FanStory.com - Spirited Justice Chap 12by Begin Again

Naomi rubbed her temples, trying to relieve the day's frustrations. Even after several days, the office buzzed with conversations about the mysterious circumstances of Arthur Beckett's death.

Her gaze was distant as she sat at her desk and stared blankly out the window. The overcast sky mirrored her somber mood. She didn't notice the soft knock at her door or the figure that appeared there until a voice gently broke through her reverie.

"Naomi, are you okay?"

Startled, she blinked and turned to see her co-worker, a young office trainee, standing on the threshold, concerned. "What?"

"I was bringing you the mail, but you looked upset. I asked if you were okay or needed anything."

Naomi forced a small smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "No, I was just thinking about Arthur's tragic death. The police say it was murder."

The girl's hand flew to her mouth in shock. "Arthur murdered? He seemed like such a nice man, always offering to help me." She shook her head in disbelief. "Why would anyone want to murder him?"

Dark thoughts flickered through Naomi's mind — Jose, Mexico, Beckett's pandering to the young women, and the blackmail. The memories threatened to consume her, but she pushed them down, keeping a calm facade. "I haven't any idea," she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil she felt within.

"Wasn't he staying with you for a while? Could he have left a clue of what was happening with him?" She laughed. "Sorry, I guess I watch too many mystery movies."

Naomi shrugged, but she could feel her heart beating against her chest. "I haven't given it a thought. It seems too strange to rummage through his private things."

"Well, they are in your house. Who else is going to claim anything? Certainly not his ex-wife unless he left a suitcase full of money." She gulped, and her eyes widened. "I can't believe I said that out loud. I apologize. It's all gossip, and I don't even know the woman."

Naomi smiled. "It's fine. Everyone knows she took him for every cent she could get. It wasn't an amicable divorce."

"I still can't believe someone would kill him regardless of what they say he had done."

Naomi nodded slowly. "You're right. There could be a clue somewhere leading to a suspect. I'll mention it to the police."

An icy chill crept up her spine as the words left her lips. The thought struck her like a hammer — what if she was next? The room seemed to close in around her. She fought to remain calm, but the fear had already taken root, gnawing at the edges of her mind, threatening to overwhelm her.

*****

With the afternoon hours being unproductive, Naomi resigned herself to leaving and putting in an appearance at Arthur Beckett's memorial. She wasn't in the mood for small talk with others, but it was the proper thing to do.

Inside the building, Naomi stood in a nearly empty room except for rows and rows of memorial bouquets, a symbol of respect without being present. As she signed her name in the guest book, she knew that even those who had come had not remained.

In the far corner, a man sat in a Queen Anne chair, his face obscured by dark glasses and a wide-brimmed hat. Naomi couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched, but he remained still every time she glanced his way, almost as if he were lifeless.

Uncomfortable standing alone, Naomi turned to leave, her footsteps echoing in the space. As she reached the door, a prickling sensation crawled up her neck. Looking over her shoulder, she realized the room was empty. The man in the chair was nowhere to be seen.

She quickly hailed a taxi, her heart racing from the eerie encounter. She climbed in and gave the driver her home address, eager to distance herself from the unsettling memorial.

As the taxi pulled from the curb, the man from the memorial slipped inside the black sedan waiting at the curb. The car's engine purred to life as it fell behind the taxi, following Naomi into the night.

*****

Naomi paid the taxi driver and hurried across the front entranceway into her building's foyer. Once inside the elevator, she could let go of the tension. She was home and safe.

She entered the apartment, kicked off her shoes, and dropped her purse and briefcase on the sofa. Mechanically, she moved through the kitchen, fixed herself a sandwich, and poured a glass of wine.

She carried her meal to the living room, sinking into the plush armchair by the window. Except for a tiny bite, the sandwich remained untouched as her thoughts whirled around Beckett's death and what he might have been involved in. She knew it had to be something more than the cover-up of the murder in Mexico.

Question after question gnawed at her. Finally, she stood and walked to the bookcase. Her fingers hesitated for a moment before she pulled back the book. The shelves clicked softly and then swung open, revealing his secret domain.

