“But, Marie...guys like Elliott, you don’t always get second chances...”
“I know, Mom. And sometimes, even when you have loads of them, you still can’t be the good spouse you want to be.” Her father was proof of that.
“Can I just say one thing?”
“You can say whatever you want. I’ll always listen. You know that.” She just wasn’t going to be swayed simply because her mother wanted or needed her to be.
And wasn’t that what Bruce had called evidence that she could trust herself? Because she listened. And then, if she still knew what she knew, stood her ground.
“I just wonder if...maybe the reason you couldn’t discern, as you call it, that Elliott was lying to you was that in terms of the things that matter to you, deeply matter, he wasn’t lying?”
Exactly what Elliott had said to her.
She closed her eyes again. Laid her head down on her desk. Was a search for clarity supposed to hurt this much?
Was there ever an end to the number of sides to this story?
She wanted one of Grace’s chocolate-chip muffins. And a cup of dark roast Colombian. Straight.
“I have to go, Mom. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I love you, Marie.”
“I know. I love you, too. Say hello to Bruce for me. And tell him thank you, too.”
“Okay. Be safe, sweetie.”
“Always.” Marie hung up, feeling as if she were cutting her mother off at the ankles. Just as she’d cut Gabi off earlier in the week.
And wondered if maybe—just maybe—she was doing so because she somehow subconsciously knew that it was time for her, that she was ready, to take full responsibility for her own life.
She owed it to herself.
And maybe—just maybe—to Elliott, too.
Or maybe she was cutting everyone off because she was nothing but a coward. Afraid to take on life. So easy to sit on the sidelines and help everyone else win their games.
But when it came to her own?
Could she trust herself to play?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON, in a closed settlement conference with his attorney, the district attorney and the judge, George Costas agreed to plead guilty to half the number of charges originally brought against him, avoiding a lengthy and costly trial for him and the taxpayers. He would serve no less than ten years, but could serve up to forty. Part of the leniency awarded him had to do with the fact that all restitution was being made. His sentencing date was set for June. Until then he was out on bail.
Elliott stopped in the shop to warn her to be extra vigilant in her safety awareness. And to let her know that he would be right upstairs, all night, if she needed him.
She thanked him.
Almost called him back to tell him that she was ready to be courageous. To give them a chance. But watched him walk out the front door with a lump in her throat.
* * *
SATURDAY WAS CRAZY busy in the shop. Liam and Gabi came down midmorning, to have coffee and show her Liam’s article—a copy they’d printed off the internet as soon as it had been published that morning. She read the first paragraph, was impressed but had to put it down to wait on customers. Gabi told her to call if she needed help. She’d worked in the shop all through law school and made a great cup of coffee. Eva was on that morning and Nancy would be relieving her midafternoon. Betty would be training with Marie on Sunday. Maybe it was the weather, or the fact that the days were getting longer, but coffee drinkers were steady the entire day.
By early evening, she was beat. They were down to one customer—a woman in her thirties who was in law school and used their free Wi-Fi to study and who was known to sit awhile whenever she came in. By seven, after a lull that lasted half an hour, Marie, sent Nancy home. The cleaning up Nancy would normally have done was a welcome respite from going upstairs alone. While the hot bath she planned to take did call out to her, her skin could only soak so long before it started to prune, and it was far too early to go to bed.
Sulking was out of the question.
Television didn’t hold her attention.
And she knew she had to talk to Elliott. If she couldn’t find the courage to call him, to try, to offer to do whatever it took to make their marriage work, then she didn’t deserve him.
While her lone customer typed on her computer, headphones on, Marie stepped to the far end of the counter and dialed.
He picked up on the first ring. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she was quick to assure him, reminding him that she had an armed security guard right outside her front door. “I don’t trust myself, so I discern who I can trust and then I tell them everything, just to get a second opinion to my own thoughts before I make a decision.” She was repeating what her mother had told her.
But only because the truth rang all the way to her core.
“Okay.” He was clearly at a loss, and she didn’t blame him.
“I...we need to talk, Elliott. If that’s okay with you, that is...”
She had to tell him that she’d figured it out—the fact that she did trust him. Her mother had said how her whole life she’d relied on her—even calling from college—until she’d met Gabi and knew that she could trust her, too. And Liam. She only had two best friends, and a mother, but she’d placed her trust well. They’d all been standing by her for a very long time. And then she’d met Elliott. And within a week, she’d been telling him her secrets...
“Of course it’s okay with me.” He didn’t hesitate on that one. “I’d rather not do it on the phone, though.”
“I know.” She glanced back at Law Girl. She’d never thrown anyone out before, but... “I’m still in the shop. I have a customer.” Her heart started to race.
“I know. I drove the perimeter five minutes ago. I’m heading to get some dinner and have one thing to do for another client. I’ll be back within the hour.”
“Call me when you’re back and we can talk here, in the shop.”
