Jack ran his hand through his thick brown hair. “Don’t bring my dad into it. That’s crossing the line.”
“Ha!” Chandler said. “Your dad would flip out and he’d be right.”
“Whatever. I got the purse back.”
“You pull any of that hero stuff in the Army and I’ll shoot you myself.” Chandler shook his head, but he grinned.
Denby picked up the purse. “You boys enlist?”
Jack nodded. “Yes, sir. We go to basic in three months. Serve two years. Pay for college with a GI bill, and then off to the Police Academy.”
“I went through Fort Benning.”
“We don’t know where they’re sending us yet,” Chandler said.
A police cruiser stopped at the end of the alley, and the old woman peered out of the window.
Denby handed the purse to Jack. “I think you can do the honors.”
Chandler nudged him forward, and Jack walked over to the car.
The woman opened the window and leaned out, her hands gripping the frame. Her deep brown eyes searched Jack’s face.
Jack held out the purse. “Here you go, ma’am.”
“Oh, thank you.” Her bruised hand trembled as she took it. She zipped it open, checked that the pharmacy bag was still inside, then clutched it to her chest. “Thank you. Thank you, young man.” She reached out for Jack’s arm. Her frail hand, as light as a bird, patted him.
“It was our pleasure, ma’am.” Jack nodded toward Chandler and the cop.
She waved them closer, then reached out and squeezed Chandler’s hand too. “You boys are my heroes.”
“We’re just happy to help, ma’am.” Chandler tipped his head to the woman, then to Denby, and he and Jack headed down the street.
When they were out of earshot, Jack swaggered like a cowboy and in his best John Wayne Texan drawl said, “We’re just happy to help, little lady,” as he tipped an imaginary ten-gallon hat.
Chandler punched his arm. “Shut up. You’re making me sound corny.”
“You are.” Jack laughed.
“Whatever!” Chandler waved him off. “That cop was right—you should have called the police.”
“What was I going to do? Did you see her? All scared and helpless. I had to do something. Anyways, her stuff would be as good as gone if I hadn’t.”
Chandler grabbed Jack’s arm and pulled him to stop. “Seriously. I know you’ve had a hard life, Jack, and you want to help others. But you can’t help everyone.”
“I’m not. She was different. Believe me, I stick my neck out for nobody.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I mean it. Nobody.” Jack walked on.
“You say that, except you keep doing just that,” Chandler said, catching up. “Someday you’re going to find someone you can’t help, Jack. Not everyone can be saved.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jack said, but as he walked on a pit began to grow in his stomach.
2
A Bright Future
Stacy sat in her stiff office chair and listened to the quiet. All was silent around her little cubicle; the last of her coworkers had gone home over an hour ago. But to be sure, she raised herself up on the arms of her chair to peek over the cubicle wall at the maze of cubbies that surrounded hers. Only when she was certain she was alone did she dare to break one of the standing rules at H.T. Wells Financial: she slipped her aching feet out of their high-heeled prisons. Wiggling her toes, she settled back in her chair and let herself enjoy her mini-rebellion.
Her phone’s beep announced yet another text from her mother. She glanced at the screen. Her mother had forwarded her an advertisement for a Taser. In the picture, a white-haired grandmother posed like Rambo. Personal Protection Guaranteed, the ad promised in giant type.
Stacy didn’t reply. It was the fourth similarly themed text in the last few days: pepper spray, guard dogs, even a gun safety class. This had all started after her mother read an article about a rash of purse snatchings in Fairfield. In spite of Stacy’s insistence that her new home was in a quiet bedroom community, her mother still worried.
“Stacy.” A man’s deep, slightly irritated voice broke the silence.
Startled, Stacy jumped out of her chair, banging her knee on the desk drawer in the process. So she wasn’t alone after all.
“Do you have a second?” her boss called out.
She peered over the cubicles toward his office. “Yes.” She tried to smile instead of wince. “Do you need something, Mr. Chambers?”
