Love Interrupted, True Love versus Deadly Secrets

By David and Linda Broughton

A uniquely told dual story of a man on the run for his life and the woman that was left behind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David and Linda Broughton
• Release date: Sep 17, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458077554

David and Linda Broughton

The love of my life, Linda, is deceased. There will be a few more books by us, since more are written, they are not edited yet. In her honor I will try to get them edited and out to the public, but it's not easy for me. I have a new writing partner now, as well as a partner in life. No it will never be the same, nor should it. To those that review my books. I would greatly appreciate it if you actually READ the entire book before you write the review. Skimming it and posting a review just minutes after you buy it doesn't give a full understanding of the work. One person did this with "Grumpy Old Spy" and totally missed the entire story, and got what they did catch all wrong. I don't appreciate that. If you're not going to do an honest assessment after reading the entire book, don't bother to review it at all. In fact, if that person would contact me, I'll give them their money back for the book, providing they pull the cheap shot review.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Its been a month since Dad's funeral, I guess it's time I went through the business records to see what Dad had going on. I'm not looking forward to that. I hope the crime scene cleanup crew I hired out of Boston did a good job. I certainly don't want to sit there with Dad's blood on the carpet and desk to remind me of his violent, senseless death. The cops sure haven't turned up anything, as if this small town police force would. They're not really equipped to deal with such things. The one investigator they have, Bob Williams, tried, but got nowhere. That late at night, nobody saw anything.

Jeff Watson drives his father's nearly new Cadillac over to the offices. He can't really think of the Cadillac as his, though legally, he's inherited everything. The way his father set it up, he doesn't even pay inheritance taxes on it, something to do with everything being in a corporation name and Jeff the only shareholder. Jeff's not exactly sure how that all works, but the firm's attorneys and accountants assure him it's true and legal.

Since he doesn't know exactly what he wants to look at, Jeff just pulls out a few paper files indiscriminately. He had come to work with his father only recently, working only in the real estate portion of his father's holdings. He wasn't even fully immersed in that job, when his father was so viciously gunned down in this very office as his father worked late into the night. It was his habit ever since his beloved Anna, Jeff's mother, died in a senseless car crash years ago.

This is going to get me nowhere fast. I suppose I should just let the accountants handle things, but if I don't have some idea of what the holdings are, how will I know if they're telling me the truth. Accountants aren't always the trustworthiest lot. I know, I'll get online, peruse his … umm … my… stock holdings first. That should give me a pretty good idea of what's going on.

Jeff boots up the computer, the same one his father was using when he was killed. It's sure odd that the killers didn't steal it or anything else. Somebody must have just wanted him dead. That was no ordinary break-in.

He uses the passwords his father used, everything was spelled out for him in the documents the lawyers gave him just days after the funeral. As he's looking through things, Jeff realizes he never really knew how vast his father's holdings were. Tires squealing to a stop out front put him on alert. He looks out the window, the street light across the street is shining on a high-end Mercedes out front, six men are getting out of it. They're in expensive suits, and … Damn! They're armed to the teeth, those look like Uzi's-- I'm outta here!

Jeff scrambles for the back door just as bullets start ripping through the window he was standing in front of moments ago. He stays low, as his military training taught him. Damn, here I am like a dummy alone and unarmed! Good thing it's so dark, and I'm wearing this black shirt and pants.

Jeff runs out the back, waits a bit at the corner of the building, then moves forward slowly. The dummies all went inside. Can I get to the Caddy? No, I don't think so. My Ford is still here on this side, I left it here the day I came to find out what happened. I hope it starts right up after sitting so long.

He sneaks over to his car, glad he has the keys with him. He opens the door quickly, then presses the button in on the doorframe that turns on the dome light, turning it back off. It was on a few seconds, hopefully they didn't notice. holds the button down while he crawls into the car. He inserts the key with his other hand, then gives it a turn. The motor fires right away, he slams the door shut, then burns rubber out of there in the opposite direction of where he really wants to go. He would like to go to the police station-- if nothing else there are weapons there. The Mercedes is following, but at a distance, they were slow to react.

Jeff makes several turns, staying on paved roads so no dust trail will give him away. He finds himself close to his father's new house. It's not the house he had when Jeff was small and Anna was alive, his father had that house torn down shortly after Anna's death, since he wasn't able to set foot in it without the memories haunting him. He threw himself into his work after her death, amassing a great deal of wealth, more to keep himself busy than any real need for it.

