Page 15 of Signed, SEALed, Delivered

“Why would you give away our home address? Next thing we know they will show up at the front door to rob us in the night.” She groused, taking a sip of what I assumed, given the time of day, was tea. “At least you are dressed properly.”

Sensing this was the end of the interrogation; I began climbing the stairs to my room. As I walked beside her, the hand holding her phone blocked my path.

“Don't forget Kennedy, we are expecting an important guest today”

“Of course, Mother.”

She needn't say whom we were expecting. Miss Emma’s presence was the equivalent of saying Cher or Prince was about to arrive. Everyone in Atlanta knew who she was and mother needed her in the group of friends she kept, as lots of influential people hung on every word she said.

Meeting my mother's friends, smiling at the surgically altered faces of the women she hand picked to surround herself with, each one meeting the criteria of whatever social ladder she was in need of climbing. Caroline sat with her group of admirers; five women, each with a pedigree they crawled and hurled over mountains to maintain. All five waiting to receive the call they had been selected to join Atlanta's elite social level. Their conversations turned from the heat and humidity, which had already started its assent, to the three open chairs on the hospital board.

“Mrs. Forrester?” Henrietta interrupts, her pressed white apron covering the gray uniform she wore only when these ladies were visiting.

“Yes?” Mother's tone joyful and fake. All conversations stop, and eyes turn in the direction of Henrietta.

“There is a Mr. Hawthorn, who wishes to speak with Miss Kennedy.” Mother’s eyes flash to mine, pursed lips she masks with a wave of her hand. She is angry and I know I will hear about this for hours after the ladies leave.

“Kennedy, don't make your gentleman wait, sweetheart, it's rude.”

Excusing myself to an arena full of giggles and hushed whispers, I notice the card pinched between Henrietta’s thumb and index finger. My mother will know every detail about the card, of this I was sure. Refusing to look at the card, I toss her an ugly oath under my breath, something else my mother will no doubt learn as well.

Standing in a dark blue suit, his hair gray and thin. Admiring the massive painting of my mother hanging in the entry. Sensing my presence, he turns in my direction.

“Mr. Hawthorne?”

“Miss Forrester.” He crosses the room, his hand outstretched, a warm smile resting on his face. His jacket flutters open with his movement, revealing the handle of a gun. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but it is imperative I speak with you. My name is Stephen Hawthorne, I’m an investigator with the FBI. I'd like to ask you a few questions about a Zack Michels.”

Releasing his hand from mine, I chance a quick glance over my shoulder to check for eavesdroppers. Finding the room behind me too quiet for comfort, I motion for Mr. Hawthorne to follow me down the hall. I usher him into my father's office, the one room in this house I know will give me privacy. A few years ago, my father sent my mother off to New York for a shopping weekend with my sister. While she was away, he had a company come in and soundproof his office.

“Please, have a seat.” I offered politely as I closed the door behind us.

“Thank you, again sorry to pull you from your party. I’ll make this as brief as possible.”

“Trust me,” waving in the direction of the hall. “You saved me more than anything.”

“Right.” Pulling out a notepad, he flips open the cover and several white pages. “Miss Forrester, your name was found in a recent seizure of an illegal website, Military Connections. Are you familiar with this name?”

Red flags waved overhead, warning me of the possible implications I may face by answering his question. “Mr. Hawthorne, while I know I have done nothing wrong, perhaps I should contact my father who is an attorney here in Atlanta.”

“You’re correct, you have done nothing wrong, but it’s your choice to involve your attorney. Maybe if I tell you what we know, it may help you in deciding to place a call to his office.” His face full of affirmation, wrinkles giving his decades of experience away. “A few weeks ago some files were found in the home of a...Virginia Greyson in Charleston, South Carolina. Located in the basement of the home, was a fictitious dating website which had been created by the owner and a...Kevin Winters. According to our experts, the pair created a program within the site, which used keywords and phrases obtained in the initial profile page to lure in clients. These keywords would be automatically added to an email reply, making it seem as if the subscriber had someone in the military who was interested in a romantic connection. Your name was one of the tens of thousands we found on the client list.”

Nausea filled my stomach. All the emails I’d received from Zack were fake; his overzealousness was as false as the ladies in the room down the hall.

“From what we’ve discovered, Miss Greyson and Mr. Winters have stolen nearly two million dollars from around the world. Now, according to the data in the files, you were one of the few who did not send any additional money when Mr. Michels requested it. With Miss Greyson currently behind bars awaiting transfer to a federal institution, we are actively pursuing evidence to put her in prison for a great many years.”

“And what of the other person involved? Winters, I believe you said.”Mr. Hawthorne nodded his head, dropping his hands into a relaxed position. “Mr. Winters was killed during a meth lab explosion.”

After Mr. Hawthorne listened to my story, taking several notes and confirming selected parts of my version, he assured me he would be in contact with any developments.

Mother stood in the hall, a curious look on her face. I ignored her assumption of any romantic interest I held for the man. As I sat on my bed, I remembered the letter I had received earlier. Assuming it would be from Sabrina, I pulled the envelope from my desk, the return address leaving me stunned and at a loss for words. But as I read the words this kind soldier had for me, I couldn't let this act of kindness go without a proper thank you. While I sat at my computer, the words fell like a summer rain, easy and welcomed. After I hit the send button, I worried he would think me too forward in saying all I had.

***

Before I left Colorado, I had composed a list of facilities I would love to work for. At the top of the list sat Hart Stables and Therapy Center. It was considered to be in the top two percent across the country, specializing in children and veterans. According to the webpage, they had one opening and I knew they would have hundreds of applicants. While my chances were slim, they weren't zero.

By the time I had finished the personal profile and taken the online quiz they required, four hours had passed. As I was about to close my computer, a single ping sounded alerting me to a new email.

To: HorseWhisperer

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