The Past Between Us

by Kimberly Van Meter

Whatever had her bothered was gone. Thomas pulled his cuffs. Time to make his move.

  He moved quietly but with purpose, his eye on the target. He kept to her peripheral vision but bad luck must’ve been riding on his shoulder for she turned and they locked eyes. Panic registered in hers and she bolted.

  Her long legs ate up the dirty tile, putting more distance between them, pushing past the other people waiting for the incoming charter. Desperation gave her the edge. His heart hammered with the exertion but he wasn’t about to give up. He’d chase her off a cliff if need be, but she wasn’t getting away this time.

  “Freeze,” he bellowed, causing a number of people to stop and stare, but she kept going. He didn’t think it would work but it’d been worth a try. He put all his energy into narrowing the gap between them and he closed in on her. She was nearly within his grasp but she dodged just as he made a grab for her. If he could’ve managed it, he would’ve shouted a few choice curse words but, as it was, his lungs were burning, screaming from the stale station air.

  She burst outside and darted left to slip past a slightly open gate that led to the maintenance yard and slammed it shut, locking it behind her seconds before he could get to it. He slammed into the gate hard and shook it with both fists when he realized she was beyond his reach.

  “Cassi, don’t,” he warned, his chest heaving as his fingers curled around the cold, rough-textured metal. She stopped and turned. Her breath curled in a teasing cloud before evaporating into the night. She held his stare and he could almost sense her hesitation even though she seemed poised to run. He grabbed on to that hope, distant and fleeting as it may be. “I don’t want you to get hurt. If you keep running, it’ll only get worse. You’ll become hunted by every single law enforcement agency in the United States. There will be nowhere to hide and if you continue to run…they will use lethal force to bring you down.”

  “I’m not a criminal,” she whispered. “I’m just trying to get to the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “I told you.”

  He ignored that. Everyone had a story or a reason for doing what they did but it didn’t lessen the crime. “What about the people you took advantage of? The people who took you in and bought whatever fairy tale you put together so that you could drain their savings and split town?”

  She sucked in a breath. “I never drained anyone’s savings. Who told you that?”

  The fact that she sounded outraged and hurt he found baffling. “Do you even know the charges leveled against you?” he asked.

  “No, but I can’t believe they’re serious enough to sic the FBI on me.”

  He ticked off the charges. “Grand theft, fraud, identity theft…fiduciary elder abuse… Cassi, these are pretty hefty charges. You won’t be able to run forever. You will be caught.”

  “What are you talking about? I never did any of those things. I admit, I borrowed some money from a few people but nothing that would be missed or would devastate their finances. And I told you that I planned to pay them back.”

  “Borrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Borrowing implies consent and your victims weren’t given the choice. You took without asking.”

  “I will pay them back,” she maintained stubbornly.

  “It doesn’t matter. There’s a warrant for your arrest. You’re going to be brought to justice sooner or later. Make it easy on yourself and stop running.”

  “So you believe I did these things?” she asked, her stance rigid, her stare boring into his, almost daring him to answer. “Grand theft? Elder abuse? Do you really think I could do these things? Me?”

  He shook his head, his heart heavy in his chest. “It’s not about what I think you’re capable of…it’s what you’ve done. I have to bring you in.”

  “What if you’re wrong? What if all those charges were false? What if someone was trying to keep me out of the picture and painting me as a criminal was the best way to get rid of me? What if the real criminal was the one giving you the bad information?”

  “What about Barbara Hanks? Winifred Jones? Or Isaac Wilmes? What would they have to say about your claims of innocence?” At the mention of her fraud victims, she didn’t pale as he’d expected her. Her confused look threw him off for a moment but he shelved it. “You played yourself false to those kindhearted people and you took all they had to fund your little East Coast excursion. Barbara and Winifred were old ladies and that’s bad enough but the worst one, I think, was Isaac. You played him like a fiddle and left him not only broke but broken-hearted.”

  Something flitted across her face—guilt perhaps—but then she lifted her chin and responded with a quiet but unapologetic, “I told him I wasn’t the marrying type. I never lied to him.”

  “Except the part where you lied about who you were, your past and the future you had no intention of sharing with him.”

