by Abbi Cook
Then a vague thought occurs to me. Didn't my father have a leather chair in his office? I can't be certain, but I feel like that's true. Perhaps the flashback wasn't of Adam but of my father. How is that possible, though? He died when I was just a baby. I've never seen him sitting anywhere that I know of.
My brain quickly switches to the memory of Adam hovering over me. I can't place where or when that would have happened either. Even now, the scene is beginning to fade from my mind, but I'll never forget the look in his eyes, that intense look in the darkness that terrified me.
I learn nothing from trying to dissect the flashbacks, but as I lay in bed all tucked in safe and sound, I worry there's something sinister in my mind about my husband. The question is why.
Guilt. That’s what this is. I’m constructing some elaborate thing in my mind to rationalize what I did with Alexei. That’s what I’m doing. That’s all that’s happened tonight.
I can never see him again. I’m not that kind of woman. I love my husband, and he loves me dearly. Whatever else is going on in my head is merely me experiencing what any decent person would after betraying her husband.
Guilt, pure and simple.
As I accept that fact, another gnaws at me. All of these problems began happening before Alexei. How can they be about guilt when I didn’t do anything until today?
Chapter Seventeen
Alexei
My phone wakes me out of a sound sleep, and I roll over to see Samson’s name on the screen. Barely alive, much less awake, I scrub my face of the last remnants of the past few hours and put my cell to my ear.
“What time is it, Samson? If it’s not after seven in the morning, I’m going to gut you like a fish the next time I see you,” I say as I push myself up against the headboard and look over at the window for some indication what time of day it is.
It’s light out, so maybe I just overslept. That’s not like me, though.
“Sorry, Alexei. I just thought you’d want to know. Adam Anchoff seems to be doing your job for you. I don’t know if he did that to his wife’s tire, but I just watched him put something in her drink. What the hell is going on with this guy?”
“Are you sure?” I ask, fully awake now.
“Yeah. I’ve got eyes on him in their kitchen and he just put something into her drink.”
“Is she okay? What was her reaction to it?”
Every instinct in me says something’s wrong. He comes to see me about killing his wife, and then he goes ahead and tries to do it himself? What’s this guy’s game?
“No reaction yet. She’s just sitting there saying nothing. Too bad I don’t have the place wired for sound. Not that they talk all that much. They barely spend any time together.”
That I already knew. The person I have watching Adam Anchoff reports he spends hours each day at his girlfriend’s house. Just like I guessed too, the side chick is nothing compared to what he has at home.
Stupid man.
“Keep your eyes on him. Maybe it’s just something entirely innocent,” I say, wondering aloud what I admittedly doubt.
A man desperate to get out of his marriage doesn’t hire a hitman and then do the job himself. Maybe if he hadn’t already paid me, but since he has, something’s wrong.
Then again, I don’t put any amount of stupidity past Adam Anchoff, the criminal mastermind who thought I should do the job in his own house. Moron.
“Okay. I can’t believe I’m asking this, but here goes. What do you want me to do if whatever he put into her drink makes her sick or worse?”
Talk about a question neither one of us has ever pondered. Usually, I’d be happy to be two hundred grand to the good without having to lift a fucking finger. Natalie Anchoff is different, though. I want to be the one there at the end with her. I don’t want her dying alone on the kitchen floor from some goddamned poison her stupid husband used because he has no fucking patience.
But I can’t put Samson in danger with the police either, even for Natalie. He needs to remain invisible to be any good to me.
“Call 9-1-1 if anything happens, but be sure to use the burner. And then get yourself a new fucking phone at the nearest store as you drive away like a bat out of hell. Got it?”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” he says with a chuckle. “I’ve worked with you long enough to practically read your mind, Alexei.”
That he anticipated me wanting to save this woman makes me wonder just how much he does understand me, but I can’t think about that this morning. I’ve got more important things to handle now that Adam Anchoff seems hell bent on messing up this job.
I toss my phone onto the bed after ending the call with Samson and head toward the shower to get ready for a meeting I can’t put off anymore. I don’t know who that asshole thinks he’s dealing with, but it wouldn’t take much provocation to fucking off him and be done with this whole thing.
Well, done except for Natalie.
For thirty minutes, I sit outside Adam Anchoff’s girlfriend’s house, alternating my attention between the front door as I wait for him to leave and the picture of the other woman that sits on my phone. Not ugly, exactly, Charity Stern is utterly forgettable.
Charity. Leave it to him to cheat with someone with a religious name. What a hypocrite.
Her light brown hair has brassy blond highlights around her face to show it off, but there’s nothing much there. Brown eyes sunk a little too far into her head stare out as if she’s looking intensely at something that confuses her. A straight nose seems to be her best feature, assuming thin lips don’t turn someone on.
All in all, I let my gaze wander over the image for the fifteenth time today and can’t for the life of me figure out what this nondescript, dollar store version of his wife does for Adam Anchoff. Can it truly be as simple as she can give birth to that child he so desperately desires?
