Wreckless Engagement: The Russian Engagement Series

by K. Marie

I knitted my brows in concentration, certain I’d already answered that question. “I want to say he might have sent me an email—but that could’ve been before I moved here. So, I would have to say no,” I told him, being deliberately vague.

  The lawyer said to stick as close to the truth as possible, without really revealing anything. Gotta love lawyers.

  “Was he aware you’d gotten married?” Hernandez asked pointedly, careful to leave out the pregnant part.

  “I’m really not sure; I didn’t inform him,” I answered with a shrug.

  “To your knowledge, has Mr. McKellan ever disappeared without telling anyone where he was going? Do you have any idea of where he may have gone?” he asked next.

  The questions continued a few minutes more, before Garland non-discretely glanced at his expensive wristwatch. “Are we about finished here, Detective’s? We’ve an appointment to keep,” he informed them.

  Hernandez’s face read resignation as he closed his notebook and got to his feet. Broggs stood as well, the younger detective looking as though he couldn’t wait to make his exit.

  “We’ll be on our way then. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Vidov, if you think of any relevant information regarding Mr. McKellan, please give me a call,” said Hernandez, reaching into his right breast pocket and producing a business card.

  “Of course,” I agreed, moving to take the card. But Garland retrieved it instead.

  I blinked in surprise, but quickly recovered.

  “I’ll show you gentlemen out,” he told them, turning to lead the way.

  I hung back as the men followed Mr. Iceberg out of the room.

  Jeez…rude much? I thought to myself.

  I knew this side of Garland existed, but it was a side I rarely ever saw. I sometimes forgot my lovable husband could be an elitist a-hole. He played rich-dick really well when he wanted to.

  When I exited the living room, I looked left to see Garland and the detectives standing near the opened front door. I was too far away to hear much of what they were saying, but the words foul play rang clear.

  Foul Play?

  That insinuated someone had intentionally done something to harm John. My gut tightened, as the thought of something having seriously happened to him occurred to me for the first time.

  Wanting to hear more, I moved in that direction, but heard Garland dismissing the two men as I drew near. “We’ll contact you if we learn anything of value,” he told them, and the detectives quickly took their leave.

  “I heard you mention foul play to the detectives; do the police believe someone to be responsible for John’s disappearance?” I asked Garland, once we’re ensconced in his metallic-blue convertible Maserati.

  We were on our way to the doctor’s office for my seventh month check-up. Garland might have been purposely dismissive to the detectives, but he hadn’t been lying about us having an appointment to keep.

  “It’s a definite possibility. Whenever a person disappears without a trace, it’s only logical to assume it wasn’t voluntarily,” he answered.

  Why would anyone want to hurt John?

  I just couldn’t wrap my brain around it. Despite everything he’d done, I would never wish him any harm; I can’t imagine something awful having befallen him.

  “Do the police have anyone in mind?” I asked. The entire thing was so damn bizarre.

  “If they do, I’m not aware of it,” Garland answered.

  “Your blood pressure is good, and your iron levels are higher than they were on your last visit. That means the supplements are doing their job. The foot edema isn’t so uncommon in the third trimester, but you also have the added ingredient of the humid Florida climate working against you. I suggest spending less time on your feet, or you might be spending months eight and nine on bed-rest,” Dr. Schiller informed me, in her no-nonsense way.

  “Whatever she’s doing; she needs to do less of it, or you’ll be bringing her breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed for the next two months,” she reiterated to Garland, giving him a stern motherly look.

  Dr. Annette Schiller is a middle-aged Jewish woman who’d been delivering babies for twenty-five years. She’d come highly recommended by my previous doctor in Michigan, and her reputation was well earned.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Garland agreed with an easy smile. “But, does that include everything she’s doing; or only the activities that require her to be on her feet?” he asked.

  I looked at him wide-eyed, mouth dropping open in shock. I can’t believe he just asked that!

  Neither me nor Dr. Schiller had mistaken his meaning.

  “Only those activities that require her to be on her feet, the other is still permissible all the way to the finish line,” Dr. Schiller confirmed on a laugh.

  “However, if you should experience any discomfort, bleeding, or contractions, during or after intercourse; you should abstain activity and call me immediately,” she added, turning her gaze back on me. “Don’t look so horrified, Camry—your husband still enjoys making love to you, count yourself lucky,” she told me with a conspiratorial wink.

  Floor open up and swallow me now!

  I felt myself blush, embarrassed to be discussing my sex life with her. Yeah, it’s silly, considering I’m sitting here knocked-up. But, it’s like talking about sex with my mother.

  I looked over at Garland and narrowed my eyes when I found him watching, an obnoxious smirk on his face. The devil, he was enjoying my discomfit, while he sat lounged back in his chair looking relaxed. That he was still sexually attracted to me was mind boggling; considering I now looked like a baby seal.

  “And feed her more carbs and protein. She likely just carries small, but I’d like to see her current weight gain doubled by end of term,” Dr. Schiller said unexpectedly, stern gaze focused on Garland. As if he’d been starving me.

  Now it was my turn to smirk.

