Twisted Lies

by C. B. Clark

  “Ms. O’Flynn? Are you still there?” The assistant’s tinny voice drifted from the phone.

  Athena held the phone up to her ear. “Yes. I’m here.”

  “Good. How about tomorrow? Could you be here by then?”

  “I…I don’t know.” Athena rubbed the tightness in the back of her neck.

  “Our firm prides itself on our integrity, Ms. O’Flynn. I promise you everything that transpires here will be held in the strictest confidence. We wouldn’t ask you to travel all this way if the appointment wasn’t important.”

  Static crackled in Athena’s ear. “Okay. I’ll be there tomorrow.” Yikes! What was she thinking? Tomorrow?

  “That’s great. I know Ms. Smythe is anxious to meet with you.”

  Anxious. The word drilled through her. “Really? Why is that?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. She’ll explain all the details when she sees you.” Distant, muted voices and the jarring peal of a ringing phone sounded in the background. “I’ll put you down for right after lunch. Say one o’clock?”

  Athena chewed on her wounded bottom lip, already regretting agreeing to the meeting. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I look forward to meeting you. Have a lovely day.” The line disconnected.

  Have a lovely day.

  Was the woman kidding? Athena’s entire world was falling apart. No damn way this day was going to get better. Tomorrow would be even more challenging. Her breath hitched in her throat.

  Tomorrow.

  She checked her watch.

  Twenty-eight hours.

  She’d get to the bottom of this nightmare in twenty-eight short hours. Rubbing her arms in an effort to warm her chilled skin, she swallowed back the unsettling certainty she’d stepped onto a precipice and was teetering on the edge of a bottomless pit. Something warm and wet lapped her hand.

  Otis sat on the floor at her feet. His long, pink tongue snaked out, and he licked her hand again.

  She knelt and wrapped her arms around his large, hairy body. “Oh, Otis, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Ever since she’d found him wandering the alley behind her house, his hair matted and covered in burrs, his ribs poking through his dull coat, they’d been inseparable.

  Over the past two-and-a-half years, the dejected, abused little puppy had grown into a large, gangly, hairy, slobbery creature who resembled no recognizable dog breed. He was there when she needed him, offering a warm body to cuddle, a loving lick, or an interested, non-judgmental listener. His gaze followed her every word as if he understood what she was saying.

  “It’s just the two of us, eh, boy?”

  He cocked his head to one side, and his furry tail thumped the floor. Flopping on his side, he rolled onto his back, legs spread, waiting for her to scratch his belly.

  Her fingers trailed through his thick coat, some of the tension easing. “You’re such a big baby.” He certainly had her well trained. She grimaced. At least one of them was.

  Chapter 6

  Athena climbed out of the taxi and wove through the sidewalk teeming with pedestrians, cyclists, and street vendors. Pulling out the wrinkled envelope, she checked the address. The offices of Smythe & Sons should be somewhere on the block.

  Modern office buildings, covered with gleaming glass and metal, towered high overhead. Cherry trees, their branches thick with fragrant pink blossoms, lined the street. Fallen petals drifted like snow in the gutters. A large, circular fountain with a bronze dolphin rising out of the water in the center, spewing an endless stream of water from its gaping mouth, dominated the middle of a small square.

  People in business-casual attire sat on the smooth cement edges of the fountain, eating bag lunches and texting on cell phones. Other men and women, with take-out paper cups clutched in their hands, strode down the wide sidewalk enjoying the warm spring sunshine.

  She blinked in the glare. Too bad she hadn’t brought her sunglasses. Intending to stay just for the day, she’d packed light for the trip but had stuffed a pair of leggings, fresh underwear, a T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers into her oversize purse in case the meeting ended early. Maybe she’d have a chance to go for a run before she caught her return flight. After dropping a dejected Otis at his favorite kennel and promising him she’d be back that evening, she’d hopped into a ride share and headed to the airport and boarded her plane to Vancouver.

