Walk In My Shadow: A Gripping Romantic Thriller (Mirror Book 3): A Mirror Novel

by Stephanie Tyler

  "What's wrong? Where are you?"

  "Someone was in my apartment."

  "I'm coming there."

  "I left—fast. I ran back to the store. I'm with Josh."

  "Good. Stay there. I'll call you." Abby was already pulling up to the building, the benefits of placing Mary so close to her office, and the very reason she did so.

  She didn't notice Vance, and she was angry for noticing that he wasn't doing his usual bodyguarding. Because it didn't matter—this was her job and the flicker of anger grew bigger for nearly getting dependent on having Vance around.

  Slowly, she made her way into Mary's building, scanning the lot for anything suspicious and seeing nothing there. She'd learned that witnesses spooked easily and that calling for backup on their word alone always made the marshal in question look like the foolish rookie they were.

  She had Mary's keys and didn't bother knocking. If anyone was inside, they'd be expecting Mary and they'd get an unwelcome surprise.

  Abby felt a chill in the room. It was early spring, so the temperatures did cycle through rapid changes but still…

  She rubbed her goosebumped arms, having left her jacket in the car in favor of being able to move more freely. Her weapon was drawn, at her side once she checked the three small rooms and came up blank. No open or broken windows, no sign that anyone tampered with anything except the lingering air of suspicion.

  It was then Abby noticed the pictures on the floor by the window with the fire escape. Dammit. She flipped them over and, upon a quick scan of the contents, opened the window and climbed out to look around.

  Nothing. No one. It was two in the afternoon, so most people were working. Kids at school. Someone running would've stood out, and whoever did this was smart enough not to stick around.

  The someone who did this hadn't left these pictures for Mary, either.

  Abby went back inside, locked the window and picked the pictures up after she pulled on a pair of gloves from her pocket—she always kept a pair on her so she could do any quick evidence grab without ruining it.

  She stared at the first of the pictures, ignoring the slight tremble in her hand as she stared at the glossy surface in disbelief. The photographer had captured her and Vance, walking together. His hand was on her wrist and his face was in profile as he stared at her intently.

  In love.

  She, on the other hand, was angry. Looking straight ahead. This was when she'd discovered Mary would be testifying next week.

  But unlike Vance, Abby's eyes had been blacked out with black pen, her mouth taken over by a heavy black X.

  There was no doubt who'd left it here, but it hadn't been done in a careless attempt. Nothing this stalker did was careless—this was calculated enough to scare Mary into calling Abby.

  There wasn't time to mull that over—this confirmed what Vance told her, that she wasn't the stalker's target. Never had been. His sights had been set on Ethan first. Now they were squarely on Vance…and she was the only thing standing in his way.

  "And I always will be, you motherfucker," she whispered fiercely before pocketing the picture, even though her instincts were to rip it to shreds…because she knew the stalker was watching her every goddamned move.

  She was about to start watching his as well.

  She assumed the second photo would be more of the same, but it was a hell of a lot worse, a photograph of a letter Abby had written herself many months ago. One she'd put in a drawer and all but forgotten about. Now, the words leached back into her heart, ripping at it with tiny, effective claws.

  Dear Ethan,

  This is the best way I know how to tell you how I'm feeling. I'm tired of going to sleep each night, wanting. Wanting to be whole, to feel the kind of all-out, passionate love that I've seen but never had. I don't want to wake up alone anymore. There's trouble coming, according to Willa's tarot reading. Big trouble. I don't want to believe her, but she's always been right.

  We're both supposed to watch out. I don't know anything more.

  If I don't send this, if I don't end things with you, I'll go the rest of my life with an emptiness that I can't afford.

  -Abby

  She'd never sent it, because they'd broken up soon after and she didn't see the need to turn the knife. They'd ended things as friends. And since she'd stopped hearing from him, in her own way she'd been mourning for him since.

