by J. L. Jarvis
His expression changed as if he knew what was coming.
“I need to take a step back,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
She hadn’t planned what she would say, but his silence made her uncomfortable, so she fumbled her way through an explanation. “It’s me. I got ahead of myself. I’m trying to start a new life and a business. I’m a bit overwhelmed right now, so…”
“Was it that guy at the fast-food place? He just got my name wrong. It’s a simple mistake.”
“No. Maybe. I don’t really know you, do I?”
With a half smile, he said, “I’ve been working on that.”
She found herself smiling back, which undermined what she was trying to do. She forged onward. “You’re a great guy.”
He laughed, and it threw her. The next second, his laughter was gone, and a cynical look took its place. “So you’re giving me the ‘but’ speech?”
“What?”
“You know. ‘You’re… fill in nice thing, other nice thing, but…’ The breakup compliment sandwich.”
She managed to face him. “I’m sorry.”
“I am too.” The look in his eyes broke her heart. He walked away, and that broke her heart too.
Chloe had a sudden urge to go after him. What had she done? She didn’t know for a fact that he was involved in anything bad. She was guessing, protecting herself. But she didn’t know anything about him at all. The mere fact that he was so secretive was a red flag. He had something to hide. It didn’t matter, at that point, what it was. People didn’t go out of their way to hide good things. And they didn’t have random people coming up to them and calling them by some other name. Whatever Luke was—drug dealer, gangster, or hit man—it couldn’t be good.
Yet even knowing he was hiding something, she still felt a connection between them. What’s the matter with me? She still longed to be with him. If only they could shut out the world and be together. Seeing him that morning had made her feel almost certain—almost—that he would never hurt her. But no one could live a secret life forever without someone intruding and bursting the bubble. This time, it was some guy saying hello to someone he knew as Dave. But the next time might involve someone who posed a danger to Luke. Or to her. She would be crazy to get involved with someone like that. No, she’d done the right thing.
If only they weren’t neighbors…
Chloe stopped by Laura’s gift shop to drop off some of her new business cards, and she left after promising to wrap gifts in the church basement later that afternoon. Who could say no to needy children at Christmas? So they met up after lunch and walked over together.
They were a formidable pair in the wrapping department. As Laura finished wrapping another gift, she leaned over to Chloe. “Now, doesn’t this feel better than shopping?”
Chloe wouldn’t have even tried to deny it. “It does.” It was also a perfect distraction from Luke, except during moments when his name came up.
Laura studied Chloe for a moment then returned her gaze to her wrapping. She made a horrible attempt at sounding nonchalant. “Did I see you with Luke the other day?”
Chloe swallowed then continued wrapping as she tried to frame her words in a way that would politely discourage discussion.
“Luke?”
“You know. Luke, your neighbor.”
Chloe felt her cheeks heat. “Yes, you did. But you won’t anymore.” Wow, Chloe. Way to discourage discussion.
“Oh?” Laura sounded disappointed.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry.” Laura continued her wrapping. “My matchmaking skills must be rusty. I thought you’d be so great together. “
Chloe kept her eyes on the ribbon she was tying. “So did I, for a while. But there are too many missing pieces.” She lost her grip on the ribbon and started again.
Laura lifted an eyebrow. “Such as?”
Chloe shook her head, wondering where to begin. “He knows all about me, and yet I know nothing about him.”
“So he’s a good listener.”
Chloe sighed. “It’s not like I haven’t asked questions. Anyway, I just needed to put on the brakes.”
“Eleanor thought the world of him.” She set down the package she was wrapping and looked straight at Chloe. “What really happened?”
Chloe couldn’t blame Laura for being curious, but she wished her new friend would leave it alone. “Why does it matter? Did he put you up to this?”
Laura leaned away, stunned.
Chloe hadn’t meant to snap. Almost as stunned as Laura, she said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from. I guess you hit a raw nerve.”
“Actually, I have spoken with Luke,” Laura said softly.
Why? Chloe wanted to whine, but she’d done enough damage. She sat quietly, waiting for what would come next.
“I’ve known Luke for a long time. You can trust him.” Laura said it with the intuitive sense Chloe had noticed before. Laura was an observer. She picked up on people’s emotions and interests, which was why she was so good at matching people with paintings.
“Did I say that I don’t?”
“Do you?”
“No.” Chloe glanced around, in part wishing the subject would change yet desperate to talk to someone. She considered her choice of words, unsure how much of what she said would get back to Luke. “He’s got too many secrets. That’s not a good sign. And that’s just not what I’m looking for in a… relationship.”
“I can see how he’d strike you that way,” Laura said thoughtfully.
“It’s not just that he’s private or reclusive. There are things about him that just don’t match up. And when I ask him, he’s very skilled at avoiding an answer. To be honest, it’s a little bit scary.”
Laura didn’t seem surprised. “Ask him.”
“I’ve asked him so many things.”
Laura’s look of concern was reassuring. “I think a lot of the two of you, and I’d hate to see you miss out because of a misunderstanding.”
That’s not up to me, is it? She wanted to say it, but instead she accepted Laura’s advice. The woman had been very kind to Chloe, and she clearly was trying to help.
