A Stranger at the Door (A Rachel Marin Thriller) Read online

  Study partner. Study partner. Is she asking me to be her study partner? Is that even a thing these days?

  His mouth dried up. But he felt his head nodding as if it had a life of its own.

  “I’d like that,” Eric croaked. Penny smiled. He wanted to reach out and take her hand. Gently. And just go off with her to talk. Tell her about everything. His father. His mother. Last night. How his childhood had been ripped from him, the wounds still bleeding. How he felt trapped in his own life. He saw Penny’s pinkie finger twitch and wanted to jump inside her head, read her thoughts, know everything she wanted to say but did not.

  “When . . . ,” she began.

  “Tomorrow? After school?”

  Penny smiled. “It’s a study date.”

  Before Eric could reply, he heard a deep voice say, “Pretty sure my man here has plans.”

  Suddenly there was an arm around Eric’s shoulder. A big beefy arm thicker than his neck. He knew without looking that it was Benjamin Ruddock.

  “Sleep well?” Ruddock said, jovially.

  “Not particularly,” Eric said.

  “Excuse us,” Penny said, “but we were in the middle of a conversation.”

  “I know. Sincere apologies for my rudeness,” Ruddock said. “Just let me borrow my boy here for a minute, and you can get right back to it.”

  “I’m nobody’s boy,” Eric said.

  “Only a figure of speech,” Ruddock said. “But you’re right. You’re nobody’s boy. Penny, let me borrow my friend here for a minute.”

  Penny turned to Eric, waiting for him to respond.

  “Penny . . . ,” Eric said.

  “It’s all right,” Ruddock said. “She’ll be here when we’re done. Right, Penny?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not.”

  “Ooh, keeping us in suspense. I like a girl who likes some mystery. I promise, Ms. Wallace, he’ll catch up with you soon.”

  “It’s OK, Penny,” Eric said. “I’ll text you.”

  Penny nodded, sadly, and walked away.

  Eric watched her enter the school. Then he turned to Ruddock.

  “What the hell, man?”

  Ruddock held out his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Whoa, calm down. I just wanted to see if you’d given any thought to last night.”

  “I’ve given it a lot of thought,” Eric said.

  “And?”

  “And I need to know more before I say yes.”

  “All right,” Ruddock said. He held out his wrist. Eric’s eyes widened.

  “This, my friend, is an Omega. Cost a little over five grand. It was a birthday present to myself for my eighteenth birthday.”

  “Holy crap,” Eric said.

  “I know your mom isn’t broke ass like my dad. You live in a nice place.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Me and Mr. Brice, we do our homework. We don’t invite people into our fratres unless we know how they are, inside and out. I bet your mom tells you what you can and can’t buy. When you can and can’t leave the house. She has you on a leash. Am I right?”

  Eric said nothing.

  “If you want to be able to make your own rules, buy what you want, go where you want, then say yes. If you want to wear a collar the rest of your life, the school is right there. We won’t ever have to talk again.”

  Eric looked back at the school.

  Ruddock seemed to know what he was thinking. “Penny Wallace is a hell of a girl. Smart and pretty. That kind of girl wants to be with somebody who’s a somebody.”

  Eric knew that Ruddock was selling him. But at the same time, everything he said made sense. He thought about how many restrictions his mother had placed on him over the years. Without even asking how he felt about them. How their house felt like a gilded cage. Eric knew what his mother had been through. But that didn’t give her the right to treat Eric like an egg she had to carry in a blanket to keep it from cracking. He was smart. He was ambitious. And if Benjamin Ruddock and Bennett Brice were a means to an end, so be it.

  “Let’s do it,” Eric said.

  Ruddock smiled. “You won’t be sorry.”

  Eric took out his phone and texted his mother:

  Home late

  Seconds later, she wrote back:

  Where will you be?

  Eric did not respond. He put the phone back into his pocket, and he and Ruddock walked toward the school entrance.

