Hooked Up: Book 3 (9 page)

It is now also possible for the spy to recover your deleted text messages and last dialed numbers – even deleted contacts.

I sat there, stunned. My cell, that nice new Smartphone, and my old one—especially my old one (lost with my purse) with even more unprotected technology—had been unwilling traitors to my every move, my every word. My phone: a recording device even when switched off? Laura could have practically been in the bath with me and Alessandra; been privy to our bondage madness, heard everything about my night with the football players, not to mention all my intimate text messages and phone calls to Alexandre and Daisy! Maybe she’d been in on my emails, too. And if she had me tracked, who was to say she hadn’t done the same to Alexandre, or anyone she chose?

I was horrified, yet relieved. Alexandre had not lied to me. He did not betray me. Laura was psychotic. And dangerous.
Dange-air oose,
as Alexandre would say.

Anything I said, I did, could be used against me. Not in a court of law, no—the woman was breaking every ounce of the law, what she was doing was highly illegal. But her knowledge was her weapon. There was only one thing to do: take my phone to some techie-genius to be swept clean of her spyware, and get a new chip, not registered in my name. And call Alexandre—let him know that his ex was a total nut-job. Speaking of techie-geniuses, how come Alexandre himself hadn’t caught onto the fact she was hacking my phone? He must have known all about that sort of stuff. How come he hadn’t guessed?

All that Laura was saying about her husband, too? Being AWOL. Had she topped James off?

I needed to be careful. She was not only jealous, bitchy, and determined . . .

She was terrifyingly dangerous.

I TOOK MY PHONE to a specialized shop, and the man confirmed that yes, it looked as if it had been hacked. He restored the factory settings, changed the chip so I had a new number, and warned me to watch all text messages coming in, which could be new attempts at breaking into my conversations and messages.

P
EARL’S RESOLVE to keep me on my toes continued for the next couple of weeks. The chill of the winter air seemed to match her emotions. She refused to move back in with me. Daisy and Amy took up residence with her in her new apartment, which meant I didn’t have her all to myself. Daisy had split with her husband who had cheated on her—all the more reason why Daisy was acting like a guardian phoenix—always on the lookout, scrutinizing me with quiet reserve to see if I behaved well, if I did right by Pearl. Yes, I was on probation; all female eyes monitoring my every move, even little Amy who was only five years old.

Pearl had been trying to get in touch with Laura. She wanted a direct explanation from her. How—she wanted to know—did she have all that personal information? I sure as hell wanted to know too, and at that point—considering my line of work and now knowing how scheming Laura was—I stupidly hadn’t put two and two together. What a dunce.

As for Pearl, she just didn’t trust me—about Laura, about the history of my father—no she didn’t buy my tale that he’d just “disappeared into thin air,” and would slip it into the conversation every so often. I so ached to reveal my secret, be honest with her, but it wasn’t my call. I was protecting someone who had sworn me to secrecy.

I wanted to be as close to Pearl as possible, but I felt that she was only half mine. We were still having sex, but somehow the situation was very confusing to me. She had discovered a newfound joy: sex without full-on commitment. It was as if she were twenty-two again. All those wasted years in her twenties and thirties after the rape—some of those married ones (when she had been emotionally and sexually blocked), were given a new lease on life—her inner 1960’s-sexual-revolution-babe had been unleashed. She’d become like a young Jane Fonda. I could hardly complain, but I was wondering if our marriage would
ever
go ahead. Pearl had what she wanted: me at her beck and call, “servicing” her, “filling her up.” but without binding herself to me. She even had a nickname for me: “the Exxon Guy.” I laughed at her joke—what else could I do?

Talk about an odd juxtaposition of roles; it was as if she were my age and
I
was forty. All I could think of was getting rings on our fingers, while she stalled me with excuses. The bottom line was her wavering mistrust.

And just as I thought that there was a beam of light at the end of this tunnel, an earthquake separated us as if we had been standing on the San Andreas fault line itself—Pearl and I seemed doomed. Just when I thought that I, the frog, had a chance of becoming Pearl’s prince, by finally getting that magical, proverbial kiss, Laura chucked parts of me into her bubbling cauldron, stirring me in with her poisonous ingredients.

Eye of newt, and toe of frog,

Wool of bat, and tongue of dog.

Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,

Lizard’s leg, and owlet’s wing,

For a charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hellbroth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble,

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Shakespeare’s lines—which I’d once learned at school—reverberated in my brain. I was busy shopping at Dean & DeLuca when Laura caught me by surprise. I had been eyeing up delicious Stilton cheeses and Christmas cakes and cookies, but now I felt like throwing up.

“Darling,” Laura purred into the line like the
Macbeth
witch she was, “so glad we’re going to finally get a chance to chat.”

My mouth was a thin hard line, my teeth clenched like clamps. “I have nothing to say to you, Laura, I’m going to hang up.”

She quickly replied, “If you don’t want your mother to be arrested for murder, you’d better hear me out.”

I felt like a cartoon character being steamrolled. I looked down at my feet and saw that I was still in one piece, but my body was experiencing a strange flattening sensation as if I were actually part of the floor itself.

I did a fake, raucous laugh. “You have a great imagination, Laura.”

“Alex, I’m not in the mood to play your beating around the bush game. I’ve given you so many chances to make amends with me—nothing has worked so now I’m going to have to get tough.”

“I don’t have time for this nonsense, I’m hanging up.” But I didn’t hang up. I couldn’t. I stayed on the line, my brain desperately trying to find a way out. I cast my gaze furtively around the store to see if eyes were on me, but people were too busy shopping for holiday treats to notice. I said nothing more, just waited to see what would come next.