The subject soon changed, to Chloe’s relief, and the gifts were eventually wrapped. Children would have gifts from Santa, and that made Chloe happy. It was time to go home and face life. But the whole way there, Laura’s words echoed in her ears. “Ask him.”
As if she hadn’t. But getting him to answer was another thing altogether.
Chloe’s house lights came on, and Luke couldn’t help himself. He went to the window and looked across the road. She went into her studio and sat at her watercolor easel. He took a sip of his Scotch and turned from the window. He was better off back in his chair, staring at the fire.
He liked to think he had simplified his life by avoiding love over the years. He probably had, but that was just a positive spin on the truth. Any time he had dated, the relationships always ended sooner or later. His job complicated things, but he could have worked through that. The truth was, he had never been tempted to let himself love someone deeply enough to risk it. He’d never said those three words to anyone.
Chloe was different. He’d known from the moment he met her that she wasn’t like the others. He’d known early on that whatever happened between them would leave an impression. He let out a cynical chuckle. He’d come to believe it would be love, but at the moment, all he had were bruises—to his ego as well as his heart. As if testing the relationship to see if it was real, he’d taken his time getting to know her. He’d been in no hurry. In fact, he wanted to savor the process of falling in love and discovering everything that he could about her. And for practical reasons, he wanted to be sure not only of his feelings but of hers. If they arrived at the critical point of commitment, he had to be sure it was right and that she would have no doubts.
Chloe was not on a parallel track. She had gone straight to questions and doubts. She seemed to ha
ve drawn some conclusions about him, which were wrong. If she knew him at all, she couldn’t have suspected him of anything but caring for her. He’d always prided himself on being good at reading people, but he’d gotten it so wrong with her. She didn’t look at him and see his character and integrity, and that hurt. He could learn to accept it, but he couldn’t seem to stop falling in love.
Fifteen
Chloe made a mistake. With an exasperated curse, she crumpled up her watercolor painting and hurled it across the room. That wasn’t like her, but neither was the uneasiness that she couldn’t shake off. That was her last piece of watercolor paper, but Aunt Eleanor had stockpiled some supplies in the attic, so she headed up the stairs to retrieve them. Although Chloe had sorted and cleaned out the rest of the house, she hadn’t spent very much time in the attic. There wasn’t much there, only some stacked boxes, all the exact same size. The few she’d looked into contained old china and dishes, most likely family heirlooms. She made a mental note to see if her mother recognized or wanted any of them.
At the end of the attic was a wall of shelving, most of which contained paper and stretched canvases in a number of sizes. The attic was Aunt Eleanor’s warehouse. In the center was a bookshelf. One shelf was dedicated to black sketchbooks containing Aunt Eleanor’s work. Going through those would make for a nice afternoon. The next shelf contained a book of essays by artists, several books about the creative process, half a shelf on art history, and a book on the business of building a painting career. On the end, clearly misshelved, was a leather-bound copy of Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol.
Chloe reached out and tried to take it from the shelf. As she pulled, the book tilted outward and released a spring that propelled the shelf toward her. It was the door to a secret room. Chloe opened it the rest of the way then took her phone from her pocket and turned on the flashlight. “Aunt Eleanor, what are you hiding in here?”
She spied a light switch and turned it on. It illuminated a small room with a chair and a wall of built-in cabinets. Inside one of the cabinets was a gun safe and above it, a small backpack. Chloe unzipped the pack and began taking out items. First, she retrieved a small water bottle and snack bar. She wondered how old that was. Next came a hat, a small first aid kit, and a toothbrush. She’d obviously stumbled upon her aunt’s hiking backpack and was about to set it aside when she felt something familiar in one of the pockets. No one went hiking with a passport, let alone three—US, Canadian, and UK—all bearing her aunt’s photo. There were three envelopes containing US and Canadian dollars and British pound notes. Several folded maps were bundled together with an old, hardened rubber band that had partially melted onto one of the maps. At the bottom of the backpack was a change of clothes and a rain jacket folded into a pouch. She had stumbled upon some sort of getaway kit.
Forgetting about the watercolor paper she’d come for, Chloe shoved everything back into the pack, closed the secret door, and headed downstairs. She clutched the backpack to her chest and paced back and forth in her kitchen. What was this? Who was her Aunt Eleanor, really? Her aunt seemed as mysterious as Luke. She thought about what good friends Luke and Aunt Eleanor had been. She’d thought that was so nice. Luke had looked out for her aunt. But she wondered if there was more to it than that. It seemed oddly similar that the two “friends” harbored secrets. Could Luke know that his sweet, elderly neighbor had a secret room with a gun safe and an assortment of bogus passports? Something was not right, and Chloe was determined to find out what it was.
It just didn’t make sense. Laura had known and liked Aunt Eleanor, but Laura may not have known of her aunt’s secret side—the one with hidden guns and multiple passports in the attic. And then there was Luke. Aunt Eleanor had been a bright and intuitive woman, yet she hadn’t seen Luke as a threat, nor had she been bothered by his secrets—if she knew them. Ask him. That was what Laura had told her.
