Grave Mistakes: A Deadly Vigilante Crime Thriller (Affair with Murder Book 3) Read online

  “Strawberry shake and double fries, salty,” I answered quickly, and then added, “and a pastrami sandwich on rye bread.”

  “Appetite,” Brian said, adding a Cobb salad to my order. The waitress offered a courteous smile, her blond hair bobbing above her eyes as she gave Brian an extra smile.

  “Well, look at you,” I said, somewhat impressed. “And she’s a looker too.”

  “Happily taken,” he answered, showing off the ring on his finger. But I saw a flush creeping into his face too. “Not sure if you remember, but you’ve met my wife.”

  “The librarian,” I answered uncertain, but recalling when Brian and I first worked together. We didn’t have an office back then and made do with a few public computers at our public library. A young librarian had Brian’s eye. She didn’t notice him though, not until after we left the library and formed Team Two. “I remember Becky. It’s good to see you happy.” A pang of jealousy hit me as I realized Brian and Becky had been together longer than Steve and I. I pushed away the sentiment, eager to dig into the food our waitress delivered.

  “As I was saying, what we’d started with our Team Two company was only the beginning.”

  I shook my head, thinking about the vigilante service, wondering if he’d hired a replacement, hired someone to pull the trigger while I was inside. “But you’re not doing—” I started, cutting myself off to eat a fry. He knew I was referring to my services, and while I asked, I already knew the answer.

  “No, nothing like that,” he answered, sounding amused. “Team Two sells software and services, evolving into what is now known as T2. We produce the best security technology and have become one of the most powerful computer firms in the country. Heck, not to toot my horn, but I think we’re in the top five across the world.”

  “Becky,” I blurted. He looked amused and pleased that I remembered. It wasn’t Brian’s librarian wife I was referring to. Becky was the name of the computer virus Brian had developed—the virus I’d planted on my husband’s station computer to spy on Steve’s cases. We used the virus to give us eyes on the inside of all Homicide cases that crossed my husband’s desk. It was a simple idea, but there were issues we could never have foreseen. The virus was too good, and it quickly infected the entire police station. Soon after, we discovered that Becky had migrated beyond Steve’s police station. Becky sought every connection. Before we stopped it, Brian’s virus traversed all the city stations and made its way into every connected network—municipal, federal . . . all of them.

  Brian nodded, his eyes shifting around, “I could never stop it. After you went inside, I patched the software a hundred times, trying to kill it, but I couldn’t fight the re-infection rate.”

  “You could’ve ignored it, left the virus out there, forgotten about it. I mean, you were the only one that had eyes.”

  He shrugged guilty and dug into his salad. “I suppose, but what fun was there in that?” he said, offering another half hearted shrug. “Plus, I wanted to see what’d happen, how the virus evolved. I mean this thing was like sea monkeys. That’s how I came up with the idea to offer online security as a service.”

  “Sea monkey?” I asked, but got what he was saying. To him, Becky, the virus, was alive. It was a part of him. And it had grown and was on its own. “It’s been a long time. How far?”

  “Everywhere,” he answered plainly, and then motioned to my phone. “But it won’t last. I’m finally seeing the first signs of erosion. The newer technology isn’t compatible. Resistant.”

  “More like immune. Too old?” I asked, feeling a strange kinship with the computer virus. “But you could always patch it, make it adapt. If you wanted?”

  He rocked his head disagreeably. “I could, but maybe it’s time to let it go,” he said. “T2 doesn’t have a dependency, no upper-hand anymore. Early on, I used Becky to get a foothold on the industry, but that was a long time ago.”

  I shoved a hot fry into my milkshake and watched the frozen delight melt and pool, “Almost funny, T2 is selling software to secure against the software you wrote?” Brian let out a shameless guffaw, showing a boyish smile. “Damn. And they call me the criminal.”

  “There’s a lot more to it than that, but it helped us get to where we are.”

  “I’m happy for you,” I told him. Another twinge of jealousy rose in me, thinking about all the good years he’d had while I stayed in prison.

