by Dana Nussio
Alone. The word must have uncovered memories for Sarah, as well, as she stared at the ground for several seconds. When she met his gaze again, a sad resignation filled her eyes. There would be no hope to cling to this time. No salve on old wounds. No smooth possibilities trapped beneath the jagged rocks of past mistakes.
“If that’s the way you want it to be,” he somehow managed to say despite his clogged throat. Since there was nothing he could do about the dampness in his eyes, he turned his head, so she wouldn’t see. “Can I at least drive you back to your apartment?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ve gotten used to walking. And I really could use a walk right now.”
Sarah hurried to the door and yanked it open.
Again, he was tempted to beg her to stay, but he couldn’t. He had to figure out a solution first. Something that would make it possible for her to be with him.
Unable to watch her go, he stared at his shoes and waited for the door’s inevitable click. But it didn’t come.
“Jamie,” she whispered.
He looked up to find her standing just inside the door, looking back at him.
“I need to know one thing.”
He cleared his throat. “What’s that?”
“Are you sorry? About...this morning, I mean?”
His breath caught. It was as if she’d keyed in on the conflict that was peeling him apart, layer by layer.
“It doesn’t matter,” he managed to reply, the truth as tragic as the lies had been before.
“It matters to me.”
He licked his lips, stalling. Could he admit the truth aloud, even it if brought into question everything he’d thought he believed?
“Because I want you to know that no matter what happens after today,” she continued, when he didn’t answer, “I’m not. Sorry, that is. I’ll never be sorry.”
Aching from having the best moment in his life, and the worst, on a collision course with his fragile heart sandwiched between, he shook his head.
“No. I’m not sorry.”
Nothing could have stopped him from going to her and taking her into his arms again. Nothing except the door that she closed behind her.
She didn’t look back as she hurried down his driveway and then started up the sidewalk, probably retracing her steps from earlier. He half expected some of his nosier neighbors to be watching out their windows, curious about the woman leaving his house on foot, but the street appeared deserted. Even the junk heap that had been parked across the street was gone now, the new driver probably skipping class to tool around town.
He watched from the window until she was out of his field of vision and then stepped out on the porch, just as he had earlier. From there, he followed her path with his gaze until she slipped out of sight. As soon as he returned to the house, he dove for his laptop.
If there was a way out for Sarah, he was going to find it. And if there was a way he could make things okay for her so that she could stay in Brighton with him, he was determined to find that, as well.
His first step would be to learn more about the tormenter who’d convinced her she had no choice but to run in the first place.
He opened the inmate locator on the Illinois Department of Corrections site and typed “Brooks” in the field for last name. As he started to click the search icon, he hesitated. Was the name real this time? Were Sarah’s stories true?
He shook his head, dismissing his insecurities. She might have lied to him, but that was before she’d really known him. Before she’d given him the most precious gift she could have: her trust.
Still, he let out the breath he was holding when a list of names appeared, including “Brooks, Michael E.” It was comforting to have his belief in her confirmed.
Now that he was this close, he had to know more about Inmate #LK2341, the creep who’d hurt the woman he loved. As he clicked the name, a page appeared, with front and side prison photos of a dark-haired man at the top. Jamie was strangely relieved to note that Aiden bore little resemblance to his father.
He scanned down the page, using the touch screen, past general information and incarceration location. But when he reached the “Status” section, his gaze froze on the word crime victims most feared: paroled. His pulse thudded, and a chill threaded up his spine as he read the date. For a few weeks, while Sarah had assumed her ex was at least safely behind bars, Brooks had been traipsing around, but for a few early-release restrictions, a free man.
Jamie needed to tell Sarah, even if he could already picture the panic in her eyes when he did. She needed to know that the figment of her imagination she pictured over her shoulder could be real now. Could be coming for her.
This didn’t have to mean anything, he reminded himself, even as a sense of dread settled in his chest. Sarah and Aiden were living under assumed names. She might have broken some laws, but she’d also covered her tracks. Brooks couldn’t know their identities or their location.
But what if Sarah had made a mistake, had accidentally left bread crumbs that could lead the guy to her? If she was right that Brooks would never stop until he found her and made her choose between life with him or living at all, Sarah wasn’t safe anywhere.
Chapter 20
Sarah couldn’t breathe as she stared down at the Illinois phone number flashing on the buzzing phone in her hand. The same number that had popped up on a call ten minutes before. And another ten minutes before that.
Could it be him? She shook head. Why did her thoughts automatically go there? If Michael’s friends had tracked her down, there was no way he would call to warn her that they were coming for her. Who was it then? Could Tonya finally have been getting back to her, using a different number than her landline or cell? Or had the police caught up with her, just as Jamie had predicted?
