What They Never Said

by Avery, Quinn

  She would’ve given anything for Lincoln to have been her first.

  As Cameron processed that fateful day, Pamela approached in flowing white pants and a black-piping cropped top with different length necklaces, sculpted eyebrows raised over large sunglasses. The dark red hue of her long, straight hair matched her quirky personality and the slight dusting of freckles on her high cheekbones. To top it all off, she wore the cutest little white fedora. Thin gold bracelets on her wrist jingled as she handed Cameron a cup of coffee.

  “You look way better than I was expecting.”

  Cameron barked with a laugh. “That’s because I ran out of tears. You should’ve seen me a couple days ago.” She rested the warm cup on her knee and slumped forward. “Did Preston ride your ass about all the days I’ve missed?”

  “Nah. He even let me out early yesterday, said since you’ve been gone all week, there wasn’t much for me to do anyway. He’s been pretty chill about the whole thing.”

  Relief sprung through Cameron. “Thanks for covering for me. Guess I should be grateful his ex-wife was an addict.”

  “I wish you would’ve told me sooner what’s going on. I can’t believe all this time you’ve been living a double life.” Her lips pursed with a deep-set scowl. “For the record, I always hated Kellen, and thought you were making a colossal mistake when you told me you were engaged. Glad to hear you’re not serious about the jackhole.”

  “I’m serious about making him suffer.”

  “What about this Lincoln guy…the twin? Sounds like you have a pretty intense history. You really think you’re done with him?”

  “I don’t know what to think. This has been the craziest week of my life. I’m still trying to process everything.”

  Pamela stretched an arm out across the bench while taking a sip from her cup, shrugging. “You’ll figure it out. If you need a place to crash until everything clears up, you’re welcome to the hideaway in my spare room. It’s not too comfortable, and you may wake in the middle of the night with Bowie lying on your face, but my old bed and ill-mannered dog will be good motivation for you to find your own place.”

  “Thanks, I might need it. Things are better with Rebecca, but it’d be nice to have a little privacy. I’m honestly a little worried that Kellen hasn’t stopped by, looking for me. He’s not one of those guys who quietly walks away from something he wants.”

  He’d made it clear that he wanted her whether she was still game or not. The idea that he’d continue to pursue her until he got his way made it hard not to run straight back into the safety of Lincoln’s arms.

  Pamela’s peach-colored nails tapped on her cup, and her crossed leg began to bounce. “This whole situation is making me nervous. Are you sure you don’t want the cops involved? Kellen sounds dangerous—the rest of his family too.”

  “Linc’s not dangerous!” Cameron snapped. Looking away, she sucked in a slow, calming breath. What would it take for her to actually hate him, and quit defending his honor? “At least not when it comes to me.”

  “Sorry, Cam. I just mean…you got yourself in pretty deep. Murder? The mafia? Embezzling? A fake engagement followed up by a real one? Do you have any idea how you’re going to fix this cluster?”

  “Not in the slightest. The only thing I know for certain is that I need to get my things from Kellen’s, and I’m too afraid to go back there alone.”

  Laughing brightly, her friend tossed her oversized handbag onto her lap, patting the side. “In that case, it’s your lucky day. I was just approved for a conceal and carry.”

  * * *

  The entire time they stuffed Cameron's belongings into garbage bags and every decent container they could get their hands on, Cameron’s heart hammered with the force of an anvil. She was sure Kellen would come flying through the door at any second. As much as she was accustomed to the eerie stillness of the place, flashbacks of pulling a knife on him flipped her stomach upside down. But he never appeared, and there was no need for Pamela to draw her gun. It made her even more panicky. What was his game? What was he planning?

  By lunchtime, they were able to get everything she owned into the trunk of Cameron’s sedan. They celebrated at their favorite little dive bar near the pier, drinking way more than intended. At least when Cameron was buzzed, Lincoln’s betrayal hurt a little less.

  As Pamela flirted with a wild group of guys from Wisconsin, Cameron took a stroll down the pier with her phone in hand, occasionally looking down at Lincoln’s number. The green call button below it waited to be pushed.

