Altering Destiny E-Book

David P. Warren

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Lynn is well on her way to a promising career until she's fired for a crime she didn't commit. Later the same day, she stumbles upon a satchel with something of immense value inside... and walks away with it.

Soon, Lynn is pursued by both sides of the law. Neither the unknown men chasing her, nor the police, can allow her to reveal publicly what she has discovered.

As Lynn tries to escape her pursuers, the people around her quickly become pawns in a deadly game with no limits.

Leseprobe

Altering Destiny

David P. Warren

Copyright (C) 2018 David P. Warren

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover art by Cover Mint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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 the author's permission.

Prologue

Lynn Kelly pulled up in front of the house, turned off the engine and waited. She took a deep breath, checking her appearance in the rearview mirror and delaying the inevitable as long as possible. Her anxiety level increased as she thought about spending the evening listening to her mother remind her of the shortfalls in her life, but she owed them an obligatory visit–and she loved them in spite of themselves.

She walked up the path toward the white, two-story colonial where she had grown up, and that had been home through her college years. Her younger sister, Josey, sat on the porch smoking a cigarette.

As Lynn approached, a smile filled Josey's face, and then she stood to give Lynn a hug. “Hey, Sis, what's shakin'?” she said warmly.

Lynn shook her head. “Hi, baby sister. What's with the cigarette? I thought you said you quit that.”

Josey shrugged. “Some days I quit, some days I don't. Besides, if you still lived with Mom, you'd smoke, too.”

It was hard to deny, so Lynn just laughed. Though seven years her junior, Josey reminded her of herself. At five feet seven inches tall, Josey was taller than her by an inch. They had the same, naturally curly blonde hair, but Josey wore hers below her shoulders, while Lynn's was feathered and flipped slightly at her shoulders. They shared the same deep blue eyes, high cheek bones and sarcastic grin. There was no doubt that they came from the same gene pool. They were pretty, but more than that, there was an elegance to the way they carried themselves. People who didn't know them well often mistook one of them for the other, and friends had periodically sworn they had seen one of the sisters in places the other had been. But Lynn knew that most of the similarity was physical. Josey was more confident and poised. At eighteen she seemed to have no doubts about herself or her place in the world. Lynn was still searching.

“What are they up to?” Lynn asked, nodding toward the house.

Josey furrowed her brow, then said, “Just chatting up how excited they are to see you. Gets a little nauseating.”

Lynn smiled. “I'm glad to be such an admirable role model for you.” She watched Josey throw the cigarette down and step on it. “You coming in?” she asked, taking hold of Josey's arm.

“Shit yeah,” Josey said emphatically. “I love these prodigal daughter returning home scenes.”

“Funny,” Lynn said through a scowl. “Just wait. Your turn will come–in a few years when you move out.”

Josey looked at her incredulously. “A few years? I'm already eighteen and each day seems like a month. I don't know how you made it to twenty-one before you escaped.”

Lynn shrugged. “College is expensive. That helps make the decision easy.” She pushed her long brown hair back and walked into the house. Josey followed.

As Lynn walked through the front door, her mother came at her with open arms. Marion Kelly, at five-three, was three inches shorter than Lynn. She was gray haired, slightly rotund, and her expression was as animated as ever. She held on to Lynn and rocked back and forth. Tonight, as always, her mother squeezed too hard, and held on too long. Lynn groaned inwardly, but silently endured the attack. It had been a week across town, not six months at sea.

After much too long, Marion took a step back, holding on to Lynn's arms as she gave her a visual once over. “You've lost weight!”

Here we go, Lynn thought, rolling her eyes. “You could say hello first, Mom, and no I haven't. I weigh the same as I have for the last six months.” Out of the corner of her eye, Lynn could see the twisted enjoyment on her sister's face.

Marion furrowed her brow and shook her head to convey her doubt. “You look thinner. You taking care of yourself?”

Josey chuckled from behind Lynn. “Just think what this would be like if she were a Jewish mother.”

Lynn grinned.

Marion turned and gave Josey a scornful look, then her expression became thoughtful as she looked back toward Lynn, doing her best to ignore her youngest. She said, “You sure you're eating enough?”

Lynn shook her head. “Like a horse. Besides, I eat here almost every Wednesday and you feed me enough to bloat me for three days.”

There was deep laugh as her father walked into the room. “Tonight, we're having spaghetti. Your mother made enough for the army of a small country.” He hugged Lynn. “Hi, sweetheart. Don't listen to whatever your mother said, you look great.”

She grinned. “Thank you, Daddy. Maybe you can convince Mom I don't have scurvy.”

He shook his head. “Not much chance of that. She thinks I have it too.” He gave her a wide grin and pushed a hand through his thick white hair. At sixty-one, he had the same good looks that filled the family photo albums. He also had the same sly grin he had on his face when he had pushed her on a swing, faster and higher than a four-year-old should go, while she giggled and her mother looked on in worry. It occurred to her that he had always looked the same to her. The gradual change of his hair color to white just underscored the poise and the warmth she had always seen.

Lynn's attention was drawn by a bandage on the ring finger of her father's left hand. “What happened to your hand, Dad?”

