by Lyz Kelley
The house held only bad memories—first her father, now Jacob.
No. No, that wasn’t true. She wouldn’t lump Jacob in the same category as her father. Jacob was an amazing man. She missed him, more and more each day. Craved his touch…longed to indulge in his salty essence. Loneliness gathered around, chilling her, but she’d have to deal with the Jacob issue later.
Right now, Special Agent Bantner and getting him and her dad off her back had become the priority.
Her dad relied on her. But today would end his parental control.
Tiptoeing along the tiled floor, she made her way to the laundry room—the one place the DEA and FBI hadn’t searched thoroughly. Opening the sink’s cabinet, she knelt to remove the trashcan and slide-out rack, then traced her fingers along the edges of the baseboard, searching for the small plastic tab. Pulling and lifting gently, she removed the false bottom of the cabinet and set the board aside.
The buried, fireproof safe had been her secret place since discovering her father had video cameras installed in nearly every room of the house, with few exceptions. He expected her to clean and do laundry when the staff was not available. He liked seeing her on her hands and knees scrubbing or ironing his shirts. Only his acts of control created a blind spot which she used to her advantage.
She turned the safe’s knob left and right until her mother’s birthday was completed and the lock clicked. The large plastic bag filled with small packets of pills and drugs sat near the top. Reaching in she lifted the bag and leather-bound diary filled with dates, times, names, and notes.
Lifting the false bottom board to replace it, she froze at the sound of footsteps.
“Rachelle? What are you doing here?”
The muscles in her back clenched, but she managed to shut the lid of the safe and slide the board in place.
“Jacob, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.”
“Obviously,” he crossed his arms. “And what is that?”
He pointed at the bag of drugs.
An explanation was possible, but would he believe her? Did she want him to believe her? His overprotective genes would kick in, which was the last thing she wanted. She had no right to get him involved. He was a good man. He deserved better.
“I just needed to collect these things. I’ll be out of here in a minute.” She opened her purse and shoved the bag and journal inside.
“No. You’ll tell me why you have a bag of drugs and a secret hiding place. Are you a dealer?”
“I know what this looks like,” she rocked back on her heels to stand. “Jacob, listen. You need to let me leave, right now.”
His jaw muscles rippled. “You’re always leaving. Why did you leave San Diego?”
“Maybe we should talk about California another time. You’re angry, and understandably so.” She took a step toward the door, but he held out his arms to the side and moved to the center of the doorway.
“I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what’s going on.”
She tightened her grip on her purse handles, determined to finish what she’d started. “You need to walk away—now. Outside, right now, this house is being watched. If you don’t let me leave, alone, you might be arrested.”
“Me? I didn’t have anything to do with those drugs.”
And neither did I. An idea sprouted roots and began to grow. “Let me leave now, or I’ll tell the sheriff these drugs are yours. He’ll believe me. He already knows Larson was in town asking where he could buy drugs, and then he came here.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Yes. I’ll tell the authorities I found a secret hiding place while I was remodeling.” She gritted her teeth and raised her chin. She stood her ground and didn’t dare budge. She loved him, and must make him believe. Acting a part couldn’t be too hard. If she failed, he might find himself involved in something bigger and more complicated than he could possibly imagine.
“You wouldn’t lie.”
I just did.
“The sheriff asked about you when I was in town getting something to eat.” He took a step closer, his arms outstretched. “Why, Rachelle? Why do you have those drugs? Why would you lie to the sheriff?”
To protect you. “Because I can.”
“But we connected. I know we did. Rachelle…sweetheart.”
“Jacob, don’t.” She couldn’t breathe, her stomach coiling in tighter and tighter. Her hands shook. Her body ached. “Just let me leave. If you have ever felt anything for me, you will let me walk out that door.”
She took a step, but he pressed a palm on the doorjamb.
“What the hell is going on?” The hurt in his eyes heaped on another layer of guilt.
She straightened her shoulders, resolved to do what she knew was right. “Take care, Jacob.” She brushed his hand aside and walked past him, but he grabbed her arm.
For a long while, she only looked at his fingers, praying he would release her. Finally the pressure eased, and he opened his hand. When she looked up, he was staring at her with vacant eyes.
“One question.” His anger drew a dark line around his words, making them bold.
“Go on.” She didn’t dare look away.
“Did you feel anything for me?”
She could fib. Make up another story, and cover the truth. Hiding had become a habit, easy, but she wouldn’t hide her feelings. He deserved the truth. “Yes. I respect you. Trust can be easily broken. Love can fade, but respect—respect is strong. Even in the worst of times, respect survives.”
He stared at her. The only things moving were his eyes, searching hers for meaning. He was trying to see into her soul, but he couldn’t. She’d gotten good at disguising her thoughts, her wants, her desires.
He was a fantastic man. The one thing good in her life. He made her look forward to her future—a future she just destroyed with another lie.
When he fully digested her answer, he nodded. “Tell me one more thing. Are those drugs yours?”
“No,” she answered without hesitation.
He let out a shuddering sigh and took a step back. “Okay.”
For some reason, he didn’t question her further, and she was grateful. Yet the finality in his voice crushed her heart.
