Of course, my mind immediately conjures up thoughts of Cal—no, Declan. The way he’d touched me, kissed me, worshiped my body…it felt like nothing more than a dream. I’ve never experienced that kind of reverence as if he held true feelings for me. But that was impossible because he was cold as ice.
Just not when he had sex. Or had they made love? I would almost call it love, but I wasn’t stupid and wouldn’t make that kind of leap, knowing that only dead air greeted me on the other side.
Despite the late hour, I managed to run out the clock on scheduled programming, and the broadcast switched to news, which I find repetitive, so I set aside my empty bowl and decided to go to the office to review the insurance papers.
After all, I’ll need to file a claim soon.
Twenty-Three
~Declan~
One week later…
The funeral was shockingly packed, though I didn’t know who half of the attendees were. I’d spotted a few that I’d recognized as Glenn’s coworkers, as well as a woman who vaguely looked like the one I’d seen him with in the cul-de-sac, but since I’ve only seen her in heavy shadows and never got a full visual, I couldn’t be positive.
Sitting far back in my SUV, which had recently become my home on wheels, I kept an eye on the attendees, studying each of them to determine if anyone might be with the police.
As always, I trust no one and nothing. A funeral is the perfect place for cops to look for possible suspects. That is, assuming they had a reason to suspect anything.
I had spent the past week keeping a close eye on the happy widow, impressed by her ability to appear downtrodden in the wake of her husband’s death. I knew better, of course. She was thrilled, but she sure didn’t show it. To the scrutinous eye, one might notice how well-rested she was, as well as clean and put together. Sure, she shed some tears where appropriate, but to me, a trained eye, she was just playing the part.
The question that weighed on my mind, however, was whether or not she’d snitched. I don’t know a damn thing about the case, but I’ve been watching from afar, and I haven’t caught wind of or noticed any unusual activity at my old apartment. Nothing in the news, except a brief mention of an unnamed man who’d met a tragic end in a remote camping area north of the city.
It appears the plan went off without a hitch, and if it did, then I could soon retire in peace without looking over my shoulder or doling out retribution, which I want nothing more than to avoid.
That night with Brenda—Faith…had been a mistake. I can’t get her off my mind. Every night when I kick back the driver’s seat and close my eyes, I can feel her breasts filling my palms, the liquid heat of her body wrapped around mine, pulling and sucking me into oblivion. I have never been as affected by a woman as I am by this one, and it’s disconcerting.
I don’t want to feel this way, but I don’t know how to turn it off. This woman has somehow reached inside of me and flipped a switch I didn’t know existed, and now I’m forced to figure out how I’m going to deal with the aftermath.
If only I could prove she’s done something inherently wrong, something that goes against my code, a betrayal. Then I could kill this thing growing roots inside of me once and for all.
But I have nothing. No evidence to point to anything she’s done outside of our agreement that I can act on without remorse or regret. Faith Overmeyer has been a near-perfect client. My last client. Now, just like all the ones before her, I have to move on and put her behind me, pretend she never existed, that no part of that life ever existed. My fresh start is just around the corner.
Waiting around until the service is over, I tell myself that I’m lingering to be absolutely certain nothing is amiss. I’m not here for her. I wait until nearly every car was gone until the priest gets tired of standing around and walks away, until all that remains is Faith, her dead husband resting in his casket, and the gravediggers waiting to perform their job.
Dressed in a short black dress that flows around her knees in the light breeze, her face obscured by the fall of her flaxen hair, she holds a single yellow rose down at her side as, I imagine, she stares into the gaping hole beneath the casket, thinking of the good fortunes headed her way.
As she tosses that flower onto the casket’s lid then turns and walks away, I hope that she found the peace and freedom she was looking for. I don’t know her well, but I know enough to want the best for her. I want her to find the happiness that eluded her, all the good things Glenn had robbed her of for years. I want her to live in spite of her husband, and I hope the man is turning over in his grave because of it. I hope he’s looking up from whatever hell he’s in now and stewing over every good thing headed her way.
See you soon, buddy.
I have a good feeling as I crank the engine and coast away, traversing the winding, narrow paths paved through the cemetery. I’m getting a fresh start, just as Faith is. I’m going forward with a clean slate and rock-steady conscious. I’m...following the object of my obsession.
Jesus… What is wrong with me? I feel the tremor in my hands as they grip the steering wheel tighter, and I force myself to turn at the next intersection. I have no business following Faith anymore. The job is done. Over. It’s time for me to move on.
I curse myself repeatedly and force my mind onto other things as I jump onto the highway headed south, determined to put as much distance between her and me as possible.
I can’t be this stupid. I won’t allow it. The woman has no hold on me, never will. Just like everyone who’s ever entered my life, I’m cutting her off. Severing ties is the only way to ensure that I get what I want. And what I want is my own brand of freedom—from people, from expectations, from killing. From myself.
Yes, I know I’m my own worst enemy. I’ve known it all along. The rush of the kill is the flashing warning sign, telling me that my penchant for murder, the itch and drive to repeat the act, is the real problem. Even if I can get away with it all, find some secluded part of the world to hole up in and carve out a fresh new beginning, that desire will never go away.
