Mistaken (13 page)

It's only three; Dillan can't be home yet, can she? She didn’t get back from work until at least six last night.

Panic struck him.  As he scrambled to put all the papers back into the trunk, his hand lost its grip on the snow globe sending it crashing to the floor.  It shattered loudly into a puddle of glass, water, and glitter. Trey's stomach twisted as he froze in horror, waiting for the office door to swing open. There was no way he could play this off. She had caught him red-handed.

“Trey?” Dillan opened the door to the office, her tone confused as she looked around the room. “What...where did you find that trunk...what broke?!” Her voice grew more urgent as she took in everything.
My papers, my trunk....he went through them,
her mind tried to process the scene in front of her.

“Dillan, I'm sorry. I was just trying to find info about Jamie. I didn't mean to break your snow globe.” Trey said as he sat on the floor, unmoving. Her eyes widened with a mixture of anger and dismay. She didn't say anything for a couple of minutes, staring at Trey coldly, then gazing at the broken glass on the floor. Her lips pressing together as warm tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. She took in a deep breath, then pushed a few loose strands of hair out of her face. As she looked at Trey, her eyes grew pitch black with anger.

“Get out of my office.” Dillan's voice was void of emotion, almost alien as her gaze bore into him.

“I can clean up the glass.” He offered timidly.

“Get out!”She snapped.  Trey obeyed, quickly standing up and walking out toward the living room. The office door slammed behind him as soon as he was past the door jamb.  He stood there for a moment, listening as the lock clicked together and the trunk lid slammed shut.  Part of him debated whether he should leave, but he needed to apologize to her. Trey wandered to the couch, perched just on the edge of it, watching her office door. He sat, listening and waiting for her to come back out so that he could try to talk to her.

Inside her office, Dillan's head was practically spinning as she threw everything back into the trunk. Tears dribbled down her cheeks, her fingers trembling as she slammed the lid down.

How could he? How could he? These are my things! My things! 
Quickly locking it, she pushed the trunk back into the closet, and threw the door shut. Dillan stared at the broken snow globe laying in a puddle on the floor.  How could he?

After several minutes, the door flew open and Dillan walked right past him toward the dining room table where her purse sat. Her shaking hands desperately searched for her pill bottle, grasping it tightly as soon as she found it. Trey walked up behind her, apprehensive and rueful.

“Dillan, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have.” Her skin crawled at the sound of his voice. Without a word, or any acknowledgement whatsoever, she walked into the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle before heading straight for her bedroom. Trey stood there watching her, but she looked away. She couldn’t stand to see the anguish deep within his eyes. She refused to feel sorry for him right now.

The bedroom door slammed shut, and the lock clicked in place, only serving to emphasize the rift he had created. He knew she wouldn’t be coming out of her room anytime soon.

Maybe I should just go…

He couldn’t. He needed to talk to her. He needed to make sure she was okay. A short while later, he stood outside her door.

“Dillan… I’m sorry. Please just come out.” His voice pleaded.  Inside the bedroom, his words reached Dillan, but she wanted none of it. She downed a couple more pills without a second thought. She was tired of everyone’s apologies. She was tired of everyone meddling in her life, and now through her things.

“Dillan…please, I’m so sorry.” Trey’s voice pulled at the knot in her chest, only causing it to curl tighter around itself. Dillan sandwiched her head in her pillow, her eyes fixed on her bedroom window. She just wanted everything and everyone to go away.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

This isn't like Decker,
Agent Luciano thought, peering outside his apartment through the dusty kitchen window. It was nearly 11AM now. He never was any later than 10AM.  He had called his cell phone several times with no answer. As the minutes passed, Luciano only grew more concerned for his partner.  Something was up.

