RECKONING SARA FIELDS
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Afterword
Mafia and Billionaire Romances by Sara Fields
Books of the Alpha Brotherhood Series
Books of the Omegaborn Trilogy
Books of the Vakarran Captives Series
Books of the Captive Brides Series
Books of the Terranovum Brides Series
Sci-Fi and Paranormal Romances by Sara Fields
More Stormy Night Books by Sara Fields
About the Author
Copyright © 2021 by Stormy Night Publications and Sara Fields
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC. www.StormyNightPublications.com
Fields, Sara Reckoning
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson Images by Shutterstock/Inara Prusakova, 123RF/toncsi, and Shutterstock/Kozyrina Olga
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
C H A P T E R 1
Willow
“Do you take this man as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
“I do.”
It was always the same. Sometimes the priest conducting the ceremony would switch it up, which made it at least remotely interesting. Some of them were serious in their delivery, others cute, and some of them were just flat out unique in a sort of weird way, but this one was pretty run of the mill. All in all, it was a rather boring ceremony.
This was a normal wedding in a normal church with normal people who thought they were witnessing the happiest moment in two normal people’s lives.
It was all a lie. Every last wasted cent that went into this whole charade.
I was surrounded with more beauty and money than I could shake a stick at. My wedding dress was from some famous designer I
couldn’t remember the name of, and it had come with a price tag of at least ten thousand dollars and that didn’t even include the veil, the lingerie beneath it, and the custom-made Louboutins on my feet. The church venue cost a great deal and so did all the flowers and decorations I’d demanded through the wedding planning process because I wanted what I want, and my groom’s bank account could afford it. He wanted to spoil me, and I let him.
I think this was my most expensive wedding to date and that was saying something.
If only they gave out trophies for that sort of thing.
“Do you take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold…”
Blah blah blah. I stopped listening to his voice and waited for what would come next.
“I do.”
The groom’s blue eyes danced with excitement. He thought this was all real, which meant that I’d done my job perfectly.
He was probably just excited for the honeymoon that he’d never have.
I’d be gone before he knew what to do with himself.
I’d lost count of how many weddings I’d been in; of how many times I’d been the blushing happy bride standing at the altar. I’d planned more than a dozen of them at this point. I’d worn pretty much every different style of wedding dress that I could find. I’d had every type of cake. I’d been married outdoors, in a church, in a country club, on a boat, and even in a barn. I’d had Michelin star catering at my reception, and I’d had an outdoor barbeque at another and then everything else there could possibly be in between.
The venue was unremarkable. It was pretty, but that’s really all it had going for it. The church was covered in red roses. His tux was
black, but the bow tie matched the flowers that surrounded us. Pretty scarlet bows decorated the stained-glass church windows and at least one hundred people sat in the pews watching the two of us take our lifelong vows together.
They didn’t know that my name wasn’t Sophia Jackson, that it was really Willow Rose, or that there wasn’t a single one of them who would see my face ever again.
Especially Dean Waterhouse.
This was going to hit him the hardest.
You see, he thought I was his perfect match. Each of my marks always did. I changed my look, my accent, and my behavior for each one of them. Sometimes that meant that my hair color was different, or I did my makeup to look like someone else, or that my entire wardrobe was modified to exactly what they would like. The people I worked for had deep pockets and they wanted to make sure I had everything I needed to do my job flawlessly.
Those blue eyes sparkled as they searched mine. Afraid that I’d let the ruse fall for a second, I smiled warmly in his direction and his lips turned up with joy. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and I was positive that this was the happiest day of his life.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too,” I mouthed back. I kissed the tip of my forefinger and held it up in the air. It had been our little thing ever since he’d taken me out on his yacht when he’d asked me out on a second date.
Like we’d found each other when the other was lost, beacons of hope no matter the direction of the wind.
Dean liked the cheesy stuff. The sweeter the better so I poured it on like rain.
Dean had been one of my easier marks. I could mostly be myself around him, which was pretty convenient. It was always the toughest when I had to become something of a persona. The last one had liked French girls and it had been some serious work to make sure I never dropped the accent, not even once.
Before I’d even met him, I knew that Dean liked his woman to be independent, feisty, and a real go-getter. He enjoyed when I pushed him, and he especially liked it when I put myself in charge in the bedroom. He was sweet and gentle, always buying me gifts and taking me to expensive dinners whenever he could get time off work at his Fortune 500 software corporation that cleared several billion dollars a year.
It’s what bought the five-carat diamond engagement ring on my left hand and the diamond-encrusted wedding band he was sliding onto my finger right now.
Dean liked to be a sugar daddy of sorts and I was just the sort of fixer upper that he adored taking care of.
Before I even bumped into my marks, I studied them extensively. I scoured social media and the tabloids for indications of what they liked. I tailed them for more than a week at a time just to understand who they were and what they wanted in and out of the bedroom, and I was really good at it.
Dean was a very rich man, which meant that he would be a very rich payday for me. It had been less than six months since I’d accidentally knocked into him and spilled his coffee before I insisted on buying him a new one. We’d spent at least four hours together that morning and the whirlwind romance hadn’t stopped since.
I hadn’t let it.
He reached for me and took my hands in his. His hands were firm, dwarfing mine as he squeezed gently.
I slid his own wedding band on his left hand and didn’t meet his eyes. For some reason, the gleeful excitement in his face was something I couldn’t bear to see right now.
Instead I took a deep breath, stared at the floor, and feigned a nervous look, playing the part of an anxious bride. Getittogether,Willow.You’refuckingbetterthanthis.
“Then I now pronounce you man and wife,” the priest declared, his voice resolute and firm.
The crowd watching roared and applauded with approval. The beautiful tune of a violin sang above us, and Dean took my hand in his and held it up high in the air, putting us on display together in front of everyone watching.
