Only Her

by Allie Everhart

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One - 1

  Chapter Two - 2

  Chapter Three - 3

  Chapter Four - Two Years Later

  Chapter Five - 5

  Chapter Six - Four Years Later

  Chapter Seven - 7

  Chapter Eight - 8

  Chapter Nine - Two Months Later

  Chapter Ten - 10

  Chapter Eleven - Six Years Later

  Chapter Twelve - 12

  Chapter Thirteen - 13

  Chapter Fourteen - 14

  Chapter Fifteen - 15

  Chapter Sixteen - 16

  Chapter Seventeen - 17

  Chapter Eighteen - 18

  Chapter Nineteen - 19

  Chapter Twenty - 20

  Chapter Twenty-One - 21

  Chapter Twenty-Two - 22

  Chapter Twenty-Three - 23

  Chapter Twenty-Four - 24

  Chapter Twenty-Five - 25

  Chapter Twenty-Six - 26

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - 27

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - 28

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - 29

  Chapter Thirty - 30

  Chapter Thirty-One - 31

  Chapter Thirty-Two - 32

  Chapter Thirty-Three - Six Weeks Later

  Chapter Thirty-Four - Four Months Later

  Chapter Thirty-Five - Five Weeks Later

  Chapter Thirty-Six - Two Weeks Later

  Only Her

  By Allie Everhart

  Only Her

  By Allie Everhart

  Copyright © 2015 Allie Everhart

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Waltham Publishing, LLC

  Cover Design by Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, things, and events are fictitious, and any similarities to real persons (live or dead), things, or events are coincidental and not intended by the author. Brand names of products mentioned in this book are used for reference only and the author acknowledges that any trademarks and product names are the property of their respective owners.

  The author holds exclusive rights to this work and unauthorized duplication is prohibited. No part of this book is to be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.

  CHAPTER ONE

  1

  RACHEL

  It’s been over three years since I left my old life behind and started a new one here in Italy. I still live in the same tiny village. I used to love this village. The beautiful scenery. The friendly people. The delicious food. And those things still make this town a nice place to visit, but it’s not where I want to live. Not anymore. This was only supposed to be temporary. I was supposed to live here a few months, maybe a year. Just until Pearce came to get me.

  But he never came, and now I’ve grown to hate the town I once loved. It’s a constant reminder of my old life. Of Pearce. And the time we spent here.

  This is where Pearce and I came for our honeymoon. I’ll never forget that trip. Everything about it was perfect. When we found this tiny village, we both fell in love with it. It was Christmas, and sparkling lights lined the streets and the storefronts. We stayed in a small hotel that I now walk past every day to get my groceries. If I look up, I can see the balcony where Pearce and I sat on Christmas night, discussing our future. A future that got cut short when I found out people were trying to kill me.

  Sometimes I think I should’ve just stayed in America and went back to Pearce and told him what really happened. But I didn’t, because I was terrified that doing so would put both him and Garret at risk, and I couldn’t do that. If anything ever happened to either of them, I couldn’t live with myself.

  “Are you ready to go?” Celia asks in her strong Italian accent. She speaks fluent English but sometimes with her accent it’s hard to understand her. I’m used to it now, but when I first met her, I had to try to guess what she was saying.

  “Yes. I’m ready,” I tell her.

  She turns to leave but then stops suddenly. “The ovens! I have to check. Wait here.”

  Celia is forgetful and always has to double and triple check that she turned the ovens off before she goes anywhere.

  Today she’s going to Naples to visit her sister and she agreed to let me go with her. We’re staying overnight. I offered to get myself a hotel room but Celia wouldn’t allow it. She insisted I stay with her and her sister.

  When Jack sent me away, he told me to never go into big cities or tourist areas because they have cameras everywhere that link to large security networks that use facial recognition software to locate people. He said the organization can hack into these systems to find people they’re looking for, so if they ever suspected I was alive, they could find me through the cameras. They could put an image of my face into the system so that if the cameras ever caught me, whoever was looking for me would be alerted and I’d be in danger.

  I’m willing to take the risk. I’m done sitting around waiting for Pearce. I don’t know why he hasn’t shown up, but it’s been over three years and I can’t keep waiting. I have to do something.

  Every day since I’ve been here, I’ve considered going back, but then I hear that warning in my head from Jack, saying that if I went back, they might harm Garret or Pearce. I’ve wanted to call Pearce, and almost have, several times, but then remembered that Jack said Pearce’s phone could be bugged, and if it was, then the organization would know I’m alive. They’d trace the call and come here and kill me.

  So I’ve done as Jack said, and remained in this small remote village, and not contacted anyone from my former life. But my patience is up. I can’t do this anymore. I have to take action.

  I’m not sure what my plan is yet. First, I need to find out whatever I can about Pearce that might explain why he hasn’t come to get me. Did something happen to him? Or is he still trying to figure out how to get me home without them killing me?

  I don’t know what I’ll find out today, but I’m hoping to get at least some answers out of this trip.