She went on, “I mean it. I have evidence. You were a fool to leave what you left hidden in that bookshelf. You supposed, I’m sure, that nobody would have known what it was. Well I
did.
”

Jesus! It had simply slipped my mind!
“You’re talking nonsense,” I said, blood pounding through my veins.

“Traceable, Alex, and you know it. Interesting the little story you have going about your father living in South America, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re insane, Laura,” I croaked out, my mouth dry as desert sand.

“Scotland Yard might not think I’m so insane. We all watch CSI. Things are very state-of-the-art these days with forensics.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I have proof. Has your mobile phone been acting up a little lately?”

Duh. How had I been so dumb?
Some tech guy! I’d been a fucking fool. She’d bloody listened in on my calls, or seen a text message. Without even touching someone’s cell you could eavesdrop on a conversation. Calls, text messages—everything could be monitored by the intruder, even if you weren’t actively talking on the phone. I thought of a call I’d made to my mother back in the summer, telling her . . . what
had
I told her? I couldn’t even remember, but whatever it was, Laura had cottoned on. She’d been eavesdropping on Pearl, too. That’s how Laura knew all those intimate details about her shenanigans with Alessandra.
What a dunce I’d been not to preempt that!

“Alex? Are you still there?’

“Yes, I’m still here.” I couldn’t do any more denying. “What do you want, Laura? Money?”

“Don’t be silly! What I want money can’t buy.”

“Most things have a price. What’s your price, Laura?”

“Happiness.”

“You
have
happiness: a very kind husband, a stunning house, money. Your health is back. What
more
do you want?”

“Simple. I want you.”

“You know that’s impossible.”

“Your choice. Either your mum ends up rotting in jail or you be nice to me.”

If only Pearl hadn’t done a runner! We’d be married. A wife can’t be forced to testify against her husband. We’d be a team.
I stood there in silence, in the middle of the store amidst the beautiful display of gourmet foods. I was speechless. My fist was clenched in a ball, while the other hand clawed the receiver of my cell. I had to sort this shit out. Now. I had visions of a bus mowing Laura down, or her choking to death on a fish bone.

I heaved out a long breath and said, “I’ll come and see you in London and we can talk this through.”

“Good boy. I knew you’d see the light. I’ll expect you by latest, tomorrow. No stalling, Alex. Can’t wait to see you, darling. Bye, bye.”

I bought an apple juice, glugged it all down in one go, and called my mother, letting her know I’d be coming to Paris.

Christmas was around the corner. Pearl and I had ordered a tree and bought hand-made glass decorations to adorn it with. She had even found a special red silk ribbon for Rex. Everything was on the brink of perfection.

Until now.

I stood on the sidewalk and noticed my hand was trembling. I needed to call Pearl. This news would be the nail in the coffin for me. For us.

I was totally fucked.
Merdre!

Her cell number was ominously out of order; a voice message saying it was no longer valid. I called the landline in hope.

In dread.

A
S I OPENED my front door, the landline was ringing. Alexandre. His voice sounded shaky and very apologetic. “Your cell isn’t going through,” he let me know in an agitated voice.

“That’s because I changed my phone number. It had been hacked. By Laura.”

“I gathered.”

I chucked my coat on the hall table in fury. “What? You’re not surprised?” I shouted out. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Because I didn’t put two and two together until it was staring me in the face. I was being very blind, Pearl, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about Laura.”

“She’s been listening to my conversations! Maybe yours, too. I don’t trust my cell . . . even now, after I’ve just had it swept clean. And you, you’ve been tracking me too. I don’t like it, Alexandre, I don’t like it one bit.”

“I feel safer when I know where you are, chérie. I just want to look after you, know you’re okay. Listen, baby, I have to take a trip, at least a week.”

“What about Christmas?”

“I have an emergency; I have to see my mother.”

“Oh my God, is she okay?” I thought of my own mother—
please don’t say it’s the Big C.

“Physically, yes, she’s fine but . . . well . . . we have a family emergency.”

“Is Sophie alright? Elodie?”

“This has nothing to do with Sophie. It’s just between my mother and me. Something’s come up.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“When we’re married, Pearl, I’ll tell you all about it.”

This mysterious and enigmatic comment left me speechless. Suspicion nipped at my heels.

“Pearl, are you still there?”

“I don’t understand, ‘when we’re married.’ Is this some kind of moral blackmail to speed up the wedding?”

“No.”

“Then what are you saying something like that for?”

“When we’re married we’ll be a team.”

“We’re a team now, Alexandre,” I said, hurt. I slumped onto the chair and took off my sneakers.

“Not quite. I need to know . . . look, I don’t want to discuss this over the phone.”

I was rendered silent, still trying to digest this weird conversation. Laura calling, telling me she finally had “Alexandre’s attention,” and Alexandre’s mother who wasn’t ill, yet had a mysterious emergency.
What
emergency?

“Look, I’m flying to Paris in a couple of hours.”

I waited for him to say more. Waited for his invitation to join him. He said nothing.

“Christmas?” I asked.

“I’m in a real mess right now, a real bind. I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Christmas?” I repeated, my heart pounding with disappointment and anger.

“Baby, of course you’re welcome to come for Christmas in Paris but . . . ”

“If there’s a ‘but’ involved, I don’t think I want to,” I replied tentatively, my throat swelling up.

“Yes, there is a very big but.”

I took a deep breath. My eyes were prickling with tears. I had imagined Christmas here, in New York, both of us alone with Rex. If his mother had been ill, of course I would have understood, but this . . . this was beginning to sound like some strange excuse. “What’s going on?” I croaked through my wooden throat.