Page 38 of The Woman I’ve Become

I’m thinking how absolutely awesome we are and how we need to do something equally awesome.

“Julia?”

I blink away the flash from the past and focus in on Acacia. “Where do you want to go now?” she asks, her narrowed gaze scrutinizing me.

“Let’s go home. I want to have a look around outside and maybe in the woods before dark.”

Acacia doesn’t question me and I’m glad. I can’t explain how I know what I need to do.

I just know.

17

The foray into the woods was a bust. After dinner and a bath, Olivia is tucked into bed. I’m staring out at the lake feeling no better about where I am in terms of figuring out my opponent’s next move. I hoped to prompt a reaction with the cruise down memory lane in the convertible. Doesn’t appear to have worked.

If Acacia is conspiring with the enemy, and I am 99.9 percent sure she is, why no measurable reaction? No questions? Perhaps I’m being impatient. My enemy has a plan and, no doubt, a timetable. Unfortunately, patience has never been one of my virtues.

This minion found her way into my life three months ago. That’s a lot of time to have access and yet take no steps aimed directly at me. The first month I was in the hospital, but for the past seven weeks and change, there have been opportunities, like when I couldn’t make my way to the bathroom under my own steam. There was no attempt to kill me or to harm me in any way. I can’t help wondering why no action was taken while I was flat on my back. Seems to me it would have been the perfect opportunity.

Perhaps her only assignment after the initial infiltration was intelligence gathering, so to speak. Until now, at least. They have haunted me with the necklace, drugged me. But that seems trivial given the likely planned finale. Which brings me back to this: What comes next? And when?

We are away from Phillip and fairly isolated—alone, other than Olivia. What’s the holdup? Where is the person behind Acacia’s actions? Why drag this out?

I want the final confrontation. I want this over.

As if the thought summoned her, Acacia appears at my side. Her attention focuses beyond the window as well. “How long exactly will I be on probation?”

I almost laugh, surprised that it took her so long to muster the nerve to ask. “I haven’t decided yet.” I stare at her until she meets my gaze. “I suppose it really depends on you.”

“Fair enough.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Can we talk about what you expected to find in the woods?”

The query is posed as if she has no clue what’s happening. What she wants is for me to confess my fears, my suspicions. That she even asks tells me she is feeling more powerful, more in control because we are alone and isolated. Of course she does. She’s been caught and she’s still here. Why wouldn’t she feel untouchable to some degree?

A predator always takes advantage of weakness or hesitation. It’s a basic law of nature.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” she tacks on quickly when I remain silent. “It’s just . . .” She shrugs. “I honestly don’t know what to think about the past couple of days.” She waves a hand in the air. “The necklace. Your totally paranoid behavior that first night. Then sleeping all day and freaking out because I called Phillip. It’s all over the top.”

That makes two of us who aren’t sure how to feel about certain recent events—but not where Acacia is concerned. My primary worry at the moment is having called Helen three more times with no response. Frankly that development is the biggest surprise in all this. One I did not expect—assuming it’s not some sort of miscommunication.

As soon as I was back home from our excursion to town where I could have some privacy, I called Rick. Since he didn’t answer, I left him a message that went straight to the point. I would really like to know why he felt the deception about the delivery guy was necessary. Perhaps this will force a reaction that confirms whether he is friend or foe. Emphasis on the foe, I imagine.

I am well aware of the potential enemies who would wish me harm for the things I know . . . for the steps I have taken. Rick has always lingered on that list. As does the one who left me to the worst of fates twenty years ago. Fury twists through me as I see her face . . . hear her voice. The memory of her is always with me, haunting me. She was my best friend.

But there are others . . . ones who may have discovered my secrets and decided it is time to clear the slate. There are a number of things I can assume, but I cannot be entirely certain of anything.

I hesitate for a moment longer just to try Acacia’s patience, then decide to give her a little something to ponder and see how she reacts. “We’ve talked about the article the Times published.”

I made the mistake of glancing at a few of the online comments. Most insisted they always knew the story was not the whole truth. Others called for my arrest. A few left sympathetic platitudes. None of it was pleasant or compassionate, not really. People who haven’t experienced that sort of trauma simply have no idea.

Acacia waits for me to go on while I take another moment, building the tension. “I’m certain someone is watching me. The necklace left in my bedside table was a warning. It’s exactly like one I used to have. Back then.”

No need for her to know more than that.

“How would anyone know about the necklace?” she challenges, her gaze narrowed with suspicion. “When Phillip first hired me, I googled you and read all about the disappearances and the serial killer called the Judge. I wasn’t prying, I just felt I could support you better if I understood what happened back then. There was never any mention of a necklace.”

Exactly my point. Not just anyone would know about the necklace. It has to be her, I think. But still, I can’t be sure. There are far too many parts to this puzzle.

To be honest, there was a point today when I asked myself why I don’t just take Olivia and drive back to the city without Acacia. I could leave it to Phillip to fire her. I could go to the police with my suspicions about Eleanor’s death.