Before she lost her nerve, Chloe slipped on the backpack, not even bothering to put on a jacket, and marched over to Luke’s house. She rang the doorbell then knocked. When the door opened, she pulled off the backpack and held it out to him. “What is this?” she demanded.
He stepped aside and invited her in. “What are you doing? It’s freezing out there.”
She shook her head, too preoccupied to care. “It’s a short walk.”
He took the backpack and led her to the sofa that faced the fireplace, then he put a throw blanket over her shoulders. “Now, what’s this about?” He sat down beside her.
“Go ahead. Open it. Take everything out and then tell me what that is.”
He pulled out the passports and looked at each one, then he glanced at the money and spread the rest of the items out on the coffee table. “Where did you find this?”
“Aunt Eleanor had a secret room in the attic. This backpack was in it. I don’t even know what to make of it.”
“It’s a go bag.” He answered her questioning look. “It’s a bag of essentials in case she had to go somewhere quickly.”
“And why would my elderly aunt need a go bag?”
“Your aunt wasn’t the frail, shawl-covered elder you’re imagining. But for what it’s worth, the passports expired a decade ago. It’s probably been even longer since she used that bag.”
Chloe just stared at him. She was done with the secrets. He knew something, and she was going to find out what it was.
Luke appeared gravely concerned.
“I need to know,” Chloe said.
“Chloe…”
“Everything you’ve been keeping from me. It’s not just about you—it’s about my aunt. Am I even safe in my house?”
He leaned forward and sighed. “This can’t go outside of these walls.”
Chloe shivered and clutched the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
“Your aunt had a particular—”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me. My aunt had a particular set of skills? Really?”
He looked perplexed.
“I mean it, Luke. Tell me the truth.”
“She knew art, with a… specific area of expertise that was valuable.”
“To whom? What was she, an art forger? A thief?”
Luke leveled a look that bore through her. “She worked for the CIA.”
Chloe burst out laughing. “Oh, c’mon. You can do better than that.”
“Chloe.”
Her laughter faded as she saw how serious he was. “You’re kidding.”
Luke shook his head. “I’m not.” He looked so calm as he said it, as if they weren’t discussing anything out of the ordinary.
She narrowed her eyes and scrutinized him. “And you know that because…”
“I work for the CIA too.”
Chloe leaned back. This was insane. She fixed her eyes on him, half expecting him to start laughing, but there was nothing funny about his expression. “I was beginning to think you were a drug dealer or a mob hit man.”
Dismay flared in his eyes. “Why does everyone always imagine the worst?”
Chloe was stunned into silence.
“Chloe, you know me.”
“I thought I did, but…” She sighed.
“I met your aunt on an op. She had expertise in, among other things, abstract expressionism, which made her very useful back in the day. During the Cold War, the CIA sponsored abstract expressionism as a form of propaganda tool against the Russians.”
“That’s crazy.”
He chuckled. “Oh, that’s just the tip of the CIA-crazy iceberg, believe me.” He leaned his elbow on the back of the sofa. “She was known in some circles as an art dealer.”
“An art dealer?”
“It was a cover. Her work was all art related.”
“I don’t understand. Why?”
“That’s all I can tell you except that she was good at her job. Shortly before she retired, she found this place, but she didn’t like having neighbors so close. We were chatting one day. I’d been looking for a kind of getaw
ay, and she told me about this neighborhood. The houses were both up for sale—some sort of family compound—so we became neighbors. We looked out for each other.” He thought for a moment then spoke quietly. “I found her when she died.”
Chloe couldn’t speak.
“I’ve wanted to tell you the truth—about both of us.” He exhaled, appearing dismayed. “A mob hit man?”
Chloe shrugged. “Honest people don’t have to hide things.”
“If I’ve withheld the truth, it’s because I had to.”
Questions swam about in her head in no logical order. “You found my aunt?”
He nodded. “It was one of those perfect autumn days, clear and sunny. The leaves were awash with color. I looked over, and there she was in her studio, painting. She once told me she was her happiest when she was painting in that studio. Later, when I passed by my window and looked over at her, she was on the floor. When I got to her, she was gone.”
Chloe stared into the fire. “Years ago, she told us to stop contacting her.”
Luke nodded. “There was an op that went bad. She was compromised. She was determined to keep her family safe, so she kept you in the safest place you could be, out of her life.”
“She must have been lonely.”
“It gets like that sometimes. With no apparent career, just a low-level government job, people view you as an underachiever.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Or a crook. You can’t tell them the truth. Questions come up that you can’t answer. Sometimes there’s a personal cost.”
Chloe met his gaze and felt every bit of guilt he must have wanted her to feel. “I’m sorry, but how was I to know?”
“I don’t blame you. It’s just one of those things that comes with the job. It’s hard to have a normal social life.”
“So this has happened before, with other women?”
“Yeah, but I’ve never told anyone—until you.”
Chloe wanted to think that made her special to him, but she knew that wasn’t the case. He’d only told her because she had stormed in and demanded an explanation. That didn’t mean she was special. Even so, at least he had told her. She could feel safer now with him.
