Justified, page 23
“I suggest you get your mother, Washington,” Kennedy said finally, not taking her eyes off the woman.
“‘Get me’?” Ms. Bell took a step farther into the room. “Son, did you get her sign the prenup like I suggested? Since we know exactly what this girl is after.”
Kennedy was thankful the woman was still a good bit of distance away. Any closer and she would have slapped the fire out of her smug ass. She felt Washington touch her arm, and she snatched away as if he had put a flame to her skin. “I can’t believe you,” she snapped, whirling her anger around to him. “How dare you listen to her?” She didn’t bother waiting for his response. She stormed out of the room to head upstairs, gaining a little satisfaction when Ms. Bell stepped to the side to avoid being shoved out the way.
“Where are you going?” Her voice still carried an icy arrogance that only came from looking down on others.
Kennedy spun on her heel in a blur of tulle. “Excuse me?” she snapped. “I don’t owe you an explanation. I need to get away from your ass.”
Ms. Bell tossed her a knowing smirk that made Kennedy’s stomach curdle like sour milk. “From me?” she said. “Or from the cops?”
Her words sent a wave of shock piercing straight to the bone. Kennedy’s eyes narrowed, even as fear crippled her movements. “What cops? What are you talking about?”
Ms. Bell seemed to be gloating as she stepped to the side. “Yes, cops. There is a police officer in the foyer asking for you. Are you in some kind of trouble, Lisa Brown?” She made sure to put great emphasis on her name, so Kennedy rolled her eyes.
“Lisa Bell, thank you,” she snapped. “I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but you’re just going to have to get over it. Washington is my husband now, so I don’t have to tolerate disrespect from his mother in my house.”
The woman grunted in response and gestured with her head toward the front of the house. “If you say so,” she said. “You should go talk to the policeman who is now standing in your house. He is asking for you.” Kennedy gave her one last look, digging her manicured nails into her palms to diminish the itch to place her hands around the woman’s neck. Instead, she fixed her face like she was unconcerned to hide the fear creeping in. First, they showed up at her house where her sister was, now here, at her wedding. How the hell did they find her?
Kennedy hadn’t even made it to the foyer when she heard Ms. Bell’s feet as she scurried away. No doubt looking for Washington to tell him everything that was going on. Great. Kennedy would have to deal with him as soon as she found out what the hell was going on with the cops.
Kennedy held her breath. Part of her wished the old bitch was just saying something to piss her off. All optimism flew out the window when she spotted the man standing in the entryway. He was dressed casually in a button-up shirt, blazer, and some jeans. Kennedy caught sight of the badge he had clipped to the breast pocket of his jacket.
He turned as she entered and gave her a once-over. She figured he was probably expecting to speak to a guest at the wedding, not the bride herself. Kennedy took a deep breath and plastered on a confident smile.
“Hello, sir,” she greeted him. “How may I help you?”
The man glanced from her to behind her at the few guests who had gathered not so subtly in the hallway to eavesdrop. “Are you Lisa Brown?” he asked, just to be sure.
“Well, Lisa Bell now,” Kennedy teased and fluffed her wedding gown for emphasis. “But yes, I was Lisa Brown a few hours ago. What seems to be the problem?”
“I’m Detective Jamie Warren,” the man said and held out his hand for a shake. “I apologize, I didn’t know you were in the middle of such a momentous celebration. Congratulations, by the way.”
Kennedy’s smile grew. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Detective.”
“If you would prefer, I can come back another time.”
Kennedy shook her head. “No, I have a few moments. Will this take long?”
“Not at all.”
Kennedy nodded and gestured toward the formal living room adjacent to the foyer. “Why don’t we go in here for a little bit of privacy,” she suggested, and not bothering to wait for a response, she turned and led the way into the formal living room, partitioned by a set of French double doors.
