Another Chance at Love (Another Series Book 1)

by Suzanne Sweeney

  There are several pictures of me in my driveway either coming home or on my way out. And she’s got photos of me shopping, going to yoga classes with Brie, and a few taken at Philip’s house. There’s even one of me leaving my publisher’s office in Manhattan.

  I have goosebumps just thinking about it. I knew someone was there that day. Watching us. I could feel it.

  But beneath those are pictures of Cole. There are pictures of him alone on his boardwalk balcony, coming and going from Evan’s house, along with pictures of him in uniform and at the ballpark.

  It’s chilling how much information this woman has gathered about what I naively believed to be my private life.

  “Did you take these?” I ask her, slipping every last one of them back into the envelope and closing them up tightly, as if this small gesture will make them disappear permanently.

  “Yes,” she admits.

  “But why?”

  She reaches down, grabs her purse, and slips a hand inside. I feel my pulse quicken.

  Relief washes over me when she produces a business card. Sliding it towards me across the table, she explains. “My name is Sandra Davis. I run a small private investigating firm. I was hired to locate the author Kensington Layne who seems to have dropped out of the public’s eye. I have reason to believe that you are that individual. Would that be correct?”

  “I’m not telling you a damn thing,” I answer, swiping the card from her. I may need it for evidence when I press charges against this scumbag.

  “That’s okay. I already know the answer to that question. I’m not here to confront you, I’m here to warn you.”

  “Warn me?” Burning rage hisses through my body. My hands twitch and I can feel a vein pulsing in my neck. “Are you threatening me?”

  “No. Quite the opposite. I believe you’re in danger. But it’s not just you – your boyfriend’s in danger, too.”

  “My boyfriend?” I ask fearfully, beginning to tremble with stray and frightening thoughts that flood through my mind.

  “Yes,” she confesses. “And I’m afraid it’s all my fault. I’m usually a very good judge of character and that’s why I normally insist on meeting my clients face-to-face. But this man claimed he was out of the country and trying to locate his former girlfriend. He had me convinced that you were pregnant with his child and on the run, trying to keep his unborn baby from him. And I bought it – hook, line, and sinker.”

  “Paul?” I ask shakily. “Is his name Paul Marks?”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “His name is Leonard Marks. But I believe he’s Paul’s younger brother, the man I now know to be in prison who stalked and attacked you.”

  I’m so confused right now. Conflicting thoughts are swirling through my mind. She works for them – the Marks family. She’s in collusion with them. But she also knows what they did to me. I don’t know what to think right now. “Why are you telling me this?”

  She takes off her glasses, revealing deep red and purple bruises and broken blood vessels in her left eye. “This family is dangerous. And they don’t like to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  “No, they do not,” I softly reply, wrapping my arms tightly across my middle. Vivid images flash of Paul and his predatory, reptilian stare, completely without emotion, like glass. “Did he do that to you? Leonard?”

  She nods. “I tried to terminate our business arrangement.”

  “Why?”

  “I began to get suspicious. According to Leonard, you should be six or seven months along by now. The more I found out about you, the more things didn’t add up.”

  “What kinds of things did you find out?” I ask.

  “Well, for one, I found the case file from the Hawaiian court system that details the connection between you and the Marks family. And it’s not exactly the same as they described it. But you already know that, don’t you?”

  “I do,” I painfully admit. “But I thought the court records in Hawaii were sealed. My brother and my attorney both promised me that they were.”

  “They are.” She fumbles with her purse. “I’m sorry, do you mind?” She pulls out a water bottle and takes a sip. Putting it down, she continues, “This is very difficult for me to admit. I’m not proud of it, but you have no idea how persuasive these people can be. It’s a confidence game they play and I made it all too easy for them to snare me in their web of lies and misdirection. Before I realized it, I was impersonating a police officer in order to obtain copies of those sealed court files.”

  She takes another sip before continuing and I can’t help but notice the slight tremble in her hands as she places the water bottle back on the table. “They were more than happy about my tactics when they thought I was using it to find you by tracing your banking records. That’s how I found you in the first place. Your bank was very cooperative, by the way. I was able to trace royalty payments to Kensington Layne directly into your account. Not to mention your full name, social security number, and mailing address.”

  “I guess I should think about changing banks.”

  “Yes, you should.” She takes another sip of water before returning to the crux of our conversation. “You see, what I did is a felony and I could be in a lot of trouble. And they know it.”

  “Isn’t that what P.I.’s do?” I ask. “Find ways to work the system by any means possible?”

  “Absolutely not,” she answers, making it sound as if I’ve just insulted her. “We are citizens and are bound by the same laws that govern you, Miss Harper. I broke the law – there’s no other way to put it. And now, if I don’t comply with the family’s demands, they won’t hesitate to turn me in. I could be facing hefty fines, imprisonment for five years, probation, and a permanent criminal record. Not to mention permanent loss of my license. It’s how they operate. It’s a family business, led by their mother Rose. These people are dangerous and they do not operate by the same rules and laws that the rest of us do. They lure you in and trap you so there’s no choice but to cooperate. I’m hoping to turn the tables on them.”

