Past Sins Read Free Page B

Jeffrey’s sake as she stepped into a comfortable pair of black flats that, fortunately, had rubber soles. “Of course I’ll call.” He always worried about her.
    “I’ll clean up the kitchen.”
    Olivia waited until he’d had sufficient time to get back to the kitchen before she returned to the walk-in closet. She closed the door and moved to the back of the closet. Dropping to her knees she dragged out several shoe boxes until she encountered the one stashed at the very back of her side of the closet, behind all the others. The one she hadn’t touched in three years.
    Her respiration slowed as she removed the lid of the box. Her fingers wrapped around the sturdy butt of the Beretta 9mm. She tested its weight. Her pulse reacted. Without hesitation she snapped in a clip and tucked the Beretta into the waistband of her slacks at the small of her back. She grabbed the sound suppressor and an additional fifteen-round clip before putting the box back into place behind the others.
    With the accessories slipped into the right pocket of her favorite black silk jacket, she pulled it on. Though southern California nights could get pretty damn cool, the jacket was more to camouflage her weapon than for comfort. She stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror and took a deep, steadying breath.
    She hadn’t fired a weapon in thirty-seven months. Hadn’t participated in a covert maneuver in even longer.
    She had to be out of her mind to go through with this.
    But what choice did she have?
    Whoever had given out her number—whoever knew she was still alive—had to be ferreted out and contained. She couldn’t pretend this away. Sheara had far too many enemies to take that route.
    Olivia was at the front door before she considered that she couldn’t simply leave without saying goodbye. Jeffrey had to believe this was a routine call-in for a patient who’d been admitted to Cedars-Sinai’s psych ward for observation after a possible suicidal episode. The one or two other times she’d had to do this would serve as proper reasoning for her inability to offer a time she could be expected back home.
    If she came home…
    Jeffrey blew out the candles as she approached the dining room. He’d already cleared their plates and the basically untouched salad and entrée he’d gone to so much trouble to prepare.
    “I’ll call you later to let you know how it’s going.” She told herself the statement was about consideration for his feelings. Work he could understand, even if it intruded at an inopportune time. But if she were totally honest with herself she’d admit that she’d gone this extra step to ensure he didn’t grow suspicious. The habit was deeply ingrained.
    Just like old times. How many lies had she told to the people in her former life’s orbit? She’d have lied to her own mother had she not been long deceased. Her past life had been built on a careful framework of deception. Lies were all that had kept her alive.
    She suppressed the shudder that rocked her insides.
    “I’ll warm something up for you when you get back.”
    “Thanks, Jeffrey.”
    She had to go. Telling him not to wait up was pointless. He would…he always did.
    As she walked out the front door and down the paved path to her car, all six senses alert to her surroundings, she couldn’t help thinking that nothing would ever be the same again.
    Her new life was over.
    The only question was…why?

     
    The drive to Santa Monica took only forty-five minutes. Traffic was light. She didn’t hurry. She had plenty of time. Arriving early would afford her the opportunity to find a reconnaissance position.
    The night security would be lurking about, but it wasn’t unusual for people, tourists in particular, to come to the pier at night to enjoy the moonlight on the water.
    The park rides, the shops and the restaurants would all be closed by midnight but there would be plenty of lighting. She would need to take great care in selecting her position. If