Say It Again (First Wives)

by Catherine Bybee

  “How lovely,” Linette uttered.

  Sasha picked up the phone at an unoccupied desk. “Hello?”

  “Sorry to bother you, darling.” Reed’s voice was elevated.

  Darling?

  “Are you a father yet?”

  “No, no . . . but I wanted your opinion on names.”

  “And it couldn’t wait . . .”

  “Babies come whenever they want. So, we were thinking, Olivia and Jocey, if they’re both girls. Or Alex and Blake if they’re boys.”

  The familiar names kept Sasha’s expression natural. Obviously, there was something Reed needed to tell her and didn’t want anyone who might be listening to understand. “All solid names. Why do you need my advice?” Sasha noticed Linette’s secretary smiling.

  “You know my friend Neil? He tells me every Olivia he ever knew disappeared after the first date, no call, no forwarding number. But we really like the name. And Jocey . . . Lori loves it, but my sister’s best friend in school was a Jocey, and she was pretty messed up, eventually killed herself. It was awful.”

  The air in Sasha’s chest caught. Jocey was dead?

  AJ was onto something.

  “I think you skip both names. Too much baggage.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost five. She needed to touch base with Alex and get him to stop poking around until she could regroup and devise a plan.

  “What about Alex?” Reed asked, keeping with the baby name ploy.

  “Everyone I ever knew by that name was overly inquisitive. Always getting in trouble.”

  “Now that you mention it. We should scratch that. We both like Blake. It’s a safe name. No baggage. I knew a Blake once . . . ended up in finance, made a shit ton of money. Had houses all over the world last time I heard.”

  As close as London, if Sasha remembered correctly. Blake Harrison could provide safe harbor for Alex until they could figure out what the hell was going on.

  “It sounds like you need to go back to the baby books.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Sasha noticed Linette’s office door open. “Next time, call my cell.”

  “I tried. It told me you were out of a service area.”

  “I’ll look into it. Take care of your wife.”

  “Take care of you. Thanks for the advice.”

  She hung up.

  “Is your friend a father?”

  Sasha grinned. “No, he’s a nervous mess. He thinks because I’ve been all over the world that I have more access to names.”

  “I suppose you do.”

  Sasha hesitated. “My phone isn’t picking up calls. Is there a dead zone here?” They weren’t allowed to have cell phones when she was a student. But her phone had worked fine when she first arrived.

  Linette released a sigh and offered an apologetic smile. “Rolling blackouts. In case the students have managed to sneak something in. Social media will be the death of every student’s opportunity to obtain a decent job after graduation. The system catches new IP addresses sending signals and blocks them unless we have them on file. I should have said something when you arrived. You can give your phone to tech and they will free it up for you.”

  Not in this lifetime. “I’ll do that.”

  Chapter Ten

  Reed tapped his foot against the side of his desk with the phone against his ear. The phone line did a double ring, indicating the call was going overseas. The top of his desk was covered in papers, printouts of newspaper articles covering the limited details of Amelia Hofmann’s death. A female jogger simply killed by three precision shots from a considerable distance. Two to the chest, one to the head. Her earbuds were still connected with the aux cable when they found her body.

  Amelia had been an analyst for the UN. Working on clean water rights nationally and internationally. From the description of her job title, she worked with a team in South Africa. From what he could tell, the woman sat at a desk analyzing data on pollutants, rainfall averages, population, and evaporation. It sounded boring as hell. And nothing worth being killed over.

  Except now there were three dead women.

  Jocey Schuster-Miller, the PTA mother of two, parked in a remote area and ate a bullet. Only there was no suicide note and no history of buying the gun found in her car. There was some evidence of a struggle, so the investigation was open.

  Keri Shrum’s boyfriend was accused of shooting out the tires of her car on a wet road in Wales, which resulted in her car going off a cliff. His slippery alibi and the lack of any physical evidence kept him from trial. While the case was still open, it appeared the police were trying to find more on the boyfriend and weren’t looking anywhere else.

  All of these women went to the same school, only a year apart from each other.

  If there was one rule Reed lived by, it was that there were no coincidences in life.

  Since these women all died a world apart from each other, no one connected the dots.

  Until AJ.

  But then again, for AJ, it was personal.

  Reed was about to hang up the phone when AJ finally picked up.

  “Hello.”

  “AJ. It’s Reed.”

  “You got my message.”

  “I did. We have a change of plans. There’s an estate just outside of London I need you to go to.”

  “London? Why? Did you find Olivia?”

  Reed clicked on the surveillance cameras at Blake’s estate. The only activity was the staff mulling about, doing what they did. Blake, his wife, Samantha, and their children were in their Malibu home.

  “No. I haven’t located Olivia, yet. You’ll be safe in the UK.”

  AJ was silent. “As opposed to my safety now?”

  Reed didn’t answer. “Sasha will meet you there in a couple of days, tops.”

  “You found something. What is it?”

  “Another dead woman. The one in Arizona.”

  “Jesus . . . I knew I wasn’t crazy.”

  Reed told AJ the address and offered to make travel arrangements.

  “What am I supposed to do in London? Sit around and wait?”