That only makes sense if she walks around wearing a sign that says, “I’m fertile. Deposit seed here.”
I chuckle to myself as I imagine him seeing those exact words and his eyes getting all big in excitement. Fuck, he’s like some cartoon character version of a man. Why any woman would want this shit baffles me, but two in a lifetime? No way.
As I glance up from my phone, I see him standing in the doorway to her apartment on the main floor of her building. He looks out like he’s searching for someone, and then a moment later he turns back to kiss her goodbye. So much for worrying he’ll be caught cheating.
Side-chick flashes him a toothy smile and waves to him before disappearing back into her apartment, so I jump out of my car and head toward where his is parked halfway across the lot. I follow behind him, but not once does he turn around, even when my shoe crushes a rock into the pavement. This guy’s totally oblivious to anything but how happy he is after fucking his girlfriend.
Ignorance is bliss. Or maybe it’s true love.
I shake my head at that ridiculous thought. True love my ass. This guy wants a baby maker, not the love of his life. Any womb will do.
He aims his keys at his Mercedes, and the car beeps just as I catch up to him. Placing my hand on his shoulder, I spin him around to face me.
“Good morning, Adam. I thought we should have a chat.”
His eyes open wide in surprise at seeing me, and a second later, he begins to shake his head. “What are you doing here? You said we would never see one another again.”
The panic in his voice makes my having to drive out here worth it.
“And I meant that, but you seem to be working against my efforts, and I want to know why.”
After stopping for a moment, he starts to shake his head again as he stammers out his answer. “N-n-no. Wha-what do you mean?”
I step toward him, decreasing the space between us until my much broader chest presses against his. Looking down into his terrified eyes, I answer, “I mean whatever the fuck you’re up to, I’m not a man who likes to play games with a job.”
He sticks his hands into the air, still s
haking his head. “I don’t know what you mean. Are you saying you can’t do it?”
“Put your fucking hands down!” I bark before looking around to make sure no one sees the two of us standing here like I’m fucking robbing him.
As usual, he does as he’s commanded to and drops his arms. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is Natalie gone?”
Gone. As if she just disappeared like the goddamned rapture took her. Leave it to this religious dick to think of my job like that.
“No, she’s not dead, Adam. Not yet, anyway. What I want to know is why you seem to be trying to help things along.”
Confusion at what I say piles on top of his confusion at seeing me so he looks lost suddenly. He hesitates for a moment before answering, “Trying to help things along? I don’t understand. Is that part of the deal? Am I supposed to be doing that?”
It’s like he’s never watched any mafia movie in his entire life. Does this asshole really think I require his help to do my job? Like I need an assistant as if I’m some shitty magician and he’s my helper? Where do people like this come from?
“No, you aren’t supposed to,” I mumble in disgust.
Every conversation with this guy ends up devolving into nonsense. It makes me want to kill him just because he aggravates me.
“Then what do you mean helping things along? I’ve done just what you said I should do. I haven’t changed my schedule at all, and I figured I’d just find out from the police that she’s gone when you finished.”
I watch with loathing as he talks, every word irritating me. He never mentions the word for what I’ll be doing to his wife, the woman he swore to honor and cherish through good and bad, or however those vows go for people like him. I guess I can stop wondering if he’s setting me up. If he can’t bring himself to say the word kill, he certainly can’t be working for the cops. If he is, they haven’t gotten a damn thing today.
“What about the flat tire on her car and what you put in her drink this morning?”
More confusion fills his eyes. “She had a flat tire? When?”
Interesting. Natalie didn’t tell him about having to get her car fixed. My little bird does have secrets after all.
“And what the fuck are you putting in her drink? I don’t need to deal with some messed up target, Adam. Leave this to the professional.”
That reference he understands instantly. All the worry drains from his expression, replaced by a ridiculous grin. Waving away my concern, he shakes his head. “Oh that? I’m not trying to poison her, if that’s what you think.”
“That’s exactly what I think. So if you aren’t stepping all over this job, what the hell are you doing?” I ask, taking a step back away from him as my rage begins to subside.
“I just use that to keep things calm between us. It’s just something we use in the church for wives who need to refocus.”
Refocus? As much as this sounds like a horror show, I can’t help but ask what the hell he’s talking about.
“You put something in her drink to get her to refocus? Refocus on what?”
Adam shrugs. “On anything other than what she wants to. It just makes things a lot easier, to be honest. It doesn’t do anything but make her easier to deal with. Everyone in the Church of Genesis uses it. It’s herbal, so it can’t hurt her.”
“You’re giving your wife Roofies?” I ask in amazement. What the fuck is wrong with these people?
“No! It’s not like that at all. This isn’t something that hurts her. It’s just something to smooth the rough edges of a relationship. She’s totally cognizant of everything that’s going on around her when I give her the stuff. It’s just something to take the edge off her is all.”
“Drugging your wife while you wait for a hitman to kill her,” I mumble under my breath. “Some life you’ve got there.”
