by Tara Brown
The Single Lady Spy Series
Boxset
Tara Brown
The Single Lady Spy Series
Boxset
Copyright 2013 Tara Brown
This is a work of fiction.
All names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text Copyright © 2013 Tara Brown
This work is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This work may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written consent of the publisher.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No alteration of content is permitted.
Published by Tara Brown.
Printed in the United States of America
Cover image by Mae I Design Covers
Cover Image by Dark Tree Designs
Edited by Andrea Burns
All rights reserved.
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Contents
Volume 1
The End of Me
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
The End
Volume 2
The End of Games
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
The End
Volume 3
The End of Tomorrow
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
The End
Volume 4
The End of Lies
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
The End
Afterword
Also by Tara Brown
Other Books by Tara Brown
About the Author
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the Polaris Project. Thank you for being the North Star in the darkest times.
For more information on how you can help end human trafficking and modern slavery visit - https://polarisproject.org
Volume One
The End of Me
1
Not quite the end of me
“Mom . . . Jules spilled her juice.”
For a second I glanced at her in the rearview, hating myself for my clenched jaw and the bitterness associated with the thousands of errands that didn't go away when he died. They were all accompanied by what felt like thousands of obligations. Everything felt bigger, as if it had doubled.
Nothing would ever be small again.
This wasn’t the plan—my plan—not that there had been much of one.
I sighed, forcing the rage that sat just below the surface to simmer down as I turned around. “Mitch, clean it up for her,” I said, trying not to be angry with a six-year-old for being a six-year-old.
Mitch rolled his eyes, giving me the look his father always used to. “With what?” His shitty tween attitude was the icing on the cake of doom that I was currently being force-fed.
The traffic slowed, providing a chance to reach around into my yoga bag for the sweaty towel that I still hadn’t taken out of the van. I flung it over the seat at him.
“Jules, no spilling. Mommy can't stop.” I could, but I was scared of what would happen if I stopped the van and thought for even a second. Stopping had been bad, thinking had been worse. Sticking to the schedule was the only thing keeping me sane.
She grinned. “Uhmkay.” It was more of a sound and less of a word, but she was my baby and sounds were still huge for her.
I offered a smile in the rearview, but she broke my heart with her bright-blue eyes and the way she peered up at me through her lashes, the way he used to, before.
The sight of her and the thought of him brought it on.
It began with a tightening in my chest and moved quickly into unstoppable tears.
The minivan was closing in on me.
He hadn’t loved me and I was a fool.
That also hadn’t been part of the plan.
We had taken a risk in getting married, but the possibility he didn’t love me had never crossed my mind. He’d made a promise to me and I believed he meant it.
My body pulled forward as I gripped the steering wheel and the need to rock filled me.
No matter how much I tried to pretend I was just sad, the truth of my broken heart wouldn’t stay hidden much longer. The looks they gave, reminding me of him, forced things—feelings and rage.
The rage forced its way out, bursting tears from me and ripping at my chest. A sob slipped from my pressed lips. It was an avalanche of bad things, and all I could do was watch as they rolled down the hill and buried me.
I made the mistake I had feared making. I stopped
moving. I swerved the van into a motel parking lot on the side of the road and collapsed into the steering wheel.
No sounds escaped my lips. The tears blinded me the moment the van was stopped.
I heaved but managed to hold back the noises, apart from some slight whimpers.
“Mommy, you said you couldn’t stop,” her squeaky voice broke the silence.
“Hmmhmm.” I moaned slightly as I pressed the button for the music. Phillip Phillips sang loud and clear, filling the van with fun and fast music.
I let myself shake for the second I needed before wiping my face and peeking in the rearview. Mitch’s eyes remained fixed on his iPad and Jules colored on her tray, bopping her head to the music. I rocked ever so slightly.
I struggled for some semblance of control as my body gasped for air. I wiped my face clean and agreed with my brain’s demand for alcohol.
I needed a drink—needed so many things. Too many.
Shaking it off, I drove back toward the road in silence. The song ended, and when a new one came on, I braved a second glance at them. Mitch's bright-blue eyes caught mine. He frowned, but I shook my head and smiled at him. Nothing could hide the breakdown I was having. Nothing would make any of it better. I just needed to be alone and let the dam break. My kids knew their dad was dead, and what I had kept from them was too much for me to deal with alone.
He had cheated our family, and instead of facing the music like a man, he had died. He didn’t even have the consideration to let me find out the way I deserved. He had made me the object of gossip. He’d made me a fool and I had let him.
The dull and unassuming funeral home appeared exactly as it should as I drove into the parking lot and turned back toward Mitch. “Be right back, okay?”
He nodded. I locked the van and handed him my cell phone. My parenting skills were slowly diminishing. They too were being smothered by the avalanche of bad things. Leaving my kids in a parking lot with a cell phone seemed rational, compared to bringing them into the place to discuss his arrangements.
Getting out, I made my way to the funeral home entrance where a man with dark hair and dull eyes answered the door. “Mrs. Evans, I presume?”
“Yes,” I replied. He glanced back at the kids in the van and smiled, an act that didn't improve the lifelessness of his dark stare. “They are more than welcome to come in.”
“No.” I stepped past him. “Do you have an office where I can sit in a window and watch them?”
He held a hand out. “Of course we do. This way.” I walked in the direction he pointed and turned to the right, past the doorway.
