A View to a Kill

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  He reached a hand out, pulled her close. She bristled at his touch—not because she didn’t welcome the gesture of affection—she just didn’t welcome it from him. They were friends, and no matter what his intentions were, it was all they’d ever be.

  She pulled back, forced a smile. “Let’s get together again soon, okay?”

  Kyle brushed his lips across her cheek. “Count on it. Don’t make me wait too long now, ya hear?”

  Keep it together, Quinn. Just a few more seconds. He’s watching.

  The entire charade felt like a theatrical presentation, with her in the starring role. Except she wasn’t performing to an audience of thousands, or an audience of hundreds. Tonight all the world wasn’t a stage as Shakespeare once quoted. It was a low-budget set created for an audience of one.

  Kyle’s car eased out of Quinn’s parents’ driveway. She waited until all that remained were a set of taillights before saying, “You can come out now. I know you’re there.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Don’t then,” she continued. “Make things even more awkward between us than they already are.”

  Bo stepped out of the shadows, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, a bewildered look on his face. Whether it was because he’d been caught, or because he didn’t know what to make of what he’d just witnessed, she didn’t know. And she didn’t want to know either.

  “How’d you know I was here?” he asked.

  Quinn avoided him, walked toward the apartment. She punched the door code in, stopping for a moment before twisting the knob. “I heard you. You dropped something.”

  “Will you at least turn around and talk to me?”

  “I’m tired, Bo.”

  “So you’re back to ignoring me. Is that it?”

  “What about what you’re doing? Stalking me, watching where I go, who I talk to. You must really want to keep me from finding out what happened to Evie.”

  “I’m not trying to hurt you, Quinn. I’m trying to protect you.”

  “Save it, Bo. I don’t need your protection.”

  He clutched her arm, spun her around. “You keep digging, and the wrong person gets wind of it, and you could end up ...”

  He withheld the last word, sucking it back in.

  “Dead? Like Evie?”

  “I’m just saying, you need to be careful.”

  “You won’t want to hear this, but I hope her murderer knows I’m looking for him. I hope he finds me so I get the chance to take from him what he took from me.”

  His eyelids closed, his head turning from side to side. “You don’t mean that, Quinn.”

  She reached down and lifted the bottom of her sweater, exposing the pistol she’d hidden underneath. “I mean every word. Ruby isn’t the only one prepared to give this jerk a sendoff he’ll never forget.”

  Bo released Quinn’s arm, peered down at the hardened steel. “Where did you get that?”

  “I’ve had it for a while.”

  “Is it loaded?”

  She nodded. “And in case you’re wondering, yes, I have a permit.”

  He was visibly stunned, but what she couldn’t tell was whether or not he knew she was lying. If he did, he didn’t react. The gun was registered. It just wasn’t registered to her. It was Evie’s, found in the place Quinn knew Evie kept it, stashed inside an empty tampon box in Evie’s bathroom drawer. It was just one of three stashes Evie kept around her place—two for guns, and another for what Evie called her monetary “emergency fund.”

  “You can’t run around like some kind of vigilante, Quinn. This isn’t your fight.”

  “I’m not interested in your advice. Why are you here?”

  “I didn’t like how we left things earlier. I want to make things right between us.”

  “Will you tell me what I want to know about Evie?”

  “I can’t. It’s for your own good. How can I make you understand?”

  She pushed the door open, stepped inside. “Go home, Bo.”

  “Not until you agree to—”

  “Go home.”

  He took a few steps back, the glow from the porch light settling on his disappointed face. She’d pained him with her willful, sharp comments. Again.

  “Are you going to start dating Kyle?” he asked.

  “You’re with someone, which for reasons unknown, you kept from me. I don’t know why it matters whether I see him or not.”

  “Are you?”

  “I don’t know. I might. Does Simone know you’re here? Does she know you’ve spent the evening sitting in my yard, waiting for me to come home? Seems a little unfair to her, don’t you think?”

  He bowed his head. “I’m sorry. You’re agitated, and me being here has only made things worse, so, I won’t stay.”

  He shoved a hand into his front pocket, pulled out a tiny paper sack.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Hold out your hand.”

  She did as he requested.

  He placed the sack into the palm of her hand, closed her fingers around it, and backed away. “Open it, don’t open it. Whatever. I just wanted you to have it.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Kyle tossed his car keys into a triangle-shaped, metal bowl and leaned against the kitchen cabinets, reviewing the past few hours spent with Quinn. The mention of Skylar, his former fianceé, had triggered emotions from his past he didn’t like reliving. Everything he’d said at dinner was true. Skylar had cared more about her career than she cared about him. And she hadn’t wanted kids. Not the kind she’d have to agree to stay at home and raise without the assistance of a nanny, anyway.

  But there was more to it. Things he didn’t say. Things he couldn’t say. Ugly truths he didn’t want to admit. Truths like Skylar catching him having sex with another woman on not one, but two occasions. And then there was the whistle-blower, a one-night stand who made it her personal quest to seek him out and destroy him after he failed to return her calls. And destroy she did by finding Skylar and telling her everything.

