The Evil That Was Done (Secrets of Redemption Book 3)

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  God, he could be annoying.

  Luckily, there was an empty line, so I was able to quickly pay for my groceries, all the while praying he wasn’t going to appear behind me. I hurried out of the store.

  Was this going to be the new normal? Going about my business and suddenly running into JD at the store or the bar or anywhere else? God, I hoped not. There was something about him. Something that just didn’t feel right.

  I sincerely hoped the town of Redemption agreed with me and would eventually send him on his merry way, leaving me with one less thing to worry about.

  As I headed to my car, I saw a familiar figure trundling through the parking lot, pushing her own shopping cart loaded with various items. Maude. A local homeless woman.

  I hadn’t seen her since the day I realized she had witnessed CB taking Brittany. As usual, she was wrapped in a colorful array of scarves and coats, despite the heat of the day.

  I waved and called out to her. She looked up, squinted against the sun, and her face brightened when she saw me, although she still appeared to be muttering to herself. She pushed the cart faster and it rattled dangerously on its broken wheel.

  “How are you?” I asked her as she came closer.

  She paused and glanced around the parking lot. “Bad news,” she muttered. “Always bad news.”

  A cold damp breeze brushed the back of my neck. “I’m sorry?”

  She didn’t quite look at me and continued mumbling. “Like a bad penny. Always turning up when you least suspect it.”

  “What bad penny?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

  She sighed, like she couldn’t believe how slow I was, before raising her head and meeting my eyes. “Be careful,” she said, her voice clear and sharp. “You don’t want to disappear, too.”

  With that, she turned her broken cart around and trundled away, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open, gawking after her.

  Chapter 9

  “This looks great,” Daniel said, hands on his hips as he surveyed The Studio. His other two helpers, both fellow cops, had already clomped back down to the kitchen for beer and homemade pizza. For the moment, at least, we were alone.

  “The desk and love seat are perfect,” I said, forcing myself to focus on the furniture instead of on the fact that there were two floors separating us from everyone else. “Thanks for lugging them up here for me.”

  “No big deal,” he said, his eyes lingering on mine, causing my senses to tingle. “You did all the hard work. It’s really nice, how you laid everything out.”

  “Thanks,” I said lamely. Were we really standing there discussing my interior design skills? It all felt a little surreal.

  “Besides, I’m happy to do my part to help you get your business started on the right foot,” he continued. “And,” he waved his hand around The Studio, “with a headquarters like this, how could you not be successful?”

  My smile dimmed as I wiped my suddenly sweaty hands against my shorts. What if I wasn’t successful? What if Stefan and my family were right, and I had no business starting a business?

  What if I couldn’t do it? What if I ended up letting everyone down?

  Daniel cocked his head, frowning slightly. “Did I say something wrong?”

  I gave my head a quick shake, trying to jolt myself out of my negative mood. “No, it’s not you. I’m just ... I guess this just made it all real. You know? I’m starting a business. I’m getting back into art. I mean—holy crap! I’m really doing this!”

  “You are!” he said. “It’s happening!”

  His eyes were such a deep blue—I had never noticed how clear they were before. In the sun-drenched room that appeared even more bright with all the light wood, his eyes were like the surface of a calm lake on a sunny day.

  He sucked in his breath and took a step closer to me, and my own breathing quickly became harsh and unsteady in my ears. “Becca ...” he said.

  “Hey, you two lovebirds,” yelled a voice from below. “Pizza’s getting cold.”

  “Not to mention you’re missing out on the beer,” yelled a different voice.

  Daniel made a face and stepped away from me. My knees felt weak and shaky. “We’ll be right there,” he yelled back. “Sorry,” he said to me.

  “What do you have to be sorry about?” I asked. It took everything I could to keep myself standing.

  He gave me a lopsided grin. “Well, I should have known this wasn’t the right time or place. Can I come back over tonight?”

  I could feel my own smile widen. “Of course.”

  His face lit up as he made a move toward me, but then seemed to check himself. “I think I hear a beer calling my name,” he said.

  “And the homemade pizza,” I reminded him. “Chrissy spent hours slaving over a hot stove.”

  “Seriously?” he asked as he followed me down the stairs.

  “Well, not hours,” I had to admit. “She’s actually gotten pretty fast. She’s become addicted to that show Chopped, so she’s been on a bit of a speed quest with her meals. I think she’s actually considering competitive cooking.”

  “That would be something.”

  I could hear Chrissy laughing at something one of the cops said. Kind of a flirtatious laughter, I noted. I was still mulling that over when we entered the kitchen and all three of them turned to face us.

  “’Bout time you showed up,” said the older cop, Scott. He was leaning against the counter, holding a plate filled with pizza. He was maybe a few years older than Daniel and me, with thinning light-brown hair and a mustache.

  “What are you complaining about? That just means more for you,” Daniel said.

  Chrissy was standing next to the stove holding a spatula. A faint pink flush that matched the bright-pink highlights in her long black hair lit up her face, making her deep brown eyes sparkle. She was so gorgeous, my chest hurt.

