Fate Intended (The Coulter Men Series Book 3) (17 page)

“I told you, there were things I needed to tell you. But my secrets, they’re not just my own. They could get other people, innocent people, hurt. I was going to tell you.”

Trip turned his back on Jane and walked away, brushing past his mother, shaking off her hand as she tried to touch him, console him. He sat at the table and stared at the report. He flipped through the pages, his brow furrowed, his lips pulled in a granite frown.

Jane took one last look at him and fled. Barbara yelled from the door, “You better run, you little bitch, and we’ll see who can move faster, you or the INS.”

Chapter 22

It took Trip a full minute to recover. He was in shock. He could hear his mother’s voice, her continued harping about Jane. Trip looked over the papers his mother brought for a third time. It was a police report on Sasha. She had been arrested twice. Once in her home country, once in Pakistan. Once for prostitution and once for burglary. “You see what you nearly got mixed up with?” Her answer sounded smug, relieved.

Trip paced the floor with the papers, eyes glancing to the ceiling as he processed the information.

Barbara exhaled hard. She wanted a response from her son. “Well, do I get a thank you?”

“Jane said Sasha tried to rob her family. She told me that.”

“Did she mention the prostitution?”

“No. But she said she was a runaway. How else would she have made a living?”

Barbara snorted. “For crying out loud, Trip…you’re missing the forest for the trees….” Barbara’s voice rose, “She was a prostitute.” She repeated herself as if her son was either deaf or stupid. “She sold her body for money.”

“I know what a frigging prostitute is! And Sasha being one says nothing about Jane. Mom, this has nothing to do with Jane.”

“Birds of a feather.”

“Not Jane, she’d never even been….”

“Oh, dear.” Barbara approached her son, her voice rising, “She is lying to you, Rowan. Hell, I was a virgin three times before I married your father.”

Trip shot his mother a look of disbelief and disgust.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, it was the sixties. But it doesn’t change the fact that women can, and do, lie.”

Trip shook his head. “Not Jane.”

“You are being simply ridiculous. Call Craig. He’ll tell you what women are capable of.”

“What would Tres tell me, Mom?” Trip knew he had hit a nerve. It was his mother’s meddling that had disrupted his brother’s love affair with his wife, removing Tres from the picture for the first fifteen years of his son’s life. This incident was the only thing that Trip ever remembered his mother admitting shame and mortification over.

Barbara’s lips worked, but she said nothing for several moments. “So, find out. But keep your eyes open. I am telling you I ran this girl through the CIA data banks and she didn’t turn up. It’s like she doesn’t exist.”

“Well, a lot of people fled here after the fall of the Soviet Block.”

“All right, so best case scenario is that she’s an illegal hanging out with a known criminal. A prostitute.”

Trip shrugged. “And you were a virgin three times before you met Dad.”

“That’s a far cry from prostitution.”

“She might have had her reasons. Life is hard in Chechnya.”

Barbara shook her head. “I’m calling Craig. He’ll talk some sense into you.”

Barbara rummaged through her purse for her cell phone. Normally she and Craig locked horns over Craig’s view of women. He was the original member of the He-Man Woman Haters Club, a true misogynist—at least he was until he met and married his wife, Mollie. Barbara bit her lip. Maybe Mollie had made him too soft, too forgiving. She surely didn’t need Craig telling him to go for it.

While she debated making the call, Trip brushed past her and was out the back door calling for Jane. Barbara rolled her eyes and went to the wine rack. She sorted through the labels until she found a hearty red. She uncorked it, failed to let it breathe, and poured herself a glass. She polished off the glass in two gulps. Poured another, then made a phone call she thought might actually be effective.

*****

Jane saw Sasha’s car round the bend in the road. She ran; down over the steep bank that sloped to the road. Briars and rocks pierced her bare feet. She slid in the soft, snow dusted earth, grabbing hold of a sapling for balance. Catching her breath, she stumbled to the road where she took off, running until her lungs burned and it felt like her feet were bleeding. She slowed to a walk as the approaching car slowed to a stop. The old Subaru looked as beautiful as a rare and precious life boat onboard the Titanic. Sasha leaned across the seat and swung the passenger door open and yelled, “Get in.”

