The Perfect Cover (The Perfect Stranger Book 2)

by Charlotte Byrd

Isabelle is so easy to talk to that the words just keep spilling out of me.

  I tell her the truth about anything she asks.

  Why bother lying? If I can’t tell the truth now, when could I?

  After a little while, my stomach starts to growl and I bite into one of the sandwiches that she’d gotten from the store.

  Her phone rings and after looking at the screen, she sighs and answers.

  “Hi, Trisha,” she says in a fake upbeat tone that sounds foreign.

  “Yeah, I know that it’s difficult, but like I said before, I really need this time off.”

  Suddenly the screen lights up and makes a little dinging sound. She looks at it and says that she can’t FaceTime now, but when she goes to hit ignore, she accidentally hits accept and I have only a moment to duck out of the way.

  “Hey, you scared me,” Isabelle says, standing up quickly to make sure that the screen is pointed away from me.

  She puts her finger up in the air to tell me to stand still and be quiet.

  “I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay,” Trisha says.

  She has a concerned, motherly type of voice which is a bit overbearing.

  “Yes, I’m fine, just having some dinner.”

  Isabelle flips the phone around to show her the food piled up on the dining table as proof.

  “Okay, good, you just really scared me. I know that you don’t go out often and you’re not very social. Then suddenly I get this message from you saying that you’re going to be away for a while and that you need a break.”

  “I appreciate you worrying about me,” Isabelle says with a chuckle.

  “Besides, with everything on the news about the prison escape…I just had to make sure that you are safe.”

  Isabelle freezes on the spot. My breath gets lodged in my throat as I stand motionless directly in front of her, praying that she doesn’t turn the camera around and expose me.

  “What do you mean?” Isabelle says with a laugh. “Did you think that one of them came to my house and kidnapped me and this whole thing is just some elaborate lie?”

  “Okay,” Trisha says with exasperation.

  I can almost hear her hands going up in the air, a signal of giving up.

  “I know, I’m a fool. I’m the one who always gets freaked out by every new thing on the news, but don’t be mad at me for being worried about you. You’re a single woman. You live alone. You have certain patterns, and then suddenly you just decide to take off? I wanted to see your face to make sure that everything is fine.”

  I watch Isabelle try to comfort herself by rubbing one shoulder with her hand while holding the phone in the other.

  “I know that I should’ve been more honest…” she says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I just couldn’t. I’ve had a lot of personal problems, as you know, and I didn’t want you to… Disapprove.”

  “Why would I disapprove?”

  “I don’t know. The truth is that everything is fine. I’m just taking some me time. I know that it’s not ideal, but if there is something that I can do to make up for it, let me know.”

  That’s the sort of thing that you say when you really don’t expect anyone to take you up on the offer. Trisha, however, has other plans.

  “Well, actually, I was wondering if you could still do some of your appointments while you’re away? I’ve talked to a few of your clients like Robert’s mom, Mason’s mom, and Tommy’s mom. They all said that they would have no problem trying out speech therapy using Zoom, FaceTime, or whatever program you would prefer. They just don’t want to stop going and get behind.”

  Isabelle’s face clenches up. She’s stuck. It’s practically impossible to get out of a teleconference and Trisha knows this. Isabelle forces a smile and finally agrees.

  “I can’t believe that she did that to me,” she says after hanging up. Shaking her head, she goes straight to the grocery haul and pulls out a bottle of Pinot Gris.

  “Of course, I can’t say no to online teaching. We can arrange the time around my schedule,” she says sarcastically. “I’m so… agh! I’m aggravated.”

  When I attempt to put my arm around her, she shrugs it off and continues to vent.

  Isabelle

  When I hang up…

  I hate the way that Trisha trapped me, but I guess I should’ve seen it coming. On the positive side, I get to still collect my paycheck while I’m on this little road trip and hopefully the boys won’t fall too far behind.

  It’s difficult to get a substitute for what I do. The kids are two to five years old and they connect with you. If you leave, or if you need to take a week off, they don’t understand why.

  They’re used to you and they want what they’re used to. Mason would have been a lot more amenable to a change but the other two? I’m not so sure.

  I talk to Tyler about this and he calms me down by telling me that it’s going to be okay.

  His voice is soft and soothing.

  He pushes away all the negative thoughts. It’s not that I don’t like her. I do, but she can be a little bit overbearing and unaccommodating at times.

  It’s her business. She runs it with a smile and an iron fist.

  Why haven’t I looked for work elsewhere? I did, but only briefly. The drive was always too far and I wasn’t sure if the other bosses would be any more accommodating than Trisha. Besides, until this trip, I never needed any kind of accommodation.

  After eating dinner in bed and watching some late-night TV, Tyler falls asleep and starts to snore. I, on the other hand, can’t get my head to stop from spinning.

  I know that looking on my phone and reading the news is not going to help, but I’m drawn to it like an addict to the pipe.

