying alive.

  I swallowed hard. This hadn’t been what I expected.

  My family? In danger?

  Fear squeezed me. What in the world was I going to do?

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So you are alive.”

  I looked up from the table where I ate some toast before I headed into work. My sister stood there, dressed for school and staring at me. “I know I’ve been busy this week. I’m sorry.”

  “You must really like this new job.” She lowered herself across from me at the wobbly kitchen table.

/>   Ruth was a beautiful girl. She always had been, from the time she was just a baby. She had beautiful light-brown hair, with natural blonde highlights, that she kept long and wavy. She had a slim figure and a great smile. To look at her, most people wouldn’t realize she had a life-altering disease.

  I reminded myself that she and my mother thought I was working for an attorney. “I do like the job.”

  Guilt gnawed at me again. I really should tell them the truth, but I couldn’t stand to see my mom worry any more than she already did.

  Speaking of my mom, she was in her bedroom teaching online English lessons to students overseas. The extra job helped to bring in enough money every week to buy some groceries and to pay the electric bill, at least.

  “You seem different.” Ruth examined the tips of her hair for split ends. “Is something going on? Did you meet somebody?”

  “Meet somebody?” I let out an airy laugh. “No, I definitely did not meet anybody.”

  Unless a potential killer counted.

  “All these people here in Storm River, and you haven’t met a soul yet, huh? Let me guess—no one can take Sergio’s place.” She scowled. She’d never liked him.

  “Most of the people here in Storm River are not my type of people.”

  She made duck lips as she let her head fall to the side. “Why? Because they’re rich?”

  “That’s definitely part of it.”

  “You’re not judging, are you?” She widened her eyes and changed her voice to mock horror.

  I started to retort that it was impossible to judge a rich person. Then I realized the dishonesty in my words and stopped myself. It didn’t matter if you were judging people with less than you or more than you. A judgment was still a judgment.

  “You’re right. I’m sure there are nice people here. I’m just not sure that there are people here who share my values.” I took another bite of my toast and swallowed it. “Speaking of which, how are things going at school?”

  “The people here are not my type of people,” my sister said, keeping her expression placid.