Chapter Two

Olivia Larrson bolted inside the open door to her apartment building in Chelsea and stood on the carpet to shake off the rain. “Thank you, Carl,” she said to the older African-American man as she closed her umbrella. The building required a key to enter but the doorman was always waiting for her. He was sweet and kind and Olivia adored him. “The rain’s hard on your arthritis,” she told him as he shuffled back to his desk. “You didn’t have to get up to hold the door.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Larrson and no problem,” Carl responded. No matter how many times she asked him to call her Olivia, he always refused, saying he did it out of respect. He’d been the doorman of the building since she moved in with Kendall Buckley…soon-to-be Kendall Demarchis, who was set to marry the love of her life in a few days. Olivia couldn’t wait to see her friend. It’d been too long.

Actually, Carl had been the doorman for almost forty years. Few buildings had doormen anymore with the advance of technology. She was thankful the owners kept Carl. It gave him a purpose and a reason to get out of bed every day. “How is Mary?” she asked over her shoulder as she slid her key in the slot of her mailbox.

“Her arthritis is acting up, too, but she’s doing alright. She wanted me to thank you for the buttercream cake. It didn’t last very long.” Carl grinned and patted his stomach and Olivia smiled. Carl’s wife hadn’t been out of the apartment since their granddaughter had been killed almost three years ago. She’d been caught in the crossfire of two rival gangs while waiting for a school bus. A stray bullet pierced the frontal lobe of her brain, killing her instantly. The police arrested members from both gangs, but couldn’t locate the weapon that killed Brandy, and they couldn’t pinpoint the shooter. In some kind of twisted gang code, neither group would rat out the other. Enough doubt was cast on the man suspected of pulling the trigger, the jury couldn’t come to a unanimous conclusion beyond a reasonable doubt. The men strolled out of the courthouse with matching smirks and Mary hadn’t left her apartment since.

Brandy’s dad, Carl Junior, or CJ, had gone berserk when the verdict was announced. He had to be restrained and eventually tased. He was arrested but later released without being charged. He’d been raising Brandy by himself after his wife took off and Brandy’s death crushed him.

Olivia hadn’t lived in New York at the time so she wasn’t around when Carl and his family had to deal with the unimaginable tragedy. They were all so nice, she couldn’t fathom the pain they lived with on a daily basis. They treated her like a member of the family and she made a point to stop by and visit with Mary every few days. She liked to bring treats whenever possible as well.

“I made arrangements for a car to pick you up and take you to the airport,” Carl told her. “It’ll be here in an hour.”

Excitement skittered down her spine. She’d packed days ago in anticipation. “Thanks, Carl. I need to change and add some last minute items to my bag. I’ll be back down soon.”

Olivia flipped through the stack of letters as she headed for the elevator. She smiled at the colorful picture and pulled out the postcard that proclaimed, “Greetings from Missouri.” She flipped it over to read the note from her mentor and friend, Ernest Walters. Ernie had retired last month and purchased a recreational vehicle. He and his wife of fifty years, Linda, had big plans to travel the country when he retired but tragically, an accident left Linda in a coma. She held on for two years, finally passing away three months ago. Soon after, Ernie submitted his resignation, said goodbye to New York as their beloved evening news host and packed all of his belongings in the RV. His cocker spaniel Roci, named after Don Quixote’s horse Rocinante, serving as his co-pilot. He planned on writing about his travels, much like John Steinbeck’s “Travels with Charley” and coincidently, Steinbeck had named his travel truck/camper combo Rocinante.

Olivia was enjoying wandering the country with Ernie. He promised her a postcard from every state. She would add a pin to Missouri on the map she was using to follow along on his journey.

A wave of nostalgia wrapped around her and she pulled out her cell. She wanted to hear his voice, his booming laugh. She punched his number and held the phone to her ear. His greeting came on instantly: “Greetings from the road. I’m currently meandering down the highway like a band of gypsies and can’t answer the phone right now.” She smiled at his Willie Nelson reference. Ernie loved Willie. “Leave a message and I’ll call you back when I hit my next destination.”

Olivia clicked off, not leaving a message. She was happy Ernie was enjoying life. He deserved it. He’d taken her under his wing and taught her so much about the business. He’d been like a second father to her. She just wished Linda was by his side for his grand adventure.

