Saved By The Glass Slipper Read online

Mark glanced in his rearview mirror. “If I hadn’t been there, it could’ve been worse.”

  “What does that mean?” I faced him, turning fully to the side. “You didn’t answer my question…again.”

  “I know. Let it go for now.”

  I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “Does this have anything to do with the Chinese terrorist?”

  He bit his lips and said nothing. This man was so frustrating, I was ready to haul off and slap him silly. I held my hands in my lap so I wouldn’t hurt him, then stared out the front window. “Where are we headed?”

  “Back to my place. There’s no way you’re staying at your place tonight, and I insist.”

  “But—”

  “If you argue, I’ll have the police take you into protective custody.”

  I faced him in anger. “You wouldn’t.”

  “This is nothing to play with.” He glanced over at me as he drove. “What did you do the other times you were robbed?”

  My mouth dropped and my eyes widened. “How did you know I was robbed before?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “You told me when you were drunk.”

  “Why did I tell you that?”

  “I have no idea. What did you do the other times?”

  I turned in my seat, facing forward again. “I’d pack up all the things in my car and get out of the area. Then, I’d call the apartment manager and end my contract, usually having to pay extra.”

  “What about your bed? It won’t fit in your car.”

  “Yes, it does. It’s a blow-up bed.”

  I’d been found again. I was so tired of running. My life was filled with running away from someone I didn’t even know, which made no sense to most people, but to me, it was my world.

  “Now it all makes sense why you have no furniture,” he said. “Where did you live before this apartment?”

  “I’d rather not say. I had to take evasive maneuvers to finally find a place where I was safe...at least I thought it was safe.”

  His eyebrows rose considerably. “Evasive maneuvers?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Was your dad military?”

  I snapped my head toward him. “How do you know about my dad?”

  “I keep forgetting you don’t remember the conversation from last night. You told me your dad was a political science professor in Pennsylvania but your parents were murdered in their home. Was he military as well? It would all fit if he was.”

  I wondered what else I’d blabbed. “At one time, but he served his time and moved on.”

  “What part of the military was he in?”

  “He was in the Army, in a super secret area, so I don’t know the details. Why are you asking me this?”

  I must have sounded impatient, because he just smiled my way. “Just curious.”

  We got to his house and he took me inside. He set the security alarm, flipped on the television to a sitcom and took the remote with him. “Have a seat.”

  I listened to him, realizing I had no other choice.

  Mark walked away for a moment, then leaned over the back of the couch and handed me a soda. Reaching up, he grabbed the can of mace, still in my hand. “I promise you don’t need that here. I have tons of security around this place, and you definitely don’t need the knife.” He slipped the mace back into my purse and straightened back up, standing behind the couch while sipping on his soda.

  “Do you need the security here?” I whispered.

  “No, but I’m glad I have it.” Mark’s cell phone rang and he walked into the kitchen to answer it. I couldn’t hear his side of the conversation, but I was sure it wasn’t good, just from his tone. I sat back, sipped on my drink and watched the stupid show on television. Mark joined me a few minutes later, plopped down onto the couch beside me and turned off the television with a click of the remote.

  “That was my main bodyguard,” he said.

  “I don’t think I want to hear this, do I?”

  “Probably not. You’re needed at your apartment to figure out what they took.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “I think so,” he said, staring at me. “I just have to warn you. They found something you’re not going to like.”

  “Is there anything I will like there?”

  His eyes stayed on my face. “They found a dead man in your apartment.”

  I sat up and faced him. “What? Who?”

  “They’re not sure. We’re to go over there right away to see if you recognize the guy.”

  I got off the couch and wiped away a tear. “Did they give you a description?”

  “Yes, and it’s not Connor, if that’s what you’re thinking.” As we walked into the kitchen, he turned off the security alarm, then we headed toward the garage.

  “I knew that,” I said. “He doesn’t have a key or the knowledge to break into an apartment. I was more worried about my brothers, if they came into town for some stupid reason.”

  “You have brothers?”

  “Yeah. Two of them. They don’t live around here, and I’m not to mention them to anyone.”

  “Not to mention them…why is that?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Mark pushed on a remote button on the wall and the garage door rose. After we got into his car, he backed out between two police cars, parked in front of the house. As soon as we got to the road, we were escorted by the police to my apartment.

  “I think this guy was older than your brothers,” Mark finally said. “How old are they and what do they look like?”

  “They look a lot like me. John lives in Colorado Springs and is 32. Randy lives in Atlanta and he’s 30. I’m 27, so I’m the baby of the family.”

  Mark glanced at me. “Did your parents or you have any enemies?”

  “I don’t, and I didn’t think my parents did, but considering they were murdered and I’ve been found yet again, I’m rethinking that.”

  “It’s time to talk to your brothers. You and I need to have a big chat after you call them.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to come clean with you, but I don’t want your brothers to know anything.”

  I turned to face him. “What does that mean?”

  He stared out the window. “In due time.”

  Interesting comment. Was he someone I shouldn’t trust, after all? At least I wasn’t reading the signs wrong that he was holding back secrets.

