The Single Lady Spy Series Boxset Page 2

  The heaving yet silent cries tearing from me were painful, making a sickening ache as they bounced around in the hollowed walls that were once my chest.

  My head and neck were soaked from their tears as wails of the word “Mommy” filled my dark hair.

  We were an ocean of misery, rocking and swaying into each other, riding the painful torrents of heartache. The blinding pain inside me would never go away. Betrayal was a terrible feeling. It overshadowed the grief tenfold.

  “I love you, babies,” I whispered when I ran out of tears.

  “I love you too. Can we go home and have eggs?” Jules asked and wiped her little chubby cheeks. She was so matter-of-fact. I laughed and wiped my face, grateful their pain was never going to be as bad as mine. I’d guarantee they were spared that.

  We sniffled and smiled and tried to be strong the whole ride home. I parked the van in the driveway and surveyed my house. It was nice, fancy even. We lived a good life. I was grateful at least all that would remain . . . our life we had built together. We were two crazy military intelligence officers who fell in love and got pregnant and then married. We were happy against all the odds everyone expected would destroy our marriage. No one believed me capable of being a housewife but I was.

  To the point we became cocky in our ability to make a marriage out of nothing. It had been easy.

  Of course, that was because it was a façade. He had never actually stopped dating so it was easy.

  And now his smile was gone forever, but it still broke my heart every time I saw it in my mind. The fake him with the fake smile would have to live on in our children. My heart would no longer allow him to take up space.

  I had to shut him out. I had to let him and his filth die together.

  I climbed out of the van and saw the ringette and hockey gear against the other door. How would I afford it all? The insurance money would have to last the year while I job hunted and then the rest would have to go to their schooling.

  Sighing, I stared at the gear. Baseball, soccer, dancing, skating, ringette, swimming, and hockey. Two kids who played two sports a season. It never seemed like too much before, but that was before I needed time scheduled for my daily dose of self-pity and a nap. I closed the van and added it to the list of shit I still didn’t have a plan for, which was everything.

  My mom opened the door and smiled at me. She hugged Jules and rubbed Mitch's head. She was my godsend. I wished Dad were there for the second I had to watch them embrace. Her eyes were sweet and kind, soft brown and gentle, but showed worry. She motioned her head toward the house. “There’s a man in the office. A Mr. Wilkes. He was James' attorney.”

  I swallowed and cringed inwardly. I didn’t want to see anyone. I wanted a hot bath and a glass of red and to be left with my tears and my plans. “I don't know a Mr. Wilkes,” I murmured.

  “Well, he’s in the office. I'll make them some supper.” She pulled the kids into the house and smiled at me.

  “Thanks,” I called after her as she strolled to the kitchen.

  She laughed in a weird way and stepped inside. “Worry about the important stuff, Evie.” I followed her in, pausing in the doorway to listen as she began cooking. The kids told her about their day. She made things normal.

  Turning, I placed my coat down and trudged down the hall to the office. I swallowed and opened the door to the study. An older man with glasses and a wrinkled face put his fingers to his lips as if pretending to scratch. “Mrs. Evans, it's so nice to see you again.”

  I didn’t understand but I went along with it. “Yes. How are you?” The question felt forced and awkward. I hadn’t played this game in a long time and just the thought of it made my insides ache.

  He smiled gently and placed a package in my hands. He leaned in and whispered, “Meet me outside in five minutes. We can take a walk. Don't bring the package. Leave it in here.”

  My stomach sank.

  He pulled back and spoke in a loud voice, “Everything you need is in the package. The instructions will come with contact. Everything will be explained. Have a nice evening.” He nodded and walked from the room. He was the first person not to tell me he was sorry for my loss. That made me even more nervous.

  He closed the door and I took a deep breath. I glimpsed about the room and wondered why he’d whispered, who he was, and what on earth was I holding? Was I being brought back in? Could they do that? Could I do it? It would solve my money issues, but I needed to be a mom for my children. Could I go back in and be a mom?

  Shaking my head, I sat in the chair behind me. The government could do anything they wanted and I wasn't exactly retired. We had all agreed I’d leave, but we had never signed on the dotted line.

  His whispering and telling me not to bring the envelope made me wonder if it was bugged. If it was bugged, I had to assume I was being brought back in.

  Shit.

  Sickness washed over me as I slid my finger along the taped edge and braced myself for it.

  With apprehension, I stared down into the huge envelope. It contained three small things: a phone, a Visa card, and a smaller envelope. The name on the Visa was an old name I had used once in Bangladesh, on a mission.

  My world spun.

  How was this possible? I imagined I was outside myself looking in. I stared at the name so long my eyes fuzzed out on the letter. Macy Green—she was a dead travel agent.

  The door opened, making me jump up as I placed the envelope on the shelf next to me.

  “You want dinner too?” Mom asked, giving me a weird smile. She gazed around the room.

  “No, thanks.” I shook my head and walked past her. “I need some air.” I strode down the hall and grabbed my coat and pulled it on. “Be right back.”

  She tilted her head and watched me for a second before her kind eyes returned. She knew the routine. It was obvious in her stare. She had played this game for a long time too.

