A Dangerous Widow (Dangerous #1)

by Christina Ross

  “Shoved down?”

  “Yes.”

  “By whom?”

  “All I can see is a woman dressed in black. And she’s wearing a black ski mask. I know it’s a woman from her shape. I can see Michael coming out of his office and moving toward the staircase and she is rushing up behind him. Shoving him. Murdering him.”

  “My God,” Laura said. “Kate, I had no idea that it would come to this.”

  I loved my friend, but I ignored her. Instead, I focused on Rhoda.

  “Tell me how anyone could have gotten into our house?” I said. “We had a security system in place. It was the best on the market.”

  “The woman in black—she got in with your cleaning lady, who had the code to your house. What was her name? Linda?”

  I felt my heart sink as I said, “Lydia. But she swore to what she saw. I knew that woman for five years—and while she has since passed, she was nothing if not honest. She loved us. She saw us as her family, as we did her. I know that she did.”

  “She did, but she still lied about what she saw that day.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that woman held a gun to her head and threatened her. Lydia was given an ultimatum. She could lie to the police, or she could tell them the truth. If she did the latter, she was told that she and her family would be murdered. Lydia believed the woman—why wouldn’t she? She’d witness what had happened to Michael. She felt that she had no choice but to lie. She had to protect her husband and children.”

  “Who is this woman?”

  “All I can see is her mask. Kate, what you need to know is that Lydia didn’t mean to betray you. She feared for her life and for her family’s life. She felt that she had no choice but to lie to the police. And to you. But the grief she felt for having lied to all of you overwhelmed her until her death. I can tell you that she was so scared, she felt that she had no choice but to follow through with that woman’s orders. She was to tell you and the police that your dog—what was his name?”

  “Bruiser.”

  “Bruiser,” she said. “A Great Dane, right?”

  Incredulously, I said, “Yes…”

  “That it was Bruiser who rushed up the staircase and accidentally slammed against Michael’s legs, thus presumably creating the ‘accident’ that caused his death. Lydia was convincing when the police questioned her because she was frightened to her core. The police believed her story. You did, as well. In the end, it was considered nothing more than a tragic accident. But it was no accident, Kate. Michael was murdered.”

  Unable to take anymore of this, I stood on unsteady feet. Laura joined me and put her hand on my shoulder to steady me.

  “I need to go.”

  “Before you do,” Rhoda said, “I need you to listen to me one final time. While you’re still with me. Are you with me?”

  “I want out.”

  “You need to listen to me,” she said sternly.

  And so I looked at her.

  “There is a man in this city who can help you.”

  “What man?”

  “You were close to him once—in fact, you dated him for three years. You went to junior and senior prom with him. He was your first love—and also the man you first made love with. I’m so worked up right now, I can’t make out his name. But I can see him. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Handsome. Well built. You were together from junior year in high school until freshman year in college. I don’t see any hard feelings surrounding your breakup, but I do see sadness. And heartbreak. And love.”

  “Are you saying that Ben is here? In Manhattan?”

  “Ben!” she said. “That’s his name. And he is in Manhattan. He’s become a private investigator since you last saw him. He’s a former SEAL. He can help you—I know that he can. You must seek him out. Please tell me that you will.”

  I didn’t answer. All of this had become too much. I only wanted out.

  “Kate, you need to know that you can come to me at any point at no cost—I will help you wherever and however I can. Things often come to me hours, days, even weeks after an initial consultation. For that reason alone, please leave me a number where I can reach you.”

  But I didn’t. I was in shock.

  Likely sensing this, Rhoda shoved her card into my hand.

  “Please come back,” she said. “It’s rare that I see everything all at once, especially when we haven’t even talked about the weeks and days leading up to Michael’s death, which could open new doors. New insights. Or not. I never know, but I do know that the odds are in our favor that it might happen.”

  “I need to leave,” I said, feeling sick to my stomach.

  “Reconnect with Ben,” Rhoda said as I walked toward the exit. “Listen to me on this, Kate. He’s the key to resolving this. As are you.”

  Her voice faded when I pushed through the front door and shot onto the sidewalk, but I still heard her last words.

  “And as am I.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Kate!” Laura called out to me as I walked down the sidewalk to catch a cab. “Where are you going? I didn’t have time to text Rob, but he can be here in minutes to pick us up and drive us home! Please don’t go. I know how upset you must be. You need to be with your best friend right now.”

  I loved Laura, and even though she had just led me straight into a nightmare, how could I be angry with her? I wasn’t. She never could have known that this would have happened—all she wanted to do was to have a bit of fun. What happened was horrible, but it certainly wasn’t her fault. Still, I wanted to be left alone so that I could try to absorb everything that had just been said to me. I always thought best when I was alone.

  So, I put my best face forward.

  “I need to be by myself,” I said as I turned and placed my hands on her shoulders. “Trust me—right now, it’s what’s best for me. I’m going to take a cab home and think about what Rhoda said. And then I’ll decide how best to go from here.”

