Burned Bridges: Oliana Mercer Series Prequel (Crossing Series)

by Marguerite Ashton

  With both hands gripping the steering wheel, I ignored them and stared straight ahead. Not wanting to hurt anyone, I drove slowly until they were out of the way.

  The only reprieve that I got from the media was when I went to work, but each day was proving more and more difficult, both emotionally and physically.

  My pregnancy was not the glowing experience other mothers had claimed. Morning sickness continued with a vengeance while tension hardened my shoulders, worrying about how I’d treated my body after becoming pregnant.

  The good news for the week was that Mr. Edwards had won his first double murder case. Jensen, Lake, and Powers were very pleased with his performance and awarded him with a company car.

  “Traci, my dear, I have decided to give you a raise. I want us to celebrate together,” he said, pulling me into his office.

  Everything within me – every atom of every cell – jumped up and waved its arms, desperate for my attention, begging me to have a drink. Be polite. Do it do it do it!

  “Mr. Edwards,” I said, “I am not allowed to do any celebrating.” I pointed to my belly, my hand shaking.

  “Then, I’ll have the drink in your honor.” He poured himself a glass of scotch.

  Relief flooded me. Relief that he had finally owned up to his promise and raised my pay. And relief that I hadn’t drowned my sobriety in scotch.

  “As you know, our annual cocktail party is coming up, and I need your full attention creating the guest list. It would also be nice if you could help plan the menu.”

  “Yes, Mr. Edwards.”

  “Cheers.” He downed the single malt. I couldn’t guess how many times I had done the same thing without giving it a second thought.

  He smacked his lips. “I better go. Miranda will have my neck on the chopping block if I miss dinner two nights in a row. Are you staying?”

  “Yes, sir. I want to get Mr. Keller’s deposition in final draft.”

  I returned to my desk, kicking off my shoes to let my swollen feet breathe. An hour had passed in tomb-like quiet before my cell phone beeped with a text message. I opened it.

  “You’re keeping something from the police. Confess or risk going to jail with that murderer.”

  I scanned the empty desks surrounding me.

  Nothing.

  Then, heavy footsteps vibrated along the carpeted hallway. Dennis left for the evening. I shot out of my chair, banging it against my desk.

  The footsteps stopped.

  My heart pounded.

  I craned my neck to see if anyone was coming down the hall.

  Empty.

  I looked down at the message on my phone, checking to see if I recognized the number. Damn. The “untraceable,” text had come from the same number.

  The faint sound of music trickled down the hall from the direction of where the footsteps had originated.

  Moments later, it got louder and louder.

  Fed up, I decided to investigate. As I rounded the corner, I noticed the music was coming from Marc’s office.

  “Marc,” I called. “Hey, I thought you left already.”

  I scanned his office, but he wasn’t there. Only the iHome on his mahogany desk played. As I reached for the power button on the radio, I became aware of a presence.

  When I turned around, I was shocked to see Dana standing there.

  “I thought everyone had left for the evening,” I said.

  “I was filing paperwork and straightening out my absences with Marc.”

  “Is he still here?”

  “No.” Dana clasped her hands in front of her, her knuckles whitening. “You just missed him.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I hear you succeeded in sinking your claws into Marc by getting pregnant.”

  I turned away from her and slowly moved around the edge of the desk, so the furniture stood between us. “I hope everything works out for you. It’s good to see you back.”

  She glared at me, turned and sauntered away.

  My exchange with Dana, combined with the text I received, rattled me. With what speed I could muster, I walked to my desk, finished typing up my work, and shut down the computer.

  As I rose, I could feel pain seeping into my bad knee. I grabbed my cane and soon was outside, walking to my car.

  Sudden footsteps marched in my direction, kick-starting my heart. Afraid to look back, I got in and started the engine.

  “Traci!”

  “Norman?” I rolled down the window. “You scared me.”

  “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. It’s about Olivia.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Philip called. The prosecution accepted the findings of the psychiatrist, and they’re still working on the plea bargain. Sentencing will be determined by the judge after some sort of report.”

  “A presentence investigation report.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have the police contacted you?”

  “You bet. I’ve been questioned. Kevin’s been questioned. According to Philip, everyone at that party had a talk with the police. Even Ms. Linda.”

  “Do you know what was said?”

  “She admitted what happened between her son and daughter, I guess. Will Linda be charged with anything?”

  “There’s a statute of limitations on sex crimes,” I said. “Tomorrow, I want to go see Olivia.”

  “I’ll drive.”

  Finally, I would be able to ask the questions that remained unanswered.

  Chapter 16

  Our trip up to the Denver County jail had been delayed for a week so that Olivia could give notice about our arrival.

  I’d overslept and just had finished zipping up my pants when the doorbell rang. I hurried out the door with Norman and we set out on the forty-minute drive.

  Once on the highway, the V-8 engine came to life as we sped forward.

  “I bet you’ll be glad when you’re no longer famous with the press.”

  I nodded, turning to look out the window. Even with the rain, the dead grass remained on some of the landscapes.

