by Tawny Taylor
Shit. “I understand.”
“Good.” She flipped the folder shut. “Have a good day.”
Feeling a little like I had been thrashed, and still unsure whether I had found the mysterious T, I rode the elevator to the lower level and followed the narrow corridor to the door at the end. A small sign was affixed to the wall next to the doorway.
Maintenance.
I had gone from being on top to the very bottom.
Hopefully there was nowhere to go but up again.
I pushed open the door. The reception area was tiny and cramped. The furniture was old and slightly battered. A young woman who looked like she might be old enough to drive—maybe—gave me a big grin as I entered and jumped up from behind the crappy desk.
She was wearing jeans and a V-neck T-shirt that said REDNECK PRINCESS.
“You must be my replacement. I’m Baylee.” She extended a hand, and I accepted it.
“Abigail Barnes.”
She eyed my clothes. “Did you just interview? You’re awfully dressed up.”
“Um . . . yes.”
“Ah, okay. For the future, jeans are just fine. Nobody sees you down here but the guys, and they don’t care what you’re wearing. Though they are nicer if you wear something a little low-cut.” She tugged down the front of her shirt, exposing more cleavage. “You get my drift?”
A little bit of vomit surged up my throat.
Oh God, what depths I’d sunk to.
“Anyway.” Baylee plopped in her chair and spun toward the desk. “It’s really quiet down here most days. There isn’t much to do. You have to handle requisitions. You know, for toilet paper and paper towels for the bathrooms. And lightbulbs. This place goes through truckloads of that stuff every month. Occasionally you have to get quotes on jobs from outside contractors for repairs. And, of course, you have to answer the phone.” She jerked her head toward the one beat-up filing cabinet in the room. “We keep files on all expenses and vendors in there. They’re alphabetized by vendor name. I organized that mess.” Her chest puffed up with pride. “When I got here, all the receipts and invoices were being stuffed into cardboard boxes, one for each year. It was a huge mess.”
“I bet.”
She glanced at her watch. “Well, that took about ten minutes. Um . . .” Her gaze swept the room. “I suppose you’d like to sit down.”
“It might be nice.”
“Let me see if I can find a chair for you.” She hopped up again and scampered off somewhere.
I dropped my box in a corner, took her seat, and wiggled her mouse to wake up her computer. I needed to check the company’s employee directory, to see how many women had a name that started with a T.
Lots of men.
Only five women.
Five.
And of course one of them was Terry, my friendly HR representative.
I could do this. Five was doable. I could figure out which one it was, assuming it was someone from the company.
If it wasn’t Terry it had to be one of the others, right?
“Okay, here you are.” Baylee came flouncing in the door, carting an old metal and wood chair that had probably been in someone’s barn during the Civil War. She plunked it down in front of her desk, and, giving me a get-out-of-my-seat look, circled around to her chair.
I stood.
Her gaze jerked to the computer’s screen. “I see you know your way around the company’s computer system.”
“Yes. I’ve been working here for . . . a couple of years.”
“Oh, really?” She looked extremely surprised. I didn’t blame her.
“Yes. My former position was eliminated.”
“Oh. That sucks.” She flopped into her chair and stuck out her lower lip in an exaggerated faux pout.
“Yes, it does suck.”
“But I’m sure you’ll work your way into something better in no time. It only took me three years, and now look at me. I’m going to be the Sales Department administrator, starting Monday.”
She’d hit the big time.
Okay, not really. But a little niggling bite of jealousy stung me. Here I was, a former executive assistant, and before that an employee with a good performance record, and because of someone else’s greed, I was now working in the castoff job of someone who had maybe an eighth-grade education.
The compulsion to cry nearly overtook me.
I must have made a strange face, because her proud look-at-me grin faded.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s not so bad. Really.” Leaning over the desk she added, softly, “They’ll keep their hands to themselves if you tell them you’re married.” She lifted her left hand and wiggled her fingers. “See?” she said, showing off a gaudy ring with a cloudy faux diamond. “It’s a total fake. I bought it from QVC.”
If it wasn’t for Kam, and the fact that I had to find a way to get him out of jail for both our sakes, I would have walked out then and there.
Seven hours had never dragged so slowly.
When the minute hand hit the twelve, I rocketed out of there as fast as my legs could carry me. With Baylee there, hogging the computer all day—playing stupid online games—I hadn’t been able to get any further information about my suspects. Tomorrow I was planning on telling her she could take an extra-long lunch break and I would cover for her, just so I could spend some quality time on that computer.
I needed phone numbers, addresses, drivers’ license numbers. After spending seven hours in that closet of an office, and dealing with three perverts with leering eyes, sailor tongues, and wandering hands, I knew I wouldn’t last long in that job. I would either hurt someone or walk out. It was only a matter of time.
As I was driving home, my cell phone rang.
Wayne County Jail.
I couldn’t click that button fast enough.
“Please tell me you’re getting out,” I said, assuming it was Kam.
“Um. Hello to you too.” Kam. Oh God, it was great hearing his voice!