The question is, will it pull me back in, or can I find the strength and fortitude to resist it? And then there is another problem to consider: it seems like there is always a reason for just one more…
I’ve only been driving for a few minutes when my phone makes its annoyingly chipper jingle signaling an incoming call. I growl in frustration, almost ignoring it, but something tells me I need to take this one.
Never one to go against instinct, I pry the phone from my back pants pocket and scowl at the unknown number.
Who the hell could be calling me that I don’t already know?
My thumb hovers over the green circle on the screen, while I debate what to do. Finally, I swipe my thumb across the green circle, accepting the call.
“Who is this?” I demand without preamble.
“Dec,” comes Tony’s familiar voice. “Sorry to bother you. I got one of the guys to pick up a burner in case you said no.”
My stomach flips in anticipation, even as my mind screams at me to hang up and keep driving. This is what I’d been afraid of. “Tony,” I warn.
“I have a friend who needs a favor. A special kind of favor. One only you can do. At least do it right,” he amends. “And I think it’s of personal interest. At least let me put it on the table before you close the door on it.”
I grit my teeth and then nod silently. It’s the “personal interest” part that got me. Tony takes my lack of verbal response as permission to proceed.
“She’s an older woman, single, has a close friend and family member who recently lost their life at someone else’s hands. We go way back. She knew my brother, rest his soul,” he prays. “She did our family a favor once, and in return, I promised her one. She’s calling it in.”
“And I should pay her the favor why? I told you I’m out.”
Tony chuckles. “Come on, Dec. We all know none of us ever get out. You might be a sole proprietor, but I’ve seen that look
in your eye. You can’t walk away from this gig any more than any of us can. It’s in our blood.”
I want to argue, but there is nothing he can say that would ring remotely true. Tony is right. They are men who thirst for blood and violence. The only difference is that Tony did it for money and power, and I do it for justice.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
With a triumphant tone of voice, Tony adds, “Arrangements have already been made. Noon at that little Polish restaurant on Front and Main. You know the one?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
I hear the click of the line on the other end. Tony is a real bastard sometimes. Glancing at the clock, I see that I have only fifteen minutes to make it to the restaurant. I drive ten more headed south telling myself that I’m not going. I have total control over my life and my urges. I don’t need to take this case. I’m out.
I’m lying.
Shouting a few choice curses, I swing the SUV off the next exit ramp and punch the gas pedal to the floor, and not five minutes later, I’m pulling into the cramped parking lot and throwing the SUV into park.
I jump out while the vehicle still rocks back and forth on its wheels and march up to the red and brown brick building, pausing at the hostess station long enough to get a direction, and soon found myself sitting across from another familiar and unexpected face.
The blonde from the cemetery. The one I considered a possible fit for the mistress of the late Glenn Overmeyer.
What could she possibly want from me?
Bleach-blonde hair tinged yellow hangs down around her frail shoulders, curling at the ends. Her makeup is light, focused mostly on the eyes, which are lined in coal and shadowed with silver-gray, the lashes painted enough to clump together in places. The puffiness around her bloodshot brown eyes indicated that she’s been crying—a lot.
She has my attention…and my curiosity.
“Thank you for coming,” she says in a rough smoker’s voice.
“Didn’t give me a lot of choice. What do you want?”
She lowers her eyes, visibly uncomfortable, and clears her throat. “Someone took something very important from me. Someone very important. I need you to take care of them for me.”
“Who is this person exactly?”
Unzipping a red leather purse, her hand dives inside, combing through its innards until she comes up with a wallet-sized square that soon reveals itself to be a miniature photo album. She flips through the pictures, finally settling on one. Lifting her gaze, she meets mine once more. Only this time, she appears harder, resolved.
I lower my gaze as she pushes the album toward me…and I feel my blood run cold. I know that face, know the way those lips felt against mine, the way that long, silky hair felt between my fingers. Those eyes, that soft, alluring, demure smile…
Faith. What did Faith have to do with this woman?
I replay her words in my mind, and the puzzle starts to come together. No…
“My daughter.”
Twenty-Four
~Declan~
My brain refuses to compute the new information. This woman was…Faith’s mom? Not the mistress I was led to believe? Or is it more complicated than that? Is this woman both mother and lover? Had she been playing both sides of the coin? And if so, why didn’t Faith ask for me to take care of her while I was at it? I would have done it in a heartbeat.
Anger mounts as I consider the implications. The woman across from me, asking me for my help, for me to murder her daughter, has been the most trifling of all. A disgusting human being to trump all those I’ve dealt with before.
I want to wrap both hands around her thin neck and squeeze the life out of her right here and now, damn the witnesses.
“I’m sorry, but it was a mistake coming here.” I rise to leave, the only choice I can see in front of me.
In a panic, the woman reaches out, snagging my hand and holding it prisoner. Her eyes are large and rounded as she looks up at me, disregarding the dangerous look in my eyes, the one I know I’m casting because I’m seconds from lunging at her.