  And clearly, I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Trevor, the younger and much better-looking cop with his head full of thick, black hair and cool, grey eyes was standing near her, his eyes glued to her face.

  I went to the fridge to get a beer for Daniel, making a point of slamming the door. Trevor jumped. “Oh, hey Becca. Your studio looks great by the way.”

  “Thanks,” I said, handing the beer to Daniel. He didn’t look happy. “Want some pizza?” I asked him.

  “Sure,” he said, his eyes never leaving Chrissy and Trevor. “Trevor, why don’t you grab me some?”

  Chrissy looked up. “Oh, I don’t mind getting it for you,” she said, piling a couple of pieces onto a plate. She was so engrossed in plating, she didn’t notice the hard look Daniel was giving Trevor, who at least had the grace to look slightly ashamed of himself as he backed up a couple steps.

  “Thanks,” Daniel said as Chrissy handed him a plate. “You really didn’t have to go through this much trouble.”

  Her smile lit up her face, and I could hear Trevor’s breath catch in his throat. “No trouble. I like to cook. And I’m glad you’re helping Becca get her act together.”

  “Appreciate the words of encouragement,” I said drily. “Are you saying I couldn’t do that on my own?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Chrissy said as she handed me a plate of pizza. “I was just thanking Daniel for doing his part to help. Don’t you need all the help you can get?”

  I made a face at her. She smiled sweetly in return.

  Even though Chrissy had been much easier to live with over the past few weeks, the sarcastic teenager in her still made an appearance every now and then.

  Daniel’s cell phone buzzed, making me wonder if I should find my phone to see if I had any messages—specifically, from my mother. Maybe I ought to call her back after the guys left.

  “Is it work?” Scott asked as Daniel put his plate down to check. The way Scott asked made me wonde
r if it was code for something else.

  Daniel shook his head, although his expression seemed to darken. “I’m going to have to go,” he said, tossing the last few bites of pizza into his mouth.

  “Is there a problem?” I asked.

  He shook his head. He finished chewing and swallowing, and said, “Just something I have to do. Trevor, you want to come with?”

  Scott put his plate down. “Do you need me ...” but Daniel shook his head and waved Scott back. “No, it’s fine. Finish your pizza. Trevor?” His tone was brusque as he shot Scott a look that made me think he wasn’t all that happy with him, either.

  Trevor nodded and put his plate down. “The pizza was really delicious, thank you,” he said to Chrissy, who smiled.

  “Trevor,” Daniel said again, a little more forcibly. Trevor seemed to have momentarily frozen, transfixed by Chrissy’s smile. He shook himself briefly, nodded to Chrissy, and started toward the door.

  “I’ll call you later,” Daniel murmured in my ear. “Let you know when I’m coming over.” I nodded, and he shot me one last smile before following Trevor out the door.

  Scott silently watched the whole scene unfold as he finished munching his pizza. As soon as the door closed behind Daniel and Trevor, he took a final swallow of his beer and stood up. “Well, I better be off myself. This was really something, Chrissy. Thank you.”

  “Thanks again for helping drag all of that stuff up to The Studio,” I said.

  He nodded at me and left.

  “Want any more pizza?” Chrissy asked me brightly.

  “Sure,” I said as I studied her. The color was still high in her cheeks and her eyes were still shining. I couldn’t resist. “That Trevor is pretty cute, isn’t he?”

  She smirked as she flipped a few pieces onto my plate. “He’s a little young for you, isn’t he? Besides, I thought you were with Daniel.”

  “I’m not ...” God, she had a knack for making me feel old. I was only fifteen years older than her, for God’s sake. “I’m talking about you.”

  She picked up a piece of pizza and gave me an innocent look. “What about me?”

  Deep breaths, Becca. “Trevor is clearly interested in you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to date anyone right now. And, besides, he’s too old for me.”

  Well. I guess that put me in my place.

  Chapter 10

  After I finished my pizza, I went back upstairs to organize my new office. I set up my desk and computer and took a moment to check my email.

  I found a reply from Jackie, who told me again how excited she was to connect with me—how she couldn’t wait to be my first customer as soon as I was up and running. An actual customer! That had to be a good sign. I was on the right track, right?

  I made a note to find her file, and then paused to do a little happy dance.

  I went back to cleaning my email, only to see I had another message from “Friend.”

  Subject line, I know something you don’t.

  My earlier excitement seemed to leach out of me. Really? Another one?

  I didn’t really want to open it, but nevertheless, my mouse clicked on it practically on its own accord.

  Like before, it was just one sentence.

  You’re being set up.

  I stared at it. I’m being set up? That made no sense. How was I being set up? What was I being set up for? And by whom?

  And why?

  My mind flashed immediately to Gwyn and that strange voicemail. Is that what this email was referring to? That Daniel was right after all, and I was being set up as Gwyn’s stalker?

  But that still left so many questions … one of which being how this “friend” could possibly know. I considered my previous theory—that it was CB sending me these emails.