  Her mouth tightened as her eyes narrowed. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. My reasons were my own. Isaac has nothing to do with anything. Leaving someone isn’t against the law.”

  “No, but representing yourself as someone you’re not and getting someone to propose to you under false pretenses is called fraud.”

  “That’s ridiculous. If that were the case every single person who’s used their natural assets, be it a pretty face, big breasts, or money to get what they want would be guilty of fraud. And that’s not what happened with Isaac, not that it’s your business,” she snapped. “I had feelings for him. Just not those kinds of feelings.”

  “You liked him enough to accept the four-carat diamond he put on your finger,” he reminded her softly. “A diamond I suspect you sold the minute you left.”

  “It must be nice to be able to judge from that high horse of yours,” she said. Then her mouth pinched in scorn as she added, “And for your information I sent that monstrosity back to him. I didn’t want it in the first place but I hadn’t wanted to humiliate him in front of his family and friends.”

  “So you left him at the altar?” he asked, incredulous. “That seems far more humiliating than just turning a man down when he’s on bended knee.”

  “I was a fool to think you might be willing to listen to my side of things. You’ve obviously got your mind made up about me and what I’ve done.” She started to back away and he shouted at her to wait but she was already fading into the darkness. Her voice floated back to him, taunting. “Look deeper, Tommy…look deeper.”

  And then she was gone.

  THOMAS DIDN’T WANT TO admit it but Cassi’s parting words had burrowed under his skin like a tiny sliver with the tip only partially exposed, too small to grab and pull out yet big enough to make him want to gouge it from his flesh. What had she meant, “look deeper”?

  Damned if he knew but that’s what he was doing, sitting in a cheap hotel, laptop open, reading her case file. Again.

  At first glance it seemed pretty straightforward. Classic identity theft and fraud. But when he pulled the victim statements, he found one troubling similarity.

  Their stories were nearly identical, which in itself was no shock, especially if Cassi was using the same M.O. to achieve her goal. But the similarities in the statements were downright uncanny, as if they’d read a script and were delivering their lines. And the amounts lost seemed a helluva lot of money for two widows to have stockpiled. It wasn’t impossible but…he scribbled a note to double-check the backgrounds of Barbara Hanks and Winifred Jones.

  And then there was the expression on Cassi’s face when he’d mentioned their names. She’d been genuinely shocked to hear that they’d pressed charges against her. Why would a woman who’d swindled two little old ladies be surprised by their decision to turn her in? Unless she hadn’t done anything wrong in the first place…

  He shook his head. No. God, he was being drawn into whatever illusion she’d spun for the victims. Classic mistake. Pretty girl, sad story of persecution…this was the kind of stuff they warned rookies about. But there was a troubling ques
tion that kept crowding his thoughts each time he tried to move forward. Why would two old women conspire and make false charges against Cassi? It was crazy. It wasn’t his problem. Not his job to investigate, just to haul her in. But this was Cassi…how could he walk away with these unanswered questions in his head? They would drive him crazy.

  He leaned over and grabbed his cell phone. He made a quick call to another agent. It was late but he knew this guy was still up. He was in the cyber crimes division and held late hours.

  “D’Marcus, Thomas Bristol…you got a minute?” he asked, switching his Bluetooth on so he could talk with free use of his hands. “Can you do me a solid? I need a little help following up on a hunch.”

  “Glad to hear I’m not the only government employee still hard at work at such a ridiculous hour. What’s the favor and before I say yes, what’s in it for me, brother?”

  Thomas grinned. “My sincere appreciation. I’d hate to think you’re open to persuasion.”

  D’Marcus barked a short laugh. “Always the stickler for rules, man. All right, what’s the favor?”

  “I’m working on a case involving identity theft. Can you access the bank records of a Barbara Hanks and Winifred Jones?”

  “You got their socials?”

  “Yeah, gimme a minute,” he said, scrolling to the victim page with their personal information. He gave the numbers and waited for D’Marcus to do his magic.

  “So what am I looking for?” D’Marcus came back, a frown in his tone. “I don’t see anything that jumps out as unusual. A lot of pharmacy runs…not so weird given they’re both old ladies. Oh, ouch. Major withdrawal. About five thousand dollars. Brought Hanks’s savings balance to zero. Same with the other chick. This the work of your suspect?”

