The Perfect Affair (18 page)

R
andall groped for his phone, eyes still closed, and silenced it once again. “I’m sorry, baby,” he grumbled.

“Was that her again?” Sherri asked, her voice filled with sleep.

“Yeah.”

“What time is it?”

“Five thirty.”

“Why don’t you just turn off your phone?”

“Can’t. There are too many important calls from overseas I’d potentially miss.”

Five minutes later the phone rang again. A frustrated Randall threw back the covers and got out of bed. “Might as well start the day,” he grumbled, “since it looks like my chance for peaceful sleep is over.”

“I still think I should answer the phone. I have a few things to say to Ms. Jacqueline, trust and believe.”

“I know you do, Sherri, and you have every right to want to confront her. But you should have seen her. She acted . . . off. I don’t know how else to say it. Let me handle this, baby, talk to her when we get back home—”

“Talk to her? Seriously? Oh, hell no!”

“I’ve got to try to get her to see reason. Obviously there’s been a big misunderstanding. But one thing I’ve learned in my time with the media: You don’t want to piss off someone with a pen. Just one meeting, Sherri. I’ll apologize for anything I did to give her a wrong impression and try to . . . calm things down.”

Sherri nodded but didn’t respond.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

“Okay.” She smiled, watching Randall’s still firm, toned ass as he walked around the corner and into the bathroom. As soon as she heard the water running, however, her whole mood changed. He’d asked her not to, but she’d made him no promises. She reached across the bed, grabbed his phone from the nightstand, and scrolled the screen for missed calls.Without hesitation, she redialed the number.

“Good morning, handsome,” Jacqueline purred into her ear. “About time you called back.”

“Jacqueline.” Sherri’s voice was as cold as an Alaskan winter. “This is Sherri, Randall’s wife. You know, the one who you feel he should divorce?” Silence. “He told me about your little declaration of love when you stopped by our suite yesterday. So let me tell you this. There is already one Mrs. Atwater, and there will not be another. You got that? I can appreciate your being interested in someone as handsome, intelligent, and successful as my husband. You’re not the first sorry skirt to go chasing after him and you won’t be the last. But when it comes to wives . . . I’m it. Do you understand? Hello? Hello?!” She looked down and saw that the call had disconnected. “Conniving whore,” she hissed under her breath. “Hanging up was your best bet.”

Sherri got out of bed and walked over to her purse. She retrieved her phone, recorded Jacqueline’s number into her contacts, and placed Randall’s phone back on the nightstand. It would have been foolish for her to return to bed; there was enough adrenaline pumping through her right now to run a mile. So that’s what she decided to do. She pulled out some workout gear and headed for the hotel’s exercise room. Before leaving, however, she texted Renee.

Jacqueline sat, deceptively calm and still. Outwardly she barely moved, but inwardly her mind was racing.

It had been twenty-four hours since she had endured Sherri’s cocky takedown in Las Vegas, and she was still seeing red. When she got off the phone, she’d smashed a vase to smithereens and worn a new groove into the hardwood floor, then she’d turned on her computer and began doing a variety of searches: Randall Atwater address; Sherri Atwater address; Atwaters Alexandria Virginia; Atwaters Virginia; Dr. Atwater address; and on and on. Finally, she pulled up the PSI website, and within minutes—using the techniques Marco had shown her—had cracked the security code and gained full access.This did little good. There was no hidden data on where the Atwaters resided. Knowing that staying in Sin City was futile, she’d quickly checked out of the hotel and boarded a plane.

Now she sat brooding in a rental car, in the parking lot of the office building where PSI was located. She’d dressed casually, jeans and a simple navy blue tee, her hair and part of her face hidden behind dark glasses and a baseball cap. She sat there, waiting, observing the comings and goings, waiting until a glimpse of genius came to her, until she had a plan.

She sat there for two hours, waiting for she knew not what. Finally, she saw a perky blonde cutting across the lawn heading to the parking lot, deep in conversation with a handsome brown-haired gentleman dressed in a polo shirt and jeans. Jacqueline immediately recognized her as Randall’s executive assistant, the one who sat directly outside his office whom she had been introduced to when she’d toured the place.
On her way to lunch, no doubt
, Jacqueline thought as she continued to watch her.
If you’re going to make a move, Jacqueline, you need to do it now.