This was one of those rooms she knew Washington never used. Occasionally the maid would come in to clean and dust, but the gray upholstery, pillow-top armrests, and black and red throw pillows were as new as when the furniture had first arrived from the store. Kennedy perched on the couch while Detective Warren took a seat on the matching love seat.
“I won’t keep you,” the detective began as he pulled out a notepad. “This is in relation to a murder investigation for Lisa Brown.” He paused, as if waiting for a response.
Kennedy felt like she was being strangled, but she didn’t dare alter her facial expressions. She nodded, prompting him to continue, even as her heart picked up speed.
“Do you know another Lisa Brown?” he went on.
“Other than me?” Kennedy shook her head. “No. How would you figure I know someone else named Lisa Brown?”
A slight pause before Detective Warren spoke up again. “Well, there seem to be a few, uh, similarities between the two identities,” he said. “That of you and the Lisa Brown in our homicide investigation.”
Kennedy concentrated on not looking suspicious as she lifted her shoulder in an absent shrug. She fixed her face to relay confusion. “Lisa Brown is quite a common name. I’m still confused as to why you are here.”
“Well, in particular, a credit card that was recently used to purchase some jewelry . . .” He paused and glanced down at his notes. “From Shane Co.”
Kennedy nodded, keeping her face neutral. “What about it?”
“It appears to have belonged to Lisa Brown.”
“That’s because I am Lisa Brown.” Kennedy exaggerated a sigh and rose to her feet. “I’m sorry, Detective. I don’t see how I can be of any assistance here. Is there anything else because I need to get back to my wedding.”
“Tell me why you both have the same Social Security number.” Detective Warren stood, as well. His tone was now more accusatory. “And the same driver’s license. Do those seem like just ‘mere coincidences’ to you?”
It wasn’t shocking news. Kennedy was already prepared for that information, so it was easy for her face to reflect the exasperation she felt. “I have no idea,” she said, tossing up her hands. “My Social Security number was issued to me at birth just like yours, I’m sure, Detective Warren. The same number is going to be given to me again when I have my name changed. My driver’s license was also issued to me, since I am Lisa Brown.”
She pretended to fish for more rationales, easily remembering when Lisa, the real Lisa, had opened an investigation for identity theft. “I did have an issue with identity theft and fraud on my number a few months ago,” Kennedy added, struggling to keep a triumphant tone out of her voice. “Feel free to check it out with the credit bureaus where I put blocks on all my stuff. I even filed a police report, so you should have that, too. Thank you, Detective.”
As if on cue, Washington entered the room and immediately crossed to circle a protective arm around his wife’s waist. Kennedy froze. Part of her was grateful for his subtle support, because maybe then it would prompt the man to leave. Part of her was afraid he wouldn’t take the hint and fire more questions that she wasn’t prepared to answer in front of Washington.
Thankfully, the detective chose the former and nodded while flipping his notepad closed and shoving it in his back pocket.
“What seems to be the problem here?” Washington asked, and Kennedy silently begged him to shut the hell up before he made the situation even worse.
“And you are?” Detective Warren asked.
“I’m Lisa’s husband,” he answered.
“Well, I just had a few questions for your wife, but I think we’re done for now.” Detective Warren held out a business card in Kennedy’s direction. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”
Kennedy nodded and took the business card, then watched him walk away.
He paused at the door and glanced back over his shoulder. “Congratulations,” he said, the simple word coming out snarky. “I will be in touch soon.” And with that, he left.
Kennedy waited until she heard the front door shut before she let out the breath she had been holding. It was as if the stress of his presence had also brought on a migraine, because a dull ache was throbbing between her temples.
“What was all that about?” Washington said, his face carrying his concern.
Kennedy waved her hand. “It’s nothing,” she said. “He thought I was someone else, so he was trying to question me about something that I know nothing about.” He made another move to speak, and Kennedy quickly laid a hand on his arm. “Sweetie, can you get me an aspirin?” she asked with a smile. “My head is suddenly killing me. I think I may have had one glass of wine too many.”