Every one of them were his guests. No one was there for me.
No one ever was.
I smiled and painted my face with the joy they all expected to see. I just had to play the blissful bride for a little longer before I could disappear forever and move onto my next job.
After the ceremony, my wedding planner rushed me back to the bridal suite for a wardrobe change for the reception to follow. Whenever possible, I liked to avoid the man I married on the day of the ceremony as much as I could. It minimized the chances of getting found out at the last minute. I couldn’t have that.
My record was perfect. Each job was ridiculously expensive and horrendously time-consuming, but I nailed each one every time.
It was a special sort of talent to be a con woman like me. My skills were dangerous to the rich, no matter what was between their legs. Man or woman, they were all the same.
They all wanted to fall in love.
They all yearned for a best friend.
They all dreamed of the perfect fucking fairy tale.
They wanted it all and I gave them everything they could ever wish for.
Over and over again, because at the end of the day, I didn’t really have a choice. The moment I stopped, I was as good as dead. The organization I worked for didn’t tolerate even an ounce of disobedience and I really didn’t want to find out what it felt like to take a bullet between the eyes.
With a heavy sigh, I fingered the scarlet lace of the racy number I had planned to wear that was waiting for me on its hanger. There was a knock on the door, and I raised my voice just high enough to tell them to enter. My wedding planner’s assistant smiled, and I nodded in greeting. Time to step into Sophia’s persona again.
“Jenny,” I said lightly.
“Sophia,” she replied far too happily. “Are you ready to get out of your wedding dress?”
“I thought you’d never ask. Wearing this mermaid gown is work on my legs,” I laughed, and she chuckled right on cue.
“I wore a similar style at my wedding too. By the end of the day, my inner thighs wanted to scream, but the pictures were beautiful. I just know yours will be too,” she replied.
She was far too fucking cheery.
With a fake happy sigh, I slid my fingers along the soft red lace. Jenny turned me just enough so that she could begin unbuttoning the long line of tiny silk-wrapped buttons that cascaded down the length of my spine. I looked in the mirror one last time, taking in the intricately embroidered sweetheart neckline and slim waist. The fit
was perfect, showcasing the gentle curve of my hips and my long lean legs. The embroidery was light pink in contrast to the stark white silk and wrapped down the length of the dress all the way to the hem at my feet in an explosion of color. It was as if I was covered in a bouquet of flowers from my head to my toes.
Like cherry blossoms drifting on the wind.
I had to admit that it was one of the prettier dresses I’d ever worn and even though the ceremony was boring by my standards, I wouldn’t forget that look of pure adoration Dean had when the priest had pronounced us man and wife.
I shook my head.
“Just another minute. There’s a lot of buttons,” Jenny said curtly.
“Did we clock how long it took to get me dressed this morning?”
“At least an hour and that most definitely didn’t include makeup and hair.”
“I imagine Lola has a schedule?” Lola was my wedding planner.
“Yeah. She’s on top of everything like that. We had a big meeting yesterday to make sure everything was perfect for your big day,” she continued.
“Do you do a lot of weddings?” I asked, wanting to fill the air with conversation rather than the sad void of my own lonely mind.
“Yes. Somewhere between three to five a week, except for this week. Dean paid enough to clear our schedule so that we could focus entirely on you,” Jenny added.
Of course he did.
“That was sweet of him,” I whispered.
“He loves you,” she answered, sounding all chipper, happy, and kind.
“I know,” I replied, not having the heart to return the sentiment. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything at all.
Her fingers worked down the middle of my back, and when she finally reached the bottom of those cursed buttons I felt like I could draw the first full breath of air into my lungs since the crack of dawn that morning.
“There now. Just a few more,” she murmured.
When she carefully pushed the dress down my hips, I stayed still until I was able to gracefully step out of the expensive gown. Quickly, she hung the dress back up and smoothed out any wrinkles before she turned back to see me already slipping the stretchy red lace up my legs. I pulled it up into place and turned for her. She zipped it up and straightened it a bit to hide the fancy white lingerie set I was wearing beneath.
She unclipped my hair and it cascaded down my back in waves. Part of my up-do was still intact and when I glanced in the mirror, I realized it was really quite beautiful. I’d have to get my hair done like that again.
Not at my next wedding of course. I’d have to do something else.
Jenny touched up my red lipstick and swept a little bit of setting powder on my nose. When she was done, she smiled in appreciation.
“Perfection. Dean won’t know what hit him,” she said.
“No, he definitely won’t,” I whispered. She really had no idea how accurate of a statement that would be.
For a moment, she let me admire myself in the mirror before she beckoned me back to the door.
“The reception is already in full swing. They’re already clamoring for dinner, the cake, and especially for the wedded couple’s first dance,” she beamed.
Oh, right. I’d forgotten about that.
I grinned nervously and she shook her head.
“No need to be nervous. You’ll be perfect. I’ve seen the two of you dance. You’re magic together,” she said confidently.
I really was too good at getting people to believe whatever I wanted them to.
Too fucking good.
I giggled with contrived giddiness as I took the arm she was offering and strode to the door. She guided me down a few lesser used hallways to the back of the reception hall where I planned to make a rather big second entrance into the biggest after-party I’d ever planned.
Once we arrived at the elegantly carved wooden doors, Jenny opened them with a flourish. The dim hue of red and pink lights flittered across the landing, spiraling down the marble staircase and casting an otherworldly glow. I took a step out to see everyone seated at their respective table, the ones Dean and I had worked on for hours together in order not to seat Auntie Laura next to Uncle Joe because they’d had some sordid affair together that pissed off his parents, among numerous other issues he informed me of along the way.
Family drama was really quite amusing.