  Being in the coastal city was unsettling. How many years had it been since she was last there? Not enough time had passed for her to forget. She swallowed and focused on her surroundings. Jostling past a trio of giggling young women, Athena coughed at the cloud of smoke from their cigarettes. She studied the front of a massive gray stone-and-smoked-glass building. The address matched that on the letterhead. Nice digs. The monthly rent for an office in the high-end building would be more than the yearly mortgage payments on her house. Smythe & Sons Attorneys at Law were doing well, very well indeed.

  Inhaling a deep breath, she thrust her shoulders back and marched up to the wide, double-glass doors, but paused before grasping the ornate, brass door handle. The back of her neck tingled with the visceral awareness that someone was watching her. She whirled around and studied the crowded square. No one seemed to be paying her attention, but she couldn’t shake off the certainty she was being watched. A flicker of movement caught her eye.

  A tall, heavyset man with a bushy orange beard, wearing a red ball cap with some sort of black design inscribed on the crown, dark sunglasses, and a long-lensed camera slung around his neck, turned and strode away, vanishing amidst the crowd.

  Her gut knotted with the certainty she’d seen him before. Where? At the busy airport when she landed? Maybe. Was he following her? She scanned the milling crowd but couldn’t spot the man with the red hat.

  She turned back to the glass door. Her nerves were on edge about the upcoming stressful meeting, and she was imagining things. No one was following her. Why would they? No one knew her true identity. Except, the lawyer knew, didn’t she? Her firm had managed to track Athena down.

  She pushed the door open and stepped inside, then shivered at the chill of the blast of air-conditioned air. Bright afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows and gleamed on the tiled floors. People, probably employees from the offices in the tower, milled about the cavernous lobby as they returned to their jobs after the lunch break. The noise of their conversations and bursts of laughter was deafening.

  Dodging fashionably dressed office workers, she made her way across the lobby to a bank of elevators against the far wall. Focused on their cell phones, the other passengers didn’t look up as she stepped into the waiting elevator. She squeezed past four men and three women and fitted into a small space at the rear.

  “Hold the elevator, please,” a man shouted from the crowded lobby.

  Without looking up from his phone, the young millennial standing at the front of the lift, held his hand in the opening, blocking the doors from closing.

  The harried passenger squeezed into the already packed car. “Thanks.” He was taller than the other passengers, and his suit-clad broad shoulders crowded the tiny space.

  She wedged her back against the cool, burnished metal wall. The air was thick with the cloying scents of expensive perfumes, aftershave lotions, hair styling products, and stale cigarette smoke. Her stomach roiled, and she plugged her nose and breathed through her mouth.

  The elevator rose quickly and silently. In seconds, it slowed to a stop, and the door slid open. Two people fought to the front and stepped off, and the door swished closed, and the elevator continued its smooth ascent.

  She peered over the shoulder of the man in front of her at the illuminated floor indicator. Next stop was the fifteenth floor. Her floor. She licked her dry lips.

  The elevator slid to a halt, and the door whooshed open.

  The tall, broad-shouldered man who’d rushed to catch the elevator and a heavy-set, middle-aged woman disembarked.

  Trea
ding on toes and murmuring apologies, Athena shouldered through the press of bodies and stepped off the lift.

  The woman who’d exited the elevator entered an office across the hall.

  The tall, well-built man, black leather briefcase in hand, strode down a corridor with a long-legged, confident stride.

  Athena puckered her brow. There was something about the set of his tall, lean body and shiny cap of dark curls that was familiar. Impossible. She didn’t know anyone in Vancouver. The last time she was in the city she was a child. Her nerves had her on edge. No wonder. Being there, meeting with the lawyer, was a big risk. An all-too-familiar thirst shadowed over her like the silent, but deadly approach of a ravenous shark. She’d give anything for a stiff drink.

  Anything.

  A gleaming brass sign on the cream-colored wall across from the elevator indicated the offices of Smythe & Sons were down the hall.

  She tightened her hold on her purse and headed down the wide corridor. Thick carpeting muted the clatter of her heels.