Washington hesitated before nodding and walking off in the direction of the kitchen.
Kennedy collapsed back on the sofa, clutching her head in her hands. Damn, now what was she supposed to do? She could call Benji for help, but she didn’t know how likely it was he would bail her out, considering how she had acted at his party. Plus, he had already warned her about getting in over her head.
Maybe his cousin Shawn could help her out. She was waist-deep in some shit. Now with the police on her ass, she surely couldn’t keep Lisa Brown’s identity. She needed to get her hands on Washington’s money and get the hell out of here and under the radar. Fast. Before it was too late.
CHAPTER 11
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bell.”
On a frown, Kennedy glanced up as the teller slid her driver’s license and withdrawal slip back through the bottom hole of the glass separating them. “Sorry for what?” she asked.
“All the funds in this account have been frozen.”
Kennedy glanced down at the withdrawal slip, mentally running through the account numbers she had memorized earlier. She had pulled out $4,000 only moments before, but having already reached her withdrawal limit at the ATM with the card she stole from his wallet, she had gone inside to withdraw more. She knew for a fact Washington had about $500,000 in this particular account. The account he claimed to have added her name to.
“May I ask why?” Kennedy asked, confusion quieting her voice. “I mean, I was able to pull some money out of the ATM from this same account with no problem.”
The teller pecked at a few keys on the keyboard. “It appears you are considered an agent on this account,” she explained, her eyes scanning the screen to read whatever confirmation about her reasoning. “So, there is a limit on how much you can withdraw without the account holder’s authorization.”
“That can’t be right,” Kennedy said, her frustration rising. “He told me I was a joint account holder.”
The teller finally met her gaze, but her eyes seemed to reflect her lack of concern. She shrugged and peeled her lips back in a nothing more I can do type of smile. “I apologize for any misunderstanding,” she said politely. “But I’m looking at this account, and that is the information I have. Would you like to try to withdraw from another one?”
Kennedy tried to get a handle on her anger. She quickly grabbed another withdrawal slip and began scribbling numbers to another account she and Washington co-owned. The woman keyed in the numbers and again, shook her head in apology. “You are not listed on this account.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.” Kennedy’s voice had elevated in panic. “He told me he had added me to these accounts. There should be three accounts that list me as a co-owner.”
“Well, like I said, Mrs. Bell”—the woman spoke slowly, as if the explanation was taking every ounce of her patience—“on the first account you were listed as an agent, and the second account does not list you as an account holder at all. I’m not sure what you were told, but I’m looking at the account right here, so I apologize for any misinformation. Would you like to try another account?”
Desperate, Kennedy scribbled the only other account number she knew on a fresh withdrawal slip, only to be told the same thing. She swore under her breath. Washington had been two steps ahead of her. He must have been listening to his bald head–ass mother, and he didn’t actually follow through with what he said he was going to do. And now, she was broke. Sure, she had a few thousand to hold her over until her next gig, but she was supposed to be on a plane to some tropical island by now, basking in the fruits of her labor. But after all of that conniving and executing and kissing Washington’s ass, she was fucking broke.
Kennedy turned and stormed out of the bank. She was furious. But it wasn’t like she could actually call Washington. After their wedding the previous afternoon, Kennedy had managed to feign being sick, so she didn’t have to have sex with him. And she slipped an Ambien in some punch to knock him out cold. Then that morning, she had simply left. Despite their 12:30 p.m. flight for their honeymoon, Kennedy had gotten up and snuck out to catch the banks when they first opened right at eight o’clock.
She was sure he was probably suspicious right now. Or confused as hell. But she hadn’t thought about any of that. Her only focus had been getting his money. Now she had clearly burnt that bridge, and there was no way she could go back to him. Even if she made up some excuse about her early morning whereabouts, how the hell was she going to inquire about his accounts without revealing her own ulterior motives? How could she have known she wasn’t on the bank accounts or was just an “agent” on one account without explaining how she had been trying to withdraw funds? And even if he fell for whatever lie she concocted, it wasn’t like she could just jump on that plane with him and continue on to celebrate their honeymoon. Not with the police on her ass. She needed to disappear.