He opened the door to an office just past the main area with the pews and podium. I marched in and sat in a small wooden chair. From the window, I could watch my minivan. This wasn’t going to be a habit. I would be a better parent than this. Once I buried him and he was gone, and I crawled out from under the rubble, I would try harder to be better.
“I'm so sorry about your husband,” he said pleasantly as he sat in the chair across from me. His tone made me uncomfortable. How many times a day did he have cause for that sentence? How many apologies did he hand out? How many times did he mean it?
If he knew about the type of husband I’d had, would he still offer condolences or would I be getting the glass of wine I wanted?
“How are they taking it?” He glimpsed over his shoulder at the silver van.
“Quite well. They’re stronger than I am.” I shook my head blankly. “They're sad but it’s just regular sad.” It was true. They were no sadder than if it had been Ralph, our cat. James worked away a lot. It wasn’t anything new for them. I was sadder knowing they’d accepted it so easily. In the eight weeks since we learned of his death, they had completed all their stages of grief. Of course, they hadn’t needed to repeat all the stages like I did when I found out about the other things.
I had been the grieving widow for only a few days before smoothly transitioning into something resembling an angry ex-wife. Now I was somewhere in the middle, a terrible combination of both. I was a widow, but I felt like a jilted ex.
“Yes, they’re kids,” he continued. “Of course, they’re taking it in stride; they are so resilient. How old are they?”
I answered him. I didn’t want to but my mouth moved, wanting for someone to know about my sadness. “Twelve and six. He was having an affair.” There they were . . . those words. They slipped out before I could stop them.
His eyes lifted but he didn’t miss a beat. “I'm so sorry.” He ignored the other part like a gentleman or someone who desperately didn't give a shit about my plight. “It’s a tragedy to lose a father so young.”
Lose. I didn’t lose him—we didn't lose him. He wasn’t lost. He was dead.
And none of that mattered to me. His death or his cheating or the fool I looked to everyone who paid attention. What mattered was, I had believed his lies and drank the Kool-Aid, and now not even the funeral director would pay attention to the pain I’d laid out for him so clearly. He moved past it as if he hadn’t heard, but I suspected we both felt it there in the air where I had left it.
James had been having an affair and no one cared.
“The kids bounce back faster than we do,” he said softly, letting that be his comment on the subject.
But I was having a sickeningly hard time trying to make my kids be my everything or my main focus. Their pain had somehow taken a serious backseat to the betrayal I had let overcome me.
Being a mom used to be the easy part, but my pity and shame had gotten bigger than I could handle. They had joined the avalanche and I was buried, and I was becoming one of those moms, the selfish ones who only see their own pain.
“Do you have any questions?” he asked.
I snapped back, “Costs mostly.” I felt hollow, like an echo chamber.
Somehow, the director of the funeral home was calming with his general lack of personality. He made me numb as if I were as dead inside as he was. His gloomy hair had no sheen and his dark eyes were lifeless. He was surrounded by so much death that he seemed dead, a vacuum that pulled all my emotions away, leaving us both hollow shells.
He clasped his hands. “Of course. Well, the military covers some of the funeral costs for servicemen, but the remaining balance will be yours. The Veterans Affairs only covers about three hundred dollars of our bill for a person not on active duty at the time of death. The remaining few thousand will have to be covered by you.” He didn't sugarcoat it. I didn't mind that. I think I preferred that he was dead inside too.
“Can I write you a check?” I asked calmly.
He nodded and put his cold pale hands on his cherrywood desk. “Of course. The service is still planned for Sunday?”
I nodded and shivered, fighting the dark places my brain wanted to go. “It is. They finally cleared the body.” The military had been slow to transport him home and even slower to release his remains.
He slid a document to me and passed me a pen. I took it and signed on the red lines. My fingers shook, making my name appear different than it ever had. It wasn’t my name, not really. It was the name of a lady who was married to a guy named James Evans. A man who loved his family, worked hard, and made his wife believe she was safe to just be a mom.
That lady was gone and I was left in her stead. I didn’t know what my next move would be, but the safety was gone and the love was entirely based on his being with me. The love and warmth left with him.
I was stuck, living behind the wall of bullshit he had built around us. The wall I never bothered to try to climb and see the world for what it really was.
Losing the battle with my self-pity, I choked out a sob and stood up quickly. “Thank you.” I scribbled on a check and left it on the desk. I turned and ran to the van, clicking the unlock button like it was broken.
Inside the van, I wanted to lose it. I wanted to let myself slip into it, but they were watching me. I wiped my face and smiled. “McDonald’s?”
Mitch wrinkled his no
se. “Grandma took us there yesterday. Can you just make eggs like Dad used to, with the hole in the bread?”
My heart broke and my lip quivered as the tears flooded my face. The sounds coming from me were evidence of the struggle I was facing. I muttered, “Yeah,” and started the van.
Jules cried, “Mommy. Mommy.” She sobbed with me, wiggling in her seat. She always cried when I did. Mitch wiped his eyes and looked down. I unbuckled my seat belt and jumped from the van. I savagely jerked the sliding door open and ripped her from the chair, smothering her with my love, trying not to get any of my self-pity on her. The smell of raspberry shampoo in her golden curls seeped into my bones. I sobbed against her neck and waved at Mitch to come to me. He climbed forward. I dragged him to me and wrapped myself around them as much as I could. I needed to shield them. They didn’t deserve this fate, and they didn’t need to know what all was in the package deal. They didn’t need to know about the wall of bullshit.
