She kept to herself and didn’t socialize with the other inmates much. According to the report Waverly had gotten from the prison counselor, Naomi kept mostly to herself, reading in her cell when she wasn’t engaged in the job she was assigned—laundry—there at the prison.
To all concerned, she was a quiet, intelligent woman. The inmates left her alone. The guards left her alone. She’d been getting high marks for behavior and work ethic. When she came up for parole in four months, she was likely to get it. But the counselor was worried that she wouldn’t want it. She’d expressed the desire to turn it down if it was offered.
This woman was clearly tortured by something. Not her crime. I couldn’t imagine a woman who’d killed her abusive husband the way she did would have regrets about the murder itself. Was it Heather? Was she trying to protect her? Or was she trying to hide something that even Heather wasn’t aware of? Was she aware of the woman her daughter had become? What would she think if she knew she was about to become a grandmother?
There was a copy of the court transcripts on back order, but Waverly had managed to get copies of some of the most important portions of the testimony, including portions of Naomi’s own testimony. I found it interesting that she’d testified on her own behalf despite her determination to face punishment for her actions.
I went to a shelter, she said at one point. He found out where it was, and he stood outside on the sidewalk three days in a row. Just stood there, watching. Every time someone left, every time someone came back, he made note of it. There was nothing the shelter administrators could do, because he was on public property. But I knew. I knew that if I didn’t come out, he would hurt one of those other women who’d finally escaped their own nightmares. I had to find another way to save my daughter from him.
I read that last line over and again. She did it for Heather. There was no doubt in my mind. She’d committed the worse crime imaginable to protect her child.
Heather wondered if she would be a good mother. If I knew anything about her, it was that she was more like her mother than she thought she was.
I glanced at a photograph of PJ I kept on my desk. If anyone hurt him, I knew I would do whatever it took to protect him. I had done the worst I could imagine. I had given up my rights to him. A year after I came back, I’d signed a piece of paper that said I would never try to make a claim on him, that I would never take him from Cole, that I would never tell him he was my child.
As far as the court, the family, and PJ himself were concerned, Cole was his father. That was the hardest decision I’d ever made. But I couldn’t rip that child from the only home he’d ever known. I would do it again, because it was the right thing to do.
Was that what Naomi had been thinking as she planned out her husband’s murder? Had she convinced herself that she had to do this horrible thing in order to protect her child?
I read through the rest of the file Waverly had prepared for me. By the time I was finished, I knew I was right. And I knew that Heather needed to know these things, too.
Chapter 17
Heather
I felt something like a fraud, walking around this fancy room in the tight, expensive dress Peter had surprised me with that morning. I had to admit—whenever I got a glance of myself in the many mirrors stationed around the room or the shining glass—that I looked amazing in the dress. But it wasn’t me. I was more comfortable in my off-the-rack business attire.
Peter guided me through the room, his hand on my elbow. I smiled politely at everyone who stopped to speak to us—which seemed to be just about everyone—trying to pretend as if I fit in here. But I didn’t. This was Peter’s world. As much as he liked to pretend it wasn’t, I could see that this was where Peter belonged. The mannerisms came easily to him, the right words to say, and the right gestures to make. He developed this soft, barely-there southern accent as he spoke to these people, asking after children and spouses and friends by name, so well-trained in etiquette that he probably couldn’t create a faux pas if he wanted to.
“You know Megan,” he’d said as we walked into the massive room. “This is her husband, Luke Murphy.”
“Nice to meet you,” Luke said with a little bit of a bow. “You are a beautiful woman.”
“He’s a charmer,” Peter said, pulling me back against him as Luke laughed.
He introduced me to his parents—they were quite distinguished people, clearly people who’d had money all their lives, but still down to earth—and a group of people from Dragon Security. There was Dominic Gil and his wife, a teacher, Amy Gil. Then Vincent Caplin and his wife, Quinn. They were a delightful couple, constantly touching each other. I assumed they’d only been married a short time, but Peter informed me they’d been together for over five years. They didn’t act as if they’d known each other that long.
The one that really made an impression on me was Hayden Dubois. He was a tall, muscular man who looked like a buffer version of that actor, Charlie Hunnam. He was quiet, the sort of guy who was more content to stand back and observe. The kind of man I might have been attracted to before I met Peter.
And I wasn’t the only one. There were quite a few women moving in an orbit around Hayden. More Dragon personnel whom Peter introduced me to. Beautiful women, whose career it was to chase after bad guys and protect the good guys. Impressive, if you asked me. I couldn’t imagine working for a firm like Dragon, even from behind a desk. Too much danger for my taste. I was perfectly happy collating sales reports all day long.
The whole thing was overwhelming. If not for Peter standing by my side, I might have tried to sneak out after just ten minutes. But his hand was constantly on the small of my back or tucked around mine. And he kept stealing these little looks with me that made me feel as though we shared some great secret from these people.
I had no idea what that secret might be. I was … it was just too much. I had grown up more sheltered than I’d realized until this moment. My closest experience with such a group of people was the church parties Rose often hosted.