  “Happy for us,” Brian corrected me. I said nothing, confused. His face brimmed with a devilish smile and looked as if it’d bust like the seam on a tight dress. “T2, Amy. Team Two. You remain the majority stake-holder.”

  EIGHT

  I PLUNKED ANOTHER FRENCH FRY into my milkshake and stirred it around. Brian’s words rattled in my head, repeating, consuming my own. I didn’t know what to say. A few hours earlier, I’d been in prison, the property of the state. I thought there’d been some money left from our Team Two days, but I’d expected it was a few dollars left over after Brian closed up shop. Starting and ending a business can be expensive. Then I looked at myself in the diner’s window, I looked at how much older I’d become and at the convict shirt I was wearing. My eyes landed on the limousine beyond my reflection next, drawing a bizarre disconnect between the two images. Surreal. “How much money?” I finally asked, finding his reflection in the glass and thinking it was a silly question to ask.

  “How is everything over here?” the waitress asked, her cushioned soles hiding her arrival. “Another milkshake?”

  “Could I get some coffee, instead?” I asked, my hunger for the salty and sweet dwindling.

  “Make that two,” Brian added as he tapped on his plastic phone. I saw the reversed words, Babe and Hon and guessed he’d been texting his wife.

  “Certainly,” she answered, and then added, “I saw you on the news.” I closed my eyes as my heart sank. I’d hoped nobody would recognize me, hoped that I could somehow slip back into a life without news or reporters or odd stares. But the waitress was talking to Brian, her smile returning along with the gleam in her eyes. My old business partner swiped the text message from his screen and gently put his phone down. Curious, I leaned back into my seat and watched.

  “I’m on a few channels as a technology correspondent,” he answered shyly. “Not a lot, but always happy to hear someone was watching.”

  “I saw you talking with the President. So impressive,” she continued, leaning forward and laying a hand over her heart.

  “She had a few questions and called me in for a meeting,” he answered casually, glancing in my direction and trying to downplay the impressiveness of who he’d become while I was away.

  “Well, you’re just as handsome in person,” the waitress replied, sounding almost bubbly. And then declared, “maybe even more handsome.” Brian’s earlier blush came back, turning a deep ruddy color.

  “Well, thank you,” he answered, clearing his throat as she left our table.

  “My, my,” I started and shook my head. “Haven’t you turned into a rock star?”

  “I’m no Jobs or Gates, but I’m known in a few circles.”

  “So, I own half of T2?” I asked, wanting to know more, as being wealthy settled in. A part of me felt like I’d just won the lottery, and that scared the hell out of me.

  “Actually, a little more than half,” Brian answered. “When we started Team Two, we put some paperwork in place, giving each other a power of attorney in the event anything happened. That let me take care of Team Two when you were arrested.”

  “I vaguely remember a lot of paperwork and a notary,” I told him. The memory stung, recalling our small office and the day we spent planning and signing papers in the event one of us had been arrested or killed or who knows what in our line of work.

  “First thing tomorrow, I’ll get that cleared, giving back majority control to you.”

  My breath turned hot at the thought of having anything to do with a multi-million dollar (or was it billion) company. Who was I to be have any respon
sibility beyond a six by six prison cell? I raised my hand, waving off the idea. “No, Brian. Please don’t. Thanks, but don’t do that. Just leave everything as it is. This is your baby. I ask that my kids were taken care of.”

  “Every month, for the last twenty years,” Brian exclaimed. “Initially, Steve received a nice monthly check too, but then he stopped cashing them after his political career took off.”

  “But Snacks and Michael?”

  “Living comfortably. They never have to worry about money again. Not in their lifetimes. Or their children’s children either.”

  “Contact information?” I asked, raising my new phone.

  “All three,” he answered, his smile returning when the waitress came back with our coffee. “Thank you.”

  “Yes, thank you,” I added, giving the waitress another look as she set a cup in front of me—her face sparked a memory I couldn’t place, but forced a second look.