  “Let’s go.” Celia walks quickly out the door to the street. I follow, and she locks the door behind us. Our bags are already in the car.

  We get into her tiny two-door Fiat and she takes off. Celia is 68 years old so you’d think she’d drive slow and with caution, but no. She drives like a crazy person. She goes way too fast on these small roads, and if someone cuts her off in traffic, she yells at them and shakes her fist out the window. Given her driving skills, I’m not confident we’ll make it to Naples alive, but she’s my only option.

  “You still going in the city?” she asks.

  “Yes. You can just drop me off and pick me up later. We can decide on a meeting place when we get there.”

  She shakes her head. “You shouldn’t go to the city alone. It’s dangerous.”

  Celia reminds me of my mom, who was always so overprotective of me.

  “I’ll be fine,” I assure her. “I’ll be surrounded by tourists.”

  “Speak Italian so they don’t know you’re American. The Americans are targets.”

  I smile. “Celia, I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  She reaches over and pats my hand. “I worry. You’re a nice girl. Bad people live in the city.” She whips around a corner with only one hand on the wheel, veering into the other lane. I hold my breath, then release it when she veers back into her lane.

  I’d offer to drive but I don’t have a license, and I can’t get one without a real identity and documents to support it. My fake identity limits me from doing a lot of things, like get a job. That’s why I still work for Celia and still tutor. Those jobs pay me cash under the table.

  Celia has never questioned why I
don’t have official documents. I think she knows I’m running from something. She probably thinks I escaped from an abusive husband or boyfriend. Given what an emotional mess I was when I first arrived here, she knows something bad happened to me, but thankfully, she’s never forced me to tell her.

  “You going shopping?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I lie. “I haven’t been shopping forever and I miss it.”

  “What are you buying?”

  “I’m not sure.” I gaze out the side window. “Maybe a new scarf. I’m tired of this one.” I adjust the scarf I’m wearing, making sure it covers my head. My scarf and a pair of sunglasses are all I have to hide my identity from the cameras. Wearing a wig would’ve caused Celia to be suspicious about what I was up to and I didn’t want her asking questions.

  She reaches for her wallet on the dashboard. I hold my breath again because she only has one hand on the wheel and we’re heading toward a very tight curve on the edge of a cliff.

  “Let me get it,” I tell her, taking the wallet.

  She rounds the curve, then grabs the wallet from me and fumbles with it until she grasps a few bills. She holds them out to me. “Here. You buy something nice.”

  “Celia, no. I can’t take your money.”

  She nods, shoving the money at me. “You take it. Buy something pretty.”

  I take the money just so she’ll put her eyes back on the road.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  I don’t need the money. I’m not going shopping. And if I were, I’d use my own money. I have some saved up. The past three years I’ve spent as little money as possible, trying to save enough to buy a plane ticket back to the U.S. Actually, I have enough money for a ticket, but I haven’t bought one yet because I don’t have a plan. And I’m worried that if I leave Italy, Pearce won’t be able to find me. But he’s had over three years to find me, so why hasn’t he shown up? Why hasn’t he tried to contact me? Or sent someone here to give me a message?

  I need answers, or at least some clues that will hint at what’s going on with Pearce, although I’m a little nervous about what I’m going to find out.

  When we arrive in Naples, Celia pulls over to the side of a very crowded street. There are people and cars everywhere. I’m not used to all this activity. The town where I live is so quiet and has so few people.

  “Where do you want to go?” she asks.

  “Somewhere with shops. Take me where the tourists go.”

  “Tourist shops are expensive. I’ll take you somewhere else.”

  She pulls out of the parking space and speeds off.

  “No, I really want to go to the tourist area.”

  She looks at me funny. “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  She sighs as she makes a sharp right down a narrow street. “Tourist areas are dangerous.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  We reach a street that’s even more congested than the one we were on before. Crowds of people line the sidewalks. We pass some stores and then I spot what I’m looking for. An Internet cafe. I knew they’d have one here. There’s no Internet service in the town where I live and there probably won’t be for years. Only big cities have Internet access, so I knew Naples would.

  “Just drop me off here,” I say.

  She yanks the wheel into a parking spot, nearly hitting a light pole.

  “Remember. Speak Italian,” she says. “And don’t talk to any men. City men are no good.”

  I smile as I get out of the car. “Okay. I’ll stay away from them. Should we plan to meet here in a few hours?”

  She nods. “Sí. Two hours. Plenty of time to shop.”

  “Thank you, Celia.”

  As soon as I shut the door, she speeds off. She’s a terrible driver. I hope she makes it to her sister’s house.

  I go into the Internet cafe. There are two public computers to use, or people can hook up their own. Both of the public computers are taken, so I’ll have to wait for someone to leave. The place is very crowded and everyone looks like a tourist, loaded up with backpacks and cameras. It seems like almost everyone in here is American, with English being spoken all around me with no foreign accents. It’s comforting to be around Americans again. It makes me feel at home. It also makes me miss home. God, I miss home. I miss my family. I want them back.

