by Tawny Taylor
That was it, I would never, never, drink wine again.
Using the wall to support myself, I lumbered to the bathroom, one heavy-footed step at a time. My muscles didn’t want to respond. My limbs felt as if they’d been tied to blocks of cement. I hadn’t felt this bad since . . . since that day in New York.
That day. When I’d been drugged.
Had I been drugged again?
By my brother?
No.
Had I?
No!
Somehow, by a miracle, I made it to the bathroom without falling over. When I was done I decided I needed my bed. My soft, warm, cozy bed. Unable to stand fully erect, I shouldered the wall as I lifted one foot at a time. Left. Right. Left. Right. As I was passing my brother’s shut door, I heard muffled voices again. My brother’s low rumble. A higher pitched giggle. He had a houseguest.
Was it her? Was it T?
I tried to press my ear to the door to listen, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. And it was extremely difficult standing up. I was so dizzy, any sudden movement made the whole world spin.
Quickly, I abandoned the idea of trying to listen and pushed on, dragging my heavy body to my bedroom. I had never been so grateful for my bed than I was at that moment, as I basically crashed onto it. I closed my eyes and willed myself to stay awake. I didn’t have the strength to stand outside his door for an hour, but if I could stay awake long enough to get a tiny peek of the woman as she left, it would be worth it.
All I needed was one small glance. Just one. Preferably of her face. I lay in bed and fought to stay awake. Every minute was a struggle. Every second. My eyes felt like they’d been rolled across the Mohave Desert. My head was very foggy, like it was full of thick goo. And my body felt so heavy, I could swear it had been encased in concrete.
Worse yet, this strange, nagging doubt plagued me as I lay there, odd bits of last night’s dreams playing through my head.
In my dream my brother had told me he’d taken out a loan for school, that the bank account was for that, not for any money he’d stolen. He was innocent, and Kam was guilty. Kam was greedy, trying to convince me that he was actually the victim instead of the thief.
What a weird dream that had been.
Weird, but also vivid enough to give birth to the smallest doubt that I might have jumped to the wrong conclusion. After all, the police had to have evidence in order to keep Kam in jail. Evidence I didn’t know about, but convincing enough to make them believe they could bring him to trial.
How I wished I knew what it was.
How I wished what my brother had told me was true, that he was innocent and I had taken their conversation out of context.
And yet Kam had been so convincing. And he’d been so kind, helping protect me and my brother. Why would he do that if he was the one who had committed the crime? Why would he hide the person he intended to blame? And why would he protect me if by doing so he would draw the police’s attention to himself?
So many pieces didn’t seem to fit.
And I was tired. So tired. Too tired. A part of me just wanted to sleep. For hours, days, weeks, until it was all over.
Starting now.
Sleep was right there, seducing me. Tendrils curling around my body, pulling me down, down into the darkness again.
I didn’t want to fight anymore. I couldn’t.
As I drifted, sounds became distant and sensations dulled. I was floating. Drifting on a gentle current. Until a loud thump yanked me back up, and my eyelids snapped open. My heart jumped in my chest.
My brother’s door opened with a squeak. Someone was whispering, but the tone was harsh, syllables emphasized. They were arguing.
I tiptoed to my closed door and, holding my breath, curled my fingers around the doorknob and twisted. Praying the hinges wouldn’t squeak, I stood behind the door and gently pulled until there was a small gap between the door and the frame.
Then, holding the door in place, I moved into position so I could peer through the crack.
The woman was tall, slender. Like Terry Stimpson. Her back was to me.
“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” she said, voice mocking. “Brainwashing?”
Did she sound like Terry Stimpson? Maybe. Maybe not. I leaned closer.
“Yes, brainwashing,” my brother answered. “I read about it on the Internet. According to the site I found, that’s what the military does to prisoners of war. They give them drugs and then make them talk. And then they make suggestions, tell them what to believe.”
Brainwashing? My brother had tried to brainwash someone? Me? Was that what he’d done? Had those not been dreams?
The woman laughed. She had a strange laugh. Unique. High pitched. I would probably recognize that if I heard it again. “Ridiculous.”
“Let me at least see if it worked,” Joss said. “She’s my sister, for Christ’s sake. You have no idea what she’s done for me.”
So he still felt some sense of obligation to me. Very little, considering what he had done. My eyes started burning once more. How could he drug me? Was money that important to him?
“What about me, Joss? What about what I’ve done for you? Drugging Maldonado. Twice. So you could access his computer remotely without him noticing what you were doing. You couldn’t have planted that evidence without my help.” Drugging Maldonado! My brother and his accomplice had drugged him? And planted evidence by hacking his computer? Was that the day Kam had collapsed in his office?
“Once,” my brother corrected. “You drugged him once. The first time you got my sister.”
“Yeah, well, that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know she would drink the damn water. Plus I set up the accounts and handled the transactions.”
“I’ll always remember what you’ve done for me. Baby, you’re making too much out of this. All we need is another week or so until our passports come in. Just another week or so. I can’t kill my sister for that.”