Once Jane was in, Sasha sped away. Jane took off without her purse, but fortunately, her phone was still in the back pocket of her jeans. Sasha drove; Jane took napkins and pulled briars out of her feet. Neither spoke. What could be said? Jane screwed up.

When Sasha turned onto the interstate heading toward the Dulles International Airport, Jane turned to her, concern furrowing her brow.

“Where are you going? This isn’t the way home.”

“You can’t go home. You said his mother threatened you with a call to INS?”

Jane nodded; she hoped she didn’t vomit.

“Well, then you need to get the hell out of town.”

Jane nodded. “But what about Frosty?”

“I’ll take care of him.”

“You’re not coming?”

Sasha shook her head and lit a cigarette.

“I don’t want to go alone.”

“Don’t worry about it. I will meet you as soon as I tie up our loose ends. It should, at most, take me a week before I meet you.”

“But where will I go?”

“My uncle has a beach home in Mexico. You go there and wait on me. I have to let him know he needs to find a replacement for the apartment building. I can’t leave him floating up in the air.”

Jane nodded. “No, he’s done too much for us. You take whatever time you need.” Jane wadded the napkins and tossed them on the floor. “I suppose a few days at the beach would be relaxing.” Jane relaxed her head against the back of the seat. “Dammit! I left my purse at Trip’s!”

Sasha glanced over her shoulder before switching lanes. “Doesn’t matter. I have you a new ID, new passport. Jane Mitchell is no more.”

“Great. Did you pack my stuff?”

“I have a bag for you in the trunk. I had it filled and in my closet. Everything is new, but I did take a minute to stuff in those awful flannel pants and Oxford sweatshirt.”

Jane’s grin was weak, but she was grateful that she’d have something from her old life. Tears burned her eyes. The last of the pictures of her family was sitting on the counter at Trip’s. God life sucked so hard sometimes, but what could she do? Nothing. “Thanks, Sasha. I’m sorry for this.”

Sasha shrugged and reached for a cigarette. “I was ready for a change.”

“Me too.”

“Good girl. That’s the Jane attitude I’m used to.” Sasha sounded confident, nearly bold. “We’ll get through this. We always do, right? How much trouble have we escaped?”

“More than our fair share,” Jane agreed.

“This is just one more scrape, and we’ll beat it too.” Sasha tossed a purse into Jane’s lap. “Inside is the new passport and stuff—you are now Maggie Kristobel, English vacationer. There is enough dinero in the wallet to cover any expenses, but my uncle assures me he will have the beach house stocked with everything you’ll need.”

“How did you do all this?”

“I am always a step ahead, working on plans F and G before C ever falls apart.”

Jane closed the purse. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Sash. You’re truly the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Sasha made a sound like “hmmph” and tossed her cigarette out the window as she turned down the road to the airport. She parked the car and hustled Jane from the parking lot to the airport terminal. Jane ignored Sasha’s fear of affection and grabbed her for a big hug, “You’re like a sister to me, Sash.”

“I guess...” Sasha muttered arms remaining stiff at her sides. Sasha had tears in her eyes when she took a step back from her. “Son of a bitch. You have no shoes, no coat.” Sasha slipped off her shoes and shrugged out of her coat and offered them to Jane. “Everything will be okay. Someone will be waiting for you when you land to take you to the new house.”

“You think I’ll look back on this one day and think it was worth it?”

“Was the sex good?”

Jane shrugged. “I only got to do it once, but yeah.”

Sasha shrugged. “Well, that’s more than some women ever get.”

“How could you tell? Do I look different?”

Sasha shook her head. “Your shirt’s on backward.”

Jane gasped and buttoned up her coat. She gave Sasha a weak smile and turned to the airport where yet another life awaited her.

Chapter 23

Jane’s head spun. In less than an hour, she had gone from Trip’s arms to speeding car to airport. The clamor of the crowds made her stress level rise as she tried to be calm and be this new person. She had to keep checking her airline ticket to remind herself of her new name. Maggie Kristobel. How was she going to get used to another life?

