When Fates Collide

by Isabelle Richards

  Table of Contents

  When Fates Collide

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Lily and Gavin’s story continues in

  Acknowledgments

  When Fates Collide

  Isabelle Richards

  Copyright

  © 2015 Isabelle Richards

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by: Devon Burke

  Cover Design and Photography: Regina Wamba

  Dedication

  I started reading this genre as a way to escape my crazy life.It is wonderful to jump into someone else’s story and leave yours behind for a bit.

  This book is dedicated to those doing the grind every day:Come with me and escape….

  One

  I never expected to find myself in the back of a police car. It’s certainly a life experience I wish I could have skipped. The A/C is out, and the windows in the back seat don’t open. The oppressive body odor reeking from the front seat tells me these guys have probably been sweltering in this car all day. From the other smells, I’m fairly certain more than one person has thrown up back here, possibly today. Although I may be suffering in the back seat, between me and the two guys up front, I’m the lucky one. At least this isn’t my office every day.

  We’re stuck in DC’s infamous rush hour traffic, and all I see is brake lights for miles. Looks like I’m going to be here awhile. I’m careful to avoid resting my head on the head rest that’s covered in God only knows what. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, and wonder how the hell I got here. What has my husband done now?

  If I’d lived a simpler life, I’d be sitting back here thinking, “How is this possible? We couldn’t be in trouble with the police.” But nothing about my life has been simple. I’ve been expecting this day since we got married five years ago. Actually, if I’m being honest, I’ve been expecting it since I first met him. If he’s finally gotten caught doing something, at least it will be over, and I’ll be free.

  I’m guessing this is serious. The police officers have refused to tell me what this is about. They wouldn’t even let me grab my cell phone or my purse before taking me away. “Mrs. Preston, there’s a problem involving your husband. You need to come with us,” one of them had said. That’s it, that’s all I’ve got to go on.

  After what feels like an eternity, we arrive at the police station. It’s a bee hive of activity. Lots of press vans, men with cameras, and women wearing way too much make up for this kind of heat.

  Sergeant Stinky opens my door, and he and his partner each grab an arm to force me forward. I’m not in cuffs, but it sure feels like I’m under arrest.

  They bring me into a room filled with the sweet, sweet bliss of air conditioning. For the first time in two hours, I can breathe. I’m ushered very quickly through a lobby and down a maze of hallways until I get into “the room.” It’s straight out of an episode of Law and Order: pea green walls, fluorescent lighting, a big metal table, one way mirror, and no windows. I’ve now gone from hot, annoyed, and mildly concerned to straight up pissed off. Ashton, what the hell have you gotten me into?

  An imposing man walks in, and my anger is replaced with fear. This guy means business. He is about six foot four, two hundred seventy five pounds, and has overworked detective written all over his face. “Ma’am, I’m Special Agent T. Greene. My partner, Special Agent Sullivan, will join us in just a moment. While we wait, can I get you anything?”

  I desperately try to recall all those hours of Law and Order I’ve watched. What am I supposed to say? What am I not supposed to say? The best I can muster is, “Umm… Do I need a lawyer?”

  Greene shakes his head and looks down at the table. “So, no one has told you?”

  “Told me what?” Knowing Ashton, it could be anything from a Ponzi scheme or prostitution ring to a chop shop... And I’m probably at the center of it somehow. That bastard. I brace myself for what I’m guessing will be words that will change my life forever.

  “Ma’am, I’m so sorry to tell you this, but your husband, Ashton Preston, is dead.”

  I should say something here. I should demand answers. I should cry. Weep even. But do I do that? Nope. I get a case of the giggles.

  The absurdity of it is just too much to bear. My uncontrollable laughing fit turns into a laugh so hard that no sound comes out, and I can barely keep myself in my seat. If I’m not careful, I fear I’ll actually be rolling on the floor laughing. I’m just lucky I don’t wet myself.

  Greene just looks at me as though I’m crazy, and I feel a little crazy. I try to gather my composure. Then someone else walks in, and I lose it again.

  He stares me with a disdain that reminds me of the time when I was six and got caught in the church office munching on communion wafers as though they were regular crackers. “We don’t see that reaction too often, do we, T? Mrs. Preston, I’m Special Agent in Charge, Danny Sullivan. People respond to tragic news in different ways, but laughing hysterically is a new one for me. Why don’t you tell me why you’re laughing? I didn’t realize death was so amusing.”

  Well, that comment sucks all the oxygen out of the room, and my belly laughing stops suddenly.

  I struggle to formulate my thoughts, but when I do, they pour out of me like a waterfall of anger. “For the last three hours, I’ve been trying to figure out what the hell’s going on. I’ve been dragged from my home and stuffed in a puke-covered car with Stinky and Stinkier, thinking Ashton has dragged me into some mess. As it turns out, the bastard is dead? But not just dead. He’s dead and I’m in a pile of shit, right? Why else would you drag me down here, if there wasn’t a heap of trouble? So please, tell me, what did he do? What has he left for me to fix?”