  I open Google News and search for Tyler’s name. One article after another pops up, but none of them say anything particularly illuminating.

  I turn to Twitter. I wouldn’t say that I have much faith in Twitter, but on occasion, whenever there’s any sort of local emergency, I like to get some input from there just in case there are some voices that aren’t being amplified by traditional news sources. Unfortunately, most of the posts are retweets of articles from the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and the Pittsburgh Tribune.

  All of the stories say that the suspects are armed and dangerous. Of course, they have no confirmation of that because no one knows where they are, but that doesn’t stop the reporters from reporting that.

  It’s probably what the police told them. Besides, no one’s going to take an escapee seriously if they’re not armed and dangerous, right?

  I should stop reading this stuff, I say to myself, but I can’t force myself to close the tab. One article becomes another and another.

  I don’t know what I’m searching for, but somehow, I end up on a legal blog analyzing the case against Tyler. It belongs to a defense attorney who is arguing against his conviction.

  He also has a few YouTube videos up where he makes his case for why Tyler is innocent. I watch a few of the videos, becoming more and more convinced that the feeling that I have about Tyler is true. The attorney points out all the flaws in the prosecution’s case, the gaps, the reasoning, and the evidence, all of the things that Tyler has never mentioned.

  I wonder why not?

  My phone dings and I look down at the screen. It’s another unlisted number. I don’t answer and wait for the texts. The first one arrives a few moments later, but much to my surprise, he doesn’t call me names.

  Instead, he just threatens my life.

  You have one week. You pay the $100,000 you owe us or you’re as good as dead.

  We will find you, wherever you are.

  You know it and we know it, so don’t test us.

  I read the text holding the phone a little bit away from my face.

  I know that time is running out.

  I know that something’s going to happen.

  The only problem is that I don’t know what that is.

  I thought that running away was going to
be enough, but now I’m not so sure.

  Tyler

  When I see the threats...

  The following morning, I wake up early and watch her sleep soundly in bed next to me. Isabelle’s shoulders move up slightly with each breath.

  I want to stay in this moment for as long as possible, even though I know that’s impossible.

  Her phone is laying near my pillow in between both of us and suddenly the screen blinks and I see the notifications.

  The texts appear on the screen just long enough for me to read without needing her to log in.

  The words are visceral and violent, but the intention is clear.

  If she doesn’t pay up, then they’re going to kill her.

  They’re going to find her wherever she is and they’re going to make her pay.

  Who are they?

  “What are you doing with my phone?” Isabelle asks, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

  “Who are these people?” I ask, turning the phone toward her. “They’ve been threatening you for a while.”

  “No, they haven’t,” she says defensively.

  I shake my head and say, “Isabelle, I have to know what’s going on. If we are in this together, we have to be honest with each other.”

  “Why are you going through my phone?” she asks, deliberately avoiding my question.

  I shake my head and get out of bed.

  I go to the sink, splash some water on my face, and brush my teeth.

  If she doesn’t want to tell me the truth, then I’m not going to take this any further.

  I’m not going to make any threats, but I can’t continue to travel with someone who isn’t one hundred percent honest with me.

  As I stand here, staring at my reflection in the mirror, with a mouthful of toothpaste, I wonder if I should say these words out loud. I don’t want to get into another fight, even though I wouldn’t say no to some explosive morning sex, but we have to be on our way.

  “Okay,” she says, walking up to me. “There is something you should know.”

  “What?”

  “You shouldn’t have looked at my phone.” She stalls again.

  “Maybe not,” I agree and wait.

  After inhaling deeply, she picks at her cuticles and then looks into my eyes.

  “I owe a debt,” she finally says.

  “What kind of debt?”

  “Monetary kind. What other kind is there?” she asks sarcastically.

  “Isabelle, if someone is after you, then you have to tell me about it.”

  She shakes her head.

  “I have the right to know.”

  Again, she shakes her head.

  “The federal marshals are after me,” I say as calmly as possible, looking straight into her eyes. “Do you know what that means? The power of the federal government is bearing down on me, on us. They are looking for me and they will do anything to find me. If there is someone else who knows where you are and they have something against you, then the feds are going to use that to find me.”

  “You don’t have to worry about it,” she says quietly.

  “I have to at least know what we’re dealing with so that I’m not making decisions in the dark.”

  I wait for her to tell me but again she bottles herself up.

  “It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.”

  Now it’s my turn to shake my head.

  “You have been getting these texts since I was at your house. I have seen some of the threats. Now, they are threatening your life in a very real way. It’s not just about me. It’s about you. I need to know who these people are and what debt you owe them so that we can make some sort of amends.”

  I keep repeating myself over and over again, but nothing I say seems to be getting through. Again, she refuses to say a word.

  I help her pack up the groceries that she bought last night and place the last half of a sandwich into the brown paper bag.

  “I have money. I’m going to help you pay off this debt.”

  “You don’t have enough,” she says without pausing for a moment.

  “I have more than you think.”

