Forget Me Not: A Novel (Crossroads Crisis Center)

by Vicki Hinze

  He failed.

  And that left him no choice. No one double-crossed Gregory Chessman and lived.

  A stray thought flickered through his mind. He grabbed it and tested it. Wait. He stilled. Wait. There was one other possibility. Johnson.

  So which of them was it? Edward or Johnson?

  Hard to decide; they were a great deal alike. But Gregory was determined to find out. He reached for his throwaway cell, dialed, and then communicated the only way he ever had with his secret partner: by keying in the text: DISCOVERED RM CONNECTION. GOOD WORK.

  If John had taken out Richard Massey, soon Gregory would know it. And it should reveal whether John Green had formed a secondary alliance with Edward or with Johnson.

  Five minutes passed. Tense, Gregory called the kitchen on the house phone. “Lucille, tea.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Another five minutes—8:40. His nerves jangled. He paced at his desk, watching the cell phone, waiting. Oh, but he hated waiting.

  Lucille brought in a tray, then set it on the edge of his desk.

  “Just leave it.” He waved her out. “Shut the door.”

  She departed holding her silence, grasping that now wasn’t the time to speak.

  He poured a cup of tea and admired the crisp, white china, so sleek and fragile. He vowed at twelve years old he’d never drink out of a jar again, and he hadn’t. Not once.

  The phone chirped.

  Gregory set down his cup and reached for it.

  Seated at a vanity, Darla Green clipped on her earring and in the mirror watched her husband come out of the bath, his shirttail hanging out over his pants. “What’s wrong?”

  He tugged at his sleeve. “I can’t get this cuff link to work. Did you pack a spare?”

  “Of course, John.” She retrieved it from her jewelry roll, then helped put it on, sliding it through the fabric and twisting it closed to hold. “There you go, darling.”

  He looked at her with the same adoration as he had on their first date, nearly fifteen years ago. She’d married him for that adoration. And stayed with him because of it.

  Darla adored John too, but he wasn’t exactly bright or terribly ambitious. Fortunately, she was both.

  “Thank you.” He pecked a kiss to her cheek. “If they have rubber chicken, let’s leave the dinner early and get some real food.”

  “Absolutely, darling.” She clasped his arm, genuinely enthused. “New Orleans has the most marvelous food.”

  “We could not risk it. Just skip the dinner.”

  Darla seriously considered it. “No. You owe it to your constituents to listen to the boring speeches.”

  “So you’re making me go but slipping away without me?”

  “No.” She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. “I’m going with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I owe it to you to listen to the boring speeches.” She backed away. “Now, hurry. It’s 8:45. We’re going to be late.”

  “Yes dear.” John smiled and headed back toward the bath. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

  “You have no idea.” Darla smiled.

  John closed the door. Seconds later, her cell phone vibrated. It’s about time.

  She checked the number and then answered. “You’re late.”

  “Traffic had Interstate 10 backed up. Get your purse and open your door.”

  “All right.” Snapping her phone shut, she snagged her evening bag, opened it, and then cracked open the suite’s outer door and pushed her bag through the gap.

  Something plunked down inside it.

  She pulled it back, closed the door, and then glanced into the bag. Hypodermic needles filled with clear liquid. Leave it to him to include a spare. “Excellent.” All systems were a go.

  John came out of the bath. “Was that the door I heard?”

  “No, darling. Just me rambling around making noise.” She snapped her handbag shut and gave him a smile meant to dazzle.

  He chuckled. “Are you ready?”

  “Almost. Just looking for my heels.” She pretended to search. She slid her feet into her heels, and then they left the hotel room.

  The elevator was mirrored. Darla checked her lipstick. “John, you haven’t said if you like my dress.”

  He let his gaze wander over it. “It’s black.”

  “Black is chic.”

  “I prefer red.” His eyes glinted mischievously. “You look gorgeous in red.”

  The door opened, and they stepped into the lobby, their arms linked. “We make a dashing couple, I have to say.”

  John smiled at her.

  She smiled back. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. While you were in the shower, you got a text message on your private business phone.” He’d had her monitor that phone for him since he’d been in office.

  “Should I check it?”

  “No need, darling.” She patted his arm. “It wasn’t a legitimate call, just some teenager sending a text to a friend. I deleted it.”

  “I’d be lost without you.” He gently pinched her chin.

  “Yes, my dear, you would.” They walked into the predinner reception and were met by a waiter, offering them drinks from a tray. John took two fluted glasses, then passed one to Darla. “Cheers.”

  She allowed him to tap their rims. “Cheers.”

  Across the room, the waiter extended his tray. “Drink, sir?”

  Paul Johnson took a fluted glass and paused until the waiter walked on, then lifted it to the backs of Darla and John Green. Nothing beats a sure thing.

  He watched them drink. Waited until they drained their glasses, then set his untouched glass onto a receiving tray near the wall and left the hotel.

  The loose thread would soon be severed.

  Playing Gregory Chessman, acting subservient, routinely lying to him and getting away with it had proven less difficult than Paul had anticipated. Gregory never should have threatened him. The Greens had presented the greater difficulty.