  Taking his instructions seriously, Garland took me to my favorite seafood restaurant for lunch after the appointment. I do eat, sometimes gorging like a pig, so I didn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

  “I was thinking we could get you one of those motorized scooters—you know, the ones they advertise for elderly people,” Garland suggested.

  I whipped my head up to look at him, abandoning the attention I’d been giving to my plate.

  “That’ll help to keep you off your feet,” he said with a casual shrug, a devilish gleam in his eyes.

  “Ha-ha, you’re a real riot today. But, as old as you are, Methuselah, you’ll be in need of one of those before me,” I retorted.

  “Ouch,” Garland said, chuckling.

  We kept up our playful back and forth, both of us seemingly careful to avoid all talk of the detective’s earlier visit. I tried hard not to dwell; but was only partly successful.

  Halfway through our meal, Garland’s phone rang. “Drakos,” he said in greeting.

  I’ve never met the man; but have been present during several phone calls between the two of them. I knew that Garland was both confident and commendable of the man’s abilities; even if his gruff tone indicated otherwise.

  “That’s what I thought, I just needed confirmation before taking any action. This thing has finally come to the end of the road, we’ll proceed as planned,” Garland responded, after listening to whatever the other man said.

  I sat listening to his one-sided conversation; wondering what it was regarding. But, also knowing that Garland wasn’t likely to share it with me. Not for the first time, I became unaccountably annoyed. We talked about work sometimes; he’d even occasionally go into detail about a particular project he was working on. But for the most part, Garland kept me completely excluded from his business world.

  I asked myself what did it matter? It’s not as though he needed my advice or input on anything. But, wasn’t mundane talk about one’s workday normal stuff people discussed over dinner?

  “Any information on the other matter?” Garland asked. “This is a personal matter; I want only yo
u working on it, keep me posted,” he said, before ending the call.

  “What’s a personal matter?” I asked, unable to stop myself.

  He didn’t have to discuss his work with me, but he knew that I hated when he kept me in the dark about things that might concern me.

  “The police are questioning my wife about the disappearance of her ex-boyfriend, and I want to know why. Their visit today wasn’t just routine questioning; it was a fishing expedition,” he told me.

  “What do you mean it was a fishing expedition? For what?” I asked in puzzlement.

  “For anything that might suggest you have knowledge of McKellan’s disappearance, Camry. When a person goes missing, the first suspects are the people closest to them. In this case, that person is you,” Garland explained.

  I stared at him as if he’s crazy; knowing he couldn’t possibly be telling me what I think he is. “Are you saying the police think I have something to do with John’s disappearance? That’s completely crazy, why would they think that?” I asked in confoundment.

  It’s absolutely absurd, why in the world would I harm John? How could I?

  “That’s not to say they actually have reason to suspect you, only that they must consider it. As of right now, you’re a person of interest,” Garland told me.

  This cannot be happening…why was this happening?

  Okay, so maybe I did cheat on John with Garland, but this shit seemed gratuitous. Sometimes, relationships simply didn’t work out, how long would I have to pay for it?

  “I don’t want you to worry over it, Camry, the police are doing exactly as expected,” Garland said in reassurance.

  “Do you think the police know about John’s accusations, about the emails?” I asked worriedly. If they did, that would surely make me look guilty of something.

  “I’m not certain, but it’s entirely possible McKellan didn’t keep his claims to himself. I have Drakos looking into it, he should be able to find something useful,” he answered. “However, from this point forward, we won’t be having any more friendly chats with the police. For your protection, any further questioning will take place with our attorney present.”

  “But, won’t that make me look guilty, like I have something to hide?” I asked uncertainly. I didn’t know much about the law, but I knew that whenever suspects lawyered-up on those cop shows, it was always viewed as an admission of guilt.

  “You’re already guilty by association,” Garland reminded me.

  Unbelievable. What a giant load of bullshit; John and I didn’t even live in the same state for God’s sake. How could I have anything to do with him disappearing?

  “So, what do we do now?” I asked tiredly, wondering if maybe we shouldn’t be doing something more than waiting. I hated feeling impotent; like I was just waiting for some fate to befall me.

  Where in the hell is John? Could this be some sick game he’s playing?

  “We do nothing, Camry, we go on as usual. McKellan will either turn up or he won’t, either way, I’m not overly concerned,” Garland said with confidence.

  Yeah, but I am.

  Forty-Eight

  G A R L A N D

  “Sir, the detectives are here, should I show them in?” my assistant asked, peeking through the opened doorway.

  “Yes, Sharon, thank you,” I told her, glancing up from the building plans that I’d been combing over. I had already found two discrepancies in the blueprints.

  I knew the detectives would be coming sooner or later, so I thought I’d humor them, just to get it over with. I gave Hernandez my business card before they left that day, and he extended the courtesy of a heads-up phone call. Though, I knew that courtesy certainly wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart.

  It paid to have friends in high places, having those with power on one’s side was invaluable.

  “Detectives,” I greeted, when Sharon ushered them through the door. I intended to play nice today, until they gave me reason not to.

  “Mr. Vidov, thank you for seeing us,” said Detective Hernandez.

