Debra Burroughs - Paradise Valley 02.5 - The Edge of Lies (7 page)

“Ha ha,” Emily mocked. She told him about their plan to start up self-defense classes.

“Sounds like an excellent idea, Em.”

“I told the girls you could teach us a few moves we could use. Do you mind?”

“I’d be delighted.”

~*~

Emily rolled onto her side and rested on her elbow. She thought back to how Evan had helped with the women’s self-defense moves. He had been so agreeable. At the time she had thought he was doing it to be supportive of her blossoming friendships, but in retrospect, perhaps he had wanted that for her more than she had known. She could see from the journal pages she had read so far that there was a lot going on that she had no idea about.

She reached over for her tea, which had cooled to room temperature by now, and briefly wished she had something stronger to drink as she finished reading. A glass of wine sounded perfect right about now. But, with or without fortification, Emily knew she must plow forward.

She took a large swallow of her tea and turned the next page. It began right after her conversation with him the night of her first dinner with the girls.

~*~

As soon as Evan hung up from his call with Emily, he phoned his friend Roger. Roger had been his best man and was someone whom he had worked closely with in DC. Hopefully he could help solve the riddle of the note from Natalia.

“Roger, this is Evan.”

“Who?” There was a long pause. “Oh, right, Evan. Don’t worry, this is a secure line.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure this is. Plus, I need to think of myself this way, so I don’t get careless and slip up.”

“What’s up?” Roger asked.

“I think someone has found me. In fact, I know someone has.”

“What makes you say that?”

“A few weeks ago, someone slipped a note to a teenager to pass along to me.”

“What did it say?”

“It read I will have justice. Signed Natalia.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“But Natalia is dead.”

“I know.”

“You think someone wants revenge?” Roger asked.

“Certainly sounds like it.”

“Why did you wait so long to call me?”

“I kept expecting someone to make a move, but no one has. So I thought it was time to dig deeper,” Evan said.

“Let me see what I can find out on this end. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know something.”

“Thanks, mate.”

After Evan hung up, he set his phone down on the desk, having to stretch to place it beyond a pile of reports he was working through. He turned back to his computer, which sat to the left, and returned to his research.

His desk faced the door and this was no coincidence—it not only made it easy for him to greet clients, but it was also the safest way to see a potential threat. Now, through the opaque glass in the top half of his door, he noticed a hazy shadow drift past. Due to the lateness of the hour, he assumed it was probably cleaning staff, or someone who worked in the building on their way to one of the other offices.

Then, the old brass doorknob turned and Evan heard the click of it releasing, just as his phone began to ring. As he reached over the stack of files to grab his phone, a bullet whizzed past his head.

The door opened a little more, with the shooter apparently hoping for another shot. Instantly, Evan bounded around the desk and, seeing the nose of a gun protruding, he slammed the door against it, causing the gun to fumble in the shooter’s hand.

The scent of gunpowder hung heavy and acrid, as the perpetrator tried to regain control. Evan flung the door open and wrestled with him, trying to snatch the gun out of the man’s hand. He slammed it, first against the doorframe, and then the wall of the hallway.

The man was strong and a little taller than Evan, dressed in all black, wearing a dark stocking cap. He punched Evan in the face and then in the stomach, but Evan charged back at the man in the dim, narrow hall. They continued to struggle over the gun. Evan felt the hard steel against the palm of his hand. He fought to keep it pointed away from his body.

As they battled hard, punching and kicking each other, the man stepped back and launched his shoulder against Evan with his full weight, and he ended up on the floor—but Evan had gained control of the weapon.

From flat on his back, Evan fired up at the man as he ran off down the hallway. Then he bolted to an upright sitting position and fired another shot. Scrambling to his feet, he fired another round. He couldn’t be sure, but from the groan the man let out, he thought he may have clipped him.

