Wrong Number (10 page)

“Do you need anything?” Edwards asked.

Aubree shook her head. “Where are we?” The noise of traffic was a dull roar outside of the car, and red taillights dotted the horizon, glaring at her through the blackness of the night.

“We’re almost there. We’re on the outskirts of Los Angeles.”

Aubree saw the green numbers on the dashboard clock change to 9:07. They had been driving for nearly three hours. She stretched her legs as best she could and sat up straighter in her seat. “Agent Edwards, I need to use the bathroom.”

“Why don’t you call me Jason? Looks like we’re going to be spending some time together,” he said. “Only about fifteen more minutes. I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re uncomfortable.”

“Well, hopefully in about eight weeks, I won’t be so uncomfortable anymore.”

He chuckled. “We’ll have a doctor come to the house for your checkups. It’s too risky to go to your regular doctor.”

Aubree tried not to think how it was just one more bit of normalcy gone from her life. She squinted to view her surroundings out the window,
but it was too dark. Then they turned into a neighborhood with street lamps on every corner that illuminated three-story, picturesque houses with neatly manicured lawns. Within a few minutes, she felt the car slow down, and Jason pulled into a circular driveway in front of a two-story rambler.

“Hold on a minute,” he said and jumped out of the car.

Aubree watched him punch in numbers on a keypad, which opened the double garage door. He hurried back and pulled the car in slowly. “Let me close the garage before you get out.” She pulled her hand back from the door and waited. A few seconds later, he opened her door, and she followed him into the house.

Once inside, they stopped again as he entered a code into another keypad and slid some kind of card through a slot on a thick steel door. The keypad beeped, and Jason turned the handle. Aubree felt nervous as she followed him inside the spacious home. Right beside the kitchen, a small office filled with various kinds of electronic equipment caught her eye, and then her heart jumped as a huge man walked around the corner.

“Hey, Sanderson. Glad to see you again.” Jason shook the hand of a man who had to be at least six and a half feet tall. He wore dark blue jeans and a white polo shirt, which contrasted with the dark skin on his shaved head. Aubree could see tufts of curly black hair escaping from the opening on his shirt.

He smiled broadly and held out a large hand. “Garrett Sanderson, FBI.”

She reached a trembling hand forward, all the time cursing herself for being such a scaredy-cat. “I’m Aubree Stewart.”

“So, it’s the informant on the Walden case.” A tall brunette walked into the kitchen. “I’m Miranda Olsen.”

“I didn’t know you were on shift here,” Jason said. Aubree noticed a bit of impatience in his voice.

“For the rest of the month.” Miranda winked and opened the fridge. “Are you hungry, Aubree?”

“A little.”

“We don’t cook a lot, but I made some chicken stir-fry earlier, if you’d like some.” Miranda pulled out a covered dish and set it on the counter.

“That would be fine.” Aubree felt completely out of place among all the FBI agents.

“Why don’t you come this way while Agent Olsen gets that ready, and I’ll show you around.” Jason carried her bag down a hallway that opened up to two large bedrooms. “This is a master bed and bath.”

The oversized room held a huge cherry wood sleigh bed and was decorated in shades of blue matching the plush azure carpet. The bathroom adjoining it was also enormous, with a Jacuzzi tub, a separate shower, and a walk-in closet. “It’s nice,” she said, as she ran her hand along a sleek cherry wood desk. There was a television, a radio, and a computer set up in the room.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable here. Tomorrow I’ll show you the garden out back. It’s all enclosed and really beautiful.” Jason paused in the doorway. “Everyone is working around the clock—this case just moved to the number one position. We’re trying to get your life back.”

She slipped off her sandals, and her toes sank into the carpet. Looking at her feet, Aubree murmured, “I know.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Jason pulled something out of his briefcase. “This was from the funeral today.” He handed her a picture frame. “I thought you might want it.”

She reached out for the silver frame, which held an enlarged photo of Devin. Her breath caught in her throat when she looked at his carefree smile. She met Jason’s eyes and nodded, then turned away before the tears escaped down her cheeks.

N
INE

S
IX WEEKS LATER IN
early November, a light breeze ruffled the edge of Aubree’s yellow maternity shirt. She was anything but comfortable as she sat in a deck chair with her hands resting on her swollen stomach, but the gardens were beautiful.

The backyard of the safe house was completely enclosed by a fence covered in flowering vines and also by a canopy of mature trees. Every day, Aubree spent a few hours outside reading and resting amid the gorgeous landscaping that was complete with a gurgling stream and Koi fish. She enjoyed listening to the running water, allowing it to fill her head and block out the painful memories that were still too fresh.

The face of her husband surfaced in her dreams each night, but during the day she had to look at his picture several times to remind herself of the fine details. She wrote in her journal,
I don’t want to forget Devin. I just want to forget the secrets he kept from me
. It was difficult to feel the pain of losing her husband at the same time she had to deal with the confusion of his deceit.