She stuffed the ticket into the purse Sasha had given her. It was new. As was the luggage Jane had checked at the terminal. Both filled with all new items. The seeds of a brand new life.

Jane Mitchell would. And she would miss none of it, she thought, chin jutted proudly forward. All but Frosty.

Frosty. Jane’s heart stopped a moment. She couldn’t just leave her baby. Sasha had promised to bring him, hadn’t she? Or did she just say she’d take care of him? Like ditch him at the pound? With Sasha, Jane wasn’t sure what would be a satisfactory solution. Surely, she knew bringing him with her
was
the only option. She knew how upset losing Oslo made her.

Well, she’d just call and remind her. She couldn’t be expected to leave everything. She wiped at tears before they spilled from her eyes. People stared at her as she stepped into the ticket line. A chunky lady in a leopard print coat must have heard her sniffle, so she turned and offered her a tissue and said, “You have bit of a smudge, hon.” Jane nodded, then wandered off to find a bathroom where she could compose herself, and call Sasha to make sure she knew how important it was to bring her dog.

Sasha returned to the apartment building, her mind focused on getting herself out of town as quickly as possible. She didn’t know how much time she would have before INS was pounding on her door. She didn’t doubt they would come. Didn’t doubt for one second that Barbara Coulter would have the Capital Police on speed dial.

Sasha punched the elevator button, then stepped back a moment, crossing and uncrossing her arms.

“Bad day, Miss Sasha?”

She answered without turning, “Total shit, Eddie. Total shit.” She punched the button one last time, the doors opened, and she stepped inside with nothing more than a scowl for the soft-eyed concierge.

During the brief ride, she thought of what she needed to pack, what she needed to destroy, and what she would have to leave for Eddie to sell. Poor bastard could use some extra cash. As she concentrated on her mental list, she stepped off the elevator and headed down the hall toward her door. She was too preoccupied with her planning to notice that someone was in the hallway with her. As she pulled the key from around her neck, she spotted the shadow. It was large, made by a big man. Her heart thudded in her chest. She turned slowly, barely able to breathe.

Trip. She sighed, a little relieved.

“How the hell did you get down here?”

“Eddie buzzed me down.”

“I’ll fire that little shit,” Sasha said without any conviction. Trip didn’t make her nervous. Him she could handle. She resumed unlocking her door. “She’s gone. You may as well go away.”

As she turned the knob, he stepped toward her. “Go away,” she spat as she slipped into her apartment, barely opening the door, hoping Trip didn’t dare follow.

“Where is she, Sasha?”

“I don’t know, now go away.” She attempted to slam the door in his face, but he wedged his foot between it and the frame.

“I’ll scream,” Sasha threatened.

“Good. Maybe someone will call the police.” The words came from over Trip’s shoulder. Sasha’s eyes followed them to the figure behind Trip. She remembered him instantly from the party. The man with the scars and the eyes that looked beyond her to the very secrets of her soul. She instinctively feared him. Some men she could twist with lies, some with sex, others, with guilt—every man had his weakness. At least all but a few. There were those few men who were immune to nearly every trick she had in her feminine arsenal. And unfortunately this man was probably one of them.

Sasha sighed and allowed the door to swing open, motioning them in as she turned her back on them and disappeared into the kitchen. She poured herself a shot of vodka, tossing it back and allowing the burn to soothe her. Jane had really gotten them into shit this time. She just needed to get rid of them long enough to get the hell out of here. Trip followed her to the kitchen.

Sasha closed her eyes and shook her head. She was relieved that the other man had not accompanied him in to grill her. He was too calm, his eyes too alert. Trip on the other hand...he was edgy as a cat. Sasha put her glass on the counter and pulled open a drawer and grabbed a fresh pack of cigarettes. As she slowly unwrapped the cellophane, Trip grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. “I don’t have time for games.”

Her eyes fell to her wrist, and he let go. He sighed, his shoulders slumped. “Please, Sasha, just tell me where she is. I have to talk with her.”

“Why should I? You hurt her.” She tapped out a cigarette and lit it. “Allowed your mother to disrespect her.”

“It all happened so fast,” Trip said. “I was in shock. And I know that’s no excuse, so I want to apologize.” He leaned closer to Sasha, who blew a smoke ring in his face. “You have to tell me where she is.”

