Anonymous Encounters (The Billionaires Club Book 5)

by Cassandra Dee

  “Honey, we’re more than sure about entering the Academy,” said Blake confidently. “We’re perfect fits, in fact.”

  “Oh, have the test results come back already?” I asked curiously. I knew the twins had sat for psychological assessments recently but hadn’t expected the results to come back so fast. Typically government bureaucracy took months, if not years.

  But it seemed that last week’s results were already available.

  “Yep, scored 95 and 99 percent,” said Blake, nodding at his brother with a grin. “Like I said, we’re perfect fits for our dream job.”

  And my heart dropped a little. I knew they were good, I didn’t know they were great. But Blake changed the subject abruptly.

  “Honey, about that Adams boy, did you know him well? I think you’d mentioned that his parents sponsored your seat right?” He was referring to the fact that I was a charity student at Canterdale, my tuition subsidized by a generous donation from an anonymous donor.

  “Well, I’m not totally sure the Adams endowed my scholarship,” I said slowly. “The district never says for sure, but I thought they did because Mr. and Mrs. Adams have always made an effort to be nice to me throughout the years,” I said. “Ever since third grade, when I started in this zone,” I clarified.

  “Did you pay them a visit after their son died?” Blake asked.

  I hung my head with shame. After Brian passed unexpectedly from a seizure during football practice, his parents had secluded themselves and I hadn’t made an effort to reach out, to see if there was anything I could do. I felt guilty. The Adams had always been nice to me in the past, a kindly older couple who’d made sure to ask about my schoolwork, my grades, how I was doing in general. One year, I remember it was especially cold and they’d presented me with a winter jacket for Christmas.

  “But it’s not even December yet!” I’d gasped when I’d opened the gift. I’d never had something so nice, the downy purple material soft and warm.

  “Oh honey,” said Jane Adams gently, “we thought you looked a little cold when we bumped into you on campus last week, you didn’t have a jacket on, not even a sweater,” she reprimanded gently.

  I remembered that day. I’d been coming out of science class and unexpectedly run into John and Jane Adams, shivering a bit as I made conversation outside the classroom. But I hadn’t expected something as generous as a puffy winter jacket, new and unused. Their thoughtfulness was overwhelming and really touched me.

  “Thank you,” I’d murmured, gratefully slipping into the coat. My family wasn’t poor, but Mom had been distracted with Jenna’s issues and hadn’t had time to go shopping with me, much less buy groceries or cook. So I’d been getting by on my own, wearing threadbare clothes from last year.

  Jane Adams just chuckled in reply. “You let us know if you need anything, okay?” she asked gently. “We’re always here, and I know you’re good friends with Brian.”

  I was friends with their son. Friends since third grade, in fact, but we weren’t close anymore. It was just a part of growing up. Brian was into football, sports, hanging out with the cool kids, while I wasn’t exactly cool … more of a wallflower, unnoticed, the shy girl.

  But Brian was still nice to me, acknowledging me in the hallways, occasionally carrying my bag if it was really heavy. We just hadn’t had any meaningful conversation in years now, our separate interests leading us down different paths.

  So I was ashamed. Brian had died about two months ago under horrific circumstances and I hadn’t had the basic decency to pay my respects to his parents.

  “Um, no,” I said shamefacedly, not looking up at Blake and Bryan. “I should have, I know. I should have at least sent the Adams a card or something at least,” I mumbled, still not looking up.

  I felt a big hand stroke my shoulder.

  “Baby, don’t worry about it,” growled Bryan. “Grief does strange things to people and it takes time to get your bearings. Maybe the Adams didn’t even want you to come around, they weren’t taking visitors.”

  That made me feel marginally better, but only marginally.

  “No, I think I should visit them,” I said, straightening on the couch. “It’s time. I shouldn’t wait anymore, and if they’re not ready, it’s okay, I can come back some other time,” I said resolutely. I’d get them some flowers maybe, and a card, to express my condolences. I could always leave those on the doorstep if they didn’t answer the bell.