  She hadn't wanted to believe he'd died, but in her heart, she'd known. After they'd broken up and he'd gone MIA, she'd gone to Willa Mueller and her tarot cards for help. The reading told Abby both she and Ethan were in trouble—of the "separate but equal" variety.

  Abby had assumed her trouble was being kidnapped by a serial killer, because what normal person wouldn't? But nothing about her life had ever truly been normal. There was no use for her to keep trying to pretend in order to make it so. Because who got kidnapped by the CIA, only to find themselves protected by them?

  Her life mirrored Mary's, far more than Abby would like to admit.

  She pocketed that photo as well, locked up, called Mary and told her it was nothing for her to worry about. Because it wasn't—it was all Abby and Vance's problem, and she had a sinking feeling things were about to get a lot worse.

  Vance still wasn't outside Mary's apartment building. She dialed his number as she started her truck.

  "What's up?"

  She resisted the urge to ask him where he was. "We need to talk."

  "Your place?"

  "Yes. In ten."

  "I'll be there."

  He must've been closer than she was, because he was already inside her house when she got there. He opened the door for her, saying, "I swept the place—it's clean."

  She waited until she got in and closed the door behind her before saying, "Mary's wasn't."

  "What are you talking about?"

  She explained Mary's phone call, then pulled the pictures out and showed him the first one, with her eyes blacked out. "This was waiting on the floor."

  "This was from yesterday," Vance said carefully.

  "It's like the stalker knows that you told me he's after you, not me. If anything, this hits us over the head with it."

  "What else?"

  "What else is a major problem. The guy's been inside my house. Inside my desk." She pulled the other picture out and suddenly felt very vulnerable, but pushed ahead. "I wrote this letter to Ethan, but I never sent it. It was inside my desk drawer."

  She showed him the picture of the letter. Vance stared at it and shook his head, wearing an expression she didn't recognize. "This letter isn't at your place. It's at mine."

  "What are you talking about?" She went over to her desk and opened the drawer. There was some paper in there, but the letter, which had been shoved under everything, was gone. "I must've misplaced it…or the fucker took it."

  "He didn't take it, Abby."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I did."

  He'd been hoping he wouldn't have to admit that he'd taken the letter, never mind read it. Like a million goddamned times.

  But he could admit to himself that he'd loved Abby for a while, probably since he'd read the damned thing.

  She was still staring at him, trying to make sense of what he said. "You took the letter. From my house."

  "Yes."

  "When?"

  Here we go… "Before Ethan died."

  "Before Ethan died? Dammit, I've got to stop sounding like a parrot. What the fuck, Vance?"

  "He sent me in. He was worried after you were attacked. He wanted to make sure the stalker hadn't planted anything, and as you know, that requires a lot of poking around. I swear, it was all about your safety."

  She believed him—he could see it in her countenance. But she was also still wary and more than a little pissed. "I never sent it to Ethan—never read it to him or anything. For obvious reasons."

  "I never told him about it. But…" He paused. "You were going to break up."

  "Right before
I was kidnapped," she agreed. "It was too much. All of it. And I was watching my brother and Kayla, and what they had. Even though they were in so much danger, they still had so much more than I did with Ethan. And maybe it was an unfair comparison—"

  "They're your feelings," Vance told her.

  "They were my truth."

  "Abby, it was like looking into your soul. And it wasn't my place and I tried to look away, or at least be angry on Ethan's behalf. But I couldn't. I didn't. I wanted someone who thought like you in my life. I wanted you in my life," he said, stridently enough to startle her. When he continued, his tone was gentler. "I never expected this. I couldn't have planned it, but it's here and I'm damned well not letting it slip through my fingers."

  She didn't say anything for a long moment. He held his breath until she finally asked, "You know all about me, right?"

  "Yes," he said hesitantly.

  "Everything?" she persisted.

  "I don't know your favorite ice cream, but the serial killer thing? Both times? Yes."

  "It's chocolate," she said decisively. "And thank God. You can't imagine what a drag the serial killer conversation is to have."

