by London James
But then, it's probably better that I don't know. Ignorance is bliss and all that.
I walk through the complex toward my place. It's beautifully landscaped, with flowering bushes, small ponds, wooden footbridges, and copses of towering trees. It's designed to look like a bunch of log cabins, which gives it a folksy kind of charm, I guess. It's a cute place.
Following the small path, I stop at the mailboxes and grab my mail, before I continue on to my door. Slipping the key in the lock, I cringe when I hear the door in the hall behind me open. This is the biggest drawback to living here, and the one thing I've been begging Marshal Parr to get straightened out sooner, rather than later – a request, or demand, he keeps saying, that will take a minute to fulfill.
“Hey, Isl – Penny,” he says, his voice tentative.
I don't even bother turning around and focus on unlocking the other two deadbolts. Dove Falls is a safe, sleepy town, but I take absolutely zero chances. Especially now that I know a cartel is still gunning for me and won't stop until I'm dead.
I slip the key into the last lock when I feel a hand on my shoulder. It sets my heart racing – I hadn't even heard him moving. Shrugging his hand off, I work the key, trying to get the last deadbolt unlocked. He puts his hand back on my shoulder.
“Sis, please –”
I round on him, the heat and fury in my eyes no less today, than it was one year ago when I was told my life was being burned to the ground.
“I told you to never call me that again,” I hiss. “I have no brother, and you have no sister. We're just two strangers who happen to live across the hall from each other.”
“Come on, Is – dammit – Penny. I screwed up. I screwed up huge. I've apologized to you a thousand different ways,” he says softly. “How long are you going to punish –”
“As long as I have to be called Penny,” I snap.
I turn back to my door and keep working the key in the lock. The third one sticks and is always tough to open, and I'm struggling with it more so than usual – mostly because I'm trying to rush, so I can put a closed, locked door between my brother, and me.
He moves in beside me, reaching out to help, but I slap his hands away, and round on him. “I'm fine,” I growl. “I don't want or need your help.”
His face falls, and I swear I can see tears shimmering in his eyes. Even still, after all he's done, there's still that small piece of me that feels bad. That wants to be his sister and comfort him. But those are thoughts and feelings I squash down ruthlessly. I can't afford to be weak. Can't afford to give in. My brother is a monster. No, he may not have been the one murdering people and burying them in mass graves, but he sure as hell enabled the ones who did. He made them rich. All so he could make himself rich.
“Are you ever going to forgive me, Isla?” he asks softly.
“Gee, I don't know, Henry,” I spit his new, government-issued name at him. “You think all those people you helped murder will magically come back to life?”
“I kept the books,” he says quietly, sounding miserable. “That's all I did. I moved numbers around on a spreadsheet. I had nothing to do –”
“Yeah, you said that before. About a thousand times,” I interrupt. “The fact hasn't changed though – you worked for people, knowingly worked for people, who were out there flooding the street with drugs, and murdering people. You knew what they were doing, and you worked with them anyway.”
It's a whispered conversation we've had a million times, and he still seems like he doesn't get it. Still acts like I'm crazy or am somehow being unreasonable. To him, it's just moving numbers around in a spreadsheet. To me, it's the blood, as well as the actual people who were brutally murdered at the behest of his bosses.
Even though we've had the conversation a million times, I'm going to keep throwing it in his face, as long as he keeps trying to speak with me. I wasn't kidding when I told him that he was dead to me. He is. My brother is long dead. I can never forgive him for what he's done – or the fact that I'm paying the price for his evil deeds.
It's not fair. The choice I had to make – give up my hard-won life or die – it's just not right. There's really nothing fair about it. And I'm going to hold him accountable for it until the day I die. I finally get the door unlocked and push it open. As I go to close it behind me, Rory stops it from shutting.
I spin around, ready to blow up on him, but I hold my tongue, when I actually see him for the first time. His face is drawn and pinched, his eyes sunken in a bit. He's pale and gaunt. He looks like he hasn't slept well in days. After we moved here, he seemed to be doing better. Not that I was trying to notice – but it's kind of difficult to not see it, when he's living across the hall.
After we came to Dove Falls, he made friends, had a few girlfriends, and seemed to have more pep in his step than he did when we'd left L.A. But, with the date of the trial drawing near, I guess he's been backsliding a bit.
“You look like shit,” I snap. “When's the last time you shaved? Or showered?”
“I need you to do something for me,” he says.
“The balls on you, Henry,” I scoff. “After everything you've done, and everything you've put me through, you actually have the gall to stand there and ask me for a favor?”
He doesn't respond to me, but thrusts a metal box, a bit smaller than a shoebox, into my hands. It has a digital combination lock on it. I go to hand it back to him, but he takes a step back and stands just out of reach.
“What the hell is this?” I ask, my voice low and full of irritation.
“The combination is your birthday,” he mumbles, sounding entirely defeated.
“What's in the box, Rory?”
“Everything the prosecutors are going to need in case...”
His voice tapers off, and I look at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence. He lets out a long, quavering breath, then finally raises his eyes to mine.