Only when the call went to voicemail could she look away from the display. She tucked the phone back into her apron pocket and gripped the counter next to the cash register.
She needed to put the calls out of her mind. The Illinois area code was probably just a coincidence, anyway, and she could have been freaking out over a robocall offering an opportunity to refinance a student loan she didn’t have. She was overreacting, but how could she not after the roller coaster she’d been riding for the past twenty-four hours? After some of her highest highs had connected to her lowest lows, with plenty of jerking turns and corkscrew spins along the way.
She still couldn’t believe that just five hours before, she’d been in Jamie’s arms, in Jamie’s bed, speaking with her body things she hadn’t yet been able to say aloud. She’d never experienced a more unsettling rush of emotions other than at Aiden’s birth. And she’d never known the kind of bliss that Jamie’s tender lovemaking had produced in her. A gift she would always cherish.
She loved him. She was certain of it now. Yet before she could even process it, that siren had sounded and reminded Jamie of his duty. The cocoon they’d wound around them to block out the realities of their lives had unraveled so quickly. His sense of honor and her need for survival had put them at an impasse, and neither could give without losing who they were in the process. So, though it would strip away part of her heart when she did it, she had to leave him behind.
As she started back toward the kitchen, her phone buzzed again and lit up inside her pocket. She refused to even look this time. She would just let it go to voicemail again and hope that the caller would get the message.
Only Ted passed by her then and pointed to the light in her pocket. “You going to get that, or are you going to make them keep calling you all night?”
She rested her hand on her pocket, the phone vibrating beneath her touch.
“Well?” He pointed again. “You can take it in the office if you want to.”
She nodded and pulled out the phone, touching the button to answer. “Hello.”
In case she needed to end t
he call as soon as the other voice came on the line, she hurried down the hall, out of her boss’s earshot.
“Hello, ma’am. I’m calling for Sarah. My name is Detective Evelyn Ryan, and I’m with the Lisbon Police Department.”
Just short of the office door, Sarah bobbled the phone and nearly dropped it.
“Sorry,” she said, when she righted it again. With her heart racing, she hurried into the room and closed the door behind her.
“Could I have your full name please?” the detective asked.
“You must have the wrong num—”
“Do you know a Tonya Franklin?”
Sarah had been pulling the phone away, preparing to disconnect, but now her hand froze above the button. She guided the phone back to her ear.
“Yes.” She braced her hands on the edge of the desk. “Is she okay? Is something wrong?”
“I am reaching out to you because you made several calls to Miss Franklin’s home and cell numbers in the past week. Can you tell me the last time you spoke with her?”
“Where is she? Did something happen to her? Was she in an accident?” She couldn’t stop the rapid-fire questions. She’d been worried after she hadn’t heard back from Tonya, but was it worse than she’d thought? “I haven’t been able...to reach her.”
“Again, I need your full name before I can provide that information.”
Sarah blinked as it occurred to her that the police might have the number of her throwaway phone, but they didn’t know anything about her, besides a name that wasn’t really hers from her voicemail. It meant she would have to change it again, but she needed answers now.
“Sarah Cline.”
The detective asked her to provide address information, as well, and she made that information dup as quickly as she could.
“Thank you, Miss Cline. How do you know Miss Franklin?”
“We’ve been friends...since we were kids.” She’s my best friend. It was all she could do not to beg her to say that Tonya was okay.
“Then I’m sorry to have to inform you that Miss Franklin was found deceased in her apartment two days ago. Foul play was involved. Apparent asphyxia from manual strangulation. The county coroner confirmed it after the autopsy yesterday.”
She shook her head, the words not making sense. “What are you saying?”
“Miss Franklin was strangled.”
“She was murdered?” A sob escaped her before she could stop it. Sarah couldn’t keep her body from shaking. Her throat constricted and fought for air just as it had once before when Michael had wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed until she lost consciousness. Now a chair was there to catch her as her legs gave way.
Tonya’s death could have been a random act of violence, she told herself. Just an unlucky coincidence in a world where anyone could be a crime victim. But the bottomless feeling inside her announced that nothing about this situation involved chance. And she was to blame for all of it.
“Oh...my God. How could this...happen?” She licked her lips, the tears she wasn’t bothering to swipe away making rivulets along her cheeks and dripping off her chin.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” The woman paused and cleared her throat. “But I’m sure that as her friend you’ll want to help us find her killer.”
“I don’t know what help I’ll be. We’d barely spent any time together...in years.”
She held her breath as she realized that photos and documents in Tonya’s house might have easily led back to her. She was an awful person. Tonya was dead, and all she could think about was herself. She’d never deserved a friend like Tonya in the first place.
Still holding the phone, she rested her other elbow on the desk and lowered her chin into her hand. Her palm was immediately wet from her tears.