Jeff pulls the car into the drive, then unlocks the front door, to step inside as quickly as he can. I'm not thinking clearly, the car out front is a dead giveaway. Dad didn't keep any weapons, what the hell else can I do? Damn, if I'm going to run, I'll need cash, lots of it. I hope dear old Dad had plenty on hand like usual.

Jeff grabs a duffle bag out of a closet. He moves quickly into his father's office\den, and opens the safe. He stuffs the cash into the duffle bag, there's quite a lot of it. His father believed in keeping cash handy to get better deals, or make people see things his way when cold cash was piled in front of them.

Tires screech, Jeff doesn't bother to look, he runs, duffle in hand, out the back door, across the lawn, and into the woods. He lays down on his belly, using the dark green military duffle to help conceal himself in the tall grass and shrubbery, just like he would have in his military days.

Jeff watches what happens next. He can't see to well in the dark, but he does see the darker shapes partially illuminated by a street lamp located down the block. They go into the house, from the sound of it, by breaking out the glass in the sidelights of the front door. Two come out the back, scanning the area with binoculars. After some amount of time, one of them holds something to his ear, probably a cell phone. In ten minutes or so, a cab pulls up at the end of the driveway. They're all in his clear line of sight, oh what he'd give for a sniper rifle with a night scope at that moment. Four of the six gunmen get in the cab, the other two sit in the Mercedes, obviously staking out the house.

Since there's no way to get out of the yard even if he did get to his car, Jeff starts slipping through the woods. Apparently, none of those guys in fancy suits and shoes wanted to search the woods for him in the dark. He moves slowly at first, doing his best not to make a sound or let any movement be seen. Fortunately, the wooded area isn't too wide, he's able to slip through it to frontage road near the main highway. Another half mile down the road, he enters a convenience store, the only place open in the area. It has no pay phone, but a fifty to the clerk on duty gets him to call a taxi. When the taxi arrives, he has it take him to the commuter train station. He knows from experience there is a late train into Boston he can catch. Now dirty and toting a duffle bag, he doesn't look too out of place on this late night train.

When he gets to Boston, it's nearly morning. He gets breakfast at a Denny's, near the train station, wondering what to do now. A bit of rest so I can think clearly seems in order, but getting as far away from Boston as I can sounds like a better idea at this moment. How to do that might be a problem. I can probably get cleaned up, buy a ticket to California in my own name, with my own credit cards, and get gone all right. Those clowns might be watching, but they can't get their weapons into the airport, or can they? No, they're not government types, they were too well dressed and driving too flashy of a car.

A taxi ride to a twenty-four hour K-mart gets him the clothes he needs, and some more presentable luggage. He'll check the clothes through, he makes sure the case he puts the cash in meets the carry-on requirements.

Jeff changes clothes and cleans up as best he can in the bathroom of a convenience store. He counts the money as he stacks it carefully in the case. It's too much to fit, so he makes a makeshift money belt from a couple of his new T-shirts. All together, it's nearly ten million bucks. That much should see him in good stead for a long while if he's careful.

Now looking reasonably respectable, though somewhat plumper than he normally does, Jeff gets another cab to Logan National airport. He buys his ticket, the first flight to California he can get, LA, of course. He manages to get past security by only having to remove his shoes for inspection, and giving up a nail clipper on his key chain. Why they're so scared of nail clippers is beyond what he can fathom.

In a relatively short time, his flight is called. He booked first class, so he could board first and have a bit of room to stretch out and rest for the longer flight. He does stretch out, but isn't able to really rest. He keeps replaying everything that happened in his head, wondering what he could have done differently. I suppose I could have taken a cab to the police station … I don't know … those guys were heavily armed, a podunk police station wouldn't stop them, it might have got others harmed.

Damn, I wonder if they know about Naomi? Is she in danger? No, those guys will tell whoever sent them they got the job done. I'll have to stay off the grid, in my real name for however long it takes to figure this all out. How can I do that? I'll have to get good ID in another name and some kind of disguise. oh what a mess I find myself in. What possible reason is there for all this? Did dad get some bad dudes pissed at him? Shit, I have no idea at all.

