Say It Again (First Wives)

by Catherine Bybee

  “Yeah, but according to what my sister told me, it worked. According to my parents, every parent knew what they were getting their kids into.”

  “Why would anyone . . . ?”

  “To make their kids street-smart. To keep them alive when the world might want them otherwise,” AJ said.

  “So locks and security kept the kids in and the bad guys out. And now that you want answers on Richter, no one there will talk to you.”

  “You got it.”

  “Give me twenty-four hours.”

  The tension in AJ’s neck started to ease. “Can I ask a question?”

  “Of course.”

  AJ had a hard time wording what he wanted to ask, so instead he started to ramble. “Sasha is very cloak-and-dagger, and a little badass.”

  “She defines badass,” Reed chuckled.

  “Yeah. Okay. I can see how she might know her way around finding people and such. What makes you qualified?”

  “I’m in security. I still dabble in private investigating. And I was a detective with the police force.”

  AJ blinked a few times. I’m talking to a cop. “Overqualified.”

  “Be sure and tell my wife that if you ever meet her.”

  AJ’s smile beamed. “Your wife?”

  “Yeah, do you have one of those?”

  “A wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  Another pause on the line.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yup. Just taking down a few notes. I’ll get in touch with you tomorrow at this time.”

  “Thanks, Reed.”

  “You can thank Sasha. I’m doing this for her.”

  AJ ended the call feeling a lot more accomplished than before he’d picked up the phone.

  Reed knew what he was doing, was going to help . . . and he was a married man.

  And a cop.

  Ex-cop. AJ glanced at his cell phone, happy he made a habit out of never bringing one along when he got his adrenaline rush. The last thing he wanted was to find Amelia’s killer and end up in jail for his own crimes.

  Although if it could bring his sister back, he’d walk into the police station without a lawyer.

  But that wasn’t going to happen.

  AJ decided the night needed to end with a beer.

  “For a woman in such great shape, you sure spend a lot of time in the library.” Claire sat across from Sasha, much like she had the day they’d met.

  And like the day they met, Sasha had her nose in a yearbook.

  “Don’t you have class?”

  Claire grinned. “It’s Saturday, and since Checkpoint Charlie won’t give me a pass, I’m stuck here.”

  Sasha remembered those days well. “Let me guess, no family to come and get you.”

  “I’m gifted a week in the summer and Christmas with a host family. Just like you did when you were here.” Claire looked her directly in the eye.

  “You’ve been doing some research.”

  “I asked Charlie.”

  “He’s a good source of information. You’re right. I was stuck here, too. I made the most of it, as I’m sure you do.”

  “It gets old. There isn’t a day I don’t think about living on the outside. I already have all the credits I need to graduate. I could leave.” Claire looked around the room.

  “Why don’t you?”

  The girl shivered and lost her smile. “You’ll think I’m weak if I tell you.”

  “You beat me on the obstacle course. I will never label you as weak.”

  Claire kept silent, as if contemplating whether or not to answer Sasha’s question. “I know no one outside this school. Host families don’t count. They do it because they’re paid. If I leave with only my high school degree, what’s that going to do for me? I can’t go out and explore life and then come back after a year to finish college.”

  “Richter doesn’t work that way.”

  “I know. And my benefactor made it clear that I had to stay all the way through to keep their support. But now that I’m eighteen, it’s up to me.”

  Sasha’s and Claire’s situations at that age were nearly identical.

  “Do you know who your benefactor is?”

  Claire shook her head.

  “Mine was a woman who was once married to my biological father. He was a disgusting human who murdered my mother. My benefactor kept me here to keep me safe.”

  Claire looked at her again. “Then you have family . . . kinda.”

  Sasha shook her head. “They’re both dead.”

  “Oh.”

  “So that’s why you’re back. You don’t have anyone.” Claire released a sad breath. “Jesus, I’m looking at my future. I’m never going to have a life outside these walls.”

  Sasha clicked her tongue. “There’s a lot of life away from here. You never know who you’ll meet or what job you’ll take.”

  Claire leaned forward, her jaw tight. “But do you still spend Christmas alone? Do you end up with some generic sweater that you’ll never wear because you haven’t worn a sweater since you were ten? Do you have a name to put on your emergency contact list or do you just leave it blank since no one cares if you’re alive or dead?”

  “Someone cares that you’re alive or you’d be on the street with all the other orphans.” Everything else the girl said was painfully accurate.

  “Lotta good that does me if I don’t know who they are. It’s probably guilt money, anyway. Seems to be what everyone else around here is all about.” Claire pushed away from the table and stood. “Whatever. Thanks for the look in the crystal ball. At least I know I’ll have good taste in clothes.”

  Sasha watched her walk away.

  Chapter Nine

  The phone rang.

  It was early . . . way too early after one too many beers the night before.

  AJ flopped his hand to the bedside table and found his phone. “Yeah,” he said.

  “Alex Hofmann Junior.”

  It was too early for a quiz. “Who’s asking?”

  “Not asking. It’s Reed.”