Standing up from the table, he removed his gun from its holster on his side, checking that his magazine was full before returning it. He supposed that he would just have to go over there himself and see what was going on. Luciano grabbed his keys off of the table and put his empty, coffee-stained mug into the sink. His senses were on high alert as he exited the apartment, his eyes sweeping the parking lot as he came down the stairs.  He unlocked his 87’ Ford Thunderbird, sliding into the driver's seat. The v8 engine rumbled loudly before his foot pressed down on the gas pedal and he turned out onto the main highway.

Agent Decker only lived fifteen minutes away. He tried his cell phone one more time. Still no answer. This time he dialed his boss. In as many years as he and Decker had been partners, this had never happened.  Sure, maybe his partner had just overslept; but that situation was highly unlikely.

Decker was rarely late, by no more than a few minutes.  He quickly explained his partner's absence to his superior, demanding that he send back up. He obliged, telling Luciano they would only be a few minutes behind him.

As he flipped his cell phone shut and tucked it back into his shirt pocket, Agent Decker's road came into view. He lived in a small neighborhood with older homes that were built in the 1970's, each with chain-link fences running around the length of each yard.  His house was on the far right corner, just before the next cross-street.  It was a smaller ranch-style house, white with brown wood trim. He didn't see his car, but Decker liked to park inside the one-car garage attached to the house.
Nothing unusual there
.

Agent Luciano looked around the neighborhood cautiously before pulling his Thunderbird into the driveway. He didn't notice anything, or anyone that looked out of place, but the ominous feeling that something wasn't right still gnawed at him as he stepped out of the car.  Looking around, he saw no sign of back-up arriving just yet. They were on their way. He called Decker's cell phone again.  Still no answer.

Still no sign of back-up.

Still that gnawing feeling in his gut.

I can't just stand here,
Luciano thought to himself. He moved toward the front door, one hand resting on his gun.  A few paces away, he noticed the door was ajar, and a sliver of Agent Decker's living room was coming into view. His gun was out of its holster in seconds.

“Decker! It's Luciano! Are you in there?” Luciano's voice boomed in an authoritative tone, holding his gun in front of him as he inched toward the door.  No answer.

With his left hand, Luciano pushed the door open more. It stopped abruptly, hitting something on the other side with a thump. That's when he noticed the blood underneath the door, soaking into the carpet.  He pushed the door a little more so that he could step inside, his gun still raised, a finger hovering over the trigger. Thump.

The door tapped against Agent Decker's polished black boot as he lay there on the other side. Deep red stained the cream colored carpet in an abstract pattern around his lifeless form. His eyes were still wide with surprise, frozen and dull. Blood speckled his face, some dripping from the corners of his mouth.  His neck was slit from ear to ear. Several deep gashes left his abdomen ripped open and exposed. His grey button-up shirt was torn to shreds, saturated in blood.

Luciano stumbled back, covering his nose from the overwhelming coppery scent of blood that hung in the air.  He frantically looked around the living room, his heart pounding.  Nobody else was there. His eyes found Decker's cell phone resting on the coffee table and in a few quick strides it was within reach.  As he flipped it open, he saw the records of missed calls...all from him.  He opened his text messages, the last one from someone only marked as Los.

“Your info checked out. Enjoy retirement.”

Los..... Los.....

Disbelief spread through him like a wildfire. There was only one person he knew that went by that name.

Carlos De La Rocha.

“Dammit Decker!” Luciano cursed, glaring at his partner's dead body. Everything finally clicked into place. It had been Carlos. He wished he had trusted his gut and listened to Alex. But never in a million years would he have thought his own partner would feed him lies to throw him off the scent. Never in a million years would he have guessed that it had been Decker that had led him to Andrew.

Luciano’s eyes glanced over the text again. It was sent on the previous evening. He had no time to waste. He needed to warn Alex.  As he turned away from the coffee table, Luciano could see a squad car pulling into the driveway behind his. Finally back-up had arrived.  He stuffed Decker's phone into his pants pocket then took two steps before he heard it.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

They knew I’d show up,
the realization spread over Luciano’s face too late.

