Better (The Change Series Book 2) Read online

  Mrs. Shepherd’s brows drew together. “No, not a chance. The guy came right at me. Zoe got in the way to protect me, but he was coming for me.”

  I wrote some notes and watched the pair out of the corner of my eye. The aunt shifted restlessly in her chair while Ms. Shepherd barely moved. I moved my pad and pen to the side and rested my elbows on my desk ready to share my conclusions. “Mrs. Shepherd, I’m concerned for your safety. I can keep going over the reports and talk to a few contacts. You couldn’t ID the suspect, but I don’t think it’ll be too difficult to have the Cancerberos name your attacker.”

  Mrs. Shepherd’s eyes widened. “You can make them do that?” She licked her full bottom lip then bit it.

  Whoa, I needed to focus on the job. I nodded. I rarely handled a case like this anymore, but something about this woman got to me. I would have Rick, my second in command, set up a call to Salvador Ulloa, the leader of the Cancerberos. We’d had dealings before.

  My view of the world was this: you’re either a predator or prey. I was an alpha predator same as Vador Ulloa. I couldn’t claim that there was a mutual respect, but we were aware of one another.

  “Of course, he can,” Ms. Basey informed her niece. “That’s why we’re here,”

  I cut off Ms. Basey’s explanation with a deliberate stare at her niece. “I’ll need to talk to Mrs. Alessi. Please let her know I’ll be calling. Also, I may need to talk to you again…” I kept my gaze steady until hers locked with mine. “To go over any additional questions.”

  She gave me the briefest nod.

  I turned over the prepared document on my desk and pushed it forward. “Here’s my standard contract.”

  “Marley, why don’t you wait out in the reception area while I take care of this?” Ms. Basey looked toward the door. “This is for me and Mr. Forde to discuss.”

  Mrs. Shepherd stared at her aunt, but after a long moment, stood. “Thank you, Mr. Forde.” She put her hand out for me to shake.

  “Take care, Ms. Shepherd. I mean that.” I took her hand briefly, noting its softness. I let it go as I rose to walk her to the door. Being polite would also give me another chance to imagine what was hiding beneath those ugly clothes.

  When I returned to my desk, Ms. Basey was reading through the contract. “I didn’t want to discuss our terms in front of my niece. That girl can be too proud for her own good.” She gave me a half smile. “She’s worked since she was ten, first babysitting, then she started at Emtee’s, cleaning up the parking areas and stocking the shelves. When her mother got sick, she took care of her and worked more hours. She’s keeping track of every dollar I’ve spent on her since Brian died. She’s vowed to pay me back, and I know she will even though she doesn’t have to.”

  “I will do my best to tie this up as quickly as I can.”

  “That would be good. And I don’t mean from a money standpoint. Marlena needs closure. Learning the truth about Brian has knocked her down, really shaken her world. I’m not sure she’s ever going to get over it. If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him for stealing her happiness. She used to laugh all of the time. She had the biggest heart, was always doing something for her friends. Now, she works and goes straight home. I can’t remember the last time I heard her laugh.”

  I felt a rush of excitement as I filed away the very personal glimpse into Mrs. Shepherd’s personality. My gut tightened as I thought about how drastically her life had changed and how hard it must be for her. Suddenly, I wanted very much to hear Marlena Shepherd laugh.

  Chapter Three

  Three days had passed. I knew the call would come from Mr. Forde, and I dreaded it. By now, I should have been used to talking about that night and my marriage, but every time I did, it reopened the wound.

  I’d been a fool; I’d had no one to depend on but myself since I was a pre-teen. I was okay with that. I didn’t have the luxury of time to wallow in a pity-fest. I’d known my mom drank excessively and her many boyfriends were losers. Then I’d met Brian, and I’d let down my defenses. Over time, I let myself trust him and my marriage. We’d made a vow to take care of one another, and he’d let me down. That terrible night, I’d been upstairs primping. When I’d peeked over the railing, I saw Brian and a stranger arguing. The man pulled a gun from the back of his jeans and shot Brian. He then stood over my husband’s on the floor and shot him again. I froze. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The killer didn’t even look around to check if anyone was there, he turned and ran out the front door.