  But who better than Paul knew that appearances could be deceiving? Or that people and their situations often proved to be the diametric opposite of their facades?

  He’d done his research, run the numbers, and taken his risks—and on discovering he’d been right, he formed an alliance that only recently had become a liability, requiring further action—action now taken.

  His purpose here was done.

  19

  Do you want me to go in with you to tell her?” Peggy asked Ben outside the chapel.

  “No, but thanks.” Ben gave Peggy a resigned look. “I need to do it myself.”

  “You like her, don’t you?”

  Ben swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t. Susan—”

  “Is gone.” Peggy clasped his upper arm. “She’d want you to find someone you could care about and to live your life.”

  “My head knows that, but my heart still sees it as betrayal.” Guilt washed through him. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I feel as if I’m abandoning her.”

  “No.” Peggy sent him a tender look. “You loved well. Susan loved well. You haven’t abandoned her any more than she did you. There’s a place in your heart she’ll always hold.”

  His throat went thick. “There is,” he managed to eke out.

  “I’ve known you a long time, Ben. Your heart is plenty big enough to love them both.”

  He snapped his neck around to look at her.

  “Susan and Kelly, if that’s what you choose to do.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not.” Peggy shrugged. “It was obvious to me the moment you saw her.”

  “I like her. That I’ll admit.” Ben shared his fear. “But is it because she looks like Susan or because of her?”

  “Only you can answer that, but they’re nothing alike. Not really. And that only took minutes for me to see, so I’m sure you spotted it sooner.”

  “I really did.” He leaned away from the door, not at all happy about that. “They resemble each ot
her, but there are stark differences. Personality-wise, they’re very different. Kelly is far more blunt than Susan.”

  “You like that?”

  “Yeah, I do.” He dragged his lower lip between his teeth, not happy about that either.

  “Then quit frowning. It’s good.” The corner of Peggy’s mouth curved, hinting at a smile.

  “Maybe it would have been.” He looked at the paper, then grunted. “But when she hears this … ”

  Worry tightened Peggy’s lips and the smile faded. “Yes, I can see where that could be problematic.”

  “Oh yeah.” Ben sucked in a steadying breath, exhaled on a sigh. “Well, might as well get it done.”

  “Good luck, Ben.”

  Peggy had been trying for a long time to get him interested in life. He’d believed it would never happen, but he’d been wrong.

  If he’d known about this, he might have fought it harder.

  Kelly slipped in under his guard. He wasn’t sure exactly how. What he did know was that she’d claimed his attention, then his interest, and maybe a corner of his tattered heart. The one he would have sworn could never feel anything good again.

  How had she done that? He couldn’t figure it out.

  Does it really matter?

  She’d done it. He’d accepted it. Now he had to go in there, face her, and break his heart all over again.

  And worse, his instincts warned him that he would also break hers.

  If he still believed in God, he’d definitely be on his knees about this. As it was, he just hated it. She’d been through so much, and now he’d put her through even more.

  Resigned, he opened the etched-glass door and walked inside.

  She sat slumped in the front-row pew.

  Was she hurt? Maybe a head injury from being knocked out at the beach house? He rushed over, went to reach for her, but saw her chest lightly lift and stopped.

  Kelly was fine. Just sound asleep.

  Should he wake her up?

  She was running on sheer adrenaline, and she had been for far too long to be heeding Harvey and Lisa’s medical instructions. Wake her for more bad news?

  No. He dropped down to sit beside her. This bad news could wait. And if he was lucky, maybe he could figure out away to tell her about this and actually have her believe him.

  He glanced up at the stained-glass window. The odds against that seemed astronomical.

  “You’re worrying.” Kelly’s head rested braced on her hand against the back of the pew. “What’s wrong, Ben?”

  A frown creased the skin between his brows. “Did I wake you?”

  “No.” She breathed deeply, exhaled slowly. He seemed tense. Very tense—almost afraid. “I was just dozing, not really sleeping. I heard you come in.”

  “Your eyes were closed. How did you know it was me?”

  “I recognized your footfall.”

  He flinched. “Seriously?”

  She let out a soft moan. “So what has that frown fixed on your face?”

  “I have to tell you something.” He dropped his voice to just above a whisper. “It’s going to sound odd, but I want to tell you that I’m as confused by it as you will be.”

  Worried, she thought, and from his eye movements and clenched hands, not at all sure of his reception.

  “You’ll probably hold this against me.” He glanced away, then pulled his gaze back to meet hers. “No, that’s not true. You will hold it against me. You’ll doubt me.”

  “Are you planning on lying to me, Ben?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Then just tell me and give me the chance to hear what you have to say with an open mind. I promise to try.”

  “It won’t be easy to hear.”

  She sat up, then turned to face him, her leg folded under her on the seat. “Okay, I’m prepared.”

  He licked his lips and looked her right in the eyes. “Emily from Richard Massey’s office sent another page over. Her fax jammed.” He lifted a hand. “It says she found a check from Massey to me, Kelly.”

  Her heart beat hard and fast. “But you said you didn’t know him.”

  “I’d never heard of him before all this.” Ben expelled a deep breath. “But according to his records, he paid me to follow you.”