The crowd applauded as I walked down the stairs, careful not to slip in my red-bottomed shoes. Once I was at ground level, Dean swept in from the right side and curled his arm around my waist before pulling me into a deep kiss.
I pressed my lips against his, playing the part of a happily married bride.
Very soon, I’d turn his world upside down.
He pulled back and smiled down at me, his regal blue eyes dazzling. He was such a good person, so giving and kind. I knew it gave him great pleasure to see me smile so that’s what I did.
I usually didn’t feel guilty for doing my job.
With him though, it was beginning to take its toll.
If I had a choice, I’d stay. But I didn’t. The two of us were never fated to be one and I just had to accept that.
For once, I allowed myself to really enjoy the wedding reception. There was an open bar and endless glasses of champagne. The cake was especially delicious and when the time came for the tables to be cleared, the excited energy of the crowd rose along with the music.
The first few beats of Passenger’s ‘Let Her Go’ played over the speakers and I drew in a shaky breath.
I don’t know why that song spoke to me. Maybe it was romantic. Maybe it said something about me, but none of it really mattered. Dean offered me his hand and I took it. The two of us strolled onto the dance floor and the sound of our song echoed throughout the room.
The dance had been choreographed. It was something he wanted to do, and I’d jumped at the chance. He’d hired one of the top choreographers in the country for private lessons together, which gave me even more time with him to deepen the whole ploy.
“Onlyknowyouloveherwhenyoulethergo.”
His eyes held mine and in them, I saw how steadfast, strong, and perfect he was. Dean was the kind of man I’d love to call mine, but I knew I would never be allowed such things. A life like mine didn’t allow for love or even the smallest bit of happiness.
My life was work. Every day. Every hour. Every minute.
Within a week, I’d be onto the next mark with a new city, a new name, and a new life, and I’d never get to look into those soulful eyes again. I’d never see him again after this was all over.
I memorized his face. His angular jaw just covered by the lightest stubble that I adored so much. His exotically high cheekbones and the thick eyelashes that framed those ocean blue depths. I studied the dimples in his cheeks that only came out when he smiled at me and that cute little birthmark by his left eye that crinkled a little bit when he laughed.
We flew across the dance floor and I swung my hips in tune with the music, listening to the gentle strum of the guitar and the soft notes of the piano beat deep into my soul.
“Andyoulethergo.”
Dean had wanted to know why I’d chosen this song and I’d told him it was simply because I liked it. He hadn’t asked why but as the song ended and he pulled me in for a deep kiss, I finally realized what it was.
It was my way of saying goodbye. Maybe he’d realize it long after I was gone.
I kissed him as I would kiss a lover because he was the closest thing that I was ever going to have to one. Our tongues danced together, and the audience cheered, but I was lost in that kiss, lost in the gentle feeling of his fingers on my bare shoulders and lost in that ghostly apparition of love that I was so desperate to experience just once in my life.
When he finally pulled away, I resigned that part of myself and locked it away deep into my soul. It was something that I would never allow myself to feel again.
I smiled so wide that my cheeks hurt and curled close to Dean’s chest.
“You’re so beautiful, Sophia. Thank you for making me the happiest man in the world,” he whispered as he held me. After the song ended, he rushed me over to the bar. He gestured to the bartender, demanding that he pour me the most expensive glass of champagne that he could buy, which was really quite silly because it was an open bar.
Within moments, he slipped a glass of something bubbly and pink into my fingers. I took a sip and grinned, enjoying the flavors of rosé and champagne meeting as one in a fizzy concoction that made my mouth water.
“Do you like it?” he asked, and I nodded fervently. “Keep that bottle on ice, bartender,” he grinned, and the man chuckled behind the bar.
Dean and I found a quiet corner with a comfortable loveseat and took a moment to just revel in the sight of the attendees enjoying themselves. The DJ was one of the best and it showed. With flawless effort and skill, he meshed one song smoothly into the next, building the tempo and the energy of the crowd long into the night.
The rest of the night passed by smoothly and Dean was gentlemanly enough not to even smash cake in my face like so many others had. I appreciated that. Cake frosting and expensive bridal makeup just didn’t mix.
When the hour grew late enough, Jenny swept me away yet again to put me in comfy clothes so that the two of us could escape to the airport where Dean’s private jet was waiting to fly us to our destination honeymoon in the Maldives.
Exhausted, I fell asleep in the oversized seat and I was only vaguely aware of the fact that Dean had covered me up with a blanket.
That was sweet of him. He’d probably regret that soon too.
When we landed, there were people waiting with handcrafted cocktails on the pier as we climbed out of the small seaplane that we’d boarded after his jet had brought us most of the way. A small group of two women and a man were quick to drape purple flowers over our heads before a rather lavish golf cart pulled up to bring us to our private beachside retreat. The two of us climbed on the back and I grasped at Dean’s hand, squeezing it tight with excitement as the cart whirred away. We drove for a good fifteen minutes into the dense jungle down a well-kept dirt road, and when we arrived I gasped at what I saw.
A two-story bungalow was hidden amongst the trees. Behind it was the great expanse of a beach with jewel-toned clear water lapping at the perfect white sands. I wanted to dip my toes into the water right away.
It was absolutely paradise, a secret luxury getaway with all the privacy and amenities a newly married couple could ever need.
It had been his idea. I’d agreed wholeheartedly.
I’d always wanted to see the Maldives.
Another golf cart drove up behind us with our luggage and followed us to the front door. It was unlocked and when we walked inside, we were greeted with the delightful aroma of candles and fragrant flowers in beautiful vases spread all over the room. There was an assortment of delicious-looking chocolates and fruits set out on platters on the birch wood table across from the kitchen. Those accompanying us were quick in their work and disappeared once we were settled, leaving Dean and me all alone together.