“I don’t have to tell you shit.” Sasha took a long drag.

“I can help her. She’s illegal, right? I can get her a Visa. And I know she has a past, but—”

“A past,” Sasha sneered. “Everyone has a past. That’s the stupidest phrase I’ve ever heard. You have a past. Your ugly friend has a past. What the hell? Say what you mean, Mr. Coulter. She may have a past you can’t justify to yourself. Things you’d rather not know about.” Sasha crushed her cigarette in the ashtray on the counter.

Trip closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, Sasha was lighting another smoke. The tiny room was a smoky haze. “Please, Sasha, let me make that decision. Just tell me where I can find her. I have to talk to her.”

Sasha took a drag on her cigarette and seemed to relax, she sounded tired, defeated, “Fine. Fine. She’s at the airport. She’s flying home.” Sasha’s eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. “You have about an hour before her flight leaves.”

“What airport, what flight?”

Sasha shrugged. “Ronald Reagan. And I’m not sure of the flight. One going to Manchester, England.”

Trip grabbed her empty hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, Sasha. Thank you.”

He bolted from the apartment, calling over his shoulder for Frankie to follow him.

It wasn’t until they were in the elevator that Trip explained. “She’s at Reagan Airport getting a flight back to home to England.”

Frankie shook his head and laughed.

“Something funny?”

Frankie frowned. “Reagan Airport doesn’t fly overseas. All flights are continental.”

“Son of a bitch.” Trip pressed the down button frantically.

“Relax, kid. We’ll find her.”

“Some spy I’m turning out to be,” Trip said with disgust.

Frankie shrugged. “You’re too close. Not using your head. That’s why it’s best to separate personal and business.”

“But I don’t have a choice right now.”

“That’s why you have friends. Good thing your mom called me, eh?” Frankie winked at Trip. Trip cursed and let Frankie take the lead.

Frankie didn’t knock on the door. He swung it open and allowed it to bang against the wall. That brought Sasha up from the couch with a start. She had her cell phone in her hand and dropped it in her fright. Trip stepped forward and snatched it from the floor. No one was on the line. He checked the call history, instantly recognizing Jane’s number. She had called while he was on the elevator. In the few minutes he was gone, he had missed her.

“That’s mine,” Sasha demanded. Trip ignored her. Her hit redial and was directed to voicemail. He left a message, then snapped it closed and dropped it into his coat pocket.

“Really,” Sasha hissed. “This is such bullshit.”

“So, call the police,” Trip countered, their eyes locked. Sasha backed away moving to the couch and sitting, legs crossed, top leg bouncing nervously.

“Why are you back? I told you what you wanted to know. You’re wasting time. You should be at the airport.”

“You lied,” Frankie said sitting down beside Sasha relaxing against the back of the couch. He took her cigarette from her hand and pressed it between his lips. He inhaled deep then blew smoke rings toward the ceiling.

“I,” Sasha began, then thought a moment before answering. “Jane made me promise not to tell you where she was going. I won’t break a promise to a friend.” She turned to Frankie. “You understand loyalty, right?”

Frankie’s eyes narrowed. He studied Sasha’s face. She stared back, her cheeks stained scarlet.

Trip’s words broke the silent challenge. “When she calls, will you ask her to call me?”

Sasha nodded.

“Thank you. And Sasha, you
can
trust me. I would never hurt her.”

Trip turned to leave, gesturing for Frankie to come. Frankie rose but looked back at Sasha as if he were losing the battle. Losing the challenge made his grumpy features even more grizzly.

Trip was nearly to the door when Sasha reminded him he had her phone. “Oh, yeah,” Trip answered shaking his head. He reached into his pocket and took out her phone and tossed it to her.

In the elevator Frankie looked across at Trip as if he had grown an extra head. “You’re just letting her walk away?”

“Hell no,” Trip declared.

“You just did. You really think she’s going to get Jane to call you? You let her off the hook.”

Trip winked at his friend as the elevator took the down to the main floor. “I bugged her phone.”

Frankie looked impressed, “Aha. Maybe you will make a good spy after all.”