  I hadn’t intended to rant like that, but my emotions are spilling over. My cheeks are hot, and I’m as breathing heavily as if I’ve just run a marathon. I must look like a raving lunatic. I’m sweaty and gross from sitting in the car with the Stinkies. When the police arrived, I had just stepped out of the pool. I’m still in my bathing suit and cover up dress and sporting pool hair. I can only imagine how frizzy and fried it must look from the combination of chlorine and humidity.

  Greene sits in the chair next to me, then takes my hand. “Mrs. Preston, you do have my deepest apologies that the two police officers who escorted you here didn’t inform you of your husband’s death. I’m sure that all of this is very confusing.”

  “Your husband�
�s death is part of a larger ongoing investigation run by a multi-agency task force, and there’s very little I can tell you at this time. Let’s go through this step-by-step, and I’ll tell you as much as I can,” Agent Sullivan explains.

  My head is spinning. I can’t believe this is happening. I keep waiting for Ash to jump out and say this is one of his elaborate pranks. Everything was a joke to that man.

  Greene’s hand over mine and the look of pity on his face make it hard to believe this is a prank. Greene doesn’t strike me as a jokester. He looks weathered and hard—cop-like. But he has soft and caring grey eyes. He strikes me as the type that could bench-press a million pounds while defusing a bomb without even breaking a sweat, but who also likes to garden and read poetry in his free time.

  “Your husband was in a car accident,” Greene begins.

  With all the trouble Ashton has gotten himself into over the years, he’s been taken down by a car accident. I would’ve guessed it had to be something far more sinister or grandiose, like getting knifed leaving a strip club or being pushed down an elevator shaft. A car accident just seems too banal for Ash. He lived big and on the edge. I would have expected his death to follow suit.

  “He was in a head-on collision leaving a farm in Poolesville at around eleven o’clock this morning. Both cars were driving at high speed, and both drivers were killed instantly.” He pauses as the reality of his words soaks in.

  The room suddenly feels cold. I wrap my arms around myself.

  “Are you ready to continue?” he asks. I nod, and he pats my hand. “The farm at…” He looks down at a file on the table. “2849 White’s Ferry Road has been under surveillance by federal authorities. Over the last four months, your husband has been spotted there on numerous occasions. Are you familiar with this location?”

  “Agent Greene, my husband and I lived very separate lives. You probably know more about him than I do.”

  Sullivan speaks up sounding highly irritated, “Mrs. Preston—”

  I hold up my hand. “Please, don’t call me that. I’ve never liked it. Just call me Lily.”

  “Okay, Lily. Look, we brought you here because this case is about to get complicated and there’s likely to be a lot of press. Your husband was in business with some dangerous people. We’re concerned for your safety. We think it’s best if you stay in FBI custody until we have a better handle on the situation.”

  “Hold up for one second. You’re FBI? I was picked up by the local police. I thought you guys didn’t play well in the sandbox.”

  Sullivan laughs. “You watch too many cop shows. For this case, we’re working together on a task force with multiple agencies. The local police have the most space, so they get the home field advantage. There are at least fifty or sixty people working on this case from maybe half a dozen agencies. It’s a big deal.”

  I’m dizzy and can’t seem to catch my breath. A cold sweat breaks out on my skin, and I feel as though I’m going to throw up. I push back from the table and stand. Heading for the door, I try to run out of the room, but it’s locked. Damn interrogation rooms.

  Sullivan tries to stop me, but I give him a nauseated look telling him I may hurl all over his shoe if he doesn’t let me out. He uses his magnetic badge to open the door.

  I run blindly. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need out. Someone calls to me, but I can’t make out what they are saying. It’s all just fuzzy noise. Nothing is clear or making sense, and all of my senses are dull. All I can see is the door to the outside, and I’m using every last bit of energy I have to get to it. I reach out for the door handle when I feel my feet leave the floor.

  I’m suddenly being scooped up by… someone as I hear a voice with the most comforting English accent say, “Not so fast, luv. You’re not going to want to go out there.”

  The man sweeps me away to an office. He’s tall and solid, and his arms swallow me as he carries me. Once the door is closed, he slowly puts me down but doesn’t let go. “Sorry to snatch you up that way, but they’d eat you alive out there,” the stranger says in his hypnotizing voice.

  I finally get a look at him. He’s the most stunning human being I’ve ever seen—far more handsome than any model I’ve ever drooled over. He’s tall, I’d guess about six foot three at least, and every inch seems to be perfection, from his dark blond hair to the crystal clear blue eyes that stare right into my soul.

  I try to stop staring at his chiseled features, but I’m mesmerized by his eyes and his full lips. His arms are still wrapped around me, and for a moment I feel safe, secure. It’s completely inappropriate for me to stay entangled with him. I know I should step away, but he’s holding me so comfortingly that I don’t want to break free.