The elevator dinged and the doors swished open. She started to enter but stepped back when a golden retriever loped out. His owner held onto a harness with one hand. In the man’s other hand was a white cane. He wore a sweatshirt with the hood up over a baseball cap, the ties pulled so tight, it covered his nose and mouth. Dark glasses took up the rest of his face.

The dog’s tail wagged when he spotted her and his nails scratched on the tiles as he scrambled over. His muzzle nudged her hand. She ran her fingers across his head once and jerked them away. She’d done a piece on service dogs a few years ago and she remembered you were never supposed to engage them. No petting, no calling their name, no talking to them. If the dog was distracted, he wasn’t paying attention to his job and his human could be hurt. She didn’t want to be responsible for the blind man being injured. She didn’t know much about him except that his name was Mr. Dawson and he moved in last month. Even if she spoke to him, he never returned the greeting. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he might be deaf as well. She couldn’t even imagine the bravery it took to walk the streets of New York City without sight or hearing. The guide dog needed to be completely focused.

As soon as the man lumbered away, she entered the elevator and punched the button for her floor. Her brows swished down as she fingered a small padded envelope in the stack of mail. Her name was written on the front, but there was no address, nor return address. She flipped it over. No postmark either. She stepped out of the elevator and stopped in front of her apartment door, holding the package to her ear. Nothing ticking. She fingered it again. There was something small and hard inside, but it didn’t feel threatening.

She inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. She took one step inside and shrieked. Mail flew through the air.

“Hey, Olivia. How’s it going?”

Olivia slammed her eyes shut and spun around. “Hi, Arlo.” The irrational thought flashed through her mind that she didn’t need to crudely ask him “how’s it hanging” since she could see that for herself. He was strutting around the apartment as naked as the day he was born. Arlo didn’t believe in things like clothes. Or personal boundaries.

She’d asked her roommate Darla numerous times to make sure Arlo was dressed whenever he visited but he never got the message. Olivia refused to sit on the sofa in the living room after she walked in on Arlo stretched out on the buttery-soft velvet, scratching himself. The image was burned into her retinas and she shuddered at the memory.

“I found it—oh! Hi, Liv.”

Olivia glanced over her shoulder and slammed her eyes shut again. Yep, Darla was also sans apparel.

“We didn’t realize you’d be home so soon.”

Funny, since Darla knew she was leaving for Hawaii tonight. Couldn’t they have waited to shuck their clothing until she was gone? They’d have the entire apartment to themselves for days. They could host naked orgies and Olivia would never know. She made a mental note to make sure she locked her bedroom door.

Darla had seemed so normal when she’d interviewed her to take over Kendall Buckley’s share in the apartment. They were rarely home at the same time, but when they were, they got along. They weren’t friends and they didn’t shop together or chat for hours, but Darla paid her rent on time and she was relatively neat. Then she met Arlo, the starving musician, and her inhibitions had fled, followed by her clothes and soon after, any respect Olivia had for the woman. She planned on having a talk with Darla when she returned from Hawaii. The arrangement wasn’t working out and since their lease was up very soon, she’d have to go.

She gathered up the mail and escaped to her room to change for the flight. She couldn’t get out of New York quick enough, though she wasn’t looking forward to the trip. Even though she left tonight, with the length of the flight and the five-hour time difference, she wouldn’t get in until tomorrow night, though it would be the afternoon in Hawaii.

The thought of who she’d see when she landed in Honolulu caused a full-body shudder and all her girl parts tingled in anticipation. Former Chicago police detective Alexander Mylonas. Tall, muscular, dark hair. It’d been so long since she’d seen him in person. He’d just been shot and clinging to life, tubes attached to his pale, battered body. She’d sat by his bed and held his hand until he woke up. She’d been so relieved when those blue eyes blinked open that tears gathered. She wanted to stay at his side. Just because he was awake didn’t mean the danger was over. But she had a commitment to her job. She came so close to calling her executive producer and quitting. But what would she do if he didn’t want her to stay? They didn’t even really know each other. The feelings might be one-sided. Though she’d never been a coward in her life, she was that day when she walked out of the hospital, took a cab to the airport and returned to her safe life in New York.