The gunman dashed out the emergency exit door, and Evan pursued him out of the building, but by the time he stepped outside into the night, there was no sign of him. He had barely gotten a glimpse of the man’s face in the low light and the scuffle. From what little he had seen, he wasn’t anyone Evan recognized.

What Evan feared most had come true—somebody knew his real identity and where he was. Now that he had been found, was he ever going to be safe? Was Emily?

Maybe the bullet hit an artery or a vital organ, and the man would bleed out. Evan could only hope.

Too many minutes had ticked away since the first shot was fired. Evan had to get out of that office building before the police showed up. Surely, someone in this small town had called them.

He ran back to his office, looking down at the Beretta in his hand. Maybe there was a way to discover who the shooter was from the gun. He quickly locked it in a drawer, then he slipped out the back door of the building and hopped in his car.

Unknown to his wife, Evan had a secret, secure place where he kept items from his past life hidden away. Tomorrow, he would add that gun to the other things. As long as he stayed alive, Emily would never have to know.

It was at that moment that Evan knew he must keep a written account of everything he could. He decided to place it separate from the other items. He couldn’t chance someone finding everything all together. Emily was a bright and tenaciously curious woman—she would find everything someday, if he didn’t make it.

Evan slapped his hand to his forehead. “Oh, God. Emily!”

What if the shooter knew where they lived? Isabel and the girls were with her, but they’d be leaving soon. He floored the gas pedal and sped home. He had to make sure she was safe. If something happened—again—he could never forgive himself.

Chapter 9

Keeping an eye out for both police cars and anyone tailing him, Evan raced through Paradise Valley, intent on getting home to Emily before something happened to her. He had feared everything would eventually come crashing down around him one day, but he never thought it would happen so soon. What would he do now that this guy was out there somewhere? How would they go about regular life? He couldn’t just ask Emily to pick up and move again. He could never justify that without telling her.

As he drove, his mind filled with thoughts of Emily. She was the kind of woman any man would be lucky to marry. She deserved better than him, he knew, she deserved to be the wife of an honest, respectable man.

Instead, he’d selfishly charmed her into falling in love with him, because once he’d met her, he knew he couldn’t live without her.

He could never come clean with her about the things he’d done—the blood that stained his hands—but he could make sure if anything ever happened to him, she would always be taken care of. That was the least he could do for her.

When Evan pulled into the driveway, the girls were just leaving. He had no choice but to plaster a smile on his face, greet them, and let Emily make introductions. Relieved she was all right, he wanted to get her back inside the house.

“Good-bye!” Emily called out, waving and smiling, as she stood beside Evan on the porch.

Evan was grateful she couldn’t hear his heart pounding, his pulse racing, as his gaze darted up and down the street.

When the women’s cars pulled away, he ushered Emily inside, working to appear calm. Pausing in the entry, he pulled her into his arms. “Sounds like you had a good time tonight.”

“I did. I know I didn’t want to move, but I really feel at home here now. Settled, you know. Those three women, they may all be completely different, but I get the feeling we’re going to be friends a long, long time.” She grinned up at him and gave him a quick kiss. “But it’s nice to have you home.”

She gazed deeply into his eyes and he wondered if she could see through them, right into his soul. He hugged her tight, knowing he loved her more than anyone else he’d ever known. Her happiness, her safety, it had to come first. She trusted him and he could never let her down.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He loosened his grip and took a deep breath, not wanting to alarm her. “Yeah, I’m just beat, love. Let’s go to bed early.”

~*~

They lay in bed, interlaced in each other’s arms, basking in the afterglow of having made love. Her head rested on his chest and her hair smelled like strawberries. He breathed it in, as the sweet taste of her kisses lingered on his lips.

Before long, her breathing became soft and rhythmic, telling him she had fallen asleep, but restful slumber eluded him. He remained staring at the ceiling, considering what had happened to him that evening. What could he do to make sure she was taken care of if he did not survive another attack? He knew another assault would come—it was only a matter of when, and how.

Gingerly, he untangled himself from Emily and slid out of bed. He slipped his robe on as he tiptoed out of the room.