I steered off the road, parking in front of a gas station. My fingers tightened on the phone, as if by holding it firmer I might keep him there with me longer. “How are you?”
“Shitty. This place is worse than I ever imagined. You?”
“I feel like I’m in prison with you. They reassigned me. I’m the Maintenance Department’s admin.”
“Bad?”
“Horrid.”
“Why?” he asked.
“I’d rather not talk about it now. There’s nothing either of us can do about it, and I need to keep a job at MalTech so I can keep digging into who stole the plans.”
“Speaking of that, my attorney said I should confess and take a plea.”
Confess? My insides twisted. The air left my lungs. “No, don’t do that.”
“If I plea, I could get as little as three years. Take in good behavior, and I might be out in just over twelve months.”
“No! I can’t let you do that,” I snapped, my eyes watering. “I can’t let you lose even a month of your life because of what he did.”
“Who, he?”
“My . . . brother.” My heart started pounding hard against my ribs. I’d just done it, told someone about my suspicion.
“Your brother? Do you know something?”
“Not really.” I squeezed the steering wheel and sucked in a deep breath. God, it was hard to say this, hard to admit what my brother had done. “Last night, in our apartment, I overheard Joss talking to someone, a woman. They were discussing a bank account that hasn’t been found yet. He doesn’t realize I heard them.”
“Who was the woman? Did you know her?”
“I didn’t see her. I only heard her. And her voice wasn’t particularly unique. But I did get a hold of my brother’s cell phone—a phone he’s had for months but never used to call me—and looked at his contacts. He calls the woman T.”
“T. As in . . . Terry?”
“As in . . . ma
ybe Terry. I got the impression my brother’s accomplice works for MalTech. But I don’t know whether it was her. I was able to search the company’s directory. There are only four other female employees whose names start with a T.”
“Wow, you’ve done great! I’m going to—dammit, give me five more minutes.”
“Of course you can have more than five minutes,” I said. A twinge of unease flashed through me. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“No, I wasn’t talking to you.” I could hear his sigh. My gut twisted at the sound. “My time’s up.”
“Okay. I’m glad you called. I . . .” Click. “Love you,” I said to the dial tone.
If only he’d had three more seconds.
Just three more.
Feeling slightly less nervous than I would have if I were about to face a firing squad, I headed inside my apartment. My brother’s car was parked in the lot. I knew he was home. Having probably been caught snooping on his phone (I couldn’t say for sure whether he had realized I had snooped), I wasn’t certain what to expect. I hadn’t ever probed into his personal life before. And, making matters worse, he had a lot to hide at the moment.
There was a huge lump stuck in the middle of my throat. I couldn’t swallow it down.
Struggling to clear my clogged throat, I let myself into our apartment. Right away I knew something wasn’t normal.
I smelled food.
Joss didn’t cook.
Could the mysterious Miss T be in our home? Was I about to find out who his co-conspirator was?
“Hello?” I called out as I shut the door behind my back. I set my purse on the entry table, like I always did.
“Back here!” Joss shouted. “In the kitchen.”
I followed the sound and the delicious aroma to the kitchen. My brother was alone. He was standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot. “I cooked dinner.”
“You cooked dinner?” I echoed, surprise and confusion overcoming my fear.
“Yeah. I learned to make a few simple meals for myself when I was in hiding. It got real old eating frozen dinners all the time.”
“I imagine it would.” I peered into the pot. It was some kind of red sauce. “It smells incredible.”
“Sit down. It’s almost ready.”
“Okay.” I checked the table. It was set for two. There was an open bottle of wine sitting in the table’s center. Wine sounded nice. Relaxing. As long as I didn’t drink too much. Relieved, since it seemed he hadn’t realized I had been checking his phone, I nodded toward the hall. “I think I’ll go change my clothes before I eat.”
“Sounds good. Everything will be on the table by the time you’re done.”
And it was. Spaghetti with meat sauce and salad and baked breadsticks—still warm.
Wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt, I sat down and inhaled deeply, drawing in the scents of the bread and tangy sauce. My mouth filled with saliva. “This smells incredible,” I said as I filled my bowl with salad.
“Thanks.” My brother’s chest puffed up with pride. “I kind of like cooking. And I’m pretty good at it. I was thinking I might like to go to cooking school.”
“Cooking school?” This was a surprise. A pleasant one. For the first time ever my brother was talking about getting an education. But hearing him talk like that made me feel a little sad. He might have come to the realization that education wasn’t a four-letter word too late.
Or it could have been a big, fat lie—to maybe throw me off.
“Yeah. I might like to work in one of those fancy restaurants someday. You know, the kind that doesn’t have a printed menu?”
The kind we didn’t go to.
The kind rich people went to.
As we ate, my brother chattered on and on about food and cooking and his dream of someday being a famous chef. He didn’t say a word about his phone. Not one. As we finished up our meals, and he was acting like the brother I’d known and loved for most of my life, my anxiety eased even more. He hadn’t realized I’d checked his phone. He didn’t know what I’d heard.
I was safe.
Safe for now.