  When we get back into the car and listen to a good hour of Joan Baez and Janice Joplin, I decide to tell her more about myself.

  “At the time of my conviction, I had millions in the bank.”

  “You did?” she asks, surprised.

  Turning her body a quarter of the way over to face me in the passenger seat, she waits for me to continue.

  “My hedge fund was doing incredibly well. Not only did the fund itself have millions of dollars, but my personal wealth had also grown to almost ten million. I didn’t spend it on anything. After I paid off my student loans and bought a few properties, I kept the rest in a bank account. I was a workaholic who didn’t do anything but work so my money just grew and grew. My wife spent some of it, but we had so much that she hardly made a dent. In fact, at the time of her death, she was getting into philanthropic causes because there were certain things that we both cared about that we wanted to help raise money for.”

  “So, what happened?” Isabelle asks.

  “What happened was that I got convicted of her murder and they froze all of my assets. The government kept all the money, cash, and sold off the homes as well as liquidated stocks and bonds and other assets. The thing that they did not know, otherwise they would’ve probably taken that as well, was that I also had a silent partner.”

  A large tractor trailer passes me on the left and, out of the corner of my eye, I see Isabelle raise her eyebrows.

  “She was someone I knew who was, well, let’s say not always on the right side of the law. When we were first getting started, she had cash and we needed cash. So, she became a silent partner. She couldn’t have been involved for real, on paper, because she had a criminal record and then we wouldn’t be able to get the proper licensing for the brokerage, but that was fine by her.”

  “Silent partner?” Isabelle asks.

  “After our investment firm paid back her initial investment plus all the interest,” I continue, “she actually borrowed some additional money to expand her own line of business.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. Isabelle has always had a good bullshit meter.

  “Well, as you might suspect, Tessa’s business wasn’t exactly on the up and up so she couldn’t go to the bank.”

  She crosses her arms across her chest and waits for me to continue.

  “Tessa is in the methamphetamine business. She manufactures it."

  “She’s a drug dealer?” Isabelle asks.

  “More than that.” I nod and continue to explain. “When she borrowed money from us, she wanted to expand her operation. She hired a number of chemists, most of them were people who were very good at what they did but felt like they couldn’t make enough money working in labs and being teachers. They had PhDs and would make maybe $60,000 a year. Working for her, they made half a million. When Tessa and I first met, she made all the meth herself, but then she hired two other chemists to help her along. By the time she borrowed money from us and we substantially invested in her business, she had fifty other chemists all across the country. They are all small operations. There are no large meth labs that can be busted. Everyone is a sole proprietor. They make small batches and if they were to get caught and offered a deal by the cops, they wouldn’t know who to report on.”

  “Wow,” Isabelle says. “That’s pretty brilliant. I always thought that there was one large kingpin somewhere operating these huge labs.”

  “You’re right about one thing, there is a kingpin. It’s Tessa. I don’t think I have to tell you this, but you can’t tell anyone. Not ever. She’s a friend of mine, but she won’t be if she knows that you know.”

  “Why are you telling me?”

  “I’m trying to get you to trust me. I don’t know how much it’s going to take, but it seems to require everything I’ve got.”

  She swallows hard and turns to look at me a
gain.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she says.

  Exhaling slowly, she plays with the ring on her finger before looking up at me again.

  “I owe $100,000,” Isabelle says after a long pause. She admits something I already know, but this is good. It’s the first step.

  “Well, good, because Tessa still owes me $300,000.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “After I went away, there were certain debts that were still unpaid. Of course, she couldn’t pay me much while I was in prison—"

  “Why?” she asks, interrupting me.

  “The authorities would’ve taken it all. She was sending me some cash here and there for the commissary and what not, but that was all we could manage. She doesn’t have too much pull on the east coast, but she also did what she could to make sure that I was somewhat protected on the inside. That also cost a little bit from my end, but if I pay your debt of $100,000, then I’ll still have the two hundred and that’s more than enough.”

  “More than enough for what?”

  “To start a new life, to get a new identity, to set up a way to make a living, and finally to hire a private investigator to find out what the fuck happened to my wife and her lover. Then hopefully clear my name.”

  We don’t say anything for a while as I let her stew on the story that I have just given her and take it all in. I know that is a lot.

  I didn’t think I was going to share this with anyone for a long time, if ever, but the truth is that she has to know.

  “So, is this where we’re going? To get the money?”

  I give her a slight nod.

  “Where is that?”

  “Palm Desert, California.”

  “What’s the plan? Do you just show up? What makes you think that she won’t call the police?”

  “Why would she?”

  “You do have the $100,000 reward on your head, for one.”

  I shake my head and give her a slight smile.

  “This woman makes millions,” I say quietly. “She’s very meticulous, organized, and trustworthy. There are not that many people who know what she really is or what she does or what she is capable of. She likes it that way. She will pay my debt because she already paid some of it even when I was in prison, even when I was locked up and completely incapable of enforcing any sort of contract. Verbal or not.”