The Perfect-Perfect Plan

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

The second would be more subtle. Maybe throw a fit about him getting into my desk where I know the paper came from that he wrote me the note on. Then make a big deal out of him going through my personal belongings and work it over to include my purse. And then kick him out of my apartment.

  A third choice would center on a few subtle questions to see if I can trip him up and find out what I need to connect him with the potential robbery.

  Then there’s the fourth choice, which is so much easier. Keep my mouth closed.

  Looking down at my throbbing, pulsating, aching leg, it has swollen to the point it’s hard to recognize as an actual knee. My leg is inflamed inside my cast too. It feels like I’m going to turn into the Hulk and just crack it open at any second now. I really could use his help … bank robber or not. The rational decision would be to hold off on any of any confrontational options, at least for now.

  “Okay,” I say, obliging him, saying nothing and going with the flow.

  He catches up with my slow approach to the bedroom and helps me onto the bed. He takes my crutches and leans them against the dresser. Propping my foot up, he places the icepack on my knee and sits beside me at the crook of my waist. “So where were you really,” he asks in a gentler voice.

  “I had a bank emergency,” I come up with.

  “Banks have emergencies?” he asks in an unbelieving tone.

  “Yes, the computer system locked up. I’m the only one with the code to be able to reset it.” What a lie. That has never happened. Well, the computers have gone down a few times, but it was from electrical outages or power surges and, even then, the system reboots itself without having to reenter the codes.

  “I wish you would’ve left me a note. It scared me to death when I came back and found you weren’t here. I would’ve called you, but I don’t have your phone number.”

  I look up at him and see nothing but sincerity. “Yes, you’re right. You were thoughtful enough to leave me one. I don’t know why I didn’t think to do that.” The reason was because I thought you robbed the bank and didn’t deserve a note.

  “Phillip ….” There are so many questions on my tongue, but I can’t find the nerve to ask any of them. Do I blur the lines between asking something subtle, and keeping my mouth clamped shut?

  “Yes, Hannah,” he says in the sweetest tone, making my name sound like sugar. Then he adds a smile that causes my breath to hitch in my throat. Damn him. Why does he have to be so freaking nice? Despite my brain telling me to kick him to the curb, I find my heart going all soft.

  “How was your hospital emergency?” Do I even really know he’s a doctor? Why would a doctor need to rob a bank?

  “The guy had a ruptured lung. We were able to get him fixed up.”

  I’m suddenly glad he didn’t go into gory medical details. “That’s good.” I pause to work up my courage. “Did you take out the trash?” I know he did, but I chickened out on asking about the blood.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I did. When I was feeding Lucy, I noticed a few drops of blood on the floor. I swiped them up with a wet paper towel and tossed them in the garbage. The trash stunk something fierce, so I took it out to the bin.”

  “Blood?” I ask in surprised tone, amazed that I’ve managed to work it around to what I wanted to ask about in the first place. “Where would blood have come from?”

  “I have no idea. I hadn’t noticed it before. Did you recently cut yourself on something?”

  “No, I didn’t. Did you?”

  He chuckles. “No, I think I’d remember if I did.”

  I wasn’t getting anywhere with the blood. “Oh, you know, when we came in from the hospital, I noticed a half-eaten banana on the counter. I tossed it in the trash. I’ll bet that was what smelled so bad.”

  He nods, without looking the least bit guilty. “Yes, I’ll bet you’re right.”

  “I didn’t leave it there,” I tell him, watching for any signs of him feeling caught up in his web of lies.

  “You didn’t?” he picks up on my subtle hint, although he only looks mildly concerned.

  “No, I’m positive. I didn’t.” My insides pucker as I tread closer and closer to accusing him.

  He ponders the situation for a moment and then says, “Your parents came and picked up some toiletries for you. One of them might’ve had a snack.”

  “Yeah, probably,” I agree.

