Submerged (29 page)

Chapter Forty-Seven

Edmonton, AB – Monday, June 17, 2013 – 2:48 PM

Marcus found an NA meeting about fifteen minutes from Rebecca's house. It was being held in the basement of a small Pentecostal church. As much as he missed the familiar crowd of his meetings back home, there was some comfort in being in a room with complete strangers. And no pressure to speak.

Last thing he wanted to do was admit how badly he craved drugs—especially after the stress of recent events. The little devil on his shoulder tried to convince him that he could have just a little bit—enough to take the edge off. The rational side of his mind—he refused to call it angelic—reminded him of the downward spiral he'd quickly go into if he used.

Listening to one man tell his story, how he'd lost everything, including his wife, kids, job and home and was now living on the streets in downtown east Edmonton, brought home the reality of drug addiction. An addict wasn't in control; the drugs were. And there wa
s no such thing as a small slipup. Using was using, no matter the quantity or the drug of choice.

Choices…that's what everything comes down to.

Marcus thought about Leo. His best friend had managed to turn his life around after alcoholism and cocaine nearly ruined him. Now he was married to a great woman and had a job he enjoyed. Leo had made all the right choices.

Every morning when Marcus woke up, the first thing he did was make a choice. "Today I'm not going to use drugs, no matter the temptation. Today I will say 'No!'"

"Anyone else have something to share?" the guy in charge of the meeting asked.

No one spoke up.

"What about you, sir, in the back row? You're new here, and we welcome you with open arms. Feel free to share."

Marcus nearly bolted from his chair. "I…uh…not tonight."

"That's okay. Maybe next time."

Next time. It was always "next time."

Marcus knew he had a mental block that kept him from speaking up at meetings. He'd argued with Leo over it for months. When the time was right, Marcus believed he'd know it, feel it. Leo would then give him shit and tell him it was an excuse. Nothing more.

Is it? Am I making excuses?

He thought about Rebecca. She'd been to hell and back in the last three days. He admired her inner strength. She didn't make excuses. Not for Wesley, or herself. Not for anyone. She was the first person Marcus felt he could really talk to, about anything.

He was attracted to her. There was no denying that. No excuses either. She was a beautiful woman. Inside and out. He was perplexed by her offer of spending the night, albeit on the couch. Had she done so because she was still afraid? Or did she feel something more?

Jesus, Marcus. She's grateful. That's all. You rescued her and her kids. It's common for people in these situations to feel attracted to their rescuers. But it doesn’t last. It's not real.

Then again, he wasn't a very good judge of what was real. He talked to his dead wife's ghost. How real was that? She came to him during times of intense stress. When he'd had very little sleep. Obviously she was a figment of his exhausted mind. Ghosts weren't real.

But she led you to Rebecca.

And she'd warned him to hurry in the hospital.

Natural intuition. Nothing more than that.

He listened to the final speaker, all the while rationalizing Jane's recent "appearances." He fought back a yawn as people shuffled to their feet, all promising to hold on for one more day.

On his way to the door, he bumped into the leader of the meeting.

"Excuse me," the guy said, "but is your name Marcus Taylor?"

"Uh, we're supposed to maintain anonymity here."

"I know. My apologies. But your picture was in the newspaper. You rescued that woman and her kids." The man smiled. "You're a hero. Not many of us in this room can say that."

"I prefer to think of it as doing the right thing."

"You're a 911 operator. Physically searching for someone is beyond your job description, isn't it? That's a hero."

Marcus didn't know what to say.

"You did the right thing," the man said. "You showed extreme courage."

Marcus shrugged. "Like I said, it was right thing to do at the time."

"Doing the right thing isn'
t always easy. That's why we're here in this church basement. But you're on the right track." The man patted him on the back. "Hopefully one day you'll show that same kind of courage and share your story."

"Perhaps."

"Good-bye, Mr. Taylor. It was an honor meeting you."

Driving away, Marcus replayed the man's words in his head.

A
block from Rebecca's house, he slowed the car as a peculiar tingling went through his body. He glanced in the rearview mirror, half expecting to see Jane sitting behind him. But the seat was empty.