  If she had kept track of all the secrets they kept from each other since day one, it was more than likely he’d be in the lead. But who was she to decide her secrets weren’t any less scarring? If he loved her the way he claimed, she couldn’t begin to imagine how much she hurt him by announcing that she was marrying his brother. She couldn’t fathom what he felt when she confessed to the horrors of their senior prom.

  Leaning against the railing overlooking the water, she closed her eyes. The squawk of sea gulls and chill of the salty air were soon replaced by memories of the last week. Passionate kisses…eager touches…devotions of adoration and revenge…the way he looked at her when she brought him his favorite banana bread…nothing would ever compare to being fiercely loved by the adult version of Lincoln Farrington. If he meant half the things he said, it shouldn’t matter how they first met. Like her mom had said, he cared for her when Rebecca couldn’t. When no one else did.

  Although he’d held back something that could’ve saved her mom unnecessary years of heartache, he only did it because he thought he was protecting Cameron.

  Her thumb pressed the send button. She brought her phone up to her ear, holding her breath as it rang again and again. She had no idea what she’d say, but she yearned to hear the deep rumble of his voice. She wanted to hear him assure her they’d find a way to work things out, and he still wanted her for all eternity. Above all, she needed to hear him tell her that he still loved her.

  The phone continued to ring before it kicked into a generic voicemail. She wasn’t even given the satisfaction of hearing his voice.

  “Hey…” she started slowly while attempting to swallow. “It’s me. I changed my number so Kellen couldn’t get a hold of me. I’m going to be staying with a friend. She helped me move my things out of the apartment. I know you’re busy training, but I really need to hear your voice, so call this number when you get a minute, okay? I…uh…miss you, Linc. We have a lot to talk about.”

  What she really wanted to say was that she loved him, and that she’d made a mistake when she left him at the hotel, just as he'd made a mistake when he left her before graduation.

  * * *

  Pamela had a theory about how a person could forget their worries with booze, then wake with a new perspective. So the two friends spent the rest of the afternoon getting hammered with the crew from Wisconsin. They were in town for a bachelor party, and also had inebriation as an end goal. They stopped drinking long enough to stuff themselves with pizza for a late dinner, then ended up at a new nightclub near South Beach.

  The five handsome men in their early thirties were sweet enough to stop flirting when Cameron told the two who were single that she was engaged. But then she spent the next hour obsessing over whether or not she still intended to marry Lincoln.

  Once midnight rolled around, she was seeing double. She continued to check her phone every ten minutes, hopeful Lincoln would return her call. She almost combusted when it finally buzzed with an unknown number. Not totally convinced she was ready to speak to him, however, she answered with heavy reluctance.

  “Quinn?” Between loud noises in the background, a spotty connection, and the strain on his voice, she could barely hear him.

  Hand held over her other ear, she stepped out into the hallway. “Linc! What’s going on? Where are you?”

  “Kellen…knows about us…worried he’ll…something to hurt you.”

  Panic swelled through her. “Are you
okay? Did he threaten you?”

  “He wants to meet…Luxco…tomorrow night…ten o’clock.”

  “I’ll be there!” Met with a loud burst of static, she squeezed the phone tighter. “Linc, are you there? Did you hear me? I’ll be there!”

  The call disconnected.

  It was time to face the music. She vowed to herself that if anything happened to Lincoln, she’d kill Kellen herself.

  19

  “Well this place is ritzy,” Duke commented into his mic. “Feel like I should’a wore my tuxedo.”

  They’d reached the part of the plan Lincoln had been dreading the most since dragging his friends into the mix. But they were in too balls-deep to back out. He could only wait in his Jeep down the road from the downtown San Francisco skyscraper, fists clenched as he prayed to whatever gods might be listening that he wasn’t sending his two closest buddies out to be slaughtered by the mafia. They’d been through hell and back completing missions overseas—he’d be damned if he’d let them go out on home soil.