  “Our rush is clearing, so please take your time and let me know if I can get you anything. It isn’t every day we get a celebrity with their momma in here.”

  I nearly bit down on my coffee cup. Did I look that old? “Yes, son, you should be proud!” I said, raising my voice enough to turn a few heads. The blush returned to Brian’s cheeks.

  When the waitress was gone, Brian said, “Funny. By the way, the old Team Two office is all yours. You own it outright.”

  “The old office, with Carlos’ salon?” I asked, having believed I’d never see it again.

  “Kept it nearly the same and remodeled the loft, making it into a small bedroom. The kitchenette is filled too. It’s small, but livable until you settle somewhere else.”

  “Celebrity and a homemaker. Aren’t you full of surprises,” I said, happily. “And the T2 office? Where is it now?”

  Brian pointed out the diner’s window, raising his arm toward the skyline. I squinted past the sun’s glare and scanned a city skyline that looked very different from the one I remembered.

  “Might be hard to see with the sun, but we’re downtown, now.”

  “The city has grown up,” I admitted, feeling regret kick around in my guts as I considered all I had missed. “I can hardly recognize it.”

  “We own the tall one,” Brian said proudly. I rocked my head, shocked when I found the tallest of all the buildings. A majestic skyscraper, mirrored on all side and needling the low hanging clouds. “We own the one to the north and west as well. Been in main, going on ten years.”

  “You mean to tell me, I own half? Of that?”

  “Give or take a couple of floors,” he answered sarcastically, smiling behind his coffee. “Amy, T2 wouldn’t be what it is today if we hadn’t started Team Two. You made that happen, I only grew it into something more.”

  “Grow is an understatement,” I muttered, my breath fogging the diner’s window. “I think the loft and our small office will do. I’m just glad to have it back, I’ve got a job.”

  “Really?” he asked, his cup hitting the table-top with a heavy blow. “You can’t be serious?”

  “There’s a debt I have to repay,” I answered, turning back from the window. Brian shook his head, knowing what I was referring to.

  “Amy, you are one of the wealthiest people in the country,” he said, his brow furrowed into a frown and his voice sounding annoyed. “I mean, are you trying to go back to prison?”

  “It’s not quite that kind of job—not a contract,” I answered firmly. “There’s no money. A woman, a friend, saved my life inside. I have to repay—”

  Brian raised his hands, interrupting me. “It’s probably best I know nothing.”

  I could sense his impatience and how uncomfortable he’d become at the idea of murder. I didn’t push the subject. After all, this was my debt to repay, not his.

  NINE

  MY FIRST MEAL OUTSIDE prison was ending, and I felt bad about how Brian feeling uncomfortable. He wiped his face, tossing the napkin down onto his plate and picked up his phone again. Wilma’s wasn’t his debt to repay and I shouldn’t have brought it up. I could be stupid like that sometimes.

  “It’s not your problem, Brian,” I began, pushing his phone down to find his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything about it. Sorry.”

  He offered a nod and ran his fingers through a thatched mess of salt and pepper hair and said, “Look, if you get caught in a jam over a computer issue or something, let me know, but anything beyond that—”

  “That’s fair,” I said, finishing for him.

  “Drive you back to the old office?”

  Sunlight dipped below the diner’s roofline, catching a shine that gleamed. The suddenness of bright light made me want to go outside, to feel the sun on my pale, inmate skin. I could walk to our old office from where we were and thought of the small park a block away. Was it still there?

  “I think I need some time,” I told Brian. “Maybe take a walk to our old office.”

  “Your finger,” he answered, motioning toward my hands. “The door is already programmed to accept your fingerprints.” I didn’t have to ask how he got my fingerprints. If they were on file, he’d already had them.

  “No key, then?”

  “And no need for cash either. As long as you have your phone, you’ll only need to wave your hand over a payment portal. That activates and submits any charges to the phone.” I didn’t follow what he meant. “Watch.”