“There’s a full restaurant just a short ride away if you want something like that. There’s also room service. You can have
whatever you want, my beautiful wife. Just ask and you shall receive,” Dean said. He loved being able to provide for me like that. I didn’t respond because I was enamored with our lodging enough that I couldn’t think of anything to say.
I strolled through the bungalow, enjoying the natural tropical feel. Once I reached the back, my mouth opened in shock at the full gorgeous sight of the beach. There was no one on it. We were the only ones out here. Complete and utter privacy.
I could walk down the beach totally naked and he’d be the only one to see.
“Wow,” I whispered.
“This is the honeymoon suite. There isn’t anyone else close by for at least a mile. Do you know what that means, my pretty bride?” he murmured.
“What’s that?” I smirked coyly.
“It means you can scream as loud as you want tonight because there’s no one but me to hear you,” he teased, and I chuckled before I rushed out and kicked off my shoes, wanting to feel what the sand felt like between my toes.
He followed me and his arms wound around my waist, pulling me close. Casually, he kissed my neck as the wind whipped my long hair around my face.
I turned my head and pressed my lips against his.
It would be one last night. One more night of playing this sordid game.
I was going to enjoy myself and by the time the sun rose in the morning, I would be gone.
Dean didn’t want to rush to our wedding night. Instead, he insisted on taking me to a candlelit white tablecloth dinner at the fancy restaurant complete with freshly caught seafood and the best crème brûlée I’d ever had the privilege to taste. He fed me bites of his dinner and I fed him some of mine. We talked about our visions of the future, what we wanted in our house together, the places in the world I wanted to see, anything and everything and in the end, nothing really at all because those weren’t my dreams.
They were all his dreams. Perfectly tailored responses that I’d prepared just for him long before tonight.
When the dinner ended, we walked along the beach back to our bungalow under the romantic glow of the moon and the endless glittering stars in the sky. It was slow and punctuated by long patches of silence, but it felt natural all the same.
His fingers on mine were like a breath of fresh air. For a while, I allowed myself to pretend it was all real because I genuinely enjoyed his company. Would this be what it felt like to be married? Is this what it would be like to be happy?
When we returned to the bungalow, the main floor was awash in flickering candlelight and when we walked up the wooden spiral staircase, I gasped at the rose petals strewn all over the surface of the plush white comforter on the massive king-sized bed. It was all very romantic. Even a girl like me could appreciate something like this.
Dean’s fingers flittered along the naked skin of my throat until he wrapped his arms around my chest and pulled me close. I sighed and breathed in the scent of him, his citrusy cologne enveloping me in a warm embrace that settled me, at least for the moment.
I’d remember that scent. I’d remember all of this.
Just one last night. I’d enjoy all of this for just one night.
His hands were gentle as he grasped the edges of my thin sweater. I was intensely aware of the threadbare fabric scraping along my skin, every single nerve on fire from the promise of his touch.
When it came to Dean, I’d faked a lot of things, but never this. When it came to our physical chemistry, the two of us were fire. Many of my marks were clumsy and quite terrible in bed, but not him. Never him.
With every touch, he made me catch my breath. Every kiss left me begging for more.
He was a man obsessed with making me orgasm. He’d always said I was the prettiest when I came for him and that made this particular job more enjoyable than all the others.
His movements were sweet as he slowly removed my clothes. He didn’t rush as he turned me to face him, just lightly dragging his fingers along my skin. His touches were teasing, and my nipples pebbled hard beneath the safety of my bra.
I reached for him and he brushed my hands away gently.
“I want to see you first. Will you let me?” he asked, and I bit my lip. Hesitantly, I nodded, and I let him do as he pleased. He’d never hurt me, and he was always exceptionally sweet, so I trusted him.
Shame he couldn’t trust me.
He lifted my shirt over my head, and I shuddered as a chill raced over my skin. It was quite warm, so it wasn’t from the cold. Instead, it was intricately connected to the look in his eyes as they danced over the bare skin of my belly.
I smirked and teasingly traced my fingers over the shadow along his jaw, feeling the rough edges of his growing beard. It was short, but long enough so that when he dragged it along my skin, I shivered with need.
I was going to enjoy this.
He slid those knowledgeable hands behind my back, unclipping my bra with ease. I shuddered hard and his fingers dipped down to push my flowy cotton pants down my hips.
“White lace. Very becoming on my bride,” he whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my neck. I moaned softly, stepping out of my sandals as he pushed my slacks down to my ankles. I lifted one foot and then the other as he helped me climb out of them.
In just my panties now, I stepped away from him and sat down on the bed. He watched me with a quizzical look as I slid back amongst the flower petals. Leaning back on my elbows, I spread my legs, putting myself on display for him.
His gaze was electric. It only took that single look to set my skin on fire with fervent need.
I smiled and cocked my head.
He took a step toward the bed. For a moment, his eyes turned dark, and I could have sworn I saw a flash of anger cross his features, although it was gone before I could be sure. It was so unlike him that I sat up an inch to look closer, but he was already kneeling at the end of the bed with fingers sliding along my thighs and a wicked grin on his lips.
“You’re such a tease, my pretty bride,” he said, and I cocked my head with a smirk.
“Perhaps,” I answered, and he slipped his hands up around my hips. Boldly, he jerked my underwear down, and the fabric pinched me a little as he bared me.
That was rougher than usual. He’d never been rough with me before.
And then it was gone. Sweet, gentle Dean smiled up at me with a mischievous look that hid everything I’d thought I’d seen in an instant. I returned the smirk and he chuckled knowingly.
“I want to see you,” he said softly.
He dragged my panties down my legs and kissed up the length of my right thigh. By the time he pressed his lips to my pussy, I was already panting with need for him.
He’d always been especially good with his tongue.
“Lay back, my pretty bride. I want to hear you scream for me tonight.”