  I saw my husband murdered in our house in our quiet subdivision. Now, my life was in chaos. I was depending on too many people to help me make it through the day, and I didn’t like it. I wanted to curl up in the corner and hide, or maybe just to be able to take a nap where I didn’t jump at every sound.

  I hated that I wasn’t in control and that I couldn’t make plans. Everything Aunt Nora did for me came at a price. I appreciated her help, but I paid by losing my privacy and my ability to take care of myself. I had to check in with the police and the prosecutor two times a week. Those calls were uncomfortable. They asked how I was doing, and we all seemed relieved when the calls ended. Although it was never said, I knew they wondered whether I’d be alive to testify at the upcoming trial. Heck, I wondered the same thing every morning when I woke up.

  Now, enter Mr. Forde. Since I’d met him, I would lie in bed hoping for sleep, but instead, I would picture his eyes. They were thickly lashed and such a piercing, dark blue. When my gaze had met his, I’d felt as though he could see deep inside me. He was a dangerous man, a discoverer and holder of secrets. Somehow, I knew that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew every one of mine.

  When the call came, I answered on the third ring. “Hello,” I said, cursing myself because my voice had a breathless quality.

  “Mrs. Shepherd, it’s Lucas Forde.”

  He sounded cool and confident.

  I was far from feeling either of those things. I didn’t know what to say so I stayed silent. This worked for me. Usually people got right to the point as if my silence forced them to speak their piece and shatter the quiet.

  “I’d like to meet with you to go over a few things. What’s your schedule look like this afternoon?”

  Phew, a reprieve. “I was just about to leave for work.” I tried to sound apologetic.

  “All right, what time will you be done?”

  Crap. “I’m off at ten.”

  “I can meet you at your house when you get home.”

  “At my house?” Me, alone with Lucas Forde? That sent a shiver down my spine. I tried to tell myself it was nervousness but I can’t lie, it was excitement.

  “I won’t take up much of your time,” he said, his voice smooth.

  “I might not get home until around eleven. Won’t that be a little late?” I was panicking. I didn’t know what to do with these feelings of liking the idea of being alone with Mr. Forde. I told myself that I was done with all of that stuff. No love or attraction, they only brought on heartache and problems.

  He chuckled. “I do most of my hunting at night, Mrs. Shepherd. I’ll just be warming up.”

  Whoa, I didn’t know what to make of that, but I felt the need to fan myself because my temperature rose at least two degrees. I closed my eyes to fight off the picture of Lucas Forde dressed in all black, his muscles flexing under a tight t-shirt walking down a dark alley, going after a bad guy. I have to stop reading those books about alpha males. From now on, only biographies of boring businessmen, I told myself. “Well okay. I can text you when I get home.”

  Another chuckle. “Not necessary. I’ll be waiting.” The call ended.

  My heart raced. What a strange conversation. He hunts at night? Who says that? A vampire? And my imagination went there—a very sexy, alpha male vampire who didn’t take no for an answer. Yikes.

  I glanced around the living room feeling a little desperate. I needed to change the direction of my t
houghts. I’d spent the morning cleaning the downstairs of the rental, not that it did any good. The house was an ugly two story in a questionable part of the city. The furniture was made up of castoffs from Nora and thrift stores. The kitchen appliances were from the eighties, but they still worked, sort of. The window air conditioner upstairs had died a few weeks ago, and the one in the living room did little to combat the Indian summer that would not end.

  I couldn’t dwell on my crappy place. I didn’t have enough money to move, and I was still thinking about packing up my few belongings and leaving town after the trial. I needed a change, and it needed to be for the better.

