Matt rests his elbows on the arm of his chair and kicks his feet up on his desk, the phone forgotten for a moment. “You’d be doing what you’re good at. We’ll drop you in a situation and you’ll get us what we need. Without anyone being the wiser. You won’t believe the difference it will make with us behind you. I’ll give you the details as soon as you tell me you’re in.”
My mind splits, showing two different paths; this is definitely a crossroads moment. Taking the job Matt offers moves me deeper into this world but comes with the support that would make the feel of those cuffs biting into my wrists a distant memory. The other path requires me to go straight. To get out before I’m in any real trouble. Because as Saturday night proved, it will only be a matter of time before something else goes wrong.
Mama always said to be successful in life you need to do three things: learn everything you can, try your hardest, and be the best at what you do.
Saturday night taught me I have a lot to learn.
Just thinking about Mama makes my chest hurt. But I shove it down. She’s gone and there’s nothing for me in that old life. One day I will go back to being Lucca Marino, small-town girl from Eden, North Carolina, who lives in that fantasy house with that fantasy garden, but today is not that day. Today, I learn how to make the money I need to make that dream a reality.
“Okay, I’m in. What’s the job?”
Chapter 10
Present Day
It’s been three days since the Derby party and the mailbox is still empty. I’m also no closer to finding out that woman’s real name or where she’s from. And until I know her real name, she is nothing more than that woman to me.
But just because I haven’t run across her in town doesn’t mean she’s been in hiding. Everywhere I turn, the name “Lucca Marino” falls from someone’s lips as they recount their interaction with her.
I got added to the group text after the Derby party so I could see in real time that Sara bumped into her at that same tearoom that was suggested for our first lunch, and Beth ran into her while getting her nails done. And despite how badly Allison spoke about James at the Derby party, she and Cole went out to dinner with them last night. She gave everyone a full recap this morning.
There was even a picture of James and her at the Derby party in the “People and Places” section of the tiny local newspaper; her hat was looking even more dainty and refined in print than it did in real life.
While I’ve taken my time insinuating myself into this community, she has come in like a hurricane.
The level of sheer audacity on her part wasn’t apparent until I stumbled over James’s mom’s Facebook post gushing over that woman and the homemade soup she made for James’s dad. There were 128 (and counting) comments about how lucky the Bernards were to have her. Since James’s mom tagged her in the post, it took only one click to be on her page.
Her account hasn’t been active long. The earliest activity was an uploaded profile pic with the caption: Ugh old account got hacked so let’s be friends here! about a week after I arrived in Lake Forbing.
It was the second post that confirmed it was not a harmless coincidence that she showed up in this town, with my name and details matching my own history.
When I was in sixth grade, my class took a field trip to a local farm, where we spent the day playing farmer and doing chores like milking cows and feeding chickens. Somehow, that woman found the group picture we took at the end of the day and posted it as a Throwback Thursday with the caption: Look what I found while going through some old boxes! Such a fun day! Tag yourself if I missed you.
In the picture, I sat crossed-legged in the front row, second from the left, in my jeans and favorite red sweatshirt Mama had trimmed with navy gingham ribbon around the collar, cuffs, and bottom hem.
Several people I went to school with—classmates I haven’t thought about in years—tagged themselves in the post. It was a virtual reunion in the comments section, as most of them reached out to tell her they’re happy to reconnect, fully believing she is me.
I had gone back to that profile pic and studied it until my eyes were blurry. Her head is turned, that long hair covering most of her face, and she’s laughing. It’s a great candid shot. The last time those old friends had seen me I was a teenager with baby fat still clinging to my cheeks. It’s easy to see why they believe she’s exactly who she says she is.
If this were any other job, I would have grabbed my few belongings and gotten the hell out of town the second she was introduced to me, but the ramifications of abandoning this job override that instinct. I can’t run. Not yet. Not after the last job.
It has taken everything in me to maintain the level of carefree, happy girlfriend that came second nature before the Derby party, in order to keep Ryan from suspecting anything is off.
A glance at the kitchen clock has me moving. I rinse my coffee cup in the sink before grabbing my bag and heading to the garage.
After a lot of thought, it’s time to make the call I’ve been putting off, but only from the privacy of my own car. While there is still a slim possibility that someone other than my boss sent the impostor here, it is very unlikely. If my boss were to find out about this woman from any source other than me, there would no doubt be serious consequences. Calling this in is what’s expected of me, and right now, I need to be 100 percent predictable.
With my car still hidden away in Ryan’s garage, I open the glove box and pull out the prepaid phone, removing it from the package. It will be used one time and then destroyed.
Once it’s powered on, I dial the number I memorized at the beginning of this job. The call connects and the robotic voice asks, “Is there a problem?” With all the voice recognition software available, the true sound of Mr. Smith’s voice is a secret that’s guarded as meticulously as his real name.
“Significant development that makes this call necessary. Made contact with a woman claiming to be me. Used my original name, stated she was from my hometown, used details from my past as hers. Please advise.”
The pause is uncomfortably long.
“Yet you waited three days to report this development.”
Shit.
“Wanted to be one hundred percent sure it was not a coincidence before—”
He interrupts me before I finish. “I felt you needed a reminder that you are replaceable. Treat her arrival as motivation to successfully complete this job as opposed to the utter failure of your last one. Once this job is finished to my satisfaction, you will return to being the only Lucca Marino from Eden, North Carolina, in my employ.” He pauses for a moment and then adds, “I know how important that is to you.”
If the information I was supposed to have turned over to him on my last job hadn’t been extremely sensitive, I don’t think Mr. Smith would feel the need to threaten me like this. I might not know exactly how badly that woman with my name and my background being here can hurt me, but that doesn’t mean she can’t hurt me. Mr. Smith doesn’t do anything without good reason.
In this line of work, being replaced doesn’t mean you’re let go without a letter of recommendation. Even if I don’t know Mr. Smith’s real name, I know enough that I don’t get to just walk away.
My free hand grips the steering wheel and I swallow down the urge to scream. When I’m sure my voice is controlled, I say, “I don’t particularly like having a threat hanging over me, especially after all the jobs I have successfully completed.”
“All those previous successes are what made the last failure so difficult to accept. But it also gave you a second chance. You need to remember that while you’re sitting on the back deck eating Chinese takeout.”
Chinese takeout.
What I picked up for dinner last night.
“I would like nothing more than to finish this job to your satisfaction. When can I expect my next set of instructions?”
“No firm date but within the next two weeks. And to be clear, this is a reminder, not a threat. If I were issuing a threat, there would be no confusion.”
The line goes dead.