With a half-baked plan and nerves of steel, Jacqueline casually exited her car. She’d purposely parked in the back of the parking lot, next to a row of service vehicles. Keeping her head down, she made her way to the building’s front door and, attaching herself to a group of businessmen, stepped inside the building after one had used his card to gain access. She headed directly for the elevators and, instead of stepping in with the same group of men, opted to wait for the next one, hopefully empty. A car arrived and opened. She hurried inside. Pushing the button to the top floor, she still had no idea how she was going to get past the receptionist, past the occupied offices with doors often open, and into Randall’s office. She just knew that it was going to happen. One way or another. She pushed the button to close the door. Just before it shut, someone entered.
Dammit!
Pulling out her phone, she busied herself with the illusion of texting, so that keeping her head down would not look suspicious.

“Jacqueline?”

Her heart stopped at the mention of her name. She slowly raised her head. “Evan?” Her face broke into a friendly smile. “Oh my goodness. I haven’t seen you since the conference in New York. I thought you lived in LA.”

“I do.”

“What are you doing on this side of the country?”

“I’m doing a six-month internship with Dan Cole, one of Dr. Atwater’s colleagues.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. After a brief meeting with Dr. Atwater in New York, he suggested I send my resume. I did. Dan called me, just last week. What about you? Do you work in this building?” As he said it, Jacqueline noted him taking in her attire.

“Oh no,” she said, offering up a flirty laugh. “I’m off today, but came over to pick up some information from Dr. Atwater. It’s for the article I’m doing on him.”

Evan frowned. “I thought he was at a conference in Vegas.”

“He is,” Jacqueline quickly countered. “I’m getting this from his secretary.”

The small talk continued as they reached the impressive embossed doors to Randall’s company. The receptionist looked up, and upon seeing Evan pulling out his key card, took no note of the woman beside him. They entered, passed the lobby, and started down the hallway.

“It was nice seeing you, Evan. I’m in a hurry though, so let me run. Enjoy your time in D.C.”

“Hey, maybe we can . . .”

Whatever he said or was going to say, Jacqueline didn’t hear. She was on a mission, and Evan’s purpose had been served.

 

Two days later, Blair looked up from her cell phone as the doorbell rang. “Hold on, Kirk,” she said to her boyfriend. “Somebody’s at the door.” She reached the door and looked through the peephole. Seeing a casually dressed, plain-looking woman wearing thick glasses, she opened the door.

“Yes, may I help you?”

“Hello, Blair. Housecleaning,” the woman said in a heavily accented voice.

“Excuse me?”

“I with housecleaning service. I’m here to clean house.” Blair looked beyond the woman to the street, searching for the regular housecleaner’s black Honda Accord. “Where’s Lucia?”

“Sick,” the woman said, keeping her eyes downcast. “The company sent me to work for her.” The woman held up a bucket filled with cleaning supplies. Propped up next to the front door were a broom and a mop. “I do a good job.”

“Why did you bring all that? Didn’t the company tell you that the supplies are kept here?”

“I like to use my own. Special cleaning.” Jacqueline had no intention of leaving anything bearing her fingerprints behind.

The woman smiled, and Blair noted that her teeth were badly stained. Taking in her scruffy clothing and battered tennis shoes caused a wave of sympathy to wash over the young, caring adult. She smiled back sincerely. “Sure. Come on in.”

Blair stood aside so the woman could enter. “What’s your name?”

“Ruth.”

“Nice to meet you, Ruth. I’m Blair.”

The housecleaning employee stopped just inside the foyer. Her eyes darted from one place to the other, before settling on the floor. “This beautiful home,” she said.

“Yes, it is.” Sensing the woman’s discomfort, Blair tried for small talk. “You have a lovely accent, Ruth. Where are you from?”

“The islands.”

“Oh! I love the Caribbean. I’ve been there several times. Which one?”

