Authors: Angie West
I smiled as I kneeled down in front of the box with the worn tape
,
with
‘
Dishes
’
neatly printed in bold black marker.
In high school I had died my hair
ultra-blonde
,
or at least I had tried
—
it wasn
’
t
as easy to pull off as it look
ed
.
I remember
ed
that I had ended up looking
ultra-cheap
instead.
My efforts had also been rewarded with chemical burns on my scalp. But those days had long since passed and I had accepted that I was on the plain side.
Well, a little better than plain
, I thought, preening a bit as I tore open the cardboard top on the box and rummaged through the contents.
Either way, the fact that nothing in particular
about me
stood out like a sore thumb was a definite plus.
I knew that I was out of my depth and needed every advantage I could scrounge up.
I grabbed the large platter at the bottom of the box and carefully turned it over.
There, taped to the bottom, just as Mike had promised, was a bronze looking half circle with several grooves on it.
“
Huh
,
”
I contemplated as I carefully turned it over in my hand
s
.
The thing felt heavier than I had expected.
Despite its age, it also felt incredibly sturdy.
But I had expected it to be more…ornate? To find it plain and tarnished was kind of a
let-down
.
“
Honestly, Claire, of all the things to be let down by right now
,
”
I mumbled to myself.
Great, now I was talking to myself too.
I all but ran back to my car and hopped inside.
I debated for a moment on the best place to put the key.
Shoving it into my purse with my
lip-gloss
and spare keys was out.
Even though it was remarkably solid, the scientist in me recognized and respected that it was, first and foremost, an
artefact
of considerable age.
I glanced around the car and finally decided on my leather tote.
The
zipper
ed
pocket
would protect it,
and it would be with the papers that I had managed to
‘
escape
’
with.
My next stop was a small diner a couple of towns over.
I sat in a booth and sipped coffee while I debated my next move.
I knew that I should be going to the airport.
It was the next step to take and by far the safest.
But I kept thinking about Mike
’
s letter and the documents that he said were buried in my backyard
,
of all places.
I shook my head and frowned at the parking lot beyond the window to my right.
I really wanted those documents
and
,
even though it was stupid, I knew I would have to go back to get them.
I could only h
ope I would be alone this time.
***
It was well past sunset by the time I pulled into my subdivision.
Of course, if it hadn
’
t been dark I would have waited until it was.
I couldn
’
t be sure whoever had been inside my house that night was gone
;
just the opposite
...
I was certain that my house was still occupied.
It was probably the bright lights burning though the night from my kitchen window that gave it away.
So
,
they were still waiting for me…great.
Well
, I rationalized
,
as I crept into the yard from the alley,
I expected that
.
So there was really no need for me to feel like throwing up into my rose bushes.
I told myself all of this.
It didn
’
t help.
Knowing that people who wanted to hurt me were within shouting distance did absolutely nothing for my nerves.
The moon was silvery and bright and the night was foggy
—
thank you God
—
as I dropped to my stomach, crawling the rest of the way to the largest tree in my backyard.
T
hree other trees
grew
in my back yard
,
but this
one
was the farthest from the house and the largest.
The others were fairly new and wouldn
’
t provide any sort of coverage at all.
I hoped that Mike had buried it under this one because I didn
’
t think I had it in me to dig up the others out in the open like that.
Looking
down at my hands
,
I
grabbed the small shovel and trowel I had brought with me.
I had
purchased
them
,
along with my new black sweater and jeans, on the way.
The
shovel and several gardening tools
that I owned were stored
in the garage
,
which attached to the house.
Anyway, I studied my hands for a minute and listened to the night sounds around me.
“
All clear
,
”
I whispered, and began to dig.
Inside the house shadows moved.
***
Carl Galveston didn
’
t hate his job; he hated his boss.
He told himself this as he used his index finger to silently brush each curtain aside and peer out into the dark night.
Knowing that the source of his anger was misplaced didn
’
t help.
