My Everything (15 page)

There was a freeway exit coming up in another mile. He was tempted to turn around and drive back to the hotel, but he had second thoughts, got cold feet.

No, the place was probably crawling with cops. The sister would have to be enough for now. An eye for an eye.

He giggled at the irony, but stopped when his eye began to throb.

“Don’t think about your eye. Think about Julie. She’s the only person you can trust.”

Then he remembered, Julie was dead, and he remembered how and where and why and who. She was dead because of Mr. Successful Security Specialist. It would never have happened if she’d stayed home where she belonged.

Damn these L.A. freeways. He’d just passed his exit.

Damn that bitch. His eye wouldn’t stop tearing. He wondered if he could get into the free clinic in Bakersfield. He’d say a cat had scratched him. That was good. They’d believe that.

“And then it will be hasta la vista, baby.”

Roger took the next exit and turned left, heading back under the freeway. He re-entered the road, making sure to keep to the right this time, and he exited without incident. He drove slow, staying under the speed limit. This was a bad neighborhood and he never knew when the cops might show up. Not that it mattered. He’d left blood and fingerprints back at the hotel. That was unfortunate. But they didn’t know about the van. They couldn’t. He’d never registered it anywhere. Even if they pulled his prints, his last known address was his apartment in Santa Rosa.

It wouldn’t help the cops to go to his parents. They were clueless. His parents had no idea about anything he’d done. They didn’t even know he’d gone through Julie’s things.

He’d found her diary packed away in a box in her old bedroom and he stole it. At first he’d just wanted to read her words, to hear her voice in his head. But it was the diary that had helped him figure it out. The diary had provided the clues.

McCall had cheated on her, meeting women at that hotel in Pomona. He always reserved room 321. Rodger knew all about McCall’s lies because of the words Julie wrote. She said she’d followed her husband one night and found out that he’d checked into a room, room 321, and it wasn’t the first time. She followed him three more times.

According to her diary, the third time she found the courage to knock on the door but no one answered.

Of course McCall didn’t answer. He was busy banging somebody else. Who knew how many women he had? He traveled the world. Probably kept a bitch in heat stashed wherever he went.

Julie’s diary led Roger to the apartment. He wasn’t certain what her visit to the apartment meant; he only knew Julie had been there once. She’d written that Ben got a call when they were out to dinner and he’d taken her to an apartment to retrieve some papers. She mentioned the name of the street and said there was a great deli next door to the building. She said she went back two weeks later because she had a craving for pickles and a corned beef sandwich.

She was pregnant.

Bastard. He’d had the balls to take Julie to his love nest.

Two months later she was dead. McCall knew better than to take his pregnant wife on a dangerous assignment. How stupid could he be? No, not stupid. He was smart. In fact, his plan was brilliant. Who would ever suspect the grieving husband under such heinous circumstances?

Oh, McCall made a good show of grief all right. At least, that’s what Roger had heard from his parents. He couldn’t go to the funeral. He was in the hospital. Julie’s death had sent him running back there, again.

When McCall had vanished thirteen months ago and was presumed dead, it came as no surprise to Roger. That’s what Julie said he would do. Roger had read in her diary that Ben planned to retire after the baby was born. She assumed they’d both relocate somewhere. It was unfortunate she didn’t mention where. That’s why Roger had to go to so much trouble to make him resurface.

McCall wasn’t the only one who could pretend. Roger had deliberately disappeared one day. He’d been bunking ever since with new friends in Bakersfield.

He’d waited until his parents were in San Francisco for the day. He took the money from his trust fund, dyed his red hair brown, and within two hours, he had left everything behind. He’d taken a bus to Martinez and caught the Amtrak train to Bakersfield. He’d arrived with an overnight bag, his money and Julie’s diary.

Things had worked out better than he had hoped. He’d cut his hair and kept it dyed dark brown. Off the meds, he’d lost weight quickly and he began to work out again. He figured he’d better be in good shape if he was going to face McCall. He’d headed down to L.A. where he bought a cheap pistol on the streets and taught himself how to use it.

That’s where he’d found the house.

It was two blocks from where he’d bought the gun. It was perfect. He gave the owner enough money to make sure he’d be left alone for a long time. He’d spent a couple of months figuring out what he’d need, fixing it up right. His plan had been meticulous and perfect.

Following Julie’s diary, he’d even found his way to the street where Ben kept his secret love nest. It had taken him some time, but he finally got up the courage to show the torn photo around, the one his mother had given him after Julie and Ben married.

One man had identified McCall as a Mr. Spencer and had pointed out the building. He’d even known the apartment number, but he said he hadn’t seen Mr. Spencer in a year or so.

So that was the name the bastard gave to his mistresses, Spencer. Of course McCall would choose the apartment with the fire escape for easy access. If the wife came by, just hustle your whore out the back.

Roger didn’t try to break in through the front door. He’d simply climbed up the fire escape at night and smashed a window. He’d stolen the strong box containing the gun. Roger realized he’d lost the photo of Ben somewhere, but he still had Julie’s half sewn inside the cuff of his pants.

