Disturbed

by Jennifer Jaynes

  While she didn’t check his messages every day, he never knew when she would. And what if he hadn’t had time to delete the damn things?

  He sank back in his chair. Things had been going so great before that asshole Lang entered the picture. Before he’d shown up, reconnecting with Chelsea had been exactly what he’d needed. He’d wanted to do it for a very long time. He knew the first time he’d seen her that he wanted to know her better. Not only was she beautiful. There was just something about her. Something really special.

  And he’d been right. She was special. Getting to know her better had confirmed it. She made him feel calm, appreciated. She was so damn easy to talk to. She didn’t judge or pressure him. She accepted him for who he was, instead of holding her breath and waiting for him to become something he’d never been and never would be.

  But then again, she didn’t know the real him, did she?

  His eyes slid over the room, taking in all the paperwork stacked on top of his desk. His white-laminate boards that contained strategy notes he’d taken more than six months ago. He hadn’t applied even one of those brilliant new strategies since he’d written them down. They’d just sat there as words, great intentions, gathering dust. His Patriots dartboard was the most used item in the room.

  He studied the elaborate crown molding, the ridiculous $1,000 window treatments that Lisa had insisted having installed in almost every room of their overly expensive house. Why had he let himself get so caught up in all this superficial stuff with her? All the designer trappings made him feel just that—trapped.

  Everything about his life with Lisa was superficial. He hated it. If he were with Chelsea, he wouldn’t have the same pressures to keep up with the Joneses. To have the latest and greatest upgrades. He wouldn’t have to work his ass to the bone just to scrape by. Of course, Lisa made more money than he did. But he was still expected to pay the big bills and fund most of their lifestyle while she frittered away her Realtor income doing who knew what with her girlfriends.

  For weeks, he’d been comforted by the fantasy of running off, living with Chelsea in her tiny apartment and her cheap IKEA furnishings. If he were with her, he wouldn’t be under the pressure that was killing him now. And he’d definitely be happier.

  But that couldn’t happen.

  It wasn’t all Chelsea’s fault. He knew that. Most of it was his own. He never should have lied to her. It was true that he didn’t love Lisa—and even though he hadn’t asked for a divorce yet, he was planning on leaving her.

  One day.

  Just not yet.

  He hadn’t meant to lie. The words had just tumbled out of his mouth at the farmers’ market without any premeditation. Maybe it was a way of fantasizing about it. Of seeing how it felt to hear it spoken out loud. But from there, it took on a life of its own. He knew it hadn’t been fair to Chelsea to lie to her about his marriage, and now he was wishing he’d thought through the repercussions before opening his big mouth. It was just another bad decision in a whole freaking lifetime of bad decisions.

  Why the hell do I do things like this?

  Some things he did made little sense. Surprised even him. And many of those same things ended up getting him into trouble. When he was a boy, he used to catch his father lying all the time. He’d watch him lie about big stuff, small stuff. To his mother, to colleagues he brought home to dinner, to the next-door neighbor. His father also lied to him. Boyd had hated it and promised himself he would never be like his father. But starting in middle school, he found that untruths just started rolling out of his mouth. He’d found it was sometimes easier, at least at first, to lie to impress people. To lie about his circumstances rather than actually change them. It was as though lying were in his blood. But lying never came without a price. And the price had sometimes been steep.

  Slumping back in his chair, he glared at the piles of contracts and schedules in front of him. He pushed away from his desk, letting his office chair roll into the center of the room.

  He was behind on most of his appointments, all his sales goals, and he would have to answer to his father-in-law in less than forty-eight hours at their monthly staff meeting. He should never have been given a position with so much responsibility. He had been in over his head from day one.

  Sometimes he suspected his father-in-law gave him so much responsibility because he wanted him to fail. It wasn’t that he wasn’t intelligent enough to do the job. It was just that his mind wasn’t right. It hadn’t been since the murders. Hell, that wasn’t true. It hadn’t been his entire life. He couldn’t sit and focus on one thing for very long before anxiety overwhelmed him, and he needed a fix of some kind. And usually the fixes he chose just made it more difficult to focus.

  He wished she’d told him about Lang. About him becoming involved in the investigation into the note. He would have extricated himself much earlier. The last thing he needed was to get involved again in that murder investigation. His jaw tightened when he thought about the way Detective Lang had stared at him at Chelsea’s apartment. It was the same way he’d looked at him years ago. It was the same way his father-in-law still looked at him. And Lang threatened to stop by the house. If he did that, he would find out about Lisa. Then Lisa might find out about Chelsea.

  He grabbed the liquor bottle again, splashed more into his cup, and wondered how he could untangle himself from the whole Chelsea situation. In the span of less than four weeks after she’d entered his life, he was already back on the police’s radar. And that was the last place he needed to be.

  It was all too much. And there was too much at stake. He could lose everything.

  Just one more strike.

  That was what Lisa had said when she’d caught him with some coke six months ago. And he knew she’d meant it.

  Why do I do this shit to myself?

