Operation XOXO. Elle JamesЧитать онлайн книгу.
chewed her bottom lip. She hadn’t been out with adults since she’d come to Breuer, Texas, the small traditionally German town on the outskirts of San Antonio. “Thanks, Kendall, I’ll keep you in mind.”
For when she actually met some adults she could hang out with after teaching school all day.
“Alex, don’t let Caesar’s comments get you down. You two will go far because you aren’t afraid or too lazy to learn.”
Alex shrugged. “I wasn’t worried. While I’m at Stanford earning my doctorate, Caesar will still be bagging groceries.”
“Come on, Alex,” Kendall said. “My mom’s waiting to take us to the library so we can dig up more scoop on Jack the Ripper.”
A chill slithered its way down Elise’s spine. “Why are you doing a report on Jack the Ripper?”
“We had to pick someone famous in history, and who wants to do the same ol’ same ol’?” Kendall grinned.
Alex rolled his eyes. “It was her idea. I wanted Albert Einstein.”
Kendall’s eyes glowed with enthusiasm. “There’s something about an unsolved mystery that appeals to me.” She jerked her head toward the door. “Are we going or not? My mom’s probably waiting in the parking lot.”
Alex smiled and scooted out the door after Kendall.
After the kids had cleared the room Elise hurried down the hallway, her footsteps clicking along the tiled floors. She had to stop at the office where she’d drop off parent permission forms for their field trip to Enchanted Rock at the end of next week.
Elise tried to shake the uneasy feeling creeping across her skin. All Alex and Kendall’s talk of Jack the Ripper brought up memories best forgotten.
Students and teachers milled in and out of the office. Elise had to squeeze through to get to the front desk.
“Hi, Elise.” Becky McNabb, the school secretary, looked up from her computer terminal at her desk. “How was class?”
“Challenging,” she answered, her tone flat, her lips twisting into a wry grin.
“I don’t know how you teachers do it.” She glanced back at the computer. “I’d have to shoot myself.”
“They have their moments.” Both good and bad. Elise handed Becky the stack of crumpled papers. “Could you file these?”
“Sure.” She stuck a paper clip on them and laid them on the stack in her in-box. “Hey, don’t forget to check your cubby before you leave. You got mail today.”
Behind the counter a plain white envelope leaned to the side of her box. She retrieved it and stuffed it in her purse for later.
The small town was just what she and her boys had needed. Not much traffic and plenty of room to grow. Most of all, it was a long way from North Dakota. A long way from the past she’d tried her damnedest to erase. She’d changed her name and her sons’ to ensure no one could trace them or know their real identities. The only people who knew where they’d gone were her sister, Brenna, and Brenna’s FBI husband, Nick Tarver—the only people she trusted with her children’s lives.
For the past four months, she and her sons had lived in the small Texas town with no one aware of what had happened in North Dakota.
A long funeral procession wended its way down Main Street, bringing traffic to a complete standstill. Elise glanced at the clock on the dash. She had a good fifteen minutes before Luke and Brandon got off the bus and she was only five minutes from home once the procession made it past. After shifting her metallic gray sedan into Park, she reached into her purse for the envelope, slipped her fingernail beneath the flap and ripped it open. The sharp edge of the flap sliced into her skin and she jerked her hand back.
Damn. She hated paper cuts. She dabbed at the dot of blood oozing from her finger and opened the envelope. Inside she found a single white sheet of paper.
Careful not to bleed on the writing, she unfolded the paper and flattened it. The message was short and it didn’t take Elise long to read the three simple lines.
Dear Alice,
For better or worse, until death do us part.
Let death begin.
Cold consumed her, penetrating straight to her bones.
No. This was a mistake. No one knew her here. No one.
She grabbed the envelope. On the outside written in crisp clean computer print was Elise Johnson. There was no postage, no return address.
Her hands shook so hard, the paper and envelope fluttered from her grip and fell to the seat beside her.
Brenna. I have to call Brenna. She hesitated for a few seconds. Should she? Married now, Brenna was eight months pregnant with her first child. Should Elise call her and upset her?
The words on the note stared up at her, pushing her past any kind of reason. She had to talk to her sister. Brenna would know what to do.
Elise fumbled in her purse for her cell phone and hit the speed-dial button that would connect her with her sister living in Minneapolis.
After four rings, Elise’s teeth were chattering and she almost threw the phone out the window. “Where is she?”
“Al—Elise?” Brenna was still trying to get used to the different name, but her voice sounded so calm over the line.
“Brenna.” Elise Johnson’s fingers trembled as she held the phone to her ear with one hand and snatched up the letter in the other.
“What’s wrong?” Her younger sister had a way of reading her voice, even from over a thousand miles away.
“Brenna. I’m scared.”
“Are the boys okay?” Brenna’s voice, clear and crisp, snapped over the line.
“The boys are f-fine.” Elise sucked in a deep breath and fought back the sob rising in her throat. Fear clenched a hand around her gut and squeezed. “I got a letter today.”
“From whom?”
As the procession of cars crawled by one by one with their headlights on like so many zombies, Elise whispered, “I don’t know.”
“What did it say?”
For several seconds, Elise stared down at the boxy print, her hand shaking so hard, she couldn’t read the words. But then, she didn’t have to. She could recite them word for word without seeing the paper.
“Elise!” At Brenna’s shout, Elise pulled herself together.
She took a deep breath. “The letter said, ‘Dear Alice, For better or for worse, until death do us part. Let death begin.’”
“What the hell does that mean?” A street cop turned detective, Brenna didn’t tone down her words. “And who the hell knows you’re Alice?”
“I don’t know. But I’m so scared I can’t think.” A car honked behind her. Elise jumped and glanced around, realizing the funeral procession had passed and traffic had resumed, except where she held up a dozen cars. “I’m in traffic and I have to go. I’ll call you when I get home.” She wished her sister was in Texas where she could go straight to her.
“Do that. And, Elise, don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.”
God, she hoped so. This all had to be a big mistake—a really big mistake. The letter was much like the ones Brenna had received in North Dakota when she’d been on the trail of a serial killer.
That serial killer had turned out to be none other than Elise’s husband. He’d very nearly killed Brenna. Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat. What woman ever suspected her husband of being a serial killer? Especially a deacon in the church, a man most of the community looked up to and