Instead of looking at her directly, the woman stared just beyond Blair’s shoulder. “Where you travel?”

“Let’s see.” Blair began counting on her hands. “Jamaica, Grand Cayman, Puerto Rico—those all on one cruise—and then the Bahamas, Barbados, and Aruba.”

“I’m from Belize,” Ruth quickly responded.

Blaire frowned. “Isn’t Belize in Central America?”

Ruth shrugged. “All island to me.” She looked at her watch. “This big house. Best get started.”

“Sure, I’m sorry. Did they tell you what to clean?” The woman shook her head. “No problem. I’ll show you around.”

Ten minutes later, the two ladies stood in the Atwaters’ master suite. “I think I’ll start here,” Ruth said, reaching for the furniture polish. “Thank you.”

She turned her back, a clear sign of dismissal. Blair left the room.

Jacqueline counted to ten and then pulled out the pouch from where it had been hidden beneath her bulky clothes. It contained a lock pick kit, several motion-activated mini-cams equipped with night-vision lenses and high-frequency recorders, GPS trackers, and an item that would serve as Jacqueline’s calling card. Thanks to her visit to Randall’s office, and with the help of a code-breaking recovery stick, she’d also been able to capture the totality of what was on his office computer, information that had been blocked by his company’s elaborate computer security system. Contained in that information were both the household and family itineraries. This document, along with conversations she’d heard courtesy of the disc recorders on their phones, apprised Jacqueline of the family’s movements and schedule, including that of their cleaning personnel. After today there would be nothing inside the Atwater home that she couldn’t see, and little she couldn’t hear. She hadn’t lied to Blair. This was a big house. She needed to be thorough. And work fast.

After donning thick, latex gloves she stripped the bed, emptied the hampers, scrubbed the master bath until it sparkled, and dusted until not one speck remained. Methodically, she “cleaned” every room in the house, testing equipment as she went. She took the trash out through the garage and left a tracking “gift” beneath each of their cars.

Four hours later, and she was done. She quickly gathered up her supplies and placed them by the door. Then she went back upstairs and walked into the master suite one final time. She’d almost forgotten to leave her calling card. Taking one last look around, she headed for the foyer. The job was done. It was time to go.

Halfway down the stairs, Jacqueline heard voices. Her heart almost stopped beating inside her chest. She held her breath, straining to hear the voices and what was being said.

“So your practice got canceled?”

Oh, Blair’s voice. What a gullible girl.
She let out a shaky breath.

“Yes, but Coach said that we . . .”

Jacqueline didn’t wait to hear the rest, just hoped that Blair and the little rug rat she guessed was Randall’s son were somewhere out of sight of the front door. She’d get her stuff, run the hell out the door, and hope no one saw her between there and the block or so to the rental car, parked beyond the community gates. Blair would know she was gone when a search failed to find her. Good-bye wasn’t necessary for folks you’d never see again.

 

It crept closer, the fire. Slowly, surely, flames licking her ankles and taunting her hem. She stepped back.

“Help me!”

She stepped forward. “I’m coming to get you. Hold out your hand!”

Another step. Stainless steel scissors, gripped, dripping blood.

Two more steps. And then a scream. But that’s not what stopped her, what kept her planted where she stood.What paralyzed her was the odor that rushed toward her on the waves of the wind: smells of boiling beer, feigned ignorance, gin-soaked blankets, and acrid, burning flesh. Or was the repulsive stench that of once raw chicken, covered in sweat?

Jacqueline awoke to the sound of her rapidly beating heart.

“G
ood afternoon!” Randall entered his office with a new kind of pep in his step, offering the company receptionist a hearty smile. The Jacqueline fiasco notwithstanding, the trip to Las Vegas had been a good one, providing a breath of fresh air to his marriage, which he and Sherri both realized had been long overdue. After the conference, they’d stayed two extra days, most of them in bed. By the time he returned to Virginia, thoughts of Jacqueline were few and far between, and that time he’d mysteriously fallen asleep in his office was a distant memory.