  Expensive-looking paintings lined the cream-colored walls on one side. Immense banks of floor-to-ceiling windows on the other wall offered stunning views of the city, the glistening Pacific Ocean, and the Coastal Mountains beyond.

  The tall man from the elevator halted before a frosted glass door and wheeled around. His eyes widened. A heartbeat later, a wide grin wreathed his handsome face. “Why, hello again.”

  She stuttered to a stop. “You!”

  His grin widened, and the devastating dimple in his right cheek popped out. “Hello, Athena.” His golden-brown eyes sparkled with appreciative warmth as his gaze swept her body.

  Heat seared her cheeks. The last time she’d seen him was in the park near her house in Calgary. “What…what are you doing here?” A chill rippled up her spine, and she narrowed her eyes. Why was he there? He’d mentioned he lived in Vancouver, but what were the odds he’d show up in that building at the same time as her appointment? Astronomical. Was he a reporter? Was word out the infamous Margaret O’Flynn from Shelter Island was in town? “Are you following me?”

  He chuckled. “I could ask you the same question.” He advanced, stopping inches from her.

  The subtle scent of his spicy aftershave surrounded her, and the heat from his body sizzled the air.

  She opened her mouth to say something… anything…but the words stuck in her throat. He leaned closer, and she gaped, caught under the immobilizing power of his golden gaze.

  His warm fingers grazed her cheek as he brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Nice to meet you again. When you ran away from me in the park, I thought that was the last I’d see of you.”

  “I…I didn’t run away. I…I had—”

  One dark eyebrow arched.

  She gulped. “I had things to do.”

  “Really? Huh.” The dimple danced, and he cocked his head, making no secret he was fighting back laughter. “How’s Otis?”

  He remembered her dog’s name? “Good. He’s really good.” She swallowed. “Did the bike rental company charge you for the damaged rim?”

  “I told them the brakes were loose, and that’s why I crashed.” He chuckled. “They were too worried I’d sue to charge me.”

  Unable to resist, she returned his smile with one of her own. “You didn’t mention that Otis caused the crash?”

  “That’s our little secret.” He grinned and released his dimple like a deadly weapon.

  The heat in her face revved to a five-alarm blaze. Before her brain could function again, the thud of heavy footsteps filled the corridor.

  A middle-aged man with gray, thinning hair and a sizable paunch marched down the hall. He gripped a metal briefcase in one hand and held a cell phone pressed to his ear with his other hand. His voice was loud and impatient as he talked on the phone, oblivious to the two people blocking the hall.

  She stumbled back a step.

  The hunk from the park grasped her arm and steadied her.

  His touch burned through the light fabric of her coat, and the skin on her arm tingled.

  As if he too felt the searing heat, he released her and stepped back.

  She resisted the urge to rub her arm, or to remove her coat and see if the skin was blistered.

  Without acknowledging their existence, the older man marched past, snapping orders into his cell phone. He paused before a door farther down the long corridor and rapped. The door opened, and he greeted someone and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

  Recalling why she was there, she glanced at her watch. “I…I’m sorry, but I’m late for an appointment.” She stepped around the all-too-handsome man and edged to the door. “Nice running into you again.”

  “Russ.”

  Her hand on the door handle, she paused and glanced back. “What?”

  “My name’s Russ, in case you forgot.”

  Forgot? She hadn’t forgotten a single thing about him. Every detail of their encounter in the park was embedded in her brain. “I remember.”

  He nodded, a smug expression on his rugged face. “Allow me.” He lifted her hand from the door handle and pushed open the door. With a theatrical gesture, he motioned for her to enter the room beyond.

  She bit her lip to halt the giggle threatening to escape. “Thank you.” She swept through the door into the offices of Smythe & Sons and crossed the tastefully appointed waiting room to a desk where an older, gray-haired woman worked on a computer.

  The woman glanced up with a welcoming smile. “Hello.”

  “I have a one o’clock appointment with Ms. Smythe.”

  The secretary’s smile widened. “Oh, yes, Ms. O’Flynn. Ms. Smythe is expecting you.”