“It’s not drugging,” he says, needing for some reason to get me to believe he isn’t a piece of shit who dopes up his wife to keep her in line. “She’s fine, as always. Now all I need is you to do your job and I’ll be fine too.”
“Anytime now, Adam. Anytime. Just keep out of my way and it will all be taken care of in due time.”
“Okay. Hey, how did you know she got a flat tire? Are you following her?” he asks, suddenly curious.
With a nod and a smile, I admit the truth. “Yes. I told you it wouldn’t happen at your house.”
He hesitates for a long moment before leaning forward toward me. In a low voice, he asks, “She’s not sleeping with anyone else, is she? I got a weird vibe off her the other day, and I can’t place why, but I had the strangest feeling she’s been with another man.”
The memory of Natalie in my bedroom and how easily I could have taken her flashes through my mind. Maybe this guy isn’t as stupid as he seems.
With a smile, I shake my head and lie. “Not that I’ve noticed. What would you care anyway? You want her dead.”
Adam shrugs. “It’s just the principle of it all.”
“What’s good for the gander isn’t good for the goose, huh?” I ask with a chuckle.
He doesn’t have an answer for that and falls silent. Just as well. I have no interest in having a discussion of male-female ethics with him anyway.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I say as I turn to walk back to my car. “I’m sure she’s entirely devoted to you.”
As I guessed, he doesn’t pick up on my sarcasm and says behind me, “I’m sure you’re right. You know how it is. A husband just worries.”
Turning my head, I look back at him and grin. “I’m sure.”
No, I have no idea how it is. Maybe it’s guilt because you’re cheating on her. Or maybe it’s because you know deep down that you’re a piece of shit.
“We won’t be meeting again, unless I get the sense you’re getting in my way, Adam. Have a good life.”
He says something about he hopes I do too, but I’m done with him. Now that I know he’s drugging Natalie, I need to decide what I want to do about that.
If anything.
Chapter Eighteen
Natalie
Closing my eyes, I try to remember before all this began to happen to me. Before the attack. Before when it was just me as a wife who loved her husband. I think I was happy.
Yes, of course, I was happy.
Adam and I would smile at each other when he came through the door. He was happy to see me, and I was happy to see him. Sure, we had our ups and downs. Our inability to have a child has been a definite down, no doubt.
For a few months before the attack, I felt like he was slipping away from me, but that was probably all in my mind. He had to work a lot, so we saw each other less. He began going out on business on weekends unlike before when he always made sure to have Saturdays and Sundays off. A few times he spent all night at the office, but I think that was because it hurt too much to be around me right after we got the news that once again we weren't pregnant. I didn't feel that way and needed him more than ever then, but I understood that he needed to deal with the disappointment in his own way.
We survived that time, even though the sadness felt like it might crush us on some days. Well, whatever we felt quickly became irrelevant when that person attacked me in the parking lot that night and hit me so hard I became unconscious.
I don't want to think about those sad days. We'll try again soon to have a child. Or maybe we won't have to. We did have sex a few days ago, so I might possibly already be pregnant. The mere thought of being able to tell Adam that incredible news fills me with happiness. He'd be so happy. I can imagine his face lighting up, him smiling broadly from ear to ear until his cheeks hurt. Then if it could be a boy, well, I don't think he'd ever stop walking on air from the moment the child was born.
As I revel in the fantasy of being able to tell him we're going to have a child, a tiny hint of something dark begins to slowly wind its way through me until it reaches my mind. What is it? I want my husband to be happy. I truly do. And I thin
k I'd be a wonderful mother. I mean, why wouldn't I be? I'm bright and caring, well-educated and articulate, and we have enough money to offer a child anything he or she could need. Why wouldn't I be a good mother?
What if I was sick like some pregnant women get? Would Adam make me stay in bed the whole nine months? That time in a woman's life should be happy, not have her hidden away in her room like some sickly thing that can't be around others in fear that she'll contaminate them.
The mere thought of being trapped in my bedroom for nine months makes a feeling of dread come over me. Tears well in my eyes at the possibility. Nearly a year confined to a single room, and no doubt there would be a nurse brought in to watch me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and push the horrible thought of out my mind. I'm not pregnant. We had sex once. If having sex every day, sometimes twice a day, for months on end didn't work, then one time a few days ago certainly didn't work.
To help me get my mind off the horrible possibility of being watched over for nearly a year straight, I walk over to my chest of drawers to get Lauren's diary. I hid it beneath my winter sweaters so Adam couldn't find it. He wouldn't understand why I want to read it, so it's better to just keep that from him as my little secret.
A tiny voice whispers in my mind to look inside the closet. I haven’t dared to since that morning. My heart races at the mere thought of seeing that little girl again.
But I can’t spend the rest of my life afraid of shadows and things that aren’t there, so I slowly make my way across the room and open the closet door, terrified that girl will be standing there waiting for me. I peer in warily, silently praying I won't see someone staring back at me. She was all in my mind, wasn't she?
A heavy sigh escapes me as I realize there's no one in my closet. Clutching my sister’s diary to my chest, I quickly close the door and return to bed.