The night had been perfect. His tongue had worked at the cusp of my thighs for what felt like forever and I came for him several times before we made love like the perfect story book couple.
I tried to enjoy myself but now that it was so close to ending, the whole thing simply felt hollow. My orgasms were good, and I was satisfied by the time he fell asleep beside me, yet it still felt like something was missing. When his breathing was steady, I slipped out of bed, my bare feet padding silently against the floor.
I’d packed my laptop in my luggage, and I dug around until I found it. He was still fast asleep when I peeked inside the bedroom again, so I sat down at the kitchen table and booted it up. He didn’t know it, but I’d hacked his computer at his house. I’d stolen every one of his passwords.
It was time to get to work.
I cleaned out his bank account, his savings, his stocks, and maxed out all of his credit cards. I logged into the financial servers of his company and cleaned that out too. By tomorrow, his company would be in full ruin. I took everything he had, and I left nothing behind. I transferred everything to an offshore account that had been set up especially for me before this all began. By the time I was finished, he had nothing left.
After that, I dressed quickly, pulling on dark clothes. My jeans were gray and stretchy and my tank top was black. I didn’t even bother with underwear. No one was going to see my naked body for the next few days. When I was finally ready, I gathered a few more things and stuffed them all into a dark backpack. With a heavy sigh, I slung it on my back.
I took out the envelope I’d hidden in the secret compartment of my laptop case and crept silently inside the master suite. Without making a single sound, I laid it on the pillow next to him.
I knew what it said.
It was a confession. It would tell him what I’d done, how I’d married him for his money and that I was going to disappear. It said that Sophia Jackson was nothing but a ruse that he’d never have the good fortune to see again. The note would tell him to move on. It would also warn him not to look for me unless he wanted to die.
With a quiet breath, I tiptoed out of the room, but I couldn’t help myself as I peered inside once more.
Still sleeping, Dean looked like the perfect picture of innocence. His five o’clock shadow had grown thicker. His dark eyelashes framed his eyes, just touching the upper curves of his cheeks, and I wanted to reach out to touch him.
I wished I could freeze time and keep this moment to myself, but I knew better than that. By morning, he would find the note. He wouldn’t believe it at first. No one did. He’d log in to all of his accounts. He’d think there was a glitch and he’d call them all.
It would be no mistake though.
I’d been the one to take all his money. I’d been the one who left him with nothing.
By the time the sun set, his initial disbelief would turn to anger and eventually that fury would morph into hatred.
It always ended this way.
With one last furtive glance, I turned away and left the bungalow, disappearing into the shadows of the night where my own private transportation was waiting for me.
Dean would never see me again. And that made me want to cry.
yearandahalflater
New York was quickly becoming one of my favorite cities. Not only was it easy to get lost in crowds, but it was also extraordinarily simple to tail my next mark.
His name was Tim Morris. He’d never lived in a place more than six months but had taken up residence here in the city for the past year. He owned a big oil company and was used to traveling around the world to places like Dubai to secure multimillion-dollar contracts quite often.
I was just getting back to work and beginning the initial process of studying my mark before I engineered the first meet-up. Dean Waterhouse had been such a massive payday that the Father had allowed me to take an extensive vacation for the better part of a year. I spent it backpacking through Europe and enjoying life outside of the rich sector. I stayed in hostels and made friends with normal people and just generally made the most of my little piece of normalcy.
Tim was drinking at the bar. His glass was filled with his favorite topshelf whiskey. He fancied himself something of a cowboy, but he was
pretty much anything but. He wore a hat, and he owned a fancy ranch in the foothills of Montana. He could probably ride a horse, but I would put money on the fact that he’d never even mucked out a single stall. He was a weekend cowboy at best.
Tim liked his girls country though. I cleared my throat. I’d been practicing my western charm, just for him.
My hair was shorter now and very blonde. There was a soft wave at the ends, but it was styled in a bob. I had on a pair of jeans and a pink button-up blouse over a white tank top. On my feet was a pair of leather cowgirl boots that had cost the people I work for at least a thousand bucks plus tax.
Who knew boots could be that expensive?
I sauntered up to the bar and ordered myself a whiskey. I didn’t even need to look to know that Tim was checking me out. He liked his girls blonde and curvy. I made myself into exactly his type. He was also a man who wasn’t afraid to go after something he wanted.
The stool next to me scraped against the floor as he pulled it out and took a seat next to me. I lifted my eyebrows in surprise and turned my head rather arrogantly.
He liked his girls feisty. He wanted a bit of a chase before he won and took me to his bed.
“Hey there, beautiful, what are you drinking?” he asked.
“Jack Daniel’s,” I answered coyly.
“Here. Try a sip of this and tell me what you think. I bet you’ve never tasted something as smooth and smoky,” he said confidently. He held out his glass and I took it into my fingers. I glanced down at the amber liquid with curiosity before I lifted it to my lips and took a small sip.
For a while, I was quiet, letting the gentle burn ebb across my tongue and buzz down my throat. Tim wasn’t really a patient sort of
guy though and just like I thought he would, he asked what I thought.
“So. Good stuff, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty good.”
“Let me buy you a drink,” he insisted.
“Make it Jack Daniel’s,” I answered teasingly.
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. I mean, yours is good and all, but Jack Daniel’s just reminds me of the horses and campfires of the open range back home,” I replied.
“Where are you from?” he asked. I’d piqued his curiosity now.
“Montana,” I replied.
“No shit. I’ve got a ranch out there.”
“How does a cowgirl like you find yourself lost in a big city like this?” he questioned.
“Family. My sister lives out here and she’s not doing well. Breast cancer and all,” I replied sadly.
Tim was a family man. He’d been married a few times already, but he took care of his ex-wives and his kids. They wanted for nothing and from what I could tell, everyone was perfectly happy except Tim was single now and he very much didn’t like being single.