  That’s all it took to wake AJ and bring his head off the pillow. “Did . . . did you find something?”

  “I always find something. Are you still in bed? Isn’t it nine there?”

  AJ glanced at the clock by the bed. “Eight fifty. What did you find?”

  “Olivia McNaught. And guess what?”

  “Too early for games.”

  Was the connection bad, or did Reed chuckle? “She’s in Berlin.”

  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a full palm, AJ said, “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. I have an address. Do you have a pen?”

  “Yeah . . . hold on.” He jumped from the bed, the cool air in the room hitting every bare part of him as he searched the hotel room for a pen and a piece of paper. “Go,” he said after getting back on the phone.

  AJ scribbled the address Reed rattled off.

  “I only found an address. Nothing about work, a family. From what I can tell, she bought the apartment right after she graduated.”

  “Are you sure it’s the same person? McNaught isn’t the name my sister mentioned.”

  “Maybe Naught was an alias at Richter or McNaught is now.”

  AJ rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “Only one way to find out.”

  “I’ll keep digging around, see if I can find anything else.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Oh, and, AJ?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Try not to steal anything.”

  AJ swallowed, fully awake now. “Excuse me?”

  “Juvenile record. Sealed but not forgotten. PI, detective . . . remember?”

  The air left AJ’s lungs.

  “Ah-huh. You know what I’ve found to be an absolute truth in my line of work?” Reed asked.

  “No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

  “That people who let’s say . . . take cars that don’t belong to them
when they’re a teenager and get away with it, go on to do the same thing as an adult.”

  “I didn’t get away with it. I was caught.”

  “But not punished. Which is the same thing. I did a little poking around. I can’t help but wonder if maybe someone, somewhere, might think you took something from them. And perhaps, and I’m just tossing stuff out there, perhaps this all links back to you. Hypothetically speaking.”

  AJ sat taller, stiffened his jaw. “I can see how you might come to that conclusion, if there were someone out there who is missing something in their life and is blaming me. However, and I think a man with your background and expertise has already concluded this, killing my sister fits in your little hypothetical situation, but a school-age friend makes no sense at all. Which is why I have an address in my hands and a house call to make.”

  Silence.

  “Yeah, that’s kinda what I was thinking. But, AJ?”

  “What?”

  “Any new information that might change my thoughts comes up, you have my number. Sasha is family to me. We help out the good guys.”

  “Robin Hood was celebrated.”

  “Ha! I’ll be sure and keep looking for the charities you support,” Reed laughed.

  “My halo may be a little rusty, but it’s still there. I’ll keep you better informed.”

  “I’m glad we had this talk,” Reed said before hanging up.

  Thirty minutes later AJ was following the map on his phone to a high-rise condominium complex that was situated far outside the city center. There were plenty of places in Berlin where graffiti littered every wall, but here, Turkish immigrants had taken up several corners on the streets, begging for handouts. AJ wouldn’t say the neighborhood Miss McNaught chose was one he would have picked.

  AJ pulled the collar up on his coat and rubbed his gloved hands together. Fall was definitely starting to add a bite to the air. He sized up the outside of the building from the sidewalk across the street. Industrial in its function, contemporary in its architecture. This was once East Berlin, and it showed in the lack of character and homogenized look.

  The front door to the complex had a massive iron gate, as did most of the windows on the first two floors.

  Dodging traffic, AJ jogged across the street and looked at the address he’d written down.

  #625.

  He looked at the long list of names.

  #625 didn’t have Olivia’s name, or anyone else’s, next to the number.

  AJ pressed the buzzer and waited. People walked by on the street.

  No answer.

  He pressed it again, gave it a longer ring . . .

  Still nothing.

  “Fuck it.” He pressed several numbers all at once. The door buzzed open at the same time the PA crackled random voices saying hello.

  AJ pushed the door open and said, “Sorry, mate. Pressed the wrong flat.”

  He took the stairs and started to climb. Once on the sixth floor, he exited the stairwell and made his way down the long, narrow hall.

  The inside of the building was nicer than the exterior. Here the halls were clean, the walls freshly painted. Still not a place he would call home.

  He knocked when he reached her door.

  Nothing.

  The back of his neck itched, like something just didn’t seem right. Why would a new grad buy a flat on this side of town, change her name . . . or change it back, and have no trackable job or source of income? Oh, and no name on her flat number on the ground floor? Yeah, that felt off.

  AJ took a quick look around, didn’t see any security cameras in the hallway or any neighbors peeking out.

  Still he ducked his head into his coat a little deeper and removed two long, needle-like prongs from his back pocket. He glanced at his gloves and smiled. He hadn’t intended to need to hide his fingerprints from anyone when he’d left the hotel . . . yet here he was.

  He briefly wondered what getting caught breaking and entering would get an American citizen in Germany.

  When the lock clicked and the handle easily turned, he realized he was already guilty.

  He moved slowly into the quiet apartment and closed the door behind him.

  The place was practically empty. White walls and only the basics of furniture. A gray sofa, a glass coffee table, two white iron stools at a kitchen counter. There wasn’t a single dish on the counter or seasonings by the stove.

