Past Sins (Silhouette Bombshell) Page 2

  The display flashed an icon she didn’t remember seeing before. She frowned as she attempted to remember what it meant.

  Then she knew.

  Never count on anything to last.

  Chapter 2

  For ten seconds Olivia couldn’t breathe.

  This was impossible.

  She told herself to inhale. Instinctively she reached up and fingered the necklace that served as a constant reminder of all she wanted to forget.

  “Is everything all right, Olivia?”

  Her gaze shot to the dining room where Jeffrey stared at her, concern marring the smooth features of his intelligent face.

  She swallowed. “I have to take this.”

  Before he could give her a disappointed look for allowing the intrusion during dinner—during their time—she escaped out the front door.

  This was not a call forwarded from her office number or her home number or any other number represented by some part of her present life.

  This was the past calling. An old cell number she’d once used as a lifeline…a number she’d tried for three years to forget but could never bring herself to let go.

  By the fifth ring she had reached the edge of her driveway. She flipped open the phone, her heart pounding. “Yes.” It was a miracle her voice didn’t quaver.

  “Sheara?”

  The earth shook beneath her, or maybe it was her rigid frame doing the shaking. She tried to steady herself but the name reverberated through her like the aftershocks of a major quake.

  This wasn’t possible.

  She licked her lips. “Yes.”

  “I have a problem that requires your kind of special attention. You were highly recommended.” He cleared his throat. “I would like to arrange a meeting as soon as possible.”

  Olivia blinked, glanced around the neighborhood to ensure she hadn’t attracted any unnecessary attention. It wasn’t dark yet but the temperature had dropped significantly, making her shiver.

  Or maybe it was the call sending that bone-cold chill rushing through her veins.

  Sheara didn’t exist any more. How the hell had this guy gotten her old number? This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d kept that number for one reason only…

  “Sheara? Are you there?” The caller cleared his throat again. “Maybe I have the wrong number.”

  “No.” She said the word more sharply than she’d intended. “You have the right number.” What the hell did she do now? She was a psychologist, for Christ’s sake. She didn’t do this anymore.

  Sheara was dead.

  She’d been dead for three years.

  She bit back the need to ask how he’d gotten her number. “Where would you like to meet?”

  There was only one way to find out who this guy was and how he’d gotten her number. Meet him. Right now. Tonight. This couldn’t wait. Her heart rate climbed with each new realization.

  “The location is your choice…right? That’s what I was told.”

  Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to take another breath. He was right. She had to focus. “What’s your location? And I’ll need a name.” She tried to block the sound of her heart thundering, pumping blood so fast it roared in her ears. What was she doing? This could be a trap. But why? She’d been out of the business for three damn years. The woman she used to be was dead.

  His hesitation told her he wasn’t too keen on the idea of giving his name or his location. “Ned…Soderbaum. Chicago.”

  It was seven-thirty now. Approximately a three-hour flight. Assuming he could get one in the next hour, midnight would be the earliest meeting time.

  “If you can get a flight—”

  “My company has…I own a jet.”

  Well, okay then. Flight scheduling wouldn’t be a problem. Where to meet? It wouldn’t be a good idea to have him come to Hollywood. Wait. What was she worried about? This was Los Angeles County, including Los Angeles, Beverly Hills and dozens of other mass-population centers. There was an endless supply of anonymous places to meet and far too many people to make her easy to single out.

  “The pier at Santa Monica. Midnight.”

  More hesitation. “How will I know you?”

  “What will you be wearing?” she countered.

  “Business suit…ah…navy.”

  And you’ll stand out like an American tourist on a nude beach in the south of France, she wanted to say. “Won’t work, Mr. Soderbaum. You want to look like a local. Wear khaki shorts, a white T-shirt and a red baseball cap. I’ll find you.” At that time of night the pier would be pretty much deserted.

  “I guess I can do that.”

  “Don’t forget the sneakers and the retainer fee.”

  “I’m…I’m not sure on that last part. I didn’t get a clear idea of your fee.”

  She blinked, suddenly uncertain what to say to that. She remembered well the going rate three years ago, but that would have changed by now.

  “Ten now, fifteen later. Nothing larger than a twenty.”

  Olivia didn’t wait for his acknowledgment. She closed her phone, ending the call.

  She stared at the compact device for an endless moment. What had just happened here? Confusion cluttered her thinking process. Too many questions filled her head. No answers.

  Doing a three-sixty right there on the sidewalk she surveyed her quiet neighborhood. The smell of freshly mown grass lingered in the air. Somewhere down the street a dog barked. Two houses to the right of hers the owner paused in his shrub pruning long enough to wave. Children balanced on their skateboards on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street.

  Nothing had changed.

  She stared at her brick home with its clean, crisp coat of white paint…her silver Audi…Jeffrey’s blue Saturn…the lush, colorful landscape all around her. This was her life. She and Jeffrey were supposed to be having dinner. Then they would watch a little television and go to bed. Maybe they would have sex, maybe they wouldn’t. And tomorrow everything started over again. Work. Home. Sleep. Uncomplicated. Safe.