Chapter 2

Dappled moonlight filters through the trees to play hide and seek with fireflies flitting around the garden path. The mist of the small waterfall can be felt, its laughing waters heard, not seen. Naomi meanders down this path, in no hurry to get to the familiar white marble bench that waits at the end of it.

This summer’s evening is quite warm. The full moon is casting interesting shadows as its light tumbles onto the lush plant life here. Naomi knows that in daylight, there are many shades of green, and brilliant colored flowers abound. She can smell the heady fragrance of roses, carnations, lilies, and other flowers mixed together with the scent of new mown grass on the gentle breeze. She cannot see the brilliant colors, a thousand shades of night are what she sees now, muted tones of grey in the soft yellow light, since the foliage blocks most of the moonlight.

Naomi knows that as the moon rises in the night sky, the scene will change yet again, the shadows will lessen, the colors will become brighter. She's spent many evenings out here. Recently, she's been alone. She hasn't shared her garden at night with anyone since her lover disappeared. This was their special place. She still holds out hope it will be again.

Weeks have passed, yet still she’s heard nothing. No word from him, no word from the police, not even any word from the investigators she hired to find him. Nothing, not a single solitary clue to his whereabouts has turned up. No unidentified bodies have been found in the area, nothing. His home is untouched, all his things are still there, including his car. That, in and of itself, does not bode well. Had Jeff left of his own accord, his car and at least some of his things would be gone.

Naomi can almost feel Jeff's presence with her when she’s in this spot. They had spent many hours sitting on this very bench, smooching, discussing their future plans. He hadn’t asked Naomi to marry him yet, not exactly. She could tell he was working up to it. Like her, he just wanted to be sure that they had something more to sustain the relationship than the steamy heat they felt for each other. Hopefully, they still feel it for each other. Naomi knows she does. Passion is wonderful, they both knew from previous relationships. They also know that passion alone won’t sustain a relationship for a lifetime. It helps, sure, but can’t be the entire basis of it.

Naomi just knows Jeff is still alive, she can feel it in her soul. However, she’s had morgues and funeral homes checked, just in case it’s wishful thinking, not the truth of the matter. Such feelings can be very tricky things.

Naomi watches as the moon rises. The colors in the garden become clearer, more vibrant, yet still have a much softer look than in the full light of day. She should go back to the party at the main house, but just isn’t in the mood for parties these days. It’s not her party anyway. Naomi used a party planner to arrange it for her sister, Louise.

Their parents were killed a number of years ago in a car wreck. Naomi took custody of Louise then, Louise was only twelve at that time. Now it’s her eighteenth birthday. She will be of age to receive her trust fund payments directly now. She won’t get complete control of the funds until she is twenty-five, she'll receive the monthly payments that are quite substantial. It should be enough to let Louise do anything she wants to do.

Louise doesn’t want to go to a regular college. She would rather go to an art school, or maybe even one of those fancy cooking schools, though she's never cooked a thing. Regular college simply won't do for her. Bookwork and Louise go together like cats and baths. One might get the cat bathed, but it’s a hell of a fight to get it done and the bather winds up with scratches all over. It’s only a few days until Louise officially graduates. She’s had to take some summer classes to make it official. It's been a struggle to just get her through high school with a C average. Art classes, and driver's ed brought up what would have been a D average. She had to have one more math credit for the diploma, hence the summer classes.

Naomi thinks things over for a bit. She’s sat out here night after night, no longer enjoying life. She should go paste on at least a phony smile, then at least pretend to be enjoying the party, for Louise’s sake, if not her own. What’s left of the party, that is. Naomi has no idea how long she’s been out in the garden.

Naomi starts down the path for the house. When she is a short ways from the bench, she hears some rustling of the shrubbery behind her. She looks back, but she sees nothing in the bushes. She notices a pale blue envelope tied with bright blue ribbon on the bench. She runs back to the bench, picking up the envelope.

She opens it carefully. She sits down, feeling weak in the knees when she realizes who it's from. In Jeff’s almost calligraphic handwriting, it reads:

Sweet Naomi, my love,

Please stop looking for me. If you should find me, both our lives could be over. When this is all over, I will explain fully. Call off the private investigators, not the cops. The cops don’t look too hard. I must stay missing, presumed dead, until this mess is over. this, my sweet, I love you with all my heart. I had to take great risks to my own safety to get this letter to you.