“It’s a date. And just to be clear, no matter what it comes to, I’ll be here for you, Marie. Always.” He said the words as if they were news to him. “No matter what happens. Whether I have a home or security with you or not. I love you and I am more certain than ever, after these past days of not having any home of my own at all, that I will always be here for you. My security is in myself. It came at an early age, and has formed, I think, in a way that is healthy for me. But you are my heart. I just want you to know that...”
He was rambling. And she started to grin. Thinking that maybe, just maybe, she’d have her husband in her bed again that night.
While she waited for her customer to leave, she scrubbed and shined everything behind the counter. She wanted her customers to feel welcome—always—not as though she was rushing them out. But she gave every hint she could that she was closing up.
She refilled canisters. Stocked condiments. When the door opened, she even smiled at the new customer who came in. A friendly guy who’d been in a few times. Technically it wasn’t closing time yet.
“Latte, low-fat, low-foam with a wisp of nutmeg,” she said, greeting him at the cash register. She loved her job. Loved having a business that became a neighborhood in and of itself. If that was all she ever had, she’d be at least somewhat happy. But if she could have it all? Was she really going to rob herself—or Elliott—of that chance?
“That’s right,” he said, pulling out his wallet. She probably remembered him so well because he was a cash customer. Credit card receipts made the books easy, but she didn’t have to pay fees on cash.
Her heart was still thrumming at a brisk pace as he took his coffee and turned, but peace was slowly descending, as well.
The guy walked toward her one other customer. Greeted her as though he knew her.
Her smile and ready response indicated that she knew him, too. He’d be pulling out the other chair at her table any second now.
And Marie was about to offer to pay their way anyplace they wanted to go.
Latte Low-Fat Low-Foam Nutmeg Wisp leaned over, speaking in Law Girl’s ear. Marie emptied the last pot of coffee. She closed in fifteen minutes. Officially.
Latte didn’t sit down. He stood back. Law Girl was packing up.
They were hooking up without her help!
He followed her to the door.
Stan, the security guard on duty out front that night, said good-night as Law Girl exited first. Law Girl started to speak and Stan was taking a few steps with her. Toward a car parked at the curb. Latte hadn’t left. And Marie forgot all about the people outside.
She heard the click of the lock on the front door—it was an old door with a dead bolt that turned with a knob from the inside and it squeaked...
With a flash, she remembered seeing Elliott’s car pull away shortly before Latte had come in.
“Don’t move.” There was nothing friendly about the man approaching her. He had a gun. Held close to his arm so you’d have to look close to see it unless you were right in front of him. As she was. Staring down the barrel.
“I already made a bank deposit, but what’s left of the day’s take is in the drawer. I’ll open it for you.” She leaned toward the register. And he was over the counter, one arm around her throat, the other holding a gun pointed to her neck.
She could hear rattling at the door. And Stan yelling. Calling her name.
“Come in and she’s dead,” her captor hollered.
“You aren’t going to get away with this.” Cold with stark raving fear, Marie blabbered. Probably something she’d heard from TV. Tears filled her eyes. But when her captor pushed her forward, toward the hall leading back to her office, she didn’t stumble.
And she didn’t fight him.
“I don’t intend to get away with it,” the man spit in her ear as he spoke. “That’s the beauty of my plan. I don’t have to care about getting caught. And my plan is unfolding with perfect execution.”
They were at the end of the hall already. He pushed her into the stairwell. It felt like a freezer.
“Where are we going?” Stay calm. Keep him on the stairs. Residents use the elevator.
“Just go.”
She had no real choice, certain that if she tried to stop him, he’d just shoot her. The longer she kept herself alive, the longer someone had to get to her. Stan would have called 911. And the guard out back.
“Go,” he said again, when her toe hit the tip of a stair and she hitched. The only heat in a cold world was his body pressed up against hers. Hip to hip. Thigh to thigh. Mouth to ear.
Gun barrel to neck.
They were on the landing, halfway up to the second floor. His body shoved hers and they turned. Climbed the next step. She wasn’t going to leave the stairwell. On the second-floor landing, if he reached for the door she was going to shove with all her weight. Push him into the railing. It was old. And hopefully wouldn’t hold. He could go over. If his gun went off in the process, if she died, she’d have spared everyone else in the building.
“Good. Keep going.”
She was keeping him calm. And trying not to think about his intentions.
He knew he was going to get caught. Didn’t care. He was willing to give up his life for what he was doing.
They reached the second-floor landing. He didn’t move for the door. Instead, he forced her body around and to the next step.
And she knew.
Liam’s stalker. Someone who felt he’d already lost everything. Or had nothing left to lose.
They were headed up to Liam’s apartment. A vision of her and Gabi and Liam shot execution-style on that new floor flashed in front of her eyes. Accompanied by a loud bang. A gunshot.
She felt a thrust, a sudden push to her back and she was free. Not hurt. Spinning, she turned in time to see her attacker, feet planted firmly on the floor, pointing his gun back the way they’d come.
