Read Mockingbird (A Stepbrother Romance) Online
Authors: Abigail Graham
Mockingbird (A Stepbrother Romance) (22 page)
It took me three weeks to recover. I'm probably going to be walking with a cane longer than that. The pain in my leg is nothing. It feels like my heart has been ripped out and every time I breathe I can feel the air sucking through the hole it left, ripping me up even more. I can't go back yet, I can't.
God damn, this is a long flight. My leg is driving me insane. It's like there's a knot in it that will never go away, and I can't put any weight on it yet. I think my sword fighting days are over. I'm almost thankful for the distraction. It's like I live in a bland world of paper, all the color drained out of everything. I don't bother with the in-flight movie or the stupid pretzels, I just sit there until finally the plane begins to descend and my leg starts screaming.
With my luck, it was all a lie. Dad told me what to do if something ever happened to him. He made me memorize the account number and access code. There's no other way to get into the account, no name, nothing like that. A death certificate or probate court order won't get me in here, not into this bank. I booked a hotel to rest up before going but I end up heading straight to the bank anyway. In the lobby I'm greeted by a narrow faced man who looks like a butler and speaks perfect English without the slightest hint of the stereotypical German accent. He isn't wearing a monocle but he looks like he should be. I tersely give him the account number and write down the code for him, and mill around in the lobby until he walks out and matter-of-factly instructs me to follow him into an elevator.
It goes up to the second floor and he is noticeably annoyed when I hobble out after him, slowing his pace. Two more bank employees join us and walk into one of the vaults. Plural.
A distant part of me wonders how hard it would be to steal something from this place. The rest of me wants to throw up because I still think like that.
Inside there's a work table, heavily built. One at a time, they lay out ten safe deposit boxes on the table and unlock them. I move to open one and the Swiss Bank Butler lightly grasps my wrist.
"After we leave," he says, calmly. "Before we do, is there anything I can assist you with?"
"I need something to carry stuff out of here."
He nods, and they bring me a big canvas bag, like a gym bag. I'm not sure how I'm going to carry that, until they roll in a cart. It looks like the big flat shopping cart you'd use at a hardware store to move an air conditioner.
Then they finally leave, and lock me in. It's weirdly cold in here, the air dry enough to irritate my nostrils when I breathe. There's no security cameras in here. None of the employees know what's in the boxes, and I don't think they care. I'm not completely sure what to expect either.
There is nothing left of me. I don't know what to make of my father. What was a lie, and what wasn't? Were there any terrorists at all? Was the whole thing made up to string me along?
Why do I have a feeling that there would have been another job, and another and another until he died and left
me a bitter shell?
Not that I'm much more than a bitter shell now. Without Diana I'm a dead man walking.
Let's open these fuckers.
The first one is full of bearer bonds. Funny thing about those, they don't make them anymore. It must be from an old score. I don't remember it. My heart races as I look them over. If they're genuine, there's over fifteen million dollars in this box alone. This is a lot of bearer bonds, but then again, I'm in a bank. I can make it work.
The next box is full of diamonds. Just diamonds, no jewelry, no settings, just the rocks. The box after that, actual jewelry. Gold and emeralds, rubies and star sapphires. It looks like a treasure chest in a movie. I sigh as I realized it's going to take several days to move all this, even with the free duffel bag. That's how you know you've arrived: Your bank account includes free luggage. I open more boxes, find more treasures. Nothing identifiable, nothing that I could return after tracking down the owner. In the next to last box, I find much less, at least by volume. There's a stack of passports, all kinds of identity papers and notebooks.
I flip through them, finding the ones with my picture, until I spot one I like. Then I make up my mind.
Apollo
Temple is dead. He bled to death in a hospital in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I'm David McCay now. I slip the papers in my pockets, and fill the bag with the bearer bonds. After I close the boxes and knock on the door, the bank men come back and put it all away, under my supervision.
Dealing with the bonds takes the rest of the day and I spend it on edge, my heart racing as I think about what could happen to me if they decide they were stolen. At the end of it, I use the money to open a new account. I would say in my own name but no, it's just another number.
After a fitful sleep in the hotel fighting my achy leg, I make another trip to the bank. I spend the next day making three trips back and forth, and then the next, and then the next, until I'm sitting in the hotel room with about fifty million dollars worth of stolen goods and a thousand dollars worth of packing supplies. The diamonds and such I'll move myself. The identifiable items, ranging from watches to necklaces to what I'm pretty sure is something that's supposed to go in a girl's belly button.
