“I swear, I never stole anything,” she added quickly, forcing herself to keep looking at him when all she wanted to do was run away. “I wouldn’t. You have to believe me. But it’s Paulo and I didn’t know what else to do. I can’t tell Santiago. If he believes me, then I’ve hurt him and his family and if he doesn’t believe me, then he’s hurt me.”
Malcolm stood and put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay. You can stop explaining, Callie. I know you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You do?”
“Sure. Maybe I didn’t trust you when you first arrived, but I do now. You could have taken the money and run. You could have lived off your trust fund. You could have not given a damn about anyone but yourself. But I know you now and I believe you.”
The impossibly heavy weight she’d been carrying lifted. She drew in a full breath for the first time in hours. “Thank you. We need to come up with a plan. Or maybe you do because I’ve been so frantic, I haven’t been able to think straight. And I don’t know what to do about Santiago. He’s important to me and we’re sleeping together and—”
Malcolm groaned and moved away.
“What?” she asked.
“Please don’t tell me you’re sleeping with my best friend. I’m not surprised, but I don’t need details.”
Despite everything, she laughed. “Then I won’t share any except to say he’s really—”
“Stop!”
She held up both hands. “I’m done, I swear.”
He swore. “You can be a pain.”
“So can you.”
“We need a plan.”
“That’s what I said.”
“How do you feel about going undercover?”
chapter twenty-nine
Delaney knew that taking out her frustrations on her bedroom wall rather than a living person was probably a good idea. She just hoped she didn’t regret the outcome.
“You look unsure,” Callie told her.
“A little. I’ve never been the DIY type before, but I’m learning.”
She’d already painted her bedroom a pretty teal color. Now she was going to use two different glazes to sponge paint one of the walls. Callie had volunteered to help. They’d practiced on poster board she’d bought so their sponging techniques were similar.
Her furniture was pushed to one side and draped, she had all the supplies, and Callie was here to help. There was no reason to hesitate. She poured the glaze into two small paint trays, then handed one to Callie.
“Let’s do this.”
“I’m ready.”
Delaney pressed the sea sponge against the wall a few times, then stepped back to study the result.
“I really like this,” she admitted.
“Progress.”
Delaney went back to work. “Speaking of progress, how are things with you and Santiago?”
“They’re, ah, good.”
“You didn’t sound very sure.”
“No. It’s fine. We’re fine. He’s a great guy who treats me well and who loves his family. What’s not to like?”
Delaney glanced at her friend. “Are you all right?”
Callie nodded. “I’m fine. There’s some work drama that’s bothering me, but it’s no big deal. You get too many people in a confined space and it all goes to hell.”
“Tell me about it. You should hear some of the storeroom fights at my job.”
“When are you done with the quarter at school?”
“I take my finals next week.”
Callie turned to her. “Are you kidding? We’re painting the Saturday before finals?”
“Yes. It’s clearing my head. Besides, I’ve been studying a lot. I’ll do fine.”
She’d decided to finish her classes because it was the right thing to do, but she hadn’t sent her application to Bastyr. Her future was still uncertain, but one thing she knew for sure—she was not going to be a naturopath. A career like that required passion and she didn’t have it in her.
“What do you take next?” Callie asked as she pulled the step stool over and climbed up to reach close to the ceiling. “More math?”
“No. I’m not taking any more classes. At least not now. I’m trying to figure out what to do with my life. It feels like everything is suddenly different.”
“I know that one,” Callie said. “How is it different for you?”
“I’m so confused. I’ve been thinking about my past all the time.”
“You mean when you were little? I thought you grew up on a great street with all kinds of people who cared about you.”
“I did. I was well taken care of. But it was only my dad and me and he was gone a lot. Sometimes I felt left behind. I don’t know—I’m not making any sense. It’s just sometimes I wonder if I never got the message that it was okay to take the next step, you know? Grow up and move on. I physically left, but in so many ways I was tied to the same place.”
“Because you were engaged to Tim?”
Delaney nodded. “He kept trying to draw me back and I wanted to be free. Only not free enough to actually separate. I think I always had one foot in each camp, so to speak, and when I lost him, I think I was sort of cut adrift. I didn’t know what to do.”
Callie nodded. “You were devastated. Of course you were confused. Delaney, it’s okay not to know what to do next. Take your time before you decide to figure out what’s right for you.”
“I miss my job at Boeing.”
“Have you talked to anyone there about going back?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
She didn’t want to admit failure. Or what if they said no? Or what if she no longer had her fast-track status?
“I’m scared.”
Callie surprised her by smiling. “We’re all scared. Some of us are just better at faking it.” She nodded toward the big closet. “If you’d truly let go of your former career, you wouldn’t have kept the clothes. They are a physical reminder of who and what you used to be. You loved what you used to do. Most people don’t ever love their job. You should embrace the blessing and do whatever it takes to feel that way again.”
“Sound advice,” Delaney murmured.
