His Other Life (A Stella Fall Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Five)

CHAPTER ONE When Kevin Anderson stepped out of the yacht club, he knew he was in trouble. He staggered slightly as he jolted down the low step. The December wind hit him like a smack in the face, the icy air clearing his head as he glanced reluctantly back inside toward the buzz of conversation and laughter, the atmosphere mellow with cognac and cigars. The company here was always fascinating. Joining this club was the best thing he’d done since moving to Connecticut earlier this year. There sure were some interesting guys in this echelon of society. He’d have liked to have spent another hour there. One more cognac, maybe two. But after checking his phone, he’d seen the three missed calls from Jasmine. And two texts – the first annoyed, the second angry. He called her as soon as he was out the door. “Hey, babes.” The wind whipped his words away, but her reply crackled down the phone, and he could hear every sharp word. “Kev, where are you? You said you would be home two hours ago! We leave for the airport at six tomorrow morning. You still have to pack!” When she lost her temper, the tone of her voice could cut through glass, as could the glare from her frosty blue eyes. “I’m sorry, babes. I was waiting for Patrick Coleridge to arrive. You remember, the finance guy I told you about? He was going to bring me some details on the investment portfolios.” Kevin tried his best to sound sober and contrite, as if it had been nothing more than a responsible desire to invest that had kept him in his armchair and drinking cognacs way past dinnertime. “I’m leaving now. On my way to the car.” “You’re what?” Jasmine’s outraged tone stopped him in his tracks. “To the car? I can hear you are way too drunk to drive. Way too drunk.” “I’ll be fine,” he protested. “I am not having our overseas vacation ruined by having to bail you out after a DUI.” Her words were a harsh reality check. In the sequestered atmosphere of the yacht club, Kevin felt as if normal rules didn’t apply and that he was somehow protected from them. But once he’d left the club, real life would prevail. He couldn’t argue with that. “Okay, okay, babes. Can you ask Clayton to come pick me up?” “No, I can’t. Clayton went home at five today. I’m not calling him back in now. He can fetch your car tomorrow morning. Take a cab. And when you get home, we are going to have a serious talk about the amount of time you’ve been spending at this club. I wish you’d never been granted membership. It’s damaging our family life!” She sounded furious. “I don’t –” Kevin began, weakly protesting, but he was talking to himself because Jasmine had hung up. He sighed. He guessed she was right about the DUI. At eight-thirty p.m. on a Friday night, driving the ten-mile route from the yacht club to his home would be downright stupid. Of course there’d be roadblocks. Even so, he felt oppressed. Her criticism was unfair. “Babes, you need to get off my back,” Kevin muttered to himself. It was so much easier to sound defiant when the fiery-tempered Jasmine wasn’t actually on the line. Now he had to call a cab, despite employing a family driver. It was literally years since he’d last had to do that. And furthermore, there were issues with it at the moment. One of the guys had been talking about it recently. They were renovating the club’s parking lot, and the temporary parking was accessed via a series of side roads. The route was almost impossible to find unless you knew about it. At this hour, in the dark, the chances of the average cab driver showing up at the right place were close to zero. The guy who’d taken the cab last week had said it was better to go up through the construction zone to the main road. Remembering this advice, Kevin veered away from the sporadically lit pathway that led to the temporary parking, its makeshift railing clanging in the breeze, and headed in the direction of the main road. The parking lot was a full-on construction site. None of the lights were working. The paving had been ripped up and there were piles of sand everywhere. It was a mess. He guessed they’d gotten a lot further with the renovations since the other guy had gone this way. Now, it was practically impassable. Kevin stumbled over a plank invisible in the gloom, cursing briefly as he staggered forward. Seriously, he could break an ankle out here. And it would all be Jasmine’s fault. In any case, it wouldn’t be his fault, he thought, self-pityingly. He could use his phone’s flashlight! That would allow him to navigate this obstacle course. But even as he had that good idea, a warning prickle of instinct sharpened the blurriness of his inebriated thoughts. Was someone following him? Following a rich guy wearing thousand-dollar shoes and a Brioni suit, clutching the latest model Apple phone, with a thick, white gold wedding ring on his finger. A rich guy who’d thought he was invulnerable in the sheltered club environment, but who was now on his own in an unlit construction zone, drunk and unaware. Kevin stood still, breathing hard, puzzled by the sudden, powerful feeling he had that something was wrong. What was that to his right? It looked like movement. Or even the faint shape of a person. His heart accelerated, and he felt suddenly much more sober as he strained all his senses in the direction of the perceived threat. It was difficult to see or hear anything at all on this breezy night. He picked up the flapping sound of a tarpaulin, the shifting grind of something else that sounded like wooden planks, but he couldn’t see where it was coming from. The shape of the other person, if there had been one, was no longer visible. But he still felt that sick certainty there was somebody close by. “Who’s there?” he called, feeling self-conscious about yelling such a thing, but he was convinced now that someone was lurking nearby. His eyes strained through the darkness. There was no reply. Had he seen someone? Or had it just been a trick of his surroundings, an optical illusion created by the piles of sand and bricks, the tilted planks. He could have made a mistake. But better to be sure. He snapped his phone’s light on and shone it around, an exercise in futility since the beam didn’t reach more than a couple of yards before it was swallowed by the darkness. Then his heart lurched as he saw a menacing shape loom ahead of him and he let out a cry of fear. The beam wavered and leaped, before settling on the dark tarpaulin draped over a pole. He let out a sigh of relief. That was all it was. Just a tarp. It had looked exactly like a threatening man lurking in the shadows – but no. An innocent piece of plastic was all. Kevin surprised himself by uttering a short laugh. How the guys would have teased him if they’d seen how flustered he was. He could imagine the hilarity if they’d watched what had just played out. Just as well nobody had seen. It would have been embarrassing. Anyway, he wasn’t going to carry on making a fool of himself out here. Directing the cab to the temporary parking was a more sensible option. There was an explanation for the lurking man he thought he’d seen. It had been a tarp. The same tarp that was flapping behind him now, making a sound just like footsteps. One-two, one-two. It didn’t matter, because now he had reached the walkway that led to the temporary parking. Feeling disproportionate relief, he stepped onto the smooth, paved surface. He put his phone away. No need to draw attention to himself any longer. It was very dark, but twenty yards ahead, the first of the lights glowed faintly. On level footing again, he sped up to an almost run. One-two, one-two. Just the flapping, he reassured himself, feeling fear surge again as he glanced back into the darkness. And then, Kevin’s feet were knocked out from under him, and he crashed to the ground. The impact slammed the breath out of him. The rough paving stones scraped his hands and ripped the knees of his expensive suit. He gasped in shock and pain. What – what had happened? At first, he thought he’d been attacked. But he hadn’t. Wincing as he clambered to his feet, Kevin pieced together that he’d tripped over something in his way. Something big and immovable that surely shouldn’t had been there. He looked back at the shape that was almost invisible in the darkness. Reaching into his pocket, he snapped his phone’s light on, peering down at what the bright beam illuminated. A horrified cry burst from Kevin’s numb lips. He was staring at a sprawled, lifeless body, with a lake of dark blood pooled around it. Sightless eyes stared into the darkness. The mouth was half-open as if asking the unanswerable question, “Why me?” Nausea wrenched his stomach, causing him to stagger away, leaning on the rickety railing as hot vomit spilled from his mouth. He knew this face. He knew this man. How had the larger-than-life Patrick Coleridge, everybody’s best friend and go-to investor, ended up brutally murdered on his way into the club?