Insert me and my pretty blonde hair and lengthy curves and cowgirl boots.
Tim’s perfect storm.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Tina,” I answered with a smile.
“Tim,” he grinned, taking a sip of his top-shelf whiskey.
He waved over the bartender and ordered me another drink. The man topped off my now empty whiskey glass and I took a long draw, looking back curiously at Tim.
Just over his shoulder, I saw a man in the corner. He was alone in a black coat. His face was covered in a thick brown beard, his scalp thick with luscious brunette locks that begged to be touched.
If I wasn’t on the job, I might have been curious enough to sit down at his table. His eyes flicked up to mine and I jolted.
Blue.
Familiar blue eyes that I’d memorized some time ago.
No. It couldn’t be.
Dean.
I turned my head, trying to convince myself that I was just seeing things. I took a big swig of my drink, which made Tim chuckle, and I quickly looked back to that dark corner of the bar.
No one was there.
One week passed. Then two.
Tim and I were going steady. He took me out to several dinners, picking his favorite steakhouses that reminded him of the downhome cooking back in Montana. He told me stories about the ranch he had in Montana and I told him made-up ones about the life I never had there.
By week three, my fake sister had passed away and Tim was there to catch me through my contrived grief. My Tina persona had no other family and now I was all alone.
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CHAPTER VIII.
THE SHIP.
next morning was Sunday, and Peggy’s heart sank when her aunt said to her, “I think I won’t let you out of my sight to-day, Peggy, for something always happens whenever you go even into the garden alone.”
“It seems to,” Peggy admitted sadly, but she did not like the idea of remaining all day long with Aunt Euphemia.
Church was long and hot, and then there was dinner, and then Aunt Euphemia said she would read Peggy a story. Peggy did not care about this; she wanted to go out, and yet did not dare to say so. But just as they were sitting down to read, Dr. Seaton came in, and Peggy was delighted to have the reading stopped.
“I’ve come to take Peggy with me to the harbour, if you will allow it, Miss Roberts,” he said. “I promised to take her there some day, and I have more time this afternoon than on week days.”
Aunt Euphemia was really rather pleased to get Peggy off her hands for an hour She was feeling sleepy, and it was a bother to her to look after Peggy, so she consented to Dr. Seaton’s proposal without any difficulty.
It was not a long walk to the harbour, where there was much to see.
“I am going to take you on to a Danish ship,” Dr. Seaton said; “you will hear the men talking a queer language you have never heard before, and the captain will take you down into his cabin, I dare say.”
The Danish ship was lying close up to the quay It was painted very bright emerald green, and Dr. Seaton pointed out to Peggy the figure of a woman made of wood and painted white which was at the bow of the ship.
“Poor lady, she goes through all the storms with her white dress. When she comes into harbour after a winter storm she is crusted over with salt from the waves,” he said.
“Why do they have a wooden lady at the end of the ship?” Peggy asked.
“Because they think it brings luck to the ship,” said Dr. Seaton.
They came to the side of the quay, and he called to some of the sailors, and they came running forward to lift Peggy on board.
Sailors are always specially clean and tidy on Sunday, dressed in their best clothes. They were such nice-looking men—tall, with yellow hair; and Peggy noticed the rings in their ears at once. Of course, she couldn’t speak to them, or at least they couldn’t understand what she said; but the captain took her hand, and led her all round the ship, letting her look at everything she wanted to see —the huge anchor, all red with rust, that took ever so many men to lift; and what interested Peggy more than anything—the cargo of tubs that the ship had brought over There were tubs of every imaginable size, down to tiny ones of white wood.
“Oh, I could wash my doll’s clothes in these!” Peggy cried. She wanted one dreadfully, and yet didn’t know how to get it, for the man wouldn’t understand about her doll. As she was standing there
saying, “Doll, doll, doll,” and looking wistfully at the dear little tubs, Dr. Seaton came round again from the cabin where he had been seeing a boy with a broken arm.
“Oh, I do want a tub to wash my doll’s clothes in so dreadfully!” Peggy cried, “and he doesn’t understand what I mean.”
Dr. Seaton said something in German, and in a minute the captain began to pull out dozens of tubs for Peggy to choose from. But she was not quite pleased till she had explained through Dr. Seaton that she wanted to buy the tub. “I would never ask for anything,” she explained—“mother doesn’t let me do that; and I’ve got a whole shilling of my own to pay it with.”
Dr Seaton had to explain this to the captain, and they both laughed a great deal.
“But you must pay it for me just now please, Dr Seaton, because I haven’t my shilling with me,” Peggy explained; and then a horrid fear overcame her that perhaps Dr. Seaton did not carry so much money about with him either, and she would have to go away without her tub; and he had told her that the ship would sail next morning!
She began to look very dismal at this thought, while Dr. Seaton was feeling in his pocket; but to her great relief he drew out quite a handful of shillings, and gave one to the captain, who took it and laughed again.
“There now, Peggy; you can choose which you like best,” he said. It took Peggy a very long time to make up her mind. At last she chose a beautiful little tub, oval shaped, bound with three hoops of white wood, and with two handles to lift it by. Dr. Seaton wanted to hold it for her, but Peggy wouldn’t let it out of her own hands, she was so well pleased with it.
The captain told her that the tubs came from a place in Russia with a funny name—Archangel; and that pleased Peggy even more,
because it was so much more interesting to have an Archangel tub than an ordinary Scotch or English one.
Then the captain led the way down into his cabin. The cabin of a ship like this is not like that of a large passenger steamer. It is almost as small and dark as a cupboard, and has only just room for a tiny table and two or three chairs. The table was securely fixed to the floor, so that when the sea was rough with big waves it should not slide about.
