Masquerade (Swept Away #2.5)(21)

I read it again, trying to make sense of the note. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to take from it. I picked up the envelope again to see if there was anything inside that I’d missed. While I hadn’t been surprised to receive the letter, I had been surprised by its contents. I hadn’t expected such a blatant threat, though it shouldn’t have surprised me. My father had warned me, in the letter I’d found in his box, that there were people willing to do anything to keep their secrets safe. His letter had stated that he suspected that my mother’s car accident hadn’t really been an accident. However, his suspicions had come too late. It was only on his deathbed that he had started to remember conversations and actions that had happened prior to her death. His letter spoke of his sadness and regret at having shut down after my mother’s death. He felt that if he’d not been in such a deep state of depression he would have made the connections earlier. His letter didn’t directly ask me to find out the truth, but I could read between the lines. He wanted justice for my mother. It was the reason why he’d written the letter in the first place. The only problem was, my father didn’t say whom he suspected. All he had left me was a one-page letter talking of his suspicions and two boxes full of paperwork from the corporation he’d used to work for, Bradley Inc.

After I’d read my father’s letter and gone through the paperwork he’d left for me, I had started investigating. Well, I’d done my best to get on the inside of Bradley Inc. so I could find clues that might help me figure out what my father had found out and if my mother had been murdered. I hadn’t been careful enough with my investigation, and so I wasn’t surprised I had been contacted. But I was taken aback by the letter. Frankly, it wasn’t what I’d expected to receive.

I stared at the letter in my hands again and frowned. There was a veiled threat and a challenge in the note: “One survives and one is destroyed.” Destroyed was a pretty powerful word. Destroyed was sending a message. I could feel my fingers trembling as they held the letter. I knew that I was getting close to the truth, close to the answers that would prove my father’s suspicions had been correct. I was about to take out a pen and paper and write down the words I thought were most telling in the note when I heard a loud banging on the apartment door.

“Open up!” a masculine voice shouted as he banged. “Police.”

Police? I walked to the door with a perplexed expression. “I’m coming!” I called out as I opened the door. I immediately felt something was not right—someone had made it into the building without calling up. How had he gotten into the building without someone buzzing him in? I dismissed my thoughts as I realized the police must have master keys to every building in the city, though I still felt some discomfort as I looked at him.

“Are you okay?” The policeman had his hand on his gun in its holster, and I swallowed.

“I’m fine. What’s going on?”

“There was a nine-one-one call from your apartment.” He pushed past me. “And then a hang-up.”

“I didn’t make a nine-one-one call.” I shook my head and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. “Look, you can check my calls. There is no call to nine-one-one.”

“It was made from your landline, ma’am.”

“I don’t have a landline.” I frowned and followed him around my apartment. My voice rose as I wondered who had called nine-one-one on me. “There must have been a mistake. I can assure you that I didn’t call nine-one-one and hang up.”

“I’m still going to check through your apartment, if that’s okay?” He didn’t wait for an answer.

“I already told you that I didn’t call the police, and I’m the only one who lives here,” I called after him and watched as he walked down the hallway and into my bedroom. I stood still, unable to move as I thought back to the letter that had just arrived. Had the writer of the letter sent the police to my house? And if so, why? Why would the people who killed my mother want the police involved in the matter? It didn’t make sense. I chewed on my lower lip, deep in thought, when I heard a slamming. “What’s going on?” I walked to my bedroom quickly, my heart pounding. “What are you doing in my room?” My voice was jittery, and I tried not to look in the one place I was scared he would find.

“I was just making sure that no one was in your closets, ma’am. It doesn’t hurt for me to make sure everything is okay.” He walked out of my room with a slight frown. “All looks clear.”

“I already told you that.”

“You have any issues, you call us.” His eyes searched mine as he spoke and then he handed me a card. “You can’t be too careful these days.”

“I’m very careful.” I walked him to the door and wondered if I should tell him about the note I’d just received. I was about to when I remembered what my father had always told me when I was growing up: “The pockets of the rich are deep. Bianca, only trust someone if they give you reason to trust them. Even the police aren’t above being bribed.”

“Thank you for your concern, Officer.” I nodded at him and waited for him to leave. My heart was pounding, and I needed to think.

“No worries. Stay safe, Ms. London.” He nodded, and I closed the door. It was only after he left that I realized he knew my name. How did he know my name?