She stepped inside, pausing as a flashback of Arthur huddled over the equipment flashed through her mind. She remembered how secretive he'd been and insisted she did not come in. Now, considering the circumstances, she questioned why she hadn't been more curious about what he was doing and why he didn't want her to know. But then, after the Mexico trip, she didn't want to know what other dark secrets he might have had.

Naomi tried the computer, but her attempts to log in were futile. She had no idea what the password was, nor did she understand why he had two computers.

Frustrated but determined to learn about what went on inside her home, she began searching through the boxes.

Her heart pounded as she frantically pulled open the drawers, her fingers trembling as she rifled through the papers. As she tugged at one of the last drawers, it resisted slightly before sliding free. She turned it over, and there, taped to the back, was an envelope — worn, yellowed with time, and marked My Security.

Her hands shook as she peeled the envelope away and tore it open. Inside, a single note and a small, engraved key tumbled out. Naomi hesitated before unfolding the note, dread pooling in her stomach. The familiar scrawl read:

"If you found this, Naomi, my past has likely caught up to me. I am sorry for having exposed you to the threats. You might know that by now, but if not, you soon will. You aren't safe. Take the contents of the box and disappear. Find a new life before this one ends."

The engraved key felt cold in her hand, the letters Landen B12 glinting in the dim light. Her breath turned ragged, and a wave of fear consumed her as the reality of Arthur's words registered. Was it Mexico or something else that he was warning her about?

Crushing the paper in her fist, she struggled to use her professional mind to decide her next steps. After all, she was a lawyer. What would she tell a client?

Call the police! Call Donatelli. He would protect her, or would he? It was his job, but it was clear their personal life had come between them. What would happen if and when he learned about Mexico? What if there were things to incriminate her inside the box?

Her next thought was Angelo. He already knew about the cover-up and Jose's blackmail. Then she remembered his recent visit, and her head filled with doubt. Would he be on her side or his clients? What had he wanted that day?

Naomi's breathing was shallow, mixed with panic-filled gasps as she slumped into the chair by the desk, her head buried in her hands. The small room suddenly felt like a cell, and the walls were closing in on her. She couldn't believe what was happening — she was caught in the crosshairs of whatever Arthur was involved in.

As she lowered her hands, trying to find composure, her eyes shifted to a document on the desk. It was his divorce decree, but what made her blood run colder was the note scrawled across the top in bold, red ink — She knows!

What did he mean? Who is "she"? A dozen questions swirled in Naomi's mind, each more terrifying than the last. Did his ex-wife discover something sinister? Something that made her so angry she might have wanted him dead? Or was he referring to something even darker —something she had only begun to scratch the surface of?

Her fingers trembled as she reached to touch the decree, the red ink now seeming like blood on the page. The note from the envelope and the key to Landen B12 suddenly took on a new, menacing significance. What was inside that safety deposit box? How many secrets did Arthur have? The fear gnawing at her gut told her that whatever she discovered might be far worse than she could imagine.

The divorce between Patti and Arthur had been nasty. When she had learned of his womanizing and high-roller spending, she'd gone for the jugular, taking every penny she could get. That's why Arthur had lived in her apartment for the last few months. Could an argument have gone wrong, or was Patti capable of cold-blooded murder?

She turned the key over in her palm. A chill raced down her spine. There was another possibility — a deeper, more dangerous truth that could unravel everything Naomi thought she knew about Arthur Beckett — and herself.

Exhausted, she sighed and left the room, desperate to escape the shadows lurking in every corner, remnants of the past, and the promise of danger that loomed over her own life.

Her hands trembled as she taped the key and letter behind the framed picture in her bedroom. After securing the items, she turned off the lights, hoping the darkness would bring peace.

*****

The black sedan parked in the shadows, its engine idling quietly as the two men inside watched the apartment across the street. Jose tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest. Beside him, the driver, a silent figure with a cap pulled low over his brow, watched the lights in Naomi's apartment. The minutes stretched like hours as they waited, the tension inside the car growing with each passing second.

"When those lights go out," Jose muttered, his eyes narrowing, "we move."

