Authors: Kevin O'Brien

Tell Me You're Sorry (46 page)

BOOK: Tell Me You're Sorry

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She never heard from Ronald Mady or Calvin Davisâor their mothers. And that was just fine. But thanks in part to her, the New York police were forced to reconsider murder charges against the two Bronx teenagers.

Stephanie continued to be a pain in the neck to certain people. But it seemed to be paying off, or so she read in an e-mail from Halle Driscoll's cousin, Deborah Neff:

Dear Stephanie,

Thank you so much for your tireless efforts to redirect money from Nicole Jayne's estate back to the families of her victims. As you know, my aunt and uncle went broke covering the debts that woman racked up on Halle's accounts. They've been struggling emotionally and financially ever since. They couldn't afford a lawyer to get them any compensation. I doubt they could have found one who was as strong an advocate for them as you have been. I know you've met with a lot of resistance and had to cut through a lot of red tape to help us recoup some of our losses. Well, Stephanie, I just thought you should know. My aunt and uncle received a check today for $13,655. I know you had a lot to do with that. I can't tell you how happy they wereâand how much they needed that money . . .

“Good,” Stephanie whispered to herself.

After ripping off so many people, Nicole Jayne had about $290,000 in assets. For the last few weeks, Stephanie and Scott's lawyer friend, Bradley Reece, had been battling an insurance company and some law firm out of Las Vegas, both of which seemed reluctant to part with that moneyâeven though it wasn't theirs. It belonged to the families of Nicole's victims and the people she'd robbed.

Stephanie marked Deborah's e-mail
KEEP AS NEW
and made a mental note to call Brad sometime during her layover. She wanted to make sure the other families were receiving checks, too.

She didn't recognize the sender of the next e-mail on the list: [email protected].

Dear Ms. Coburn,

I believe the story of your amazing journey during the last year would make an excellent book. Despite the odds, tragedies, and the attempts on your life, you never gave up your search for the truth. Yours is the kind of story that inspires. . .

Stephanie didn't read any more. She and Jenny Ballatore compared notes on all the book and movie offers coming their way. So far, the tone of each offer was “act now while you're still hot.” So they weren't acting now. They'd decided to wait.

She marked the e-mail
KEEP AS NEW
and stared at the name on the next e-mail. It was his private e-mail address: [email protected]. With a sigh she clicked on
READ
:

Hey You,

Well, you don't know how many times I've wanted to pick up the phone and call you. I've missed you terribly. It's taken me these last couple of months to realize just how right you were to break up with me. You were getting a raw deal. But you were very wrong about one thing. You underestimated just how important you've been to me. Though it might not have seemed that way, I always put you first . . .

“Oh, yeah, right,” Stephanie mumbled. “Please . . .”

. . . I've done a lot of soul searching in these last two months, two very lonely months. I'm not the same inflexible workaholic you knew. My relationship with my in-laws has changed for the better, and I now feel . . .

She clicked on
DELETE
, and watched his e-mail vanish. She thought about when Rebecca had died, and how Jim had arranged for a limo to take her to the airport. He couldn't even spare the time to drive her himself.

Well, she couldn't spare the time for him now.

Stephanie clicked on the next e-mail, this one from [email protected].

Hi, Stephanie,

Thought of you this morning. Billy & I drove to St. Paul's in Glenview, and I put some flowers on Selena Jayne's grave at the cemetery there. I figured out it's the anniversary of her death, and no one else was around to commemorate that. So I decided to do something. It's weird. I know Nicole and her father were both cremated. Selena's the only one in the family with a gravestone, and she isn't even in that grave. I guess we'll never know where her body got buried. It's kind of sad.

I hope you're doing okay. I still talk and text with Alison every day. I wish I were like you and worked for an airline. I'd fly to Seattle every chance I got.

The cast comes off next week, but the doctor says there's no way I can play football this year. My dad's dream of me getting a football scholarship to Notre Dame isn't going to happen. But that was his dream, not mine. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for U of Washington next year.

Well, I should scram. I just wanted to tell you that you were on my mind today. I hope wherever you are when you get this, you're doing great.

Take Care,
Your Friend, Ryan

Stephanie clicked on the
KEEP AS NEW
option. Answering the e-mails would give her something to do at the hotel in Salt Lake City tonight.

There was a knock on her door.

Switching off the computer, she picked up her coffee cup and carried it to the door. She opened the door and smiled at the handsome man across her threshold. He had wavy brown hair and a bit of beard stubble. “Taxi's ready, ma'am,” he announced.

“Thanks,” Stephanie said, kissing him. “Your timing's perfect.”

Steve McKinney took the coffee cup from her and sipped some. “I'm giving you the bum's rush, hon. Traffic's kind of nuts right now. So we better hurry.”

“Okay,” she said, touching his cheek for a moment.

He'd come to her rescue that night her house had been destroyed. And then again, when he'd FedEx'd her phone to her.

Stephanie still had his card from when he'd given it to her in his cab. She'd called and asked to take him out to lunch. Stephanie had owed him at least that much. At the restaurant, she'd apologized for lying to him about having a husband who knocked her around.

“I'm glad to hear you're not in that kind of situation,” Steve had told her. “And I'm glad you're not married.”

She often wished she could pick up the phone, call Rebecca, and tell her sister that she was in love. Yes, the guy was a taxi driver. The way Stephanie looked at it, they were both in transportation. He had a sideline as a freelance editorâfine-tuning everything from medical journals to the romance novels a Portland writer churned out three times a year. But until he got a few more steady clients, Steve would be driving a taxi as well.

“I'll take your bag down to the cab and wait for you,” he said, handing the coffee cup back to her. He grabbed the pull handle to her carry-on, which was by the front door. “By the way, could you check your calendar and see if you're free on the Sunday after you get back? My folks want you to come to dinner.”

“Sure thing,” she said. “See you down there, sweetie. I'll just be a minute.”

She watched Steve roll her bag out to the hallway. He closed the door behind him. In the two months since they'd started dating, she'd gotten together with his family four times. She'd spent three years with Jim, and as far as his family was concerned, she hadn't even existed.

Taking her coffee cup into the kitchen, she made sure the Mr. Coffee machine was unplugged and that the stove was off. She checked her wall calendar to confirm she was free that Sunday. She was.

Stephanie glanced out the kitchen window and down at the street. His taxi was parked in front of her building. Smiling, she watched him load her bag in the back seat. “I'm doing okay, Rebecca,” she whispered.

At last, she'd found someone who was there for her, someone who put her first.

And he always made time to drive her to the airport.

PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-0-7860-3160-3

First electronic edition: May 2014

ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-3161-0
ISBN-10: 0-7860-3161-1

BOOK: Tell Me You're Sorry

11.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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