The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  I’m not going to say what I think. If I tell him I’m planning to confront her, he won’t like it. “The police investigated her, and they said they’re suspicious but she has solid alibis,” I tell him. “That’s why they want to talk to everyone else.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t count her out yet.” His gaze unfocuses as he stares into the distance. “Jesus, Hannah. How many times …” He shakes himself and looks at me, halfway to smiling. “So, what do I tell them about you?” he says. “Are you my ex?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply, matching his teasing tone. “I mean, we never officially broke up. So … am I?”

  He clutches the arms of the wheelchair and pushes to his feet. It seems a lot easier for him to stand now. “I’d rather you weren’t, actually,” he murmurs as he takes a step toward me. “My ex, I mean. I’d really like you to be my now.”

  His hands settle on my waist, and I slip my arms around him. “Are you asking me out, Mr. Dowling?” I say.

  “No. I’m asking you to stay.” One hand comes up to caress my face, and I shiver pleasantly. “Stay mine, Celine,” he whispers. “I never should’ve walked away from you.”

  I lean into him. “I can do that.”

  He groans and kisses me, a proper kiss. “Come back tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow, or the next day,” I tell him with regret. I can’t be sure how long it will take to deal with Hannah, but I want to be sure she doesn’t cause any problems for me. For us. “We’ve got time now.”

  He agrees reluctantly, and after a few more very nice goodbyes, I head out. His mother will be swooping in soon, anyway, and I’d rather not get hit by her broomstick. But the next time I see her, I won’t run. The new Celine doesn’t run from problems.

  No matter how hard they are to face.

  I’m alone in the elevator, headed for the parking garage when my phone rings. This time I recognize Detective Chambers’ number and answer right away.

  “Ms. Bauman, we’ve got the results from your phone,” he says. “The number those texts came from is impossible to trace. It’s one of those free disposable ones you can sign up for online. We’re putting pressure on the company that supplies the numbers to dig through their records, but it’s slow going.” He pauses, and adds, “But the lab did find something else.”

  “What?” I say, just as the elevator dings and the doors open.

  “Where are you?” Chambers says.

  “The hospital. I was visiting Brad.”

  “Did you tell him we’re going to interview him?”

  “Yes.” I don’t care if he doesn’t like it.

  But he just says, “Good. That’ll make things easier, if he knows we’re coming.”

  “Glad to help,” I say as I step off the elevator and start across the glass walkway to the garage. “What about my phone?”

  He sighs. “There’s a hidden tracking app installed on it. We’re not sure yet when it was placed, but … it tracks the phone’s location, records calls and texts, and it allows for remote access to the phone, including Facebook. Which you have installed and logged in.”

  I’m so horrified, I have to stop walking for a minute. “Someone’s been listening to my calls and tracking my phone?” I gasp.

  “I’m afraid so. And this app is even harder to trace than the disposable number.”

  A hard shudder nearly drops me. At least that explains the text I got when I visited Brad the first time. They knew I was at the hospital.

  “What should I do?” I say as I get moving toward my car again.

  “For starters, keep using the phone you have,” he says. “Have you noticed anything else behaving strangely, as far as electronics? Any problems with computers or laptops?”

  My heart sinks as I remember the license fiasco, how the auto-fill was disabled and the computer skipped and lagged so much, with that weird, fast-blinking cursor. And I recall that it’s done that more than once after the license thing. I never thought anything of it. “My computer at work,” I say. “There’s something wrong with it.”

  “Do you mind if we pick that up and bring it to the lab for testing?”

  “No, take it. I want this person found.”

  Unless I find her first.

  Detective Chambers assures me that everything will be fine, and I hang up still not believing him. But I’m going to change that.

  I’m actually looking forward to confronting Hannah.