  “Is it true? Did you know Olivia had the gun?” Norman asked.

  Silence clattered between us.

  I watched a white sports car zoom in and out of lanes to get four cars ahead of us. “I knew she had a gun. She asked me to hide it because she felt uncomfortable holding on to it.”

  Norman shifted gears and signaled to exit the highway. “I guess that’s something you’d rather keep from the police.”

  “I’m not sure what to do anymore.”

  I pulled out my phone, located the text message and showed it to him.

  “It could be a prank.”

  “Or it could be real,” I said, reading it again.

  “Well, in case you’re wondering, I’m not going to say anything.”

  “Olivia would appreciate that.”

  We pulled into a parking space reserved for visitors, got out and went inside. Norman spoke to a male guard and returned with two separate sheets for us to fill out.

  It asked for my social security number, if I had any prior convictions or warrants. In addition to the form, there was a sheet detailing the dress code and the number of visitors allowed per inmate.

  As the black hand of the wall clock ticked away the seconds, I observed others waiting to see their loved ones.

  A young woman quieted her screaming toddler with a bottle of juice while an older lady held the hand of a little girl with pigtails who sat with perfect posture.

  “Grandma, when will they let us in to see Mommy?”

  “Hush now baby. Just a little while longer.”

  Norman put his arm around me and gave me a squeeze. “We’ll be out of here soon.”

  I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye and soaked up his warmth and strength like a sponge.

  “Visitors for Olivia Durning, Don Elks and Montel Cain,” the guard bellowed. “Step up here to the desk and have your ID ready. Sign your name on the sheet then follow Deputy
Gonzalez to go through security check.”

  We did what we were told and followed the female deputy to a metal detector. I put my purse on the conveyor belt and stepped through the detector. Norman followed me.

  We were ushered to a smaller room filled with gray lockers.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please put all purses, wallets, cell phones, and keys in one of the lockers and close it. Keep the key registered with that locker on your person.”

  The deputy waited until she had our attention.

  “We are now headed to the visitation booth. You’ll have thirty minutes for your visit,” she announced.

  I was disheartened when the deputy sat us down in front of a black computer terminal. Bolted to the floor was a silver stool with no cushion. Norman sat in a plastic chair next to me.

  Ten minutes later, the deputy pushed a button, and there was Olivia on the screen. I couldn’t see her entire face, and there was no way to adjust the monitor.

  Olivia’s hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail,

  “I heard the good news,” I said.

  “Yes. I was glad to hear about the decision, but I’m nervous about my sentencing.”

  “We’re praying for you to make it through this.”

  I don’t know what she believed but hoped my words offered her some comfort. She shrugged. I wondered if I had offended her.

  “Hi, Norman. Thank you for coming to see me.”

  “What are friends for? Remember, you are not alone,” Norman said.

  She gave him a wink and turned to me.

  “Come on, Traci, I need that beautiful smile of yours to help keep me sane in this hellhole,” Olivia said. “Life in here is not fun. They do roll call at six a.m. and then it’s off to breakfast. Anyone who’s late or misbehaving may miss a meal.

  “I’ve been assigned kitchen duty for my work program. Best part of my day is lights out.”

  I forced a smile. There was no way that I could have the conversation I wanted to. Odds were this type of communication was recorded as well. My questions would have to remain unanswered.

  “I am so glad you are here,” Olivia told us. “My psychiatrist is working hard to get me put into a mental facility in Pueblo.”

  “How are you feeling?” I genuinely hoped she was all right.

  “Confused. Everything that happened that night is still a little hazy. I don’t remember picking up the gun. I am not even sure what I said to him.”

  “Durning,” the deputy said over the speaker.

  Olivia’s face fell with disappointment. “My time is up--”

  Without warning – without a chance for us to say goodbye – the screen went blank.

  I left the jail as quickly as my leg would let me escape, grateful to be back out in the sunlight. On the way home, I turned on my phone and noticed another text.

  “This is not a game. Type the letter O, and hit send so I know you’ve received this message.”

  My heart began racing, but I did as instructed. What was happening?

  Chapter 17

  At our Thursday dinner, Norman and I talked and joked while Kevin cooked, but when we sat down to our meal, there was an uncomfortable silence.

  We had been through all the formalities regarding Olivia and had grown tired of discussing what happened, all the while avoiding one fact that had been swept up and buried under unwanted memories like a puzzle piece discarded into a landfill.

  “Kevin, you look like you’re doing some deep thinking.” I finished the last bite of my roasted turkey.

  “I feel I should’ve just carried her out of there myself,” Kevin said.

  “She might have shot you. You did all you could, my friend,” Norman said.

  “We should speak about what’s going on here?” Kevin said.

  “There’s nothing else to speak about,” I said, getting up from the table. “Olivia’s a victim in this mess as well.”

  Kevin said, “Why didn’t she leave the minute she saw him? The guy was an asshole.” He folded his arms and looked down at Sam sleeping on the kitchen floor. “She had us, but she wanted to stay.”

  “Guys, let’s not fight,” I said.

