Page 7 of Not the Bodyguard's Widow
“That I trust? There were a few people I trusted at church, but I didn’t want to get them involved or put them in a position where they had to lie. My mother has Alzheimer’s. I visited her every other day. Even if I was sure she could have kept the secret safe, I couldn’t have told her anything. The bodyguards started lurking around during our visits. I assumed my phone was compromised as we’d tied it to Jeremy’s plan, so I took out the sim card and battery before breaking it and tossing it in the garbage on the way out of the hospital. I don’t know how my father-in-law got Candace’s number and called her from my phone.”
“I am sure someone in IT can tell us at least five different ways they could have cloned your phone. How many flights did you take?”
“Enough. I have a collection of peanuts from every airline in the country. I hopped airports too—JFK to La Guardia in New York, DFW to Love Field in Dallas. I didn’t have a plan for most of the flights I took. I would just purchase the next ticket I could find to any airport with connections to elsewhere. I changed clothes between every flight, sometimes midflight. At JFK, I cut five inches off my hair, and I have a complete collection of airport souvenir ball caps and shirts.”
Alex smiled. “I’m impressed. How did you come up with that idea?”
“I spend too much time watching TV. I love those unrealistic CIA movies and series, and I did the things I’d seen on there. The fake ID was hard to come by. My pen name has credit cards, so she ‘lost’ her photo ID. I had a duplicate driver’s license from when I was single as I lost it more than once. I didn’t dare fake a driver’s license, but I faked athletic-club memberships, library cards, and employee ID cards to support my missing-ID story. Those pesky graphic-design classes my major required me to take came in handy.” Kimberly forced herself to stop talking. “I’m rambling again.”
“When is the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”
Kimberly thought about it. “Too long ago to remember.” Things had fallen apart after the second miscarriage. “Maybe two years ago.”
Alex leaned forward. “Two years?”
“That’s when things fell apart. Like I said, we didn’t have the best relationship. I was his trophy wife, not his companion. I thought if we worked together we could make a better marriage.” Kimberly blinked back unexpected tears. “Excuse me.” She raced to the bathroom.
* * *
Alex started another video call to Candace. It would still be early evening in London.
“Alex? How is Kimberly?”
“Scared. She hasn’t told me her father-in-law’s name, and I’m still murky on things.” Alex inspected the cupboards. The granola bars he found were a year past expiration.
“Hawthorn Thompson.”
He recognized the name from advertisements. “Of Thompson Investments?”
“The same. Do you think she is in danger?”
“I think she thinks she is. But it is a definite possibility. How long can she stay here?” He pulled the ice tray out of the freezer. The cubes had shrunken away from the edges and smelled like the fish sticks. Kimberly needed healthy food and rest. And the Art House library wasn’t likely to have a book on prenatal care. Abbie might recommend one.
“As long as she needs. I don’t know how she is for money. I think her books are selling, but if she is running, it could be a problem. Anything she needs, put on my bill. Can I talk with her?”
“She is in the bathroom. I’ll have her call later.” As soon as he got her a secure phone.
“We are leaving for a show in ten minutes. I’ll text when we get back. If it is an emergency—” Candace looked away from the phone.
“Understood.”
“Thanks, Alex.” The screen went dark.
Not the usual way he got a new client. But then, not anything about the situation was usual. Beautiful pregnant widows didn’t run around doing the cat-burglar-through-skylights thing. Either Kimberly was insane or she was in danger. Or perhaps a bit of both.
Down the hall, a door opened. Kimberly came back into the room. Water clung to the ends of her bangs where she must have splashed her face, and she had applied lip gloss.
“I talked to Mrs. Ogilvie. They were leaving for the theater. She’ll call back later.”
Kimberly sat back down at the table and attempted to drink from her empty water glass. As she stood, Alex held out his hand and took the glass. Her eyes widened in surprise. Interesting. Even with an absentee husband, she should have had maids and such around her. The default reaction was to expect others to do things for you.
“I’d offer you ice, but the cubes in the trays are pretty old and probably taste like the fish sticks.”
“Room temperature is fine.”
Alex filled the glass, handed it to her, and sat back down. “Earlier, you told me you don’t trust bodyguards because they work for their paycheck. As one of my employers, Mrs. Ogilvie gave instructions for me to keep you safe and to make sure you have what you need. I’ll do that as far as you allow me to.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard.”