I had to escape. I couldn’t breathe. And I couldn’t keep up with the puzzles of small talk being worked around me. I whispered in Peter’s ear that I needed to find the restroom. He seemed a little reluctant to let me go, but he did with a little kiss to the side of my head.
Rather than find the bathrooms, I slipped out onto the little porch behind the large ballroom, clinging to the railing that blocked it off from the nearby gardens, closing my eyes against tears that threatened to fall. Would life with Peter always be this way? Would I get used to it? I told myself that this was just a reaction to being surrounded by so many people I didn’t know. But what if it was something else? What if I could never adjust to the world Peter lived in?
I was so … damn, I didn’t even know what was happening! My life was in flux, my future no longer predictable. I’d always thought living spontaneously would be exciting, but it was frightening. What if Peter decided he didn’t want me around? What if he was lying to me, telling me what he thought I wanted to know just so that I would stick around until the baby was born? What if all he wanted was the baby?
That was a fear that had blossomed in my chest the moment I saw the email from the surrogacy service. I was convinced that the baby was all he wanted. Was that how we’d ended up not using protection after I begged him not to forget? I mean … I knew I had to accept responsibility for it, too. But I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d come to my bed with the intention of creating new life. Of using me to provide that new life.
I brushed a few tears from my cheeks, trying not to disturb the heavy foundation I’d applied to hide the bruises that had turned a sickly green on my jaw and temple. I caught sight of a child running into the garden from another, unseen door. He was tall and blond, laughing as a little girl tried to catch up to him. A voice called out to them.
“PJ, wait for your sister.”
PJ. This was Peter’s nephew, the one he had so many more pictures of around his home. It st
ruck me again how much PJ looked like Peter. His brother, PJ’s father, looked a lot like him, too. But there was just something …
“Beautiful children,” a woman coming to stand beside me said.
“They are,” I agreed, trying to be polite but really wishing to be left alone.
“I know they are quite a joy to their grandparents. After everything the family went through before PJ was born, and then all that happened after … these children are a blessing.”
I glanced at the woman, recognizing her from a group of older women Peter had nodded to, but not engaged when we first arrived.
“What they went through?”
“Oh, Peter’s death.” The woman smiled. “You must be new to the area. The story of the Bradford family is quite a famous piece of gossip here.”
I tilted my head slightly, wondering if she was talking about another Peter.
Her smile was almost gleeful. “Peter faked his death some seven years ago. To protect his sister, they say. He was investigating some software that had been sold illegally out from under him and stumbled onto a group using terrorism to make money or something like that. So his CIA brother-in-law helped him fake his death. Everyone thought he’d been killed in a car accident when he was really living in sunny California.”
“He did?”
The woman nodded enthusiastically. “Turns out he was being held captive by some crazy man they put on trial some years back. It all came out, how this guy was using Peter to modify some sort of software that he was using to communicate with terrorists in France. About how he wouldn’t let him go home, how he made him do all this terrible stuff that led to the deaths of thousands.”
She shook her head. “I heard he had to go into a psych hospital when it was all over, in order to deal with the mental shock of it all. On top of that, he came home and discovered that his brother had married his girlfriend and was raising his kid himself.”
My eyes jumped to the little boy running in the garden. PJ.
Peter Junior?
“Whole thing is pretty intense,” the woman continued. “And now he’s just trying to get by. Quit his job and went to work for his sister, chasing bad guys. Must make him feel better about what he did.”
“I don’t …” I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to get a grip on what this woman was saying. “The little boy is his?”
“Oh, yeah.” The woman snickered deep in her throat. “From what I understood, the mother was just barely pregnant when he faked his death. I always kind of thought that the pregnancy was part of the reason he disappeared. He sure gave up custody of the kid pretty quick when he came back from the dead.”
“He gave up custody?”
“Signed papers with the family lawyer. That’s what I heard, anyway.”
And now he wanted a child? What had changed?
I watched that little boy run, looking back to see if his sister was following him. The mother stepped out of the shadow of the building, laughing as she called to them to take it easy. I’d met her earlier in the day, but now I took a new interest in her. She was tall, slender, her brown hair cut just below her chin. She was pretty in a maternal sort of way. She had a nice laugh.
Had Peter been in love with her? Had he intended on marrying her? Or was she just a girl who happened to get knocked up? Was I just a girl? Was I the one who just happened to get knocked up?
I didn’t understand.
The woman was still talking to me, but I didn’t hear anything she said. My mind was working everything I knew a mile a minute, spinning my thoughts until I couldn’t grab hold of one in particular. All I could hold onto was the knowledge that that perfect little boy was Peter’s.
I walked back into the ballroom, scanning the faces of strangers who were all there to judge me. I could feel their eyes on me; I could feel them opening a hole in their congregation, allowing me to rip through the room to find Peter.
He was standing with that guy who looked like Charlie Hunnam and his sister, the three of them with their heads together as if they were planning Armageddon. I touched his arm and he glanced at me, a slight smile touching his lips, but not his eyes.
“Is it true?” I blurted before I could find a filter.