After she discovered the truth about his gambling addiction, Aubree had hoped his death was related to his problem, but the FBI continued to assure her there was no connection. It would’ve been a much simpler case to solve. Instead, she was forced to wait as the FBI checked the validity of every new lead and tip on the assassination of Secretary Walden.

A pile of papers held down by a large rock fluttered in the breeze. They were notes Aubree had written of every scrap of memory she could come up with about the wrong number she’d received a call from. It
drove her crazy that there were parts of the conversation she couldn’t remember.

Sketches of the inside of her car did nothing to restore her memory. Picking up the pages, she glanced over her notes again, the ones she’d written about the sensory details of that brief phone call. The hum of her car idling at the stoplight, the radio playing softly, a clicking noise from inside one of the air vents—all of these sounds set the stage and increased her blood pressure.

She closed her eyes and put herself back in the car.
Tidmore did the job, and the body is hidden in the manhole on 32nd Street
. . . , and then he’d said something about the Intruder. She squeezed her eyes tight and remembered the car behind her at the stoplight; the bass had been turned up so loud it reverberated in her chest. A horn blared, but that was later after he said,
Hey, don’t I at least get a congrats? What’s up with you? I even kept his uniform for you
. Aubree exhaled slowly and whispered, “What else did he say?”

“Aubree, I told you to quit beating yourself up over that,” Jason said.

Her eyes flew open. “You scared me!” she shrieked.

“Sorry.” Jason plopped in a deck chair and tossed an orange up and down in the air. “You’re scaring me. You’re stressing out over that conversation too much.”

Aubree raised her eyebrows. “So first you guys drive me crazy trying to get me to remember every detail, and then you tell me I’m stressing out over it.”

He ran a hand over his buzz cut. “I think it’s time for you to take a break. Give it a rest and concentrate on getting that baby here.” Jason handed her the orange. “We’ll take care of your case.”

She brought the orange to her nose and sniffed it. “Hmm, I wish I could give it a rest.” The juice ran down her fingers as she peeled the orange. “I wish
I
could rest. The nightmares make it so I don’t want to fall asleep.”

Jason leaned forward in his chair. “I’m sorry, but I really want you to give it a rest for now. Please, don’t worry about this anymore until after the baby is born.”

“But I want to help so you can solve my case.”

“We’re going to solve your case.” He covered her hand with his. “You’ve done great. I don’t want you to worry anymore right now.”

Aubree nodded and looked down at Jason’s hand. “I’ll try to rest.”

“That’s my girl.” He patted her hand. “I’d better get back to work.”

Chewing slowly on an orange slice, Aubree watched Jason reenter the house and tried to quiet the voices in her head. She didn’t want to rest anymore. She wanted to get on with her life and leave the horrible feelings surrounding Devin’s murder behind, but she couldn’t do that until the FBI said she was safe.

The notebook from her mother lay open on the picnic table. Madeline had written several notes and cheerful letters including some of her favorite thoughts and snippets of poems. Aubree flipped through the pages to find one of the letters in order to get her mind off of unpleasant thoughts. Madeline encouraged Aubree to fill a journal with good things about Devin and advised her,
Forgive Devin his past and prepare to live a life that isn’t empty because of the loss of your husband but full because of the child yet to come
.

It was easier said than done, but she knew her mom spoke from experience. She stood and walked toward the shade of a nearby tree.

Adjusting her sunglasses against the California sun, Aubree thought about her doctor’s appointment a few days ago. Over the past week, she’d been having Braxton Hicks contractions, and her abdomen felt sore from all the cramping.

“I’m tired of all these false alarms,” Aubree complained to the doctor.

He chuckled and wrote a few notes in her chart. “Braxton Hicks are pretty common. Don’t worry, you have two weeks left, but you’re looking good, and the baby could come any time.”

Time. The only sure way she could measure her life right now was by the amount of time she spent in hiding. Six weeks already, and no end in sight. The fish drifted up and down the little stream feeding into the larger pond, and Aubree thought she knew what they felt like. They could swim all day, but they weren’t getting anywhere.

On his way to grab supplies, Jason stopped by the patio window and watched Aubree walk slowly around the garden area, the growing life within her evident in each step. He knew she struggled with the secrets surrounding her husband’s death and wondered how anyone
could throw their life away for gambling—games on the Internet that meant nothing. If he’d had someone like Aubree, he would’ve treasured every moment and saved every penny for a home with a white picket fence.

Jason had assisted the FBI techs in running a search on every combination of phone number similar to Devin’s cell phone. They were attempting to find the number the man tried to call that day. They highlighted any person of interest connected to these numbers, but the list was exhausting. Because the original call Aubree received was placed using a disposable cell phone, the trace didn’t give them any more information.

Jason kept hoping they would get a break and find that one piece of evidence they needed to corner a suspect, but nothing surfaced. He leaned toward the window, wishing there was a way to shelter Aubree from the world.

Aubree looked up and waved at him. Jason felt his cheeks grow warm, and he waved back. On his way out of the house, he vowed to himself to keep her safe and hoped someday he would see a smile on her beautiful face again.