  A sharp inhalation of air filled the room.

  Athena spun around.

  Russ’s gaze riveted on her, but this time the expression in their honey depths wasn’t male appreciation, but suspicion.

  Startled, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “You tell me.” His face was impassive, but blatant animosity shone from his hooded eyes.

  He definitely disapproved of her. Talk about a three sixty.

  Before she could demand an explanation, the receptionist called, “Ms. Smythe will see you now, Ms. O’Flynn.”

  Eager to escape the inexplicably angry Russ, Athena followed the woman across the small waiting area and through a door into a spacious office. The door closed behind her on silent hinges.

  Chapter 7

  A plump, matronly woman sat behind a large oak partners desk that dominated the room. She rose and walked around the desk and extended her hand. “Ms. O’Flynn, I’m Jennifer Smythe.” A warm smile wreathed her face. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  She was at least six inches shorter than Athena, and every time she shifted, her chin-length, glossy chestnut curls bounced around her chubby cheeks. She resembled a suburban soccer mom more than a hard-edged, cutthroat city lawyer, but her clear brown eyes behind thick glasses shone with an alertness hinting at a keen intelligence.

  Athena shook the woman’s hand. “Hello, Ms. Smythe.”

  “Please call me Jennifer.”

  The office was tastefully decorated, with a stunning panoramic view visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows that took up most of one wall. The distant mountains gleamed with a fresh mantle of snow. Ships chugged across the glistening waters of English Bay, streams of dark smoke trailing from their tall stacks.

  Athena’s workspace at Schuster & Corbin had a single, narrow window providing a view of the foothills and distant mountains if she stood on her chair and peered between two neighboring buildings. “Nice view. I don’t know how you get any work done. I’d spend all day looking out the window.” Her face heated. She was babbling, a trait that showed up when she was nervous. “From your firm’s name, I assume this is a family business. Do your sons work with you?”

  Jennifer’s smile was warm. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Laughter bubbled in her voice. “Smythe & Sons is
a small concession to the vagaries of modern business. Clients feel more confident when they think men are running the show.” She chuckled. “There actually are sons involved…I have two boys of my own, but they’re thirteen and ten. They’re smart, but they haven’t passed the Bar yet.”

  In spite of her wariness, Athena found herself liking the woman. Her warm, easygoing charm was hard to resist.

  “Please sit down.” Jennifer gestured toward a comfortable-looking leather chair situated in front of the lawyer’s desk. Returning to her own chair behind the massive desk, she rested her clasped hands on the gleaming desktop. “Thank you for coming.” She pierced Athena with a sharp look. “My secretary told me you were reluctant to meet with me. Would you mind telling me why that is?”

  Athena smoothed her damp palms on her skirt, but she remained silent. Until she knew for certain what was going on, she was hesitant to reveal too much.

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to answer that.” Jennifer nodded. “I’ll tell you what I know, and we’ll go from there. You legally changed your name, and you moved around a lot.” Her eyes narrowed. “The private investigator I hired is one of the best. He had a hard time tracking you down.”

  Athena squeezed her hands until her fingers ached, hiding their shaking. The craving for a shot of vodka roared through her like a ravenous bear demanding to be fed. Leave. Now. Get up and walk out. Run to the nearest bar and order a double, maybe even two.

  She blocked out the insistent voice in her brain. If she walked out, she’d always wonder what the lawyer wanted. Digging deep for strength, fighting to think through her insatiable thirst for alcohol, she schooled her face into a neutral expression and made a point of studying her watch. “Why am I here? I’m on a tight timeline. I have to be back in Calgary tonight.”

  “Of course.” Jennifer nodded, and her curls danced. “I understand your reticence, but both I and my client are grateful you came here today.” Her easygoing friendliness vanished, replaced by an all-business demeanor. She tugged open her desk drawer, slid out a thick file folder, and set the file on her desk. “Before we begin, I’ll require proof of your identity…a driver’s license, birth certificate, passport…anything like that.”