Don’t look for the person that delivered it for me, please. Know I will always love you. Should you hear of my death, don’t believe it. I may need to have a body discovered that will be identified as me.

Keep the faith, my sweet, keep our love burning brightly for us both. I shall not try to contact you again until it’s safe, however long that might take. Be well, my love, put on a good front for those watching. Act like you’ve given up. Please, my love, for both our sakes.

Love you always,

Pooh-bear

P.S. Please, my love, burn this note, however tempted you are to keep it forever. don't risk our lives just to keep it.

Naomi folds the note and envelope, tucking the ribbon in her pocket. The ribbon can give nothing away. She'll keep it as a reminder. She steps cautiously in the minimal light to the brick barbecue off to the side. She turns on the gas, then pushes the striker button. The barbecue flares to life, with a bright blue flame. She places the note and envelope over the flame, tears are rolling down her cheeks as it burns. She watches it burn to a crisp, then uses a barbecue spatula to make sure the ashes are crumbled and fall down into the stones below.

She wipes her eyes with a handkerchief, then puts on a smile. It's a real smile, for the first time in weeks. She's happy to know for sure that her lover is alive. The handwriting and the pooh-bear signature proved that without a doubt. It's a sad smile, but a smile all the same.

Naomi forces herself to go into the house, and appear to enjoy the party. After an hour of faking it, she does begin to have a good time. A weight has been lifted, she doesn't know much, but he is alive, and still loves her. That thought brings joy to her heart.

Chapter 3

Jeff Watson, now known by the name on his new ID, John Weaver, wheels his small Winnebago into the truck stop parking lot. He's still got a substantial amount of cash left, most of the ten million he started out with. At this point, he's being rather frugal, for a number of reasons. He doesn't want to appear wealthy, flashing around a lot of cash draws attention, possibly attention of the sort he's trying to avoid. Besides, at this point, he has no idea how long it might have to last. He has great wealth in his real name, thanks to his father, but cannot easily access it without giving away the fact that he's still alive. He's hoping that those that want him dead do indeed think he is.

They tried like hell to kill me, that's for sure. Dad always told me to keep cash on hand, I would never know when it could be useful. Dear old Dad had sure been right about that, though he probably had no such ideas back when he told me. Dad always kept cash handy to make business deals, he said cash had a way of making people willing to accept his terms, or give him a better price. Being on the run was not something Dad would do. Dad died violently, so he wasn't right about everything. Facing up to things is obviously not always the way to go. Now, the same people that I think killed Dad, want me dead. I have no idea at all about the why of it. I'd only just begun to look into Dad's business when men in suits came gunning for me.

John ambles in to the truck-stop for a bite to eat. He feels lucky to find this place, or any place that's open in the middle of the night. His stores of food in the Winnebago are down to almost nothing. John doesn't like to shop, nor eat in restaurants, his dyed hair, ball cap and lightly tinted night driving glasses are not a great disguise. He mostly only keeps sandwich makings handy, he's not much on cooking, more so in the small motor home. He's more than a thousand miles from home, yet someone, somewhere could recognize him, and unwittingly or not, get the men in suits after him again. Still, one does what one must do, hunger has a way of overcoming some fears.

Even though its after midnight, and the main items being sold right now are of the breakfast variety, he's not at all in the mood for breakfast. It's become his habit to sleep during the day, then travel at night. There is less chance of being spotted that way. John is in the mood for something other than breakfast, but he's not sure what. He peruses the menu, until a waitress goes by with a plate of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy on her tray. Chickin N' taters, as it's often called in the southern states, seems like just the ticket. When the waitress comes by to fill his coffee cup and take his order, he orders three orders of it, one for here, and two orders to-go.

After he's eaten, Jeff, aka John, takes his to-go orders out to the fridge of his coach. He pulls the diesel powered rig up to the pumps, to top up the tanks. He fills them at every opportunity, since he never knows when he may have to run for a long distance. At the price of fuel these days, he hopes he doesn't run out of money before he figures out a way out of this mess. Even with the nearly ten million he has stashed in the coach, it seems like it all could be gone quickly at such prices.