  She was happy he knew her past. "I'll never get women," he muttered.

  "Best you don't even try."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Early the next morning, Abby woke to her phone ringing. She saw the number was Carl Lissner’s—her direct supervisor—and she picked up immediately with, “Daniels.”

  Carl’s voice was tight with anger as he spoke without preamble. "Come to the office. Now."

  "Yes, sir." She hung up as images of Mary in trouble raced through her mind and told Vance, "That was my boss. He doesn't sound happy. I’ve got to meet him ASAP."

  Vance frowned. "I'm coming with you."

  Abby didn’t see any reason to waste time arguing. She slid on a pair of jeans and grabbed for her shirt. "Fine, but you wait outside."

  She barely managed to convince Vance to stay put in his car so she could go inside and face whatever music there was. She was pretty convinced that whatever Carl wanted to talk about had to do with some shit the stalker had fed him, and she was equally convinced that she could explain it.

  When she walked inside, she immediately noticed how everyone kind of stilled and tried to avoid looking at her. The receptionist’s smile was a little too bright and forced as she said, "Hey Abby. Carl's waiting for you."

  She pointed to where Carl was actually standing, at his open door, motioning for her. Glowering.

  Definitely an "oh shit" moment.

  Head up, she walked past him into his office, meeting his eyes as if to scream, I'm innocent.

  His glare said otherwise, his body language tense and speaking volumes, even before he opened his mouth. She barely sat down before he began.

  "Daniels, I need you to listen to something, and then I need you to tell me that it didn't happen. That it's not really you." He pressed the button on his laptop and immediately she heard Mary's voice, asking, "Why are you telling me all this? Can't you get into big trouble?"

  And then she heard her own voice, saying, "Yes. But it's too important for me not to tell you. You've come really far, and I couldn't live with myself if I didn't lay out your options."

  "I could play it from the beginning, but judging by your expression, you know what you told your witness," Carl said with a barely restrained anger.

  "Where did you get that?" Abby asked.

  "Does it matter?"

  "Yes, a lot. I don't think Mary would—"

  "It came anonymously, Daniels. And I don't think you should underestimate what your witness will or won't do." Carl shook his head. "You really fucked up. You've told a witness just enough to make her dangerous."

  "She knows that not testifying isn't an option," Abby protested.

  "Really? It doesn't sound like that to me. And I'm sure it doesn't to the higher-ups."

  "Was it sent to them too?" Abby asked, and Carl nodded. She knew he'd have to turn it over to the proper authorities either way.

  "We've got a bigger problem than this tape." He paused and she forced herself to sit and wait for him to continue. "Mary is gone."

  "What do you mean, gone? Did her ex find her—"

  "She cleaned out her place. And Josh, her boss and apparent boyfriend? He's gone too. Apparently they were seen leaving by neighbors late last night."

  Shit. Shitshitshit. "I never told her to run," she repeated hollowly.

  "Daniels—"

  "No, Carl, you have to listen—"

  Her sup put both hands up, palms facing her. "Stop, Daniels. The less you say, the better. Right now, you're on administrative leave, pending investigation. I suggest you retain an attorney."

  "I did nothing wrong," she said stubbornly. "You'll see."

  "I fucking hope so—for both our sakes."

  "That fucker needs to leave you alone and take me." Vance's voice was practically a roar born from years of frustration that echoed through her truck as he drove them away from her office. "How the fuck did this happen?"

  "It could've been Mary," Abby reasoned, knowing full well it wasn't. Mary had no idea that Abby would be telling her what she did. She'd have no reason to put Abby in jeopardy, because that would be giving away her own plans.

  But to run…

  "And she still could've been taken."

  "Both her and Josh? The neighbor didn't see signs of struggle," Vance pointed out.

  "Carl didn't say exactly but…" She trailed off. If the neighbors had seen an issue, surely Carl would've mentioned that. He wanted to be on her side. "She gave no indication that she was running."