Leland Chambers, director of finance, stepped out of his posh corner office. Like a boorish customer flagging down a waitress, he summoned her over. “Come here. I need to speak with you.”
Scrambling, Stacy jammed her feet back into her shoes and rushed down the corridor of the empty office, her hurried response fueled by her need for this job.
“Here.” Leland dumped a stack of folders into her arms, then sat down in his high-backed leather chair behind his wide mahogany desk. “I’m taking a long weekend on the Vineyard. I’ll need those done by Wednesday.”
“Yes. Certainly, Mr. Chambers.”
“Call me Leland.”
Stacy nodded, but she had no intention of honoring the request. Leland Chambers was upper management and she was a worker bee. At H.T. Wells, the haves and have-nots didn’t mix—if they wanted to keep their jobs.
Stacy Shaw was a mid-level financial analyst. Everything about her dress matched her position—plain and practical. She wore a gray silk blouse, classic black pants, a narrow leather belt, and simple black heels to compensate for her diminutive stature. Her makeup was light and natural, her blond hair neat, and her only jewelry was a pair of pearl stud earrings. All compliant with HR’s dress code.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked. “I had planned to work late tonight.”
“Won’t your husband be upset?”
“He’s out of town on business.” Stacy self-consciously held the pile of papers to her chest.
Mr. Chambers swiveled slightly in his chair and sized her up. “I’m surprised he leaves your side.”
Stacy pretended to read the top folder in an attempt to hide her disgust at the shallow come-on. “He has to for his job.”
Mr. Chambers snapped his fingers. “That’s who you look like. I’ve been trying to nail it down since you came on board.”
“Who?” she asked, but then immediately regretted doing so, fearing who she was about to be compared to.
“Jennifer Lawrence. A lot shorter, but your smile is spot on.”
Stacy lowered her eyes as her hand tucked an errant strand of naturally blond hair behind her ear. “Thank you,” she mumbled, and made a hasty exit from his office.
“Hey, wait a minute.” Mr. Chambers jumped up and followed after her. “I’m heading down to O’Flaherty’s.” He pulled his office door closed and strode over to her cubicle. “Accounting just wrapped up the end of the quarter, and they’re celebrating.”
Mr. Chambers stopped with one foot inside her cubicle and angled his shoulders. There was something different about his stance; Stacy couldn’t put her finger on what it was until the words “strike a pose” jumped to mind. From his tasseled leather loafers and pleated khakis to his fitted white shirt and perfectly groomed goatee, Mr. Chambers’ style seemed carefully lifted from a GQ magazine. Even his fingernails were expertly manicured.
His gaze surveyed the empty office before it settled on her. “Would you care to join me?”
Stacy shook her head. “Thank you, but I want to finish up a couple of things.” She sat down.
“That works out well for me.” A confident smile spread across his broad face. “I’m going for a quick run around Hamilton Park first, while it’s still light out. It’s a beautiful park—during the day.” He twirled the keyring to his Porsche Carrera 911 around his long finger. “That gives you an hour. By that time, Accounting will have had enough drinks in them that they won’t be so stiff. Is that enough time for you?”
“Actually…”
“You’ve already done enough time in the mine for one day. Besides, the buck stops with me. I’ll adjust your time card.” He gave her an over-the-top, slow-motion wink.
“I couldn’t let you do that.” She slid her hand under her thigh and scrunched up in her chair.
“You can’t—but I can.” He leaned against the cubicle wall. “Think of it as a ‘welcome on board’ bonus.”
She crossed her arms tightly. “I’ve been here almost three months now.”
“Happy anniversary.” He opened his hand as if he were giving her a gift. “It’s only an hour, and really, you’re doing great work. I believe in rewarding a job well done.”
Maybe it was his choice of words—happy anniversary—but as her thoughts shifted to her beloved husband Michael, she was certain he would warn her not to go anywhere near this kind of guy. “Thank you,” she said, “but I really have to be heading home. I’m just going to finish up the Right-A-Way Shipping report and call it a night.”