  Brian motioned to the waitress, she sparked a smile at his gesture and walked into a ray of sunshine, and that is when I saw Pigtails. I couldn’t be certain, but the waitress could have definitely been a relative.

  “All ready to go?” she asked, lifting what looked like a phone from her waist-apron.

  “Adding thirty-five percent for the terrific service,” Brian said, and waved his hand over the device. His phone chimed and his screen refreshed with a payment animation. “Thank you.”

  “No sir, thank you,” she answered, hopping onto her toes. “Best tip I’ve had all week.”

  “Excuse me, but could you tell me if the park down the street is still there?” I asked, interrupting the exchange.

  “Oh sure, uh-huh. I take my kids there all the time. I love that park,” she answered, sounding even more bubbly than before.

  “Have you been going to the park a long time?” I asked, certain I was talking to Pigtails.

  Her face warmed, the way a memory will sometimes do. “As long as I can remember,” she answered and tapped her phone to show us pictures of her two children. “My kids are the same age I was when my momma took me to the park.”

  And on her phone, I saw Pigtails. Only, it was her little girl, but with the same face and braids of hair jutting from each side. “Did you used to wear pigtails too?”

  Her eyes went wide and her smile narrowed with disbelief, “I did,” she said as though I’d revealed some terrific secret. “How did you—”

  “Your children are beautiful,” I told her. “And your daughter looks just like you.” Her eyes shifted to her phone, and she saw the pigtails.

  “That’s so sweet,” she said, smiling fondly. “You two enjoy your day now.”

  Brian and I parted company. He disappeared into his limousine, his eyes never leaving his phone as I sought out the park a few blocks away. It was my first time alone in over twenty-years—I mean, really alone. There was nobody watching me, and I wasn’t looking over my shoulder or being rushed.

  “No hurrying up to wait in line here,” I said, and took my time walking along the cracked sidewalk.

  The park was just as I’d remembered it. The trees were bigger, and the playground had been upgraded with a more modern look, but it was the same park. I took off my shoes and stepped onto the grass and felt freedom on my feet. Like Pigtails had done years earlier, the children played, letting out shrills and squeals as they joshed and chased one another, running and falling and tumbling for no reasons other than it was fun. Mothers and fathers sat on park benches, some lost in conversation, others lost in their
phones. Teen boys with scraggly chins and long, disheveled hair were huddled into a tight group, jostling one another, an occasional craned neck peering up like a prairie dog to glimpse girls walking by. A breeze rustled the trees, and I caught the smell of summer honeysuckle blooms as cicadas chirped their love song.

  “This is what you need, Amy,” I told myself, rolling up my sleeves as I closed my eyes. My skin warmed in the sun and I let my mind work. Soon, almost effortlessly, I had found my muse. It was time to plan a murder.

  TEN

  I WAS OVERWHELMED BY the silence in my new home. It was deafening. While Brian had preserved our Team Two offices, giving me a living memory, a place to sleep for the night, I felt uncomfortable in the quiet. In prison, I was accustomed to the days and nights of the institution and all the sounds that came with it. I found that I suddenly needed to hear the stir of guards, the mutterings of a cellmate, the sounds of a sleepover (more slammer slang) and even the soft cries of heartbreak. In prison, emotions were naked and raw like an exposed nerve and the noise acted as a sheath, insulating like a sleeve on an electric wire—our cell block was alive with a vibe I’d become used to.

  But I’m not in prison anymore, I reminded myself and tried to shake it off. You’re free. You don’t need it. It was a lie. I needed it and paced, trudging through the stormy silence and wishing my panicky unease would pass.

  I found our old stereo, a left0ver even back when Brian had trash-picked it from the curb in front of someone’s house. He’d set it up in the office, thinking it matched the office furniture that had been left behind by the previous tenant. I flipped the switch, hoping it still worked, hoping there’d be a radio station carrying a signal. The speakers belched a low hum, a crack and pop and then a raspy static belch. The panel lights behind the dead display glowed yellow like a flame.

  “We have power,” I said with hope. “Now let’s see if we have anything else?”