  “Despite what we may think about that night, we have to be there for Olivia,” Norman said.

  Kevin gulped down his remaining soda, stood and threw the can in the trash. “All I want is the truth.”

  “Truth is, Olivia needs us,” I said.

  The front door opened and soon Marc staggered into the kitchen like a gladiator leaving the Coliseum.

  “There’s my girl,” he said, kissing me square on the lips.

  “You’re in a good mood,” I said.

  “I won my case.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Going to go find a pillow now.”

  “Don’t forget, you promised you’d come with me to my doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” I said. “It’s on your calendar. Two o’clock. Remember?”

  “Yep,” Marc said.

  Amused, I watched him drag himself down the hall and into our room.

  “I better get going myself.” Kevin set off for the front room.

  “I’ll be back,” Norman said, catching up with his friend.

  I quickly cleaned up while waiting for Norman to return. When he did, he looked defeated. “Kev’s hurting,” he said.

  “We all are. Not to mention, there are other stressors in our lives.”

  “Yeah.”

  He sat down on the couch.

  “I received another text after we left the jail and I’m a little freaked out,” I said.

  “Does Marc know?”

  “No.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Let’s see how things play out,” I said. “I don’t want to risk anyone else knowing. Not even Kevin. Going to the police isn’t an option and harassment isn’t considered much of a crime.”

  “Has this person threatening you?”

  “Not directly. Except for saying they’ll go to the police.”

  He shook his head.

  “What do I do? Should I go to the police? What if they do? I don’t want to give birth behind bars.”

  “Traci, relax.”

  Norman pulled me in an embrace, and I cried. I cried hard. The tears just kept coming with no way to shut them off. Finally, when I was all cried out, Norman reached for a box of tissue off the coffee table and handed them to me.

  I sat up and looked at the sleeve of his shirt. It was soaked.

  “Crap. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. Just feel better soon. Get some rest.” Norman said rising. “I have surgery at 5 a.m. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Guess I missed the hug fest,” Marc said.”

  I shot off the couch. “Marc? I thought you were in bed.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Marc glared at Norman.

  “Goodnight,” Norman said, nodding at me.

  Marc walked Norman to the door, slamming it behind him. “Your friend shouldn’t stay so late.”

  “What’s your problem?”

  “Come on, Traci. Isn’t it obvious? Your friend is falling for you.”

  Obvious to whom? Not to me. “Where is this coming from?”

  “I’m sick of coming home to the press and a bunch of alcoholics. When will it be Marc and Traci again?”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Not drunk enough. I saw the way he was holding you. I saw you crying on his shoulder.”

  “I can’t explain that right now, but I promise I will when I can.”

  “Do you have feelings for him?”

  Did I? I hadn’t even considered such a thing before. I shook my head, refusing to think about it now. “No.”

  “Traci--”

  “No, Marc. Look, we’re going through something personal with Olivia. Friends are all we are and will ever be,” I snapped.

  “Traci, you’re carrying my child, and I need to come first in your life.”

  I shook my head a
nd left him there. His words stung. It took all my willpower to keep from bringing up Stephanie and throwing the past in his face.

  As I turned and walked away, a feeling of uncertainty set in. Then I reminded myself about the little person growing inside me. It was a reminder of what was truly important in my life.

  Chapter 18

  Marc rose before I did and left without saying a word. At work, I went about my usual routine. I texted him, reminding him about my doctor’s appointment, but received no answer. All morning, I kept watching for him to walk down the hall so I could remind him in person.

  Before I knew it, it was time to leave. I hadn’t seen Marc all morning but figured I would just meet him at the doctor’s office.

  While in the waiting area, I tried Marc’s cell phone four times, but there was no answer. I looked apologetically at the receptionist, then back at my watch. Three p.m. I was angry and embarrassed.

  I quickly shot off a text. “Your baby needs you. Did you forget my doctor appointment?”

  “I’m sorry Ms. Collins, but Dr. Tellis will need to see you now.”

  “Okay.”

  The nurse put me in an exam room and laid out a paper gown to put on. I unbuttoned my floral dress, slid into the gown and leaned on the examination table, waiting for the doctor.

  The metallic hospital smell assaulted my nostrils while feminine laughter traveled back and forth just outside my door. Parenting magazines were stuffed in a plastic holder mounted to the wall. “Tackling the Terrible Twos.” “Potty Training Like a Pro.” “How to Poison-Proof Your Kitchen.” The article titles terrified me. What had I gotten myself into? I just knew I wasn’t equipped to bring a child into the world.

  Soon, Dr. Tellis entered and looked over my chart. “How are we feeling today?”

  Freaking out. Worried about poison in my kitchen, among other things. “Pretty good,” I said, wishing it were true.

  “Any concerns?”

  I’m going to make a terrible mother. Worse than Karin. “My knee is bothering me more than usual.”

  “Let’s have a look.”

  I sat down on the exam table, wishing the gown afforded a little more modesty than the average Band-Aid while the doctor began his examination of my knee. When he got to the top of my shin, I flinched.