  “Who is Ben?” she asked.

  “He was a lifetime ago.”

  Once, we were deeply in love. We were together from junior year in high school until freshman year in college. It was when we went to separate colleges in different states that both of us decided to break off our relationship because we didn’t know how we could sustain it with so many miles between us. There was never any animosity between us. If anything, when we broke up, there was just grief and sadness because we’d broken each other’s hearts. And now, somehow, he’s a P.I. in Manhattan? And I’m supposed to get in touch with him because ‘he’s the key to ending this’? What am I to make of any of this? How can it be that Michael was murdered—if he was murdered? Lydia was there. I saw the truth in her eyes, for God’s sake. I had believed her!

  Feeling sick to my stomach, I looked at Laura. “I need to go. So, give me a kiss. I’m not angry with you. But you need to understand that I’m barely holding it together right now. I’m on the verge of losing it, so I need to get out of here and get home. OK?”

  “I know how you are,” she said. “You always tough out the worst of life on your own. It’s who you are. If you want to catch a cab, I understand—but you must know that I’m here for you. And that you can call on me at any hour. Do you hear me, Kate—at any hour. I’ll leave my cell at my bedside.”

  As more and more of what Rhoda had said started to sink into me, my heart became closer to being smashed to bits. I told Laura that I’d call her soon. And then, with tears flooding my eyes, I turned around and moved away from her. I moved through the crowds on the sidewalk and took to the street in an effort to find a cab that would take me home so I could sit by myself—and rethink events I literally thought had been buried five years ago.

  * * *

  Despite having had a martini at lunch, when I returned home and shut the door behind me, I went straight for the kitchen, and poured myself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Then, I slipped out of my heels and moved into the living room.

  I sat down on one of the white, qui
lted sofas, took a sip of the wine, and put the glass down on the side table to my right.

  And then I just drifted back into time.

  Most of what had happened to Michael was still as fresh as if it had happened yesterday—coming home to find him at the foot of our stairs, the familiar shape of his body lying still beneath the white sheet, and the way his eyes had been open and staring into nothingness when I knelt down to give him a final kiss goodbye.

  Other memories were just as bright—there was Lydia, for instance, who had been hysterical throughout all of it. Lydia, who was the only one besides Michael and me who had the codes to access our townhouse.

  I remembered questioning her myself. And even though I knew that every one of us has within us the capacity to deliver a believable lie, I felt that if Lydia had been lying to me that day, then she should have had roses thrown at her feet for the performance she’d delivered. Because she had been that real. That raw, horrified, shocked, and convincing.

  Would the Lydia I remembered ever have lied to me without good reason? No. I’d never believe that. So, if any of this was true, someone must have threatened her to do it. But who? Who was this mysterious woman in black? And where did all of this—this idea that Michael might have been murdered—leave me now? Why would anyone want Michael dead? People loved him. Many revered him. It made no sense to me.

  Until, after a few moments of consideration, it did.

  I leaned my head back against the sofa as echoes from the past called out to me. Reluctantly, I reached back out to them.

  The day before my husband died, he’d turned down an offer to sell his company to a group of investors that had included two of his closest friends—Mark Dodd and Tom Smart. Could they have been involved in his death? Since they had been so close to Michael for so long—since their college years—it didn’t seem possible to me. Even though they’d dropped Michael as a friend the moment he backed out of the deal, for the life of me, I couldn’t believe that they’d have anything to do with his death.

  But then I remembered.

  There was Michael’s upcoming hostile takeover of MicroCom, which was in process while he was alive and was only two weeks away from completion when he died. Was someone at MicroCom at the root of this—if any of this even was true? Killing Michael would have put an end to the takeover, and in fact it had. With Michael’s death, StoneTech became mine, and I dropped the takeover because I didn’t want to deal with anything other than my own grief at that point. So MicroCom emerged intact and unscathed because of my decision.

  I took another sip of wine and searched my memory for who led MicroCom, but I came up blank. In the crushing haze of grief and loss that was my life at that time, all I remembered was cancelling the takeover. At that point, I’m not sure that I even knew the players who were involved. I was too distraught.

  Not that the names of those people can’t be uncovered…

  Which brought me to Ben Cade, the first love of my life—a man who, in the sixteen years since I’d last seen him, apparently had gone on to become a Navy SEAL, and who now was a private investigator living in Manhattan. Who had Ben become after all this time? Time changes all of us. So, what of Ben? How had it changed him? If he was the man I remembered him to be, he was honest, good, and trustworthy, and he likely still had a fire in his gut that rivaled even mine.

  And now, he might be coming back into my life—if I take Rhoda’s advice.

  But how couldn’t I take her advice, particularly after all that had happened today? That’s what haunted me. That’s what made me reach again for my wine. She’d seen too much of my life for any of this to be a fluke. She knew that I’d been born prematurely. She knew that my Uncle Bill had taken his own life. And then she’d dropped the real bomb and told me that Michael had been murdered. As much as I didn’t want to believe that, how could I ignore it? How could I just dismiss it? If that was the case, I owed it to Michael to find out if he was in fact murdered. And if he was?

