Chapter Thirty

Allen

When a week passes, then two, with no more threatening messages to Brielle, I begin to breathe a little easier. It helps when Tucker’s continued investigation seemingly contradicts the initial statements Bitzmore made during his first interview.

“Lone whackadoodle,” he tells me over coffee. “Guy’s got some serious mental issues and a very active imagination.”

“Yeah,” I agree, flexing the right shoulder that is still aching from the round of physical therapy earlier in the morning. “I wonder if his attorney will use that to try and plea bargain.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised at all,” Tucker agrees. “Anyway, I thought you’d like to know where things stood.”

***

I drive Brielle back over to her place right after lunch, and she is stunned – and not in a good way – to see over two hundred and fifty missed calls on her cell phone.

“It’s going to take me forever to get caught up,” she laments, and I go to her and take her in my arms.

“But you’re still around to do it, and that’s what matters,” I tell her gently.

“I know,” she says, and kisses me.

“Want to do dinner tonight?”

“Actually, I was thinking a girls’ night in to celebrate,” she tells me. “I know Mari’s glad this is over, and poor Rita was beside herself with worry when she couldn’t get a hold of me. I thought the three of us could sit around and have some wine and relax, maybe put on a movie.”

“Besides,” she says as she wraps her arms around my waist, “you could stand to put in some time at your office, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” I admit, “but it’s been nice having you all to myself these last two weeks.”

She grins.

“I agree, but now we need to get back to reality.”

“Call you later?”

“I’d like that.”

I kiss her again before I retreat to my truck and head to the office.

Brielle

Both Mari and Rita sound excited about getting together, and I smile as I make my way to my home office.

It takes me four hours of non-stop work to whittle down the voicemails and put a sizeable dent in the well over three hundred emails that accumulated while I was in hiding.

Before I know it, my doorbell is chiming, and opening my front door reveals Mari standing there with a mischievous grin and a very familiar-looking box.

“Cheesecake?”

“You know it.”

“You rock,” I say and stand aside for her to enter.

We are just contemplating what to order for dinner when Rita shows up, brandishing a bottle of my favorite Moscato.

“Wow! My favorite wine, and cheesecake? I feel like I’ve hit the lottery,” I say with a laugh, and hug Rita tightly then lead the way to the kitchen.

“I’m just happy you’re okay, Brielle,” Rita tells me, her face full of emotion. “I have to admit, I’m a little pissed that you didn’t tell me what was going on so I could help.”

“I know, Rita, and I’m sorry. But it was safer not to at the time. I hope you understand.”

She smiles and nods. “I do. So, what’s for dinner?”

“Hm,” I say, biting my bottom lip, “what sounds better, Chinese, or pizza?”

The vote comes in unanimously for an extra-large pizza with pepperoni, mushrooms, and extra cheese, and I place the order.

“They said it will be here in about forty-five minutes,” I announce.

“Good. Let’s break open the wine, shall we?” Rita says as she uncorks the bottle. “Because it sounds like we have a lot to celebrate.”

She pours three glasses, and we toast in my kitchen.

“Now then,” I say as I lead the way into the living room, “we have a bunch of different movies to choose from. Any ideas?”

“Nothing violent,” Mari says. “Keep it light.”

“Ooh! Something romantic,” Rita chimes in. “A rom-com is always good.”

“Either of you ever seen The Cutting Edge?”

***

I move back to the kitchen to retrieve the bottle when my wineglass is empty.

“Anyone else need a refill?” I offer.

“Hit me,” Mari says, and I dutifully pour.

“Rita, what about you?”

“Moscato’s actually not my thing,” she admits, “so I am just gonna nurse this one, then switch to iced tea.”

“Fair enough,” I say, top off my glass, and retake my seat on the left end of the couch.

I am about a third of the way through my second glass when my limbs begin to feel funny, like they are weighted down with lead. I turn my head to the right to look over at Mari and notice that she is pale, and her eyelids are drooping.

“Mari,” I mumble, and my tongue feels thick. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t… think so…” she croaks as her eyes roll back in her head.

The doorbell ringing sounds far, far away.

“Must be the pizza. I’ll get it,” Rita says, and jumps up to go to the door.

A few minutes later she is back.

“Pizza’s here,” she announces cheerfully as she holds up the box, “and I brought along a mutual friend of ours, as well.”

She steps to one side and the menacing figure that moves forward into my swimming field of vision is none other than Tony, my psychotic ex.

Fear coils deep in my belly and I am frantic, trying to get to my feet, but my body is not cooperating very well, and I sag to the floor on my knees.

"You… you’re supposed to be in prison in New York,” I gasp, every muscle in my body weighing a ton.

“Enough money can accomplish anything,” he snarls at me, and I blink rapidly when I notice that bone-deep crazy flashes like a strobe light in his brown eyes. “Including getting convictions overturned and altering computer records. I’ve been down here for six months now.”

“How did you find me?”

He laughs, and a shiver runs down my spine.

“You told me all about dear old Aunt Betsy, remember? Wasn’t hard to pick up your trail.”

“What… happened… to your face…”

“This?” he gestures to the ragged scar that runs from his hairline down across his right cheek. “A gift from a cellmate. And that is just one of many that I owe you for, Brielle.”

He tears his focus away from me long enough to scowl at Rita.

“I wanted her lucid for this. How much did you give her?”

“It’s only her second glass, baby.”

Baby? Did my assistant just call the most evil human being that I have ever met baby?