“That's what they'll need to continue going after the cartel in case I'm not able to testify,” he finally tells me.
The meaning is clear to me. He's afraid something is going to happen to him between now and the day he's set to testify. Which is a nice way of saying, he's afraid the cartel is going to kill him before he gets a chance to get on the stand. On the one hand, there's a piece of my heart that fears the exact same thing. The other part of me – the majority of me, to be honest – thinks that he made his own bed, and now he has to lie in it. If the cartel gets to him – well – we reap what we sow.
Cold-hearted perhaps, but I can't afford to let my guard down. What he did – and what he did to me as a byproduct – is unconscionable to me. As hard as it is to swallow sometimes, my own brother has made me hate him.
“A touch melodramatic, don't you think?” I ask. “You're going to be surrounded by cops –”
“Maybe,” he responds. “I'd rather be safe than sorry though. I'll feel a lot better knowing it's in safe hands, just in case...”
I let out a long breath but keep the box. He's not asking me for much; I guess I can do this. Though, I doubt it's going to be necessary.
“Fine,” I snip. “Is that it?”
He hesitates a moment and looks up at me. He opens his mouth to say something, but maybe seeing the look of contempt on my face, wisely closes it again. His expression darkens, and he lowers his gaze to the floor.
“No,” he says. “That's it. Thank you.”
“Great.”
I close the door in his face and throw all three locks. My heels clack hard on the wood flooring, as I carry the box into the kitchen, and set it on the counter. I grab the bottle of wine off the counter and quickly pour myself a glass. The anger coursing through me is so thick, it's making my hand shake as I raise the glass to my lips. The nerve of him. The absolute nerve of him.
I down my glass of wine and then pour another. Apparently, no sipping for me tonight. I let out a long breath and try to regain my composure. I have papers to grade tonight, so I can't afford to get sloppy
drunk. Nor can I afford to let him get under my skin.
Taking a sip of my wine, I head toward the bathroom in the rear of the apartment. A nice, hot bath – and this glass of wine – will do wonders for me right now.
Chapter Four
Isla
One Week Later...
“So, what happened after I left?” Roni asks.
“Not much,” I say and shrug. “We stayed for another twenty minutes or so and called it a night.”
I take a sip of my drink and shake my head. I'd met up with her, David, and a few other teachers from the school at the bar the other night, as I promised I would. And as I predicted, there was zero chemistry between us. David is a nice enough guy, but we have almost nothing in common. The conversation between us was slow, halting, and painful if I'm being honest. We just didn't have much to talk about, really.
I'm pretty sure he felt it every bit as much as I did, given the fact that we didn't even exchange phone numbers.
“And?” she presses.
“And nothing,” I tell her. “Neither of us were really feeling it, Roni.”
She sighs. “Well, there are plenty of other fish in the sea.”
“Maybe we should put our poles up for now,” I say and chuckle.
She gives me a small smile. “I just want you to be happy.”
“Who says I need a man to be happy?”
Roni laughs and holds her hands up. “Fair enough,” she replies. “Touché.”
“I just figure when the time and person, are right, I'll know.”
She takes a sip of her drink and gently sets the glass back down. “I get it,” she says. “But that's not going to stop me from parading the very best cuts of meat Dove Falls has to offer, in front of you.”
I laugh and slap her arm playfully. “I wouldn't expect anything less from you.”
My phone rings, so I slip it out of my purse and groan inwardly. It's Marshal Parr, probably calling to do his periodic check in with me. He's a nice enough guy, I guess. He can be gruff, and rough around the edges, maybe, but I can tell that he actually cares about what happens to me.
I'm just not in the mood to talk to him right now. Most days, I'm just pretending, but there are times when I can forget that Penny isn't my real name, and I didn't come to Dove Falls to escape some brutal drug cartel. There are times when I feel strangely – normal.
But, one call from Parr is all it takes to bring that illusion crumbling down in a flaming heap all around me once more.
I sigh and push the button to send the call to voicemail. I just want a nice evening out with a friend. I don't want to be reminded of the horrors of my life. Not tonight. Roni looks at me, her eyebrow raised, and a mischievous smile on her lips.
“Not David,” I tell her.
“No?”
“Definitely not,” I say. “Just an old friend.”
“Uh huh,” she teases. “Old friend.”
I laugh. “Yes, just a friend,” I reply. “You're incorrigible, you know.”
“I'm told it's one of my better qualities.”
My phone rings again, making me roll my eyes. It's Parr. Again. I send the call to voicemail again and am about to put the phone in my purse when there's a chime announcing a text message.
“Somebody's really trying to reach you,” Roni says.
“Yeah, he can be incredibly persistent,” I mutter. “And annoying.”
I call up the message, a small flutter in my belly. Parr usually isn't this persistent and is usually fine waiting for me to call him back if he doesn't reach me right off. The fact that he's blowing me up and is really trying to get in touch with me has me worried.
Pick up your phone. We need to talk. Now.
I read the words a couple of times, and that small flutter turns into knots that start to constrict painfully. There's something ominous in those three short sentences. Something that scares me. Taking my phone, I slip out of the booth.