Randall greeted his executive assistant, then walked into his office singing a tune. Firing up his laptop, he quickly scrolled through the day’s e-mails and checked Outlook for appointments and messages. Seeing that there was nothing urgent, he called his number-two man. “Dan, it’s Randall. I’m in the office. You got a minute?”

Within minutes his good friend came through the door. A study in contradictions, this sixty-something brainiac from Bern, Switzerland had curly black hair, looked not a day over forty, and had already retired from two careers. After losing his wife to breast cancer, he’d taken Randall up on a jokingly delivered offer to “come over to America and do something great.” With his expertise on the brain and Randall’s skill in the lab, it looked as though these two close friends were poised to do just that.

“Good afternoon, good Doctor,” Dan said, his soothing voice laced with the merest of accents. “How did you find the city of sin?”

“Full of temptation.” Dan’s brow rose. “Fortunately they all came courtesy of my wife.”

“Ha! So Sherri joined you? Smart girl.” Dan looked around before lowering his voice. “How are the plans coming for . . .” He let the sentence hang in the air.

“Moving forward, Doc. Thanks for asking.” Randall glanced at someone passing by and changed the subject. “How did it go while I was out? Did I miss anything interesting?”

“No, not really. Except there was one interesting article that landed on my desk: a report written by a Nigerian doctor about a plant native to Africa, grown and only available in a five-square-mile area. Evan uncovered it and sent me a copy. There’s probably one in your mail as well.”

Randall went back to his e-mails and put Evan’s name in the search engine. The article that Dan spoke of appeared at the top. He starred it. “I’ll be sure to read it later. Thanks.” He leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Anything else?”

For the next thirty minutes the two men chatted, their conversation passing easily from science to golfing and from medicine to sports. Both were huge Redskins fans, though Dan professed to still be learning the game. A phone call interrupted their casual conversation. Dan went back to his office and Randall spent the next few hours reading, returning phone calls, and checking his mail. He was just about to head to the lab when the intern walked by.

“Evan.”

Evan stepped back. “Hello, Dr. Atwater.”

Randall waved him in. “Glad I saw you. Interesting article you found on the African cacti.”

“It looked like something that might be useful to your work, sir. Dan agreed.”

“Both of you were right. I’d like you to keep digging, forward anything and everything you find on the subject, including contact information for any of the personnel connected to the study.”

“Hey, if you go to Africa, can I tag along?”

Randall’s face was one of amused surprise. “You’d want to?”

“Absolutely. I’d love to be a part of a scientific or medical breakthrough.”

“I appreciate your hard work while you’re here. You’re heading back to Cornell for your junior year, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Well, you’re doing well here, so keep in touch. When it’s time to find employment, we just might be able to work something out.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” Randall began shuffling papers, a sign that the conversation was over. “All right, let’s get back to work.”

Evan began walking toward the door. “Oh, Dr. Atwater?” Randall looked up. “Yes?”

“Have you spoken to Jacqueline since returning back home?”

The hairs on Randall’s neck stood up. “No,” he replied, as calmly as his suddenly tense nerves would allow. “Why would you ask?”

“I ran into her yesterday when she stopped by the office.“

“What office?” Randall queried with a crease in his brow.

“Uh, this office.” Sensing Randall’s unease, Evan hurriedly added, “She was getting the paperwork you left for her, the information you gave your secretary for her to pick up? Thought she might have called you about it.”

“Oh, right. The papers. Thanks for letting me know she got them, Evan. Now, could you please close the door on your way out?” Randall watched him leave, and as soon as the door latch clicked shut, he picked up the phone and dialed the security firm protecting their building. He forced his voice to remain calm when the call was answered. “Yes, this is Dr. Atwater. There’s been a breach in our office security. I need to speak to the captain, and I need to speak to him now.”

 

Sherri reached for another grape as she studied the information on her iPad. She was happy, excited, and a wee bit nervous. Going to Vegas had been just what the marriage doctor ordered, and the stunt that Jacqueline pulled had been a blessing in disguise. She believed that Randall had been faithful, and a long sistah-girl chat with Renee had helped her refocus on that fact. It had also led to a conversation she’d had with her husband on the plane ride back to D.C. She’d been pleased at Randall’s reaction when she’d mentioned returning to the workplace, if only part-time.

