Laura closed her eyes and lowered her head. She remembered the man at the track, fighting for his life beneath the violent force of her feet. Inside her own body, there didn’t seem to be any will left to fight. Then, behind her closed eyes, as if they were swimming directly in front of her, she saw her lionfish, gliding through the water, looking helplessly for their next meal.
27
Vanessa
A WEEK AFTER Laura’s arrest, and two days after Hank’s funeral, Vanessa sat at the kitchen table, waiting for Matt. The shock of the past seven days had begun to settle into a sense of normality. The ache from Hank’s death was softening into something slightly cut off from her, that didn’t have very much to do with her life, after all.
It was the shock of death more than the loss of Hank himself that had ripped through her. Maybe running from Laura, running faster than she’d ever run in her life, feeling blood pumping through her body like an almost supernatural force that allowed her muscles to move with such grace had cleansed him from her system.
As she ran, she’d felt she was living out someone else’s life, maybe a scene from a movie. Running from a killer.
Fearing a shot aimed at your back was not something that happened to people like her. It was something that lived in a vague part of your protective subconscious, but mostly seemed like an experience that would never actually happen.
When she’d finally rounded the corner of the building, finding the safety of strangers, she’d stopped. For half a second, her lungs were incapable of drawing in air, her heart stood motionless, or that’s what it seemed like when she thought about it later.
Maybe, she wasn’t feeling the loss of Hank because she’d already experienced an emptiness, a deep pain nearly as intense as the grief felt after a death, when he’d walked out of Avalon and out of her life without a backward glance.
The only reason she’d even been invited for drinks that evening was because Brent was trying to be nice. Judging by the look on Hank’s face when she’d walked into the bar, he hadn’t been told she was joining them. The only time Hank had spoken to her was when he’d tried to shame her into giving back his precious pen, and then his curt goodbye.
After calling the police, she’d texted Matt to explain why she’d be late. When the police arrived, four officers had to surround Laura and talk to her before she put down the gun. While they handcuffed her, she’d given a long, incoherent story that seemed to suggest Vanessa was the one who killed him. The officers ignored her rambling, giving Vanessa a small flicker of pleasure.
Vanessa was kept there in the cold night air for over an hour, answering questions, explaining who she was and how she knew Hank, how she knew Laura, and how the evening had unfolded. Since then, Vanessa had been told to give a formal, recorded statement that was also transcribed and printed for her signature. Laura had been charged with first-degree murder. It was all anyone talked about in the break room and in the hallways at Avalon.
Now, Vanessa gazed at the kitchen table, made of smooth, light pine. Hank’s Montblanc pen was lying in front of her—seductive and glossy red on the pale wood. All the lights in the house were out except the one over the table that she’d dimmed to the lowest possible setting. It cast a faint glow around the pen, making the red appear like a dark streak of blood.
She turned the pen so the tip pointed at her. She picked up her wineglass and swallowed some. Smooth, rich Cabernet. Matt would be disappointed she hadn’t waited for him, but she needed to steel herself. It was only a small amount, less than half a glass. She took another sip.
Their relationship was about to change. This could be the end, although maybe she’d already pushed him to the end. She felt she’d been asleep for years, blind to all the good parts of her life, frantically chasing something she couldn’t define. She couldn’t explain, even to herself, why she wanted excitement, whatever that was. The feeling she chased wasn’t happiness, that was for sure.
Was she happy when Hank looked at her as a beautiful addition to his office décor, rather than an intelligent human being? Was she happy when she dropped a bottle of nail polish into her purse? She was pretty sure she was not. She was nothing but a robot, her arms moving mechanically.
She adored Matt. Why had she worked so hard to get Hank’s attention? It wasn’t as if she’d ever really wanted him as a person. She wanted his admiration, the thrill of flirting.
She held the stem of her glass with both hands and lifted it up to the light. The ID bracelet slid down her arm. She thought about the hidden word engraved underneath—my princess. She laughed. What was she—ten years old—wishing she were a princess? Admired and spoiled? The downside of being a princess was that no one really liked you for who you were.
Yet, for some reason, Matt did like her for who she was. Although he seemed to have a better idea of who that was than she did. She put down the glass and opened the clasp on the bracelet. The gold was heavy in the palm of her hand. She turned and pulled open the junk drawer. She dropped the bracelet on top of a stack of takeout menus.
The sound of Matt’s car in the driveway pressed on her heart with the same thrill she felt when she was walking down the aisle of a store, about to slip something into her purse. The garage door opened, Matt’s Mustang pulled into his space. The door closed, followed a few seconds later by the sound of the knob turning on the pantry door.