“Just a cut I gave myself working on jigsaw in the garage.” He shrugged. “It'll heal.”

Her mother shook her head and frowned. “Just a cut he says. He almost cut his finger off. It went through part of the nail and there was blood everywhere.”

Lynn held up her hand in a halting motion. “Enough detail already. I'm hoping to be able to eat dinner soon.”

They sat down around the dining room table and looked into the open kitchen, where Marion checked the spaghetti sauce. She tasted the finished product and nodded in satisfaction, then she carried the sauce from the stove.

As her mother place the spaghetti and meat sauce in the middle of the table, Josey began grinning. “Hey, Lynn. This may look like spaghetti sauce, but it's really just the juices from Dad's problem with the jigsaw.”

“That's really gross, little sister. Even for you.”

Josey grinned widely, and said, “Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment.”

Marion began serving the spaghetti, loading one plate then moving to the next. With the serving complete, she sat down and gave Lynn her full attention. “Anyone new in your life?” she asked gravely.

Here it comes, Lynn thought. Josey was grinning again. “No, no one new at the moment. I'm staying pretty busy at work.”

Her mother shook her head. “It's time for you to get over him and move forward.”

Her father grimaced. “What would you have her do Marion, place an ad in the paper? Maybe recruit for a husband on college campuses? When the time's right, there will be someone else. Lynn will know when, and who.”

Lynn was grateful for the assist from her father. She wondered how he had been able to deal with her mother all these years. “Mom, I have a good life. I'm concentrating on the job. Since I got promoted to general manager I've had a lot more responsibility. I have a feeling that I'm being groomed for a job at the top. I'm involved in the big decisions and it's challenging–and I'm making good money.”

Josey wrinkled her face at Lynn. “How long have you been working on that little press release.”

“Shut up, Josey,” Lynn said. “You're not helping my cause.” But Lynn recognized that Josey was right. Her words sounded scripted, as well as defensive, but she would have preferred it wasn't so obvious.

Her mother, never to be side-tracked, ignored the exchange. “What about your personal life? It's important too.”

Josey nodded. “Yeah, good point Mom.” She turned to Lynn. “Are you getting laid?”

“Josey!” Marion said indignantly. “Don't talk like that.”

Josey shrugged. “Sometimes a girl has to get a little, even if it's just a one-niter.”

Lynn shook her head. Josey was so damned uninhibited.

“No more, Josey. Don't say such things. Tell her, Bill.”

Her father was grinning. “Quit torturing your mother, Josey.”

Josey smiled at Lynn, then turned to her mother. “She's doing fine, Mom. She knows how to take care of herself. And who says that you have to have a man standing by to be happy, anyway?”

Marion put her hands on her hips and shook her head. She looked at her husband. “Whose daughter is she? I think there had to be some mix up at the hospital.”

Bill nodded thoughtfully. “Probably, but I wish you'd thought of it sooner. It's too late to get a refund now.”

Marion smiled. “You think so?”

“Yeah, nothing comes with an eighteen-year warranty.”

At nine-thirty Lynn said goodbye at the door. Her mother hugged her for too long again, but it was okay.

Her father put his arm around her and walked her to the car. “If you need anything, you call us, okay sweetheart?” Lynn nodded and gave him a hug. “Money or to talk–whatever you need.”

“I will, Dad.” She saw the light that shined in his eyes whenever he spoke to or about her or Josey. He stood at the curb, waving as she drove off, while her mother stood beside him, a familiar troubled expression on her face. As she pulled away from the curb, Lynn caught a glimpse of Josey in her rear-view mirror, sitting on the steps and lighting a cigarette.

On the way home Lynn reflected about her life. Her mother drove her crazy, but she was right about Lynn's lack of a life. Or maybe her mother drove her crazy because she was right about her lack of a life. The job was fun and kept her busy, but that's really all there was. And she knew why. The walls she built to protect herself from a replay of life with Justin kept everyone out, but that's the way it had to be, at least for now. She knew that the emotional scars from Justin's verbal and physical abuse that she endured for fifteen months had long outlasted the bruises. As she thought about Justin, she took some satisfaction in the fact that she could do so without anger. In one of his drunken rages he had come after her with a hammer. It had only been the lamp that she broke across his head that had saved her–and ended the marriage. He had vowed to get her. Then, when he was sober, he had pleaded for one more chance. What had it been, his fifth “one more chance?” This time she had said no, and she had meant it. She remembered she had once been crazy in love with him, but he had gradually killed that love, and then there was nothing left but the abuse.

Her family had been there to see her through it. Her mother had provided uncharacteristically quiet support. Her father had gone to see Justin, but never spoke of what had happened. She had a pretty good idea though, and Justin had never called her again.

She was getting beyond the Justin era. Slowly. She could tell because for the longest time she had wanted to kill him. To inflict pain and torment, and then kill him. But the anger had gradually subsided, and now there was just pity. And one other residual–Since she and Justin had crashed and burned, she had maintained a safe distance from everyone. She had dated a couple of times over the past year and a half, but she could never bring herself to go out with a man more than once or twice. The risks were just too great. She would never live another nightmare like that. As she drove home she thought that she would try again. When the right man, who didn't drink anything stronger than lemonade, appeared in her life. Until then, it was just her and Mona, her eight-year-old, overweight, tabby cat.