  “Sasha works better alone. You’d just get in her way.”

  AJ laughed. “Yeah, but Amelia wasn’t her sister. I’m not leaving without Sasha. I don’t know what kind of crap we’re uncovering here, but if there is a theme, it’s that Richter alumni are turning up dead like fish in bad water. Last I looked, Sasha is a possible target.”

  “She is highly skilled to take care of herself.” Something Reed had seen firsthand on more than one occasion.

  “News flash . . . so were the other three dead women. Yet their hearts aren’t beating any longer, are they?”

  AJ had a point.

  Reed’s foot bounced, making his knee move with it. Lori was two and a half weeks from her delivery date; there was no way he was leaving her side.

  “Where are you staying?” Reed asked.

  “Hilton, smack in downtown.”

  “Okay. Sasha will probably contact you before she can talk to me without raising suspicion. When you talk to her, let her know the other name she asked me to look up came up clean. Perhaps a little too clean.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I’ll let Sasha tell you if you need to know.”

  “A suspect?”

  “I don’t know. She just asked me to look him up.”

  “Did she suggest they are related?”

  “No, in fact it sounded the opposite when we talked.”

  “I don’t like any of this, Reed.”

  Neither did he. “You text me, every six hours. Set your alarm if you have to.” Reed wrote down the time he should hear from AJ next. “We need more names.”

  Sasha stepped into Brigitte’s home and was knocked back by all the vibrant colors. Floral motifs on sideboards, potted plants . . . even the print on the sofa was a soft white with a light green pattern. When Brigitte had suggested they have dinner away from Richter, Sasha jumped at the excuse to leave the grounds an
d make a couple of calls without any chance of eavesdropping.

  “This is not what I expected to see,” Sasha said out loud.

  Brigitte dropped her car key on the foyer table and shed her coat as she made her way to the kitchen. “Make yourself at home.”

  Sasha looked around. “I’m not sure I can,” she whispered to herself.

  Floral and feminine were not words that described her personality.

  “I heard that.”

  Sasha followed her into the kitchen.

  “How about a glass of wine?”

  Not her thing, but she’d drink it. “Thank you.” She sat at the counter and watched Brigitte walk around the small space. “What prompted the dinner invite?”

  The woman didn’t meet her gaze. “I thought it would be nice.”

  Sasha narrowed her eyes.

  “And Linette suggested it. The woman isn’t social, but she likes to have information that one can obtain by a simple conversation over dinner.”

  Sasha leaned back. “You have me here to ask questions?”

  “That’s what Linette thinks.” Brigitte removed a bottle from a wine rack and proceeded to work at the cork.

  “She can ask me anything,” Sasha said.

  “But as your former headmistress, will you be truthful in your answers? Old habits die hard.”

  Brigitte tilted the bottle and wine rushed into a glass. She handed one to Sasha and poured one for herself.

  She took a taste, didn’t exactly hate it, and drank a little more. “So, what does Linette want to know?”

  Brigitte removed chicken from her fridge and an armload of vegetables. “She asked about your friend who called today. Wanted to know if you had fostered any deep friendships since you left Richter.”

  “Why would she want to know that?”

  Brigitte floated around her kitchen, removed the chicken from its wrapper, and proceeded to season it while she talked.

  “She assumed you hadn’t. At least that’s my theory. Then the call today made her think again. You don’t have to tell me anything. And I don’t have to tell Linette, if you prefer I don’t.”

  Sasha sipped her wine again, thought about Reed and his wife. The men Reed worked with, and on occasion she did, too.

  She thought of Trina, the sister-in-law through her lost brother. Trina was now married to a country singer and living her life in Texas.

  “These are the kinds of things Mr. Pohl is going to ask you when you meet with him again.”

  “Why would he care?”

  Brigitte stopped her busy hands. “Because spies don’t have families. If they did, it would be a weakness.”

  “And that’s what Pohl is recruiting? Spies?”

  Her hostess turned on the oven and placed the chicken inside. “Every year I see our graduates line up, and I can pick out the students Pohl will approach. On a rare occasion, we’d have a graduating class that didn’t have the profile of students he wanted. I would imagine that some of the kids didn’t want the job.”

  “You make it sound like he’s recruiting several every year.”

  She moved on to the vegetables and started to make a salad. “Linette has those numbers. Not me. I do know that the last ten years, you’re the only student in that profile who has returned to Richter.”

  “I was never offered a position.”

  “That’s going to change. Pohl has asked every instructor at the school to report to him after you’ve left the room.” Brigitte leaned a hip against the counter, took her wineglass in her hand. “You’re conditioned to do the kind of job he will offer, Sasha, but you might ask yourself if it’s how you want to spend your entire life.”

  “You’re warning me away from the idea.”

  Brigitte shrugged, returned to her task of salad making. “Yeah. I am. I despise that the man comes into the school and handpicks the most emotionally vulnerable students we have.”

  Sasha felt her hair rise. “I am not emotionally vulnerable.”

  “Ha. You’re an orphan. No family at all. You returned to Richter because of those facts. I’m going to guess that your personal relationships consist of a good fuck and off you go.” Brigitte looked her in the eye. “Am I missing anything?”