  Just then, Eric heard an anguished scream of pain and a snapping sound like a tree branch breaking. He turned to see a guy wearing an Ashby High shirt writhing around on the asphalt by the school buses, his face a mask of agony. Two people wearing Michael Myers Halloween masks were sprinting across the road, a backpack swinging from one of their arms. The guy’s voice. Eric could swear he recognized the injured kid’s voice.

  “They stole his bag!” a girl yelled. Eric could see the two husky school security guards—who didn’t look like they could catch a doughnut if it rolled off a table—shuffling after the assailants. But they’d disappeared into the nearby woods before the rotund guards had made it ten feet in the direction of the injured boy.

  “Did anybody see anything?” one of the guards huffed, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath from the ten-yard dash.

  A girl wearing a red shirt and black skirt was kneeling next to the boy. She held his head in her arms, trying to calm him. She said, “Those assholes just came out of nowhere and threw him to the ground. One of them held him down while the other one grabbed his bag. They twisted his arm. Hard. They didn’t need to. They already had his bag. I think it’s broken.”

  That was the snapping sound, Eric thought. Not a tree branch. His arm. The boy was holding his wrist, howling in pain. One of the guards was speaking into a radio. At least a dozen kids were dialing 911. Several were recording the aftermath on their cell phones. Then the boy rolled over. Eric saw his face. A wave of nausea rose from the pit of his stomach into his throat. The injured boy was Darren Reznick.

  Eric turned to Benjamin Ruddock. The boy shrugged.

  “Hate to see such nice guys get hurt,” he said. “See you after school, Marin.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Rachel ignored the calls from John Serrano. Her phone was snapped into a hands-free mount on her dashboard, and every time the screen showed an incoming call from Detective John Serrano, she grew irritated. It occurred to her that in the months since she had first met John Serrano, when he was the investigating officer on Constance Wright’s death, she had never bothered to change the ID on her phone, even when they began dating. It was not “John Serrano,” or even “John.” He was still listed as “Detective John Serrano.”

  Serrano had shared meals with her, shared laughs and tears with her, watched movies with her children, slept in her bed, and touched her in ways she had missed and longed for. But he was still “Detective John Serrano.” Rachel wondered if that meant something.

  The YourLife headquarters was in downtown Ashby, a twenty-minute drive from the station. Bumper-to-bumper traffic doubled that time, and all the while Rachel was barely able to contain the sparks of rage glowing hot within her. She wasn’t sure if she wanted an explanation from Bennett Brice or an apology, or if she simply wanted to toss him out a window into oncoming traffic.

  The YourLife office was in a commercial office complex off Pimpernel Road. She pushed through the glass doors and entered an atrium with the letters YL spotlighted on polished black tiles that covered the floor. A man of about twenty-five sat behind a sleek marble security desk. He wore a gray suit and had slicked-back blond hair and a clean-shaven face. Reddish razor burn poked out above his shirt collar.

  He smiled at Rachel and said, “Welcome to YourLife, where we help you find your best life. What can I do for you?”

  Rachel strode to the desk with a purpose.

  “I’m here to see Bennett Brice.”

  “Your name?”

  “His head shoved so far up his ass he’ll be able to pick his n
ose with his incisors.”

  “I’m . . . sorry?”

  “That’s what Bennett Brice is going to get if he doesn’t come out of his hole right now.”

  The young man’s mouth moved, but no words came out. Rachel took a breath.

  “I’m sorry. This has just been . . . a morning. Tell Mr. Brice that Rachel Marin, Eric Marin’s mother, is here to see him.”

  The young man nodded, seemingly relieved that he didn’t have to relay Rachel’s first answer. He picked up the desk phone and dialed. “There’s a Rachel Marin here to see Mr. Brice.” He nodded, then hung up and said, “One moment.”

  Thirty seconds later another young man entered the lobby. He was about six feet tall, solidly built, in his late twenties, wearing a smile that had been practiced in a mirror.

