Deadly Deception: A Dark Romance Page 3

  I miss her an awful lot, which makes me wonder how something as appalling as Glenn could come from such a sweet woman.

  Shaking off the melancholy, I decide to get back to cleaning, finding I have the energy to put an extra polish on everything today. There’s something to be said about having something to look forward to. It really puts an added pep in your step!

  ***

  Glenn, of course, accepted the invitation to join my mother for dinner. Not that I thought he wouldn’t. Where there’s food, there’s Glenn. From the day we first met, she’d been fond of my husband, calling him son and him calling her mother. I’d ignored it then, and their too-familiar references gave me the creeps, but I can’t let on to anyone that I disapprove of their relationship.

  I have to keep up with the lies so I don’t arouse suspicion when the time comes.

  No one can know that I’ve lost love for my husband or am anything less than happy in my marriage. For all intents and purposes, everything should appear to be going great. I already know that his secret pastime will come to light once the police investigate, and as the number-one suspect by association, I intend to act surprised, hurt, and totally dismayed by the revelation.

  That’s why I decide I should just bite the bullet and tag along for once. You know, to keep up appearances.

  “How are things going lately?” Mom asks as we settle onto the couch and load paper plates with pizza—with sausage, which she knows I hate.

  I pick off the bits of meat, refusing eye contact. “Pretty good. I’ve been working on refinishing some old furniture I found at the flea market. It’s only been a year.” I laugh, thinking of the limited time I’ve spent here and each time, the project I started and never finished so many months ago is what invariably comes up.

  “Finally,” she says with a touch of condescension. “Maybe now you two can get some order in that house.” We eat a couple bites before she continues. “Glenn, have you finished building those shelves in the basement yet?” It doesn’t escape my notice that she’s perkier addressing him, as if genuinely interested in anything he has to say.

  I shake my head, swallowing my food as I listen to him speak.

  “No, I haven’t even started.”

  She makes a face of understanding, and he continues on as if he feels compelled to explain himself. “I’ve been working a lot lately, pulling extra hours. By the time I do get home, I’m too tired to do much else.”

  I have to work to hide my irritated expression. I would love nothing more than to leap out of my seat right now and shout what a liar he is right in his face.

  “How’s work been lately?” my mom asks, surprising me. This is the most attention she’s given me in a single visit in…I think ever.

  “It’s always a good day when you’re not being called a bitch,” I remark. It’s true. People hate to be harassed by the dreaded telemarketer, and being called names happens more often than people probably realize. I try to take it in stride. Money is money, no matter how little it may be.

  “Well, if you’d gone to college after high school like I told you, you might have a better job now,” my mother starts, and I feel a tangent coming on. Mine, not hers.

  “It comes with the territory,” I say, tamping down my sudden lousy mood. Thinking about what’s coming up and how I need to maintain appearances, I turn to Glenn and say, as if it’s an afterthought, “Hey, would you like to come to the nursery with me next week? I want to get some plants for the shade garden.” I cross my fingers that it’s enough of a subject change to distract from the topic of how much of a loser I, Faith Overmeyer, turned out to be.

  “You just want me to plant them for you,” he teases.

  “Well…” I hedge, and we both laugh. Just to stroke his ego a bit, I add, “You are the best gardener I’ve ever met. I just kill everything I touch.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could pull them back in. I can’t believe I just said that!

  “You haven’t killed Glenn yet, so that’s clearly not true,” my mother says flippantly.

  I gulp down my glass of coke. She has no idea how close she is to the truth. I want off this topic immediately. “That would be assuming I wanted to.”

  “I don’t know how you don’t. Hell, sometimes I do. You know, he still hasn’t returned my drill.” She winks at Glenn, adding to the creepy feeling I get being around these two.

  My mother is one of the most feminine women I know—her yellow floral-patterned sofa and drapes can attest to that—but she can wield a hammer as good as any man. She’s the reason I know how to do basic electrical, how to hang drywall, refinish furniture, and other small things around the house, all learned by force rather than through mother-daughter bonding. I can’t really complain, though, since it has saved Glenn and me lots of money over the years because Lord knows he doesn’t know his way around a screwdriver.