  Let’s face it. With a bum leg, do I really want to press any of these issues? If I had to run for my life, I’d make it all the way to the point of falling off my bed. It will be best for me to bide my time. Phillip was unable to rearrange several of his appointments tomorrow. It will give me an opportunity to figure this all out before he finishes his workday.

  He continues to nursemaid me all evening, periodically changing out my icepack. He is absolutely the nicest bank robber in the whole world, even to the point he is in the kitchen rattling pans around in an effort of making homemade potato soup.

  “How’s your leg?” he asks, sticking his head in to check on me for the umpteenth time.

  “It’s much better. In no time at all, I think I’ll be ready for another jog.”

  Right now, I am twisted sideways on the bed to give my spine some relief. My foot is still propped up, so I think I’m okay. He scrunches up next to me and begins rubbing my back.

  He scowls at my remark. “You know Hannah, I’m thinking you could’ve divulged the code in this one instance and simply changed it when you went back into work. And considering how your little outing went today, you might want to think about taking off work for the rest of the week and see how your leg is doing next Monday.”

  “You might be right,” I agree. Except I have a bank robber to catch, I think to myself. “That feels so good,” I gush, feeling like a hypocrite. Here I am thinking horrible thoughts about him while I’m cooing over his magical fingertips.

  “Good. Your leg is starting to look better. It was so swollen I thought your cast might have to be cut off. Hon, you need to be careful.”

  Oh shit. He called me hon. Dang it.

  “Sorry, I thought I was doing better.” I roll over and look up at him, thinking he is so wonderful … except that he’s not.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” He is making a lot of eye contact right now and I can’t stop my eyes from doing the same.

  His mouth softens into a seductive smile and he leans in and kisses me. I can’t stop that either. He is way too kind and charming and handsome. He is everything I have ever dreamed of. But was I really going to fall in love with a bank robber?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Douglas

  Our day of dinosaur footprints and ice cream was kept casual with me never working up the nerve to ask Angela anything. That night, after story time and tucking my kids into bed, I walk Angela to her door for the second night in a row. “Thanks for today. I had such a nice time.”

  “Yes sir. I’m sure the kids enjoyed spending time with you, especially Henry. He wants to please you so very much.”

  “Yeah, do you really think so?” I ask, finding myself a little touched at hearing that. “Angela, do you think it’s too late for me to be a good dad. I mean, I haven’t been there for them … ever. Is it possible for them to even bond with me?”

  “It’s never too late. The important thing is for you to keep it up now that you’ve started. They wouldn’t be able to take rejection at this point. Don’t stop, and you’ll be fine. They’re already bonding with you.” She smiled, lighting up her warm brown eyes. “You’ll be a fine dad. You’ll see.”

  “Angela … uh … never mind.” I chicken out again.

  “What is it, sir?”

  “I was wondering if you would stop calling me sir when it’s only the two of us.”

  “Yes, Mr. Vanover. I’ll do my best.”

  I groan. “I mean, like would you call me Douglas?”

  “Yes, Mr. Douglas.”

  I groan again. “Are you messing with me?”

 
A mischievous smile turns up her lips. “Yes, Douglas. Good night now.”

  “Good night, Angela.”

  I wait for her to close her door and then I head for the lion’s den. I can feel my chest tightening as I open the door and await the pounce of the lioness on the other side.

  “Where were you all day?” she immediately starts in. “Millie said you ran off with Angela. Are you sleeping with the nanny? Is that what’s happening here?” She stalks over to me in a long silky ivory-colored gown with a matching robe. Designer, I’m sure. “Answer me, Douglas. I’ve put up with a lot of your bullshit over the years, but I will not tolerate you screwing one of the employees.”

  “Is that right? Was I supposed to look the other way when you were screwing the pool guy … and then the lawn guy … and then the maintenance guy? You damn whore.”

  She slaps the shit out my face and I rub at the sting.

  “Shut up,” she growls. “I paid for this place. I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”

  “You paid off the last bit of mortgage on this place. It is nothing compared to the monthly payments I’ve paid …or the bills I’ve paid. Or for all the crap you’ve bought over the years. It’s never enough for you. You always want more and more and more.”