The driver nodded, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. He'd done this kind of work before and knew when to wait and the time to act.

As soon as the lights in Naomi's apartment went off, the tension in the car snapped, and both men exited the vehicle. The driver, towering over Jose, fell in step behind him as they crossed the street, blending into the shadows.

The building's entrance loomed ahead, and they paused only briefly before opting for the stairs. The driver took the lead, his heavy boots making surprisingly little noise as he ascended the narrow stairwell.

Reaching her floor, the second man paused and checked the hallway. Signaling it was clear. They slipped down the corridor and stopped outside her door. Jose's hand hovered over the lock. He pulled out a set of tools with practiced ease and worked the lock. It clicked open in seconds, the door swinging silently on its hinges as he slipped inside. The apartment was quiet, save for the soft creak of floorboards beneath their feet. The bookcase standing away from the wall surprised Jose. It was something they wouldn't have found. He mouthed a "thank you, Naomi" as the two entered the secret room. Both men shoved their flashlights into their pockets since the lights were also on.

With the stealth of well-rehearsed criminals, they checked drawers and boxes in search of the papers. Jose's breath hissed through clenched teeth as his search turned up nothing.

"Anything?" the driver asks in a low voice, his tone more a growl than a whisper.

"Nothing yet," Jose snapped, slamming a drawer shut. "They've got to be here."

Desperate and enraged, Jose turned his attention to Naomi's bedroom. She stirred at the sound of the door creaking open, but it was too late. He was on her in an instant, his hands wrapped around her throat as she struggled, her eyes wide with terror.

She fought with every ounce of strength she had, but Jose's grip tightened, her vision blurring as she gasped for air. Just as she felt consciousness slipping away, he dropped her and knelt beside her limp body, rage written across his face.

"Where are the papers?" he demanded, his voice sharp as he leaned closer. "Beckett's papers — where are they?"

She whimpered, "I don't know anything about papers."

"Don't lie to me, Naomi!" Jose's voice is a harsh whisper, each word laced with venom. "The papers! I know they're here. Beckett didn't just leave you with nothing, so where are they?"

Naomi shook her head frantically, her voice breaking as she pleaded with him. "What papers? I don't know what you are talking about, I swear!"

"Bullshit!" Jose shoved her against the bed, his face inches from hers, eyes blazing with fury. "You think you can hide this from me? You're way over your head, sweetheart. You've got one chance to save yourself — tell me where those papers are, or I'll make sure you regret it."

"I don't know!" Naomi sobbed. "Please, Jose. Arthur never told me —"

"You're lying!" Jose's voice roared. He studied her for a moment, then nodded to the driver, who sneered as he pulled a knife from his belt. The blade caught the faint light, and Naomi's eyes widened in horror as he and Jose exchanged places.

"No, don't do this, Jose."

"Listen, lady," the driver growled, pressing the cold steel against her side. "You've got one chance to make this easy on yourself. Tell us where those papers are, or things are gonna get ugly."

"I told you I don't know!" Naomi sobbed, her voice trembling with fear. "Please —"

Jose watched her closely, his expression hardening. He knew she was hiding something, but her fear seemed genuine. He glanced at the driver, who looked back at him, waiting for the order.

"Do it," Jose said coldly.

Without hesitation, the driver plunged the knife into Naomi's side, silencing her scream with a brutal twist of the blade. She crumpled to the floor, gasping in agony as blood pooled beneath her.

The driver stepped back, wiping the blade on the bedspread as he glanced at Jose. "We're done here."

Jose nodded, though a part of him wondered if they'd missed something — if Naomi was telling the truth after all. But there was no time to dwell on it. The sound of a door opening, followed by footsteps, caught the driver's attention. He motioned to Jose, pointing toward the back of the apartment. Without hesitating, the two men slipped out of the apartment as silently as they came, leaving Naomi bleeding and alone in the dark.

As they disappeared into the night, Naomi clung to consciousness, knowing she had to survive — if not for herself, then to protect the secret hidden behind the picture frame. The key and the letter stood between her and the darkness, threatening to claim her.