Page 102 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
A dart of anxiety jabs me in the chest at the thought it might possibly be Andreas’ father. He certainly appeared devious enough to put me in danger just to hurt his son. The only reason I’ve felt safe is because Andreas has promised me that he and Benito are on his tail. I have no doubt he’ll be turning up in the Connecticut River before long.
I go to close the door but a package on the stoop catches my eye. It’s a manila envelope just like the one Andreas used to present his plans to Governor Grayson. A shiver threads its way down my spine. Because this one… hasmyname on it.
I pick it up and glance around the front of the house one more time before closing the door and bolting it firmly.
My fingers are shaking as I carry the envelope to thekitchen. I rip it open and pour the contents onto the counter. At first sight, they’re just plain sheets of paper, but when I turn them over, my heart thuds to the floor.
They’re photographs.
Grainy. But clear enough.
My gaze zones in on my husband. My strong, powerful, commanding husband, decked out in the suit he wore to the Cosmos Club in Washington. I recognize the tie I ripped from around his neck the second we fell into our hotel room.
He’s holding someone. My lips start to lift, knowing it must have been me. My husband has only ever held me. While we’ve been married at least.
But the smile falls when my gaze drifts to the person he’s holding. It’s a different woman. A very recognizable one. Long, flaxen blonde hair; too-short, too-tight dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.
Thickly painted lashes closed and red lips pressed against my husband’s.
Astrid Olsson.
My breath sticks in my throat as nausea crawls up it. This can’t be real.
I flick the photo back and forth looking for any sign it might have been tampered with somehow. But I don’t know what I’d be looking for and I can’t really see beyond the obvious—that my husband didn’t simply take Olsson out of the business dinner to issue her with an ultimatum. He took her out so they could catch a moment alone and discuss the deal like the ‘old friends’ they are.
Vomit lurches up my throat and I barely make it to the sink before that morning’s breakfast appears in front of me.
I turn on the faucet and watch the former contents of my stomach swirl away, then I grip the edge of the counter to stop the room from spinning.
Slowly, I return to the photos. All three of them. Each one is grainy but they were definitely taken that night and depict my husband and Secretary Olsson in similar compromising positions. I turn them over again to see if there’s any clue as to where they came from or who would have left them at the house. When I see nothing, I inspect the manila envelope. There’s a small slip of paper inside. Tipping it out, I read the one sentence scribbled in black pen by a wizened hand.
“You deserve to know the truth about your husband. But don’t worry, we’ll make sure he doesn’t enter your house again alive.”
I read the short note several times because my mind is fighting it. My head is scrambling for an explanation but my heart is breaking down the middle. The resulting swirl of emotions builds in the base of my stomach like a tornado. It comes on so quickly I can’t breathe.
Instinctively, my eyes flit about searching for something sharp. Why didn’t I insist on the locks being removed when Andreas brought it up to me? He would be so disappointed if I cut myself now. I glance at the photos of him kissing another woman and question whether he’d even care? Was I just a tool? Because of my connection to Cristiano? Were my instincts right inthe beginning? He’s used me to get his hands on Boston?
I run through the questions with complete disbelief. It would all make total sense but I simply can’t believe Andreas would do that to me. Surely he wouldn’t go to all the trouble of getting me well, paying for a therapist, a personal trainer, a chef, to help me overcome my demons. Surely he wouldn’t have persevered through fifty-six orgasms to watch me eventually learn to love myself. He didn’t need to do those things and he wouldn’t have done all those things if he didn’t… love me?
I look back at the note. What did they mean by Andreas not entering the house alive again? How could he not? I walk back into the hall and open the closet. I remember Viola taking a pair of binoculars from inside so she could show me some of the birds that came to the yard. I find them in a box stacked on the floor then I make my way up the stairs. I go to the guest wing first and look out over the front of the property. I can’t see anything of note through the viewfinder. I hurry through the rooms to the back of house and look out over the gardens. Nothing obvious catches my eye.
Then I see it.
A man dressed in camo gear crouched down behind a cluster of trees at the far end of the garden. He must have been the man who delivered the photographs. I’m about to lower the binoculars but another movement to the right draws my attention. I lift the binoculars again and see another man. Slightly more concealed but it’sobvious he’s trying to stay out of sight. I definitely wouldn’t have seen him if I didn’t have binoculars.
My heart pumps faster. How many of these men are there?
I coast the entire back section of the grounds and spot one more. He’s lying flat in some of the longer grass where Viola and I are planning to grow wildflowers come spring.
None of these men look anything like Andreas’ father.
What’s going on? Who are they?
I duck away from the window and run to the primary wing. Hiding behind the wall I lift the binoculars again. I spot two more men to the side of the property. Now I know what I’m looking for, I identify the frozen figures more easily. I move fast and quietly around all the rooms. There are twelve men in total. The house is surrounded.
I run back down the stairs to the kitchen. I still don’t have a cell phone of my own but Andreas has left a burner for me in one of the drawers. I thank God it is a burner because I have no doubt all numbers registered to this property will be monitored.
My hand shakes as I lift the phone to my ear.