  I turned back. “Thanks.” What I didn’t say was thanks for not asking and not needing to know. She never did, even when it had been my dad with the secrets and lies. She beamed and pretended everything was fine. She trusted. I couldn’t help but wonder which parent had been right. The blind one who smiled through it all or the one building the wall of bullshit. Having been on both sides, I preferred to know what I was facing.

  She walked to me, wrapped hands around my head, squeezing and holding me there with a tremble. She murmured, “Hurry back. I'll keep a plate warm for you.”

  “Okay.” I pulled back and walked through the front door. Mr. Wilkes waited across the street.

  Dressed in a trench coat and dark slacks, he resembled a lawyer, but I didn’t know what to expect from him. He could be one of them.

  My arms crept across my body, wrapping around me before I could stop myself. I was holding myself together. I was vulnerable. I didn’t need to hide it. He already knew if he’d been watching me.

  “You’re in a situation.” His bold words stunned me.

  I stopped and scanned his face for a sign of anger or violence. I would have to run—I was pretty sure I couldn’t fight anymore. I hadn’t fought in a decade—longer.

  He waited for me to hear his words and process them before he continued, “I'm not sure what your husband did but the wrong people have a lot of interest in him. I'm not sure what you know, but I am sure you're in a terrible bind.” He began to walk away but continued talking as he went, “He has left you a rather large pile to clean up.”

  “What?” I jogged and caught up. “What do you mean?” Am I not being brought back in? Is this something else?

  “This isn’t my area of expertise.” He shook his head. “I can't say, but I do know there’s a man who requested that package be delivered to you. Your husband owed him.”

  I swallowed hard and tried to imagine how that was possible. Had he been gambling? After the other deeds I’d learned about, gambling seemed a rather small thing.

  Emotions filled his stare. “The man who now owns you”—his e
yes scanned about nervously—“is trouble.”

  “No one owns me, Mr. Wilkes.”

  He ignored me and continued, “He can make it so he owns your house, your van, your life. No one will question it. He has information on you, crucial information. He can make it look like you’ve done things. I’ve seen it.”

  I stopped short. The words wouldn’t sink in. I wouldn’t let them, nor did I have any responses. I was already over my head in the debris my marriage had created.

  He glanced back at me casually. “Do you understand me?”

  I shook my head.

  He observed my neighbors’ houses and turned around. “Your husband did something. I don’t know what. But the man who sent that package now owns your life. You're alive because he says it's okay for you to be alive.” His face appeared wicked in the gloomy dim light of dusk as it fell upon my lush and rich neighborhood. The moment felt clandestine, something I had not sensed in a long time.

  I frowned. “What do you mean?” Of course, I had heard of it. People disappearing because of intel they had or being tried as traitors for crimes they hadn’t committed. It was the military’s version of a ghost story. “Is the man you work for military?” I asked, knowing I could be tried as a traitor for the things I had done before. Once you were in, you were in for life.

  “I only know what I’m supposed to know. But if I’m bringing you a package, you’re in trouble.” He shrugged. “I'm just a lawyer and a messenger.” His words remained cold, but his eyes warmed to me. He took a step forward and put his hands on my arms. He gripped and stared deeply into my eyes. “All I’ve been told your husband is dead and his debt is now yours. I’ve been sent here to tell you that.”

  My military training slowly crept back in. I nodded like a good soldier.

  “The people who sent me have no idea I know your family, knew your father.” He smiled but there was panic in his eyes. “You have a few days to run. Take your kids and your mother and run. Be fast and silent and find a new life. You know how to do it, how to disappear. As of Sunday, they're coming for you. You will be contacted by that phone, leave it at the house and run.”

  I inched back a bit. “What am I going to do?” My heart was in my throat.

  “Run." He repeated. "It’s the only advice I have for you.” He shook his head as his emotions seemed to shut off. “I wanted to warn you. I knew your father. He was a good man, and because of him I wanted you to have the chance to get away. I know very little of the details. What I do know is, if you get wrapped up in this, it will be bad for you. You and your kids and your dear mother.”

  "No!" I refused all the information. “You tell your boss to go fuck himself. Whatever James did, he did on his own. I had no hand in it.”

  He put his hands in the air. “I didn’t have to warn you. I wanted to. You have to leave, Mrs. Evans. Run and never look back.”

  I stared at my feet, keeping my eyes on him. “You have to be mistaken. You have to be at the wrong house. My husband may have been a lot of things, but he wouldn’t endanger his children.”

  The emotion crept back into his eyes. “He obviously didn’t think he had a choice, and I think if you stay, you'll see that you don’t either. James did what he did to keep you and the kids safe.”

  “He didn't do shit for me or his kids.” I scowled and stalked back toward my house. “He died, remember?” It was bullshit, somehow it had to be.

  He called after me, “He did. His usefulness must have run out.” Out of nowhere he snatched my hand lightning fast and pulled me to him. “No matter what, if you stay, don't let your usefulness run out.”