  Her gaze dropped to the phone in her hand.

  Until thirty seconds ago.

  “Can’t you at least have your dinner before you go?”

  Jeffrey watched from the bedroom door, none too happy that she had to leave so abruptly.

  “You’ll probably be there most of the night,” he pressed. “Even practicing psychologists need to eat, Olivia.”

  She pulled the lightweight black sweater over her head and tugged it down her torso to cover the waistband of the black slacks she’d chosen. “I’ll be fine, Jeffrey. Don’t worry. I’ll pick up something at the hospital cafeteria.”

  He continued to loiter in the doorway, looking unsettled and uncertain as to whether he should attempt to come up with a more compelling argument. “You’ll call when things calm down?” The way his posture relaxed told her he’d resigned himself to the inevitable.

  It didn’t happen often, but occasionally one of her patients would do something radical like take a few too many pills just to make someone believe he or she had intended suicide. The attention received was the point. Episodes such as those were the rare occasions when Olivia had to attend to a patient in the hospital.

  She ushered a smile across her lips for Jeffrey’s sake as she stepped into a comfortable pair of black flats that, fortunately, had rubber soles. “Of course I’ll call.” He always worried about her.

  “I’ll clean up the kitchen.”

  Olivia waited until he’d had sufficient time to get back to the kitchen before she returned to the walk-in closet. She closed the door and moved to the back of the closet. Dropping to her knees she dragged out several shoe boxes until she encountered the one stashed at the very back of her side of the closet, behind all the others. The one she hadn’t touched in three years.

  Her respiration slowed as she removed the lid of the box. Her fingers wrapped around the sturdy butt of the Beretta 9mm. She tested its weight. Her pulse reacted. Without hesitation she sn
apped in a clip and tucked the Beretta into the waistband of her slacks at the small of her back. She grabbed the sound suppressor and an additional fifteen-round clip before putting the box back into place behind the others.

  With the accessories slipped into the right pocket of her favorite black silk jacket, she pulled it on. Though southern California nights could get pretty damn cool, the jacket was more to camouflage her weapon than for comfort. She stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror and took a deep, steadying breath.

  She hadn’t fired a weapon in thirty-seven months. Hadn’t participated in a covert maneuver in even longer.

  She had to be out of her mind to go through with this.

  But what choice did she have?

  Whoever had given out her number—whoever knew she was still alive—had to be ferreted out and contained. She couldn’t pretend this away. Sheara had far too many enemies to take that route.

  Olivia was at the front door before she considered that she couldn’t simply leave without saying goodbye. Jeffrey had to believe this was a routine call-in for a patient who’d been admitted to Cedars-Sinai’s psych ward for observation after a possible suicidal episode. The one or two other times she’d had to do this would serve as proper reasoning for her inability to offer a time she could be expected back home.

  If she came home…

  Jeffrey blew out the candles as she approached the dining room. He’d already cleared their plates and the basically untouched salad and entrée he’d gone to so much trouble to prepare.

  “I’ll call you later to let you know how it’s going.” She told herself the statement was about consideration for his feelings. Work he could understand, even if it intruded at an inopportune time. But if she were totally honest with herself she’d admit that she’d gone this extra step to ensure he didn’t grow suspicious. The habit was deeply ingrained.

  Just like old times. How many lies had she told to the people in her former life’s orbit? She’d have lied to her own mother had she not been long deceased. Her past life had been built on a careful framework of deception. Lies were all that had kept her alive.

  She suppressed the shudder that rocked her insides.

  “I’ll warm something up for you when you get back.”

  “Thanks, Jeffrey.”

  She had to go. Telling him not to wait up was pointless. He would…he always did.

  As she walked out the front door and down the paved path to her car, all six senses alert to her surroundings, she couldn’t help thinking that nothing would ever be the same again.

  Her new life was over.

  The only question was…why?

  The drive to Santa Monica took only forty-five minutes. Traffic was light. She didn’t hurry. She had plenty of time. Arriving early would afford her the opportunity to find a reconnaissance position.

  The night security would be lurking about, but it wasn’t unusual for people, tourists in particular, to come to the pier at night to enjoy the moonlight on the water.

  The park rides, the shops and the restaurants would all be closed by midnight but there would be plenty of lighting. She would need to take great care in selecting her position. If terminating this guy became necessary, she didn’t want any witnesses.

  As darkness descended fully and the crowd thinned, Olivia took a position between a closed fast-food tourist trap and a bait and tackle shop. The smell of overcooked hot dogs and frying oil lingered in the air.

  During the day, the pier was crowded with locals as well as tourists. As midnight approached, only a lone soul or two lingered on the massive wooden pier. A few others walked along the beach.

  Olivia waited in the shadows, analyzing anything that moved. She saw her target’s arrival from a considerable distance as he passed under a light en route from the parking area to the wide planked boardwalk. Khaki shorts, white T-shirt and red baseball cap, just as she’d requested.