  That drill he borrowed hasn’t been used since the day it entered the house. It’s still sitting on the tool chest that he’s never touched with a ring of dust collecting around it.

  “Shoot, you should have reminded me. I would have brought it with me today.”

  “No worries, sweetie. Just bring it by when you get a chance.”

  So I guess my mom is the only person who will miss Glenn when he’s gone. I should feel guilty that I’m taking away her friend, but it’s time someone looked out for me for a change.

  “Faith will remind me. She’s good at keeping me in line,” Glenn says by way of explanation, and she snorts in response, thankfully allowing the subject to drop.

  By the time I’m ready to leave, it’s nearly 9:00 PM, and Glenn and my mother are deep into a game of Gin Rummy with no end in sight. The only thing keeping me from making a scene right now is knowing soon I won’t have to deal with it ever again. It’s time to allow my mind to relax and find a happy place to take refuge in. Knowing I soon won’t have to give any of this a second thought is enough to relax me, and I give my mom an impromptu hug at the door, shocking us all.

  Surprisingly, when we turn down our street a half-hour later, I’m in good spirits. But then, as I turn into the drive, I spot a familiar dark SUV parked a few houses down. The windows are tinted, and I can’t see the driver, but I know it’s Cal.

  My heart does a little jump of surprise to see him. I hadn’t expected to until after the deed is done. But I suppose I’m more aware of my surroundings than most right now. If I hadn’t already known what to look for, he probably would have slipped my notice.

  I try not to let my attention linger as we pull into the driveway and set the car to park. Something about Cal grabs and holds my attention. Could it be the thrill of danger that attracts me? Am I that desperate for attention, or is it just him? I can’t put my finger on it.

  He’s certainly attractive, and the confident, self-assured way he carries himself is an aphrodisiac in itself, but I shouldn’t be getting flushed over a murderer-for-hire. That has to be the very definition of insanity.

  Not five minutes after we walk through the side door and part ways, I hear the whirring of the treadmill and the pounding of feet on it in the den. Glenn is at it again, working on his physique, and he certainly isn’t doing it for my benefit.

  “Is that you, babe?” he calls out as I walk by the room on my way upstairs as if there is anyone else it could possibly be. I was just heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. I hadn’t intended to stop and chat, preferring to be as far away from him as possible, but now I have to.

  Turning back around, I poke my head in and smile. “Hey, yeah. Need something?”

  Despite only having been at it for a few minutes, Glenn is chugging air, his shirtless torso coated in a sheen of sweat that rolls down his paunch and soaks into the waistband of a pair of bright-orange basketballs shorts that I’ve hated since the day he bought them. One size too small, they dig into his waist, emphasizing love handles that have become visually offensive. I’m surprised he’s using the treadmill at all since his foot pro
blems have been increasing. But I guess there’s no limit to the lengths a person will go for self-gratification.

  “Heading to bed?”

  “In a minute. I might stay up and read for a bit first.”

  “Uh-huh.” He’s not listening, already distracted by whatever is on his phone. This is what I’ve been faced with for the last couple of years. Complete disregard. Sometimes, I feel invisible. I might as well be talking to a wall, and realizing this, I sigh and walk away, doubting he’ll even notice I’ve gone.

  Six days. All I need is six more days.

  Five

  ~Declan~

  In five days, I have to kill a man. That should bother me, but it doesn’t. I’ve learned a lot about Glenn Overmeyer in the short time since taking on this case. He’s a balding, chubby little man who carries himself with extreme confidence around women. Following him to work this morning, I watched him chat up two women who were significantly younger than him, showing off an underbite of crooked teeth. He appeared approachable, easygoing, and just an all-around nice guy. That’s why the women weren’t creeped out. He knew how to approach them, just as any well-seasoned predator would.

