False Security (13 page)

Mark opened the book up to the
beginning and found information on Jonathan’s family. “His older sister’s name
is Melissa. There are the twins that are younger than him, Cory and Courtney.
His youngest brother is named Stephen.” Mark looked up. “The name Rachel isn’t
in the book.”

“What if she was his daughter?”

“But he wasn’t married and there
isn’t anything about illegitimate children. And Rachel isn’t his niece because
both of Rachel’s parents are dead and all of Jonathan’s siblings are still
alive, except the one that died during childbirth. Even if her dad was related
to the Thomas family, but not mentioned in the book, why would she have to live
with a foster family after her parents died if other family members were still
alive?”

“What if—”

Mark glared at James. “No more
what ifs. There’s no proof, there’s no link to Rachel, there’s nothing. We’re
wrong, so let’s leave it alone.”

“Okay, okay.” James rose from
the chair. He laid the book down on the desk. “I need to head home anyway, but
I wanted to let you know about the dead guy. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions
about Rachel, and I am happy that you guys are in love or something.”

Mark smiled. “Thanks. You know,
I’m glad we didn’t find anything. I was starting to think...” The corners of
Mark’s mouth dropped into a frown and his mind wandered back to the book. No
matter how he tried, he couldn’t make the pieces fit, couldn’t find proof of a
solid connection between Rachel and Jonathan Thomas. The only explanation that
seemed right was Rachel had knocked over the desk caddy on accident, and it was
nothing more than coincidence that she shared the man’s last name.

But then again, there was the
nagging feeling that something didn’t seem right.

“You okay, man?” James asked. “I
know this is a lot to swallow without having any answers.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks again,
James. I know you meant well.” James left the office and Mark stared down at
the book. In just a few minutes, he would learn what Rachel had to say, and
finally have his answers. He hoped he could handle it.

Rachel slipped a
contact lens into her eye. Blinking it into place, she looked in the mirror
over the bathroom sink. She had one blue eye and one brown eye. “Hey,
Danielle!”

Danielle strode into the
bathroom. “How’s the makeover going?” she asked.

“Okay, I guess. Which eye color
do you like better?”

Danielle scrutinized each eye.
“Are you still going to dye your hair blonde?” she asked. She walked over to
the counter and looked through several wigs that were laid out, all different
shades of blonde.

“I think so.”

Danielle picked up a longer
blonde wig. She arranged the wig on Rachel’s head and tucked her natural hair
underneath. “Go with the brown contacts. You’ll stand out too much with the
blue.”

“I hate this. For the first time
in three years I’ve had my natural hair and eye color and now I have to change
it.” Rachel examined the boxes of hair dye kits lined across the counter. She
picked one up and held it next to the wig. “Does this one match?”

“It’s pretty close, but please
hurry up and decide what you’re doing. Those eyes are starting to spook me.”

“Sorry.” Rachel set the hair dye
box down and removed the blue contact from her left eye. She inserted the match
for the brown contact into her eye. “What are you changing this time?”

Danielle sat on the edge of the
bathtub. “I’m going to cut off all my hair.”

Rachel gasped. “No, don’t do
that. I love your hair with all those curls.”

“I do, too, but I think it’s
time it went into the trashcan. It might be fun having short hair.”

“How short?”

“Shorter than yours.” Danielle
held her hand up an inch above her shoulder. “I think right about here should
do it.”

Rachel scowled. “Maybe you
should think about it more.”

“Too late. It’s getting cut
tomorrow morning before we go.” She walked back over to the wigs. “Do we have a
short black one?”

“No, but there’s a long one in
the box along with black hair dye,” Rachel said, pointing to a cardboard box by
the bathtub. “I knew you were going to get around to black hair one day, as
much as I didn’t want you to.”

Danielle took out the black wig
and put it on in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom
door. Her deep blue eyes stood out against the black strands of synthetic hair,
and Rachel smiled. She thought she would hate the look on Danielle, but no
matter what color of hair or contacts Danielle tried on, she always looked
beautiful and natural.

Rachel picked up her digital
camera from the bathroom counter. “Ready for your picture?” She waited for
Danielle to stand in front of the light blue backdrop they had tacked to the
wall. The forger would adjust the color of the backdrop as needed to match the
standard backdrop for any state’s driver’s license. Danielle gave a large
smile, and Rachel frowned at her. “Nobody looks good in their driver’s license
photo.”