“Yes, you can. And you must, if she learns anything else.”
The longer I listened, the more I doubted it was Terry. But if it wasn’t her, who was it? Whoever this T woman was, she was dangerous. Ruthless. A shiver swept through me.
I had to find out who she was. I had to find a way to stop her.
“Fine. If she does any more snooping, I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
“You’d better, Joss. There’s too much at stake here for both of us.”
“I know.” He pulled her to him and kissed her roughly. Watching him made me uncomfortable, but because I hadn’t gotten a decent look at the woman yet, I didn’t shut my door and walk away. I needed her to glance my way. But I didn’t dare make a sound to force her to do it.
One little glance. That was all I needed.
I watched my brother and his lover paw at each other for a while. The longer it went on, the more convinced I became that she wasn’t going to turn my direction. I swallowed more than one sigh of frustration.
At least there was her laugh. And I also knew roughly how tall she was and what color hair she had. Average height. Brown hair.
It wasn’t much to go on.
“Come on, back to bed. We have plenty of time yet,” my brother said, tugging on his lover’s hand as he moved toward his room.
I inched back to stay out of sight but kept watching. If he took a few more steps, she’d have to turn toward me.
Keep going. Please.
I held my breath and waited.
“No, baby. You know I can’t.” The woman jerked her hand away before she had turned my way. “I need to go to work.”
He took one step. Another. “You don’t have to be there until nine. It’s five.”
“I realize that. But I don’t want to risk your sister waking up and seeing me. Especially with you being unwilling to take care of things.” The edge in her voice made my blood run cold with fear.
“I promise, she’s out cold. Nobody could wake up after what I gave her.” He took another step.
The woman twisted. “Well . . .”
Yes, that’s it. Turn this way.
“Give me another thirty minutes,” my brother pleaded. “I’ll make sure you enjoy every single second if it.”
“Well . . .” She pivoted the opposite direction. “Where is she?”
“On the couch. In the living room.”
“Go check on her first,” the woman demanded. “I want to make sure she’s still sleeping.”
Oh shit! Ohshit, ohshit, ohshit!
I couldn’t get to the living room without going down the hallway. They were about to find out I had woken up.
What to do?
“No reason to waste any precious time checking on her. I dosed her good. Come on,” my brother said, tugging on the woman’s arm again and forcing her to turn toward me at last.
A gasp tore up my throat.
That wasn’t Terry Stimpson from HR. Or Tracy Fenner. Or Tina Rooney. Or any of the other employees at MalTech with first names starting with T.
Of all the people, I hadn’t even considered her.
This was it.
I had all the proof I needed. My brother and his lover were the real thieves. They were hiding some unknown sum of money in a bank account. And they had drugged Kam and planted evidence to make him look guilty.
If that bitch had it her way, I would be dead before the end of the week.
Hands trembling, I shut the door, staggered to my dresser, and dug out a pair of jeans and a shirt. I had to go to the police. Now. This minute. Before my brother and his lover realized I was awake.
God, I hoped I could drive there without killing myself.
An hour later I was in the emergency room. After staggering into the police department and pleading for help, an ambulance was dispatched to take me to the ER for tests to confirm I had been drugged. I couldn’t tell by the officer’s stony mien whether he’d believed a single word I had said, but I was hopeful the drug test would prove that part of my story. The rest, I realized, was sketchy and lacked specifics, but I didn’t dare risk waiting any longer to tell someone what I had learned. If I had waited and something happened to me, then I might die without having the chance to tell the truth.
They probably didn’t have enough yet to free Kam from suspicion, but I hoped it wouldn’t take long for them to gather more evidence, now that they knew who to look at.
Several hours later I was several tubes short of blood. And I was free to go.
Free to go where? Free to go how? My car was still sitting in the parking lot outside of the police department. I checked the clock. It was almost nine. I was due in to work any minute now. I briefly considered calling in, but I decided even that was too risky. I was afraid to walk out in public where I might be seen. So I requested a cab and sat in the back corner of the emergency room waiting area until it arrived. Every time I heard the whoosh of the automatic doors open, my body tensed. What if my brother somehow found out where I was?
Maybe it was unlikely, but having been through so many shocks lately, I was at the point of pure paranoia. My own brother had lied to me, drugged me, and tried to brainwash me. I didn’t have actual medical proof that he’d done those things yet—the blood test results took some time to come back—that he’d more or less confessed. And someone I thought was trustworthy was his accomplice. Another horrific shock. Was it no wonder I was trembling uncontrollably? Was it no wonder I was afraid to show my face in public until I received a call that my brother was in jail?
I checked my cell phone. The battery was at roughly fifty percent. It rang as I was checking it. My brother. I let it click to voice mail.
It rang three more times as I was riding in the cab to a nearby hotel. I had hoped those calls would be from the police. They weren’t. They were all from my brother.
I had four new messages. Also from my brother.
And three texts.
Where are you?