  She couldn’t make out his face yet. He strolled along somewhat hesitantly as if this might have been his first visit to the pier or maybe he was just afraid of being in a strange place after dark. The pockets of his shorts didn’t bulge, indicating he carried nothing about which she needed to be concerned. What appeared to be a video-camera bag hung on his right shoulder.

  As he unknowingly neared her position, he paused and turned all the way around, evidently looking for anyone who might be watching him. With his T-shirt tucked neatly inside the waistband of his shorts, it was obvious that he wasn’t carrying a weapon as she was.

  When she’d made out the details of his face she confirmed that she hadn’t met him before, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t trouble.

  When he moved just in front of her position, she stepped out of the shadows. “Mr. Soderbaum.”

  He gasped and whipped around to face her. Even in the dim lighting she saw his face pale. “Sheara?” He was either a very good actor or scared witless.

  Before she began her questioning, she patted him down to ensure he wasn’t wearing a wire or any other sort of listening device. With the more undetectable microfiber jobs, it wasn’t an easy task, so she took her time. She might not be in the business anymore, but she tried to keep up with the latest gadgets.

  When she’d satisfied herself that he was clean, she asked, “Is the bag for me?”

  He nodded jerkily. “Yes. Sorry.” He swung the camera case off his shoulder and offered it to her.

  Olivia accepted the case and opened it for a quick peek. Hundreds of crisp twenty-dollar bills were stacked inside, but that wasn’t her concern at the moment. She checked for tracking and listening devices and found none. Whether that was good or bad, she wasn’t precisely sure.

  “Excellent.”

  “Do you need to count it?” He glanced around nervously. “What if someone sees us?”

  “I’ll count it later.” She closed the case and slung it over her shoulder.

  He nodded. “Of course. If it’s not all there you won’t go through with the job.”

  She ignored his comment. “Before we go any further, I have a few questions for you, Mr. Soderbaum.”

  Uncertainty claimed his expression once more. “I thought I wouldn’t have to answer any questions. I just give you the money and information and the job gets done.” He wasn’t as old as she’d anticipated. Forty maybe. And right now he looked thoroughly terrified.

  “Not those kinds of questions, Mr. Soderbaum,” she assured him. “I never accept an assignment without verifying certain things, like who recommended me.”

  “I don’t know his real name. I got the recommendation in a chat room.”

  Man, this guy was stupider than he looked. “You’re lucky I’m not a federal agent, Mr. Soderbaum.”

  Taken aback and obviously startled, he asked, “Why would…oh.” Realization appeared to dawn on him then. Soliciting murder was a serious crime, usually carried a life sentence. The muscles of his throat struggled as he attempted to swallow. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Fortunately for you, I’m not.” That part was definitely true. She opted to get straight to the heart of the matter before pushing for his source. If she made this guy too nervous he might balk. There were certain elements she needed to know and the identity of the target was one of them. “Why don’t we get down to business?”

  He nodded, the movement as uncoordinated as a bobble-head doll’s.

  “I’ll need the specifics on your target.”

  “Of course.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out what looked like a couple of folded sheets of paper. He hesitated before giving them to her.

  “Is there a problem, Mr. Soderbaum?”

  “You don’t look like a killer,” he commented quietly.

  She leaned closer to him, making him catch his breath all over again. “Have you ever met a killer?”

  He shook his head with enough vigor to do internal damage.

  “Perhaps you’ve met several and simply didn’t know it.”

  His eye
s widened, then he blinked twice as he appeared to comprehend that a response to her statement wasn’t necessary. “How do you usually, ah—” He cleared his throat. “You know, take care of the situation?”

  “Do you have a preferred method?”

  “Not at all. I just want it done.”

  “I understand.”

  He hunched his shoulders and let them fall in a shrug of uncertainty. “How long will it take?”

  “A few days. I’ll need time to assess the target and to select the best time and method for elimination.”

  Ned Soderbaum gulped.

  Keeping a close eye out for anyone else who might attempt to advance upon their position, she let him hang on to his papers a moment longer and pressed him for the crucial details she needed. “Mr. Soderbaum, before we can seal this deal, I will need the name of your source. I don’t accept clients without verifying their source.”

  He tried to hold her gaze but couldn’t handle the pressure, so he stared at a covered rack of postcards instead. “He’s not that difficult to find. He’s always in the chat rooms. I don’t know his real name, but his screen name is Phantom.”

  A new wave of shock went through her. “You’re certain about that?” The shock abruptly started to evolve, heading toward fury. This had to be a setup, wire or no wire. Her instincts moved to a higher state of alert in anticipation of coming complications. The necklace she wore felt hot against her skin.

  Her client nodded. “I’ve talked to him several times. He said you were the best. A perfect record of kills.”

  Olivia struggled to conceal her building anger. Allowing him to take note of her out-of-control emotions would be a mistake. “Once I’ve confirmed that information I’ll set things in motion.”

  “Excellent.” Soderbaum glanced around nervously. “Here.” He held out his papers. “This is the information you’ll need.”

  She accepted the folded pages. “You understand that once this assignment has been set in motion there is no backing out. You can’t change your mind.”

  He wet his lips. “Yes, I understand. I want this done as quickly as possible.”