Letters from Peaceful Lane (New Americana 3)

“But something’s wrong. What is it?”

“Start the car. I’ll tell you on the way home,” he said.

Allison drove out of the parking lot. “Tell me.”

He took a long breath. “When I walked in, the loan officer, Phil Gunderson, was surprised to see me. He said that a few days ago, somebody from the agency—it must’ve been Garrett—had called and told him to cancel the loan application. He said I’d signed the partnership agreement with Edgeway and wouldn’t be needing the mon

ey. He even offered to fax the bank a notarized copy of the contract.”

Allison gasped. “But you hadn’t even submitted the application.”

“I know. That’s the strangest thing of all. Whoever called the bank assumed I’d already applied for the loan. He sounded almost embarrassed when Phil told him he didn’t have the application.”

“But they’ve got it now, and they know that you really do need the loan.”

“Yes. But somebody else may have forged my signature on that contract, and notarized it, too. We need to go to the police.”

“But first we need evidence that a crime’s been committed,” Allison said. “You say Garrett, or whoever it was, offered to fax a copy of the contract?”

“Yes, but Phil told him not to bother. Too bad. Otherwise, we could’ve gotten a copy from the bank.”

“I’ll be back at work this afternoon,” Allison said. “Maybe I can find that forged agreement and make a copy.”

“I still don’t like your being there, Allison. Those people know how to play rough. Anything could go wrong.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll just play the dumb blonde. I’ll be fine.” Allison spoke to reassure him, but she knew that finding and making a copy of the contract would be difficult and dangerous. Burke was right, anything could go wrong. But she couldn’t let the danger stop her.

* * *

“I’m asking you one last time, Allison. Don’t go back to that place. Let the police handle this.” Dressed in sweats and sneakers again, Burke sat in his armchair, finishing the ham, cheese, and mushroom omelet Allison had cooked for him. The trip to the bank had worn him out and left him in more pain than usual. He was doing his best to hide it, but Allison wasn’t fooled.

“You know that getting the police involved would just set off alarms,” she said. “Any evidence would vanish as if it had never existed. The same thing would happen if you tried to intervene. I’m the only one Garrett trusts.”

“Don’t be too sure of that. Garrett isn’t stupid. And I met a couple of those Edgeway goons before the accident. They’re straight out of central casting for The Godfather. Only they’re the real thing. They could literally make you disappear. I’ve even wondered whether the brakes on my Porsche were tampered with.”

“Your Porsche was in the garage. And nobody could have known you would leave that night, or that it would rain.”

“That’s what I keep reminding myself. But when something like this happens, you start questioning your own judgment.”

“You don’t remember the accident?”

“Not a damned thing worth remembering.”

Allison picked up the tray she’d brought into his room. “Get some rest,” she said. “And don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”

“I’d stop you if I could. But I know better,” he said. “I’ll just ask for one thing. If you feel you’re in the slightest danger, promise me you’ll walk out of that door, get in your car and leave.”

She stood in the doorway, his gaze riveting her in place. “I promise,” she said. “Now get some sleep. I’ll see you when I get home.”

She carried the tray into the kitchen, tidied up, and found her jacket, keys, and purse. When she tiptoed down the hall and opened the door to Burke’s room, she saw that he was lying on the bed, his eyes closed in sleep. She had made him a promise to flee from any threat of danger. But what if breaking that promise meant finding the evidence they needed so desperately?

“I love you, Burke,” she whispered. Then she turned away and went out to her car.

* * *

As she arrived at the agency, she saw Garrett’s black Escalade parked out front. Next to it was a high-end model white Lincoln with rental plates. Best guess—someone from Edgeway had flown in for a meeting. This might not be a good day to look for the contract. But maybe she’d get lucky. All she could do was keep her head down and her eyes open.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Caldwell.” Monica greeted Allison from behind the front desk. Her mouth was smiling, but her eyes were not. Did the voluptuous blonde suspect her of being a rival for Garrett’s attentions? The thought made Allison shudder, but if it was true, she’d be foolish not to use Monica’s jealousy to her advantage.