Evan drew a glass of water from the kitchen faucet and stood looking out the window over the sink as he drank it, wondering what to do. Keeping the woman he loved safe was now his prime objective.

He pulled an empty leather-covered notebook, as well as a sheet of stationary, from one of the drawers, then he plucked a pen out too. Tugging a chair quietly away from the table, he settled in and began with writing a letter to her, a letter he would place with the hidden items—one he hoped she’d never have to read.

After he had signed the letter, he opened the notebook. The words came quickly, pouring out of him, line after line. He told her things he did not want her to know while he was alive, for fear it would forever change their relationship. But if he died, she deserved to know the truth.

Tears formed in his eyes as he wrote. He wiped his sleeve across them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried—probably when Natalia was killed.

Evan’s love for Emily was so deep—he would do anything to protect her, including laying down his own life, if that’s what it took. He hoped to be around to raise the children they wanted to have, but if he couldn’t, at least he knew she’d be taken care of.

He would need to make sure to leave her a clue to his hidden place and find a good spot to secure his journal, but he’d deal with that in the morning.

He hid the notebook in his briefcase and began folding the note in quarters just as his phone started to ring on the counter. With the note in one hand, he lunged to answer it with the other, hoping the noise hadn’t awakened Emily. He grabbed the phone and walked out onto the deck.

~*~

Emily bolted upright in the bed as her own phone rang, startling her and causing the journal to fall to the floor. As she instinctively reached out to catch it, her hand grazed the handle of her teacup, sending it crashing down on top of the notebook.

With her heart racing and her palms suddenly sweating, she chose to ignore the call coming in. Whoever it was, it couldn’t be more important than what she was learning tonight. She leapt from the bed and ran to the bathroom to get a towel before the tea soaked into the carpet.

As she knelt down, dabbing at the tea-stained pages of the notebook, her heart drifted back to the ringing phone on the night to which Evan had referred. The phone had awakened her that night and, as caught up as she was in Evan’s world right now, she could vividly recall the experience.

~*~

Out of a light sleep, Emily woke to the sound of a phone ringing. She stretched out her hand, but Evan’s side of the bed was cold and empty. She threw on her satin robe and wandered through the house looking for him.

The kitchen light was on, but he wasn’t there. Her head turned as she heard his voice coming from outside on the deck. She opened the back door and stood in the doorway, listening.

“I told you—I’m out. I’m not doing that anymore,” Evan said. He hung up and turned to go back inside, abruptly stopping at the sight of his wife standing there.

“Who was that?” she asked. The part of the conversation she’d overheard was unsettling. What was he not doing anymore?

“Just somebody I used to work with, wanting me to do a job. Nothing you need to worry about, love.”

“What’s that in your hand?”

“This?” Evan raised the paper and glanced down at it. “Just some junk mail. I’ll stick it in the trash. Let’s go inside.”

She did as he asked, and he followed her in.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen, he gathered her up in his arms and stared deeply into her eyes. His gaze drifted over her face, as if he was studying her features. He kissed her and his lips were soft and warm. “I love you, Emily.”

“I love you too, but—”

His lips were on hers again.

“Always remember that I love you more than anything. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” he said.

“You’re scaring me, Evan.”

“Don’t be scared, love. Just trust me.”

~*~

“Trust,” Emily repeated as she picked up the soggy notebook to blot the tea from the carpet. “That’s really a matter of perspective, isn’t it?”

Back then her perspective had been that of a naïve, newlywed bride, hopelessly in love with a charming man of the world. She would have believed him if he had told her the moon was made of cheese. But now, now she knew better.

Looking at the notebook in her hand, the tea had dissolved the ink into a blurry bruise-colored mess. The remainder of the journal appeared to be unreadable—she might never know the rest.

Emily let the notebook fall from her fingers and she sat back on her bent legs. Was it better knowing only part of the truth or would she have been better off not knowing anything at all?