The captain brought out from a cupboard a funny-shaped bottle, and the smallest glasses Peggy had ever seen. He poured a little stuff out of the bottle into the glasses, and offered one to Dr. Seaton, who took it and smiled; then the captain took one, and held it out, and knocked the edge of the little glasses together, making a tinkling sound like a bell.
“What does he do that for?” Peggy asked.
“It’s a way of being friendly and polite in Denmark,” Dr. Seaton replied.
Then they both smiled and nodded again, and each drank off the stuff from the glass.
“Let me taste, please,” said Peggy, standing on tip-toe by the table.
“You would think it horrid,” said Dr. Seaton, laughing; “it would burn your throat.”
“Oh, just a tiny taste—just the tip of my tongue; I want to so much,” said Peggy.
So the captain poured another drop into the tiny glass, and tinkled the edge against his own; and Peggy, thinking she must imitate Dr. Seaton’s manners, bowed and smiled and tried to give the same funny gulp down of the liquid as he had done. But there was only a drop at the bottom of the glass, and that drop was such horrid stuff, it was like trying to swallow mustard, Peggy thought. She coughed, and coughed, and coughed till her eyes filled with tears, and both the men stood laughing at her.
“That will cure you of drinking habits, young woman,” said Dr. Seaton, “Now we must say good-bye and come home.”
Peggy was very sorry to leave the ship, for there seemed to be all manner of queer things to see there still. But she said good-bye to the captain very nicely—so nicely that he told her to wait for a minute; and going to the cupboard, he drew out from it a huge scarlet shell, which he handed to Peggy with a bow.
“O Peggy, that is a present you will like!” said Dr. Seaton.
Peggy could scarcely believe her own good luck. The shell was so perfectly beautiful; and Dr. Seaton showed her also that if she held it to her ear she would hear a rushing noise inside it.
“O captain, thank you very, very much,” said Peggy, quite overcome with delight.—“I think you must carry the tub, Dr. Seaton, for I can’t give my shell out of my hands,” she said.
Dr. Seaton translated her thanks to the captain, and he seemed very pleased, and told Peggy he had a little girl on the other side of the sea just her age. Peggy stood still looking very uncertain and sad at this bit of news. Then she pulled at Dr. Seaton’s hand and whispered something to him. She felt it was her duty to say so, but it was so difficult that she could not say it out loud. It was this,—
“Won’t his little daughter want the shell?”
She waited very impatiently to hear what answer the captain would make; but, to her great relief, he said that his daughter had lots of shells, because he took them home to her from almost every voyage. Then they all shook hands, and Peggy was lifted up on to the quay again, clasping her large red shell.
“I shall always be able to hear the sea now, even when I go home far away from it,” she said.
When they reached Seafield, Peggy ran into her room, and came back with a little netted purse in her hand. Out of this she took her shilling, and gave it to Dr. Seaton for the tub. But Dr. Seaton would not take the shilling, and Peggy was quite distressed, and turned to Aunt Euphemia to know what she ought to do. “Please, auntie, I bought a tub, and now Dr. Seaton won’t take my shilling,” she said. Aunt Euphemia, too, tried to make him take it, but all in vain.
So Peggy had to replace the shilling in her purse, and thank him very much.
CHAPTER IX.
THE WASHING DAY.
morning was hopelessly wet. The rain came down in sheets, and the garden looked like a pond. But Peggy was delighted. “It’s such a good washing day,” she explained to her aunt, “and all my doll’s things are so black.”
Aunt Euphemia suggested that Janet would allow the washing to go on in the kitchen; and Peggy at once ran away to fetch the doll’s clothes and her little tub, and carry them all to the kitchen. Janet was very pleased. She put the tub on a stool, so that it should be just the right height for Peggy to wash at, and filled the tub with nice soapy hot water.
Then she pinned up Peggy’s sleeves to her shoulders, and together they undressed the doll (which was a baby one, in long white robes), and laid its clothes in a heap on a chair.
Peggy would have liked to wash them all at once, but Janet told her that washerwomen did things one at a time, so she consented to do this. The doll’s long, tucked white robe was the first to go into the tub. It was not indeed very white, for it had got rather dirty on the railway journey.
“Rub it all over with soap, Miss Peggy,” Janet said, and Peggy rubbed on the soap as hard as she could. How the water fluffed up! it almost filled the tub, and Peggy had to part the frothy suds away with her hand to see to rub the cloth. After the robe had been well washed, Janet gave Peggy a basin full of clean water to rinse the soap out of it, and then she took a ball like a big blue cherry, wrapped it in a bit of muslin, and shook it about in the water. The water became bright blue too!
“Now, Miss Peggy, put the robe in,” said Janet. Peggy was afraid to do it; she thought it would come out bright blue. But Janet assured her it would only have a nice bluish look that would make the white whiter; and Peggy believed her, and dipped the robe in the blue. It came out as white and nice as possible.
Then Janet hung it before the kitchen stove to dry, and Peggy saw that on the stove Janet had put the dearest little iron to heat.
“Am I to iron it out my own self, Janet?” she asked.
“Oh yes, Miss Peggy, that you are.”
It took only a few minutes for the frock to dry, and then Janet put a blanket with a sheet over it upon the lid of a large box, and gave the box to Peggy for an ironing table.
The little iron was not at all difficult to manage, and Peggy found that it was delightful to squeeze all the creases out of her doll’s robe. It looked as good as new when it was done.
“Why, Janet, Belinda won’t ever need new robes at all; I can go on washing and washing them,” Peggy said.
There remained, however, all Belinda’s under-clothes to be washed; and before they were half finished, Peggy began to think that washing was rather hard work.
“My hands feel so queer, Janet,” she said, drawing them out of the soapy water. They looked indeed most strange; the skin was all crinkled up in the funniest way. “Oh, look!” Peggy cried in dismay.