Danielle rolled her eyes, but
traded her smile for a blank, expressionless stare.

“Much better,” Rachel said. She
snapped three quick pictures to make sure not to catch Danielle with her eyes
closed or in a blurry photo. She reviewed the pictures on the camera’s LCD
screen. “These are perfect. You look like you were waiting at the DMV for about
six hours.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment
because I took the picture right, or if you’re saying I look terrible,”
Danielle said. She took the camera from Rachel’s hands. They traded spots and
Danielle took several pictures of Rachel. “We’re all done,” she said, and
handed the camera back to Rachel.

“All done,” Rachel echoed. As
she scanned the photographs Danielle took of her, the blonde wig reminded of
another time she wore a similar wig. Rachel turned and examined herself in the
full-length mirror. It was as if everything she did was a reminder of things
best forgotten. She tugged on the blonde ends of the wig and twirled the hair
between her fingers.

You are far more beautiful without it.

Rachel pulled the wig off her
head, as the unwelcome voice rolled through her mind. Maybe blonde wasn’t such
a good idea, not with all the panic attacks and memories that insisted on
surfacing.

Danielle walked up beside her.
“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Rachel said, glad
that Danielle could not read her thoughts.

“I know you’re torn on talking
to Mark, but I still believe it’s the right thing for you to do.”

Rachel wished she could avoid
the topic, but Danielle hadn’t forgotten her ultimatum. “Even though I agree
with you, it doesn’t make me any less sick and terrified to tell him. There are
so many ways he could react.”

“And I’m sure you’ve already
analyzed every possible end scenario,” Danielle said with a smile. “Mark will
be more understanding than you ever imagined. Does he know you’re going to tell
him about your past?”

As she removed the contacts from
her eyes and placed them back in the case, Rachel thought about her earlier
conversation with Mark over the phone. Mark’s tone had changed when she said
she wanted them to stay in that night, revealing that not only did he know she
was going to tell him about her life, but that he was as frightened of the
truth as she. “I think he suspects,” she said.

“When is he coming over?”

“The store closes at ten, so it
won’t be too long after that. I should be back from the pawnshop by then. Our
guy will slide in the new photos and then we’ll be set. Do you still want to go
to South Carolina?”

“I’ve always heard it’s
beautiful there in the fall,” Danielle said. “If we stay there for two or three
months, we should be able to see the seasons change.”

“I’m all for that, but when we
get there, we need to get our IDs fixed right away with the address of where
we’ll be living. When the security alarm went off, the cops asked for my
license, and of course, the address was wrong since we got it in Indianapolis.
I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I’m glad
they didn’t realize the whole thing was a fake.”

“Me, too, but I guess that’s why
we pay so much for them to be done right.”

“Maybe after you talk to Mark
tonight we won’t have to pay for them ever again,” Danielle said. She started
toward the bathroom door.

“Do you mind letting me know
when it’s about 9:00?” Rachel asked before she could leave. “I want to get to
the pawnshop on time so I can be here when Mark arrives.”

Danielle glanced at her watch.
“Rach, it’s almost ten now.”

Rachel rotated her wrist and
looked at her own watch. “No, it’s only a quarter till nine.” She noticed the
second hand was not moving. “Damn it, my watch stopped. I should have been at
the pawnshop a half hour ago.” She walked out of the bathroom and down the
hall.

Danielle followed her. “I’ll go
for you.”

“No, it’s okay.” Rachel slung
the camera over her shoulder. “I need to get some fresh air and clear my head
before Mark comes over. Besides, even though this guy has seen a photo of you,
he won’t be expecting you there. He might get spooked. I don’t want to delay
because we have to find a new person for our IDs. I shouldn’t be gone more than
forty-five minutes and maybe Mark will be late. You can keep him entertained until
I get back, right?”

“Of course. The good ones are
always easy to entertain.”

Rachel paused at the front door.
“Danielle, even though I wish you wouldn’t go with me this time, I’m glad you
are. I don’t know how I’d ever survive without you.”