At Elliott. And she realized that the bullet that had fired had been from the gun he had aimed at the man who’d kidnapped her.
In that second another round of gunfire rang out. She saw Elliott’s arm jerk as his gun went off. Saw him rear back as he was hit. Saw his gun go off again.
He couldn’t die. She’d just figured out that she’d trusted him all along. That it was her head playing with her the other night—taking the easy way out by repeating over and over in her mind that picture of Elliott with that other woman.
Her father had been right. She had instincts—strong ones—about whom she could trust. Not on a case-by-case, statement-by-statement or promise-by-promise basis, but on a heart basis. A lifetime basis.
Elliott’s right shoulder had been hit.
Latte fell right in front of her as his gun slid out of his grasp.
“Elliott!” Marie kicked the gun as she sped down the stairs. “Elliott! Please! Someone help! Elliott!” She was screaming like a banshee. Could hear herself.
She could also see Elliott, his shirt wet, but still on his feet. Coming up the stairs toward her. Stairwell doors flew open. She heard them hit the walls behind them with force. No door stoppers. Uniformed men filled the stairwell.
Shouts of “Clear!” Scurries. Voices in hallways.
But the only one in her world was Elliott.
“Are you okay?”
She heard the question. But couldn’t answer. Arms gathered her close. Familiar arms. Encasing her in safety.
In love.
And Marie lost consciousness.
* * *
“I WANT MY WIFE.”
Sitting on the side of the examining table in the emergency room where he was being stitched up, Elliott looked at his stained pants. He’d refused to lose them.
Refused to be more thoroughly examined. He was fine.
“She’s been checked out, and is fine.” The resident, who was irritating him no end with his voice filled with fake cheer, cut thread for the last time.
And Elliott slid to his feet, taking the shirt beside him on the gurney with him. He’d left the vest that had saved his life out in the waiting room with Liam and Gabrielle.
“Sir,” the resident, and then a nurse, called back to him.
“I want my wife,” Elliott repeated.
And they let him go.
Sometimes it paid to be an overly large man.
* * *
A COUPLE OF detectives were sitting with Liam and Gabi in the waiting room. Marie—who’d taken the advice of the doctor on duty in the ER and had a glass of juice once he’d pronounced her traumatized but healthy and had given her a list of emotional symptoms to watch out for—saw the detectives, before she recognized her friends.
Heart pounding, she pushed herself forward.
She’d listened to the doctor’s warnings about psychological shock. But hadn’t really heard him. If she started to have panic attacks, she’d call Bruce. She had a shrink for a stepfather.
“Where’s Elliott?” she asked the group at large as she approached them.
“Over in ER getting stitched up. He refused to let anyone even look at him until you were taken care of.”
He’d ridden to the hospital with her in the ambulance, she’d been told. She couldn’t remember anything clearly after seeing the flash of gunfire until the gurney she was lying on was pulled out of the bus. There were sounds. Movement. Strong arms. More sounds. More movement.
Elliott’s voice telling her that it was all over now.
More voices. More movement.
“Do you mind if I get a swab of your hand?” A woman in beige tweed pants and jacket approached her.
Marie held out her hand.
Gabi took the other one. Pulling Marie down into a chair and taking the one beside her.
“The guy who was after Liam, his name is Hank Chassen. After his father lost everything in the Connelly Ponzi scheme, he committed suicide. The money Walter was paying back was like salt in his wound. It didn’t bring his father back. He’s not stable, Marie. How you managed to keep him so calm...you were great.” Her lips were trembling as she smiled.
Marie felt as though she might cry, too. But wasn’t sure how at the moment. Everything was still so...distant. As if she were outside her body looking in.
She’d made such a huge mistake—thinking she didn’t trust Elliott—convincing him that she couldn’t be a good spouse to him. She had to see him. To tell him how very much she loved him. And knew that even a day of happiness with him was better than a lifetime of being safe.
“The woman who was in your shop, the law student, he told her that no one would get hurt as long as she packed up, walked calmly to the door and then pulled the security guard away long enough for him to get the door locked. He said she could call 911 as soon as she got to her car.”
She remembered now. A swarm of people. Calls of “All clear.”
“He told me didn’t care if he got caught.”
Liam was answering the male detective’s questions. They were speaking softly, and she could only make out the rumbles of their voices. They were in a family trauma area of the hospital and were apparently the only family with trauma that night.
“He knew your routine,” the female detective said. She might have introduced herself at some point. Marie couldn’t remember. “And waited for Elliott to leave before making his move.”
“But... Elliott was there...”
“He said something just hit him,” Gabi said, pushing hair out of Marie’s face. “He had a letter to hand-deliver for a client, but then wondered why in the heck he’d stop for dinner when you’d said you wanted to talk to him. He was coming in to wait in the shop until you were finished working when he heard Chassen tell you to keep going.”
Marie frowned. “I was going to push him over the rail,” she said, the memory clear and encased in fog at the same time. “It’s old,” she said, as if that explained everything.
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