“But—”
She wiggled her mouse and tried to change the subject. “I noticed they were spending a large amount of money on insurance.”
“The Right-A-Way Shipping report?” Mr. Chambers repeated.
“Yes. At my last job, this same level of coverage was a quarter of this amount—”
“That report is done.” Mr. Chambers’ tone changed. He stepped forward and glared at her monitor. “What’re you doing with it?” He pressed against her chair, pinning her in place.
“I’m supposed to review the report and—”
“No,” Mr. Chambers snapped, “you’re supposed to review your section of the report, and you assured me that you had. Are you changing what you submitted?”
His sudden change in demeanor caught her off guard. She’d gotten a glimpse of Mr. Chambers’ “other side”—as they called it in the break room—before, but it had never been directed at her. She cleared her throat. “No. But I found a discrepancy with—”
Mr. Chambers scoffed. “You should have nothing to do with that. I’ve already reviewed and approved the report myself.”
“Umm…” She shuffled some papers around on her desk, unsure what to say next.
“Is this why you’re working late? When I approved your overtime, I thought you were catching up on tasks, not just making busywork for yourself so you can get paid time and a half.”
“I’m not! I was just—”
He thrust a finger at the monitor. “Close the file and send me what you’ve done to it.”
Stacy nodded. She pressed a few buttons on the keyboard and opened the mail program. “I haven’t changed anything.” She swallowed.
Mr. Chambers spun his keys around his long finger like an outlaw gunslinger twirling his pistol. “I’ll take a look at it in the morning.” His voice had softened somewhat, but he stood with both feet planted wide just behind her chair. “You couldn’t know, but once these reports are submitted, it’s a nightmare to make corrections. I’d rather get a public flogging than have to request to change it.”
Despite his new tone, she kept up her guard. She sat rigidly, focused on the monitor. “I’m sorry. I…” She wanted to bolt, but he hovered so close to her chair that it was impossible. “I only highlighted the line. I didn’t alter the report.”
His keys chimed as they spun round again. “I’ll review it later. I’m sure it’s fine. No harm, no foul. Like you said, you didn’t change anything.”
Stacy nodded demurely, but didn’t turn around.
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider? O’Flaherty’s makes a heck of a Long Island Iced Tea.”
Mr. Chambers’ Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality frightened her. “No thank you.” She opened up her calendar. “Have a good night.”
“I’m sure we’ll be at O’Flaherty’s for a while if you change your mind. If not, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Feeling like a prisoner in a cell, Stacy sat there and listened to his keys jingle as he walked away, tapping each cubicle wall as he passed it. Her heart thumped in her chest and her hand trembled as she moved the mouse. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. She wanted to call Michael, but she wasn’t sure whether he was having dinner with clients. He had called earlier from his hotel room to let her know that he’d arrived and that their old car had held up on the long journey. And considering nothing had really happened, she thought there was no reason to get Michael upset, too.
She pushed the incident with Mr. Chambers aside and got back to work. The requests in her inbox were dealt with quickly, and it took only another forty-five minutes for her to finish her reports. After clicking the last report closed, she triumphantly sent it off.
She shut down her computer and sighed as she studied the framed picture on her desk: her and Michael honeymooning on a beach in the Bahamas. Had it really been seven years already? A wave of emotions washed over her. Everything was changing so fast. New house, new job, and now… she gently laid a hand on her stomach. “It keeps getting better,” she whispered. “My little miracle.”
She grabbed her favorite tan handbag off the floor, and realized it was damp. She sniffed and smelt the pungent scent of carpet cleaner.
“Darn it.”
On her way out, she passed by her coworkers’ cubicles, filled with photos of happy families, smiling kids, and hugging couples. She was starting to know her new coworkers, and the more she did, the fonder of them she became.
