The Vargas Cartel Trilogy (Vargas Cartel #1-3)(86)
I didn’t waste a second. I darted into the bedroom. The room looked partially abandoned. Nails littered the wall where I had hung pictures of Evan and me. He had stripped the bedding from the mattress. It didn’t look like he’d moved back into the bedroom after I left. I shrugged, pushing away any emotions. I couldn’t worry about Evan anymore. He sure as hell didn’t care about me.
I flung open the closet doors. I had left some clothes in the bedroom closet, not because I thought I’d be back, but because I didn’t have much room at Vera’s apartment. I stripped off the dress I wore last night and changed into some old jeans and a blouse. I stuffed my dress and a few other clothes into my purse.
After I had finished dressing, I ran into the guest bedroom. Evan used it as his personal study. I flung open every drawer. I didn’t know what I thought I’d find. After all, as of two weeks ago, I shared this study with Evan, but I couldn’t search Senator Deveron’s private files.
Keys.
An empty notepad.
Receipts.
Bills.
Nothing. I propped my elbows on top of the desk, thinking where Evan would keep incriminating evidence. As my eyes scanned the room, I spotted the black leather case of his iPad.
I stared at the keypad, searching the recesses of my memory for clues to Evan’s passcode. I recalled a conversation when he revealed he used birthdays for all of his passcodes. I tried his birthday. My birthday. Then, I tried a combination of our birthdays—eleven and fifteen. It worked. Icons filled the screen.
I scanned through his email looking for anything referencing me. Then, I searched through his folders. One named HWC caught my attention. My initials? Hattie Waverly Covington? Maybe he organized all our correspondence into one folder.
I carried the iPad into the kitchen so Evan wouldn’t surprise me when he came home. Sitting on a chair facing the front door, I touched the screen, opening the HWC folder. As I scrolled down the page, I saw at least fifty emails with subject lines referencing me, but none of them were from me.
I clicked on one from a few days ago.
To: EDeveron11
From: LV22
Evan,
Attached please find a few photos documenting the subject’s moves over the last few weeks. Let me know if you’d like to install listening devices at her current residence as well. We have permission to proceed.
Luke Viper
Viper Investigations
My hand shaking, I clicked on the first attachment. It was a picture of Ryker and me at the park. The second attachment was a picture of Ryker and me walking out of the back entrance of the bar a few blocks from his home.
My stomach twisted as I clicked through three other pictures. All of them were of me. Running. Eating. Leaving Vera’s apartment. Every picture included a date stamp in the lower right-hand corner.
I searched for more emails from Viper Investigations. There were at least ten dating from before I left for Mexico. They contained more pictures, detailed schedules outlining how I spent my day. There was no doubt about it—Evan had someone following me and reporting all my moves back to him since we broke up the first time.
When Ryker implicated Evan and his father in my abduction, part of me held out hope Evan wasn’t involved. That he was his father’s pawn in this whole scheme. But as I clicked on picture after picture and email after email, it became painfully obvious Evan actively participated in my abduction.
I checked the clock. Evan would be home in less than ten minutes. I scrolled through his inbox, clicking on random emails. Most of them were more of the same. Then, my heart nearly seized in my chest when I spotted an email from Vera. I squeezed my eyes as my finger hovered over the iPad. A chill darted down my spine. I sucked in a deep breath, and then I clicked on the email.
To: EDeveron11
From: VeraWatts
Evan,
Hattie hasn’t told me anything. Stop texting me. Stop emailing me. Stop calling me. I can’t help you and even if I could, I wouldn’t. I sent you those pictures from Mexico, but it was wrong. You’re on your own.
Vera
As I sat there in the silence of Evan’s townhouse, I realized I didn’t know anything. Without a doubt, I had spent the last few years of my life in the dark, blind to everything and everyone. Every single moment of my life had been a carefully crafted illusion. All the lies I had yet to discover scared the shit out of me. How far back did the deception go? Was anything with Evan ever real? Horror-struck at myself for caring, I flipped the iPad over so I wouldn’t be tempted to read anything else. I had read enough. I had seen enough…for now.
My hands curled into fists as I stared at the door, waiting for Evan to open it. With every passing second, anger curled through my body, tainting me with a venomous fury, and robbing me of rational thought. Diabolical plots for revenge flickered unbidden through my mind. Rage sharpened my thoughts and calibrated my vision. I embraced it. I reveled in it. I got drunk on it.
Evan and his dad wanted to play games with my life. Well, turnabout was fair play. I’d spent too much time embracing my martyrdom like I was next in line to be canonized and declared a saint. Fuck that. I wasn’t a saint, and I refused to be a martyr. I slipped the gun I found in Ryker’s closet from my purse and leaned back in the chair, waiting for him to open the door.
I didn’t have to wait long. Evan walked in the door five minutes later.