  Chapter 21

  The police make it to Hughes Real Estate before I do, and my computer tower is gone when I get there, though they’ve left the monitor and mouse behind. Maxine, Sabrina, and Courtney are clustered at the reception desk, talking in a huddle that breaks up when I walk in, and both Sabrina and Maxine start toward me.

  “Celine, what’s going on?” Maxine says with a shrill edge to her voice. “There were police officers here, and they took your computer. They said you gave them permission.”

  “Yes, I did.” I move around my desk to the chair side and start opening drawers, looking for the digital camera I use for staging photos. “Where’s Hannah?”

  Sabrina stares at me, open-mouthed. “Who cares about Hannah? What about the police?”

  I slam a desk drawer shut, making them both jump, and glare at Sabrina. “Who cares about the police?”

  “What’s gotten into you, Celine?” Maxine says. “You need to tell me what’s going on. That computer is company property, and I’d better get it back.”

  For another minute I ignore her, and finally locate my camera. I straighten and toss it into my briefcase, and then walk back around the desk toward the other women. “The police are investigating a couple of murders,” I say, watching the shock form on their faces. “They took my computer, because someone is targeting me. Someone who wants to fuck with my life and take everything away from me. That wouldn’t be you, would it, Sabrina?” I add with a sugary-sweet smile.

  Her jaw drops. “What are you saying? I never —”

  “Muscled in on my commission, because you were jealous?” I say. “Of course you didn’t. I just hope the police believe you, since they’re going to question you.”

  Sabrina’s mouth flaps open and shut like a beached fish, and her face turns several interesting colors. “Oh my God, did you tell them I murdered someone?” she finally gasps. “Are you crazy? I don’t even know who you’re talking about!”

  “Sure you do. Rosalie Phillips and Teryn Holmes,” I say. “But don’t worry, Sabrina, I didn’t tell them. They’re just questioning all of Brad’s ex-girlfriends. And I know how proud you are of being with Brad.”

  “Really, Celine,” Maxine interjects. “I know you’re upset about the Quintaine deal, but you’re accusing Sabrina of murder?”

  “I’m not accusing anyone. The police are,” I say, throwing her a challenging look. “And I’ve got work to do right now. So … where’s Hannah?”

  Maxine finally backs off. “She’s not coming in today,” she says weakly. “She called and said she had a long night.”

  Yes, I’ll bet she did. I hope they grilled her like a steak.

  “Fine. I’ll do the staging myself,” I say. “And I’m sure the police will bring your computer back soon. By the way, Sabrina … I wouldn’t leave town, if I were you. It’ll look suspicious.”

  I walk out of the office, leaving them to gape at my back.

  By the time I reach my car, the adrenaline has worn off and I’m badly shaken. But I don’t regret anything I said in there. I know people are used to me being a doormat, so this new Celine who doesn’t back down is going to be hard to take at first.

  It’s harder on me than it is on them. I’m still moving forward, but my spine isn’t growing as fast as I’d like. Every confrontation takes more out of me than the one before. I start to hope that confidence is like a muscle, that it’ll get stronger the more I use it. But I have my doubts.

  When I’m calm enough to drive, I head across town to the new listing. This one is a four-bed, two-and-a-half b
ath Tudor that’s not as elaborate as the Quintaines’ Victorian — it doesn’t have a pool, for one — but it’s still very nice, and the owners are much friendlier. It sits on two partially wooded acres with a private pond in the back, and the interior is luxury everything. There’s even a home theater with actual rows of seats.

  Staging this place isn’t difficult. Most of it is impeccably clean, and the owners have already moved out, so I don’t have to work around anxious sellers as I wipe and dust the few areas that need it and take photo after photo. This part of my job relaxes me; I enjoy framing and snapping the perfect picture to showcase a room or a feature, getting those just-right shots that capture the character of a home. For a while I’m able to forget about everything that’s going wrong.

  But eventually reality intrudes, and it’s time to head to the school. I’ll get there early, but I don’t mind waiting. I hit a drive-thru for coffee on the way back through Wolfsbrook and pull into the school parking lot around 2:30, planning to wait in the car until classes are dismissed.