At least there was the job, she told herself in consolation. Overseeing operations at Prestige was challenging and demanding. There were more things to do than could reasonably be done, and because it engulfed her, she could put thoughts of her personal life on hold. She would stay busy until she could figure out when, or how, to take a chance again.

When Lynn got home, she was greeted by a howling Mona. She fed her starving companion, then got ready for bed. Within a few minutes, Mona climbed up on the pillow next to her and began to purr too loudly. Lynn drifted off to sleep wondering what life would be like in ten years. Her last thought before falling asleep was that there just had to be more. She had no idea how soon this life would be a distant memory, and how much she would wish to have her mundane life back.

Chapter One

Lynn finished blow drying her hair and put on a gray suit, the long, pleated skirt reaching mid-calf. The jacket's wide lapels lay neatly over a navy blouse. Mona stood on the bed screaming for her breakfast. Lynn gave herself a final glance in the mirror, smoothed her jacket and gave her reflection a satisfied nod.

She made her way to the kitchen cupboard that was home to Mona's food, and the screams got louder. “All right, all right,” Lynn said to her impatient companion. When she had the box in hand, Lynn pushed Mona's head out of her food bowl long enough to fill it with dry food. She ran out the front door and climbed behind the wheel of her five-year-old Ford Taurus, which had once been called hunter blue, but was now a faded bluish-gray.

Lynn pulled into the Prestige Company parking lot at seven a.m. She unlocked the door and looked around the empty office, taking comfort in these familiar surroundings. As usual, she was the first to arrive, and would probably be one of the last to leave. She liked this early morning time, before the phone started to ring and the day's problems surfaced. It was some of the most productive time in the day.

Lynn shivered in the forty-five-degree morning temperature, as she waited for the heat to kick in and the coffee to finish brewing. It was a cold one for San Diego, where the weather seldom left her fifty-five to eighty-degree comfort range. Lynn heard the clicking sounds of the fax machine, located next to the receptionist's desk. She cupped her hands and blew smoke into them, then rubbed them together to encourage circulation. She walked over to the fax machine, which made a thumping sound as it spit out a finished page, and then a series of beeps to announce its readiness to start again.

Lynn picked up the fax. It was an airline form, confirming a flight to Mexico City for someone named Terry Shepherd. No one who worked at Prestige. She examined the sheet further. Shepherd was to leave Los Angeles International Airport tomorrow. She shook her head, feeling compelled to tell the airline they had blown it so that Terry Shepherd, whoever he might be, could actually receive his confirmation before he boarded his flight in twenty-four hours.

Lynn picked up the telephone on the receptionist's desk and dialed the airline number on the fax cover sheet. It rang until a woman's high-pitched voice perfunctorily recited, “American Airlines, this is Janice, how may I help you?” The tone suggested that this greeting was uttered by rote and without much real desire to help.

“This is Lynn Kelly, General Manager with Prestige Company. We just received a fax from you confirming a reservation for tomorrow for a Terry Shepherd.”

“Yes ma'am. I'm glad you got it,” the woman offered, her tone suggesting she was now ready to hang up.

“We don't have any Terry Shepherd, or any other Shepherd that works here,” Lynn said.

“Just a moment,” Janice said with marked disinterest. Lynn shook her head, wishing she had filled her coffee cup before she got involved in this call and reminding herself that no good deed goes unpunished. It was about three minutes before Janice returned to the phone.

“We sent it to the right number, ma'am,” she said impatiently.

Lynn frowned. “But there is no Shepherd here, Janice.”

“Well, I don't know what to tell you. Maybe someone made these reservations for a friend or family member. I don't know, all I know is this is the number we were given, so there's nowhere else I can send it.”

“I understand,” Lynn said resignedly. Enough was enough. Time to get to the coffee pot. “You might check one more time though, just to make sure.”

“Yes ma'am,” Janice said in a way that suggested she had no intention of doing anything further. “Have a good day.”

“Yeah, you too,” Lynn said, placing the phone back into its cradle.

Lynn took off her coat and walked over to the closet hidden under the stairs in the back of the building. Use of the closet was discouraged by its door, which always stuck in a closed position, as well as its inconvenient location. For the first six months of her employment, Lynn thought the closet was kept locked. Since learning it was just stubborn, she had kept its secret, and was the only one who used it.

She drew a hanger from the closet and hung up her coat among the two other garments that were unclaimed, permanent residents of the closet. She stepped forward and extended her arm to reach for a hanger. As she did, her foot kicked something. She finished hanging up the coat, and then bent down to take a look. Pushing the other hanging garments out of the way, Lynn saw the protruding end of a leather bag she had never seen before. She pulled it out and examined it. Its small brown handles seemed undersized for the large leather duffel. The bag was bulky and obviously full. She pushed it back into the closet and turned to go.