  While I’m lost in the oceans of his eyes, the door flies open, and I’m hit by a tidal wave of flashing lights. The lights are blinding, and for a moment, all I can see is stars. After blinking a few times, my eyes adjust, and I see a short man that looks and smells as though he’s been living in a dumpster. He’s barking questions at us, but I’m still so overloaded that I don’t process anything he’s saying. He might as well be speaking Greek. Before I can figure out what’s going on, several officers burst through the door. Sullivan tackles the little man to the floor and slaps cuffs on him. Sullivan may be rough around the edges, but he can be my bodyguard any day.

  Dazed and confused, I step back and shake my head. “Can someone tell me what is going on? Who the hell is that, and why is he taking my picture?”

  “Mrs. Preston, there’s still quite a bit we need to discuss. Can we please return to the interview room?” Sullivan asks firmly. “Agent Greene will escort you while I sort out this yahoo.” He grabs the creepy photographer and storms out.

  “You should talk to her in here where she won’t feel like she’s a criminal,” the English stranger pipes up, heading after him. Before I can muster the words to thank him, he’s out the door, leaving me with Greene.

  I can’t seem to wrap my head around what’s going on. I feel as though I’m watching a movie after missing the first thirty minutes. I have no idea what’s going on or who the characters are.

  “Agent Greene, my head is spinning. I haven’t even processed what you told me in there. I don’t know why that guy tried to take my picture. And who is the Brit? Jesus, I feel like I’ve walked into an episode of The Twilight Zone!”

  Before Greene can answer, Sullivan bursts back through the door. “T, there’s been a development. We need to hit the road. Preston, you need to stay put. Don’t go anywhere.”

  Just like that, they’re both gone, and I’m left in the dust.

  I sit on an uncomfortable plastic chair, stunned. Replaying the afternoon in my mind, I can’t believe this is happening.

  “What the fuck?!”

  Hot tears stream down my face. I’d sworn I’d never let Ash and his crap make me cry. But here I am, in a police station, a blubbering mess!

  The English stranger rushes back into the room. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, I’m just great. Why do you ask?” I snap back at him.

  “Well, people don’t tend to scream profanities at the top of their lungs when they’re okay. Typically, it’s only if they’re very good or very bad. With the tears, I’m guessing things aren’t very good right now.”

  Apparently, that “what the fuck,” hadn’t been in my head. “You are perceptive,” I retort.

  He crosses the room and hands me a handkerchief.

  I raise an eyebrow at him and say, “Really? A handkerchief? I didn’t think people really had these anymore. Is that an English thing?”

  He snorts when he laughs at me. “Well, it’s a ‘being a gentleman’ thing. So yes, I suppose it’s an English thing, then.”

  I dab at my eyes with the handkerchief, and we sit in silence for a minute or two. I have no idea what to say to him.

  He jumps up. “Okay, luv, we need to get out of here. Follow me.”

  “They said I have to stay,” I respond. />
  “I know.” He winks. “We aren’t going far.”

  I look at him completely puzzled. “Who are you?”

  “That, my dear, is a question that requires scotch. Which is exactly why we’re getting the hell out of here. Don’t worry, Sullivan and Greene will know where to find you.”

  “I thought you said we couldn’t go outside,” I say, confused.

  “I’ve got a bloke that can get us out of here.” He pulls out his phone and texts someone. “We’d better get moving straight away, before we miss our window.”

  For some reason, I follow him. With an ass like that, I’d probably follow him anywhere.

  Two

  We go down a few flights of stairs to a parking garage. The Brit whistles using his fingers, and an unmarked police car rolls up.

  “Your own personal cop taxi?” I ask with skepticism.

  He chuckles. “Not quite. Just a friend trying to get you some breathing room. The press will be distracted with Sullivan and Greene leaving. If we move quickly, we can sneak out without anyone noticing.” He opens the back door and motions for me to climb in. “Thanks, Sam,” he says to the driver. “We both need to get out of there for a bit.”

  The driver turns around with an extended hand. “I’m Sam.”

  “Lily,” I say after shaking his hand.

  Sam smiles. “I know. All of us on the task force know all about you.”

  “Fabulous. Some husbands give their wives jewelry. Mine gave me a task force,” I mutter to myself. “So, where’re we going, Sam?” I ask. Since I’m leaving the safety of the police station with two men who are complete strangers, it seems like a smart question to ask.

  “Where I’m taking you, no criminal or member of the press would be stupid enough to go,” Sam says with a smirk.

  About two minutes later, I’m standing in front of a dingy dive bar. I look up at the sign. “Jack’s? Really? This is the safe place that stops bad guys in their tracks? Is there some sort of force field I’m not seeing? Or is this place so sleazy that even the bad guys are too classy to come here?”