  I figure that’s the only reason these women are attracted to him. He must know all the right words to make them feel good, playing on their insecurities. But where they see confidence, I see this guy as insecure. Even more so than the women he targets. He needs their attention to make himself feel like a man, to validate himself.

  He’s no man. He’s a predator.

  A real man would be satisfied with one woman’s attention, and Glenn has a beautiful wife waiting for him at home. Sure, she may want him deader than a doornail, but I bet that wasn’t always the case. I’ve come across women like her before, and from what I can tell, they’ve just reached the end of their rope. Where they once showered their husband in love and affection, bending over backward to satisfy their every whim, they now stand jaded and filled with repressed anger and hurt because none of that effort was appreciated.

  It makes my job one hundred percent easier. Even if I didn’t enjoy the job, I would still take satisfaction from knowing that I was ridding the world of these opportunistic ingrates. If I had a daughter, I would be even more dangerous than I am now, because my sole mission in life would be to rid the world of men like Glenn, just to make sure my daughter didn’t get her heart broken by one.

  Oddly, that’s how I’ve been catching myself feeling about Brenda. Tuesday night, under the bridge, while she told me her life story, I was shocked to find myself sympathizing with her. It’s not something I normally do. Like a light switch, I shut off my emotions and get the job done. As I sat there beside her, though, I couldn’t seem to do it.

  Brenda is sweet. She’s not like some of the cold and calculating people I’ve met in this line of work. She tries to carry herself that way, sure, but I can see her underlying gentle nature, a softness that’s all woman. I spent the night thinking about that and what it must be like to have a woman like her standing at your side, honest and loyal and loving.

  Glenn is a fucking idiot to ruin that for a piece of tail that’ll stroke his ego for an hour. It’s an act that inflicts lifelong pain on the one person who never expected to be betrayed. Brenda is too good for him. He doesn’t deserve her.

  Do I?

  I don’t know why the question pops into my head, but I know the answer without even thinking about it. No, I don’t deserve her either. I’m a brutal man, a serial killer for hire. Money moves me, and the pleasure I take in it keeps me coming back for more.

  I’m not a good match for anyone. Period. Which is why I wish she wouldn’t look at me the way she does, as if I’m her hero or something. Maybe I am, but that kind of attraction she’s kicking off is anything but good. She needs to steer clear of men like me, find herself someone who wears khakis and flannel and enjoys weekend barbeques in the backyard. I don’t know if I could ever settle down like that. I crave the rush of adrenaline that comes with a good stakeout, with the planning and plotting of the job. And the chase… Hell, there’s nothing better. And when the job is done? I feel like I’ve just come back from a week at a spa and had a total colon cleanse.

  All the more reason I need to take off once I’m done with this one. I need distance from it all if I have any hope of quitting for good, like smoking. Once the habit is broken, living beyond it gets easier.

  My cell rings while I wait for my mark to go inside the building, and I answer it as I pull away from my parking spot and head toward the nearby expressway on-ramp. I have seven hours to kill before I have to return.

  “Speak to me,” I bark as the Bluetooth takes over and leaves me hands-free to concentrate on driving.

  “Where are you at?”

  I’d recognize Donny’s voice anywhere. It has a distinctly gruff sound to it, like a chain smoker, which he is. Plus, he drinks heavily, which I think only deepens his voice more. “Driving.” I’d ask what he wants, but he’s the boss’s brother, and I don’t like to get too cocky with the made men. That’s how you get yourself shot and buried in a shallow, unmarked grave.

  “Head over. We have something to discuss.”

  The line goes dead, and I pocket the phone. I have no idea what he wants to discuss or what it’s about. I should be nervous, but nerves and I never did get along too well. I’m just not the kind of person who gets moved by much.

  I drive the thirty minutes it takes to reach the outskirts of the city where the neighboring township meets it, and I take the winding roads through the heart and around the neighborhoods until I reach the pizza shop with the chubby doughboy dressed in a red and white uniform that reminds me of the Big Boy franchise character. He’s twirling a sign on the sidewalk out front, and despite the creepy smiling mascot head, I know the kid inside the costume is bored to fucking tears.