“You’d make it,” Danielle said.
“After tonight, I’m betting you’ll have Mark to keep you company as well.”

Rachel smiled, and dug her car
keys out of her purse. “I hope you’re right. I don’t think I could live without
him either.”

“You’re realizing this now?”
Danielle scoffed. “Get out of here and hurry back. I don’t want to have to keep
him entertained for too long.”

Rachel held up her car keys as
an acknowledgement and ran out the front door.

After James left
his office, Mark chastised himself for his suspicions. Guilt over his
subversive actions gnawed at him. He never should have read parts of the book
about Jonathan Thomas without talking to Rachel first. He needed to trust that
she would tell him everything he needed to know on her own time, whether she
had known a murdered billionaire or she had been abused by her foster family or
both.

As he sat in his quiet office
with his thoughts, Mark realized he felt something new in his life. His love
for Rachel made his heart a bit lighter, yet because of his concerns for what
she may have gone through, the burden of responsibility pressed down on his
neck and shoulders. Outside of the bookstore and his mortgage, he had never
been accountable for anyone or anything.

With loving Rachel came the vow
that he would help her through whatever plagued her. If something affected her,
he would be right there to lift her up and carry her through. He refused to let
her travel the road alone, no matter the cost.

Mark rose from his chair and
stretched out his legs. He moved into the bookstore and replaced the books
about Jonathan Thomas on the shelf. His watch showed a few minutes to ten. Time
to lock up the store and go see Rachel. He sent Sarah home before making a
quick check of the aisles of books.

As he worked on closing out the
register, the bell on the front door rang. Mark walked out from behind the
register and came face-to-face with two men. The first man looked no older than
seventeen and was much shorter than the second man, who clenched his square jaw
and stared at Mark with cold eyes.

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed,”
Mark said. “We open back up at nine tomorrow morning.”

His words failed to stop Square
Jaw, who moved around Mark. His bald head bobbed through the aisles of the
store and toward Mark’s office. “Hey!” Mark said. “You can’t go back there!” He
turned and walked toward his office.

“Are you Mark Jacobson?” Short
Man asked.

Mark spun back around and faced
Short Man. His professional tone made Mark wonder if he was a cop, but his
instincts negated that thought. Their odd behavior had him on full alert. He
suddenly wished he wasn’t alone at the store and that he hadn’t left his
cellphone in his office. “That’s me,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

Square Jaw came back up to them
without saying a word.

“What’s going on here?” Mark
asked.

Short Man pulled back his black
overcoat, and revealed a shoulder holster. He took out his gun and aimed it at
Mark’s chest with a cocky smile. “You can take us to go see Rachel.”

Mark took two quick steps back,
his wide eyes focused on the gun. Though throughout his life he had friends
that went hunting on a regular basis, Mark had never been around a gun and he
didn’t know much about them outside of what he saw in the movies. This gun
appeared to be a standard, black handgun, and just as deadly as any other.

Submerged in fear, his flesh
turned cold and a tremble rattled his insides. But gun or no gun, his impulse
was to protect Rachel. “No,” he said.

Before Mark could register what
was happening, Square Jaw moved next to him, also holding a gun on him. Short
Man took out a long, cylindrical part from a second compartment of his shoulder
holster. As he screwed it on the front of his gun, Mark realized it was a
suppressor.

Short Man smirked, his gestures
almost comical despite the seriousness of the words he spoke. “You don’t seem
like a stupid man, Mark, so let me put it this way. I’m not opposed to the idea
of killing Rachel. If you take us, I imagine she’ll live.” He arched his
eyebrows and stepped forward, cornering Mark against the register counter. “Or
I can go do things my way, which won’t end so well for either of you. Now,
would you like to revise your answer?”

Mark remained silent and weighed
his limited options. He swallowed hard and nodded.

“See? That was easy.” He waved
his gun toward the back of the store. “Let’s go. Lock it up like you normally
would.”

After Mark secured the bookstore
and exited through the back, Short Man climbed into the passenger seat of
Mark’s truck. Square Jaw followed them in a black SUV. Holding his gun on Mark
at all times, Short Man instructed him to approach Rachel’s house from the
opposite direction with his lights dimmed, so his truck could not be seen from
the front windows.