  Sasha didn’t deny her.

  “That’s what I thought. All fine and well, but what about when you want to let someone in? A good friend, or a lover that wants more? Living alone your whole life is overrated.” She spread her arms wide. “Take it from me. Work and vacationing alone is no way to live.”

  “Richter doesn’t stop you from having a family.”

  “No. My lifestyle has made that harder than it could be. But unlike what the religious conservatives out there think, being a lesbian isn’t a choice.”

  Sasha considered the people she did have in her life, as distant as she kept them, and realized that she wouldn’t want to cut them out for a job she didn’t financially need. What if Reed needed her help, or Trina found trouble with one of her famous husband’s fans?

  “So I tell Pohl I’m not interested.”

  Brigitte bit off a piece of a baby carrot. “He isn’t used to rejection.”

  “He can’t make me take a job.”

  Brigitte’s smile met with Sasha’s. She served up the salad in two bowls and handed one to her. “Be sure and tell him that.”

  Sasha took her salad and wine and moved to the table Brigitte had in the dining room. It was her turn to ask a few questions. “I’ve been trying to find a few of my classmates and haven’t been having a lot of luck. Linette had alluded to the fact that some of our alumni went on to highly secretive jobs, which would account for some.”

  “Those that were like you. Apt in all the physical challenges Richter put you through as well as those computer skills you so effectively used while attending the school.” Brigitte was grinning.

  Sasha played with her salad. “What if I told you I found an unusual amount of students who have died?”

  Brigitte lost her smile. “If they worked for people like Pohl, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Double agents, spies in general . . . that made sense.

  “And if they didn’t?”

  Brigitte set her fork down. “How many are we talking?”

  “Three that I’ve found so far.”

  Brigitte shook her head. “Linette has a great way of closing off if she feels her security is threatened. Anything that happens outside the walls of Richter is not something she’s interested in. An investigation would lead to all kinds of trouble.”

  “If people are dying—”

  “I’m not saying it’s right. Just that it is. This is why you’re poring over the yearbooks.”

  Sasha pressed her fork into her salad, brought it up to her mouth. “It started out searching for memories. Trying to recapture some of the fire you have when you’re young and stupid enough to believe anything is possible.”

  “And you stumbled upon something else entirely.”

  “I did. I’m not a big believer in coincidence. Although these deaths may be unrelated.”

  “Your gut says otherwise.”

  Sasha nodded. “It does.”

  “I don’t know anyone more qualified to find a connection than you.”

  Sasha took a bite, swallowed it down with the wine. “Wouldn’t Linette be telling you to stop me from looking?”

  “Maybe. I’m not her.”

  Which was a big reason why Sasha trusted Brigitte with the basic facts she’d found out.

  An hour later she was astride her motorcycle and buzzing back to Richter. A few miles away, she stopped at a fuel station and called AJ.

  “About damn time you called.”

  It wasn’t often she was cussed at over the phone. “How do you like the Harrison estate?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m in the Hilton in Berlin.”

  Sasha topped off the gas and returned the nozzle to its holding space. “Didn’t Reed contact you?”

  “I don’t take orders
, Sasha.”

  She glanced around the deserted gas station. “I’m working on intel. I need you to keep low. London is perfect—”

  “When you leave, I’ll go with you to London. Otherwise I’m here.”

  “Why are you being difficult?” He wasn’t safe in Germany. She didn’t know what bugged the shit out of her more . . . the fact he wasn’t taking orders or the fact that she cared for his safety.

  “I’m not leaving now that I know I’m right. I’m not walking away.” His defiance wasn’t expected.

  “We don’t know you’re—”

  “Listen, sweetheart—”

  Sweetheart? “I bust noses for that comment.”

  “Do you like Sex on a Stick better?”

  She glanced down at her black pants, her leather jacket. A slight smile helped ease the tension in her neck.

  Yeah, she did.

  “Fine. Stay in Berlin, but don’t go around asking questions. Use secure networks. I have names for you. Do you have a pen?”

  “Go for it.”

  She told him half a dozen more names she’d found in the yearbooks and encouraged him to notify Reed.

  “I don’t like the idea of you being at that school, poking around,” he told her.

  “There isn’t a safer school in a first world country.”

  “Richter alumni are turning up dead,” he said, as if he cared for her well-being.

  “Do I give you the impression I can’t take care of myself?”

  “You give me the impression that you trust too easily behind those walls. When I confronted Lodovica, I had the distinct feeling she was hiding something.”

  “She’s protecting the school,” Sasha defended the woman, half-heartedly.

  “A little too passionately, if you ask me. What’s in it for her? Wouldn’t a normal dean of a school want to know if their students were being targeted even after they left?” His logic pissed her off.

  “Richter is different. You know that. Now spend your energy looking up those names. Let me handle the school.” Sasha straddled her bike.

  “Fine. Wait. Reed wanted me to tell you that the other name you gave him came up unremarkable. Businessman.”

  Great, now what?

  “You there?”

  “Yeah. I gotta go.”