  Parking in one of the four angled slots in front of the building, I get out of the SUV and say, “Hey, Rudy, when are you gonna quit and get a real job?”

  “Hey, Uncle Declan. Pops says I have to learn the business so I can take over when he dies,” comes the seventeen-year-old’s muffled voice.

  I’m nobody’s uncle, but the kid calls everyone in the business that. It’s a matter of respect. Everyone who works for Tony is family, and they get treated as such, and even though they only employ me on a case-by-case basis, I still get the perks.

  I pause beside him. “What about college?” Rudy told me on his sixteenth birthday celebration, right before he got a brand-new Porsche gifted to him, that he planned to study marine biology or some shit when he graduated.

  “Pops said it’s either the business or becoming a lawyer, and I don’t have the brain for being a lawyer.”

  That wasn’t a bad thing. Being a lawyer for this family would be a tough job, one with trenches dark enough and deep enough to strip the shine off even the world’s most honest and earnest person.

  Rudy wasn’t that perfect, but he still had an innocence about him worth preserving.

  “Sorry to hear that, kid,” I offered honestly. “Better listen to your pops. But don’t forget, you only live once.” I figure I owe it to the kid to give him a little advice. Leave it to him to decide what to do with it.

  Rudy goes back to twirling that damn sign, and I head inside where I see Donny’s fat ass waiting for me. He’s sitting in one of those metal bistro chairs that makes up a four-top. He has classic Italian looks, with slicked-back black hair and a large nose. He’d be a good-looking man if his figure didn’t reveal that he spent every lunch and dinner sampling every item on the shop’s menu.

  “Declan!” his deep voice booms when he sees me come in. “Come, sit,” he urges, kicking out the chair he’d been resting his swollen ankles on. “I saved you a seat.”

  It’s not that I don’t like the guy. He just isn’t my kind of people. But to be fair, no people are my kind of people.

  “What do we need to discuss?” I ask as I sit, cutting to the chase. I have places to be
, and people I need to plot to kill. I don’t have time for this shit.

  “Always in a hurry. Why don’t you stay a while? Marty’s making me a veggie pizza. We can share a slice while we catch up.”

  “Veggie?” I ask. “I thought meat lovers was more your style.”

  Donny pats his round stomach and chuckles. “Marleen has me on a diet. She said I need more fruits and vegetables.”

  I nod. “Somehow I doubt she meant veggie pizza.”

  He shrugs. “Hey, gotta be more specific. I can’t read minds.”

  I can’t help but laugh a little. The man is incorrigible. But I know Marleen. She’s not going to let that shit slide, and he knows it, too. This is probably his last-ditch attempt at freedom before she slams down the hammer and then it’ll be salad city.

  “In that case,” I say, taking pity on the guy, “I’ll take a slice to go.”

  This gets a raucous laugh out of him. “I should have expected that, Dec. You never sit still for long. One slice to-go it is, then. I’ll have Marty wrap it up. You catch that, Marty!” he bellows, and Marty, in his droll tone, responds with a “yes” from the kitchen.

  “The discussion?” I remind him, now that all that’s out of the way.

  Donny’s expression grows serious as he regards me. “Yeah, we got something we need to talk about.”

  I’m starting to think he has a problem with something I said or did, and I think back, trying to pinpoint what this could be about…when I hear someone—no, several someones—singing in the back.

  The singing gets louder as they grow closer, and it only takes seconds before I recognize the tune and groan internally. “Donny,” I say as a warning, but it’s too late.

  Donny is grinning like a freakin’ Cheshire cat, and he can’t stop laughing as he joins in. The entire Costello family emerges from the kitchen, Marty, the cook, and Rachel, Tony’s daughter, at the front, carrying a single-tier birthday cake nestled inside an open pizza box. They lay it down on the table in front of me. Rudy enters the shop and joins his family in a circle around Donny and me, and they finish up the most off-key version of “Happy Birthday” I’ve ever heard.