“You gave up a lot to support me,” he’d said, reaching for her hand and squeezing. “The kids are growing up, the business is doing well. If that’s what you want to do, if it will make you happy, then . . . go for it.”

So here she sat, having Googled and Binged and called former associates to try to get a bead on the education climate today. When she’d left her career, she’d been on a fast track to becoming a principal, then a president, and eventually a college dean. Those days and dreams were behind her; the desire to reach those heights had passed. But the genuine love of teaching remained inside her, the joy in giving back still stirred her soul.
Maybe I should research alternative options for sharing knowledge.
She sat back, popped another grape, and thought about academics within detention centers, prisons, and centers for people at risk.
Randall and I are so fortunate. Our children are receiving the best education that money can buy.
She stood and walked to the plate-glass window that covered most of the back of the great room. She took in the perfectly landscaped yard with its cabana and pool.
They have every tool at their disposal, everything needed to ensure success.
Thinking back to her and her husband’s challenging childhoods increased her interest in this new possibility: going outside of her tony environment and using her education to help those who needed it most. A smile scampered across her face as she felt a conviction about this direction, felt goose bumps of excitement cover her arm. She thought of her mom, the woman who’d inspired her love of teaching, and decided to give her a call.

“Mom, guess what?” she began by way of greeting, placing the phone on speaker as she walked around the room.

“Sherri? How are you, baby?”

“I’m fantastic!”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Randall and I just returned from a short vacation, during which I decided to return to teaching. I’m going back into the classroom, Mom.”

“Well, now. This is a surprise. No wonder you sound so happy. And Randall approves?”

“Yes. He said that if it made me happy, then I had his full support.”

“That’s wonderful, Sherri.”

Sherri paused, listening closely to see if she heard anything amiss in her mother’s voice or breathing. “How about you, Mom? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, girl!” Sherri heard the frustration in her mother’s voice. “I keep telling everybody that. And I’m still angry at Constance for suggesting I need someone taking care of me full-time. I can take care of myself.”

“Ms. Riley only does what she does because she loves you.” Sherri’s voice was soft as she shared this truth. “As you probably know, she’s going to St. Louis soon, and may be moving there. We all want you safe. Nathan and I have been looking at in-home care agencies and are close to choosing one to find your nurse.”

“Hmph.”

“Maybe you don’t need a full-time nurse. But you do need a companion, besides Lady, okay? Think about it, Mom. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to share breakfast with, join you for your walks, or engage in a game of gin rummy? Someone to take you shopping or sit with you at church?”

“Got my own friends in the congregation, and I don’t need babysitting.”

“I know.” Sherri worked hard to keep the smile out of her voice. “But you’re all that Nathan and I have. If anything happened to you, and we could have done something to prevent it, we would never forgive ourselves. So will you consider it? For us? Let us send a couple women over and just see how you like it?”

“I guess so, Sherri. Sometimes I do get scared at night, wondering if something happened how long would it take for someone to find out.”

This statement tugged at Sherri’s heart. “You could always come up here and live with us, Mom. We’ve told you that for years.”

“It will be a cold day down under before I share another woman’s kitchen. Even my daughter’s. That’s just asking for trouble.”

“Then it’s settled. As soon as Nathan and I have selected an agency, and they provide a couple candidates, we’ll let you know.” Sherri heard the doorbell. “Mom, I need to go. Someone’s at the door. I love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

“Bye.”

Sherri’s thoughts were running from classrooms to companions as she walked to the door. Even so, her heart was filled with happiness. She had a loving husband and a beautiful family, a marriage back on track, and now, the opportunity to return to the career that she loved. How could life get any better than that?

One look through the side-pane, and she had her answer.

“Jacqueline . . . Tate, right?” She shook her head sadly, and crossed her arms. “You are an unhappy, jealous, and pitiful woman, with a hell of a lot of nerve coming to my house.”