Mark turned off the ignition and
reached for the door handle, but Short Man’s voice stopped him. “Not yet. We’re
going to sit here for a minute.”

Mark took a deep breath and
tried to sort out his thoughts. Small rays of relief broke through his
terror-clouded mind when he noticed Rachel’s car was not in the driveway where
she always parked, nor was it on the street. A voice inside told him it didn’t
matter that she wasn’t home. These men would stay until she returned.

He felt Short Man’s eyes on him,
as if he were sizing Mark up. Despite the gun held on him, Mark became
irritated at the man’s inspection of him. “What?” he asked, not sure where the
bold question came from.

Short Man laughed. “You don’t
look like Rach’s type.”

Mark’s brow creased with
confusion. Short Man spoke as if he knew her well, like a close friend, yet he
had threatened to kill her.

“It’s also funny because you’re
a dead man walking,” Short Man said. “Do you know that phrase, Mark?” He did
not wait for an answer. “I’m sure you do. It’s a phrase they use in prison to
describe a man walking down death row to his execution. Except for you...”
Short Man paused and studied Mark for a moment. “You became a dead man walking the
minute you got involved with Rachel.”

Mark looked down as more chills
coursed through his body. Short Man wanted to scare him, and it was working.
Despite his fear, Mark needed answers and he forced himself to speak once more.
“What’s your name?” he asked.

Laughter bubbled out of Short
Man. “This isn’t ‘The Dating Game,’ Mark. You don’t get to ask questions, let
alone know my name.”

Mark ignored his statement and
spoke again. “Are you going to hurt Rachel?”

Revenge danced in his eyes and
the corner of his mouth turned upward. “I would love to hurt Rachel after what
she did the last time I saw her. I would hurt her so bad she wouldn’t remember
her own name after I was done. But lucky for her, that’s not for me to do. He’s
the only one who is allowed to hurt her, and boy, is he pissed about you.”
Short Man laughed out the last half of his statement. “I suppose that will have
to suffice for me.”

Defeat curled around Mark like a
poisonous viper. Though he wanted to know what Rachel did to this man to
warrant his response, something else in the man’s words caught his attention.
There was someone out there who intended on hurting Rachel. Someone powerful
enough to stop others from hurting her, so that he alone held the right to do
with her as he wished.

“Who is he and why would he want
to hurt her?” Mark asked.

“That’s enough questions. He’s
coming.”

Mark had no time to look out the
window when two other men walked up to the truck. One of them opened the
driver’s side door. “Time to go,” he said. He grabbed Mark’s arm and dragged
him out of the truck.

Mark caught his balance before
falling onto the asphalt of the street. A man with a gel-filled mass of hair
tightened his grip on Mark’s arm, but it was the man’s thick, dark moustache
that sparked recognition. “You were in my store yesterday,” Mark said. “You
talked to Rachel.” His stomach churned, and he understood that not only was the
man casing the store, but he was also checking on Rachel.

“Shut up and get moving,”
Moustache Man said. He nudged Mark with the barrel of his gun.

Mark barely caught a glimpse of
the fourth man before Moustache Man forced him across the lawn and up the
steps. The four men stood off to the side of the porch, away from the front
windows and away from the sightline of the peephole. Conscious of the guns
three of the men held, Mark lifted his heavy arm and pressed the doorbell.

He closed his eyes, and listened
to footsteps approach the door from inside of the house. The sounds of each
lock disengaging pounded in his chest. Danielle’s smile disappeared behind two
of the men, who pushed her into the house. The other two forced Mark inside.

Square Jaw and Short Man moved
through the rest of the house. Moustache Man grabbed Danielle by the arm and
shoved her into the living room. Danielle stumbled forward, and Mark caught her
before she hit the ground.

“Both of you sit down,”
Moustache Man said in a gruff tone.

Mark held onto Danielle’s arm,
and they sat close together on the couch. Moustache Man followed their every
movement with his gun. Taking hold of her hand, Mark turned his head to look at
her. “I’m sorry. They said they’d kill Rachel. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Danielle managed a faint smile
through her stressed and fearful expression. “Don’t be sorry, Mark. I would
have done the same thing.”