“Everything okay?” Roni asks.
I put on a smile I hope doesn't look as fake as it feels. “Yeah. Probably,” I say. “I just need to take this.”
“Sure, I'll get us another round.”
“Great.”
I walk through the bar that's only half-filled. It's not a noisy place usually. It's a place where you can go, have a quiet drink, and not have to shout to have a conversation with a friend. It's why Roni and I usually come here. I could have made the call from the table, but this is probably a conversation I don't want to have where anybody can hear me.
I step out into the cool night air. It's bordering on chilly, and the temperature is only going to continue dropping. I take in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, trying to steel myself. I just have a gut feeling that whatever Parr needs to say isn't going to be good news.
When I feel sufficiently composed, I punch in his number and press the phone to my ear. He picks it up before the first ring has even ended.
“Where are you?” he asks gruffly.
“Well hello. Nice to hear from you too, Marshal Parr,” I reply.
“No time for pleasantries.” His voice is tight. “Where are you?”
“I – I'm out for drinks with a friend,” I stutter.
“Get home. Now,” he instructs quickly. “I'll meet you there.”
“W – what's going –”
“Get back to your place now, Isla,” he snaps. “I'll explain it there. Get your ass home.”
The line goes dead, and I'm left looking at the phone in my hand. The dread and fear rising up within me are overwhelming, and I feel like I'm on the verge of hyperventilating, if not a full out panic attack. Something has obviously happened, and whatever it is, it's not good.
Turning, I rush back into the bar, and over to our table. In my head, I feel a clock ticking. I keenly feel every moment passing and can't stop the feeling that I'm somehow running out of ticks on the clock.
“Everything okay?” Roni asks.
“Yeah, fine. I – uh – I have to go,” I say.
“What's going on, Penny?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I just have to jet.”
I lean down and kiss her cheek before she can ask me another question. I can't give her the answers she wants. For one thing, I don't even know how I'd tell her. For another though, I don't know that she'd understand. Hell, most days, I still don't understand. And I'm so focused on muddling by, that I don't think I ever will.
“See you tomorrow, hon,” I say.
I rush out of the bar, leaving Roni sitting there with a dumbfounded expression on her face. Rushing across the parking lot, I jump into my car and race home.
One thing about Dove Falls that I am appreciating the hell out of in that moment, is that it's such a small place, I made it from the bar to my apartment in less than ten minutes. By the time I get to my door, Parr and a few other men I've not met before, are already there waiting for me though.
Parr's face is grim, his expression dark. When he sees me though, he actually looks relieved. I see his body relax if only a touch.
“What's going on?” I ask.
“Inside,” he replies. “Porter, Jenkins, you two man the door. Nobody in, and nobody out.”
I unlock my door, and Parr pushes me aside, stepping in before me, his weapon in hand.
“You stay put,” he grumbles.
Yeah, whatever is happening most certainly isn't good. The only thing I can think of that might provoke that kind of reaction was that the cartel's found me. A yawning chasm opens up in the pit of my stomach, and I start to tremble. I feel the tears welling in my eyes, so I fight them off.
“You okay?”
I look up into the face of one of Parr's men who's standing watch over me. He's a large, hard man, with a soft, compassionate smile.
“No,” I tell him, sniffing back my tears. “I'm pretty far from okay right now.”
He nods as if he understands. “Don't worry about a thing, we've got your back,” he says, doing his best to sound reassuring.
“Marshal Parr is the best man I've ever worked with. You're in good hands.”
I try to give him a smile but fail at it. There's nothing for me to smile about. If Parr is here, and the cartel has found me, that can only mean one thing for me – I'm going on the run. Again. New name. New city. New life. Again.
I turn and glare at my brother's door, the rage flowing through me freely. It's taken me a year to get to the point I am in accepting this new reality I'm being forced to live. And now, because of my goddamn brother, I'm going to have to shed this life, like a snake shedding its skin, and become somebody else all over again.
I didn't think it possible, but I hate my brother even more than I did before.
“All clear in here,” Parr says as he appears in the doorway.
I step inside as he's holstering his gun, his expression no less grim than it was when I first walked up. The churning in my stomach hasn't abated, and I'm just waiting for him to drop the bomb on me. The silence between us though drags on. I can see he's struggling to find the words, and probably feels bad for what he's about to do to me.
“How did they find us?” I ask.
Parr looks up at me and cocks his head, genuine curiosity on his face. “You haven't heard,” he says.
“Heard what?” I ask hesitantly, fearing the answer to come.
He sighs and runs a hand over his face. Parr looks down at the ground, an inscrutable, dark look in his eyes. Finally, he looks back up at me, his jaw set, his expression one of determination and resolve.
“Your brother was in Denver today to testify...”
His voice trailed off, and he tried to gather himself once more. I forgot that was today, actually. Shows how involved in my brother's life I am.
“Anyway,” Parr said. “Long story short is that two guys on a motorcycle opened fire on the crowd as we were escorting him into the courthouse. Seven people were shot. Two are dead – your brother is one of the two. I'm really sorry you have to find out this way, Isla. I thought you'd heard.”