  We got to my apartment with police cars in front and behind us. The officers at the scene were everywhere and escorted us into the apartment.

  An officer approached us and stared at his notes, then at my face. “Miss, we need you to look at the body.”

  “I’m not good with this,” I said to him. “I doubt I know the person.”

  “We still need you to see if you know him.”

  I walked with the officer into my bedroom. The person was covered with a white sheet and I felt the tears fill my eyes. Someone else was probably in my bedroom and killed this person.

  “How did he die?” I asked.

  “Shot to the chest,” the officer replied.

  I sucked up my fear and took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

  Mark put his arm on my shoulders and the officer pulled back the sheet. I glanced at the man’s face. He was much older and going gray. He looked a little bit familiar but I didn’t know who he was. I stared at him again, trying to remember where I’d seen him before.

  “Do you recognize him?” Mark asked.

  “I think so, but I don’t know his name. He looks really familiar to me.” I turned to the officer. “Did he have any identification on him?”

  “None. It was like he’d worked as a spy, too, because we tried to get prints from him and they were burned off.”

  “His fingerprints were burned off?” Mark asked the officer.

  “Yes, sir,” the man replied.

  “Can we get a picture of his face?” Mark asked, then turned to me. “Your brothers might recognize him.”
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  “If either one does, it would be John, since he’s the oldest.” The officer took a few pictures of the man, then covered the body again. I looked around my apartment. There were papers everywhere, and my bed was shredded down to just plastic and sheets. Tears formed in my eyes and Mark pulled me to his chest, with my face in his shirt.

  He stroked my hair. “It’s just stuff. It’s going to be okay and I promise.”

  “Yeah, but it’s all I have left,” I sobbed. “And it’s all destroyed.”

  “But you’re okay.” Turning me around, we walked out into the living room, where I saw my chairs smashed and the TV lying in a pile of glass. In the kitchen, every plate and glass lay in a heap of trash on the floor.

  After entering the hall to the bathroom, I opened the closet door and studied the box at the bottom. It looked undisturbed, so I pulled it out, opened it, and stared inside.

  “What are you doing?” Mark whispered.

  “I want to see if the rest of my life is missing.” Lifting the box, I took it to the kitchen center island, removing each paper, knickknack, and small picture from the box while I studied them.

  “Souvenirs and pictures are the rest of your life?”

  I glared at him and he bit his lips.

  “I’m sorry I said it,” he said. “You’re absolutely right.”

  I looked over the cover of each photo album, wading farther into the box. At the bottom was a small pink child’s jewelry box.

  I opened it. The ballerina danced in a circle to the soft music, making me cry.

  “Hey, I promise it’ll be okay,” he whispered, massaging my back.

  “My dad got me this for my seventh birthday.” I tried to hold back the tears but it wasn’t working. “Mom said that some day I’d put my jewelry into it, but as you can see, it’s still empty. That’s the story of my life.”

  Mark hugged me and I held onto the jewelry box in my hand, hugging him in return. The thing was bulky for one hand, and I was so interested in getting comforted, that I dropped it with a thud. As Mark backed away from me, I picked up my jewelry box.

  “Your mom was right,” he said. “You’ll have jewelry some day, but be thankful you don’t have any right now. Otherwise, they’d have stolen it.”

  Nice comment, but he was right. I wiped my eyes and he took the jewelry box from me. As he put it down, it rattled. We both stared at each other in confusion.

  “It was empty, right?” he asked.

  “Yes. I never had anything to put inside.” I took the pink box from him and opened it to see the ballerina dance again to the music, but there was nothing else inside left to rattle. I turned it over and shook the thing, but it only rattled. Mark and I searched all over the box, but the mysterious rattle wasn’t obvious.

  He turned it over, studying the bottom. “Do you have a knife?”

  I turned toward my kitchen. “On the floor with glass all over it. Why?”

  “There’s a secret opening to this box on the bottom. I bet this is what the people who’ve been breaking into your apartment have been searching for.”

  “A rattle?”

  He put it up to his ear and shook it. “I bet it’s something like a key. I also bet your dad put it in there and it’s very important or it wouldn’t have been hidden.”

  “Why wouldn’t I have heard it before now?”

  “It probably jarred loose when you dropped it. We need to take this to my place and see what’s in here.”

  I turned and walked toward the bedroom. “I’ll just get some clothes.”

  Mark grabbed my arm, stopping me. “No. Anything in here may have been compromised. Don’t take anything except for the things in this box. There may be more clues here.”

  “Compromised? But I need my toothbrush—”

  He leaned closer and put his finger to my lips, cutting off my sentence. “If they wanted to, they could kill you by putting cyanide on your toothbrush. They could do the same thing to anything in this apartment. Are you missing anything in this box?”

  I looked through the things that I’d taken out. I leafed through the photo album and suddenly frowned. “Old term papers and family pictures are missing.” I looked at Mark. “Why would they take those things?”

  “I don’t know about the term papers, but they’d have pictures of your brothers. We have to call them now. Their lives are in danger.”

