Accidental Shield (Marriage Mistake #6)(119)

He doesn’t have the saying quite right, but the meaning’s there. For me, I think it means one more day shot in the head.

But tomorrow’s another day. There’s always a teensy-tiny chance it might suck a little less than this one.

It might even be the day I’m done with this shady data recovery crap so maybe, just maybe, I can actually start working on a real case like Manny promised. Something I can sink my teeth into and hopefully, enjoy. Not to mention make my education pay off.

Hopefully I’ll remember what I supposedly learned. I graduated with a degree in marketing and went back for a paralegal certificate later, but have to admit, writing was always the one thing on my mind, which didn’t make me the best student.

The phone buzzes again.

Another text.

Confirmation ASAP!

I stare at the words until they disappear, feeling a tug of anxiety. Should I, or shouldn’t I?

Obviously, it’s a total invasion of privacy to play with a mysterious stranger who wants to reach my boss really badly over the phone. But it’s an invasion of a girl’s sanity to have no fun ever at work.

What the hell? I am an associate, after all.

Manny keeps his schedule in his phone, but I’ll be here all day tomorrow. And the next day, and the day after that, searching through old computer files that barely hint at anything. This could be one of his side gigs where I can get some answers.

I click on the text icon, and then type fast, before I lose my nerve.

Confirmed.

Then, practically shaking in my heels with a snicker, I jet for the door.

When I reach to click off the light, I realize the phone’s still in my hand. I consider putting it back, but probably should scroll through the messages so I know what time this meeting is that I just confirmed.

Manny won’t miss the phone.

He won’t be back until nine a.m. tomorrow morning. I’ll be here by seven. Besides, if he wanted or needed it so badly, he’d have taken it with him.

Since my wonderful boss has been so amazing to me, I’m glad I could return the favor.

At my desk, I drop the phone into my purse, turn off the old dinosaur computer and the newer laptop, and then lock the office door. I lock up the outside door of the small brick building as well, and then climb in my Buick Regal.

Don’t laugh. It’s an old boat of a car, but I need the head room. In all honesty though, the old girl’s showing her age.

A decade of savage Minnesota winters, driving on ice and salt covered roads, is always hard on cars. I’m going to miss this beast if and when I can ever afford a new one. She’s never failed me.

The old US Mail slogan comes to mind: neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom...

She delivers. And I’m thankful I have one thing in my life I can count on.

Tonight’s no different, and Old Pearl – although her pearl white paint has faded into a dull ecru color – and I are soon pulling into my driveway. Or Mother’s driveway, to get technical.

Technically, she owns the townhouse I live in.

Technically, she owns the entire building and rents out the other three places, too.

Technically, she acts like she’s doing me a huge favor, even though without me keeping an eye on things, she would’ve had to sell these spur-of-the-moment rental investments a long time ago.

Sigh.

I’m so not bitter.

Even if I do sometimes secretly dream of following in her footsteps. A New York Times Best Selling Author.

That’s my mom, M.E. Court.

May Ericka Courtney to those of us who know her.

I’ve even figured out my pen name. Gwen Lynn. That sounds miles better than Gwendolyn Courtney, and much shorter, too. It’ll look nicer than Mother’s slanted, floral script on covers, too.

I want the huge, blocky style that’s right at home with thriller novels. Books full of intrigue and mystery. Romances are Mother’s signature genre and her claim to fame. Even though she and my father didn’t exactly have a happily ever after.

I don’t even know if they had a happy for now.

I barely remember him. They’d divorced long before he died.

Hitting the button to open the garage door, I wait impatiently for...nothing?

That’s what happens, and it can only mean the batteries are dead. Stupid thing.

No warning. Just dead.

I scan the area with an ever-familiar eerie sensation tickling the back of my neck before shutting off my car. This could be one reason I’ve never finished a single one of the many books I’ve started working on.

Confession? I’m afraid of the dark. Of my own shadow. Of dang near everything. The cowardly lion skipping his way to Oz had more courage than I do. I get to the point in a story where the intrigue gets deep, and I creep myself out and let my imagination go wild and just...stop.

Like I’m doing now. I shake my head.

Convinced the coast is clear, I jump out of the car and make a mad dash for the front door like a flock of flying monkeys are after me. Someday, I’ll get over this ridiculous fear of everything.

That’s what I keep telling myself, and I hope someday, I’ll be right.

Inside, with the door locked, I can breathe easy again.

In another life, I must’ve been chased through the night by a serial killer or something. It had to be another life because it sure hasn’t happened in this one.