Page 74 of Assassin's Mark
Epilogue
“It’s done, Mama.”
I stared at the photo in my hand and not the tombstone with Caroline Clark’s name etched into it in pretty lettering. I came here to talk to her often. Through Geneva I now had memories and a handful of pictures; I knew my mother, probably better than I had ever known Camilla.
My gaze traced Caroline's pretty strawberry-blonde hair in the image, her beautifulsmile. After meeting Anthony’s business partner and receiving pictures of him, I knew I shared the family looks. Once DNA proved our relationship, I’d had Anthony moved here, beside his sister. Their matching headstones were etchedIn Loving Memory, Caroline’s with the wordsLoving Mother, Sister, and Friendbeneath her name.
I missed them, even though we’d never met. I missed a lot of thingsnow.
“I signed the papers for the sale of the mansion this morning,” I told her picture. “St. Mary’s and the other area shelters will do a lot of good with the money, I think.” St. Mary’s had cared for Caroline when she couldn’t care for herself, and for that I’d be forever grateful. And it wasn’t like I needed the money. I was Derrick Roslyn’s only living relative too.
“The new place is a littlebare yet, but I think it will work out fine. Quiet neighborhood. Close to the university.” Now that the details of the investigations were complete, I could go back. Get my degree, although I was considering changing my major. Maybe social work. Wouldn’t Derrick roll over in his grave if he knew?
Not that he had a grave. The would-be governor of Georgia had been cremated. I’d considered dumpinghis ashes in the sewer but settled instead for the Atlantic Ocean. The bottom-feeders out there could feast on him all they wanted.
But it wasn’t memories of my father or even the move that weighed me down today. It was memories of someone else.
“I miss him.”
The past year had brought so many changes—newfound freedom, Geneva’s friendship, breaking ties with anything and everything that hadmade up the life I used to live. Every time I cut one of those bonds, I felt a little lighter, a little wiser, a little more at peace. And a little more alone, because Levi wasn’t there with me. I hadn’t seen him since that night, the night Derrick died. I’d had him for such a short time; we’d had each other. I’d give anything to just know where he was, that he was safe. But that was impossible.
Sometimes I imagined I could feel him watching me. It was stupid, I know, a childish mind game I played with myself, but there were moments I swore it was true.
I stood. “Have to go, Mama. Geneva and I will be back Sunday, I promise.” I slipped the photo into my pocket, kissed my fingertips, then laid them first on her stone, then Anthony’s. “Love you both.”
At least I had that. After yearsof loving no one, that gift was more profound than any other change in my life, even if all but one of my loved ones was gone.
The drive back to the house was about forty minutes, and I took my time. Despite driving lessons, I was still a bit unsure when it came to city traffic, but I’d needed the independence, needed to prove I could do it. And I had, too, just like everything else, one stepat a time.
My new place was a little craftsman on a tree-lined street in a neighborhood that saw little traffic. A few houses had children, and the sound of their laughter as they played outside often brightened my afternoon. My house was at the end of a cul-de-sac, a small carport to one side sheltering me anytime it rained. Parking beneath it felt like home, familiar and settled and warm. I’dnever felt that way in Derrick’s mansion.
It was just so damn quiet. Maybe I should get a cat.
A couple of hours later tears were streaming down my cheeks and curses tripping off my tongue as I cut onions for tacos. When the doorbell rang, my hand jerked, the knife slicing through a couple layers of skin before I could pull it back. “Damn it!”
The doorbell chimed again.
“I’m coming!” A hastyrinse to get rid of the onion juice on my skin—I hoped—and then I was rushing for the door.
Ding-dong.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” But the closer I got to the door, the more I second-guessed the impulse to answer. People had rung the doorbell before, mostly workmen when I’d first bought the place, solicitors, the next-door neighbor with her daughter, selling Girl Scout cookies. It was the reportersthat I hated. They’d nearly driven me crazy in the months following Derrick’s death. But surely the time for a story on the councilman’s sordid past was long gone?
I rounded the corner into the foyer just as the bell rang a fourth time. Through the frosted side panel I could see a tall, dark figure turned slightly away as if staring out into the street. My step hitched, a bump of something Ididn’t recognize nudging up to choke me as I considered that silhouette mere feet away.
I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe?
As if moving through molasses, I dropped the towel on the foyer table and brought my eye to the peephole.
And my entire world turned upside down for the second time in a year.
“Open the door, little bird.”
A laugh snagged in the back of my throat. Demanding as ever.That part I certainly recognized. And the muscular body. The dark hair. The eyes that could command me to do anything and I’d comply without hesitation.
The bouquet in Levi’s hands, though? That didn’t seem to fit. He gripped them like a weapon, though what he planned to attack with them was beyond me. I found myself reaching for the doorknob, willing him to wait, wanting the gift he’d broughtto me almost as much as I wanted him inside my house, branding my space, breathing my air.
I wanted him, period. And yet I hesitated.