"Jeez, Marcus. Overactive imagination much?"

A sensation of foreboding crept over him, one he couldn't shake.

"Get it together," he muttered beneath his breath.

He pulled over once Rebecca's house came into view, parked and shut off the engine. There was no way in hell he was going to let Rebecca see him like this. He needed to calm down.

He
twisted in his seat. "Okay, Jane. If you're going to make an appearance, please do. I'll wait for you."

Then he settled back and waited for his wife's ghost to appear.

After ten minutes, Jane hadn't shown up.

He was about to get out of the car when a sleek black town car pulled up to the curb ahead of him. He didn't pay it any mind at first, until a tall, silver-haired man climbed out and made his way across the street. The man glanced over his shoulder in Marcus's
direction. Sunlight caught the angles of his face—the bushy eyebrows and piercing stare. He strode to Rebecca's front door, knocked and then went inside.

The man looked familiar, but Marcus couldn't quite place him. The guy wasn't one of the detectives. Their pay scale didn't supply them with Lincoln town cars.

"The lawyer," he mumbled. That's who it must be. Carter something.

Not wanting to interrupt them, Marcus remained in his car.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Edmonton, AB – Monday, June 17, 2013 – 4:16 PM

Returning from the washroom, Rebecca heard the knock on her door and let out a relieved sigh. Marcus was back. The past hour and a half had ticked by so slowly, and though she knew there was no longer any threat to her life, she didn't like being alone. She'd jumped at every noise, every shadow.

"Come on in, Marcus," she called out. "The door's unlocked."

She moved down the hallway and heard the soft creak of the front door. Rounding the corner, she smiled. "So how did your meeting—" She blinked.

Walter
Kingston stood in her living room.

"Hello, Rebecca," he said stiffly.

"Walter. What are you doing here?"

"I came to apologize. For the behavior of my son and his…well, you know."

She nodded, thankful her racing heart was slowing. "That's very kind of you, considering the circumstances. Thank you."

He took a few steps, then said, "You're expecting someone?"

"Uh…yes. Marcus Taylor, the man who found us."

"I expect you're very grateful he did."

She frowned. "Of course. We wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him."

"So he'll be here soon?"

"I think so. He had a…meeting to attend."

Walter's eyes grew shadowed. "Then I guess I'd better do what I came here
to do."

"
There's no need to apologize, Walter. Wesley made some awful choices. I don't hold you responsible for your son's actions."

Walter ambled forward and opened his arms wide. "I'm so happy to hear that." He gathered her up in his arms. "But I'm still sorry."

"How about a glass of wine or some tea?" she asked, slipping out of his grasp. "Come on in, take off your gloves and stay a while. You can meet Marcus when he gets back."

"Oh, I'm not planning
to stay long. But tea sounds like a plan. Let me get it for you. You don't seem to be moving too quickly."

She smiled. "Thanks, Walter."

As he puttered around in the kitchen, he called out, "Honey or sugar?"

"
Honey, please." She settled back onto the sofa and propped a pillow behind her. "There's herbal tea in the cupboard and regular too."

"Found it. Let's try the strawberry pomegranate. Lots of antioxidants."

She almost laughed, wondering when Walter had become such a connoisseur of teas.

When he handed her a mug, she nodded in thanks. "It really is very nice of you to stop by."

He set the teapot on the coffee table. "You
are
my daughter-in-law." He peered over her shoulder. "Are the kids sleeping?"

"They're at my sister's."

"Perfect."

She raised a brow. "
How so?"

"I mean, dear, that you need some time to heal
, and running after two active children can't be easy right now."

He had a point
, and she let out a sigh. "The past few days have been very difficult."

"And Wesley and
Tracey didn't make it easy."

She was touched by his understanding. They'd never been that close. She'd always found Walter a little standoffish. Yet here he was, drinking tea in her living room.

"I wish things had gone differently," she said.

"Me too."

She cradled the mug in her hands and took a sip of tea. It had a bitter aftertaste, and she made a face.

"Too sweet?" he asked. "I wasn't sure how much honey you take, so I put
in a good spoonful. Can't hurt. It's good for you."