“But?”
“I think I’m afraid I’m not allowed to be happy.”
“That’s just sad.”
“I know, but what if it’s true?”
“It isn’t. The only person keeping you from being happy is yourself.”
“How can you be sure?”
Callie got off the step stool and moved to another section of wall. “Being incarcerated isn’t easy. People cope in different ways. I don’t know what it’s like for men, but the women form close bonds. Some are intimate, some aren’t. The ones who make it, the ones who figure out how to get through, have a goal—something they can look forward to. But it’s more than that. They also have an internal peace. When your joy comes from within, no one can take it from you.”
She shrugged. “I never got there. I was counting the days until my release. I was scared and depressed. There’s no way to explain what it’s like to be physically locked in a room. You can’t get out until someone lets you out. You have to find a way to cope or you go crazy.”
She took a breath and reminded herself that was behind her. She was out and she was somewhere so much better.
“I got my GED, earned a few college credits, did my job and kept my head down. But those women who surrendered to the moment, who found their own joy, I always admired them. And what they taught me was that happy comes from inside of us. Circumstances can make it more difficult but the ultimate decision is ours.”
She glanced at Delaney. “If you’re not happy, it’s all on you. If you want to find your way, be your own compass.” She smiled. “Pick your favorite cliché. They’re annoying
but they’re also mostly telling the truth.”
Delaney had always assumed the power came from outside of her. At least she had lately. Not before, she thought wistfully, remembering her determination to make it through college. How she’d worked the program, saving every penny to buy the perfect interview suit. She’d known what she’d wanted and she’d gone for it. She’d been clear on her future.
Except for Tim. She’d loved him and had always only been with him. On the one hand Tim had said he would move with her, if she got a promotion that required that. On the other hand, he’d wanted her to stay home and have babies. Which meant what—that he was as complicated as everyone else?
“I can’t imagine being responsible for my own happiness,” she admitted. “I’ve been drifting so long, just letting things happen.”
“Maybe it’s time to pick a destination.”
Delaney nodded slowly. Callie made a lot of sense. The only question was where did she want to go?
* * *
“You up to this?” Malcolm asked.
“I’m shaking,” Callie admitted. She was more than shaking, but that seemed to be the most polite sensation to admit to, at least out loud.
“You’ll be fine,” Tom, the newly hired private detective, told her as he checked the sound from the microphone that had been clipped to her bra.
Just like on TV, she thought, trying to find humor in the situation, or at least not disaster. Because in her gut, she knew this was going to go badly.
Malcolm had hired Tom, who’d consulted with the Seattle Police Department. In less than three days, the so-called sting had been arranged. All Callie had to do was wait for Paulo to contact her so she could help him and thereby catch it all on a recording.
That was certainly enough to send her screaming into the night, but it wasn’t the absolute worst bit—no, that was saved for her fears about her relationship with Santiago.
They’d just gotten to the good part, she thought wistfully. They were together and having sex and he was so wonderful and he cared about her and made her laugh and she was almost, maybe, totally sure she was falling in love with him, and now this. How was that fair? Paulo was his brother. Santiago was not going to take kindly to hearing about the thefts, and knowing Callie had been a part of taking his brother down, well, she had no idea what going to happen, but it wasn’t going to be good.
Nearly as upsetting was how this was going to affect the rest of the family. What about Hanna and the kids, and Santiago’s mom? Would they blame her, too? Would they understand? She knew she was doing the right thing, but wished it didn’t feel so perilous. She was terrified she was going to lose so much that mattered.
As the waiting was awful, she was grateful when Paulo took only a couple of days to set up a time for her to help him steal the product. They were meeting at the warehouse at eight on Monday night.
“We’ll be in the building,” Tom told her. “Listening to everything. If you feel you’re in danger or that he’s going to hurt you, yell the safe word and we’ll come running.”
She nodded, thinking her screaming African violet was supposed to confuse Paulo and in that second, she was to run. Assuming she wasn’t staring down the barrel of a gun.
No, she told herself. He wasn’t going to shoot her. His plan was about money, not violence. At least she hoped it was.
Tom checked her microphone again. The tiny battery pack was tucked between her breasts so if Paulo patted her down, he was unlikely to feel anything.
“You okay?” Malcolm asked. “I’m worried about you.”
She gave him a fake smile she was pretty sure fooled no one and said, “I want to do this. I have to stand up to my past—otherwise it’s always going to loom over me.” Her smile turned genuine. “Looming is your job.”
He hugged her. “I want you to stay safe.”
“I will. I know a few moves from our new karate classes. Besides, Paulo doesn’t want me, he wants product to sell. We’ll get him and then this will be over.”
There would be consequences, but she would face them later.
Malcolm and Tom left at seven so they could get in place. Callie followed at seven thirty. She left her car parked right by the main entrance where it could easily be seen. She waited by the door, watching for Paulo, only to jump when the door opened from the inside.