  My plans change when I spot a slender platinum-blond figure standing behind the fence next to the school, in almost the exact same spot I first saw her.

  Hannah.

  I grab my purse and phone, get out of the car, and make my way toward the school, fueled by growing rage at what she’s done to Brad — and to me. She sees me coming when I reach the sidewalk, and she actually smiles and starts to wave.

  At least until I’m close enough for her to see my face.

  “Celine?” Her brow furrows into a question that she doesn’t ask.

  “Hello, Hannah.” I stop on the other side of the fence, feeling my heartbeat in my ears and my pulse fluttering in my throat. “Did you have a nice chat with the police last night?”

  Her red lips part in shock. “How did you …”

  “Oh, I know all about you,” I say. “Your parents, the fire, where you’ve been for the past five years. And I know about Brad,” I grind out.

  She takes a step back, her vivid blue eyes blinking rapidly. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m not saying anything. Except that you’re Brad’s psycho ex-girlfriend, and two women who used to date him are dead.” I fold my arms and meet her stare. “Do you even have a daughter?” I say. “You know what? Never mind, don’t answer that. What I really want to know is, did the police bother to ask whether you sent those texts to me?”

  “What texts?” she whispers. “Celine, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re trying to get back at Brad, and destroy me.”

  She gasps. Her red lips quiver, and her eyes gleam with tears. She stands there for a long moment with her model-perfect face twitching and turning red. Finally, she screams, “I didn’t do anything!” Then she whirls and runs away, across the grass, leaving a trail of sobs behind.

  Funny. She forgot to pick up her daughter.

  Chapter 22

  Alyssa and I are cleaning up from dinner that night when my phone rings. It’s Jill. I tell my daughter that she can go ahead and pick a movie to watch, and that I’ll finish up and bring dessert out. I wait until she’s in the living room before I answer the call.

  “Hey, honey,” Jill says. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m still here,” I say with a laugh. “Thanks again for last night, by the way.”

  “Totally no problem. Did they arrest anybody yet?”

  I heave a breath. “They’re not even close,” I say. “But they’ve ruled out Hannah. She has alibis.”

  “Oh my God, seriously? She’s so guilty it hurts.”

  I’ve been thinking about that, and I’m not entirely convinced anymore. Hannah seemed genuinely shocked when I confronted her. But then, Brad did say that she’s manipulative, so maybe she’s just that good.

  Unfortunately, I do have to consider that it might not be her.

  “I guess they’re still suspicious, but they can’t arrest her,” I say to Jill as I take the last of the dishes from the dining room into the kitchen. “They’re going around questioning all of Brad’s exes now.”

  Jill laughs. “That’s going to take a while.”

  “Tell me about it.” I decide not to mention the conversation I had with Brad this morning … not yet. It’s still too fresh, too mine to share. “Anyway, at least I’ve stopped getting texts,” I say. “All this activity must be scaring Hannah, or whoever it is.”

  “You really don’t think it’s her now?” Jill says.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. But I can’t worry about her.”

  “Well, okay. Just be careful,” she says. “Celine, do you want me to come over and stay the night again? In case something happens.”

  My first instinct is to say yes. I’m still scared, even though I’m outwardly handling it better. But I can’t turn Jill into a crutch. That’s not fair to her, or me. “No,” I say. “Thank you, but we’ll be fine.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure,” she says. “In that case, I’ve got good news for you.”

  I smile. Good news is definitely welcome right now. “Lay it on me.”

  “You’re not going to believe this.” She pauses for effect. “I have a date tonight.”

  “No way!” I practically squeal. Jill hasn’t been out on a date in almost a year. She tries to claim it’s because work keeps her busy, but I know she just hasn’t found anyone she’s all that interested in. “With who?”

  “Remember Hunter from Old City?”