She talked herself into believing out of sight, out of mind, but she still thought of him every day. She’d been so relieved when she learned from Kendall that he’d resigned from the Chicago police force to take a job with Kendall’s fiancé, Dorian. His job in one of America’s deadliest cities had been dangerous—the bullet hole he’d forever wear on his chest a shining example. But then in his new job with COBRA Securities, he’d been stabbed by a shard of glass that barely missed his femoral artery. If it had been nicked, he’d have bled out in a matter of minutes. She shuddered, not even wanting to think about a world without Alex. She might not get to be with him, but the thought of never seeing him again was more than she could bear.

She almost flew out to see him after that attack to assure herself that he was still alive, but so much time had passed and once again, she chickened out. Now she would see him tomorrow and she was both terrified and elated. How would they react when they saw each other? Would it be polite handshakes or bone-melting kisses? He made her feel things she’d never felt before and that scared her. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t think of him. How was that possible when she didn’t even really know him?

She wondered if he knew she kept in touch with his younger sister, Allie. She’d met his family during her bedside vigil and she adored them. They’d been so worried about their son and brother, but they couldn’t have been nicer to her. They didn’t ask questions about their relationship, for which she was grateful. She wouldn’t have known how to answer. She suspected Alex got the third degree when he recovered and she wondered what he told them.

Allie desperately wanted to visit New York City and Olivia promised she’d show her around. So far, Allie hadn’t been able to talk her mom into letting her come but in her last email, she thought she was wearing her down.

She deposited the mail on a dresser and fingered the mysterious package again. It was small…too small to do harm. She hoped. She tugged the zipped tab on the back and turned it upside down. A small black object clattered to the floor. A flash drive. She glanced around her room and found a tissue. She’d learned so much from crime reporting, so she didn’t want to smudge any potential fingerprints.

She popped the drive in an open USB port on her computer and waited for her virus program to scan the contents. When it came up clean, she opened the folder to reveal one file named Purdy, Anthony. It was a video. When she double-clicked on the movie-projector icon, text flashed on the screen: What you are about to see is justice…justice that should have been handed down by the court system but the process failed. I’m just someone who was tired of the guilty getting away with murder. I am doing this for the victims who no longer have a voice.

The note faded away and a man’s face appeared on the screen. He was wild-eyed and sweating. The background was pitch black but a bright light harshly lit his face. She increased the sound.

“M-my name is Anthony Eugene Purdy. I-I k-killed Lamont Jefferson. I-I didn’t mean to. We got into an a-argument. H-he hit me first. He did! It was self-defense.” He looked away and then shook. The clip went black for a moment and when his face appeared again, his eyes were huge. “I killed Lamont Jefferson. I-I panicked and got rid of him. Buried his body.”

She hit pause as the names registered. She remembered the case. It was about a year ago and Purdy and Jefferson had been drinking together at a local bar and they’d been kicked out for disorderly conduct. It was the last time anyone saw Jefferson alive. When he failed to show up at his job as maintenance worker at the Empire State Building, cops deduced that Purdy had been the last to see Jefferson alive and witnesses confirmed that they’d been arguing that night. He was arrested for the crime and tried but found innocent. The case against him fell apart when the prosecution could provide no physical evidence linking Purdy to the crime. Plus, they couldn’t locate the body to prove that Jefferson was dead.

She clicked play again and more text flashed up on the screen: This confession must be played at seven pm Eastern Time this Sunday, introduced by Olivia Larrson and no one else. As soon as the video airs you will receive instructions on where to find Anthony Purdy and where he buried Lamont Jefferson’s body. If anyone other than Olivia Larrson announces the video, you will never find either and their families will have no closure. It was signed, Vigilante.

Olivia’s back slammed against the chair, breath whooshing from her lungs. A video confession from a killer originally found innocent. This was explosive. It would be major news. And the opening note made it sound like Anthony Purdy wouldn’t be the only confessor. The perpetrator had even named himself the Vigilante.

She went over the instructions in her head and gasped. The Vigilante wanted the video played this Sunday…the day after Kendall’s wedding. If she had to announce this on air, she wouldn’t be able to make the trip to Hawaii. Her heart skipped a beat. She would miss Kendall’s wedding. And Alex.