  “Ms. Marin,” he said, his voice pleasantly condescending. “We’re so happy you’re here. Mr. Brice will see you now.”

  Rachel looked at the new guy, then back at the other. “Is this like a Stepford Boy recruitment center?”

  Neither one responded. The one at the desk looked hurt. The one who’d just come in continued to smirk.

  “This way, ma’am,” the new one said.

  “After you, Abercrombie.”

  Abercrombie led Rachel through the door into a waiting room, then went back behind his desk. Abercrombie was obviously Bennett Brice’s secretary. Abercrombie pressed a button, and a pair of frosted-glass double doors opened. He motioned for Rachel to enter.

  “Mr. Bennett Brice,” he said.

  “Thanks, kid. Now you can go back to modeling sweaters.”

  Rachel stepped into Brice’s office. Abercrombie closed the doors behind her.

  “Ms. Marin. Thank you for stopping by.”

  Bennett Brice sat in the center of a massive U-shaped granite desk. The desktop was lined with computer monitors, a phone, and several metal in-boxes with papers neatly stacked in each. There were no photo frames, no personal touches. Behind Brice, a massive YL was etched on the light-gray-painted wall in three-dimensional cursive, the lines of the Y and L seeming to wrap and dance around each other: solid yet playful. It was a sleek, modern office, but to Rachel it felt empty and soulless.

  Brice stood up and said, “Ms. Marin. Please. Have a seat.”

  There were two black leather chairs in front of Brice’s desk. Rachel walked up to the desk but did not sit.

  “I’m fine like this,” she said.

  “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? A morning aperitif?”

  She ignored the question and said, “You will never speak to my son again.”

  Brice’s brow furrowed. He looked hurt, but fake hurt.

  “Now why would you say that? I barely know Eric.”

  “So then never speaking to him again should have very little effect on the rest of your life. And that’s the last time I ever want to hear his name come from your lips.”

  Brice stood up and walked around to the other side of the desk. He took a seat on the edge and crossed his arms. His movements were effortless, like he was gliding on ice.

  “You’re right,” Brice said. “If I never spoke to Eric again, my years would continue unabated. But what effect would it have on his life?”

  “What effect would never seeing you again have on his life? About the same as if I told him he would no longer be able to turn water into grape soda. Absolutely none.”

  “I don’t believe that’s true. I think it would negatively affect him tremendously.”

  “You think awfully highly of yourself.”

  “It’s not about me, Ms. Marin. It’s about Eric. If I were to vanish today—”

  “I’d be a happy woman,” Rachel interrupted.

  Brice sighed dismissively. “If I were to vanish today, Eric would lose the greatest opportunity of his life.”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  “That is so. I’ve given many young men just like Eric incredible chances. Chances to earn self-respect. Chances to earn pride.”

  “And money.”

  “Money only comes with the attainment of both confidence and ambition. I can help him attain both.”

  “That’s my job,” Rachel said.

  “Is it? I think you’re overdue for a performance review, then.”

  It took all of Rachel’s willpower not to grab Bennett Brice by his fashionable blue tie and strangle him with it. She took a deep breath.

  “My son is not for sale,” she said.

  “I haven’t bought your son, or anybody else, for that matter. I pay competitive wages based on performance. Nothing more. My employees are not expected to give anything more than their time and effort. And they can walk away whenever they like. That certainly doesn’t sound like I ‘own’ anybody, does it?”

  “So what would you call gathering a whole bunch of teenagers together in the middle of the night?” she said, voice rising.

  “A test of commitment,” Brice replied curtly. “The most successful young men all have one thing in common: sacrifice and commitment. The ones who made it their mission to be there last night are the ones who seem willing to offer both.”

  “Why all men? Why no women? Let me guess: young girls are smart enough to not go near you.”