  “Yeah, so the report says,” he murmured. “Any new accounts opened in the past month or so?”

  There was a short pause while D’Marcus looked it up. Then, he said, “Actually, yeah…just the other day. Major deposits. Thirty thousand each. Damn. That’s one heck of a payday.”

  He agreed. And highly irregular for two widowed ladies on modest pensions. “Where’d the money come from?” he asked.

  “Looks like a wire transfer from a Swiss account. What the hell were these little old biddies into? Something seems a bit off.”

  “You got that right. Can you forward me the bank transcripts? I need to follow the trail.”

  “You got it, buddy.”

  “Thanks, D’Marcus.”

  “Happy to help. Hey, I heard you’re the man for Celtics tickets?”

  “It’s true. I’m a fan.” Thomas grinned. “I’ve been known to acquire a few tickets now and then when I want to get away. I went to college with a guy who now works in promotions for the team. He can always find a ticket for me when I want one. You need me to hook you up?”

  “If you could manage it. I’ve got a girl who’s crazy about basketball. Figured I should do it up right and take her to a game.”

  “Sounds like a keeper. Sure. I’ll call my guy and have a few tickets set aside for the next home game.”

  “You’re the best, Bristol.”

  Thomas clicked off and opened the file that D’Marcus sent. Obviously, these women weren’t high-tech criminals. They hadn’t tried—or known how—to hide money coming from the transfer, which would’ve been smart if they were getting a payoff for making a false report. He leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head as he stretched, still in thought. A few soft and satisfying pops later, he was still mired in thoughts he had no business thinking but he knew he was going to make some phone calls first thing in the morning. The question was…what happened if the answers didn’t point to Cassi’s guilt, but rather her innocence?

  It wasn’t his call to tear into this investigation. His job had been to bring her in. Simple. Yet, he should’ve known nothing involving Cassi was going to end up simple and tidy. Her middle name should’ve been complicated.

  He muttered under his breath. He knew he couldn’t walk away, hand over the case and forget about it.

  And there was no sense in pretending that he could.

  CASSI TOWEL-DRIED HER HAIR and then ran her fingers through it, looking for spots of blond through the Brunette Bombshell she’d picked up at the drugstore before checking into the cheap motel. She couldn’t go sporting her natural color when the law was on her tail. The lush brown didn’t do much for her complexion but she wasn’t worried about winning any beauty pageants at the moment. She just wanted to pass by a cop without raising an eyebrow.

  The need to yawn coincided with the fatigue pulling on her eyelids and, after tossing the brown-smudged towel on the floor, she climbed onto the bed and crawled under the cheap, scratchy comforter and tried not to think of when it had last been washed. For thirty-nine dollars a night, one couldn’t expect the Ritz, but Cassi had a mild phobia about dirty linens after she’d watched a show on Discovery Channel about bedbugs and all sorts of creepy crawlies and bacteria that thrive in motel bedsheets. Not to mention the stuff that people—specifically couples—leave behind. She squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t think, just sleep.

  But she couldn’t sleep. Images of Tommy bombarded her. Damn him anyway.

  She could still see him, clutching the fence and imploring her with his eyes. Did he think she was going to roll over and quit just because he asked her to? Of all people, she’d held the tiniest hope, when she’d held none for anyone else, that Tommy would understand. He knew what it felt like to lose everything. If she had half a chance to prove that Lionel was a bad man she was going to take it. Her need to prove Lionel was a liar had ceased to be about money within the first six months. Actually, the minute she realized her need went deeper than money, was a blessing of clarity. She’d always considered herself unaffected by the fact that her family was ridiculously wealthy. She’d never held herself above anyone else because they had less, but it wasn’t until she’d been thrust, penniless, onto the streets that she’d understood how foolish—no, arrogant—she’d been to think that she was like everyone else.