  “Yes, but won’t they be putting themselves in danger, too, if they report you? There’s a restraining order. They are not supposed to contact me or come near me.”

  “Have they contacted you? Have they visited you?”

  “Yes! I have one of Paul’s drawings,” I tell her. “I found it just a few weeks ago. We can present it to the court. They’ll never let him out of prison.”

  “He didn’t leave it here – I did. At the time, I thought it was a metaphor for how much pain you’re causing him. But now . . .”

  “It’s not a metaphor. It’s a warning.” I finish her thought.

  “Yes, I’m afraid it is. But the point is, it’s inadmissible. There’s no way to prove it came from Paul and no way to prove it was left here for you. This is a public place and it could have been left behind by a customer accidentally.”

  “But you could tell them!” I beg. “You can help put them all away for a long time.”

  “And face going to jail myself? I’m sorry. That’s just not possible.”

  We sit in silence for a moment. I want to say more. I want to beg her for her help, but her life will be destroyed. I don’t know how I can ask that of her. She’s here trying to help. I shouldn’t ask for more.

  “I know what you must think of me. I’ve been thinking the same things for weeks now. But I cannot do what you are asking. I just can’t do it.” She takes a deep breath and steadies herself. “But there may be another way – a way to keep Cole safe while you come up with a plan. I’ve given it a lot of thought and if you’re willing to listen, I know exactly what needs to happen.”

  “Why? If these people are so dangerous, why would you take that chance of contacting me like this?”

  “Because black eyes and concussions aren’t all they are capable of, Miss Harper.” She takes a deep breath and leans in closely so as not to be overheard. “The pictures I was taking were no longer enough. Just knowing your address wasn’t su
fficient. He wanted a report on your daily schedule – when you worked, and especially when you were home alone. The same for your boyfriend. And then the clincher.” She looks around before continuing. “He wanted to know if I knew anyone who could make a problem disappear.”

  Oh shit. “I guess that makes me the problem?”

  She shakes her head. “No. You’re the prize. Your boyfriend is the problem.”

  A million thoughts go racing through my mind rapid fire. But over and over again, I hear four little words repeated, “I told you so.” I knew I should not have gotten involved with Cole. I was certain that he was going to bring me trouble. I never dreamed that I would be the one to put him in danger. And if anything happens to him, I will never be able to forgive myself.

  Sandra studies my reaction and I doubt I’m hiding my panic very well. “It gets worse.”

  “Worse? How is that even possible?”

  “Remember, I told you how persuasive they could be?”

  I nod.

  “Well, they’ve petitioned the court for compassionate release, claiming his mother has terminal cancer with only weeks to live. Paul’s parole hearing just got moved up.”

  I feel as if an Acme safe or an anvil has just been dropped onto my head. I close my eyes and try to absorb this last piece of information. Maybe she’s wrong. If his hearing had gotten changed, surely my brother would know. “Wouldn’t they notify the victim – you know, me? None of this makes any sense.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get official word soon enough, but in the meantime, you’ve got to make some decisions, and you need to make them quickly.”

  I can feel the tears stinging the back of my eyes and I fight to keep them from showing themselves. I take a deep, cleansing breath and ask, “What do I have to do?”

  “The Marks have decided that the greatest barrier keeping you away from Paul is Cole McGuire. Before you do anything else, you have to convince Rose, Paul, and Leonard that Cole is no longer an obstacle.”

  “Do you mean I have to break up with him?”

  “That’s not for me to say. All I can tell you is that you have to find a way to make them believe that Cole McGuire is no longer in the equation. Everyone has to believe it – your friends, your family – everyone. These people con others for a living, and they are quite good at what they do. If you try to fool them, they will make you pay dearly for the deception.”

  I swallow hard. I just promised him I wouldn’t run ever again. It would destroy him. But it may be the only way to keep him safe. “I need something from you so that I know this isn’t just another one of their cons. How do I know you’re not working for them and trying to trick me somehow?”

  “I can’t give you what you’re asking.” She takes off her glasses again, and I am reminded of the calling card they’ve left with Sandra Davis, just a taste of what they’ve given me. “This is the only proof I have to give you.”

  “If I do this – then what?”

  She looks at me sympathetically and I get the immediate feeling that she truly wants to do the right thing. “I honestly have no idea. I’m here to give you time and a way to keep your boyfriend safe while you come up with a plan. That’s the best I can do.”

  “How long do I have?” I ask.

  She pulls the glasses back over her eyes and pushes the envelope back across the table towards me. “His court hearing is scheduled for tomorrow. He could be free in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “Tomorrow?” I repeat. It can’t be. Less than a day?

  “Maybe longer, given he’s currently held in the Honolulu Detention Center. But I believe the new P.I. will be here tomorrow to check on you. Unfortunately, your boyfriend has a very predictable routine and they know exactly what he does on home game days and away game days. Tomorrow is a home game, so that usually means breakfast here, at that table,” she points to our table, “at eight o’clock sharp.”