  * * *

  Work had been busy, which had been great for keeping my brain occupied—and off the upcoming interview with Mr. Forde. I took the short route home from the north side store. Emtee’s was a family-owned local chain of what we were instructed to call a “travel plaza”, but in reality it was a mega-truck stop. I had worked for them for almost twenty years. After everything with Brian, I’d asked—no, I’d begged with tears running down my cheeks—to go back to full time. They’d countered by telling me that if I would travel between locations around the city, they’d try to give me as many hours as they could. So, my schedule was crazy, ranging anywhere from twenty to forty hours a week. Sadly, it was more often closer to twenty than forty.

  Three blocks from home, I had to stop for a red light—something that set my nerves on edge, because I felt vulnerable and exposed. An easy target for a shooter or a carjacker. Sitting there with a white-knuckle grip on my steering wheel, I chanted over and over, Don’t freak out.

  It was a waste of energy. I couldn’t change things if the Cancerberos decided to kill me. If they wanted me dead, I’d be easy enough to find, despite how careful I’d been about changing my routines, and I drove a nondescript 2002 silver Honda Accord, like countless other Hoosiers.

  My worst fear was realized when the car behind me pulled up to my left.

  Don’t look, don’t look at them, I chanted silently over and over as my hands gripped the wheel tighter. The light turned green, and the other car rocketed away. I let out the breath I’d been holding and continued on. Tonight, I’d planned on parking on the street in front of my house. Unfortunately, a black SUV that I didn’t recognize, sat in what I considered my parking place. My heart picked up speed again. I drove slowly past the vehicle and pulled in front of it.

  I quickly killed the engine, lights, and gathered my purse, ready to dash for the door. I glanced in my side view mirror to check one more time on that SUV, when the driver’s side door opened, and a man exited and strode toward my car. Mr. Forde had been true to his word, he’d been waiting for me.

  I unlocked my door when he was two steps away.

  He pulled it open. “Mrs. Shepherd.”

  Again, his voice did things to me. Smooth and deep, I liked it. It made me feel warm inside. “Sorry, it took me a little longer than usual to cash out. We were really busy, and there were only two cashiers, and weirdly I had a lot of bills to count. Most people pay with plastic but not tonight.” I caught myself babbling and tightened my lips to stop my talking.

  We headed onto the sidewalk. He moved to the street side of my body, and his pace increased as we headed to my front door.

  “Keys?” He held out his hand.

  “What?” I was trying to keep up with his longer legs.

  “Mrs. Shepherd, give me your keys.”

  I did automatically. “Mr. Forde—”

  “Call me Forde.”

  I didn’t know what I wanted to say. I was off balance with his orders and how fast we were moving, how protective he seemed and how good that felt.

  “Can I call you Marley?” We climbed the two cracked concrete steps to my front door.

  “No.” It came out sharper than I’d intended. “I mean, I hate that nickname.”

  We were now on my porch, and I could see his face clearly in the bright porch light. One side of his mouth tilted upward in a half smile, like he found that amusing.

  I pointed to the key that worked the deadbolt, and then the key to the door lock.

  He opened my door and looked around. “Stay here in the doorway, while I look around.”

  Another order. But I did as he said and felt like an idiot straining to hear him walk through the house while I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.

  When he returned, he motioned that I could follow him in from the side of the doorway.

  I dropped my purse on the coffee table and pointed to the wing chair. “Would you like to sit down? Can I get you something to drink?”

  He made his way to the chair. “Something cold.”

  In the kitchen, I untucked my knit Emtee’s shirt from my pants and pulled it over my head. I was wearing a light blue tank underneath and hung the shirt over the back of a chair. I opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a bottle of water, a can of Diet Coke, and a Sprite. I added a handful of napkins and the plate of cookies I had baked earlier to the tray. I carried it to the living room.

  Forde looked relaxed sitting in the chair I’d found at Goodwill on half price day. His long legs were stretched out in front of him with his hands relaxed on the chair’s arms. He watched me place the drinks and cookies on the table between us.

  “I didn’t ask if you ate sweets, but I baked these this afternoon so they’re fresh.” I liked to bake. I cooked when I was nervous. Then I ate what I made, which was why I shopped in the plus-sized department.

  “I eat cookies if they’re homemade.” He smiled. It was a really nice smile. He didn’t look so severe. He chose the bottle of water and grabbed two cookies.