Tempted to keep that one.
I take every precaution. I'm going to ship from the bank, I'm handling everything with gloves, and I bought everything I'm using from the computer I will type the letters on to the printer to the paper and envelopes with cold hard cash, using every trick I know to avoid being noticed. The damn boxes are heavy, the shipping is going to be expensive, but I don't care.
The diamonds might have come from someone shady. The rest… I don't know if the police will be able to identify the owners of all these things. Hopefully if they can't they'll auction them off and put the money to good use.
On my last day at the bank I ship boxes full of treasure to various police agencies. Interpol, the FBI. I'm tempted to send one to the FDA in Diana's honor but I don't think they'd get the joke. I drain all of my father's accounts and wire the money to a list of charities. The bank employees carry out these requests with all the interest they might show filling out a crossword puzzle. I keep expecting to be jumped by a SWAT team any minute, but I walk out of the bank with a slightly clearer conscience a free man named David.
Everything after that is a blur, a warped mixture of apprehension and impatience. I tap my good foot in the airport as if I could will the plane to pull into the gate faster, hobble down the jetway with my cane with a purpose and settle into my coach seat and try to sleep, but end up giving up after an hour with my eyes closed. By the time I land in Baltimore, I'm exhausted. I feel like I've spent the last twelve hours lying in a cold bath.
From there, a Holiday Inn. I lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling.
I spend another month doing the same, just to be sure. Each hotel I book is a few miles closer to… I was going to say home but I don't know if it's home yet. I don't know where Diana has gone. Every day I pick another charity, send them some money.
After a quick stop in Philadelphia, I drive to the museum.
The gates are open. I'm taking a risk, here. I shouldn't allow myself to be seen anywhere near this place.
I ring the doorbell twice before Carol answers.
Somehow she does not seem at all surprised to see me.
"Whatever you've been doing, I hope it was important."
"I-"
"Shut up, I don't want to hear your voice. My daughter-"
"Mom? Who-"
Diana descends the stairs, and that shredded hollow feeling in my chest goes away all at once. I'd grown so used to hurting all the time I'd forgotten what it was like not too. She just stares at me as she steps to the bottom of the stairs. I stare back. I left here three months ago.
When I left she wasn't pregnant. She instinctively touches her stomach. She's not huge yet but that belly bump can't be anything else. I squeeze my hands into fists, try to say something but all at once my throat is packed with sand and I can't push any words through it. Her mother sighs deeply and steps out of the way, and I brush past her, into the house. I walk to Diana.
"You son of a bitch," she snaps, and slaps me. Hard. So hard I stumble and almost go down.
"Oh my God, I'm sorry," she cries out, grabbing my arm. "Your leg, I forgot-"
"I'm fine, I-"
"Good," she cuts me off before she hauls off and slaps me again with the other hand, and then once more for good measure. I catch the next one, grasping her wrist.
"I had to-"
"I know," she chokes out.
"You're-"
"Yeah."
"Is it mine-"
She slaps me.
I rub my cheek. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just…
I… with you… I'm going to be a…"
"Right," she says, wryly. "Yeah, they're yours. Dad."
I… I feel funny. I feel like I did when I was bleeding out. I have to lean on something. I hear a grunt from Diana's mother when I lean on some old table, pull my hand off and lean on the wall. She's giving me a death stare.
I swallow, hard. "They?"
"Yeah. Congratulations. We're having twins."
"What about… are you still going to college?"
"Next year. I'm talking a year off. Because you got me pregnant."
I swallow, hard.
Diana cracks a smile.
We're going to be okay. Sure, I gave away
about ninety percent of the money. Rob from the rich, give to the poor. I figure the ten million or so I kept should set us up for a while.
Ten million minus the engagement ring in my pocket, I mean.
Funny how that works. David McCay has only been around for three months, and now he's getting married.
I do the whole thing. I kneel. I present her the ring. Her mother groans.
Diana says yes.
After
she slaps me again.
Thank you for reading
Blackbird
. I hope you enjoyed it!
Comments are welcome at
[email protected]
For more information on current and upcoming books, please sign up for my newsletter here:
eepurl.com/0qieT
Also by Abigail Graham
Stepbrother Romance
Mockingbird
Vampire Romance
Serials
Paradise Falls
Copyright 2014 © Abigail Graham
Cover design by Mayhem Cover Designs
http://mayhemcovercreations.com/
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.
Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.