  Cameron had left him a message while they were on the airplane. As relieved as he was to hear she was ready to talk, he didn’t plan to call her back until he’d made a noble gesture to fix what his family broke.

  There was a ding in his earpiece before he heard the guys shuffle onto the elevator that would take them to where Joseph Agron’s front as a legitimate investor was based. It was a good thing it hadn’t worked for him to join the guys, because once they were able to uncover all the information they’d need on his brother’s alleged cohort, Lincoln would be out for the taste of blood.

  They’d done a little research on Agron before the meeting, uncovering even more reasons for Lincoln to wish the man a painful demise. After Scott Quinn’s murder, Agron had purchased a new million dollar yacht. It was something Scott Quinn would’ve given anything to experience. Remembering the little sailboat tattooed on Cameron’s wrist, his insides clenched.

  Their first unofficial date was the weekend before Valentine’s Day their freshman year. It was “unofficial” because as much as Lincoln liked her, he couldn’t ask her out as a girlfriend. His old man would’ve lost it if he’d learned his son was with Scott Quinn’s daughter.

  Lincoln had to get creative when making plans. There wasn’t much to do in her neighborhood, and he didn’t want Cameron to take the bus, so when he overheard the captain of the basketball team say he was spending the day in the Bay area with his older brother, Lincoln convinced him to give them a lift.

  Cameron was quiet as they rode in Shannon’s car. Lincoln was convinced it was because she’d asked to be picked up a few blocks down from her apartment where low-income housing faded into middle class. From the first day they met, she had tried her hardest to hide where she came from. Lincoln wished there’d been a way he could let her know he was aware of her circumstances and couldn’t care less, but he continued to play her game.

  After taking her to the arcade museum for the first time, they stopped for her favorite soft pretzels with cheese before taking a walk along the pier. He’d never forget how beautiful she looked that unusually warm winter afternoon as she leaned over the railing to watch the sea lions sun themselves on the docks.

  “My dad loved the water,” she told him, cheeks stretched with a wide smile. “He worked at the yacht club in high school, and was on a college racing team. When I was little, he took us out on rental boats a few times, but I never got to see him sail anything. He told me that when I was big enough, he’d teach me how to sail. He was saving up so he could buy his own boat. He promised one day he’d take me and my mom to Southern Italy.” Her smile slipped at the same time there was a hitch in her voice. “By the time I was old enough for lessons, he’d started working late hours. I hardly ever saw him.”

  Lincoln’s heart took a brutal beating every time she mentioned her dad. Still, he wanted to know more about the life of the man his father took, even if he didn’t have the right.

  Reaching down to squeeze her hand, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Quinn.”

  But he wasn’t just apologizing for the missed lessons. He was apologizing because his father took hers away in more ways than one. It was his way of telling her he was sorry he hadn’t done anything to stop his murder. He was sorry for being too much of a coward to tell her the truth.

  When she turned to face him, the wind blew strands of her hair across her face, sticking in her tears. “I miss him so much. It’s been two years since he died. I keep waiting for it to hurt less, but it doesn’t.”

  He wanted to cry along with her. He wanted to holler at the top of his lungs, and beat his father with his fists. But out of all the things he wanted, he didn’t want any of them more than he wanted her. That afternoon, when he brushed the hair away from her face and looked into her eyes sparkling in the bright sunlight, the truth hit him with blinding clarity. He hugged her in the only awkward way a fifteen-year-old boy could as his heart raced. His heart stuttered with the feelings he was trying to avoid.

  He would’ve died for her.

  In his earpiece, the elevator doors slid open and Duke cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, sweetheart. I’m Christopher Hofield and this is Clay Warner. We have an appointment with Mr. Agron.”

  “You’re right on time,” a woman replied. From her sickly-sweet tone, Lincoln imagined she was batting her eyelashes at the guys, Duke in particular. Women flocked to him even when he wore his wedding band. “Go ahead and have a seat. He’ll be with you gentlemen in a minute.”

  There was a pause and the sound of shuffling feet, then Duke whispered, “If this whole Quinn thing doesn’t work out, I can get this sexy little secretary’s number for you, Twitch. She’s smoking hot.”