“Please…I know she hired you.”
For the second time since I arrived, my breath freezes in my chest. Slowly, I sit back down, my eyes darting around the restaurant. Did I hear her right?
Breathing out a sigh of relief that I’m not leaving—yet—she continues. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I spotted you outside my home before. I had you pegged right away.”
That couldn’t be… It wasn’t often—or ever—that I was shook, but this woman is rattling my cage. I don’t enjoy the feeling of lost control at all. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“I’m not.”
“I’m retired.”
“Just hear me out.” Her voice is hard and the delivery straightforward. She isn’t his usual needy, unsure customer asking for something that was outside their wheelhouse. There is no discomfort in her eyes or body language, no hesitation that I can discern.
This woman is on the same level as the men I’ve worked around—the professionals. Yet, I doubt she’s ever been in the heart of anything as crazy as I’ve been. She is experienced, but not enough to have blood on her own hands.
She is what I’ve grown to recognize in the mafia wives. Cold, distant, cunning. And now she was asking for her daughter’s death. I don’t know which is worse: the idea that Faith might have committed matricide, or a mother wanting to murder her own child.
“We’re done here.”
“I can pay cash. Double your usual going rate.”
I glare at her. “Why would you do that?”
“As I said, she took someone very important away from me.”
“You mean her husband that you were having an affair with.”
The look on her face is of shock and repulsion. I’m just as thrown by her unexpected reaction as I am by her request.
“An affair?” She presses a hand to the center of her chest. “Is that…is that what she said?”
I allow my silence to speak for itself. I’m not sure that anything coming out of her mouth is the truth, but I have to figure it out. Now. I need answers, and I’m not leaving until I get them.
“Glenn was my son-in-law, the son I never had. We were close, yes, but that was because of my daughter. She has a knack for pushing people away, for treating those who love her like pariahs.” She leans forward in the booth, her voice lowering. “Faith isn’t well. She’s always been a very jealous, vindictive person. Growing up, she was a difficult child. Anything she could do to push my buttons, any reason to get into trouble. It escalated as she got older. The lies, the violence. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. The moment she was legal, I kicked her out, but she already had Glenn to run to. It’s never been easy for us, but I thought when she eventually brought Glenn home that she’d finally made a smart decision.”
“So, you approved.”
“Not at first. I thought there had to be a catch.” She shakes her head and sits back again, her gaze growing introspective. “Glenn wasn’t the best match for her. He was sweet and caring, generous. I don’t know why she picked him, except maybe for what he could give her.”
I’m growing impatient. I don’t want to hear theories. I’m only interested in facts. “Get on with it, or I’m gone, lady.” I should be at the airport by now, catching a plane to wherever the hell the wind takes me, but instead, I’m here wasting my time.
“Glenn wanted her to go back to school to pursue her dreams. He wanted the house, the kids, everything a married couple usually wants. But Faith wouldn’t hear of it. She wanted her freedom before the ink was dry on the marriage certificate.”
“Then why didn’t he get it annulled and move on?”
“Glenn was a romantic. He loved her dearly, and he didn’t want to just give up. For years, he tried to make it work. He came to me for advice, and over the years we grew close. She hated that.” The woman was scowling now, and I wondered what memory had inspired it.
“So your daughter is the bad guy here. Is that what you want me to buy?”
“Yes. I do. Faith has always been crafty, opportunistic. She couldn’t stand that we enjoyed each other’s company. She hated that Glenn actually liked me, that he didn’t agree with her on everything, that he chose to maintain a relationship with me when she refused to. And when I got diagnosed with breast cancer, she hated it even more that he took time to check up on me, make sure I had the things I needed.”
Memories of Glenn taking time from work to deliver food to her home cropped up in my mind. The hugs in the doorway. Could I have misinterpreted everything?
“It was causing such a rift in their marriage that I grew worried. I was afraid that Faith might act out, and I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. So I told Glenn to stay away, but he refused. He didn’t take any of it seriously. He didn’t see the person I did in Faith. He never saw the darkness. He just thought she had emotional problems, and with time and patience, he could fix it.”
But he couldn’t. If her story was to be believed, it meant I had been a party to killing an innocent man. My gut churned at the thought. I only killed the guilty. “Why should I believed you?”
“Because I wouldn’t lie about this. I went to Tony because his brother and I had something once, a connection, and because I helped their family when they needed it. He owes me, but if I were to lie to him, I’d be the one paying for it.”
And pay for it she would. In the most horrific way imaginable. Like me, Tony didn’t suffer liars. That’s where I learned it, after all. Even killers had morals and values, skewed though they may be.
But her story still didn’t prove anything. Where was the motive? Why would Faith risk everything just to rid herself of someone and not get anything in return for it? I did my homework, and I knew Faith stood to gain a measly twenty-thousand-dollar death and dismemberment policy from Glenn’s workplace, but that wasn’t a hefty enough sum to warrant murder. Freedom always had a price, and it was usually sky high.
Deadly Deception: A Dark Romance Page 13