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of whether your information can help?” the woman said. “Even a tiny piece of information might give us a lead.”
Or send the police to her doorstep. “Okay,” she said anyway.
“First, do you know anyone who had a problem with Tonya or who might have wanted to harm her?”
“No. No one. Everyone loved her. I know... I did.”
“That’s what all her coworkers said.”
The detective paused for a few seconds, as if taking the time to scroll through a list of questions.
“Now, Miss Franklin’s records show that she dialed this number on April 13, the time suggesting the call might have gone to voicemail. Do you have any idea why she might have wanted to reach you?”
“I’m not sure.” To plead for help Sarah couldn’t give? To warn her that someone was getting closer to her? “Maybe she was just checking in.”
She swallowed as panic clogged her throat. If Tonya had lost her life trying to alert her, then she already knew the why and the who regarding the police detective’s questions. Only one person would care enough about getting to her to risk killing anyone standing in his way. Unfortunately, she used to be married to him.
“So, you didn’t speak to her that day?”
“No, but I kept trying to call her back.”
“Then when did you talk to her last?”
“About four weeks ago.” Maybe longer, but she wasn’t sure.
“Did you often have long stretches between conversations?”
“Yes. Ever since I moved out of state.” Too long. Now she would never again hear the laughter in Tonya’s voice.
“Then why did you call her ten times and leave five messages over the past seven days?”
The messages. Had she slipped up on one of them and gone beyond the script they’d agreed to when she’d purchased the burner phone? Hi. It’s Sarah. I look forward to hearing from you. No, she was sure she’d said it just the way they’d agreed, but she’d left a lot of messages in a short time, and her voice must have sounded more worried with each day that passed.
“She didn’t leave a message like she usually did when she called.” Sarah shifted in her chair. “Then when I called her back, I couldn’t reach her, so I kept trying. I started to worry.”
“If you were worried, then why didn’t you call police and have them check on her?”
“I know I should have, but I was trying not to overreact. I thought she might have had a new boyfriend.” There were many things she should have done differently, too many to name.
“Sometimes it’s a good idea to follow our instincts,” the officer said.
“Excuse me?”
The officer cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, ma’am. But according to Miss Franklin’s phone records, her call to you on April 13 appears to be the last call she made.”
“You mean she could have died while...” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“We don’t know that. All we know for certain is that there was a struggle, and she made no other calls from her home or cell numbers after calling you.”
The woman kept talking, but the words last call kept repeating in Sarah’s thoughts. She’d been a lousy friend. Tonya had always been there for her, and she couldn’t even manage to answer the last call she would make.
“Apparently, Miss Franklin had already been dead for over two days before the accounting firm where she was employed called police on Monday when she didn’t show up for work. Tuesday was Tax Day, after all.”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t call right away.”
Sarah didn’t need the long silence on the line to know that the detective blamed her and the delay for their lack of leads in the investigation.
“Was there any other reason that you might have been reluctant to reach out to authorities?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, in the blandest voice she could muster.
“We believe that Tonya knew her assailant because there’s no sign of forced entry. And although the
house was ransacked, little appears to have been taken. Not the cash in her purse or the gold necklaces in her jewelry box.” The woman paused and then added, “The only things missing were her phone and a leather-bound planner that her coworkers said she carried everywhere.”
Sarah knew that planner. The one with her address and phone number listed her as “Sarah Cline.” The police might have needed more evidence to build a case, but the chill scaling her spine told her everything she needed to know. Michael had murdered her best friend to get to her, and now he would be coming for her.
“Beyond that, we don’t have any major leads right now,” the detective continued. “Unless you have something else you can tell us that will help us get justice for your friend.”
“I’m sorry,” Sarah told her. Sorrier than she could have known. For everything.
The detective gave Sarah her contact information in case she remembered anything that might help with the investigation. Though Sarah dutifully wrote it down, she prayed the two of them would never speak again.
“I just have one more question,” the detective said, as they were about to end the call.
Sarah had just stood, so she braced her free hand on the desk.
“What’s that?”
“You don’t happen to know anyone named Andrew T. Brooks, do you?”
Sarah blinked several times, but when she spoke, her voice sounded almost natural. “No, I don’t. Why?”
“Well, my office has already notified her next of kin, a brother, but her attorney said he’s been trying to find one of the beneficiaries of her will. So far, the attorney has been unable to locate him.”
What had she done to deserve a friend like Tonya? Not only had she died trying to protect her, she’d also reached out from the grave to help ensure that she and Aiden would be able to escape from Michael, this time for good.
“Sorry I can’t help you. I hope they find him and whoever did this.”
Only when she ended the call did she allow herself to drop back into the chair, bury her face in her hands and sob.