She moved the pen so it was near the edge of the circle of light, dark and ominous. Did the size create that impression, or was it all in her mind, knowing what it cost? How long had Hank known she was the one who’d taken it? He hadn’t even bothered to ask her about it directly. He’d never sent a text or called. He’d made that vague comment while Brent chattered on about hiring plans.
Matt walked toward her and bent down. He kissed the top of her head, leaving his face pressed into her hair for a moment. He put his hands on her shoulders. “How are you doing?”
She patted his hand. “I’m okay. Better, I think.” She pushed out her chair and stood. She finished her wine, carried the glass to the counter, and set it next to the clean one. She poured wine into both. She handed the glass to him and picked up her own.
“Where’d you get that pen?”
She put her hand on his forearm and tugged gently. “Let’s go sit in the living room and I’ll tell you about it.”
“I thought we were going to eat. It’s almost seven.”
“I’ll make something quick—after we talk.”
“About a pen?”
She picked up the pen and walked into the living room. She put the pen on the coffee table, kicked off her shoes, and settled near the center of the couch. She pulled her feet up and sat curled like a cat.
Matt sat beside her and put his hand on her knee. “What’s the big secret? It looks expensive.”
“Seven hundred bucks, at least. I don’t know for sure. Some of them are twelve hundred, or more.”
“What the hell?”
“It’s Hank’s.”
He took his hand off her knee. “He gave it to you?”
“No.”
“Then how did you get it?”
“Can you keep your hand there? It feels good.”
He placed his hand on her knee again but his touch was tentative. “What’s going on?”
“I took it.”
“You took it?”
“Stole it.”
“Why?” His voice was low, hardly a question, almost as if he knew the answer.
“Because.”
She took a sip of wine, waiting for another question, but none came. “He’s dead, so it doesn’t matter.”
“You don’t think taking his pen will…why did you take it?”
“I take a lot of things.”
“What?”
“All the nail polish? The makeup? The clothes I haven’t worn. Other stuff. I take things.”
“What do you mean, you take things?”
She swallowed some wine. “I shoplift. I’ve been doing it
since I was fifteen.”
“Fifteen? No shit?”
It surprised her that he was more interested in what she’d done as a teenager than the fact she was still doing it.
They sat in silence for several minutes.
“Aren’t you going to say anything else?” she asked.
He shrugged. He took his hand away from her leg and leaned forward to place his glass on the table. “I already knew.”
“What? You couldn’t…how could you know?”
“I told you, I was really disturbed by all that nail polish. The makeup. I talked to someone at work, and—”
“You discussed our relationship at work? You talked about me?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if you were turning into a hoarder or something. They—”
“They? More than one person?”
“No, one person. They said maybe you stole it. And I started thinking about how you’re usually pretty careful with your money. And you don’t ever want to buy something we aren’t going to use…so yes. I thought that’s what you were doing.”
She felt her body grow hot with shame. They knew. He’d spoken to a close friend at work. Someone he would invite to their wedding. They wouldn’t think she was risky and smart. They’d think she was a loser.
She waited for him to say more, but he simply stared at her, his expression impossible to read.
“Are you disgusted with me?”
“Not the word I’d choose.” He stroked her leg for a moment. He slid his hand between her knees. The pressure felt good on her bones, warm and secure, as if he had her firmly in his grasp.
“What word would you choose?”
“Surprised. Curious.” He laughed. “Why do you—?”
“It’s exciting.” She’d thought a lot about it, and that really was the truth. The main thing had always been the excitement. Not knowing what might happen, adrenaline pounding through her heart, quickening her brain like she’d had a double espresso. At least that’s how it used to feel. When she was a teenager.
“Interesting.”
“I thought you’d be disgusted. That you’d want me to confess to the police or something. I thought you might want…”
He looked at her, his hand still firmly planted between her knees. She relaxed her shoulders.
“You thought I might what?”
“That you’d want to split up.”
He slid his fingers up her leg. “Hell no. I’m crazy about you.”
“Really?”
“Especially now.”
She put her glass on the table. “Especially now?”
He placed his other hand on her waist and worked his fingers down her side, probing at the fabric until he reached underneath and touched her skin. Heat shot through her. He put his face close to hers and bit gently on her earlobe. “You have a lot of surprises—the way you attacked me in the dining room a few weeks ago was…” He buried his face in her hair.
“You didn’t seem very excited then.”
He turned his head so she couldn’t see his face. “I thought I was a stand-in for your boss.”