  Our voices have escalated. She slaps me again and I can feel my anger rising. My eyes feel like tiny beads and I am one step away from holding her down on the bed with a pillow over her airways. I don’t because she is equally angry right now. She’d be hell to hold down long enough. Think of how that frail old man fought for his life. Don’t you dare say I’m a weakling. Damn you. Have you ever watched a police video where they taser a guy two or three times while five or six cops are trying to hold him down? It ain’t easy. Right now, I’m no match for Carol’s wrath.

  Even so, my mouth is on overload. “Have you been driving my car?”

  “Your Lincoln Navigator … why would I drive that? Besides, you know Leonard drives me everywhere.”

  “My Austin-Healey, you bitch! I know you’ve been driving it, haven’t you? You know it is the one thing I genuinely love, and you just couldn’t keep your hands off it.”

  “Oh, is that right? From the way Millie was talking, now you genuinely love your kids. So maybe you don’t care about the car anymore.”

  “Don’t bring the kids into this. I mean it, Carol.” I walk toward her with my fist doubled and she takes a few steps back. “Don’t ever touch my car again. I mean that too, Carol.”

  “Or what?” she taunts. And I so want to show her “what” by squeezing the life out of her. Just add her to the ever-growing notches on the list of people I’ve killed. What’s one more at this point?

  “Well, what? Are you going to kill me?” she throws at me.

  My face tightens to the point my eyeballs feel squeezed. Is this a damned trap? Is she wired? “Honey, I think you know I’ve never killed anyone. And I would never kill anyone … including you.” My words depict one thing, while my tone is one of warning.

  Rather harshly I push her to the side and walk past her to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. The mirror reflects a red-angered face I can hardly recognize. Cupping cold water, I splash my infuriated face. I’ve killed people to get them out of the way. But I’ve never killed anyone in anger. But right now, I need to get control of myself before I do. After closing the lid on the toilet, I sit there and just think.

  An hour later, I am mad that my brilliant brain isn’t working. Storming back through the bedroom, I head for the door.

  “Are you going to fix it?” my godawful wife asks.

  “Eventually,” I growl harshly at her. “In the meantime, get off my back.”

  Like a heavy-footed elephant, I tromp down the stairs and into the kitchen. Grabbing another bottle of that expensive wine and not bothering with the glass, I take it with me to the study. There I sit in my fine leather chair with my feet propped up on my rare antique oak desk, drinking my fancy imported wine.

  I have reached my limit with Carol. I want to pay her back for everything she has taken from me and everything I have felt compelled to do for her. There is no limit to my revenge. If she ends up living in a tent, it will be too good for her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Hannah

  “Here you go,” Phillip says, handing me a tray with a bowl of potato soup and a stack of crackers. “I hope you like it. I called my mother and she walked me through on how to make it.”

  “It smells absolutely delicious and I’m sure I’ll love it.” I peer at the tray. “I’m sure it’d be easier if I got up and ate at the table.”

  “Nope, you’re staying right here. I don’t want you putting any more pressure on your leg. Tonight, you’re having dinner in bed.” I scoot against the headboard while he adjusts my pillow. Once I’m situated, he hands me the tray. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Water is fine.” He turns to go get it. “Phillip…”

  “Yes?” he asks, stopping to look back at me.

  “Eat in here with me.”

  He grins. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He returns with a second tray and we dine together on my bed. Lucy jumps up and lies down at my feet. It’s like we’re one big happy family and I want it to be true to the point my heart aches.

  “This is so good,” I praise. “Your mother needs to share her recipe.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure she’ll be glad to … especially when she finds out it’s for a girl that I’m seeing.” He chuckles. “My parents are about as aggressive as yours when it comes to them wanting me to find someone to share my life with.”