Janet assured her they would come right in a very short time. “But I’m thinking you’ve washed enough, Miss Peggy, for one day; maybe I’ll finish it for you,” she said.
Peggy wasn’t altogether sorry “Well, Janet, if you will be so kind as to finish for me, I will go and listen to my shell,” she said, “and perhaps my hands will stop feeling funny.”
There was a small library at Seafield where Peggy was allowed to play by herself. She liked the room much better than the drawingroom, because there were such lots of books with nice pictures in them. Those she liked best were Hume’s “History,” with pictures of the kings and queens, and Blair’s “Grave,” with illustrations by a man called William Blake. Peggy used to spread the large book upon the floor and pore over the pictures. She didn’t understand them, but that only made them more interesting. To-day, instead of looking at the pictures, she got her red shell, and sat down on the corner of the sofa holding the shell to her ear. The rushing sound in the shell was just like the noise of the sea outside, and Peggy listened to it for a long time. Then getting a little tired of this, she went to the window and looked out. The rain had stopped, and the sun was beginning to come out. The thrushes were singing as if they liked the rain, and Peggy thought it would be nice to go out and see what it felt like also. So she went out to the front door, and stood there looking out. Then she stepped out on to the gravel; then she ran a little bit down the avenue; then she came to the gate and looked out at the sea; and then a new thought struck her—why should she not look to see if she could find any lovely red shells on the beach? The tide was out; there was a stretch of sand with little pools and rocks covered with seaweed: surely in these pools or on the sands she might find a red shell for herself! This was stupid of Peggy, for shells like that the captain gave her come from tropic seas, not from our own sea; but she did not know this.
Out Peggy skipped along the shining sand. It was firm and nice to run on, and she wondered she had not done this long ago; it was far nicer than the garden. Her feet made tracks on the sand like the footprint Crusoe saw, she thought. Then she came to a pool with little seaweedy rocks in it. The first thing she saw there made her stand still with interest: it was a lot of things like little red flowers growing on the edge of the rock. But when she put her hand down and tried to get one, she found it was alive; and when she touched it,
it drew in all its waving red feelers, and became like a lump of redcurrant jelly fixed to the rock! “I hope I didn’t hurt it,” Peggy thought. She leant over the pool and watched it till it cautiously put out first one feeler and then another, and at last it looked as pretty as ever again and as much alive. Peggy wondered what it was called. Then down on the slushy sand at her feet Peggy saw a great big lump of jelly, six times as large as the little one in the pool. It didn’t look very nice, she thought, but she wondered if, when it was put into the water, it would bloom out like the other. The only way to find this out was to lift it into the pool, but Peggy hesitated about doing this. Then she saw a long flat stone like a slate lying near, and taking this in her hand, she tried to slip it under the “jelly beast,” as she called it. But the jelly beast didn’t seem to like being disturbed, and it sank down and down into the soft sand till it almost disappeared. Peggy became more and more anxious to get it. She dug her slate down into the sand, and at last, with a great effort, lifted the jelly beast, along with a great lump of sand, and flung it into the pool. Then she sat down to watch it. To her great joy it began, just like the other one, to put out one feeler after another, till it lay there at the bottom of the pond like a big pink rose. “Oh, it’s lovely; I do want to have it for my own!” she cried. “I wonder if I would be allowed to have it in my tub.” She bent down to look nearer, and under the fringe of seaweed suddenly she saw something shining red. She plunged her hand down and grabbed the prize. But, oh dear me! the next moment she screamed and screamed. It was a large red crab she had caught at, and the crab had caught her! Have you seen the crabs lying in the fish-shop windows twitching their claws? They look harmless enough, but with these claws they can hold on in the most terrible way, once they catch hold of you. Oh, how Peggy screamed! She ran towards the house splashing through the pools, with the big red crab hanging on to her hand. She was in an agony of pain and terror. The sound of her screams brought James running from the garden. Peggy ran straight to him, calling out for help; and James caught up a stone, and gave the crab such a blow on its claw that it let go in a moment, and fell to the ground. Peggy’s finger was bleeding a good deal, and he took out his own handkerchief and bound it up for her, and then took her other hand and led her, still sobbing, up to the house.
“We’ll gang into Janet, missie,” he said wisely. He knew that Janet was a more comforting person than Martin, and Peggy thought so too. Janet took her on her knee, and kissed her and wiped her eyes, and looked at the poor nipped finger till gradually Peggy stopped crying. Then Janet took her to the pump, and washed her face and hands, and began to tell her a funny story about a crab that had nipped her own finger once, till Peggy found herself laughing instead of crying.
When she was quite happy again, Janet said to Peggy that they would go together and tell Aunt Euphemia all about it. Peggy was a little frightened, but Janet said she must do it, and together they went into the drawing-room.
Here it seemed to Peggy that Janet took all the blame on herself. She told Aunt Euphemia how she had allowed Peggy to go away from the kitchen, and had not looked after her, and how Peggy had gone out alone, and then she told the sad story of the crab. And Aunt Euphemia, instead of being angry, accepted the excuses Janet made, for she was very fond of Janet, and never thought anything she did was wrong.
“Maybe, ma’am, you would let me take Miss Peggy to the shore myself?” Janet asked; “then she’d get no mischief.”
“Indeed, Janet, I see she must never be left alone for a minute; so when your work is done, you may certainly take the child out with you,” said Aunt Euphemia.
“Come away then, Miss Peggy,” said Janet; “ye’ll bide wi’ me till I make the currant tart, and in the afternoon we can gang till the shore.”
Peggy ran off to the kitchen as happy as possible to make the currant tart, and Janet told her that they would go down to the shore together, carrying Peggy’s tub, and fill it with all manner of sea beasts, and bring them back to the house. And wasn’t this a delightful suggestion?