  “Good idea, honey,” said Blake. “We’ll go with you for the visit. It won’t be easy,” he said softly, rubbing my thigh reassuringly, “but we’ve got your back.”

  And I was grateful. Grateful that I had these men, that they were my everything now. Because even for the most difficult of tasks, they were my back-ups … just like true family.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Bryan

  Callie looked around nervously as we stood on the doorstep. She was dwarfed by a huge bouquet in her arms, the long fronds and lavish flowers protruding this way and that, causing her to bend awkwardly as she rang the bell.

  Out pealed a melodious chime and the three of us were silent, seeing if we could hear any movement inside, our ears alert and aware. The Adams had just lost their only son, and it was totally possible that they wouldn’t be answering their door, instead letting visitors come and go without acknowledgment.

  So we stood in silence, waiting quietly but also in awe of the gorgeous surroundings. The white colonial was a mansion, the gleaming clapboard surrounded by a manicured garden. And there had to be someone inside because the Jag in the driveway had just been driven, judging from the slight drip of motor oil staining the drive way.

  But it’s okay. Sometimes people don’t want visitors and we’d give the Adams a pass given the tragedy they’d experienced. The three of us were turning to go when suddenly the door cracked open slightly, a pair of faded blue eyes peering out at us.

  “Oh Callie,” said an old lady. “It’s you. Thank you for coming,” she said as she opened the door wider. And I could see this was a woman in the throes of grief. Her clothes were rumpled and stained, her grey hair matted, looking like it hadn’t been combed in months.

  “Mrs. Adams,” said Callie sorrowfully. “I’m so sorry about Brian. Here, I- I- wanted to bring you these,” she said awkwardly, thrusting the bouquet towards the older woman. “We don’t have to come in or anything, I just wanted you to know that we’re thinking of you. Me and Bryan and Blake,” she clarified, gesturing to my brother and I. “Bryan and Blake are new students at Canterdale.”

  Mrs. Adams’ eyes filled up with tears again.

  “Canterdale High,” she said faintly. “I can barely even think about Canterdale now that my poor Brian’s gone. You know how much he loved that school, he was so into school spirit and the sports teams,” she said softly.

  “Of course I remember,” said Callie. “Brian was the star of the football team.”

  Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration. From our investigation, we knew that the Adams kid had been a decent second-string player, not a stand-out. But why shame the dead? Only speak good of those who can no longer speak for themselves.

  Callie continued. “Is there anything we can help with? You and Mr. Adams have always done so much for me, it’s the least I can do.”

  Mrs. Adams breathed in deeply and closed her eyes for a moment.

  “We’ve always had a commitment to the school and that’s not going to end because of our son’s death,” she said, resolutely lifting her chin. “Come in Callie, please sit and have some tea.”

  Our girl’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you Mrs. Adams, I’d love to,” she said, and we stepped over the threshold into the imposing mansion.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Blake

  Callie doesn’t know it, but my brother and I have our suspicions about Jane and John Adams. On the surface, they’re a perfect family. Generous donors to Canterdale, even sponsoring a scholarship for needy students, with a perfect, athletic son w
ho was Harvard-bound.

  But often it’s those who appear immaculate on the outside who have secrets to hide. And we’d been tipped off by an unexpected source … Valerie, Chrissy’s sister.

  The tip had been unexpected. Bryan and I had been at the library, ostensibly studying but really trying to get to know some of the honors students who had palled around with Brian Adams and Tyler Needham. After two hours of uninterrupted reading, a bunch of kids decided to step outside for a break, a few surreptitiously lighting cigarettes.

  It was here that a girl with bleached blonde hair, slightly overweight but still attractive, approached the group.

  “Oh great,” groaned Amy, a fussbudget. “The former prom queen is back.”

  That was interesting. Why would someone who’d already graduated stop by study hall?

  The girl sauntered over.