Her throat tightened. She tried to swallow. “Never.” Her voice was thin, barely audible with only a dribble of oxygen to support it. She’d come so much closer to losing him than she’d realized.
“You know…that’s why I haven’t wanted to get married. I thought maybe you wanted him, that you weren’t sure about me.”
Tears filled her eyes. She kissed him gently. “I’m sorry. It was never that. I love you.”
He pulled her close until she felt as if their bodies were melting into each other. “You still want me? Even though I’m a thief?”
“Why would I give you up? You’re the most exciting woman on the planet.”
She laughed. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m serious.” He pulled his hand out from between her legs and put his palm on the side of her face, turning her face toward his, sliding his other hand up to the edge of her bra. He kissed her, long and slow. After a few minutes, he moved his head back a few inches. “I can’t let go of you. You’re smart. You’re kind. Gorgeous, and…how many people can shoplift and get away with it for all that time?”
She’d misjudged him. Maybe she didn’t know him as well as she’d thought. Maybe, he also wanted more, whatever that meant. “I’m done, though. It’s not as much fun as I thought. Not anymore.”
“And it’s wrong?” He laughed softly.
She smiled. “Well, yes. But I had rationalizations.”
“I'm sure you did.” He kissed her. “I think we should get married. Now…this summer. We could take a long trip. We could drive across the country, get to know each other again.”
She moved her face close to his, touching his lips with hers, then sinking into the kiss. She held on to him, feeling every cell in her body respond to him. She’d been right—he knew her better than she knew herself sometimes. Maybe their trip meant she could also get to know her own self again—or, for the first time.
She had no idea where things were headed, but it was so exciting she could hardly breathe.
——————————————
If you enjoyed The Assistant, then you’ll love Cathryn’s bestselling psychological thriller The Guest, an intense story about a mysterious stranger invited into a troubled household.
GET IT HERE!
THE GUEST
By Cathryn Grant
She told him to make himself at home. He did.
Life has been good to Ellie – she owns a successful art gallery, is deeply in love with her husband, Seth, and has two beautiful children, Brandon and Simone.
But not everything is perfect…
Lately, Seth seems to have something on his mind and has become cold and distant. And things don’t improve when he invites mysterious stranger Ace to stay in their home.
Ace is charming, but Ellie can’t help feeling there’s more to him than meets the eye, that he has some kind of agenda. She’s also aware that she is dangerously attracted to him.
Then a girl at Brandon’s school is murdered, and Ellie is beyond devastated when the police tell her they think her son might be involved.
Ellie knows in her heart that Brandon is innocent and she feels certain that Ace is somehow connected to the disturbing things that are happening. She starts to dig for the truth and uncovers the terrible secret that will change her life in ways she can’t imagine…
GET IT HERE!
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A Note from the Author
Thank you so much for choosing to read The Assistant. I hope you enjoyed reading the book as much as I loved writing it.
I want to take a moment to give an enormous thank you to Brian and Garret at Inkubator Books. Their belief in my writing, their unique approach to developing and revising a novel, and their investment in getting the word out to readers has changed my writing career in ways I can’t begin to describe.
I love hearing from readers. If you’d like to get in touch, you can email me directly through my website or we can connect on social media (details below).
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Cathryn
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Also by Cathryn Grant
INKUBATOR TITLES
THE GUEST
(A Psychological Thriller)
THE GOOD NEIGHBOR
(A Psychological Thriller)
THE GOOD MOTHER
>
(A Psychological Thriller)
CATHRYN’S OTHER TITLES
She’s Listening
(A Psychological Thriller)
THE ALEXANDRA MALLORY PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE SERIES
The Woman In the Mirror ◆ The Woman In the Water
The Woman In the Painting ◆ The Woman In the Window
The Woman In the Bar ◆ The Woman In the Bedroom
The Woman In the Dark ◆ The Woman In the Cellar
The Woman In the Photograph ◆ The Woman In the Storm
The Woman In the Taxi
SUBURBAN NOIR NOVELS
Buried by Debt
The Suburban Abyss ◆ The Hallelujah Horror Show
Getting Ahead ◆ Faceless ◆ An Affair With God
THE HAUNTED SHIP TRILOGY
Alone On the Beach ◆ Slipping Away From the Beach
Haunting the Beach
NOVELLAS
Madison Keith Ghost Story Series ◆ Chances Are
SHORT FICTION
Reduction in Force ◆ Maternal Instinct
Flash Fiction For the Cocktail Hour
The 12 Days of Xmas
NONFICTION
The Assistant: A gripping psychological thriller with a nerve-shredding ending Page 27