Random Acts of Deceit (Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  The more answers I found, the more confused I became. I’d expected guys who looked scary. Maybe with tattoos or painful-looking scars or dark gazes. Those guys almost looked like kids.

  Finally, when the hallway was clear, I stepped out. I headed toward the stairs this time, realizing going down would be easier than heading up. Before starting my journey, I slipped off my shoes.

  As I was walking down, I remembered that phone call in the elevator. I pulled my phone from my purse and checked my missed calls.

  My heart caught when I saw the name there.

  Chase Dexter.

  No.

  Seeing his name again reminded me of everything I’d lost. Even though I was fighting to be able to reveal everything and restore my relationships, when I stopped long enough to let my thoughts wander, an undeniable sadness washed over me. What if this . . . this—this glitch, for a lack of a better word—ruined everything between us? What if Chase gave up on me, if he didn’t understand that there were forces at work outside my control?

  I checked my voice mail, but he hadn’t left a message. I hoped he didn’t hate me. Like, I really hoped that, more than I realized I had the capacity to hope. So much that I ached deep inside my soul.

  At ground level, I slipped my shoes back on before cracking the door open. When I didn’t see Benjamin, I stepped out. As I hurried toward the exit, I spotted him still having coffee with the man I’d seen earlier. Papers were spread out on the tabletop, and the two carried on an animated discussion.

  For a secret company, that meeting sure didn’t look very secretive. I wished I could inch closer, but I’d be pushing too hard if I did. However, part of the conversation did drift toward me.

  “I’m telling you that this could be a game changer,” the man said. “But you’ve got to get focused. I know losing that other contract tore you up inside, but fixating on it won’t do any good. We’ve got to focus on the present and get people excited about your ideas.”

  I froze, wanting to hear more. But Benjamin gathered his papers at that moment and stood. I had to go before I got caught.

  The good news was that I had Benjamin’s address and the name of the man he was meeting with.

  So I had something to go on.

  It was better than nothing. I would take what I could get.

  ***

  By the time I headed toward the youth center that afternoon, I was exhausted. Not so much physically as I was mentally and emotionally.

  Before I’d left, I’d done an Internet search for “Mark Reynolds” and “Cincinnati.” I eliminated several people and finally located a social media profile for the man I’d seen. But as I read information about him, I only felt more confused than ever.

  The man appeared to own a company that helped entrepreneurs find investors. But how did that tie in with what I already knew? Could Mark Reynolds be trying to find people to fund terrorist activities?

  This only seemed more and more confusing.

  On a whim, I set up a fake email account on an online server and emailed Mark under an assumed identity. I told him was looking for financial help with a new cookie company. With a touch of hesitation, I hit SEND.

  I also searched for Benjamin Radcliff, but the only result I got was a man who was an Internet whiz. His picture did not match the Benjamin I knew. So that left me at zero again.

  As I drove, I glanced in my rearview mirror. A black sedan had been behind me for the past few minutes. Was it a coincidence? Maybe. But now I was on guard and looking over my shoulder, trying to anticipate the Shadow Man’s next move.

  I pulled to a stop in front of an old storefront in the Price Hill area of Cincinnati. As I did, the black sedan sped past. The windows were dark and tinted, so I couldn’t make out the driver inside.

  I stepped out and glanced up and down the sidewalk, which was besieged with graffiti and litter. The area had been grand at one time, but through the years had become tattered because of economic downfalls and crime and a changing urban environment. Today, it wasn’t known as one of the most desirable areas to live in the city, but it had always felt like home to me.

  Mom was working hard to try and restore the area to its former glory days. She saw potential in all the old buildings people had once taken delight in. She hoped people might want to flock to the area again and see the same beauty she did.

  But if that happened, then those who lived here would just end up being shuffled. Another area would be encompassed by the crime prevalent here now. This culture would migrate to a new location, but it would still exist. I didn’t know what the solution was either, and I’d thought about it often.

  I pulled myself together and tried to forget about that black sedan as I stepped inside the youth center. The space had a social area near the front door with a few couches and chairs, as well as foosball and a Ping-Pong table. Beyond that was a kitchen with two brown shutters that could be closed across a serving window. Down the back hallway, there was the director’s office, a bathroom, and a storage closet. Behind the building was a half parking lot, half basketball court. That’s usually where all the guys hung out.

  As soon as I walked in, the familiar scent of the place hit me. It smelled old, probably because it was. This place, according to word of mouth, had housed several different restaurants before being converted into a doctor’s office. That had closed about twenty years ago, and the place had been abandoned until Abraham took it over five years ago.

  I worked with a lot of the inner-city youth here. At first, I’d just tried to come alongside the teens, but through time the girls had requested that I cook and bake with them.

  When I started, they liked to watch the boys or paint their nails. But somehow that had morphed into cooking and other domestic tasks. I was more than happy to share any skills I had with them. Plus, cooking somehow opened the door to all types of conversations about boys and home life and school problems.

  Talking with them in the normal course of our relationship development seemed like the best kind of counseling. These girls would never sit down with someone to discuss their problems. But baking seemed to open doors that social services never would.