Are you at work? Want to grab some lunch during your break?
I’m getting worried. I’ve called. I’ve texted. Why aren’t you answering?
I decided, after the last one, that responding might be a good idea. It would maybe throw him off track. He didn’t have his passport yet. He couldn’t leave the country. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t run.
I’m fine. Just busy. And tired. That wine made me sick last night. Yes, at work. I’ll call you later. Love you.
Hoping that would throw him off for a while, I checked into the hotel and parked myself in my room to wait for a call from the police. While I had initially thought going to work would be a good idea, I’d decided, after those calls and texts, that I had to lie low. I wasn’t going to risk being found by my brother before he’d been arrested. Period. End of story. I just hoped I wasn’t going to have long to wait. Living in limbo like this was horrible.
The first bit of good news came about ten hours later. Those ten hours had been dull, boring, and yet horrifically trying. I’d paced most of the time. The rest I tried to occupy my mind by watching old movies on cable.
But that call was so worth all those hours of hell.
“Abigail. You did it! You did it!” Kam practically shouted into my ear. “When I get my hands on you I am going to kiss you until you can’t breathe.”
Tears of happiness welled in my eyes.
There was a lot to be sad about—particularly finding out my brother was truly a hardened criminal, willing to drug me in order to cover his tracks. But at least I had been able to save Kam from serving time in prison for a crime Joss had committed.
“Abigail? Are you there?” Kam asked.
I sniffled. And sputtered. “I’m here.”
“You’re crying.”
“I am.” Sitting up, I wrapped myself in the blanket and dragged my hand across my face.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“I’ll come as soon as I’m through here.”
“Okay. How much longer will that be?” I checked the clock on the nightstand. It was a little after seven.
“I have no idea. They’re processing me now.”
“Do you need a ride?”
“No, I’ll call Stephanie and have her send a car.”
A wave of chilly hatred swept through me at the mention of her name. “Oh. Um, you probably can’t do that. Even if you could, you don’t want to.”
“Why?” he asked.
“She’s in on it.”
Silence. “No.” It was a shocked whisper.
“She is. She was at my apartment this morning. I heard her talking to my brother about everything. There’s no doubt she’s been part of this thing since the beginning.”
“Damn.”
Silence.
Clearly, he was devastated by this news. I was sorry I was the one who had to deliver it to him. After all, she was the one he had trusted when he’d arranged to be arrested.
“I’m sorry,” I said, softly.
“I trusted her.”
“Yes, I know.” When he didn’t speak again, I asked, “Do you need me to come and pick you up?”
“I . . . I don’t need you to. But if you want to . . .”
“Call me when you’re ready, and I’ll be there,” I told him.
“Okay. See you soon.”
I opened my mouth to say the words I’d been trying to say since he was arrested, but he cut me off. “Abigail?”
“Yes?”
“I owe you my life.”
The tiniest ripple of happiness swept through me. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes. Yes I do.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay.” After a beat, he said, “Bye.” And that was the end of the conversation.
Figuring I had at least an hour, I scurried into the shower to freshen up. I wasn’t sure what Kam would have in mind once we were alone. But I was willing to bet he was going to want to make up for lost time. With all that had happened I wasn’t
exactly in the mood to play his tie-me-up-and-make-me-beg games, but the thought of having his arms around me sure sounded great.
I had just finished up showering when my cell phone rang. I recognized the phone number. It was Kam’s cell phone. It was in his possession again. That had to be a good sign.
“You can come and pick me up at your convenience,” he said by way of a greeting.
Dabbing my face with a towel, I said, “I’ll be there in about twenty.”
“I can’t wait to see you.”
I smiled. My gaze caught my reflection in the mirror. “I can’t wait to see you too.”
“It’s pouring, so call me when you get close and I’ll come outside.”
“Will do.” I grabbed a second towel with my free hand and used it to squeeze some of the water from my hair.
“Abigail?”
“Yes.”
“I . . . I want to say something, but I don’t want to take it wrong.”
“Okay.” A niggle of unease swept through me, replacing the fleeting giddiness that had lifted my mood slightly. “What is it, Kam?”
“I . . . I . . . I think I need to wait and tell you later.”
“All right then. I’ll be there soon.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” When he didn’t say anything else, I added a quick good-bye and clicked off.
What was wrong now? I’d never heard that man sound so unsure. Not even when he was facing prison.
A little uncertain whether I was mentally or emotionally prepared for another jarring shock, I quickly dressed, hurried out to my car, started it up, and zoomed toward the jail. My palms sweated so badly as I drove that I had to keep dragging them down my legs. They were shaking too hard to dial his number while I was driving, so I set my phone in the cup holder and decided to put off trying to call him until I was parked. By the time I had pulled into the crowded parking area by the jail’s main entrance, my heart was thumping so hard in my chest, my breastbone was getting sore. And I was breathing so quickly I felt a little lightheaded. I was nervous. I was excited. I was a mixed up bundle of joy and sorrow, confusion and happiness, relief and anxiety.