  He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. He didn’t care so much about losing Lisa. That in and of itself would be a relief. But it was much more complicated than that. When Lisa’s father found out, he’d fire him on the spot. And Lisa would surely take him for everything he had. The settlement wouldn’t be about what was fair; it would be about what would hurt him the most. And in this town? With Lisa’s family’s influence? He would be hung out to dry.

  “That better be the first one.”

  Lisa’s voice startled him. She was standing in the doorway of his office, staring at him.

  He spun his chair toward the door, inadvertently sloshing some of the liquor in his glass.

  “Not only is it the one and only drink I’ve had; it’s also heavily watered down.” He pointed to a water bottle on his desk that hadn’t been opened in weeks. He drank his liquor straight these days.

  Lisa studied the glass in his hands, as though she was unsure whether to believe him. She was wearing a pink chenille sweater and black leggings with matching pumps—and her blonde hair was down, a silky curtain cascading across her shoulders.

  He had always thought she was way out of his league. She was stunning, wealthy, ambitious, and smart as hell. But she was also cold and hard. He used to wonder if she ever regretted marrying him, but he didn’t wonder anymore. He knew the answer. He saw it every day on her face.

  “You agreed, Boyd. Never more than two drinks. And no more than twice a week.”

  He hated the clipped way she said his name. She always made it sound like something that disgusted her. It was probably her way of constantly reminding him that he disgusted her.

  “You agreed,” she said again, as though he also had trouble hearing.

  Yeah, but I never specified the size of the drink.

  “This is my first, and it will also be my last tonight. Scout’s honor. I have an early morning.”

  Her eyes lingered on his, still judging, trying to figure out whether he was telling the truth. “I’m showing a house in a bit, then going out with Suzanne. Don’t wait up.”

  “Great. Have fun.”

  She glared at him. “No more than two.”
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  Boyd crossed his heart with his index finger.

  She turned and left. As soon as Boyd heard the front door slam shut, he looked at his glass.

  “If I’m just topping it off, it’s always the first drink, right?”

  He rolled his chair toward the desk, pulled out the bottle of Scotch again, and poured some more into his glass. He lifted it toward the front door in a toast. “To eternal first drinks, long may they last.”

  No one was going to emasculate him. He didn’t care who she was. Or what she was holding over his head. But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. She emasculated him all the time, and he was still there, living beneath the same roof. Taking handouts from her father. He wished he was stronger, braver. Not so much of an asshole. Or at least maybe not so self-aware.

  He threw back the Scotch, enjoying the fiery slide of the alcohol as it traveled down his throat, and he finally started to relax.

  But he knew it was temporary.

  His thoughts circled back to Chelsea again. He was telling the truth when he told her he loved her. When he said he admired how strong she was and how much he’d thought about her over the years. He remembered the first time he’d seen her. Ethan had stopped at the apartment to grab something, and she had been with him. He’d thought she was beautiful. Then he’d seen her again the night of the party.

  Running into her at the farmers’ market hadn’t been an accident. He knew she went there every Saturday and had been watching her. And it hadn’t been the first time. Over the years, she’d become another drug that he hadn’t been able to kick. But now she was getting dangerous and could ruin it all.

  Now he had to focus on making her go away.

  CHAPTER 22

  ELIZABETH SAT IN the car, staring out at the brightly lit home across the street from her. She’d driven to Marblehead to do something about Boyd once and for all. Since he’d reentered Chelsea’s life, he’d done nothing but cause problems for her.

  People like Chelsea were too sensitive to survive the real world alone. They needed people like her to intervene sometimes. To help them with the not-so-pleasant things in life.

  She would never let Chelsea down like so many other people had in the past. And if things went as planned, Chelsea would never find out about this little visit. It would just be one of the many things Elizabeth didn’t tell her. For her protection, of course.

  As a child, Elizabeth had suffered a tremendous amount of pain and negligence. When she was barely two years old, her father had overdosed on heroin, and she’d been left in the house with his body for two days. She remembered the flies, holding her ears to keep from hearing their loud, persistent buzzing, being forced to eat dog food and drink toilet water because she couldn’t reach anything else. She remembered the foul odors of death and feces. Her mother had finally come home to find her toddling around in the house in only a filthy T-shirt.

  After that, her mother had been negligent at best, usually two sheets to the wind on whatever she could get her hands on. When she was three, her mother had forgotten her in her car seat while she’d run inside the supermarket. It was ninety degrees Fahrenheit that day and at least twenty degrees hotter inside the car. She remembered calling out for her mother, over and over. Trying desperately to unstrap herself from the confines of her car seat while sweat gathered above her upper lip and formed between her shoulder blades and trickled down her spine.

  She’d pounded on the side window every time someone would walk past, heading toward the store or leaving it. The scorching air had seared her lungs, making it difficult to breathe, making her very tired, and she had been just about to give up hope, about to let her eyes close, when a little boy with his mother finally had noticed her. She could still see the way he’d stared at her, his eyes wide with surprise. When the boy’s mother had realized what was going on, she’d yelled to other people in the parking lot. Soon, a man had run over to the car with a jack. The sound of the heavy piece of metal smashing through the driver’s side window had been deafening. Elizabeth had covered her face and clenched her eyes shut and only opened them again when she heard the passenger door opening.