  Three women in three months, and Skylar snapped. Kyle was given an ultimatum. He either agreed to attend sexual addiction therapy or the relationship was over.

  Sexual. Addiction. Therapy.

  The words sounded as dirty to him now as they did back then, like Kyle needed to wash his mouth out with soap for even allowing them to infiltrate his mind for a few seconds. Mostly because she had it all wrong. He wasn’t sexually addicted. He was frustrated. Frustrated the one woman he loved refused to put him first. Every other woman had put him first. Why couldn’t she?

  To relieve himself from feeling that kind of crushing pain again, he’d made a decision to remain a bachelor. The lifestyle suited him. And his job with the local police department was the perfect fit, giving him just the kind of appeal he wanted.

  Man in uniform.

  Women couldn’t resist.

  Seeing Quinn today stirred up feelings he’d sequestered, shattering his personal belief that all women were the same. There wasn’t anything “same” about Quinn Montgomery. It had been so long since they’d seen one another, he’d almost forgotten how unlike other women she was. Kind. Honest. Real. He couldn’t deny it. He had feelings for her. He always had. Now he just needed to find a way to keep her in his life.

  CHAPTER 26

  The paper sack from Bo remained on the nightstand, the same place it had been sitting since Quinn walked into the house and put it there an hour earlier. Uptight about the sack’s contents, she chose to wait until her curiosity got the best of her. At the moment, that same curiosity had led her in another direction.

  Quinn leaned against the headboard behind the bed, the pads of her pallid fingers running across the sealed envelope she’d received from Harvey McCallister. She’d stared at the envelope for several minutes now while listening to the hypnotic tick of the minute hand on the clock on the wall. Moments blew past, and she let them. She had something Evie didn’t. A future, a chance at creating more.

  The
death letter, as she preferred to think of it, shouldn’t have been difficult to open, but receiving correspondence from Evie postmortem evoked a peculiar uneasiness she hadn’t been able to shake all day. It was as if Evie was still there, alive, in front of her. Warm to the touch.

  Quinn took a deep breath in, ran the tip of her pinkie finger beneath the creased opening in the upper right corner of the envelope. She lifted up, breaking the seal. With both eyes shut, she reached a hand in, surprised when she pulled out not one letter, but two. The first addressed to her—the second to Jacob. She put the one to Jacob aside and unfolded the one addressed to her.

  Quinn,

  I remember the first time I saw you, on your knees at the park with your disheveled hair and matching ribbons, your eyes stained with tears, face like a timid cat, afraid of everyone and everything. We were so different. Opposites. I never thought we’d end up the kind of friends we are today. I can see now why I befriended you that day—why becoming friends was so appealing to me. Looking into your big, round doe eyes was like looking into your soul. I saw all of the qualities I lacked, and all I could think about was if I hung around you long enough, maybe I’d get lucky and a part of you would rub off on me. And you know something, I believe it did. Because of you, I’m the woman I am today. A softer, gentler person, just like you. Well ... part of the time anyway. I have to allow myself the slight indulgence of dishing out a bit of whoop ass from time to time, right?

  You’re probably sitting there right now shaking your head, still having a hard time believing I actually took the time to write this letter. Well, I did. And you have Harold to thank for it. I went in to discuss the future of my business, and somehow it turned into all of this—a will, a guardianship plan—the whole kitten caboodle (or is it kit and caboodle ... hell if I know!).

  It feels funny writing this letter—a letter you’ll only read if I’m dead. It feels like I’m planning my own funeral, like I’m preparing to die. Death. I can’t even imagine it at our age. Can you? Where do we go when we’re nothing but a steaming pile of ash? What do we do? Linger around, invisible, feeling jealous as we watch people devour food we’ll never again be able to eat? Sounds like an eternal life of damnation, if you ask me.

  Odds are you’ll never even see this letter, but just in case you do, there are a few things I want you to know. For starters, I’m leaving you my business. Ha! How do you like that for an after-death shocker? I know, I know. Your gardening thumb is more black than green, but you’re smart, and you’ll make sure what I worked so hard to create lives on without me. Truth is, you’re the only one who will.

  Now that Roman and I are getting a divorce, there’s not much chance we’ll both kick the bucket at the same time and you’ll become Jacob’s legal guardian, right? Still, Roman will be lost. He’ll need your help. And my son will need a strong woman to guide him. He has Ruby, but she won’t be around forever. Look in on Roman every once in a while. We may be apart, but I’ll always love him, just like you’ll always love Bo. And before you roll your eyes into oblivion, be honest with yourself. You know I’m right. You say you love Marcus, you say you’re happy, but you’re not. I didn’t notice it as much before Isaiah died, but now, with him gone, you’re not the same. And Isaiah isn’t the only one to blame. It’s like you long for a life you don’t believe you can ever get back. I’ve thought about talking to you about it, and soon enough I will, but right now I’m trying to give you the opportunity to figure things out in your own time.