  A chill runs down my spine. She’s right, of course, and that only makes things worse.

  “The sooner the better. This family does not fool around. Good luck, Kensington. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  Those are the last words Sandra Davis speaks to me before leaving the Coffee Shop and stepping out into the rain.

  I go back into my quiet bookstore and send Staci back to her post. I sit on the stool behind the counter and try my best to process what just happened. Is this woman Sandra being straight with me? Can I trust her word? Do I believe the story about how she got her black eye? The Marks family is definitely capable of that and worse. I just don’t know what to do.

  I glance down at the envelope she left with me. I need a second look. I need to be clear about what my options are. Slowly, I slide the photos out and spread them across the counter. I only glanced at them the first time, but now as I look more closely, I see there are close-up photos of Ugly Betty with the license plate number being the main focus. That’s not good.

  So what am I supposed to do?

  My phone rings, startling me from my contemplations. I gather up the photos, slide them back into the folder and answer the phone just before it goes to voicemail.

  “Hello?”

  “Kensington, are you at work right now?”

  It’s Philip and his timing is horrible, as usual. “Yes, why?”

  “We need to talk. I’m on my way. Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Philly, wait – just tell me one thing before you hang up. Is it about Paul?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. “Yes,” he mutters.

  “Is he out?”

  I hear him release an exasperated breath before answering, “Soon. How did you know?”

  “I just had a feeling.”

  “Are you okay?” he asks gently.

  “No, not really. Have you told anyone else?”

  “No, not yet.”

  Again, I force back the tears before I speak. “Philip, can I ask you a favor?”

  “Anything. Name it.”

  “Please don’t tell Cole. Let me tell him.”

  “Kenny . . . you can’t keep this from him. He’d want to know. It’s the right thing to do.”

  I almost choke after hearing those words – the right thing to do. He has no fucking idea how wrong he is. “I know, big brother. Please let me handle it my way. I’ll find a way to tell him. Okay?”

  He sighs. “Okay. But either you tell him tonight or I will. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “I understand. Thanks, Philly. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, kid. Do you still want me to come over?”

  “No, I have a lot to think about. Can we do this in the morning?”

  He exhales loudly. “Okay. You know the drill – keep your phone close by and fully charged. Don’t go anywhere alone. And make sure you have the Panic Button app set on your iPhone.”

  “I know. I’ll call you first thing in the morning. I promise.”

  “I’m sorry this is happening. I thought we’d have more time.”

  “Me, too.”

  I haven’t had a chance to process all this information. How is it possible that in one short hour, everything has turned upside down? I can’t think straight.

  My heart and my brain are divergent, and no, not like the book. They are moving in opposite directions as if they have completely different ideas about what is right and what is wrong. I love Cole with all my heart. All I want to do is run to him, throw myself into his arms and have him hold me, tell me everything will be all right, and that we will find a way to get through this together.

  But I’m also a realist. If I allow myself to move just a few steps ahead – to consider what happens next, after the confession, the tears, and the promises – there is only one logical outcome. Cole will be in danger and I will be the one who put him there. And could I live with myself if anything were to happen to him?

  I feel lost and confused, like a ball of tangled yarn – useless until it’s untied. I have some parts that are useable, but most of
me at the moment is a mess.

  I slump on the counter, my mind a surging perplexity, like two horses pulling in opposite directions. The only option is to find a way for them to charge in the same direction, to pull together somehow. The problem is, I have no idea how.

  I need to think – to find the right path to follow. But I can no more turn off my emotions than alter the tides.

  Just as I’m about to call Cait and Brie to set up my own intervention, Declan calls me out of the blue. “Hey, what’s up Buttercup?”

  “Oh, Declan. How is it that you always seem to know exactly when I need a shoulder to cry on?”

  I can hear the concern laced in his voice. “Is it Cole? I thought everything was back on track. What has he done this time?”

  “He didn’t do a thing, Declan. I love him so fucking much, that’s why I think I need to break up with him.” I feel a teardrop trickle down my cheek as I try my best to choke back the emotions that threaten to break me.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that information, Ken Doll.”

  I chuckle and take a deep, cleansing breath. “Thank you. I needed to laugh.”

  “It sounds more like you need to talk to a professional, because you’re not making a hell of a lot of sense right now.”

  “Actually, if you have a few minutes, I’d like to tell somebody about what just happened.”

  “Well then, today just might be your lucky day. They have me on the road and I just got finished meeting with a new client in Princeton. I’m less than an hour away. We could meet halfway. I know this great diner in Jackson. Think you could slip away for a little while?”

  I look around the shop and there hasn’t been a customer in over an hour. The rain has kept them all indoors and far away from the boardwalk today. Staci can handle and empty shop for an hour or two.

  My car’s GPS doesn’t fail me. I just type in Jackson Diner and the computer does the rest. In less than half an hour, I find myself sitting in a quiet booth in the far corner of the diner sipping on a Diet Coke and waiting for Declan.