Roughly a half hour later I was stuffed full of pasta and salad and bread, and I was feeling very relaxed, thanks to the wine. I stretched and yawned and pushed up from my chair. “After that meal, I’d say you have a promising future as a chef.”
“Thank you. I thought you’d say that.”
I waddled to the couch. “Ohmygod, I’m so full.”
“Glad you enjoyed the dinner.” Standing next to the table, a dirty plate in each hand, he motioned to the hallway with his elbow. “By the way, I bought a new phone when I was in hiding. I wrote down the number and put it on your dresser in your room. I didn’t call you with the phone because I thought it wouldn’t be safe.”
That was a semireasonable excuse, and I might have bought it if I hadn’t seen that he’d been using the phone since long before he’d gone into hiding.
He was lying.
My brother was lying.
Because he’d done something terrible.
My baby brother. The kid I would have died for. The kid I would have done anything to protect. Anything.
Now I couldn’t protect him. Not without letting an innocent man pay the price for his crime. An innocent man I loved.
Oh God, this was going to kill me.
My mood did a swift nosedive as I sank into the sofa’s welcoming softness. Ahhh, so cozy. I was feeling so sleepy. So very sleepy. Probably the stress.
“How are you doing?” my brother called from the kitchen. I could hear the clanking of dishes, the rattle of silverware. I should be helping clean up. But I was too tired.
“I’m tired,” I said. My voice was rough and scratchy. And I felt a little like I was drifting, floating. I swung around, lying down on my back.
“You’ve had a lot going on. You need to sleep. Don’t fight it.”
I couldn’t fight it. The darkness fell upon me like a thick, heavy blanket. I let myself tumble into sleep. Vivid dreams, strange and scary, played out in my mind as I slept. But then I woke a little. I jerked. I screamed. But my brother was there, soothing me, telling me everything was going to be okay.
“Thank you for protecting me,” he said as he stroked my hair out of my face. “I know what you did. I . . . I saw it. I’ll never forget. Not ever.”
He saw what?
He said, “I saw. Dad.”
He saw that?
He couldn’t have. No.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I mumbled. My lips and tongue felt funny. Swollen.
“Shhh. I’ll keep your secret for the rest of my life. You don’t have to hide anything from me anymore. I’m grown. I can handle the truth. You can tell me everything.” I can tell him everything.
My eyelids were heavy. They fell closed. “Everything about what?” I asked.
“About the missing money. What do you know about the missing money?”
“What money?”
My brother leaned closer. His breath warmed my cheek and ear. “Why were you looking at my phone? What were you searching for?”
“Her name,” I blurted.
Why had I just told him that? My eyelids snapped open. My gaze met Joss’s.
“Whose name?” he asked, brows scrunched together.
“The name of the woman who was with you last night,” I answered.
Why was I saying these things? Why was I answering his questions?
“Why did you want to know who I was with?” he asked.
“She talked about another bank account,” I said.
“She’s nobody. Not important.” He stroked my face, gently, slowly. It felt good, soothing.
“Nobody?” I echoed.
“Forget about her.”
“But the bank account—”
He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “It’s not what you think, Abby. Do you hear me? Open your eyes.” I forced my heavy eyelids up. “It’s. Not. What. You. Think.” He punctuated each word w
ith a little nudge.
“It’s not? Then what money is it?”
“My money. My money for school.”
“You didn’t steal from MalTech?”
“No! I didn’t steal anything from them or anyone else. I borrowed the money for school. I swear to you.” His lips thinned, and a dark, terrifying expression pulled at his features. “Your boyfriend stole the money. You know that, right? He was the one who did it, and he’s trying to get you to help him pin it on someone else. On me.”
My head was foggy, and I couldn’t follow what he was saying. What did it mean? “I . . . I . . . don’t know.”
“You love me, right?”
That was a stupid question. “Yes. Or course, I love you.”
“Then you have to believe me, Abby.”
“Yes . . .” Some stray thought popped into my head. But just as quickly it popped out. “I . . .”
“You believe me, right? I didn’t steal anything. That rich bastard just wants you to believe it was me. He’s rich. He has everything. He has more money than he can ever spend in his lifetime. You and me, we have nothing. Don’t we deserve to be happy too?”
“Y-yes, but . . .”
“Shhh. Go back to sleep.” Releasing my shoulders, he stroked my forehead. “Go back to sleep, but remember, Kameron Maldonado is the guilty one. It wasn’t enough for the rich bastard to have everything he already had. He needed more.”
I felt the darkness falling over me again. My brother’s last words echoed in my head as I let it carry me away again.
He needed more.
He needed more.
He needed more . . .
25
Someone tried to split open my head with a sledgehammer. That was what it felt like.
Knowing it was going to be excruciating, I forced my eyelids to lift a tiny bit, allowing as little light in as possible.
None came in.
It was still dark.
I felt like death. I felt like I’d mainlined a gallon of tequila. Since when did a little wine do that to me?
Oh crap, I had to pee too. That meant I had to get up. And walk. All the way to the bathroom.
Groaning to myself, I pushed to my feet. My head almost exploded. The pain took my breath away and made my stomach twist.