He was still in a bad mood and had been for several months.
Was it possible to stay pissed for six months?
He contemplated this as he moved from room to room for his nightly check.
Tonight was the last night of the stake out.
The assignment was short and simple.
Wait for the scientist lady to come home and intercept her.
He and the two other men on the job had already delivered the box.
For whatever reason, John wanted the woman as well.
The instructions were clear.
John wanted an immediate phone call the minute she was found.
They were supposed to search her and deliver any possessions they found with her to John.
That was where the instruction ended
,
b
ut Carl knew the routine.
Take what was needed and destroy the evidence.
That was simply how things worked
, and
Carl hated that it applied
equally
to women.
A man he didn
’
t
mind
so much.
He had been killing for so long
he no longer even saw it as killing.
He was
just
doing his job every time he pulled the trigger or wiped off a blade.
It was business.
It was not personal
—not
anymore.
But killing a woman
...
well
,
that was different.
Maybe it was because he had never done it before.
He hoped that one of his colleagues would finish the job.
The thought made him ill.
Strange, but there it was. The man with no conscience had a heart after all.
Lately he had dreamed of doing great things
—
things his mother would have been proud of.
He wasn
’
t sure why.
He shut the living room curtains with a sharp flick of his wrist and headed into the kitchen.
It didn
’
t matter.
Dreams were just that
...dreams
.
Besides that, it was long past too late to walk the straight and narrow.
But killing a woman, a doctor at that
,
was pushing it even for him.
He hoped that Claire Roberts, PhD, had been smart enough to get the hell out dodge.
“
Is there anything to report?
”
he
wearily asked the dark haired man at the kitchen table.
“
Everything is locked tight.
”
“
Hah.
”
Carl grunted and sat down at the far end of the table.
“
You want coffee?
”
“
Yeah, there
’
s some left.
You want fresh?
Lady
’
s got some fancy stuff up there too.
Not that I ever drank that shit, but hey.
”
“
Just black.
I
’
ll get it myself, Earl.
”
“
K.
”
And that was that
, Carl thought.
A lot of people probably
don
’
t
think that hired guns and ex-cons
sit
around discussing the merits of flavored coffees
, he thought, hiding his smile behind a cough and
a
quick sip of the strong brew.
“
Tomorrow
’
s it then
,
”
Earl remarked
,
more to himself than to his silent companion.
“
Looks like.
”
“
And none too soon.
I
’
m sick and tired of living in a tomb.
It
’
s been two days.
She
’
s not going to show.
We aren
’
t getting paid to sit here all week anyway.
”
“
We were paid until tomorrow
,
”
Carl agreed.
“
That doesn
’
t mean we relax tonight.
She still might show up.
No mistakes.
”
Even though he was pretty sure that taking the job in the first place had been a mistake.
***
Earl nodded and sat back.
He didn
’
t bother to mention he had seen the lady stop down the street the night before and speed away in the other direction.
Had he bothered to report that handy bit of information to his boss or his partner they wouldn
’
t
have
be
en
there
this
long.
Yet he had kept his mouth shut that night and was not about to break the silence.
He would never admit that it was his fault they had been spotted and had their cover blown.
If he hadn
’
t accidentally aimed the flashlight through the living room window, they would have had her.
She had spotted the beam and his movement, he was sure of it.
He hadn
’
t been able to see her face in the dark, but she had pulled a hard and fast U-turn and sped away.
No, the pretty doctor was long gone
,
a
nd they were wasting their time.
“
So
,
vanilla
or
....
”
He peeked at the tiny label.
“
Tiramisu?
”
“
Shut up
,
Earl.
”
“
Right.
”
S
ince he had no idea what in the hell tiramisu was, he spooned vanilla into the coffee maker and hit the button.
He turned in time to catch the faintest hint of movement out the window to the left.
Suddenly he was at the window, his eyes narrowed as he leaned over the
windowsill
.
“
See something?
”
“
Maybe.
I
’
ll check it out.
”