  “Hey,” she said directly to us. “I’m Val. You’re Blake and Bryan, right? The new guys?”

  It was strange that she knew our names. But okay, we’d roll with it.

  “Yeah, I’m Bryan, this is Blake,” drawled my brother. “Can we help you?”

  “Not here,” she said, her nose wrinkling, looking around like there was a bad smell. “This isn’t exactly where I’m most comfortable, if you get what I mean,” she said, eyeing the honors students with suspicion.

  And they were eyeing her back with just as much distaste. I could see why. Val was dressed in wildly clashing leggings and a fur vest with heavy make-up, while the kids we were with were straight shooters, wearing button-down shirts with carefully pressed jeans.

  “Val, just leave them alone,” said Amy, the bossy girl. “Your time at Canterdale is over, seriously just go,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  Valerie assumed a nasty expression.

  “Shut up,” she spat. “You know nothing about me and besides, I never graduated. Maybe I’ll re-enroll and make your life hell,” she threatened.

  “Oh god,” said another unnamed girl. “Spare us, please.”

  But we wanted to hear what the girl had to say. So I stubbed out my cigarette and turned to Amy.

  “Be back in five. Come on Bryan,” I said. “Let’s go to the bodega around the corner, I could use a coffee.” High school kids were always there, buying sandwiches and drinks and whatnot. We wouldn’t stand out.

  And at the bodega, Val was shameless.

  “Buy me a hot dog?” she said, a dog already in her hand.

  Bryan snorted. “We’re not exactly millionaires,” he said darkly. “We live in a trailer.”

  “Oh I know,” the blonde wheedled. “But I could use a hot dog to relax, you know loosen up a little.”

  “Fine,” said my brother gracelessly, plunking another five on the counter. I knew he’d bill this to the SFPD.

  The girl began gobbling up the hot dog as I tapped my foot impatiently.

  “So what did you have to tell us?” I asked. There was work to be done, and I didn’t want to waste time.

  “I was just wondering,” she said through gobbled mouthfuls of food. “Didn’t you guys do a make-up for biology recently?”

  That caused us to stop short. Yeah, we’d made-up the missed class and that’s where we discovered the cat with balloons of cocaine inside. The techs at the station had since confirmed that it was pure 100% Colombian shit. Quality product, not your usual street-level powder cut with detergent and wood pulp.

  “Yeah,” tossed off my brother nonchalantly. “What of it?”

  “Well,” said Valerie, still chewing. “I’d talk to the Adams about it.”

  What the fuck? Did she mean the John and Jane Adams, the parents of the dead boy? Upstanding citizens and all that?

  As if reading my mind, the chubby girl nodded, still chewing. “Yep, those Adams,” she confirmed.

  “Why?” I asked harshly. “And what does this have to do with us? We’re just transfers at Canterdale.”

  That made the girl snort, almost spurting hot dog from her nose.

  “Please,” she laughed, the first time we’d heard a genuine sound leave her mouth. “You’re not senior transfers at all. Who transfers during their senior year, months before graduation? And who looks like you when they transfer?” she asked, pointedly gazing at our masculine physiques. “You’re athletes, real athletes, not seventeen year-old boys pretending to play football.”

  And she had a point there. I guess people are willing to suspend disbelief, but only when they want to. This mess of a girl, Valerie, had caught on immediately that something wasn’t right.

  “Listen,” I said. There was no point beating around the bush. We only had a week left before the Cap had to report to City Hall, and desperately needed to break the case. “What do you know?”

  But Valerie was done. “See for yourself,” she said ominously. “Go and face the Adams … and be prepared,” she warned, before turning to leave the bodega. “They’re no joke.”

  I had no idea what she meant by that, but her comments had led us to this mansion, the setting a chintzy living room with an elderly, grieving mother and our best girl trying to make awkward conversation

  “Mrs. Adams,” said Callie softly, a teacup balanced on her knee, “I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m sorry that I didn’t come earlier to visit,” she said, hanging her head. “I should have, I know.”