  "She got spooked. What did you tell her after you left her apartment?"

  "That there was no problem—nobody was there. She had nothing to worry about," Abby recalled. "But if the stalker left something for me in her apartment, maybe she left something for Mary…at Josh's?"

  Vance sighed as he pulled into his parking space. "I'm going to pick up some things and I'm staying with you. You've got Teige next door—and we need all the help and extra eyes we can get. From now on, you're glued to me."

  "Great. Because I'm the one who needs the rescuing," she muttered.

  He turned to her. "Whoever this is? He'll destroy you."

  "Let him try," Abby said.

  "Fuck me. Abby, come on—"

  But Abby was done. "He did me a favor. I never would've left the marshals on my own."

  "This isn't on your own. You're under investigation for unduly influencing your witness to run. You fucked up a major FBI investigation. You think you'll just walk from that?"

  "I didn't do anything wrong. There's nothing on that tape. Mary ran for another reason."

  "Great, and you'll prove that how?"

  "That's not my worry at the moment. Listen, don't you understand? Now I'm free."

  "Free?" Vance repeated incredulously.

  "How badly does the CIA want me?"

  "Abby, no…"

  "I couldn't think of a better time to get in there and poke around."

  "No."

  "What do I have to lose?"

  "Yourself. Me. Us. Everything."

  She shrugged. "A chance I'll have to take."

  "Jesus Motherfucking Christ," he called to the car's ceiling.

  "Religion won't help you now."

  "That's not relig—forget it." He shook his head like he was trying to clear it. "Between you and the stalker, I almost feel sorry for the bastard."

  "Good. Now we need to focus. There have to be cameras in there. Bugs too."

  "I sweep both places—and our cars—several times a day."

  "Then you're in on it." That burst out of her mouth without thinking, born of complete and utter helplessness. "I didn't mean—"

  "Stop. You did, and I can't fucking blame you."

  "Dammit. Whoever this is, they're amazing at the mindfuck games." She paused. "A psychiatrist? You must have a need for a zillion of them in
the CIA."

  Vance looked at her with a frown. "You just accused me of stalking you and now you're going to disparage my place of employment."

  "Yes and yes. Psychiatrists—try to keep up."

  Vance's expression hardened. "It's not a joke."

  "No, Vance, it's not. It's my goddamned life, turned upside down. Again. So tell what I need to do to turn it upright again and I'll do it, but I can't be in the dark anymore. I've come through it twice already…I'm not sure I've got it in me to crawl out a third time."

  She choked on the last few words and turned away from him in horror. She thought she could get through that—they were only words. Words were the easiest thing about the last few weeks, months, years…

  Words shouldn't hurt that damned much, except when they were the ultimate truth.

  His arm went around her and pulled her as close as possible with the console between them. She didn't realize her shoulders were shaking with sobs or that tears were flowing silently down her cheeks, a river of them that she'd refused to shed when Ethan died, or when Vance had interrogated her then thrown her away like yesterday's trash. And still, she let Vance comfort her, because a part of her knew that this was right, that he was supposed to…that it would all be okay.

  "I won't let you be in the dark anymore," Vance murmured against her cheek. "If you are, you won't be there alone. I'll be right by your side. Can you handle that?"

  Abby nodded automatically, although she wasn't sure if she could. But if there was one thing she'd gotten great at, it was pretending. She pushed away from him, wiped her eyes. As law enforcement, at times they tended to think of themselves as invincible, and when they realized they were as vulnerable to certain threats as civilians, it was humbling. And terrifying. It must've made it difficult for Ethan to continue in his job. "Ethan wanted me to quit work," she admitted.

  Vance narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

  "He wanted me to work with him." There was no way she could've gone through with that—quitting her job and going to work with Ethan. Private sector, he'd said. Adventure, he'd added and the final, We won't have to answer to anyone but ourselves should've been the nail in the coffin.