  But then how on earth would he even know Gwyn had received a voicemail?

  God. Was it too much to ask to have just one normal day, without strange emails and voicemails and Redemption drama?

  For lack of a better idea, I moved the email to CB’s folder to join the first. I felt like it was important to keep a paper trail, although I was becoming less certain that CB was the one behind it.

  But if not him, then who?

  I was still mulling it over when my phone rang, startling me. It was my mother.

  I didn’t particularly want to take it. On the other hand, would there ever come a time when I did want to?

  I clicked “answer.”

  “Rebecca, this is unacceptable,” my mother’s voice burst out from the phone. “Why haven’t you called me back?”

  Sighing, I stood up from my desk, feeling like I needed to pace as I spoke to her. “Because I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “Then stop throwing your life away,” she snapped. “Stop all this nonsense about staying in Redemption. Come home, and let’s put all this unpleasantness behind us.”

  “Did you really just say I was throwing my life away?” I asked in disbelief. “How is staying in Redemption throwing my life away?”

  “Oh, come on, Rebecca. Don’t be so foolish. You’re better than that.”

  I paused my pacing, straightening my shoulders. The old Rebecca wouldn’t have even questioned what she had said. I would have simply accepted I was being foolish, and I wouldn’t have pushed.

  Of course, the old Rebecca would have already left Redemption.

  “No, I’m serious,” I said. I wanted to hear her answer. I wanted to know precisely what she thought. “How am I throwing my life away?”

  “What do you think I mean? You have no future in Redemption. Your future is here, in New York. You have a good job, an apartment, your family, all waiting for you here. And the sooner you come home, the sooner your new life can start.”

  “I see,” I said, staring out the window at my wild and colorful garden, where some of the herbs and flowers I needed for my healing business were already growing. “How do you know that?”

  My mother paused, like she had been caught off guard. “How do I know what?”

  “That my future isn’t here in Redemption?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Not really,” I said. “I have a couple of really amazing opportunities here ...”

  “Opportunities?” My mother practically choked on the word. “What possible opportunities could there be in Redemption that wouldn’t be in New York?”

  “I’m thinking about starting a business,” I said, the words out of my mouth before I could even think through how wise it was to share them with her. “I’m also thinking about starting my art back up.”

  My mother groaned. “Rebecca, you have to be practical. What do you know about starting a business? What about starting a family? You’re not getting any younger.”

  “I have a family,” I said stiffly. “Chrissy ...”

  “Isn’t yours,” my mother interrupted. Then her voice softened. “Look, you are being an excellent stepmother to take care of her the way you are. You’re going to make a wonderful mother. That’s why you need your own family. A husband who can provide for you. You don’t need to be worrying about business and art and paying the bills and all that other stuff. Come home to New York. Let us help you get a fresh start before it’s too late.”

  Before it’s too late. The words bounced around in my head. Was that what I actually wanted? There was a time when I thought that was exactly what my life should look like. And Lord knows, I had certainly tried to make it so, doing my best to marry men who were acceptable to my family.

  And look where that had gotten me. Soon-to-be twice divorced.

  Maybe that was my answer.

  I had failed not once but twice before, doing as my mother suggested. Perhaps this was all a sign that my journey was meant to be on a different path.

  “Like I already told you
, I’m staying here,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “I feel like this is what I need to be doing right now. Not going back to New York.”

  “That’s your final decision?” my mother asked. “You’re not going to change your mind?”

  I paused, watching a bright-yellow mass of feathers splash around in the bird bath. A chickadee, I assumed. “I’m not changing my mind.”

  My mother was silent for so long, I thought she might have hung up on me. Finally, she spoke. “I didn’t want to do this,” she said. “But you leave me no choice. If you don’t come back now, that’s it.”

  A sense of foreboding began to brew inside me. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?”

  “Exactly how it sounds,” she said, her voice harsh. “You won’t get another penny from us. Ever. We’re cutting you off. And when this business venture of yours fails, you’ll get no help from us. No job offer, no apartment, no nothing.”

  I couldn’t speak. Even though I knew this was always a possibility, to have my mother say it like that shocked me into complete silence.

  “We’ll give you a week,” she continued. “That should be plenty of time to tie up any loose ends and get yourself on a plane. We can figure everything else out later. If you’re not back in New York by this weekend, that’s it.”

  She paused for a breath. “Do I make myself clear?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound came out. I tried again. “Yes,” I said, my voice a strangled whisper.

  “Good,” she said, her voice softening. “Rebecca, I know this seems harsh, but truly, it’s for your own good. Someday, you’ll thank me.”

  With that, she ended the call.

  Numb, I dropped my phone on my desk, not wanting to touch it.

  I was being cut off.

  What was I going to do?

  I stared around me at the space I had just spent hours fixing up. It looked so promising. My beautiful new desk. The brand-new, empty planner just waiting to be filled up with to-do lists and goals. My herb-drying and plant-growing corner. My painting nook practically bursting with fresh, new supplies.