He didn’t even look at me.
“Peter!”
The man standing with his sister seemed concerned with the tone of my voice, but Peter was saying something to his sister, something about some guy wouldn’t be able to bother someone else. I had no idea what they were discussing and, frankly, I didn’t really care.
“Is it true? Peter!”
I hadn’t realized I’d raised my voice. I’m not sure I would have even cared in that moment. It just came flying out.
“Is that boy your son?”
I saw the color leave his sister’s face. I saw the man step forward slightly, as if he was trying to protect Megan. And I felt the silence descend on the party like falling balloons from overhead nets. It was just a trickle at first, but then it was complete silence, only the lame music still making any noise in the entire place.
And then Megan. It might have been comical if it hadn’t been so serious.
“You haven’t told her?”
I turned away, anger and hurt fighting a war in my chest. How could he have not told me something so important? But, again, maybe the fact that he hadn’t told me proved that he didn’t really care that much about whether or not I was a part of his life.
I was nearly to the door when Peter grabbed my arm and forced me to turn around.
“Heather, I was going to tell you. I just … the moment …”
I slapped him as hard as I could.
“At least Rose and Robert never tried to hide their true intentions toward me. At least I always knew where I stood with them.”
I waited for him to hit me back. He didn’t. He touched the side of his face, his eyes heavy with emotion. I didn’t want to see what I saw there. I didn’t want to see regret and hurt. It confused me. His actions spoke volumes, but his eyes told me things that I so wanted to believe. How could he look at me that way and not tell me something so essential?
I didn’t know. But I couldn’t do it anymore. If I didn’t walk away now, I never would.
Chapter 18
Hayden
I watched Peter take off after his girl. I would have been amused, but I’d been there before. It was never fun to be called out by a girl you respected. If Sam was here … maybe then it would be amusing. To have your woman in your arms and to know it all worked out in the end … but it didn’t for me.
I stayed a while longer, catching up with a few people I hadn’t seen in while. Marcus was there with his wife and kids. He was an operative for Dragon back when we were still a fledgling business, but now he worked private security for a new outfit in Arizona. And a couple of former clients were there, people who represented potential profits in the future. It was part of this new role I had with Dragon, playing polite and making everyone feel as though we couldn’t survive without their presence in our lives. It was draining.
I made my way to the office after I had played my part. Peter left the party and, since it was his birthday party, it didn’t feel as though I should be obligated to stay. Besides, we’d gotten a tip that morning that someone associated with Edgar Olsen was in the area, making threats against Peter.
It happened every few months, someone spreading rumors, someone making threats. Dragon kept its ear to the ground, listening for these things just in case it was something concrete. Thus far there was no proof that there was anything to worry about, but I had to tell Megan and Peter just to be on the safe side.
It brought things to the surface, this stuff. If I’d kept my ear to the ground closely enough—or just answered my goddamned phone!—I might have seen what was coming and could have kept Sam from getting shot. But I didn’t, and I lost the months I might have had with her instead of losing her sooner than the heart disease that was killing her would have taken her. It ate me up insid
e to know I could have had months more. We could have married. We could have run away to some tropic island and made memories together. We could have … there could have been more.
The office was busy on the main floor where the analysts and the security monitors and the other support personnel were still doing their jobs. But the upper floors were quiet. I sat heavily in my chair and pulled a bottle out of a bottom drawer. I shouldn’t. But it was Saturday, and my thoughts were so consumed with Sam lately that I needed something to dull the pain.
Five years. You’d think it would get easier, but somehow it never did. Megan told me to sell Sam’s condo. She couldn’t even visit there anymore; she couldn’t walk through those rooms without remembering every moment she spent with Sam. For me, it was as if Sam was still there, ready to turn a corner or step out of the shadows at any second. I liked that feeling. Yet I was spending more and more time at the office.
I didn’t know. I was … I’d only had Sam for such a short time. I didn’t want to lose the connection we’d had. But I was afraid she was slipping away a little at a time. It scared the crap out of me in a way that facing terrorists on a battlefield hadn’t. I’d rather face a killer than forget Sam.
And then that murder in Louisiana. It haunted me and made me wonder if there was someone who was out to drive me insane. It wasn’t the man who killed Sam, the man who was the mastermind behind the murders of my parents. I made sure he never saw the light of day again. But he had an accomplice who was released on parole a few years back. And he had family.
Would that night never leave me alone? Would I always be looking over my shoulder?
When I closed my eyes, I was a child again, six years old, hiding in a cupboard, watching as those men raped and murdered my mother.
There were lots of noises that night. He sat there for a long time, just listening. He didn’t know what to do. He knew this was bad, but his mother told him to hide. So he hid until it was quiet for a very long time. When he finally came out of the cupboard, when he crawled around the couch to where his mother lay, he pulled her dress up over her bare breasts, aware that it wasn’t proper for her to be like that, then laid his head against her chest, waiting for the sound of her heartbeat to soothe the fear in his chest. But it didn’t because it wasn’t there.
DRAGON SECURITY: Volume 2: The Complete 6 Books Series Page 12