A shudder ran through Stacy’s body, but not because she was cold. The air conditioner had already turned off for the evening, and the heat of summer had quickly warmed the office. No, it was the thought of the silence, the cold stillness, she faced at home without Michael that made her wince. She had grown up a latchkey kid, in a quiet house with no brothers or sisters, and parents who were always gone. But instead of conditioning her to enjoy being alone, the experience had done the opposite. She hated being alone.
An industrial vacuum cleaner that looked like a small Zamboni rounded the corner up ahead. At first, the burly custodian kept his eyes focused on the area in front of the machine as he pushed it down the hallway, but then he noticed her and switched the vacuum off.
“Hello, Mrs. Shaw.” His eyes darted all around the office, never meeting hers.
“Hi, Jeremy.” She always tried her best to make polite conversation with Jeremy; he had few friends but he was a sweet young man. She spoke carefully so the mentally challenged man would understand her. “You’re working late.”
“Like you.” Jeremy smiled lopsidedly. He spoke deliberately, but his speech was slurred and hard to understand. He wiped his hand on his coveralls. “It’s not raining out.”
She nodded. Even though Jeremy towered over her, she wasn’t frightened. “Jeremy, did you clean my carpet again last night?”
His eyes brightened. “You saw?”
“Yes. But… didn’t you just clean it on Monday?”
“I cleaned your office extra.” Jeremy looked at the ceiling. “You like it? It smells nice?”
Stacy sighed. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Yes. But next time maybe you can just vacuum?”
“Okay. T’ank you. I’ll do that.”
“Well, have a nice night, Jeremy.”
Jeremy awkwardly offered his hand to shake. As she shook it, she struggled not to recoil at the touch of his rough, callused skin.
“See you tomorrow,” Jeremy said.
“Good night.”
Jeremy watched her until she disappeared through the door. Then she heard the vacuum cleaner turn back on.
Outside, the warm, moist summer night air felt wonderful on Stacy’s face. The sun had set, and faint stars peeked out from behind dark clouds that were rolling in. Away from the office, Stacy felt free. She wanted nothing more than to discard her heels, take off her bra, slip into one of her husband’s t-shirts, and curl up on the couch with a pint of ice cream.
A voice behind her made her jump.
<
br /> “Is the job making you crazy yet?”
Stacy’s hand flew to her chest.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Betty Robinson snuffed out her cigarette with her heel and walked over. “Did Mr. Happy Pants chain you to the desk, or are you working late, fixing one of his mistakes that he’s blaming you for?”
Stacy chuckled. “Chased me around the desk would be more accurate.”
Betty was on the north side of fifty and seemed as though she’d probably had the same tough exterior since college. She was tall for a woman, and her heels made her even more imposing. When they first met, Stacy wondered why Betty wore outfits that drew attention to her thick, broad frame—but after she came to know her, she realized that Betty liked to be intimidating.
“You haven’t asked any questions for a few days,” Betty said. “Does that mean the torch has been passed?”
“Hardly,” Stacy said. “I think it’ll take me another three months to get the hang of everything you did. How’s upstairs?”
“Living the dream.” Betty smiled coyly. “Make sure you keep up on the Henkle filing or the end of the summer will be killer for you.”
“I will.” Stacy cleared her throat. “Hey, did you work on the Right-A-Way Shipping report for Mr. Chambers?”
Betty took out a cigarette. “I still work on it. Don’t tell me something’s wrong with the report or I’ll scream.”
“You work on it now?” Stacy asked, confused.
“I approve the PO section. Leland does the insurance.” Betty’s tone became terse. “Is there an issue?”
“No. But I did notice we overpaid the insurance premium again, and from my records check, it was at least the second time it’s happened.”
Betty let a stream of smoke drift from her mouth, then exhaled in a huff. “It happens. They’ve shifted the payment dates before. As long as the insurance doesn’t lapse. That would be a complete nightmare. Do me a favor and forget about it. If you touch it now, five people have to sign off on it again, including me.” She looked down at Stacy’s stomach. “You’re going to be showing soon. When are you going to make the announcement?”
And Then She Was GONE: A riveting new suspense novel that keeps you guessing until the end Page 2