  “On the contrary,” Brice said. “My office fields a dozen calls from prospective female employees every single day. Brilliant, talented young women. But one thing I’ve learned in this troubled day and age is that young men feel like they’re missing something—or that something has been taken away from them. Their needs are not being met. They are being emasculated. Lobotomized. I give them a chance to reclaim their pride, to embrace their natural ambitions and abilities.”

  “I’m sure the Better Business Bureau would love to know about this gender parity.”

  “Don’t even try to threaten me, Ms. Marin. All our workers are considered independent contractors, from a legal perspective. We are not subject to the same scrutiny as, say, the police department where your boyfriend works.”

  Rachel’s breath left her. “How do you . . .”

  “I’m in the relationship business, Ms. Marin. I have relationships with my customers as well as my employees. And if you don’t know everything about the people you’re in a relationship with, you’re as good as dead. I knew everything about you before I ever met your son.”

  “Not everything,” Rachel said. “I’m warning you. Stay the hell away from my family.”

  “Or what?” Brice replied. “You’ll strangle me in the snow? You crushed a man’s larynx. Nearly killed him. I heard he even had to petition the courts to be allowed to use a voice box in prison.”

  “He deserved every ounce of pain he got,” Rachel said.

  “And do I deserve it, Ms. Marin? To be strangled in the cold dirt?”

  “I haven’t known you for very long. I’ll let you know.”

  “You’ve got a sharp sense of humor. I bet Eric appreciates that.”

  “I’m only going to say it one more time, Mr. Brice. Don’t speak to my son again.”

  “And I’m only going to say it one more time, Ms. Marin. My company is legitimate. We pay wages and report our revenues to the IRS. Our workers choose to be employed by us.”

  “I can assure you my son doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

  Brice nodded, looking skeptical. “Maybe you should let him decide that. Or you can decide for him and see how well that goes. I’m not a psychologist, Ms. Marin, but I don’t think troubled young men respond well to being given orders.”

  “My son is not troubled.”

  “Then maybe I just know your son better than you do.”

  Rachel took a step toward Brice. He flinched slightly but remained seated on the edge of the desk.

  “If so much as your breath touches me,” he said, “I will have you arrested and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. My lawyers get paid a retainer larger than the down payment on that three-bedroom house you own.”

  Rachel took a step ba
ck.

  “Everything I know about you is in the public record,” Brice said. “You purchased that house several years ago, and given the market, I’d bet it’s gone up in value. But it’s strange . . . I cannot find any records of a ‘Rachel Marin’ from any time before you moved to Ashby. I have a feeling you’re the one hiding something, Ms. Marin. You should be far more frightened than I am about the truth coming out.”

  “The only thing I’m hiding is how badly I want to beat you half to death with your keyboard.”

  “Charming. Now I think it’s time for you to leave, Ms. Marin; otherwise I will call security. Everything in this office is being videotaped as we speak. You are the aggressor here. Not me. I have evidence of you threatening an innocent man in his place of business. Something tells me you wouldn’t want to see your face and name all over the evening news.”

  Rachel looked around the room. She’d been in such a rush, her vision so colored by anger, that she had not cataloged her surroundings like she usually did. Of course Brice had cameras. How could she have been so stupid?

  “Just stay away from us,” Rachel said.

  “I will ask the same of you,” Brice said. “Now please leave, Ms. Marin. Oh, and say hello to Eric for me. He’s a fine young man with limitless potential.”

  Rachel could feel the blood pounding in her temples. She merely pointed at Brice, an empty gesture, and went to leave his office. He knew too much. She’d been caught off guard, her anger getting the best of her. Her threats were baseless, and he knew it. She needed to learn everything there was to know about Bennett Brice, and she needed to know it now.

  Just before Rachel reached the office door, it swung inward.

  “Your noon appointment is here,” Abercrombie said.

  “Show her in,” Brice replied.

  Abercrombie stepped to the side. Brice’s next appointment entered the office. Rachel’s mouth opened, and she took in a sharp breath. She felt an ache in her head but couldn’t tell if it was real or imagined.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” said Evie Boggs.