  “Oh, no,” I whispered in disbelief. “John has two little girls and Randy’s getting married in the fall.”

  “Did you have their addresses anywhere in this place?” he whispered.

  “I carry all of that with me in my purse in case I need it. No, I don’t.”

  “How often do you call them?” he asked.

  “Once a month. Why?”

  He looked around the room at all of my papers. “Where are your phone bills?”

  “I throw my bills away once I pay them.”

  “They could go through your trash, too.”

  I covered my mouth and walked to the kitchen trashcan. “I just threw one out yesterday.” I searched inside. “Uh-oh.”

  “Yep.” Mark walked over to one of his men and had a quiet conversation, then finally returned to my side. “We’re leaving. There’s nothing else you can do here, and you’re not coming back to this apartment.”

  “Where will I live?”

  “With me for now. I can’t have you always looking over your shoulder worrying. You’re too valuable.”

  “Valuable?”

  “We need to have a chat, and we’re going to my place to do it.” He put the music box and the other items back into the cardboard box and spoke to the officer who’d shown me the body. The officer nodded and we walked toward the door to leave my apartment.

  “Wait.” I leaned down and picking up the bat at the door. “I have to take this with me.”

  Mark took it from my hand and put it back in its place. “But you don’t need it. I promise no one will get into my place.”

  “It’s a family heirloom. Randy gave it to me when I was robbed the first time and told me to keep it no matter what.” I looked around the rest of the room. “There’s nothing else left in here for me, so I doubt I’ll want to come back.”

  He stared downward while still holding onto the box containing the rest of my life. “A baseball bat is a family heirloom?”

  “Absolutely.” I had no idea if it really was a family heirloom, but just knew that Randy made sure I’d never lose it.

  After I grabbed the bat, we walked out of the apartment complex, got into Mark’s car and headed for his home.

  I looked behind Mark’s car and started to get nervous. “There’s some big black van following us.”

  “I know.” He glanced into the rearview mirror. “They’re from Madcap.”

  “They really take care of you at that company. I’m very impressed.”

  “Right.” He blew out a big breath. “We’re going to have a big chat.”

  “We are?”

  He nodded with a sigh. “Right after you talk to your brothers.”

  He drove to his home and after we got inside, he reset the alarm. He walked out of the living room and made a phone call, then returned while I looked through the items in the box, ending the call.

  While picking up a stack of things from the box, he sat down beside me on the couch. “What are these?”

  “My passports.”

  His eyes met mine. “You have more than one?”

  I sighed. “It’s a long story. I doubt you’d even understand.” I took the bundle of passports and tied the rubber band another loop to make sure they wouldn’t come apart.

  “I think you’d be amazed at what I understand about your life.”

  “Fine.” I untied the passports and started with the one on the top. “First, Dad said we always needed to have a passport in case we needed to get out of the country quickly. He wanted us to have one even if we were just going to Canada or Mexico, back before they were necessary to go across
the border.”

  “Why would he say that?”

  “I’m not sure, but I made sure I always had one.” I opened the one on the top. “This one is from when I moved down to Devon. It was right after the last time I was robbed.” I handed it to him. “I didn’t travel anywhere for that one, so it hasn’t been used.”

  Mark glanced at the picture then at me. “You were much younger here.”

  “Right.” I opened the next one. “This one was from when I lived in Gainesville and was going to graduate school there. If you notice, I changed my name when I moved down here. The name on this one is Amy Duffy.”

  His mouth dropped. “You changed your name? Why did you do that?”

  “I’ve done it more than once. When my parents were alive, they sat us all down at the dinner table after Dad retired from the Army. I think I was about nine years old. He was scared about something. He told us to always stay in touch and if anything happened to any of us, to change our last names and move far away from each other and deny we were related.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure, but when my parents died, John, Randy, and I scattered. We changed our names and call once a month to see if anything else had happened.”

  “So, you’re Amy Duffy in this one. Your real last name isn’t Watson, is it?”

  I nodded. “Yes, it is, now. I had it legally changed every time.”

  “That explains a lot,” Mark murmured.

  “Why?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute.” He looked over at the remaining passports. “Why did you change your name for this one, five years ago?”

  “That’s when I was robbed the first time.”

  “I see. What’s the next one say?”

  “This one is from when I moved to North Carolina. I transferred from the school in Pennsylvania and really got my degree from North Carolina, even though most of my coursework was done in Pennsylvania. That’s why I say I went to undergrad in Pennsylvania. My name on my undergrad degree is Amy Charles. I changed my name for that one because my parents had just been killed.” I handed him that passport.

  “Amazing,” he said, leafing through the pages. “So you traveled to France on this one?”

  “After graduation, John and Randy gave me a gift of a trip to France with a tour group. I went just to be nice, but was always watching over my shoulder. When I got home, I found that I’d been robbed. It was the first time it happened. I walked into my apartment as soon as I got back, and everything was strewn everywhere.” I picked up the last passport. “This was my first passport. I got it right before Dad and Mom were killed. I was in college near Philadelphia, and it was my junior year. My real name is Amy Summers.”