  That was the day she’d been ferried into the foster system. But, unfortunately, the system proved to be almost as awful as living with her mother. She’d seen her mother only once after that. She’d been six. Her mother had asked for visitation and shown up, hair greasy, mascara smeared, and smelling of stale cigarettes. She’d grinned, her teeth yellowed and crooked, and tried to give Elizabeth a cheap, glittery toy. Elizabeth had responded by spitting on her and turning her back. After that afternoon, her mother had never showed up again. Six months later, she found out that her mother had overdosed on pills and passed away.

  But Elizabeth was tough. She could shoulder shitty things happening to her. She’d been built for it. Chelsea hadn’t.

  Elizabeth snapped back to the present. She glanced once more at the house and its high-class surroundings, then climbed out of the car and stuffed the keys in her coat pocket.

  She rang the doorbell and immediately heard the sharp click of heels against a hardwood floor from inside.

  Showtime.

  A blonde woman whom she recognized as Boyd’s wife, Lisa, opened the door wearing a charming smile.

  “Hello. Tara, right?”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth lied, staring into the woman’s blue eyes and accepting her slender hand.

  A moment later, Elizabeth was inside a large sweeping foyer, listening to Lisa rattle on about the house she was selling. But Elizabeth wasn’t interested in the house.

  She was interested in Lisa.

  She studied her, noting she had an upper-crust manner about her. She was also stunning. Elizabeth had found the house posted on Lisa’s Facebook page, immediately called the number, and set up an appointment. Now, just a few hours later, she was here.

  Lisa led Elizabeth deeper into the house. Even though she was wearing three-inch heels, her gait was fluid and graceful. Her perfume, smelling of honeysuckle, trailed behind her.

  She reminded Elizabeth of those girls who used to taunt her. The ones who never cared how hard life already was for her. The girls who had been given everything since birth and had just flitted around without any real cares or worries.

  “Live in Marblehead, Tara?” Lisa asked.

  “Boston.”

  “Oh? So, you’re looking to relocate?”

  Elizabeth nodded, staring up at the chandelier in the high ceiling.

  Lisa gave Elizabeth a tour of the downstairs, then led her upstairs. There were five bedrooms. The master bedroom was impressive. The king-size bed sat in a dark-wood canopy with light-blue bedding and what had to be dozens of ornamental pillows meticulously arranged on top of it.

  “So, what’s the asking price?” Elizabeth asked.

  Lisa turned and looked at her pointedly, perhaps because she thought she should have done that bit of basic research already.

  “Asking price is eight hundred seventy-five thousand dollars. No contingencies.”

  Elizabeth chuckled.

  Lisa lifted her chin a little. She was reassessing her. Perhaps now questioning whether she was a viable client. When she spoke next, there was a hardness in her tone. “I assure you it’s not only a competitive price; it’s worth every penny.”

  Lisa finished showing the upstairs, then started for the stairwell. “Feel free to look around. I’ll be downstairs finishing up some paperwork if you have any questions.”

  The guided tour was obviously over.

  “My friend knows your husband.”

  Lisa froze on the top step. She turned around. “Oh?”

  She gave Elizabeth a quick once-over again, and her eyes narrowed. “Your friend. Is he in the car-detail business?”

  Elizabeth laughed again. “Well, he’s a she. And no. I don’t think it’s a business relationship.”

  Elizabeth watched a vein throb in Lisa neck. It was clear she wasn’t the type that got cheated on.<
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  Lisa shot her a frosty look. “What’s your friend’s name?”

  Elizabeth ignored her question.

  “If I were you, I’d keep your husband on a short leash. I don’t think you’d be happy about the kinds of things he does when you’re not around.”

  Elizabeth bumped Lisa’s shoulder as she pushed past her and started down the stairs.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Lisa called angrily.

  Elizabeth turned. “Do you really need me to spell it out?”

  Lisa narrowed her eyes but waited for her to go on.

  “They’re fucking each other.”

  Elizabeth climbed back in her car and started it up. As she pulled onto the road, she glanced at the house and saw Lisa peering out of the living-room window, frowning, her cell phone pressed to her ear.

  She grinned, knowing she had just tossed a hand grenade right in the middle of Boyd’s perfect little life.

  CHAPTER 23

  CHELSEA CAME AWAKE with a jerk. She peered around. Where was she?

  The living room.

  She was on the couch.

  Wind gusted outside, and there were shadows on the walls. She looked at her watch: 9:00 p.m.

  But why was she on the couch? She remembered retreating to her bedroom earlier that afternoon to lie down for a bit before sketching. Then she’d planned on making another dent in her transcription assignment. But she must have drifted off. Had she sleepwalked to the couch?

  She pulled herself up into a sitting position, took a deep breath, and stretched as she looked around the room. It was still a disaster.

  She shuffled slowly into the kitchen, picking up plates and trash along the way. She placed the dishes in the sink and righted the trash can. She could see that Harry had been digging around in it again. He’d cleaned the meat off two partially eaten chicken legs, and the bones now sat on her kitchen counter.