  I took a seat on the good end of the sofa, the one without the weird soft spot that made my ass brush the floor. I opened the Diet Coke and took several gulps. I was jumpy, not sure what to make of this visit.

  We were quiet for a few minutes. It wasn’t uncomfortable, rather it felt like we were both settling our thoughts. I started to relax a little.

  Forde finished his cookies and scanned my body, his gaze studying my face thoroughly. “Since you don’t like Marley, I’m gonna call you, Layla.”

  I know my eyes got big. I felt them bug out. “Why?” I mean how bizarre was it to rename me?

  “Marlena’s a shit name, and you look like a Layla.”

  Far from insulted, I smirked. “You must not know your Rock history very well. I’m no Patty Harrison,” I said, referring to the legend of how Eric Clapton fell in love with his friend, George Harrison’s alluring wife. Two rock gods in love with the same woman.

  “Maybe not, but you are a woman a man could fall in love with.” He dropped that bomb, and then reached for another cookie.

  I chose to stay quiet. I really didn’t know what to say.

  ***

  I didn’t mean to say that, but Marlena was a name for some over-indulged, over-dressed snob. Layla suited this natural, sexy lady sitting across from me.

  From everything I’d learned over the past three days, this woman was solid. A grounded, hard-working person, who had suffered a terrible loss.

  Her friend, Zoe Alessi, had shared the story of how the ladies had met, when Ms. Basey had shown Zoe several homes for rent. They’d returned to the office, and Layla, who was manning the phones, had complimented Zoe on her haircut. They’d chatted, and her aunt had insisted that Layla go to get her hair cut at that particular salon. Ms. Basey had given Lay the cash in front of Zoe, like an allowance from a parent.

  Zoe had stressed that Layla didn’t want her aunt to spend the money on her. She’d told Zoe that she was used to paying her own way. She didn’t like owing people.

  He could relate to that. Being in this place where she was on hold until the trial, losing her husband and having to look to her aunt for assistance, it could explain why she turned prickly.

  Forde had asked Osi, one of his investigators, to check with his police contacts and his people on th
e street. He returned with the same story: within the Cancerberos gang there were problems. The leader, Vador Ulloa was facing a mini-uprising. Forde didn’t want Layla caught in the crosshairs.

  Another investigator, Jennifer, had done what she did best, making calls and searching the internet for information. Her report was filled with the news that Marlena Shepherd was kind to her neighbors and co-workers. She’d been a B student in high school, and one teacher had recalled that she would have made better grades, but she’d always had a part-time job and didn’t have time to study. Her boss at The Blue, a local sports bar, remarked that she was dependable and a popular server because she hustled, she wasn’t a big flirt with the patrons but was friendly enough to gain regulars. In addition, she had completed her second semester at community college, and two of her instructors were impressed by her tenacity and the quality of her work.

  Layla had grown up on the northeast side of Indianapolis in a low income, working class neighborhood. Her mother had had a serious drinking problem and a string of waitressing or bartending jobs. When Layla turned sixteen, her mom was in a car crash and severely injured her back. Two years later, she had a stroke that left her paralyzed. Layla had worked full-time and took care of her. After her mom’s death, she was employed by Nora Basey’s real estate office as a secretary, while still working evenings and weekends at Emtee’s.

  Layla was staring at the floor again. That really bothered him, how she seemed to try to make herself disappear. The more I learned about her, the more I wanted to be the one to show her that she shouldn’t try to disappear, that she was strong and good, but most importantly, she would recover. “I need to ask you a couple of questions about your husband.” I winced inwardly. My voice seemed a little loud in the quiet house.

  “I didn’t know he was an addict.” Her tone was fierce, and her hands were fisted at her sides. “I don’t care if you think I’m an idiot, but I had no idea. It never occurred to me to look for something like that.”

  She was in full defensive mode, so I softened my tone and leaned back in my chair. “I’m sure he hid it from you. You both were putting in a lot of hours working, so it would have seemed perfectly acceptable if he slept a lot or seemed exhausted.”