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Already? Usually, people waited at least a month before jumping to get rid of the personal stuff. Especially when they were trying to not call attention to themselves. Why was Faith in such a rush?
“Yeah, I thought it was pretty fast, too,” the woman continues. She must have read my expression. “Faith claims she can’t look at it anymore without the pain overwhelming her. I don’t see it,” she says with a huff. “But I’m glad I forced myself on her to help; otherwise, I wouldn’t have heard what I did. She’s signing the papers today, maybe even right now, and then who knows?”
She was going to run. On some deeper level, I knew Faith was going to skip town. I hated to believe it—any of it—but this woman, Faith’s mother, was making too much sense. I could make all the puzzle pieces fit, and I don’t like the picture they’re making.
Had Faith set me up? Had she played me all along?
I’ve heard enough. I fish a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet and push it across the table. “Lunch is on me.”
“You’re just going to leave? What about everything I told you?” She’s panicking again, and I fear she might have good reason to. She’d called in her favor, and I’m her only hope of righting an egregious wrong.
I pause, standing beside the table. “I’m going to look into what you said, and if I find you’re telling the truth, it’ll be handled.”
Her face lights up, and she reaches into her purse. “I have money—”
I hold up my hand in a stop motion. “Keep your money.” If I find out that Faith was lying to me all along, no amount of money could ever make it right. If I have to do what I fear I might, then this goes beyond business.
This is personal.
Twenty-Five
~Faith~
One month later…
Beaches as far as the eye can see. Crystal-clear blue waters the color of the summer sky that hovered overhead, not a cloud to be seen. I sit beneath the shade of a mature palm tree sipping my third Mai Tai and enjoying the subtle buzz I’ve developed.
The Dominican Republic was the perfect getaway, the ideal destination for someone who wants to remain under the radar. All I desire is a quiet life now that I’ve secured my freedom. So the moment the life insurance check hit my bank account, I’d transferred it all to an off-shore account I’d had waiting in the wings for just such an occasion and jumped on a plane headed south where no one would ever think to look for me.
So far, I’ve visited Santo Domingo and walked the streets, stopping in at small cafes, bars that play live music, and even came across a carnival. The island is full of life, and I can see myself living there for quite some time before moving on to other sights and adventures. Now that I’m on my own and don’t have to worry about money, I have a bucket list of sorts with all kinds of things I want to do and places I want to visit. Nothing is standing in my way.
I’ve always been a planner, and some plans took longer to realize than others. My marriage to Glenn has been a long game, and I played it well. I lift my glass in a toast to myself and my genius and smile as the cool liquid slides down my throat.
The breeze is warm and gentle, skating across my skin and through my hair like gentle fingers, tickling yet caressing divinely. I wiggle my toes into the fine sand, surpassing the heat until I reach the cool, moist grains below. This is truly paradise. It makes me wonder if the people who live here appreciate what they have at their fingertips. Do they know what they have, or is it just so every day as to be typical?
The resort is all-inclusive, catering to many American tourists just looking to get away. Made a person wonder how many are here for the same reason I am. How many have a deadly secret like I do? That’s the beauty of it. There’s no way of knowing. Everyone here is from different walks of life and for different reasons, but all with one thing in common: the need to get away.
The difference is, I have no intentions of ever going back. And who could blame me? I’m a widow, after all. The heartbreak is immense, possibly too much to bear. If I went off the radar, no one would miss me, and if by chance someone did, they would just conclude that I ran away from my troubles. Which I have.
No one liked prison.
I just want to live in peace now, and without the looming feeling of police eyes watching my every move. They weren’t, but a guilty conscience was easier to ignore when there were several thousand miles in between.
The palm leaves overhead make a swooshing sound as the breeze kicks up once more, sending goose bumps prickling down my arms and legs. It isn’t chilly, exactly, but it is always cooler in the shade and this close to the ocean.
If only I had someone to share this with…
“Is this seat taken?”
Speak of the devil.
My every hair stands on end, and I bristle, my fight or flight instincts standing on edge. After swallowing several times and taking a few deep breaths, I look up at my unexpected and unwelcome visitor through dark-tinted glasses and cock a crooked smile. “What are you doing here?”
Declan stands over me, tall and proud, not shaken like I am. Of course, he is the stalker, the killer. Guess we both had something in common now…
He eases down in the sand beside me, knees to his chest and arms draped casually over them. He is dressed unexpectedly, in a pair of khaki shorts and one of those gaudy Hawaiian print shirts in blues and reds and yellows. Funnily enough, he manages to pull it off.
“I’m here on a job,” he grunts. Dark glasses obscure his eyes, so I can’t read him any more than he can me, but something about his stillness and the way he stares off into the horizon makes me nervous.