  “Ms. Holly, you don’t look too good,” one of the girls, Yolanda, said.

  She was a favorite of mine, but I supposed each of the girls was in her own way. Yolanda was sixteen and sprightly. She liked to wear clothes that were too tight and too low, she indulged in sprinkles and sparkles at every opportunity, and she loved being the center of attention.

  I touched my cheek in surprise. “I don’t?”

  Yolanda leaned closer, scrutinizing my face. “Your eyes and forehead look all wrinkly.”

  My hand traveled to my forehead. “Wrinkly?”

  “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

  Ha! Wouldn’t that be turning the tables? But I knew I had to develop a mutual respect with them, and that meant I couldn’t always appear like I had it all together. No one could relate to someone who was perfect.

  “I’ve had a hard couple of days, but I’m hopeful that everything will work out,” I finally said, trying not to sound too resigned. Instead, I measured some flour and added it to the rest of the cookie mixture.

  “Uh-oh. There’s not trouble in paradise for you and that fine piece of meat you call your boyfriend, is there? Because I know about ten girls here who would go after a man like that in a heartbeat.”

  “Well, that man is way too old to date any of you.” Chase was only twenty-eight, but these girls were teenagers. The idea was inappropriate, to say the least. I added some more chocolate chips to the cookies we were working on. “Besides, I didn’t think you liked cops.”

  “We like him.” Yolanda grinned.

  Chase had come in with me several times, whenever he was able to leave work at a reasonable time. That didn’t happen very often, but I thought his presence here had gone a long way in developing trust between the police and local youth.

  “Could you check the oven and s
ee if it’s finished heating?” I cleared my throat, venturing into what I knew would be an uncomfortable subject. I decided to go there anyway because I honestly wanted to hear her perspective. “What do you think about all those riots that have been happening?”

  She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Between you and me, there’s talk of more riots to come. And the oven is ready, by the way.”

  I paused. “There are talks of more riots. Really? I thought all that tension was dying down.”

  She snorted and tried to snitch some cookie dough. “No. This is the calm before the storm.”

  “The riots aren’t going to solve anything.” I began dipping dough balls onto the cookie sheet.

  “How are we going to get our message across to the police? There’s no other way they’ll listen. People have had to take extreme measures.”

  I paused a moment, determined to drive home my point. “Look, I’m not saying there are no dirty cops out there. I’m not saying they don’t make mistakes and that there’s not injustice. But more violence isn’t going to help.”

  She raised her finger in the air and shook her head. “You’re talking to the wrong person. I don’t have anything to do with this. I’m just telling you what I heard.”

  Just then the door opened and another one of our regulars, Tasha, walked in. She headed straight toward me, a manila envelope in hand and a confused expression on her face. “Someone told me to give this to you.”

  My throat went dry as I took the package. Mysterious packages were never good, at least not in my experience. “Really? Who was it? Is he still out there?”

  Tasha shrugged and also snagged some raw cookie dough. Normally, I’d swat her hand, but I was distracted.

  “Beats me,” she said. “This guy caught me on the corner. Then he hopped in a car and pulled away.”

  “Tasha, think carefully. What did he look like?” Before I even opened the package, I had to ask her. People’s memories were fickle, and every minute could make a difference.

  “It’s dark outside. I don’t really know. He was a white guy. He wore a baseball cap and sunglasses and a coat.”

  Sounded like my earlier disguise.

  Certainly she’d seen something that could help. I just had to guide her in remembering. “Was he tall?”

  “Not tall, not short. Average, I guess. Hard to tell, really.”

  “Young?” I stuck the first pan of cookies in the oven.

  “Not old, not young.” Tasha paused. “What’s going on? He didn’t seem all that weird. He just asked me to give this to you because he was in a hurry.”

  Tension squeezed my stomach. So much for getting information out of her. That left me with the package.

  My hands trembled as I opened the envelope. Pictures slipped out. Pictures of Chase. Pictures of Mom. Of Alex. Of Ralph.

  I gasped. There was no message, but I knew exactly what the man was communicating: everyone I loved was in danger unless I engaged in the dangerous game he’d pulled me into.

  CHAPTER 15

  I was shaken when I pulled into my driveway. I was supposed to go to church tonight, but I didn’t.

  Shame on me, I know.

  But Chase and I usually went together, and that just made things seem more complicated.

  I’d go to church tomorrow morning, but I wouldn’t go to Jamie’s church as normal. Yes, I usually went to church twice on the weekends, but it wasn’t because I was super spiritual or holier than thou.

  I always said I went to my home church because it fed my mind. I’d grown up in the large congregation, which met in a multimillion-dollar building and boasted endless programs. The pastor could preach from the Bible and offer exegesis like no one I’d ever heard before. I came home persuaded in the faith and with a stimulated mind.

  But Jamie’s church fed my soul. The congregation was spiritual and spontaneous and made me feel satisfied in an entirely different spiritual way. The church itself met in a storefront in a poor area of town, and it probably had thirty members. But I loved it there.