  I get a coffee, then find an empty chair near the door and sit down. I check to make sure there aren’t any security cameras. There aren’t, so I take my sunglasses off.

  A man holding a laptop sits in the chair next to mine.

  “Waiting for a computer?” he asks. He must’ve noticed me intently staring at the people at the computers, willing them to leave.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “I’m Brian.” He holds his hand out. He’s about my age with jet black hair and tan skin. He’s wearing a suit and tie and sounds American. He’s probably here on business.

  “Jill,” I say, shaking his hand.

  “Are you here on vacation?” he asks.

  I pause, not sure how to answer. I wasn’t expecting people to talk to me and now I don’t have a story prepared.

  “Yes,” I lie. “I’m visiting my aunt. She moved here a couple years ago.”

  He smiles and pivots his body toward me. “Where are you from? I assume you’re from the States.”

  “Um, yes. I’m from Texas.”

  “Really? You don’t have an accent.”

  “I grew up in California. I moved to Texas when I was older.” I turn away from him. This guy seems nice enough but I have no interest in talking to him.

  “Where in California? I’m from LA.”

  “Would you excuse me a minute?” I hop up from my chair and go up to the young girl who works the cash register. She’s also American, probably here as an exchange student.

  “I really need to use one of those computers,” I tell her, pointing at the public computers. “Do you know how much longer they’ll be?”

  She shrugs. “You’ll have to ask them. There isn’t a time limit. As long as you pay for your time, you can be there as long as you want.”

  I sigh. “Okay.”

  I walk over to the people using the computers. A guy and a girl. I think they’re a couple. They’re both in their twenties and dressed all in black with piercings on their faces. They’re wearing headphones so probably won’t hear me.

  “Excuse me.” I nudge the girl’s arm. She looks at me, annoyed, chomping on her gum. She doesn’t remove her headphones. “Could you tell me when you might be done with the computer?”

  She rolls her eyes, then looks back at the computer screen. Then the guy next to her turns toward her and pulls her face to his and they start kissing. So I guess I’m not getting an answer.

  I return to my chair to wait.

  “Would you like to use mine?” Brian asks, offering me his laptop.

  Should I take it? If I use it, he’ll know what I was looking up. That could be bad. Then again, he’s a total stranger and has no idea who I am, so why would he care what I’m researching?

  I glance at him. He seems normal. And he’s from LA, so nowhere near my old life. It’s probably risky to do this, but I’m desperate and I’m guessing the teenagers making out at the public computers will be there a while.

  “Thank you,” I say, taking the laptop from him.

  He has the Internet open to a news website and I find myself scanning the headlines to see what’s going on in the U.S. I feel so disconnected to everything there. There’s a small TV in my apartment, but it only gets the local channels so I occasionally hear news about the U.S., but not much.

  I notice Brian watching me. I turn so he can’t see what I’m looking up on the computer.

  “I’ll try to hurry,” I say so he’ll stop staring.

  “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. Take your time.” He pulls out a business book from his laptop bag and begins reading.

  I focus back on the computer and click on the search bar. I have so many questions
and need so many answers that I’m not sure where to start. I decide to start with myself. I type in my old name. Thousands of search results pop up. The first page is all articles about the plane crash. I click on one from a news website. The story is about how the plane crash may not have been an accident. There are quotes from various people who say that the plane was tampered with in order to kill Senator Wingate, but they don’t say who might have tampered with it.

  I’m not surprised people are questioning the crash. Whenever a prominent person dies in a small plane, it seems like people are always suspicious, especially reporters. But I’m sure they’ll never find anything to prove the plane was taken down. The organization will make sure nobody learns the truth.

  I click on another article. This one describes the crash in more detail and lists the people who died, including me.

  Brian clears his throat and I check my watch and realize I’ve been using his laptop for 20 minutes now. I’m desperate to read more but I need to hurry up.

  Next I type in ‘Pearce Kensington.’ Tons of search results pop up, which makes sense since Pearce is well-known in the business world. In fact, the first few pages of results are all business-related. According to the articles, Pearce is now CEO of Kensington Chemical. Holton must’ve retired. I continue to search, but see nothing about Pearce’s personal life. I go up to the search bar and type ‘Pearce Kensington’s wife’ to see if I get different results than what I got from typing in my name.

  When the search results pop up, I gasp and almost drop the laptop. The whole first page is filled with articles about Katherine Seymour.

  Who is now Katherine Kensington.

  Pearce’s wife.

  CHAPTER TWO

  2

  RACHEL

  “Oh my God.” I cover my mouth with my hand.

  Brian catches the computer before it slips off my lap. “Is everything all right?”

  I’m unable to answer. I can hardly breathe.

  Pearce married Katherine? No. That can’t be true.

  “Jill.” Brian touches my arm and I glance over and see him staring at me. “Are you okay? You don’t look well. I think you might be hyperventilating.”