  I’d bring his killer to their knees.

  * * *

  An hour or so later, after finishing my wine and thinking long and hard about the road that was ahead of me, I went to my laptop, looked up Ben Cade’s business in New York, and found his telephone number on his website. Curious to know what he looked like all these years later, I searched his site for a picture, but there were no photos of him to be found—likely due to his own need for privacy.

  After taking a deep breath, I picked up my cell and dialed his number. It was only a moment before a familiar yet deeper voice answered.

  “This is Ben Cade.”

  “And this is Kate Stone,” I said.

  For a moment, nothing was said as a ribbon of silence stretched between us. Since Michael had been so high profile in New York, at some point, Ben must have read or heard that I’d married him. And that my last name was Stone.

  “Kate?” he said.

  “It’s me.”

  When I said that, the thundering quiet that came after it was as tangible as it was unnerving.

  “I—why are you calling?” he asked.

  I wanted to cry as I said, “Because I think that my husband might have been murdered.”

  “Murdered?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did this come from?”

  “Trust me, you don’t even want to know.”

  “Kate, I remember reading four or five years ago that he died of some sort of freak accident. News of his death was everywhere.”

  And you didn’t reach out to me?

  But that was an unfair reaction, wasn’t it? Why should he have? At that point, we hadn’t seen each other in eleven years. We hadn’t even spoken to each other.

  He’s probably married now and has his own family. The fact that he didn’t call when Michael died doesn’t mean that he lacks empathy. It likely just came down to the fact that we are worlds away from the couple that we used to be. And so be it.

  “I think it would be best if I just came to see you,” I said. “Can that happen? If it’s too awkward for you, I understand. If that’s the case, perhaps you can give me a referral. But I—”

  “It’s not awkward. And you don’t need a referral. Do you know where my office is?”

  “I’m looking at your website now. I see the address.”

  “How soon can you be here?”

  To see you again? How about next year? Or the year after that? I’m so not ready for this, Ben. I can’t tell you…

  And then it came to me that I had a chance to vet Rhoda even further.

  “Ben, this is a random question—but are you a former SEAL?”

  He hesitated before he said, “I am—why do you ask?”

  So, all of this must be true. She’s gotten too much of my life right…

  “It doesn’t matter. Do you have time to see me today?” I asked.

  “Actually, today has turned out to be a free day. Cancellations—that sort of thing. You can come here if you’d like.”

  “I never expected this to happen, Ben. I never wanted to involve you. I didn’t even know that you were in Manhattan.”

  “I knew that you were.”

  “If you did, then why didn’t you contact me?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “You know, I’ve got this wrong—I need to come to you. You’re too upset to find your way to me right now. Would you like me to come to you? I can do that, you know? It’s not an issue.”

  “No, no—”

  “Where do you live?”

  “I should just come to you.”

  His voice was firm when he said, “Where do you live, Kate?”

  I told him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I hung up the phone. Ben said that he’d be here within thirty minutes, which at once turned my stomach into a fist of knots—and yet conversely also gave me a sense of relief.

  Clearly, it was the idea of seeing him again after so many years that made me an anxious wreck, but knowing that he was about to assess a
ll that I’d heard today gave me a kind of peace.

  The Ben Cade I remembered had a good head on his shoulders—it was one of the first things that had attracted me to him, beyond his good looks. Now that I knew that he’d become a Navy SEAL, I could only imagine how professional he’d become. The Navy would have beaten that into him—and Ben likely would have craved the experience, regardless of how difficult that journey had been.

  While I knew that worrying about how I looked should have been the last thing on my mind, it wasn’t. How often in one’s life do you find yourself thirty minutes away from coming face to face with the person who had been the first love of your life—and one you hadn’t seen in sixteen years?

  When it came to me? Never.

  And so when I went into the master bath to assess myself, I was horrified to see that my mascara had run. It must have happened when I’d been weeping for Michael during the cab drive home. No wonder the doormen had looked so oddly at me when I’d arrived home. I had been in such a state of shock and sadness when I’d been dropped off, I hadn’t even thought to check my face before I left the cab. I’d just wanted to get inside my apartment.

  As I reached for my compact and started to freshen my face, I noted the faint lines that were beginning to show along my brow and at the corners of my eyes.

  I was nineteen when Ben last saw me. Now, all these years later, age had worked its stellar magic and had matured my face. With my baby fat long gone, my cheekbones were more pronounced than they used to be, my hair was a lighter brown carefully layered with highlights by my stylist, and my neck was more slender than the young woman Ben used to know.

  Age changes all of us, and even though I was comfortable in my body, which I kept fit through daily workouts, there was no denying that age had had its way with me. Not unkindly—I didn’t mind how I looked. I took care when it came to my appearance. But I certainly had changed since the age of nineteen.