  I guess that about sums it up. And now I’m off to deliver a letter you’ll probably never receive. So to wrap things up, I just want to say one last thing. I love you. You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. Okay, so that’s two things. Suppose I’ll be as defiant in death as I was in life.

  All my love, Evie

  Quinn returned the letter to the envelope and managed a slight smile. She’d spent the day focusing on the assumption that reading Evie’s letter would only increase her sadness. But there was a level of comfort in Evie’s words, a reminder that, although she was gone, Evie had lived her life, her way, never compromising.

  She set the letter to the side, tugged on the metal pull dangling from the lamp, and sat in darkness for a moment before tugging the light back on again. There was one more obstacle to get through before the day was done—one last thing to accomplish if she expected to get any sleep. Open the sack. She reached for it. Clutching it in both hands, it felt weightless, like an inflated bag of air. She removed the staple at the top, pulled it free, then unfolded the rolls until she reached the opening.

  She took a deep breath in and looked inside.

  There, at the bottom, was a single, familiar piece of shiny silver.

  The last time she’d seen it, it had been dangling from Evie’s neck.

  CHAPTER 27

  For the last five minutes, Quinn had pressed the call and end buttons on her cell phone three times. Running what she wanted to do over and over in her mind kept her second-guessing, tapping the end-call button before the call ever had the chance to go through.

  What if he didn’t answer?

  What if he answered and then hung up?

  What if he said he didn’t want to talk to her?

  What if Simone answered?

  What if?!

  She’d grown weary of “what ifs.”

  She bit down on her bottom lip, pushed the call button again.

  “Hey.” Bo’s voice while groggy, was upbeat. “I knew you had my number.”

  “I’ve actually had it for a few days. My dad has it on an alphabetized phone list on the fridge. I’m ... sorry to call so late.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Are you with Simone? I don’t feel right talking to you right now if she’s there.”

  “She’s out of town visiting her sister. And just to avoid this question in the future, we’re dating. We don’t live together. And you shouldn’t.”

  “Shouldn’t what?”

  “Feel weird about calling. Like you said, we’re friends, right?”

  Simone was out of town. Quinn wondered how things would change when she returned. Would he keep stopping by, or would their communication come to an end?

  “I feel like we keep going around in circles. I don’t want to argue with you.”

  “Let’s agree not to then.” He paused, then said, “You opened the bag, didn’t you?”

  “How did you know about the necklace?”

  “Evie told me.”

  “When?”

  “Before I became a detective, I was a cop. Pulled her over one night for speeding. When I saw it was her, I asked about you. She said she’d tell me if I promised not to give her a ticket.”

  Considering how close she was to Evie, it came as a shock to learn about something she’d never been told about. “So you’re saying she sold me out in order to avoid paying a fine. Nice.”

  “It worked too. We got to talking, and she showed me the necklace. Told me about the day she got it.”

  “She wouldn’t take it off, not even to shower.”

  “She was wearing the necklace when we found her. Knowing what it meant to both of you, I took it from the evidence locker today. Figured they don’t need it anyway.”

  “You went against protocol?” she joked. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Cut me some slack, okay? I’m not the hardheaded guy you think I am.”

  “So ... Evie left me a letter.”

  “My father told me. What did it say?”

  “She never planned on anything happening to her when she wrote it, so it was more hypothetical than anything. She mentioned the business, looking after Jacob. She assumed if anything happened to her, he’d still have Roman.”

  “It’s a shame, what happened to him. I liked Roman. He was a good guy.”

  “Kyle told me the truth about the plan to convince the public Roman killed Evie. I know they still cared for each other before she died, but they’d been apart for a
while.”

  “Until they started seeing each other again.”

  “What do you mean—seeing each other again?”

  “According to Roman, they were talking about getting back together.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since a week before her death. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

  “We usually talked a few times a week, at least. Right before she died, Marcus surprised me with an unexpected trip to Hawaii. We agreed to turn off our cell phones while we were gone. Well ... that’s not entirely true. He told me the trip was ’radio-silence,’ and I went along with it. I called Evie before I left, and I planned on talking to her the day I got back. When we returned home, I learned she was dead.”

  “Marcus didn’t want you talking to Evie while you were gone?”

  “It wasn’t just Evie,” she said. “He didn’t want me talking to anyone. It didn’t matter. Phone or not, we fought worse on vacation than we did when we were home.”

  “Did Marcus and Evie get along?”

  “They tolerated each other. He was jealous of her, though he’d never admit it. Not to me. Whenever I stood up for myself, he blamed Evie. He always thought she was the one who spirited me into it.”

  “Your husband didn’t like Evie, and right before she dies, he whisks you away on a vacation, and while you’re gone, she’s murdered. That doesn’t alarm you?”

  A light went on, and she realized what he was getting at, what was circling his mind.

  “You don’t know him, Bo. If you did, you’d know his world revolves around rules. Just because he’s an option you haven’t explored doesn’t mean he had anything to do with what happened to her. Marcus isn’t a killer.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I was married to the guy,” she said. “I know him. And since none of you have proven Roman was involved, you should be focusing on other potential suspects.”

  “And who would that be, Nancy Drew?”