Then she stopped, suddenly giving in to curiosity, and pulled the bag from the closet. Pulling the handles apart revealed a zipper that ran the length of the bag. She looked around to assure herself that she was still alone. Seeing no one, she tugged on the zipper. Her eyes widened in disbelief. The bag was full of neatly stacked hundred dollar bills. She drew a deep breath, and then looked around furtively to see if anyone was watching. She slid the bag back into the closet, pushed the ever-stiff door tightly closed, and made her way back to the coffee pot. As she walked through the office, she looked around for any sign that others had arrived. The office was silent. She checked offices and cubicles, all of which were empty. She was still alone.

As Lynn poured coffee into her cup and lifted it up to her lips, she wondered about the money. Whose was it and what was it doing there? It hadn't been there yesterday when she left the office, but there had still a number of employees around, because she had made a point of leaving by six thirty for the family dinner.

Lynn returned to her office with her cup of coffee, trying unsuccessfully to turn her thoughts from the money to the work that waited. She sat down at her desk and glanced at the stacks of paper awaiting her attention, and then lifted her eyes to appreciate the deserted environment of the early hour. The large open area outside of her office contained eleven desks, all belonging to people Lynn supervised. Lynn's office had a glass wall that looked out into the open area, implying that she was to keep an eye on all eleven people, while she phoned, faxed and attended to the perpetually full in-box on her desk.

By eight o'clock, the noises of the busy office were all around Lynn. Telephones were ringing in every corner of the office. Computer keyboards made their contribution to the chorus, as did the raised voices and shuffled pages of invoices, order forms and reports.

Periodically, heads belonging to office and warehouse employees appeared at her door to pose questions or seek instructions. She would quickly dispatch them with direction, and then return her attention to the mountain of paper on her desk.

Lynn watched with amusement as Bob Silver, the company's Chief Financial Officer, walked over to the reception area and stared at the fax machine like it was an alien spacecraft. Here was a man who could recite Prestige's profit and loss statements for the last eight years, but had no idea of how to make a two-sided copy, send a fax or add paper to either machine. Lynn watched with mild amusement as Silver stared for several moments before pointing to the fax machine and mouthing some inaudible question to Annie, the receptionist, who responded with a smile and came around her desk to provide an answer. Like so many of the executives she had known, his brilliance did not extend to the practical. Without their minions to translate their thoughts into action, their world would come to a grinding halt.

Lynn stepped outside of her office and walked toward Annie's desk. As she approached, she heard Annie say, “Like I told you before, no fax came in from an airline this morning.” Lynn stopped in her tracks and listened, feigning interest in something on Annie's credenza. Annie continued, “If you want me to, I'll call the airline and get another confirmation sent.”

“No,” Silver said, “I'll call them myself,” he said with annoyance.

As he turned to go, Lynn said, “There was a fax from an airline this morning, but not for anyone who worked here. A guy named Terry Shepherd. You know him?”

Silver hesitated, staring at her for a few moments before saying, “Yeah, Shepherd is a friend of mine.”

Lynn said, “No problem.” She walked into her office and emerged with the fax. She handed it to Silver, and his face immediately showed relief.

“Thanks,” he offered, “I appreciate it.” He turned his attention to Annie. “I'm sorry I got so excited.”

She nodded, and said, “Okay,” but it was clear from her tone that she wasn't okay. He had come on too strong and she was pissed off. Lynn noted that Silver was oblivious, and it would be up to her to say the right things to get Annie past it.

At nine o'clock, Dan Marshall appeared at her office door and summoned her with a wave. She followed him down the long hall to the spacious corner office he occupied away from the chaos that surrounded her. He walked around his desk and stared out the exterior window at the expanse of greenbelt the city had required when he built the factory. He turned slowly back toward Lynn, and with one more wave, gestured her to sit in one of his visitor chairs. She complied, and then waited for him to speak. Marshall's expression was unusually severe. As he sat down behind the desk, he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a thumb and index finger. It was a common habit of those who wore glasses, but it always seemed to Lynn that the glasses must have been too tight or in place for years without interruption, in order to have such an effect.

“So what's up, boss. You're looking pretty serious. What's all the high drama?”

Marshall blew out some air and cupped his hands around his mouth. “This is not an easy thing for me, Lynn; I want you to know that.”

She regarded him curiously and waited.

He spoke softly, saying, “You know I've always liked you.” He stopped, searching for words, then continued in an uncomfortable tone that signaled bad news. “You did a lot for the company, Lynn. You helped me get this place up and running.” He paused to rub a hand over his mouth.

“And?” she asked, feeling like she had joined the conversation in the middle and had no idea what was happening, but knew that it couldn't be good.

“And, because of your past contributions, I'm not going to pursue any criminal charges against you. We'll just part company and let it go. It's just so damned disappointing that you would do this.” He looked away from her and took a deep breath.

Lynn felt like she had been hit with a mallet. “What do you mean, Dan? What are you accusing me of?”

He shook his head. “I don't want to do this the hard way. Let's just not pretend, all right?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Okay, have it your way.” He leaned forward in his chair. “The shipments that have been disappearing for the last six months. It took us a long time to put the pieces together…” He let his voice trail off.

“You think I had something to do with that?” She asked incredulously.

“Please, Lynn, we're beyond the denials here.”