  That first night, crouched shivering in a gas stop bathroom, using the hand blower for her stinging fingers…she’d known then how far from real life she’d been. For crap’s sake, she hadn’t even been able to work a washing machine. A maid had always whisked away her dirty clothes and replaced them—clean and folded or pressed, whatever the case may be—back in her dresser or closet. She hadn’t thought about the process or considered that she could screw up a load of laundry and end up ruining the only clothes she’d been able to grab before getting tossed out on her ear. She discovered the value of a dollar—before she’d never given price a thought. That first trip to the grocery store had been an enlightening experience. It’s hard to stretch five measly dollars, but when it’s all you have in the world, you learn real fast how to make it work. And sometimes the only way to make it work is to employ the five-finger discount.

  A groan threatened to surface and she hugged the flat, slightly odd-smelling pillow to her face. Tommy had no idea what kind of guilt she suffered for the morals she’d had to compromise simply to stay alive. There were things in her mental lock-box that she’d never dare let anyone see. It was bad enough they were stashed in her head forever. There wasn’t enough cleanser on the planet to bleach the stain of what she’d done from her brain. There was nothing romantic about homelessness. Anyone who said anything different was on drugs.

  But even though she was far from that scared homeless young woman, there were times when she resurfaced, frightened and vulnerable. Tonight was one of those times.

  She tried to let her mind go blank, welcoming the exhaustion so that she could forget about the events of the day, but even as she slipped into dreamland, Tommy wasn’t far from her thoughts.

  Even in the wispy landscape of her dreams…he followed.

  She’d been slightly tipsy. A party at her house while her parents were away had gotten a little wild. Of course, Tommy had come because he rarely disa
ppointed her by declining her requests, but the minute he’d seen the people acting like a bunch of drunken idiots, his face had darkened and her only thought had been to keep him from leaving.

  For some reason it had mattered to her that he stayed.

  “Stay. Have some fun, Tommy,” she’d pleaded, her voice bordering on playfulness. When had Tommy Bristol become such a cutie? Had she never noticed the firm swell of young muscle in his biceps or how the stubborn tightness of his jaw when he was pissed made him look…delicious?

  “Cassi, these people aren’t your friends. They’re just using you for your money,” he’d said, raining on her buzz.

  She’d frowned. “That’s not nice. Of course they’re my friends. Well, all except her.” She’d pointed not so discreetly at Monica Kriek, whom she actually scowled at. Who had invited her anyway, she started to mutter, but Tommy had grabbed her arm and pulled her to a quiet spot away from the crowd. “What are you doing? Oh, good, I needed some fresh air…”

  “Cassi, I’m not staying,” he said, and she was shocked to see disappointment in his eyes. “I just came to give you this as an early birthday gift because I won’t be able to make your actual birthday.” He placed a small box in her hand, tied neatly with a simple purple bow, her favorite color. “I hope you like it.”

  Curious, and delighted at the prospect of a gift, she opened the box. A silver locket lay nestled within the tissue. She lifted the fine chain and popped the little door on the locket. A picture of him and her when they were young stared back at her. She sobered as she stared at the picture. She remembered the day quite clearly. She’d taken it the first day they’d ever met. She’d been playing with her new camera and had been drawn to the boy in the park who’d looked so sad it made her heart hurt just to look at him.

  “How did you get this?” she asked quietly.

  “I found the original in your room and had a smaller copy made,” he admitted. “I managed to return the original before you noticed it was missing.”

  Her mouth had tipped in a warm smile. “You little thief,” she murmured, though in truth she’d been inordinately touched by the gift. It was her favorite picture. “I love it.” She stepped forward to give him a hug but as his arms closed around her, she didn’t feel the comfort of familiarity. Instead, a zing of awakening awareness caused her to see Tommy with fresh eyes filled with wonder and tingles cascading through her body at the contact. Her heart hammered in her chest and her arms wound around his neck as if they were made to fit there. Her mouth angled toward his, and a wild, almost scared thought raced through her mind—Are you really about to kiss Tommy Bristol? Your best friend in the world?—before she closed the distance and felt his mouth move against hers. Their tongues touched in a tentative, explorative motion that sent need and desire hurtling through her body. She wasn’t prepared for what it meant and the devastation that could occur if it all went to crap. She pulled away, desperate to put space between them and her feelings. “I truly love the gift,” she said, her voice husky and raw. “But I have to get back to the party. Thank you…”