As he motors down the back roads, he thinks things over for probably the millionth time at least. The same questions plague him. What could Dad have known, or had records of, that would send people gunning for not only him but me too?I still have no idea. It must be something big, something there is a record of that they think I might have discovered when going through Dad's business dealings. I don't dare go back to Massachusetts, though I'd love to. picture of Naomi, in that beautiful garden setting flashes through his mind. He hopes she got his note. Jeff entrusted his oldest and dearest friend in that area, Mitchell Thomas to deliver it in a manner that would give neither Mitch nor himself away.

I can't ask Mitch to go through Dad's things, thus putting him in danger too. Mitch and Naomi are the only people in the world that know for sure I'm alive. I won't risk their lives to end my troubles, not even to save my life. There's just got to be another way to find out what's going on, expose it to the world, thus making me safe once the whole world knows.

Try as he might, he just has no ideas on how to solve the problem, so he'll stay away, on the road, until he does. It's nearly morning now, he has to get on the freeway for a bit to get to the RV park outside of Atlanta where he plans to spend the day sleeping. Not more than a mile once on the freeway, he sees flashing red and blue lights in his mirror. He wasn't speeding, he's sure. John wonders what's up as he pulls over in the breakdown lane.

A Georgia State Trooper, with the requisite Smokey the Bear hat and all, hikes up to his window. License, registration and proof of insurance please. John hands him all that, it's legit, it will check out, he's not worried about that. The trooper goes back to his car. In a few minutes he's back at the window, handing him back his paperwork. Sir, are you aware that your tail lights are not functioning?

No sir, that's news to me. They were fine last night.

Well, they're not now.

One moment officer, I'll come out and have a look, it's got to be something simple. John steps out the side door, then around to the rear of the coach. Sure enough, he's got no tail lights. He looks up underneath the coach. A wire is hanging loose, rubbed apart where the trailer hitch attaches. He strips the wires with his handy Leatherman tool, then twists them back together. The lights come on. A little tape from his tool kit holds it for now. All right son, I guess that will do for now. When you get parked somewhere, you should do a better job of it. Have a good day.

The cop leaves, Jeff, aka John, takes a deep breath. He's so glad it was such a minor thing. The last thing he wants to happen is to be taken in, fingerprinted, and properly identified. His prints have to be on file somewhere, he was in the military for a number of years. Most of his records are classified, but his prints may not be.

Jeff travels on down the road, finds the exit, then the turn, to get to the RV park he's looking for. A few miles down the side road, he finds it. At a large park, he won't stand out, not at this time of year, the middle of summer, it's nearly full, but he's learned to call ahead for reservations. He checks in at the office, pays his fees, then in very little time he's hooked up to the power, water and sewer systems, since at this large park they have people to do that for you. He's become quite expert at hooking it up himself.

Jeff undresses, then tumbles into the bed. As usual, he thinks on the situation he finds himself in, then drifts off to sleep seeking the answers to his dilemma, but finds none, not even in his dreams.

Chapter 4

Naomi enjoyed the party, after she didn't have to fake it. Knowing her love is alive, and as yet unharmed, has changed her attitude. Louise notices, My you certainly are chipper after such a late night at the party. You haven't been this chipper since Jeff went missing. What gives?

I've made up my mind to quit sulking about it, and get on with my life. I'm not ready to date yet, but I'm not going to wander around the house being all melancholy, bringing you and everyone else I'm around down. Do you feel like going shopping today? I think you deserve a fitting present for finally graduating. A new car might not be out of line.

My own car! Finally! No chauffeur babysitting me everywhere I go? Are you sure about that, you've been dead set against it since Mom and Dad's crash.

No, I'm not sure about it. I'm not in love with the idea, but we have to live life, not hide from it. You're eighteen now, you could buy one anyway. I figure you would as soon as you get the chance. I'll want you to have something safe, but most of the cars sold today are much safer than in the past. If Mom and Dad had been driving a modern car with airbags and all, instead of that old hotrod he loved, they might be alive today.

Oh, lets not replay that today. It's a beautiful day, lets go out looking, and enjoy the day for a change.

Sounds good to me, oh, wait a minute, I need to make a call first. Hand me the phone, will you. Louise hands her the receiver of the kitchen wall phone, the long coiled cord has no problem reaching to her at the kitchen table. Naomi punches in a number she now knows by heart, Boston Investigations. "This is Naomi O'Brien. I want to cancel all investigating I have you people doing for me. No,