She had been convicted before she had even learned she was a suspect. She was suddenly angry. “What are talking about? I never took anything. Why do you think I did?”

He leaned back in his chair, a pained expression on his face. “Five witnesses in the shipping department, all pointing to you.”

“The same five that I told you were probably the ones stealing the merchandise, right? All of them good friends covering for one another.”

He nodded. “Yeah. You did tell me about them before. And I believed you, Lynn. That's what hurts. I almost fired all five of them.”

She was confused and her head was beginning to hurt. She said nothing.

“Until this,” Marshall said, his tone conveying dismay. He produced a purchase order bearing what appeared at a glance to be her signature. “One of the missing shipments you authorized for delivery to a company that doesn't exist.”

She suddenly had trouble getting air. None of this made any sense. She looked closely at the signature and realized it was a forgery, but a good one. “This is not my signature,” she said. “It's forged.”

He stared at her with a look that said he didn't believe her. “That's it, Lynn. No more.”

She felt tears welling up but refused to cry.

“Clean out your desk,” he said quietly.

“Dan, how can you believe this? You know me. I would never steal from this company, or from anybody.” She could see that her desperate plea had no effect. “Just like that? After what I've given to this company. Without any hearing?”

His look became more determined. “Let's not make it any worse. Like I said, no criminal charges…” he paused, and then added, “but don't use me as a reference.” I'm not going to tell some poor bastard trying to make a living that you should be trusted. And don't apply for unemployment. We'd have to fight that because you brought this on yourself.”

She stood up and hit his desk with a closed fist, momentarily startling Marshall. “You son of a bitch. I never stole a rubber band from this company. I just can't believe…”

He held up both hands in a halting motion. “Tirades won't help, Lynn. It's over. Now pack up and get out. Bob Silver will escort you off the premises as soon as you've had a few minutes to gather up your things.” He pointed to Bob Silver, who now stood in the doorway. “Make sure you only take what's yours–nothing belonging to the company.”

These last words of disbelief and abrupt dismissal tore through her and she found herself fighting to suppress tears. She looked at him with eyes that flashed anger. She wanted to strike out at him, feeling betrayed by the only thing in her life that had kept her going.

Lynn caught a glimpse of the coffee cup on the desk, in front of her, Marshall and his wife pictured with warm, content smiles. In a momentary impulse, she grabbed the coffee cup from of his desk and hurled it through the window behind him. She took in his shocked expression, then turned and walked from the room, with the sounds of shattering glass still ringing in her ears. Bob Silver stepped out of the way and let her pass, then followed at a distance.

She walked to her desk and began packing her photos and belongings into a nearby cardboard box. She was fighting a losing battle to hold back tears as she filled the carton and walked out of the office. She stopped at her office door and looked back. Everything that made this office a part of her life was in one small box. That's all there was of the long hours, lost weekends and sweat she had given over the last four years. And now the office looked like it could belong to anyone, or to no one.

She walked to the front door carrying the box. Looking behind her, she saw Silver silently follow her into the front hallway, then turn and walk away.

He was just doing his job she told herself. Just like she had been doing, until now. She pushed on the front door, and then stopped, realizing she had forgotten her coat. She debated whether to return. Maybe she should come back later, when she was in control. No, she would do it now, so that she would never have to return to this place again. She put her box of belongings by the front door, and then walked back into the building.

Lynn made her way back to the closet under the stairwell. She looked around, feeling hopeless and humiliated. She expected to draw stares, but no one seemed to be watching her. Lynn arrived at the closet and pulled hard on the resistant door while lifting the handle. On the second try, it opened. She reached inside and grabbed her coat. Her foot hit something. Instantly, she remembered. Without hesitation, she bent down and picked up the brown leather satchel. She laid her coat over her arm that carried the satchel, and made her way toward the front door. She suddenly felt a sense of terror that she had never experienced before. “Jesus, what am I doing?” she asked herself, but she kept on walking. Each footfall was surreal. Movement was in slow motion, and the front door seemed miles away. She expected to be grabbed from behind at any moment, but no one grabbed her. No one even seemed to notice.

Lynn reached the front door and picked up her box of belongings. With the box, her coat, and the leather satchel, she walked quickly to her car. She threw everything in the back seat and climbed behind the wheel of the Taurus. She rummaged through her purse and pulled out the keys, her hands visibly shaking as she searched for the ignition key from the six keys on the ring. She found it and started the car.

From behind her there was a loud male voice. “Hey, wait a minute.”

She thought of speeding out of the parking lot, but didn't move.

The man approached her driver's side window. “Lynn, hold it.”

She froze, staring out at the face of Bob Silver. The expression on his face was concern, or maybe sympathy, not anger or accusation. She drew a breath.

He smiled warmly and spoke with compassion. “I just couldn't let you leave without telling you that I'm sorry. You're good people, Lynn, and I don't think you did it.”

She forced a smile. “Thanks Bob. That really does help to know that someone still believes in me.”

He gave her arm a squeeze then turned to go. She watched him walk away, took several deep breaths in an attempt to reduce her pulse to somewhere near normal, and then drove away with the satchel safely in the back seat.