  “Please, have a seat,” I told them, indicating the two chairs across from my desk.

  “That’s a nice view you’ve got there,” Hernandez commented, nodding towards the sweeping view of the water, from my twentieth-floor office window.

  “I admit, it can become a bit of a distraction at times,” I said honestly.

  Though the entire building was mine, I’d chosen the top floor for my offices because of the view that it afforded, as well as the security it provided. No one was allowed past the nineteenth floor on the elevator without security escorting them. Kind of like the penthouse suite of a hotel.

  “Detective Hernandez, you stated that you had a few questions regarding John McKellan, I’m curious as to how I might be of help?” I asked, getting to the point of their visit.

  “Yes, we received some new information, and had just a few things to clear up,” he said, giving the standard bullshit line.

  “Mr. Vidov, can you tell me if you’ve ever had any contact with John McKellan?” he asked.

  “No, why on earth would I have had contact with McKellan?” I countered.

  He didn’t answer; but tried a different approach instead.

  “Let me rephrase that question. What I meant to ask is, if you’ve ever met McKellan?”

  Ah, now that’s a better question.

  “I wouldn’t say that I met him in the formal sense. I had the displeasure of running into him once, while in Michigan visiting Camry,” I answered.

  “When you say that you’d run into him, in what way do you mean?” asked Detective Broggs.

  And here I thought he was going to remain sullen and quiet.

  “What I mean, detective, is that I had come to visit Camry, and McKellan had been there. He was on his way out the door by that time,” I elaborated.

  “Was that before or after their broken engagement?” he asked.

  I studied him across my desk, his defiant eyes challenging, so obviously wanting to get a rise out of me. “Is there a relevant point to your question, or are you the sort who gets off on scandalous gossip?” I asked him.

  Broggs glared at me.

  I guess playing nice was over.

  “My question is very relevant to this investigation. We’re trying to determine whether John McKellan had any discord in his life that could account for his disappearance. And right now, the only discord we’ve been able to identify is his broken engagement to your new wife,” he fired back, eyes hard with dislike.

  I remained cool, not showing any outward sign of outrage at his statement; because I’m certain that’s exactly the response he’d been looking for.

  How childish.

  “I can assure you, if Mr. McKellan has any discord in his life, it’s got nothing to do with me nor my wife. The day I encountered him, he’d shown up on Camry’s doorstep with what she described as unresolved issues. According to her, they discussed them, and she sent him on his way,” I said amiably, showing dick-wad how to play grown-up.

  “Were there any words spoken between the two of you, any problems on that occasion?” Detective Hernandez asked.

  “He wasn’t happy to see me there, but then, he wouldn’t be the first man to be dumped by a woman and not be happy about it. However, if I recall correctly, the only words spoken on that occasion was in the form of McKellan making disparaging remarks about my character,” I offered.

  “How so?” questioned Hernandez.

  “I believe he told Camry she was too good for the likes of me, or something along those lines,” I answered.

  Detective Hernandez lifted an eyebrow. “And what was your response to that?” he asked.

  “Nothing, detective, I couldn’t disagree with that statement,” I replied.

  Hernandez looked as if he wanted to smile. “So, that was it, your only interaction with McKellan?” he probed.

  “Camry prompted him to leave after that; and I never saw the man again. I can’t say I was
heartbroken over it,” I told him.

  “So, there was no confrontation between the two of you?” asked Broggs, obviously unconvinced.

  I then lost all traces of civility. “As I’ve already stated, there was no exchange, or confrontation. McKellan wasn’t happy, he said what he had to say, then left. I didn’t engage him. Our encounter probably lasted all of thirty seconds,” I said in answer.

  Leaning forward in my chair, I rested my forearms on my desk as I regarded both detectives. My cooperation had just run it’s time limit.

  “I know where you’re going with this, but you’re wasting your time. I have no problems with McKellan; I wasn’t the one on the losing end. Wherever he disappeared to, he had no help from me, or my wife in getting there. Now, I agreed to answer a few questions, but I no longer like the line of questioning. This conversation is over.”

  C A M R Y

  “There’s going to be a petting zoo and ponies to ride!” Autumn cheered, bouncing up and down in her chair.

  I was sitting in my office on the computer, listening to her go on happily about being invited to a classmate’s birthday party.

  “When I told Hannah, I had my very own pony, she couldn’t believe it!” she announced excitedly.

  I smiled fondly, happy that she’d been making friends and would get to socialize outside of school. Living where we do, Autumn didn’t have the opportunity to play with neighboring children. In our neck of the woods, not only were the properties spaced far apart, but the children in this neighborhood weren’t likely to be hanging around outside playing. These children were privileged, and most likely engrossed in scheduled activities and play-dates to keep them busy.

  I had to remind myself, Autumn was one of those children now.

  But, outside of her violin and gymnastics classes, she really didn’t have friends that she interacted with outside of school. Hopefully, the party would be a good opportunity for me to meet other parents, and perhaps set-up a couple of play dates.

  Autumn twirled around in the extra chair that I kept in here for her—and in her excitement, kicked the filing cabinet and knocked over a stack of mail.