  “Quit dickin’ around,” Lincoln snarled. “You’re about to meet with a key player in the Russian mafia.”

  Without missing a beat, Duke asked, “Speaking of, how do you know if someone’s Russian? Their blood has a permanent vodka content level, whether they’ve been drinking or not.”

  Rogers snickered beside him.

  Running his hands over his face, Lincoln sighed. If he hadn’t been confident the idiots could be dead serious when called for, he would’ve pulled the plug on the operation.

  Duke passed the time by humming along to an obnoxious pop tune playing in the lobby. About the time Lincoln was ready to rip the earpiece out, he heard the receptionist call them back.

  “Showtime,” Duke whispered.

  A few moments later, they were greeted by a man with a deep, booming voice, and a faint Ukrainian accent. After the guys exchanged their bogus names with Joseph Agron, he told them, “Gentlemen, have a seat. What was so important that you needed to meet on a Sunday morning?”

  “As I told you on the phone, we’re private investigators, hired by someone with an invested interest in Luxco Industries,” Duke replied, sounding oddly professional. “I apologize for bringing you in on the weekend, but we recently came across some time-sensitive information that we thought you’d be interested in.” A temporary lapse of silence was filled with the sound of the 8 x 10 photographs they printed sliding out from a manila envelope. “The man in this picture is Kellen Farrington, son of Howard Farrington, the former CEO of Valicorp. From what we understand, you have a history with Valicorp and the Farrington family. You’re even listed as the majority shareholder with Luxco.”

  Adrenaline spiked Lincoln’s blood when he imagined Joseph Agron hunched over, eyebrows scrunched together as he studied the pictures Rogers took of Lincoln in the Cayman Islands the day before. With any luck, Agron feared he was about to get his ass busted.

  After a drawn-out moment, the Russian grunted. “That is correct. I’ve invested in several software companies. What’s this about?”

  “I’ve got this,” Rogers said, presumably to Duke. “Mr. Agron, based on Valicorp’s financial records and several offshore accounts that have been subsequently uncovered, our employer has reason to believe Howard Farrington was embezzling money fr
om Valicorp.”

  “There must be a misunderstanding,” Agron replied, the even tone of his voice giving nothing more away. “I have worked with Howard Farrington for over a decade. He’s a commendable businessman. Are you quite sure?”

  “My partner and I met with him on Friday,” Duke answered. “He was more than willing to cooperate with our investigation. However, he claims he knew nothing about missing funds other than what the company’s former lead accountant—a Mr. Quinn, I believe—stole long ago before he killed himself.”

  Agron chuckled quietly. “Ah yes. Mr. Quinn…quite the coward.”

  Lincoln itched to charge in there and throttle the son-of-a-bitch. Agron was the coward. He had Howard and Vito do his dirty work. Scott Quinn was brave for nutting up, wanting to protect his family.

  Rogers jumped in again. “These pictures of his son Kellen were taken less than twenty-four hours ago in the Cayman Islands. As you can see, he was observed withdrawing a considerably large amount of cash. From what we’ve gathered, the account was opened under the name Trevor Benkin, using Kellen Farrington’s picture on a falsified form of identification. After attempting to contact both Farringtons regarding this matter, we received a message from Kellen early this morning. He claims to have vital information regarding Mr. Quinn and the missing funds. He requested that you be present when he divulges everything he knows.” Rogers stopped with a long, dramatic pause, likely giving the Russian a quizzical look. Lincoln pictured his buddy stroking his chin like a damn clown. “Any idea why he would want you there?”

  “Maybe he wants to follow in Mr. Quinn’s footsteps,” Agron said with a deep grunt. “How would I know?”

  “We’re hoping you’ll consider joining us for the meeting he requested,” Duke said. “Tonight, ten o’clock, Luxco Industries headquarters. Obviously you’re not under any obligation at this point to comply since this is a private matter, but should our client decide to formally press charges, there may be a subpoena issued in the future.”