Chapter Two

As Lynn drove, she felt a strange mixture of exuberance and terror. She reached into the back seat and made sure that the brown satchel was fully covered by her coat. She felt the perspiration beading on her forehead. She was involuntarily squeezing the steering wheel too hard, and her fingers were beginning to hurt. Lynn leaned back in her seat and relived the morning in disbelief. Yesterday, she was sure she was on the company's fast track, headed for the top. Today, she was fired as a thief. And after being falsely accused, for the first time in her life, she had stolen. She was suddenly struck by the tragic irony, and gave out with a shrill sound that she supposed was something between a laugh and a wail.

Lynn's mind raced. Whose money was it? What was it doing in the closet? Had it been missed yet? And how much was there? She scanned her rear view mirror for police, or anyone else who might be following her. The inescapable paranoia of the criminal mind, she told herself. No one was following. No one had noticed. She pulled into her driveway, and covered the satchel with her coat as she walked quickly toward her apartment.

“Hi, Miss Kelly,” a small voice called out from behind her. It took her by surprise and she almost threw the bag into the air. She turned around to see a small, blond boy grinning at her. He had curly hair, a round freckled face and eyes that were wide and probing.

“Hello, Nathan.” Nathan lived in one of the units on the other side of the pool from Lynn's. “How's your mom?”

“She's good. She's on a diet, you know.”

Lynn grinned at the boy. “I didn't know that, but I'm sure she'll be glad you let me know.”

Nathan gave her a singular and solemn nod.

“Tell your mom hello for me, will you?”

“Yes, ma'am, I will.”

“Sorry, Nathan, I have to run. I'll have you in for cookies soon, okay?”

His face lit up. “Yes, ma'am.” His brow suddenly furrowed. “You mean today?”

Lynn smiled at him warmly. “Probably not today Nathan, but soon okay?”

The boy gave her a smile, accepting the postponement. “Okay, Miss Kelly.”

Lynn mussed his hair affectionately, then ran up the stairs, unlocked the door and went into the bedroom. She tossed the brown leather bag on the bed, and then unzipped it. She turned it over and began spilling the contents out onto the bed. She began counting the bills and found that they were banded in stacks of one hundred. There was one stack of twenties. All the rest were stacks of hundreds. She did the math in her head. Ten thousand dollars per stack. After counting four stacks to assure that they all contained fifty bills, she began counting the number of banded stacks. There were eighty-three. “Shit,” she trembled to the empty room, “eight hundred and thirty thousand dollars.”

She stared at the stacks of money covering her bed. What should she do? Should she drive back to the office and put the bag back in the closet? Was it too late? She needed time to think. Somewhere she couldn't be found until she knew how she would extricate herself from all of this. Why not take a day or two and go up the coast? She had the time, now that her career had met such an abrupt and unexpected end. The thought of how she had been treated by Dan Marshall filled her with anger all over again. That son of a bitch. She pulled an overnight bag from the closet and quickly packed it with what she would need for a couple of days. Then she threw the bundles of money back into the brown satchel.

Lynn walked downstairs to the car, and threw her bag and the satchel in the trunk. She pulled out of the driveway and began driving, still debating whether she should take off, and if so, where she should go.

Lynn felt a sense of panic overtake her. What was she doing? Where could she go? She was going to go to jail. They would find her in no time, as she left a trail that could be followed by a rookie cub scout. The money was at the office, and disappeared at the same time she did. Everyone else was still there. And when they catch her? She took several deep breaths, finding it hard to take in enough air. She couldn't imagine being questioned by the police. She'd convict herself in seconds. She had to be the worst thief of all time. She looked again in her rear-view mirror and saw nothing unusual, but had no idea if that was because no one was following, or because she was an incompetent thief.

Lynn decided there was no real choice; she had to take the money back. She made a left turn and hooked up with Rancho Boulevard, the main arterial leading back to the office. As she drove, she thought of ways to smuggle the money back into the Prestige building; maybe through a back window. She shook her head, remembering that the back windows were secured. All she would succeed in doing was adding breaking and entering to her list of crimes.

A mile from the office, Lynn stopped the car by the side of the road and stared straight ahead. There had to be an inconspicuous way back into the building, so that she could return the money without being seen. She thought about the side door, which was sometimes left open during the day by employees who came outside to smoke. One of the few remaining havens for the nicotine addicted. Then there was the window of a coworker who was on vacation this week. Both possibilities.

She pulled away from the curb and drove toward the office. Then, in response to her second uncontrollable impulse of the day, she made a right and got onto the Northbound 5 Freeway, heading out of the city. She could see the office building in the distance, fading from view, as she moved toward Los Angeles. What was she doing? She had always been a cautious and deliberate person, never giving in to sudden, impractical impulses. Today they ruled her life.

At noon, Lynn drove through Los Angeles. Taking the 101 Freeway, she continued northbound, still not sure of her destination. Shortly before two o'clock, she passed through Ventura, and at two-thirty, she stopped in Santa Barbara, just long enough for gas and a large coffee to help her stay awake.

