Deadly Deception (Deadly Series) (4 page)

“I went to see Carter’s mother.” 

“What? How’d that go?”

“Not so well. I wanted to see if she knew something but it just made everything worse and more confusing. I know that I’m reading a lot into this but it’s this constant open-ended event, you know. Where did he go? Did he really drown?”

“Anne, it’s been three years.”

“I know, I know, I know.”

Anne placed her index fingers onto her temples, trying to rub away the headache that had been plaguing her since early that morning.

“Are you going to tell Adam?”

“Not right now. He has enough going on without dealing with his nutty fiancé receiving notes and pictures from her dead boyfriend.”

“Dead boyfriend?” Casey asked.

“Don’t start over-
analyzing this. In my head he’s dead but in my heart….”

Anne swallowed hard.

“Maybe we should ask to look at the security tapes from over the weekend,” Casey suggested.

“Do you think they will let us?”

“Why not? If there is some random person breaking in, wouldn’t they have it on tape and wouldn’t they want to know that the building isn’t as secure as they thought it was? I’ll go to the security office and ask. In the meantime, why don’t you go home, relax, maybe take a nap, and I’ll call you later.”

“Thanks, Casey.”

For as long as Anne could remember, Casey had been her voice of reason even when there was nothing but darkness in her life. She never gave up pulling Anne out of the abyss.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Anne nodded and they walked out of the coffee shop and onto the bustling sidewalk. They said their goodbyes and she was once again in her car.

Anne’s apartment was just a few miles from her office. She adored her place. It was modern but cozy, and had all the amenities of the downtown culture. Art galleries, shopping and theaters were all within walking distance.

The brick and concrete façade towered six floors and had scroll iron balconies. The black Jetta disappeared into the underground garage. Anne was ready to toss her heels off and relax for a bit. The elevator ascended to the main floor so she could retrieve her mail. A wall of steel mailboxes lined to the right; she stopped at
507
. Feeling that familiar pull that someone was watching her, Anne surveyed the surroundings but saw no one.

“I’m becoming paranoid,” she whispered and began to insert the key into the lock.

There was a white section of an envelope sticking out of the corner of the rectangular box. Anxiety pushed through her and with a quivering hand she slowly opened the door and let out a huge sigh of relief when she seized a crumpled cable bill.

Get a grip
, she thought, rolling her eyes at her irrational reactions to the simple retrieval of her mail. She made her way back to the elevator feeling a slight twinge of embarrassment. 

Anne threw her mail on the stone island that sat in the contemporary kitchen. Carter’s family had been the construction company for the apartments; beaming with pride, Carter had eagerly flaunted their completed product at her. She fell in love with the design and quality immediately and had moved in two weeks later.

It still had that “new” smell to it. The maple cabinets and floor married the black granite countertops flawlessly. She and Carter had picked out the bronze glass pendant lights that had coffee swirls etched around the oval shape and all the stainless steel appliances.

Anne changed out of her work attire and threw on some black yoga pants and a fitted pink t-shirt. After throwing her
blonde locks up into a loose ponytail, she began thumbing through her mail. Nothing but bills and junk. She grabbed the manila envelope and stared at it for the longest time like Carter was going to magically pop out of the enclosure. She entered into her walk-in closet that was sandwiched between the bedroom and bathroom.

At the very top of the three levels of wo
oden shelving there sat a black-and-purple shoe box. Reaching while on the tip of her toes, she pulled the rectangular cardboard down to her then placed herself in the center of the closet, sitting cross-legged like a young child would. With the contents of the envelope laid out in front of her, she gazed at her entire life with Carter in a simple size seven shoe box. Anne pulled out newspaper clippings that told of his disappearance and death, photos of the two of them together at the park and out with friends,
little mementos that he had given to her over their intense but passionate time together and beautiful notes he had handwritten just for her. His words were always filled with such adoration. Opening one of his many notes to her, she read the sweet words slowly.

My Dearest Anneliese, how my life would be filled with darkness if I didn’t have you. You fill me with hope and promise. I have never known love like this. I have never felt desire like this. Please my love, never leave my side.

Yours Faithfully, Carter

Anne inhaled the scent of the paper; vanilla and sandalwood still lingered on each weaved fiber. She compared the handwriting of the note she received this morning and the one that Carter wrote right after they had met. They were a perfect match.
But how could that be?
She thought.
And what was so significant about the photos? What am I missing?

In one of the photos there was a man whose stature rang familiarity; he was standing behind Carter wearing a bright yellow ski jacket, but his face was blurred. He had on black gloves with a white symbol on them. She knew the symbol was one of an expensive clothing store, but she didn’t know anyone who owned a pair.

She remembered receiving that phone call from Carter’s oldest friend, Sam Goodman, informing her of Carter’s disappearance.

“Carter
’s raft flipped in the river. He’s missing! They think he drowned. He’s gone Anne, he’s gone!” Sam had howled.

Numbness had overwhelmed her body; she had collapsed to the floor in hysterics. Her neighbors heard her and feared a medical emergency; they immediately called Minneapolis PD, who within minutes
were hammering on her apartment door. They had done so with such force it had launched off its hinges. Inside, they found her unconscious in the middle of the living room, still gripping the phone.

“When you experience something traumatic, your
brain attempts to shield itself. Therefore you go into shock,” Dr. Rasmussen had explained, once she had regained consciousness days later. Anne had locked herself up in a comatose world for nearly seventy-two hours. Time had been lost in her self-created hell. She had wanted to return once they revealed to her the bleak and devastating news in what they called a “controlled environment.”