  I want that … someone to share my life with. Under normal circumstances, my mother would be here nurturing me back to health. She isn’t because she jumped all over the idea of me spending time getting to know Phillip. I too jumped at the chance because it felt like he’d be better protection if Douglas Vanover came in the middle of the night to kill me … and because I wanted to spend time getting to know Phillip.

  During my hospitalization, it never entered my mind that Phillip had come here and stolen the bank keys. Now that I’ve realized someone came in my apartment and the bank keys were messed with, I don’t think Mr. Vanover or Phillip are either one out to kill me. Now I believe bank robbery was the motive for running me over. Still, it feels weird having Phillip here. Yet it would feel equally weird telling him to leave. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do at this point.

  Once we’re finished, he takes the trays to the kitchen. Lucy bounds off the bed and follows behind him. A few minutes later, I hear him giving her a treat and telling her, “Lucy, you sure are a pretty cat … almost as beautiful as your momma.” My heart blooms with happiness and then equally deflates with sadness, all in the same breath.

  Next, I hear running water and rustling noises while he washes up the dishes. A few moments later, he’s back to check on me. “Can I get you anything?” he dutifully asks.

  “No, I’m fine right now. Thank you for everything,” I tell him … except for stealing the bank keys, of course.

  We lie together on my bed and watch television until it’s time to call it a night. He makes sure I’m all tucked in and then he leaves to take his position on the couch. Lucy goes with him. “Traitor,” I call after my cat.

  “She’s taking to me,” he says with a big smile on his face.

  Has Lucy vetted him and determined he’s suitor worthy? Does my cat know something I don’t? Still, I know someone was in my apartment and at best, it’s creepy.

  “Goodnight,” I call after them.

  “Goodnight,” he echoes. “If you need anything, just call for me.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him.

  As soon as he’s gone, my mind reflects on what Melinda said about the near billion dollars in our bank being only listed under the name of Carol Vanover. It makes me wonder if the goal is all about Mr. Vanover latching on to his wife’s money, and not a noticeable vault heist. Maybe the robbery
is waiting for some event with Carol Vanover’s portfolio. If so, I wonder what part Phillip plays. Is he a computer guru who can hack into the bank’s computer system?

  Holy shit! If he accessed the security code from the note app on my phone, my computer password was right there with it. I think about the keys being returned to my purse and wonder if he replaced them in case I rummaged through my handbag and discovered they were missing. He might be waiting for a specific time to go in. Since he’s wormed his way into my life, he can simply lift the keys on any given night and do the deed. But if so, what is Phillip waiting on?

  He can’t wait long when I think about it. My plan was to return to work on Wednesday. That must be their deadline. Since Mr. Witherspoon hasn’t been at work in well over a month, I’m the only one who has access to change the security code, which I would most likely do after sharing it with a fellow employee. They wouldn’t risk the possibility. This means the bank will be robbed either tonight or tomorrow night … although Phillip was trying to get me to wait until Monday before I returned. I wonder if he’s buying more time. And if so, for what reason?

  For hours I do nothing but stare at the ceiling, refusing to allow myself to fall asleep. My ears are tuned in to every little noise, hoping I can hear him sneaking out the front door. If he leaves in the middle of the night, I’ll know he’s going to the bank. Tomorrow when he leaves to see the patients that he was unable to reschedule, I’ll go look at the security recordings.

  If he robs the place tonight, I’ll have no choice but to report him. My heart cracks open at the thought of having to turn him in. I picture him being hauled off in handcuffs and it’s too much for me to think about.

  If the robbery doesn’t go down tonight, I’ll go to the bank tomorrow and change the security code. That way when Phillip enters, the alarms will go off and the police will nab him. It’ll be better if I’m not there to see him being arrested.

  Then I wonder if it will be Phillip who goes in, or Mr. Vanover, or both. When I consider it might only be Mr. Vanover, a smile curls my lips at the thought of foiling his plan. And when I look down at the cast on my leg, a delicious taste of revenge urges me to wait them out and keep a close eye on the recordings because I wouldn’t mind at all watching Mr. Vanover being taken into custody.