As Lynn walked back to the car, she could see the ocean off to her left. The endless expanse of blue spoke of power and tranquility at the same time. Its beauty was a momentary escape from the obsessive fear that had taken her over. Lynn looked out at the horizon and felt a million miles away from where she had been, and who she had been, when she started the day. Her distance from reality began to fade, and thoughts of the satchel crept back into her mind. She got into the car and made her way back to the freeway. Lynn headed north again, sipping the coffee and obsessing over the horrors of this nightmare. All of her thoughts seemed to end in the same place. She was a thief. She looked again in the rear view mirror.

Lynn checked her watch. It was only four o'clock, but she could barely keep her eyes open. She pulled off the freeway at Price Street in Pismo Beach, and then turned left toward the row of motel signs. The signs beckoned to any tired traveler. They screamed at her. She turned left again, and followed the curving street in front of the endless row of ocean front motels. She was in tourist land. She followed the curve of the road away from the highway until she came to the Pelican Shore Lodge. It looked comfortable and inconspicuous. It was perfect.

Lynn walked into the hotel lobby with her small overnight bag in one hand, the brown satchel in the other and her purse draped over her shoulder. She was caught off guard by a three foot ceramic pelican just inside the door, and let out a screech. There was laughter from behind the counter. The clerk was a pimple-faced boy who looked all of fifteen.

“Sorry, miss. Old Parker does give people a fright sometimes.” He spoke with a southern drawl that made Lynn want to go back outside and see if she had crossed over into Georgia at some point.

“Parker?” she said, questioningly.

“Why yes, ma'am. Old Parker there is our welcome to the hotel. Kind of a mascot.”

Lynn shook her head. “It's a Stephen King kind of a welcome, don't you think?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” She took a deep breath, still recovering from her encounter with Parker. “I saw the vacancy sign out and I need a room.”

“How long, ma'am?”

“Just tonight,” Lynn said, opening her purse on the counter.

“Okay. Got a good one for you; nice ocean views. Ninety-five dollars.”

She nodded assent.

“Got a credit card?” the young man asked matter-of-factly.

She nodded again, reaching into her purse. She reached for a credit card, but suddenly stopped. Her movements could be instantly traceable with plastic. “No, I'll pay cash,” she said, handing the young man two fifties from her purse.

He looked unsure. “All right ma'am, but you won't be able to charge anything to the room unless I can have a card imprint.”

“I understand,” she said, giving him smile. “I won't need to charge to the room.”

He shrugged, punched a sequence of keys on his terminal and waited for it to spit out a card. He pointed to two places she was to sign, and an address line. She hesitated, for just a moment, then signed “Sandra Cooper,” and made up a street address in Los Angeles. She pushed the card back to him and he gave her a coded key.

“Your room's on the second floor; go out the door and turn right. Stairs are about half way to the end of the building.” He considered her. “You here for pleasure?” he asked.

She didn't want questions and found herself suddenly suspicious. “Uh, no, business and pleasure, actually.”

“Really?” he asked incredulously. “What kind of business you in?”

She had made a mistake and she wanted it to go no further. “Minding my own,” she said with a gentle smile. She watched him consider the comment. Lynn waved the key, saying, “Thanks,” and then turned to walk away. She was careful to avoid Parker as she walked out the door.

Inside the room, she double-locked the door and threw the satchel on the bed. She turned on the television just for the distraction, then walked over to the far side of the room and drew back the drapes. The window was the width of the wall, and gave her an astonishing ocean view. She stepped out onto the small balcony and sat down in one of two patio chairs. Her timing couldn't have been better. The sky was painted in stripes of orange as the sun touched the horizon. Between the rows of orange were gatherings of white clouds, reaching across the blue sky in long bands as if they had been tossed by a giant hand. She watched as the sun moved toward the line of the horizon, leaving a trail of twilight orange in its wake.

She watched, entranced by the beauty, for the next fifteen minutes as the sun set, leaving trails of astonishing color and design. When the sun disappeared, the escapism was at an end and her thoughts returned abruptly to the money. Someone would discover it missing soon enough, if the hadn't already.

She wondered who had that kind of money. Marshall was making a good living, but he was frugal. The business was paying the bills and things were pretty good, but not over eight hundred thousand in closet cash good. So what was it? Where had it come from? It occurred to her that the money might be stolen. She might have stolen, stolen money. And if she had, it might be marked. The money might turn her in if she spent the first bill.

Lynn lay down on the bed next to the satchel to rest for a minute. Her head hurt from the weight of her obsession, and exhaustion was just beneath the anxiety that overwhelmed her. Suddenly, she was running down the corridor of the hotel. She reached her room and searched her purse frantically for the key. When she found it, she inserted it into the reader on the door. The green light went on, but the door wouldn't open. She looked behind her to see if anyone was coming, but saw no one. She tried again and the door flew open. Once inside, she locked the chain and the dead bolt, then turned and leaned against the door to catch her breath. She began to feel safe in the familiar hotel room. She walked over to the window and peered between the closed drapes. The hotel was surrounded by a S.W.A.T. team. They had found her. A muffled command was given, and then there were several whooshing sounds, as canisters broke the window and began to fill the room with gas. The gas quickly consumed the oxygen in the room and Lynn found herself gasping for air. A police officer was screaming her name into a megaphone.