  I jumped, seeing the severity in his eyes, and jerked my hand free. “I’ll run. Thank you for warning me.” I jogged back to my driveway to turn and watch him climb into his Saab and drive away. The empty cold inside me grew as I wondered what the fuck had just happened, and what the even bigger fuck James had done to me. Was I really that stupid? Had I really been that blind?

  2

  The con job

  The phone rang from inside the package as I sat on the bed and stared at his pillow. I wanted to burn the damned pillow in the outdoor fireplace, but I feared the smell and the possibility it would get out of control and burn the house to the ground. Ideas flashed through my head as I pondered faking our deaths. I knew how, but I needed documents and passports and things I didn’t know where to get anymore.

  I eyed my Lulu yoga pants in a crumpled pile on the floor next to my PTA binder and laughed.

  Who was I kidding? I couldn't run.

  I hadn’t worked in too long to remember how to do any of it and the world had changed. I grabbed his pillow and threw it across the room. The smell of him wafted in the air, making me gag but it turned into a sob. The ringing of the phone in the package never seemed to stop. It was trying to drive me insane.

  We had been partners once. How could he have kept secrets so serious that they endangered his kids and me? I wondered if the bad man knew about the mistresses. Did they know he had affairs? Were they tormenting those women too or just me?

  I racked my brain to remember a moment when James had spoken of work, to figure out if any of it seemed out of place and perhaps it would trigger a work memory.

  But there was nothing. He had kept his work away from the house. I assumed out of respect for me, the stay-at-home mom who gave up her dreams of being an intelligence agent. That was not the case. Had he talked to me about the cases he was on, perhaps I would’ve seen the discrepancies in what he was doing. Then I would’ve known something was off.

  The fear grew as the package shuddered with the vibration of the ringing phone.

  I mentally slapped myself. There was a possibility this was a con, and I was about to be ripped off by hackers. I needed to go to the police like any civilian.

  Reminding myself I wasn't an idiot or born yesterday, but a strong ex-military mother of two, wasn't easy. Once I remembered who I used to be, I understood what needed to be done. My past and the leftover traits were far more important than the fact I was now a widow or a cuckolded fool. Could women be cuckolded? It didn’t matter, the result was the same. I had to be smart and go to the police.

  I lay on my side of the bed and planned my next move. If I didn’t answer the constantly ringing phone, I could pretend it hadn’t happened for the next little bit, while I strategized. I wasn’t going to be the victim of a con artist set on stealing from lonely widows. Before I could go to the police, I had to determine what I was dealing with. The military was amazing at creating the outcome they desired, so if it wasn't a prank I had to be prepared for that. But if it was, these con artists were messing with the wrong widow.

  I yawned as my brain whispered things such as, how had they known about Macy Green? I blinked as all the fight in me slipped away. The tired depression was similar to a fog creeping back in from the sea. Before I knew it, I was asleep with my face in my pillow and denial tucking me in.

  I woke to Jules crawling around on the bed, poking me.

  “What's this?” she asked. “Mommy.” She shook me.

  I opened one crusty eye and noticed in the soft morning light she had the phone in her hand. She held it to her face.

  “Helloooooooo,” she spoke into it exaggeratedly.

  I rose, swaying from the dizziness of the sudden wake up and snatched the phone from her hands. “NO!” I shouted. I jumped when I saw a face on the screen.

  A young man's face.

  He smiled pleasantly. “Hi, Evie. We need to talk.”

  I panicked and wildly tapped the red button at the bottom of the screen and dropped the phone into my lap. The face—did I know it? Did I know him? He looked young and seemed polite even. Maybe it was a number she’d accidentally called. She had FaceTime on her iPad. She had used it before to talk to my mom and James when he was off on mission.

  Lifting my face from the phone I saw her eyes getting red. Her eyes watered but she refused to cry when she was in trouble, as I always did w
hen I was her age. That had worn off though. The closer I got to forty, the more likely I was to cry at even a commercial.

  I pulled her in and cradled her. “Sorry, Jules. It's not my phone. You can't touch it.”

  “Uhmkay, Mommy.” She sniffled.

  My mind raced, wondering what if this wasn't the government bringing me back in? Who could it be?

  If they knew about Macy Green, they’d know about the things I’d done in the past. If they could hack into the system well enough to find out about my alias, then they could hack into it for the other things and frame me.

  I had to be smarter than I was currently being.

  The house phone rang. I almost shouted not to answer it, but Mitch plodded sleepily into my room and tossed the phone at me. “Grandma.” He turned and walked back out, no doubt going back to bed.

  With a sigh, I grabbed the phone and double-checked the number before answering, “Hi, Mom,” I said with relief.

  “Honey, I had to run out first thing this morning, but I forgot to tell you last night that the nice lady from the flower place called. She said the check you gave her bounced.” She sounded confused. I would’ve been confused as well, had I not spent every moment stressing about everything. Had they already frozen my money?

  My eyes flickered on our daughter lying on my bed. I couldn’t lose it yet. I had to remain calm. I sighed as if inconvenienced and murmured, “Can you stop by and give her some cash? I'll pay you back.”

  I heard traffic in the background of her cell phone. “Sure, sweetie. Are you okay?”