  Tonight, however, I’d stayed at the youth center longer than usual, and then I’d come home. I had to work on Alex’s cake. At least, I had to formulate a plan to make it, whether I wanted to or not. Throwing something together at the last minute was not an option. If I did things, I liked to do them well.

  I also had her bachelorette party coming up. I had to confirm everyone who was coming, check again on the catering at the restaurant, and plan a few games. The last thing I wanted was for the event to be a typical bachelorette party. Not if I was planning it. There would be no strippers, getting drunk, or acting foolish.

  None of those things were really weighing me down, though. What felt so heavy was not being able to talk to Chase. I hadn’t quite realized how much my relationship with him had come to mean until it ended.

  Before I got out of the car, I glanced at my phone. The screen glowed gently against the otherwise dark interior of my Mustang. The silence around me brought with it a certain sense of melancholy. The truth always seemed to make itself known in the quiet moments. Sometimes, the truth was terrifying; other times, sad. Occasionally, it brought intense hope. Whichever option, the truth was always life changing.

  I saw that I’d missed another call from Chase and three calls from Jamie. Talking to the people who really knew me, who knew how to read me, just wasn’t an option right now.

  I felt so alone in all of this, and I just couldn’t stand it.

  With a sigh, I slipped my phone into my purse and stepped outside. I unlocked the front door, expecting an empty house. Instead, voices broke my earlier solitude. I glanced at my watch. It was almost ten o’clock. This was unusual.

  I peered around the corner and saw my mom and sister talking in the kitchen. They sat at the table with papers in front of them, and words like schedule, flowers, and reception kept popping up.

  They paused when they saw me.

  “Holly, you’re home,” Mom said. “You had another long day.”

  I forced a tight smile, not really wanting to launch into all of this. “I’ve just been trying to catch up on some projects.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re awake, because I need to talk to you,” Alex said. She walked toward me, a list in hand.

  I knew Yolanda had told me I looked tired, but Alex looked especially worn out. Was it the wedding planning? On top of the big case she was working on? I wasn’t sure, but my perfect sister hardly ever looked tired or overwhelmed. She was one of the most put-together people I knew. She took after Mom.

  I sank down into a kitchen chair as she launched into a last-minute checklist for the wedding. I listened and nodded and offered whatever affirmation I could. She and Mom had been obsessed with this wedding for the past six months, but it had taken on a new urgency over the past few weeks. Every night it seemed there were meetings with the wedding coordinator or florist or reception hall.

  “Everything okay?” I asked Alex at a break in our conversation. “You look really tired.”

  She glanced across the room to where Mom had exited so she could change for bed. Once Mom disappeared, Alex leaned closer.

  “It’s more than the wedding,” Alex whispered. “This case is turning into a media circus. Everything we do is being scrutinized. It’s crazy, and it almost makes me feel like I shouldn’t be getting married right now.”

  “You can’t put your life on hold because of this trial.”

  “Before this case, I would have believed that. But I just feel drained. The thing is, there’s already so much going on in the city with the riots. William has been working a lot at the hospital, trying to stitch up people who’ve been injured. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

  “Your wedding should be special,” I told her. “I hope everything doesn’t wear you down so much that you don’t get to enjoy what’s billed as the best day of your life.”

  She snorted, her blonde bangs flying in the air. “I’ve given up on that fairy tale a long time
ago.”

  I blinked, certain I hadn’t heard her correctly. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not an idealist like you,” she said. “Marriage is a logical next step for my life, Holly. It makes sense for William and me. We’re established in our careers. We’re well suited for each other temperament-wise, and I think we’ll get along well in our life journey.”

  I frowned, something not settling right with me. “But your heart is involved also, right?”

  “That’s the problem with marriage today, Holly. Too many people base it on feelings. That’s why we have a 50 percent divorce rate in this country.”

  “I agree it shouldn’t be all feelings. There should be respect and commitment and character involved. But love needs to be part of the equation too, right?”

  “Everyone makes their own choices. William and I think this is the best for us.” She grabbed a shortbread cookie from a plate at the center of the table and took a crumbly bite.

  I leaned back, curious now. “Have you ever actually felt infatuated with someone, Alex?”

  She chuckled, short and quick. “Yeah, I suppose I did once, and that was the biggest mistake of my life. You remember Brandon Gordon, don’t you?”

  I searched my memories for a minute, and I had a vague image of a man with a shaved head, a full beard, and an earthy vibe. The man I remembered was a hipster before hipsters were cool. He always dressed like he was getting ready to go hiking, wearing cargo pants and tight T-shirts and munching on granola. “Maybe.”

  “You would have only been twelve when I dated him. We met my senior year of college, and I was ready to give up everything for him. I’m so glad I didn’t. That would have been my biggest mistake ever.” Her words left no room for doubt.

  “Why? Tell me what happened.” My sister and I didn’t chat like we were equals very often. It felt good to have a heart-to-heart about boys. It made Alex seem more human and less like an overly educated Stepford wife.

  “He was an engineering major, and he got accepted for his dream internship at a big company in . . . Dubai.”