  “Oh my God. That smoking hot guy with the tattoos we met that night with Hannah?”

  “Yep, him.” I can hear the grin in her voice. “He’s taking me to Bel Votre.”

  Holy crap. That’s probably the most expensive restaurant in Oslow. If he’s taking her to the city, he’s probably serious. “Oh, wow. That’s awesome, Jill,” I say. “You’d better have an amazing time!”

  “I think I will,” she says. “But … are you sure you’re okay, Celine?”

  “I’m fine. And if you don’t go, I might have to kick your ass,” I say with a laugh.

  She snorts. “Maybe I won’t. Just because I’d really love to see you try.”

  “Go. Date Hunter. Have a good time,” I say. “And tell me all about it tomorrow.”

  “Will do, dahling. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  I hang up and head for the freezer to scoop out bowls of strawberry ice cream. When I bring them to the living room, Alyssa is on the couch, watching Nanny McPhee. She turns and lights up as I walk toward her. “Ice cream!” she says. “Is it strawberry?”

  “Is there any other kind?” I say, smiling as I sit next to her and hand her a bowl. “This is a great movie. I’m glad you picked it.”

  “Yes. It’s funny,” she says. “Izzy told me this is her favorite.”

  I’m glad that my daughter’s made such a good friend already. I remember what she told me about Izzy the other night, how her mother doesn’t like her, and wonder if I can do anything about it. “Hey, munchkin. Do you want to invite Izzy over to play sometime?”

  “You mean here, at our house?” she says with a broad smile. “Yes! Can she come over tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. That might not work,” I say, sorry to disappoint her. “Tomorrow is Saturday, and you don’t have school. We’d have to find out where Izzy lives and ask her mommy if it’s okay to come over. How about you talk to her on Monday about it?”

  “Okay,” Alyssa says, happily enough. “But not her real mommy.”

  I frown slightly. “What about her?”

  “We can’t ask her real mommy.” My daughter swings her legs and eats a spoonful of ice cream. “We have to ask her Mama Julie.”

  Julie. Where have I heard that name before?

  “All right, then. We can talk to Izzy about all this on Monday.”

  Alyssa seems satisfied with that.

  I’m still trying to remember where I’ve heard the name Julie when my phone rings, and the nu
mber on the screen is Detective Chambers. “I have to answer the phone, munchkin, okay?” I say, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

  “’Kay,” she mutters around a mouthful of ice cream.

  She’s really into the movie, and she hardly notices when I get up and walk into the dining room. “Detective,” I say when I answer the phone. “How’s it going?”

  “Frustratingly slow,” he sighs. “We’ve only checked on a third of the exes so far. But I wanted to tell you about your work computer.”

  “You found something on it, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. The same type of backdoor program that’s on your phone,” he says. “But it looks like this one was exclusively used for remote access.”

  I only have a vague idea of what that is, so I decide to ask him a specific question. “If I tried to renew my real estate license online from that computer, would whoever used that program be able to screw it up?”

  The detective pauses. “Probably,” he says. “They’d be able to get into your IP settings and reroute forms and data. There’s a lot you can do with remote access.”

  “Okay.” I let out a breath. “Well, thanks again.”

  “Listen, Ms. Bauman,” the detective says uncomfortably. “I know we got off on the wrong foot, but … I’m sorry about all this. And I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you, like that we’ve caught whoever’s doing this. I promise, we’re going to.”

  “It’s fine. And I appreciate that,” I say.

  We hang up, and I head back to the living room to be with my daughter. My strawberry ice cream is melting, but I don’t mind. It’s still sweet.

  Just like my revenge is going to be.

  Chapter 23

  I’ve decided to go to Hannah’s housewarming party after all. The blunt approach didn’t work out so well, so I’ll switch tactics. I’ll be her friend and tell her how understanding I am about Brad, and maybe she’ll open up to me and confess. Or maybe I’ll find out that it’s not her, after all.