  The older woman stroked the brunette’s curls, her withered hand trembling slightly.

  “Don’t worry honey,” she said softly. “We’ve all had a lot going on lately. John and I … we’ve fallen apart in the worst possible way.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” asked Callie hopefully, her eyes wide. “You know I’d do anything.”

  This made the older woman pause.

  “Well, we need some help sorting through Brian’s things,” she said, her voice trailing off. “We put them in the basement after his passing but it can’t stay there forever.”

  I could see Callie go green at the thought of touching the dead boy’s possessions. First the cat, now this. Our girl hadn’t had a lot of luck getting plum assignments recently.

  But my brother and I were more than happy to step in.

  “We’ve got it under control, Mrs. Adams, just tell us where to look and we’ll bring the boxes up,” said Blake, standing up.

  “Oh thank you,” said Jane. “There are some plastic bins just to the left of the entrance. If you could haul them up the stairs, I’d be so grateful.”

  And so my brother and I got up to make ourselves useful. The basement was accessible through a narrow, dark stairway, and I admit, we were intent on snooping around down there. After what Valerie had told us, we’d be idiots not to at least look.

  It was damned dark downstairs, and Bryan felt around for a light switch, clicking on a single harsh, bare bulb. Nope, nothing looked out of place, just your usual storage space jam-packed full with an assortment of athletic equipment, a washer-dryer, that kind of thing.

  “You take the left, I’ll take the right,” whispered Bryan, indicating the rows of bins on either side. We’d poke around a bit, see if anything interesting came up.

  But that was when the door to the basement slammed shut, the bulb simultaneously snapping off to plunge us into darkness.

  Instead of screaming or shouting, our police training immediately kicked in. I could sense Bryan reaching for his gun and I did the same. Yes, we were wearing concealed weapons, and rightfully so given that this mansion was a place of suspicion.

  “You take the left, I’ll take the right,” muttered Bryan again, repeating his phrase from before.

  Because we were prepared … to fight or die.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Callie

  The tea was slightly rancid, but I didn’t say anything. I was here for more important things, mainly consoling my benefactors, Mr. and Mrs. Adams.

  “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do,” I said, tentatively biting into a cookie as we waited for Bryan and Blake to come up from
the basement. “I’m not sure exactly how I can be helpful, but really anything, just ask.”

  Just then, a door slammed shut loudly, jarring in the quiet.

  “What was that, my dear?” asked Mrs. Adams, perking up a bit. “What were you saying?”

  Was it my imagination or had the older woman just dropped ten years from her appearance? She was already sitting up straighter, looking healthier, more vigorous.

  “I was just saying that I’d be happy to help you out with anything you might need. You’ve been so kind to me over the years.”

  “Oh yes,” said Mrs. Adams, taking a big gulp of tea. Okay, it definitely wasn’t my imagination. Just two minutes earlier she hadn’t been able to drink anything, the grief overwhelming, and now here she was guzzling like a hungry bear.

  “Mrs. Adams?” I said, as the woman looked around the living room. “You were saying?” I asked, perplexed.

  “Oh honey,” said the older lady, her voice strong and assured. “You have no idea of the big favor you’ve done.”

  I was really confused now.

  “But I haven’t done anything,” I murmured, looking around. Was she referring to the flowers? “I mean, we haven’t sorted through your son’s stuff yet, not that I don’t want to, I’m just saying that I haven’t done anything of value.”

  That made the older woman laugh.

  “You silly, silly girl,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You really have no idea, do you?”

  Now I was genuinely confused.

  “Mrs. Adams,” I said, setting my teacup down carefully. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Please, enlighten me.” Where were Bryan and Blake?

  But the woman saw me looking around and laughed raucously.

  “Those boys aren’t going to be able to help you … and boys isn’t the right word to describe them either,” she snarked.

  Of course not, they were more manly than most of the men I knew. Bryan and Blake were mature, giving, kind and had it together. That was saying a lot more than many adults out there.