God, his sister was beautiful. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Losing her was worse than all those years spent in mental hospitals. It was the worst pain imaginable.

Unlike his parents, Julie had always watched out for him. He doubted his parents had even filed a missing person’s report. Julie had never stopped loving him. She’d never stopped being his sister. She’d remembered the way things used to be, before he’d gotten so sick.

He could have survived her death if he hadn’t found the diary. That was how he’d learned it was a set up. Her husband had set her up.

That was the only explanation that made any sense to him because there was no way Julie had been chosen at random by some stranger. She was too good to die.

Roger drove down the block and switched his headlights off as he approached the house. Better to be safe than sorry. He pulled around back, parking in the weeds. He retrieved another set of keys from his jacket pocket, climbed out of the van and opened the heavy garage door. He backed his sedan out of the garage and left it parked in the driveway. He then pulled the van into the garage. He locked the van, shut the garage door and bolted it and tossed the keys over the back fence, into the alley.

Now he needed to clean up his face and check out his eye.

“Damn her. Damn her. Damn her.”

My Everything◊J. R. Barrett

Angel heard the
van before she saw it. He’d turned the headlights off. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her legs began to tremble. She flattened herself against the roof tiles to keep from making any noise. She knew he couldn’t hear her, but she held her breath anyway. Despite the chill air, she broke out in a sweat.

Please God, don’t let my teeth chatter. Please God.

She watched him park the van in the backyard. He flipped up the old garage door and backed out a sedan. Angel couldn’t tell what kind of car it was. She could only tell that it was painted a dark color and it was old. He kept the headlights off but the backup lights came on when he put it into reverse. Angel couldn’t read the license number, but she was pretty sure it was a California plate, a blue background with yellow numbers. He switched vehicles, parking the car in the driveway and moving the van into the garage.

After he closed the garage door and locked it, she saw him toss the keys to the van over the back fence. She heard a muffled metallic clank when they hit the pavement. His actions told her he was getting ready to run.

Oh my God, had he killed Ben? Or had he made arrangements for a trade? He’d never trade her. He couldn’t leave her alive.

As he walked toward the house, Angel heard him muttering to himself. He sounded angry. She kept her head down. She heard him say, “Damn her. Damn her. Damn her.”

He disappeared from view when he got closer, but she could hear his footsteps on the back porch as he passed right by the trellis. He unlocked the back door and went inside. Angel exhaled. She was nearly overcome by an urge to scream her lungs out, but instead she gritted her teeth and choked it back.

If he was angry, maybe something had gone wrong and Ben was still alive, maybe there was hope.

But then who was he angry with? Damn who?

He didn’t know yet she’d escaped so she couldn’t be the reason for his anger.

Angel remained very still, an ear pressed to the roof tiles. All she could do now was wait.

Ben took Grace
by the hand and led her to his room. This phone call would be one of the most difficult of his life, second only to calling Julie’s parents to tell them of her death. He wanted Grace with him. He desperately needed her support.

How ironic. Ben had never needed anyone’s support in his adult life. Not even Julie’s. He’d always been the one in charge, in control. In his previous life his own arrogance and his years of training led him to believe he could control every little thing, handle everyone. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Ben shook his head. He felt as if he saw things clearly for the first time. He glanced at Grace, tempted to talk about it, but he pressed his lips together. Now wasn’t the time to discuss his personal epiphany.

Grace sat on the edge of a chair in the corner while Ben dialed the number. He stretched out a hand and patted a spot on the bed next to him.

Grace shook her head. “I’m intruding,” she said.

“Come over here, Grace,” he said. “I need you with me.”

She pushed herself up out of the chair and sat beside him, resting her body against his.

Ben put an arm around her as he gave his mother the shock of her life. He spoke briefly with his stepfather then hung up, promising to call the minute he had news about Angel.

After the conversation, he dropped the phone onto the bed and sat in silence. He felt weak as a kitten, drained of all energy, raw and bloody, as if someone had split open his chest and ripped out his still-beating heart.

He turned to Grace, hoping she’d say something to make him feel better, but she’d buried her face in both hands. Her shoulders shook with sobs. He wanted to reach out and comfort her but he couldn’t. He needed her to comfort him.

Ben had always taken great pride in the fact that he never needed anybody. Now, looking at Grace, he realized to the very depths of his soul that he needed the warmth and reassurance only a woman could provide. Not just any woman. Grace. It had to be Grace.

He wanted to plunge into her life, lose his soul in her touch, become a part of her. He wanted to share everything with her.

When Grace finally pulled her hands away from her face, her cheeks were streaked with tears. She stared at him, challenging him, as if daring him to give her hope. Ben shook himself like a wild animal waking from a long hibernation, and he reached for her.

He wasn’t gentle. He didn’t have the time. Ben rose from the bed and stood in front of Grace, hauled her to her feet, crushing her against him. Her body was soft and yielding against his hard frame.

Grace lifted her mouth to his, her lips plump and swollen after her tears.

Ben was just a man, and he needed her the way a man needs his woman. His hands roamed her back, searching for the buttons to undo her dress.

“Rip it,” she muttered against his mouth. “Rip it.”