Lynn bolted upright on the bed, drenched in sweat and gasping for air, just as she had been in the dream. She walked over to the window and looked out. There was no one.

Lynn opened the front door and looked around. She jumped a foot when the door to the room next to hers opened, and a couple in their seventies slowly walked out. She told herself she wasn't cut out to be a fugitive. She just wouldn't make it. If she wasn't caught by tomorrow at this time it wouldn't matter, because she would soon die of a heart attack. All it would take was the sudden move of a stranger, or the sudden appearance of a stationary pelican. Everything scared the shit out of her.

She went into the bathroom and rinsed and dried her face. Lynn looked in the mirror and grimaced at her appearance. She combed her hair and thought about reapplying her make-up, but decided against it. She sat down on the toilet seat and waited while her breathing returned to normal, then she put both bags in the closet.

Lynn realized that she hadn't eaten all day and was suddenly starved. She walked to the hotel restaurant and was seated with a view of the cliffs and the illuminated ocean below. Lynn ordered a bowl of clam chowder and a salad, dividing her attention between the ocean, as it sent spray in her direction with every wave, and a young couple across the room, the word newlyweds all but written across their foreheads. They held hands across the table and gazed into each other's eyes, periodically sharing intimate laughter. Lynn, feeling somewhat jaded for her thoughts, hoped they would remember this night when love was older and times were hard. She hoped they would stay this happy, defying all odds. Then she thought about how good it would feel to have someone she loved, and who loved her; someone who would look into her eyes with a promise of forever. Someone to talk to about what to do, when the world was uncertain–like now. But how could she ever have what they had if she couldn't get close to anyone–couldn't trust anyone. It occurred to her that not trusting wasn't a trait newly acquired with her fugitive status. It was the way she had lived every day since she discovered the emptiness of the promise of forever that she had accepted with all of her faith.

For just a moment Lynn thought she saw a face outside the window, and blanched. She told herself she had to stop it or she would have her heart attack before the night was over. She would finish her meal, and then go back to the room for some sleep. Things would make more sense after a good night's sleep.

Lynn paid her bill and walked back to the room, frequently looking over her shoulder, just in case. She was fighting an uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched. Once inside the room, she locked the dead bolt and leaned on the door as she drew a deep breath. Her vivid dream came back to her with full force and she couldn't resist walking over to the window and peering outside. No police. She sat down on the bed and picked up the phone. She dialed the familiar number and waited.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Josey,” Lynn said, instantly recognizing the voice.

“Hey, Sis, what's up?” There was a slight pause, then a burp.

Lynn recognized the burp, too. “You drinking diet soda again?”

“Aren't I always?”

“Always,” Lynn said in a tone that was too serious for the content of the conversation. “I need you to do me a favor, Josey. Will you go over to my place and feed Mona.” She paused for just a moment. “Better yet, pick her up and take her back to Mom and Dad's, will you? I'm not quite sure how soon I'll get home tomorrow.”

“Yeah, no prob. Where are you all of a sudden, anyway?” Josey said as an afterthought.

Lynn grimaced. “I had to go out of town for a day or two.”

“Business?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Hmm,” Josey said, “a little mysterious, isn't it?”

“I know. I'll explain later,” Lynn said, trying to sound as even as she could, thinking that she would have a hard time explaining this, even to herself.

“Okay. So where are you?”

Lynn shook her head. Josey never gave up. “I'll explain tomorrow. And thanks. I love you.”

“Love you too, mystery woman. Talk to you tomorrow,” Josey said. Lynn could hear one more burp as she began to move the phone from her ear.

Lynn smiled at the free spirit that was Josey as she hung up the phone. She climbed into bed and tried to fall asleep, but images of the brown satchel and its contents kept flooding her mind, and kept sleep at a distance. She knew it would be a long night, and she had no idea what she would do tomorrow.

Chapter Three

Lynn saw the illuminated red digits on the alarm clock beside the bed change to four twenty, before obsession gave way to fitful sleep. She rolled over to see the numbers at five thirteen and again at seven o'clock, when she climbed out of bed feeling hung over. She felt an instant of relief as she thought it might all have been a dream. Then it all came rushing back. Jesus, what had she done?

She walked into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. “You must have gone crazy,” she said to the tired image. She shook her head, observing the look of distress on the face in the mirror. “You've got some amends to make for this one if we're going to be able to go on living with one another.” The image nodded terrified acknowledgment, and she felt a sense of relief in preparing to face what she had done, and deal with the consequences.

Lynn brushed her teeth. She dressed in sweats, pulled her overnight bag from the closet and began to pack. She turned on the television for the diversion and listened to descriptions of horrendous morning traffic on all of the Los Angeles area freeways. Lynn recognized the show as one of the morning variety shows that the networks all constantly revamped. News, weather, cooking, celebrities, movie reviews, and smiling hosts, one of each gender, attempting sparkling repartee that often missed the mark.

Half way through her packing, Lynn stopped and stared out the window at the blue waters that stretched out long blue fingers across the sand. It was gorgeous, and it was just a few feet away.