Anne pulled herself from the flashback and looked over to her nightstand drawer which contained various medications to make sure that her space stayed light and cheerful. Dr. Lindsey prescribed them to her but she hadn’t touched them in months. As of 9:30 a.m., Carter had been just a faded memory imprinted in her life so many years ago, but the writing on that note told of something different. She bent forward unleashing an agonizing cry. The salty tears dripped down into the box of relics, expanding over the words that Carter wrote to her so long ago.

“Carter.” She whispered.

After regaining her composure, she could still feel her lungs burning from the tormenting trip down memory lane. She placed each item back into the shoebox ever so gentl
y like it was a newly born baby. She walked over to the maple nightstand, taking out one of the translucent orange cylinders. Popping open the child-proof cap, she tapped out a single oblong white pill. Recalling how she felt when taking them caused a tremor through her spine. Anne would feel nothing, absolutely nothing. They desensitized her from all the hurt and agony. Before she could place the little oval of nothingness on her tongue there was a knock at the door.

“Anne?” A male voice asked.

Quickly, she placed the pill back in the bottle closing the nightstand drawer.

“Coming!”
She belted out to the man who captured her soul from the dark.

She opened
the door, and there he stood, debonair and un-apologetically handsome, her fiancé—Adam Whitney.

Adam’s dashing smile and childlike dimples sent a flutter of heat through her chest. His hazel eyes were glinting with animation. He curved down to find her lips. She reciprocated, running her hands over his taut chest which she could feel through his black tailored vest and white oxford shirt. Adam’s hands twisted behind her, splaying across her lower back, eliminating any space between them.

His urge to ease her anxious mind came through in his deepened kisses. Anne welcomed the much-needed affection. His touch was her kryptonite. Breaking away from their impromptu make-out session in the hallway, Anne ushered him in. They attempted to calm their heated breathing.

“That’s my favorite kind of greeting,” Anne said, biting her swollen lower lip.

“I won my case today so we are going to go out and celebrate.” Gazing at her, he could see her eyes were rimmed with red. “You’ve been crying.”

Anne attempted to shrug off his observation.

“It’s nothing. I was watching this silly movie on Lifetime.” Quickly she changed the subject back to his courtroom victory. “Congratulations babe, I bet Richard was thrilled.”

Richard Morris was Adam’s partner at the law firm. Anne had never taken a liking to him; he had been through half a dozen wives whom he left high and dry. He was overweight, balding; a halo of cigar smoke followed right along with him and he had an ego to match his size. The women only stayed with him simply because he was wealthy and bought them whatever their gold-digging hearts desired. The thought of him turned Anne’s stomach.

“He was indeed,
and invited us out for drinks tonight to celebrate. Are you up for it?”

Anne crinkled her nose at the thought of sharing atmospheric space with Richard and his bimbo of the week.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Adam replied.

He strolled over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. He leaned his statuesque frame against the island. Anne could honestly say she rarely ever saw Adam not clad in an expensive tailor-made suit. Even when it was just a casual day at home he wore fit chinos with a button
ed shirt, a sweater or a knit pullover. On occasion, he wore plaid shorts in the summer months. He was a walking Banana Republic ad.

She thought Adam looked gorgeous in everything he wore. That’s what she loved about him; he was the opposite of Carter. Adam worshiped every inch of her, devouring her exquisite courage and her harrowing burdens. She credited him for saving her. Anne fought her way out of the void that was Carter and clung to the rapture that was Adam.

“I was thinking we could order in, pop open a bottle of wine and relax with a nice movie.”

She nuzzled against him batting her long
blonde eyelashes.

“You don’t play fair
, my angel,” Adam said, running his finger down her jaw.

“No, you’re
my
angel remember?”

The heat and heaviness from his body made hers shift with yearning. Without speaking another word
, Anne began unbuttoning his vest, still holding his gaze. His hazel eyes churned black as she pushed the vest off, letting it tumble to their feet. His shirt was next. The chiseled glory that stood before her left her lungs without air.

Adam pulled her
blonde strands down, watching the golden cascade sweep over her shoulders and down her back. Tangling his fingers through the nape of her neck, and arching her face up towards his, his mouth collided with hers in a fervent display. Their breathing was heavy but in sync, which made it all the more arousing.

Clothing trailed to Anne’s bedroom. Their bodies twisted harmoniously in sheets of white. Anne wrapped her fingers through
the iron gate headboard. Adam raked his teeth over her collarbone then repeated it with kisses of revere. The torrid sensation in Anne’s body escalated with every touch to the point of unimaginable bliss as every nerve ending imploded with euphoria.

Adam always made sure Anne was contented first. Her pleasure pleased him, then he would follow suit. They laid there in a most gratifying embrace gazing at one another. Adam gently stroked Anne’s flushed cheek then placed a chaste kiss upon her forehead.

“I‘m madly in love with you, Anne, and I want you in my life always.”

Adam’s baritone voice melted against her ear. 

“You were meant to find me, to save me, to love me and I can’t wait to be your wife. And I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me,” Anne said, kissing the curve of his carved chin.

Adam let out a deep sigh as he lifted her finger where the diamond sat kissing the inside of the platinum band.

“You did the same for me.”

“What?” Anne asked, shifting up on his chest so she could see his face.

“Saved me.”

“From what?”