She had gone and done it.
Destroyed the one good thing in her life—to protect him.
Tears burned behind her contacts. She placed the house key on the hook by the back door, then opened and walked out the door for the final time.
One day I hope you’ll forgive me, Jacob.
I love you.
I always will.
Rachelle let her Mercedes roll to a stop and cut her engine. She peeked at her purse in the passenger seat. The black leather might as well have been a bomb, set to detonate in three, two, one.
Kaboom.
She reached for her Coach bag just as two black SUVs appeared in her rearview mirror. Before she could think, the assault team skidded to a stop on both sides of her car.
She was caged in—not that she planned to run.
Where could she go that her father wouldn’t find her?
Agent Bantner opened the passenger door of the first vehicle and walked to her driver’s side door as if it was a Sunday and he was strolling into the local church.
She grabbed her purse and slowly opened her door, making sure to keep her hands visible. “Agent.”
He held her car door open, then closed it behind her. “Ms. Clairemont,” he said in a tone still utterly formal and devoid of emotion.
Without a word she walked around him and up the steps to her cabin to greet Dempsey at the door. She left the door open to allow whoever was coming in to see there was no threat.
For once Dempsey followed her to the counter, hoping to get a treat. The bulldog was oblivious to the descending threat.
Agent Bantner entered, sauntered over to the small oak table, and took a seat. He waited for her to fill the teakettle with water and place the pot on the hotplate. “Tea?” She aske
d, thankful the anxious tremble racing through her hadn’t seeped into her voice.
He waggled a couple of fingers and shook his head. She chose a bag of chamomile orange spice, anticipating the need to settle her stomach.
She closed her eyes and felt the first rays of the sunset coming through the cabin shutters. The warmth of the sun touched her skin, but the chill of being alone and surrounded by overwhelming forces made her shiver.
When the teakettle whistle blew, she filled her mug and settled at the small table across from Bantner. Dempsey trotted over and curled beneath her chair.
Bantner’s finger tapping sounded like the rap of leather-soled shoes on a tiled floor as correctional officers lead an inmate to execution.
She dunked her teabag in time with the thud-thud-thud. “I’d have a lawyer present, but I can’t afford one since my assets were seized and bank accounts have been frozen along with my father’s.”
“Do you need a lawyer, Ms. Clairemont?”
A dry chuckle tumbled out at the anticipated response. So typical. “All my life, people have judged me.” She took a sip of tea to test the heat level, then let the warmth and herbs soothe her nervous chill. “People saw the person my father wanted me to be. Very few ever saw the person inside.”
“And who is that?” He missed nothing, not an eye blink, or a lip movement. He was good at his job, but she was better.
“A good person, Agent Bantner.”
When she reached for her purse his hand clamped onto her wrist. “Easy, Ms. Clairemont. There’s no gun in your purse, is there?”
“See? Now, that’s what I’m talking about. I don’t like guns, and I don’t own one.” She tipped her head toward her Coach bag with gold-toned treatments. “May I?”
His fingers slowly opened, and he inched his arm back.
She placed a pen and a notepad in front of him. “My dad wants me to corroborate his story, but I can’t.” I won’t lie to anyone, ever again. “What I can do is give you the names of the men you haven’t yet arrested.”
“You’re giving us names?” His disbelief was obvious.
“My father’s lawyer locked up my immunity and advised me not to speak to anyone, and I haven’t until now.”
Bantner rested his elbows on his thighs and leaned in. “And why would you talk now? Like you said, you have immunity.”
“I’m tired, Agent Bantner. If I don’t tell you what I know, you’ll be back a month from now, or a year, maybe longer. My dad will keep sending you back to me as long as he thinks he has control and believes I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear.”
“I see.”
“I don’t think you do.” She picked up the pen and offered it to him. “Full immunity. I’ll give you everything I have, and you go away, but I want your signature.”
He leaned back in the kitchen chair, which was far too small for him. “I can’t do that, Miss Clairemont. I don’t have the authority.”
She tilted her head and gave him a don’t-go-there look. “You’re bluffing. I saw your eyes twitch.” Rachelle leaned forward and offered Bantner the pen again. “I haven’t survived all these years without being able to read people, Agent Bantner. You have the authority, but that’s not what I’m asking. I want your word.”
“Mine.” His intense gaze doubled down. “Why?”
“I watch people. Not what they say, but what they do. You’re a man of integrity. You do what you say you’re going to do. And because if you don’t keep my name out of this completely, no matter what I tell you today, my life won’t be worth much tomorrow.”
He rubbed his lower lip with his finger. “Okay, Miss Clairemont. You’ve got a deal. Show me what you got, and I’ll make sure your father never finds out about this meeting.”
“Sign.”
Bantner signed and dated the paper and shoved the notepad toward her. She picked up the pad, tore off the piece of paper, and handed the page to Bantner.
“You’re not keeping it?”
“Nope. It’s not legally binding. You know it. I know it. But at least now we have an understanding.” She reached into her purse and plopped the bag of heroin on the table.
His amber-brown eyes widened with surprise, then filled with disappointment, then judgment.