Mark examined the fourth man,
who walked around the living room, scrutinizing every item. He was the only one
out of the four who did not carry a gun, and Mark first thought him
unimportant. Now, Mark realized the man’s demeanor was his weapon, and he
determined that this man was in charge.

Dressed in an immaculate black
suit, his stern face held an air of authority and confidence. The man ran a
hand through his closely cropped dark hair, and even that mundane gesture had
meaning and purpose. This was a man who believed the whole world jumped at his
every whim. A man who did not need to use weapons and threats of imminent death
to force people to comply with his will. This was a man Rachel would fear.

The thought startled Mark. Fear
was the last emotion he would associate with Rachel. Of course, until now, fear
was not an emotion he would associate with himself. He couldn’t remember a
single moment in his life when he felt fear. But the man who stood in the
center of the room, his clear, amber eyes exploring every corner of the living
room, yet never once settling on Mark, this man demanded fear.

The two men from the bookstore
came into the room. Square Jaw trained his gun on Danielle and Mark, while
Short Man walked over to his boss. He held a blonde wig at his side. “No one
else, but she was here.” He jiggled the wig in his hands for his boss to see.
“From the looks of things, I’d say we almost missed her again this time.”

The man in charge took the wig
from Short Man’s hands. He stared at it for a long moment, and ran his fingers
through the synthetic strands. He tossed the wig on the coffee table, and
walked over to Mark and Danielle. Standing before them, he looked at Danielle,
and asked, “Where is she? Where is Rachel?”

“She’s not here,” Danielle said.
“She already left and she’s not coming back.”

“Is that so?” His eyes narrowed.
“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m telling you the truth. She
left me behind this time, and she’s gone.”

He paused, and inspected
Danielle’s face. Mark looked at Danielle as well, wondering what her words
meant. He recognized in her composed expression that Danielle was not surprised
by the events around her, not like he was. He wanted to ask what was going on,
but something told him to stay quiet.

“Again, with the lies,” the man
in charge said. “Do you know who I am?”

Despite her monotone voice,
Danielle’s sharp breathing gave away her apprehension. “You’re Donovan King,”
she said.

Mark’s heart skipped a beat, his
mind recalling the man’s name in reference to Jonathan Thomas.

Donovan continued speaking to
Danielle. “Then you know what I’m capable of.” The words held no hint of pride.

“Yes,” she said. “I know.”

“Then let’s try this again, and
I expect you’ll be honest with me this time. Where is Rachel, and when will she
return?”

“I told you,” Danielle said.
“Rachel is gone and she’s not coming back. It doesn’t matter how many times you
ask, it won’t change the fact that she’s gone for good.”

Donovan pressed his lips
together and stared at Danielle, as if deciding what to ask her next. He
regarded her for a moment, then rotated his head to look at the wig on the
coffee table. His head bounced up and down, and he looked at Short Man. “Joe,”
he said. He nodded the side of his head toward Danielle.

Joe lowered his gun and fired
three muffled shots into Danielle’s chest. Mark jumped sideways. His eyes
popped open and jagged breaths burned his lungs. Danielle’s hand became
lifeless in his as her body slacked.

Mark hopped up from the couch,
and rested his knee on the couch next to her. Leaning over her body, he pushed
his hands down on her chest where he saw blood and tried to stop the bleeding.
He looked at her face, into her cloudy, blue eyes. “Danielle?” he asked.

She did not respond.

Though Mark knew she was dead
and he could not bring her back, he called her name again. “Danielle!
Danielle!” He pressed harder against her chest.

Joe nudged Mark’s shoulder with
his gun. “She’s dead, Mark,” he said. “Nothing you can do for her now, so it’s
time for you to sit back down. Donovan’s not done with you yet.”

Terror pounded through Mark and
he stared at her unmoving body, his mind unable to digest the reality of the
image. He raised his hands off her chest and twisted around so he could sit
back down on the couch. He hung his head and lifted his wet hands. Danielle’s
blood had painted his skin red.

Mark became aware of Donovan
watching him. He shifted his gaze upward, toward Donovan. As Mark stared into
his emotionless eyes, trepidation grasped his spine and prickled his flesh.

Donovan turned to Square Jaw.
“Tony, why don’t you go ahead and get Mr. Jacobson out of here. The rest of us
will clean up this mess and wait for Rachel.”