Kennedy pushed through the doors of the bank and stepped out into the chilly October air. The sun was certainly deceiving, because the wind was brisk enough to have her pulling her red double-breasted mid-length jacket tighter.
She crossed the parking lot to her car while at the same time pulling her cell phone from her pocket. Just as she expected, there were several missed calls and text messages from Washington. Ignoring them, she was halfway through punching in Deven’s ten-digit number before she stopped herself.
She couldn’t call her. What would she say? Deven knew nothing about Kennedy’s activities, and to her, the decision to just up and leave her newlywed husband and empty his bank accounts, only to find that he had prevented her from doing so, wouldn’t necessarily warrant a supportive response.
First things first, she needed to pawn her wedding ring set. That would put a few extra coins in her pocket until she could decide what to do.
Kennedy typed pawn shop in her cell phone’s GPS and let the navigation direct her to a plaza a few lights down. The shop had bars across the windows and door, and huge graffiti letters spray-painted in neon pink and yellow colors obstructed the view inside from the parking lot.
A bell chimed over the door as Kennedy stepped into the musty shop riddled with overused knickknacks and dingy glass casings filled with electronics that looked like they came straight from the 1960s. She passed an electric scooter and a bass guitar resting on top of a jukebox and made her way to the older gentleman perched on a stool behind the counter. He rose to greet her, and Kennedy had to ignore the lust-filled roam of his eyes as they devoured her face, then her body, like he had never seen a woman before. Pathetic.
“How can I help you, Miss Lady?” His Northern accent was thick as he all but salivated at Kennedy’s presence.
Without a second thought, Kennedy pulled the wedding set from her finger and rested it on the glass. “How much?” she asked simply.
The man let out a low whistle of appreciation as he used stubby fingers to lift one of the rings in the air. The diamonds caught the light and twinkled in the air. “Pretty fancy bling,” he commended. He turned his attention back to Kennedy. “What you trying to get for it?”
Kennedy tossed a glance to the sign overhead, displaying the shop’s name: PETE’S PAWN SHOP. She leaned forward, allowing her breasts to spill over the low vee-neckline of her shirt.
“Listen, Pete,” she said, lowering her voice to a seductive murmur. “I know you don’t know me, but I’m in a little bit of a bind. Do you think you can maybe give me a great deal on this? That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
Pete licked his lips, and the gesture made her skin crawl. His smile spread slow, displaying a row of teeth that looked more like dominoes. “Of course, Miss Lady. Let me see what I can do.” He disappeared to the back.
Kennedy leaned back from the casing, her eyes suddenly catching the guns neatly arranged by size and color. Boxes of bullets sat on display at the foot of each column. She had never so much as held a gun, never considered owning one. But now, the thought didn’t seem like a bad idea.
She leaned closer, scrutinizing each piece, a new thrill suddenly causing her palms to sweat. “Hey, Pete,” she called. “How much are the guns?”
CHAPTER 12
Kennedy sat outside the pawn shop, sifting with renewed vigor through the few contacts she had saved. Too bad she had to constantly switch phones; otherwise she probably would have more people to call on in her time of need.
Her eyes paused on Aunt Glo’s number. She would probably let her stay with her for a bit if she weaved a believable enough story. But then she would be right under Uncle Bernard’s scrutiny, and that sure as hell was the last place she needed to be. It was looking more and more like Deven’s place. That would be better than nothing. With minimal money and the police keeping close tabs on “Lisa Brown,” she wouldn’t be able to get very far. Not yet. She needed a new identity, that much was certain. But if that was the case, she would need some documents. A driver’s license at the minimum. Calling Benji was out of the question. But just maybe, she had a connection of her own now.