Bright blinding flashes shot into the air and a thundering boom could be heard blocks away as the bomb that was hidden inside the oven exploded, sending flames and debris ripping through the entire house.  The agents outside, just getting out of their car, were sent flying backwards against the pavement by the force of the explosion.

A few houses away, on the other side of the street,  a man stood watching from Mrs. Greenley's living room window  with a satisfied smirk.

“It's taken care of.” He said, disconnecting the call before stepping over poor old Mrs. Greenley's body and exiting the back of her house.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dillan’s head thudded painfully as she opened her eyes the next morning. This was beginning to feel like the movie, Groundhog Day, waking up with the same feelings and the seemingly continuous hangover every morning.  Her memory of the previous night still felt a bit hazy as she tried to piece everything together. Pulling herself out of bed, she spotted her open prescription bottle standing next to an empty water bottle. She remembered taking them, but had she really taken that many? Her legs wobbled beneath her as she stepped forward. Standing in front of her dresser, she looked down at the bottle before screwing the lid back on, then up into the mirror. She looked like hell, and felt like it too.
Her head was pounding. How much did I take? What happened?

Dillan tried her best to focus, to remember what happened last night. 
Trey...Trey did something. He upset me.
She remembered the broken snow globe and her heart sank.
That's right...
He had gone through her office, her private things. Anger flared within her, but she was quickly distracted when she looked at her phone and saw 20 missed calls. Every single one was from Kay.

Oh god… please tell me I didn’t.
It was 11:30 AM.
Shit!
  She needed to get to work. Doing her best to ignore the ill-feeling growing in the pit of her stomach, Dillan quickly dressed for work. Jason would kill her if she screwed this up. At least she still had time to get there for the meeting.

Oh. God.
  Dillan stopped herself as she was slipping on her heels, the color draining from her face. She had never finished the ad samples. She had meant to finish them last night...before everything happened. The meeting was only a half hour from now. There was no way she would have it done in time, and there was no way that they would reschedule. It had taken Jason a long time to even get a meeting with Monarchy.

She headed for her bedroom door, and upon opening it nearly tripped over Trey.
Did he really fall asleep outside my door?
Dillan remembered him begging for her to come out and talk to him, but not much else. She hadn’t realized he had stayed there all night.

There was no time to contemplate why he had been snooping through her things, or why he had seemed so spooked the other night. All Dillan wanted from him were answers but all she seemed to be getting was more confusion and stress in her life. Tonight they would talk. She would listen to him…but he had better start telling her what was really going on. She quietly stepped over Trey and headed for the door.

She felt sick as she barreled down the stairs, nausea hitting her in waves. Dillan couldn’t be sure if it was because of her excessive self-medication, or if it was the realization that she was going to be in trouble as soon as she set foot in the office. It was probably a mixture of both. Jason had been watching her more closely in the last six months. Kay was certainly right about that. But Dillan did her job... maybe not as earnestly as before, but she did her job.  But this…this would put her in hot water with him. No. Scratch that. She was going to be thrown in at a rolling boil.  Sickness won as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, and doubled over a set of hedges outside her building, much to the dismay of onlookers.

Wiping her mouth with a tissue she fished out of her purse, she stood back up, smoothing the silky pale green blouse and black skirt she had scrambled to put on.

At least I missed my clothes. That would have just made me later.
  Acting as if several passersby hadn’t just seen her vomiting into the bushes, she calmly stepped to the curb and hailed a cab.

The whole twenty minute ride was spent in pure turmoil. 
How am I going to explain myself? I am so dead.
The sense of impending doom only seemed to grow as they got closer to her office building.   There wasn’t much Dillan could say in her own defense. She had screwed up royally. Her building came into view, immediately cuing a tightness that radiated up her chest and into her throat.  She tried to take a deep breath but it seemed to get caught. Reaching into her bag, she grabbed her pill bottle.  Just one was fine. She needed it. She quickly downed it then popped in a breath mint. Vomit breath would certainly not help her cause.