  Impeccably clean.

  Not a speck of dust.

  AJ wanted to probe more, but he first wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to surprise a sleeping woman.

  He tiptoed down the hall, pushed open the door to the bathroom, and then moved to the next door. He sighed. The bed was made and empty. “What the hell?” He opened the closet door, sure he would find it bare.

  It wasn’t.

  Women’s clothes hung on hangers, neatly spaced. Three pairs of shoes lined the floor of the closet. He bent down and picked one up, looked at the bottom. A dusting of scuff marks said they’d been worn.

  He put it back and started opening drawers.

  He found women’s lingerie, but not an abundance of it. One neatly folded up pair of blue jeans and two T-shirts that looked like they could have been purchased at the corner from a street vendor. Everything was too perfect and too sparse. AJ searched for a hamper, dirty clothes . . . didn’t find either.

  The bathroom had a few cosmetics and shampoo in the shower, but the towels didn’t look like they’d been used. There wasn’t one TV or cord hanging from an outlet to charge a phone. No pictures.

  Olivia McNaught might own the place, but she didn’t live there.

  AJ backed out of the flat and locked the door before he closed it behind him. A quick search of the hall and he made his way back to the stairs. His years of not playing by all the rules kicked in and he took the stairs to the roof, not the sidewalk.

  The buildings were like brownstones, all pushed together. Using the rooftops as his own walkway, AJ jumped over several buildings until he found a door to the stairs open. Five minutes later he was walking away with his phone to his ear, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

  Reed didn’t answer his phone, so AJ left a message.

  “The address you gave me might be owned by the woman we spoke of, but she doesn’t spend any time there. Maybe her old roommate in Arizona will have some insight. I’d be grateful if you could find a phone number for me. Thanks.”

  “I don’t think I can do it, Jax.” Claire stared up at the ceiling, counting the same hundred and sixty dots in the tile she’d counted a zillion times.

  “It isn’t that bad.” Her best friend sat on the edge of her bed, her Richter uniform rumpled from being tossed in a pile and swept under the bed before inspections.

  “Easy for you to say, you get out once in a while. This place is like a prison, and now that I’m eighteen, I have the key and I’m not using it.”

  “What about college? How are you going to afford that on the outside? It’s only three more years.”

  Claire stuck out her tongue and made gagging noises.

  “If you go, I go.”

  “You’re not eighteen until next August.”

  “But I graduate in June. I can convince my parents to send me somewhere else. I’ll get on the outside, take my tuition money, and you and I can get a flat somewhere. Experience life.”

  “If they say no?” Claire asked.

  “Then you’ll just have to find a place for us. We can keep in touch, Loki.”

  Claire leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder. “Okay, Yoda.”

  “We’re going to be fine. Language tutor . . . something.”

  She gave her friend a fist bump and then flopped back on her bed.

  Sasha caught up with Linette walking through the administration hall. “Do you have a minute?”

  Linette turned, her serious expression softened slightly. “For you? Of course.”

  Sasha took the space beside her and they continued down the hall. �
��Thank you again for letting me stay here.”

  “I hope it’s been helpful,” Linette said.

  “It has been. I saw Mr. Pohl down in the shooting range, watching me.”

  Linette lifted her chin. “It’s his way of interviewing you.”

  “For what, exactly?”

  The headmistress was silent as they walked. “I couldn’t tell you. He works in highly classified areas of the government.”

  “Which government?”

  “Many.”

  “Doing what? Security? Surveillance?” Sasha asked.

  They walked through the administration office doors and went straight to her office. Once there, Linette removed her robe and placed it on a hanger, hung it on a coat rack, and moved behind her desk. “I would assume that those skills are part of what he needs.”

  “You would know the people he has hired from Richter in the past. People I might talk to in order to determine if I want to take any job he might offer . . .”

  “I do.” She folded her hands together and rested them on her desk.

  “You’re not going to tell me.”

  “Classified, Sasha. If you choose to take a job with Geoff, then your name will also be one I don’t tell others. It’s for everyone’s safety.”

  “That’s fair.” Cryptic, but fair.

  “You seem more settled since you first came back,” Linette told her.

  “I feel more centered. Returning has helped me more than I expected.”

  “I’m glad. And if Geoff feels you don’t fit, or you don’t want the job . . . I wouldn’t be opposed to a situation where you work here with us.”

  Sasha knew her jaw dropped. “Oh, I never considered . . .”

  “I can’t imagine you would have. Think about it.”

  A knock on the door interrupted them.

  “Sorry to disturb you,” Linette’s assistant said with a shy smile. “There’s a call for Miss Budanov.”

  Sasha’s stomach twisted. The only people who knew she was there were those at the school . . . and AJ.

  “It’s a Mr. Reed, he said it was important?”

  Sasha attempted to keep any emotion from showing on her face. “Thank you.” She started to walk out of the room.

  “I hope everything is okay,” Linette said from her desk.

  “I’m sure it’s fine. His wife is expecting twins.”