  “What?” The shock he’d dreaded pumped hard through her veins, thudded in her temples.

  “I don’t know why, Kelly,” he said in a rush. “I didn’t work for him, period. Not following you or doing anything else. I haven’t gotten a check from him or ever even spoken to the man.” He lifted his shoulders, clamped his jaw. “I promise you I don’t know anything about any of this.”

  Her mind raced. Was he playing her? Had he been all along? She gave herself a mental shake. This was Ben. Ben. He wouldn’t do that.

  “Let’s just say that sometimes people are the exact opposite of who they appear to be … ”

  A man’s voice, a memory. She squeezed her fingers into her palm. Who had told her that? She could hear him speak so clearly. It had to be a memory. But of whom?

  Think, Kelly. Think. She tried to form an image of the owner of the voice. Who are you?

  Nothing came.

  She tried harder.

  Still nothing.

  “Kelly.” Ben claimed her attention. “I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t do this, and I never saw that check.”

  She pursed her lips, studied him. “Was it cashed?”

  He tilted his head. “I know this is hardly the time, but if you choose not to believe me, I don’t expect I’ll have another chance—”

  “What do you want to say, Ben?”

  “Even now, you’re practical and to the point.” He snapped the air with a straight hand. “You cut to the chase. I like that about you.”

  Her heart suffered a little tug. She ignored it. This wasn’t a time for emotion. It was a time for logic. “So be practical and to the point back and answer my question. Was the check cashed?”

  “No, it wasn’t.” He stopped short, then started over. “It hasn’t been cashed yet, anyway.”

  “Okay.” Kelly stared past his left shoulder a long minute, grappling to wrap her mind around these new events. “What does this mean?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  Fair enough. He wasn’t feeding her some song and dance, and she was grateful for it. “Well, we’d better find out.” She tapped her fingertips against her knee. “Obviously, they’re marking us both, and our not knowing why puts us in even more danger.” Prickly-skinned, she rubbed her arms. “There must be a compelling reason for—” His grave expression stole her thought. “Ben, are you still worried that I don’t believe you?”

  His face flushed in the diffused light. “Frankly, yes.” Ben shrugged as if it didn’t much matter, which of course meant it mattered a great deal. “In your position, I’m not sure I’d believe me, and saying we need to find out what it means isn’t absolution or belief.” He looked away. “It was a lot to ask, much less expect.” He swerved his gaze back to her. “But I am telling you the truth.”

  Worry. Fear. Hope. All of that and more played out on his face, in his body language, for her to see. “Ben.” She lifted her hand and cupped his face. “I believe you.”

  His jaw dropped open and he just sat there.

  “You look stunned.” She liked it. Was that awful of her? It couldn’t be. The desire to kiss him arced through her, settled, and stayed put. Bad idea. Very bad idea. She pulled her hand back, sat on it to be sure it stayed in place, and stared deeply into his eyes.

  Shadows slanted across his face, making him appear even more torn. “You do believe me?” Before she could answer, he added, “I want you to, but if you don’t, I won’t blame you. I know how bad this looks.”

  “It looks awful,” she admitted. “But you have no reason to lie, Ben, and you’ve given me every reason to trust you.”

  She trusts me.

  His throat went thick. He closed his eyes, let that trust flow over him and
seep deep inside. Where did she get the strength to believe? In the face of such strong evidence, how—why—did she dare to believe?

  He glanced at the cross above the altar. Remembered with longing a time when he had the peace that came with faith. The certainty that regardless of what happened, everything would work out. That the crooked places would be made straight. But after Susan and Christopher … he hadn’t believed in anything but the absence of those things. Its acute sting had been his constant companion. But had his bitterness blinded him? Even when logic and evidence said she shouldn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth, she trusted him. He choked up and whispered, “Thank you, Kelly.”

  “Oh, Ben.” Her voice went soft, her eyes softer.

  He wanted to kiss her. Anticipated it, but he couldn’t do it. Not here. Not in Susan’s chapel.

  She twined their hands atop his knee, stroked the back of his hand. “Is there more?”

  “No—no, that’s all of it.” Coward. It rippled through him. If you weren’t, you’d at least tell her you’d like to kiss her.

  Maybe he would. But it wouldn’t be right, would it?

  Not if she isn’t free. What if she isn’t? What would that do to her? To you? You could let this relationship develop and then find out she belongs to another man …

  The thought alone had him sick inside. With everything else, he couldn’t put her through that—and he couldn’t go through it himself.

  His phone rang. “Sorry.” He answered it, thankful for the reprieve. “Brandt.”

  “Ben, it’s Mark.”

  “Yeah, Mark.” His gaze locked with Kelly’s. A man could get lost and stay lost in those blue eyes.

  “I’ve got the ownership information you wanted on that beach house.”

  “Great.” He shifted on the pew, putting a little distance between them.

  “For forty years, it belonged to a woman named Bethany Bennett.”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “I’m surprised,” Mark said. “She lived here most of her adult life—a local artist.”

  “Oh, wow. You mean Beth Bennett.” Kelly showed no reaction to hearing the name. Not a flicker. “She did paintings and pottery.”