“Right on time,” he said, motioning for her to step inside. “You alone?”
She pointed to her car. “You’re welcome to check it out. I swear, I don’t have anyone stashed in the trunk.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “For someone in your position, you have a lot of attitude.”
“I’m operating on adrenaline right now.”
He led the way to the storage area. There were three big carts right outside.
“Stack the boxes on the carts,” he told her. “I want your fingerprints on every one of them.”
Her sense of dread grew by the second. Thank goodness she’d gone to Malcolm—otherwise she would have been terrified she really was being set up to take the blame for all the thefts.
She carried dozens of boxes—they were bulky, but not heavy. Still, by the tenth trip, she was starting to breathe heavily. At least the physical activity had burned off her nerves. She was working too hard to be shaking.
“I need to take a break,” she said, putting down a box and wiping her face. “You know, you could help.”
“I could, but I won’t.”
She studied him. “You don’t like me, do you?”
“I don’t care about you, Callie. You’re a symptom, not the problem.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Trying to get me to talk about it? Going to psychoanalyze me?”
“I wouldn’t begin to try that, but I am curious. You have so much, Paulo. Your family, a good job. Why are you doing this?”
His expression sharpened. “I have so much? You mean my brother has everything. He always did. He’s bigger, stronger, faster. Do you know he could have played pro ball and he walked away from it? Who does that? Asshole. I would have taken the contract in a second. But not Santiago. He went and got his MBA, then worked for a hedge fund.”
“I don’t understand. You’re angry because he’s successful?” Not that she wanted to know any of this, but her gut—trained over several years of incarceration—told her while he was talking, she was safe.
“I’m angry because he never had to work for anything. It was all handed to him.”
Callie knew that wasn’t true. She remembered what Santiago had told her about his struggles with his schoolwork and how he’d always assumed he was dumb. How he’d practiced hard, done the drills, stayed in shape and had peed blood after games in college. He’d more than paid the price for anything he’d achieved.
“Do you know what he does now?” he asked bitterly. “He helps. My brother takes care of his family.”
“Why is that bad?”
“I don’t want him taking care of me. He bought our house. Hanna’s graduating from nursing school and my brother wants to send us to Hawaii. It’s demeaning. Always the hero.”
He was interrupted when the buzzer at the warehouse door went off. Callie jumped.
“What’s that?”
“Relax. It’s my buddy. We have to get this stuff out of here.” He looked around. “Hell, we should just take it all and make it look like a break-in.”
“What about the security cameras and the alarm system?”
Paulo’s look was pitying. “All taken care of.” He eyed her. “I think we will take it all and then leave enough evidence that points to you. How about that? Only you’d tell if it were that big, wouldn’t you? Which leaves me with an interesting dilemma.”
Callie didn’t know what made a person cross the line from stealing to something more violent and she really didn’t want to find out. She
was pretty sure Paulo wouldn’t hurt her, but she was less confident about his friend.
“There’s a batch of expensive cocoa in the vat,” she said to distract him. “That has to be worth a lot.”
He turned in that direction. “You’re right. My clients really like it. I’ve been making a whole lot more than you’d think selling this stuff. I have an online store and everything.” His smile turned sly. “And it’s all mine. Hanna has no clue. Now get back to work.”
She turned to the boxes and picked up the next one. She’d barely set it on the cart when nearly a half dozen police officers rushed in, their guns pointed at Paulo.
“Hands in the air! Don’t make any sudden moves.”
Paulo swung toward her. “You bitch! You set me up.”
Malcolm appeared and stepped between her and Paulo. “No, she didn’t. I did.” He put his arm around her. “You okay?”
“I will be.”
“You’ll pay for this,” Paulo screamed as he was handcuffed. “You’ll be sorry. Santiago is never going to forgive you. I’m family and you’re just some piece of ass. Worse, he needs to be the hero and you’ve shown him he’s nothing but a mark. You’ll see. You’re going to be ruined. Everyone is going to know.”
He was still yelling when he was led away.
Malcolm pulled her close. “They got his accomplice. Tom is already looking for the website. We’ll get access to all his bank records, then figure out where the money is. Insurance will cover the losses. You did good. Thank you.”
She stepped back and tried to smile, only to realize she was shaking again. Not just because of the adrenaline, but because she was afraid Paulo was right—Santiago valued family above all and she’d just ripped his apart.
* * *
Santiago drove to the warehouse, not sure what could be happening on a Monday night that required his attention, but Malcolm had texted to ask him to stop by.
He pulled into the parking lot and got out of his SUV only to realize there were several police cars right by the warehouse. The main doors were open and the lights were on inside.
“Well, hell,” he muttered. He and Malcolm had both suspected the so-called thief had been set up, but they hadn’t been sure. Malcolm had mentioned he was working on something. Apparently he’d figured out who was doing what and had called in the authorities. But why hadn’t he told Santiago?
When We Found Home Page 35