“Don’t be too hasty to condemn, Agent.” She slid the bag toward him. “In this bag, you will find samples of heroin sold by my father. Each bag has a code written on the side for when the junk was packaged.” She retrieved her notebook. “In this journal, you will find corresponding dates, quantities, and where the shipment went. People risked their lives for what’s in this bag.”
“People?” He accepted the book with a no-shit grin, then flipped the book open and scanned through the pages like he was flipping through a children’s picture-book. “The book is in code.”
“Yes.”
He dropped the book and pulled the bag to him. “How did you get these samples?”
I can’t tell you. “Does it matter?” Telling would put many lives in jeopardy, and she wouldn’t break one more person’s trust.
He selected a few packets from the bag and held them up to the light. “Regardless of the immunity order, you could have come forward. Given us this evidence.”
She took another sip of tea, then set her mug down. “The DEA and FBI were looking for excuses to prosecute anyone with the name Clairemont. Plus, my father’s lawyer hadn’t worked out a deal.”
“Still, this information would have been helpful.”
“To you, maybe, but not to me. I needed an insurance policy. I wasn’t sure my dad would demand immunity for me and my brother before he talked. Plus, I didn’t know if you’d be willing to tie off the loose ends.”
“I could still have you arrested.”
“You could, but then my father would know I gave you this information. There are still people out there you haven’t found. In this book are my father’s connections. You need me to decode this book and prove whether or not my father is lying. The clock is ticking, Agent Bantner. Your look tells me you need this information. The sooner the better.”
He let out a low sigh, clearly not thrilled at having his hand revealed. “Show me what you’ve got. I’ll keep my promise.”
“In time.” She clutched her tea mug to keep her hand from shaking. “I need you to understand something.” She swirled the liquid in her cup, watching it go round and round the edge of the rim. “These past few months, I’ve been thinking my life might have been easier in jail. Outside there’s no metal bars and a false sense of freedom. There’s the constant fear of not knowing what comes next. Not knowing when one of my dad’s buddies will show up on my doorstep. I tried to leave when I was eighteen.” She met the Agent’s stare. “I didn’t make it far.”
The agent standing guard at the door sneezed, and Rachelle flinched. “Bless you,” she murmured.
“Thank you.”
His response challenged her mind to recycle.
The guard could have been a Madame Tussaud wax statue, complete with pressed blue slacks and an FBI windbreaker covered by a bulletproof vest, but he wasn’t. He was just a man doing his job, who most likely wanted to go home to his family when his shift ended.
Bantner’s eyes shifted for only a second to his agent, then back. “As I said, Miss Clairemont, you have my word. I will do what I can to ensure your name is not leaked.”
“And my bank account?”
“I’ll put in the paperwork to have the seizure lock lifted.”
The small victory seemed insignificant compared with what she had to do to buy her freedom. She scooted to the edge of her seat and dumped out the bag of heroin, searching for three specific bags. She set them aside, opened the leather-bound book, then grabbed the pen. Ripping out a sheet of paper, she decoded the information, then handed the sheet over.
“Impressive.”
She hadn’t expected the praise. “I’ve been fascinated by ciphers since I was a little girl and found the need to invent my own.
Sometimes I used to hide messages in my drawings and paintings. I always found pleasure in hiding things in plain sight.”
“Your father underestimated you.”
Rachelle closed her eyes, unwilling to accept the praise in his expression. “He always did,” she whispered.
“If you ever need a job, call me. I might be able to hook you up with a consulting company I know.” His generosity surprised her.
“That’s kind of you, but I hope my days of living a double life are over. I want to discover who I am…or who I was supposed to be, anyway.”
“Please take my card, just in case.”
The cardstock, while ordinary, seemed heavy. She set it on the table.
“Rachelle, you already know who you are.” He paused. “You’re a survivor. You’re strong. You’re determined. I’ve no doubt you can accomplish anything you set your sights on.”
A warming heat touched her cheeks. “Thank you, Agent Bantner.”
“I have to ask, what about Jacob Reyes?”
Rachelle sat a little straighter. “He has nothing to do with this,” she stated each word with a space to emphasize her conviction.
“I know he doesn’t. He’s clean as a dish fresh from the dishwasher.” He leaned forward and placed his forearm on the table. “I have a guy still monitoring the house just in case our conversation didn’t go as planned. He was pissed off after you left. Guys don’t get angry at someone they don’t care about.”
“Did you read that in one of your training manuals?”
“I’d like to think I’m a good judge of character, and I think he’s one of the good guys.”
She reached for her mug twisting it around and around. “Is that so?”
“What’s there not to like?”
She blinked, trying repeatedly to come up with something, but she couldn’t. Not one thing she could find fault with. He was gorgeous, kind, wealthy, caring…he was even good with kids.
“Nothing, I guess,” Rachelle admitted. “But why are you asking?” More important, why should you care?
“Just curious.” Bantner stood. She dropped the little packets back into the bag while he watched. When she was finished, the agent at the door opened an evidence bag and sealed both the notebook and heroin inside, then handed off the bag and took up his station again.