"It's fine." She drank
a bit more, hoping to get the sickening sweet taste out of her mouth. "I still can't believe it…" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's probably best we don't talk about everything that happened." She yawned. "It's been a long day."

"I'm sure it has."

"I hope we can remain…friends. For the kids' sake. You're their grandpa."

"You need fluid and lots of rest."

She chuckled. "You sound like a doctor. Dr. Kingston, MD."

"There was a time when I thought I'd go into that profession. But law suited me better.
I have a deep need to right wrongs."

She
blinked. "You're a good lawyer."

"I don't hate you, Rebecca. I want you to know that. Sometimes we have to make hard decisions."

Walter's response wasn't what she'd expected.

In their shared silence, she listened
to the ticking of the clock in the kitchen. It made her want to go to sleep. All she had to do was close her eyes.

Stay awake!

She nearly fell off her chair at the voice in her ear. A woman's voice. The same voice she'd heard when Tracey had tried to kill her.

Rebecca's eyes wandered over Walter's face. His smile was gone, replaced with a frown. "What's wrong
, Walter?"

"
Besides everything?"

She tried to sit up, but her limbs felt suddenly weak. "I know you must be upset
because—"

"Up
set?" His voice sounded distorted as he reached out, taking her mug and setting it on the table. "Your pathetic husband can't get a grip on his spending, and you think I'm upset?"

"I meant because of…the accident…the kids."

"I told Wesley he needed help," Walter said, as if he hadn't heard a word she'd said. "He needed to get that damned gambling under control."

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew. I knew everything. Do you think I'm an idiot? Besides, who do you think has been bailing him out all this time?"

"Tr
…Tracey." Why was the room spinning?

"That stupid twit? She couldn't even follow simple instructions. All she had to do was get the drugs into your IV. But no, she had to talk to you, waste time."

"W-what? What are y-y-you talking about?"

"She came to me, begging for another loan to give to Wesley. But they'd been sponging off me far too long.
She couldn't pay off the last loan. And when I found out about the money you got from your grandfather…" He let out a mocking laugh. "You couldn't even bail out your own husband?"

"The money's for the k
-kids."

"So it's okay for
Wesley to keep taking my money?" His voice was dripping with bitterness. "It's okay to make me look like a fool? Well, no longer."

"I d
-don't understand."

"It's simple. Wesley is an embarrassment. I
ordered him to clean up his mess. I gave him precise instructions to get the money from you, pay off his own debts for a change. But he's too much of a wimp and couldn't follow directions if someone stamped them on his forehead."

Walter's words made no sense. And why was he still wearing his gloves?

"You think Wesley set this all up?" he asked, his lips twisting into an ugly jeer. "You're as stupid as he is. When Tracey told me about the money you'd inherited, I said I'd do one last thing. Help them get the money. What they did with it was their problem, but there'd be no more loans from me. With one exception. I hired someone I could trust that could get the job done."

"You?" Rebecca
shuddered. "Y-you paid off…that…Delaney g-guy? You hired him…to k-kill me—us?"

"I had no idea the
kids were with you. Until Rufus called me from the gas station. I am sorry about that. But there was no other way. With the three of you out of the picture, Wesley could clear his debts and move on—out of my life. That was deal I made with Tracey."

"Deal?"

"I'd pay Rufus and help them get the money, and they'd leave Edmonton. I couldn't afford the rumors about Wesley affecting me any longer. Even his blasted affair with Tracey was office fodder. Oh, and Rebecca?" He stared into her bleary eyes. "They'd been having an affair far longer than you think."

She swallowed hard and fought back tears. "How long?"

"Since you were pregnant with the girl."

Ella. Sweet Ella.

She recalled how nervous Wesley had been when she'd said she was pregnant again. She'd thought it was because his job situation was so precarious. Now she knew better.

But still…Walter?

"Drink some more, Rebecca. You'll feel better. It's special tea." The mug shifted, splitting into two and then three.

Her breath froze in her chest, and her pulse raced. "'
Special tea'?"

The malevolent
look in Water's eyes told her he'd drugged it.

With a flick of her wrist, she dropped her mug, spilling tea down her legs.

Oh God. He's going to kill me.