Page 70 of Letters From Victor

I loosened my tie and undid the top button of my shirt, sighing as the constriction around my neck released. A million dark solutions flitted through my mind. It wouldn’t be hard to get Barbara free. One call to Phil, and I’d be reading about the unfortunate event over breakfast.

I shook my head, banishing the idea. No, that wasn’t the way. Barbara would never forgive me. And neither would the man Iwas trying to become. Barbara was my fresh start. This had to be done right. Clean. For both our sakes.

Damn, I was getting soft.

I picked up Barbara’s sketch again. My fingers traced the elegant lines of the dress, imagining her hand as she drew them. I pictured Barbara’s breasts filling the bodice, the dress hugging the beautiful curves of her hips, and the creamy skin of her long, slender leg peeking out through the thigh-high slit.

The ache in my chest deepened. Six weeks. Just six more weeks until my divorce was final. Then I could extricate her from her marriage, and we could start our life together properly.

An idea took root. It was risky—potentially disastrous if it went wrong—but it might just work. I reached for the phone on the side table and dialed a number I knew by heart.

“Phil? It’s me. I need you to do some digging. Find out everything you can about Frank Evans’s finances.”

Phil’s gravelly voice came through the receiver. “Can do, Boss. Didn’t we already turn this guy inside out last year?”

“Yes, but I need you to go deeper this time. Find out everything, and I mean everything. Bank accounts, debts, investments, the works. I want to know if he has so much as a nickel hidden under his mattress. And put a tail on him.”

“Sure thing, Boss. What are we looking for exactly?”

I let the silence linger a second longer. Then, softly, decisively—“Leverage.”

28

BARBARA

Frank was sitting at the kitchen table when I walked in from outside. The sight of him stopped me cold.

“Goodness, Frank!” I gasped. “I didn’t expect you home until after six.”

His eyes were fixed on an unsealed envelope on the table. His voice was flat. “My meetings wrapped up early today, so I cut out and came home. I thought I’d surprise you, make an evening of it.” He never looked up. “Where’s Frank Junior?”

“At my sister’s.” I let out a long, controlled breath. “You know how he loves his Aunt Edith.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

My stomach tightened. I pursed my lips.

“That way, he won’t hear any of this.”Frank slid the unsealed letter across the table toward me. It was addressed to me, and the handwriting belonged to my mother.

“You opened my letter?”

“I thought it was important. Why else would your mother write instead of picking up the telephone? Good grief! I thought someone had died!”

I stared down at the envelope in silence, my pulse thudding in my ears. The room felt stiflingly hot.

“What’s she talking about, Barb?”

I picked up the envelope and removed the letter.

“Whois she talking about?”

I tossed the letter on the table and leaned against the countertop, arms folded tight. “Well, I guess now is as good a time as any.”

Frank finally looked at me, eyes wide and terrified like a scolded puppy awaiting a rolled-up newspaper.

“Frank, it’s over.” There went the newspaper. “It’s been over for a long time. It’s high time we admitted it.”

“No, no. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. We have a life together, Barb. We have a son.”

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