Dangerous Secrets

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Dangerous Secrets Page 2

by Sidney Bristol


  “No. If I didn’t wear a condom, if I was that drunk, I had no business—just, no.” His face grew paler, almost sickly like. “What do you want to do next? About it, I mean.”

  “Not sure.” Carson wrapped her arms around herself and braced herself for the rest of the lie. “I’ve got to figure out where I’m going to stay so I can think about that.”

  “Stay? What?” Ryan’s frown lines deepened.

  “I’ve been living with my parents, helping them out. They’re older. Mom found the first pregnancy test, and they freaked out.”

  “Are you saying they kicked you out?” His mouth hung open, brows drawn down.

  God, she was going to hell.

  “They’re old school.” She squeezed herself tighter.

  Ryan’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. He shook his head, clearly flabbergasted by the scenario she’d laid out for him.

  “Anyway, I thought you should be the first to know. I don’t have any answers right now.” She lifted her shoulders.

  “Look, Silas and Paxton are about to leave for a week. The house’ll be a lot less crowded tomorrow. You’re welcome to crash here. In fact, I’d prefer it if you don’t have somewhere you’d rather stay. We aren’t just a bunch of smelly guys, I promise. And I should be around for whatever you decide is next. Even if it’s just so you can tell me to fuck off. I want to be... I don’t know. Involved?”

  She’d read him right. He was falling for her plan. This should be good news. Then why was heart twisting in her chest to the point that her eyes began to leak again?

  What the hell was she doing?

  Saving her sister. Helping the FBI. And paving the road to hell while she lied to a good man.

  “Okay. Yeah. Thanks.” She wiped at her cheek.

  “Great. Well, I guess let me tell the guys in case I need to go grab some extra stuff for dinner then we can get you settled.”

  “Can I just sit here for a few minutes?”

  “Sure.” Ryan stood up, towering over her. “Come in whenever you want to, or I’ll come tell you when dinner’s ready.”

  “Thanks, Ryan.”

  He smiled briefly, but it didn’t touch his eyes. The shadows were still there. He turned and walked back into the house, leaving Carson alone with her conscience.

  It was done. And she hated herself for it.

  No part of her wanted to admit how easy laying the trap had been. Her biological mother would be proud how easily Carson had snagged Ryan’s compliance. She wished it hadn’t come as natural as it had. These skills just went to prove that deep down she really was the one thing she hated: her mother’s daughter.

  Carson covered her face with her hands.

  She had to see this through. It was going to be more difficult than she’d anticipated.

  Ryan had struck her as a nice enough guy at the bar when he’d sauntered up to Carson and delivered a line. She couldn’t even remember what he’d said, but she’d stammered out some kind of reply. Not five minutes later Jessica came back from the bathroom and latched onto Ryan. Carson hadn’t been terribly upset by losing the man’s interest. It wasn’t like she’d know what to do if things had progressed. More than likely she’d have gotten too nervous and left when he wasn’t looking.

  She could talk to men just fine, but when things went farther, she lost her nerve. It never worked out for her, and truth be told she didn’t mourn the loss of it all. Relationships were fraught with minefields she didn’t have the strength or skills to withstand.

  What time was it?

  She checked her phone.

  It was getting late.

  Carson peered at the sunroom windows, but couldn’t make out anyone inside the house.

  This might be her only chance.

  She dug into her purse and pulled out the prepaid phone she’d bought at a corner store. Until this mess was over, she wouldn’t risk doing anything that might inform anyone where she was.

  Carson plugged in her sister’s number and got up, walking to the distant corner of the yard while the line rang.

  “Hey,” a voice whispered.

  “Frankie? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. We’re at the movies. Just walked out.”

  “The movies? I thought you’d talked Mom and Dad into going—”

  “Relax. We left last night. They don’t suspect anything. The AC in the cabin is out, so management sent us to the movies while it’s fixed. I get no signal out there, by the way.”

  “Jesus, Frankie.” Carson slapped her hand against her forehead. Her little sister never failed to wreak havoc on Carson’s blood pressure.

  “How are you?” Frankie’s voice wavered a touch.

  “I’m fine.” Carson smiled to try to override the strain in her voice.

  “I’m scared.”

  “Don’t be. We’re doing everything they asked us to do. Just...stick to the plan, okay?”

  “What if they don’t hold up their end of the bargain?” Frankie asked softly.

  Carson swallowed

  She couldn’t entertain that idea.

  “They will. Or we’ll remind them. Everything will be fine.” She had to believe that, otherwise why was she doing this?

  The door to the house creaked open behind her. She knew without looking that Ryan was there. Watching her.

  “Hey, Frankie? I’ve got to go. Check in with me later, okay? Tell Mom and Dad I love them.” Carson hung up the phone and turned toward the patio.

  Ryan stood there waiting for her. He’d changed into shorts and a T-shirt. He seemed more human, approachable, like this. With the suit on he was another person. He’d been wearing jeans and a black shirt when they’d met. Honestly she’d assumed he was in college, maybe graduate school from the way he carried on. It just went to show that under all that intensity was someone else. Someone who’d made her feel alive in a crowded bar. In another life she’d have liked to get to know him. Maybe she’d be the girl he took home instead. Now there was no changing their path.

  She blew out a breath and strolled back to the patio.

  “Everything okay?” Ryan asked.

  “Yeah. My little sister is just upset.”

  “Does she know?” His brows rose.

  “Yeah. She does.”

  “Ouch. It seems like your parents are pretty harsh.”

  “They can be, but it’s not like we’re angels.” Carson shook her head. She’d needed a strong hand when she was younger, and they’d guided her despite her attempts to self sabotage.

  “You’re their kids though.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “And kicking your daughter out because she got pregnant is?” Ryan shook his head. “Sorry, it’s not my place to say anything. Just—ignore me. This whole thing hits too close to home.”

  Carson bit her lip. She’d assumed from his interviews following the viral video of him dressed as a cartoon prince dancing at a child’s birthday party that he had particular soft spots. Her research had supported that theory. It appeared that she was far more right than she’d guessed.

  She picked up her purse and slid her phone inside, then grabbed the water bottle. Her knee jerk instinct was to go to her parent’s defense. And yet she was supposed to be playing the part of the estranged daughter. She had to be very careful about what she shared with him.

  “Frankie and I, we’re adopted. And we’ve put our parents through hell. It’s not like their rules are totally unfounded. Without them...” Carson shook her head. At eleven she’d had more in common with an injured, terrified animal than a human being. She’d wanted to hurt people before they hurt her, because that was all she knew. The Adairs had taken her in and shown her kindness for the first time in her life.

  “I’ll keep my opinions to myself.” He nodded at the door behind him. “Dinner’s ready. I hope you aren’t a vegetarian. These guys are too lazy to chop anything if they can help it.

  “I think I can manage.”

  “Ladies first?” He ges
tured at the door leading into the house.

  “Thanks.”

  Carson wanted to stay outside, where she could pretend she wasn’t going through with this crazy, mad plan. But she couldn’t. She had to keep going.

  Chapter 2

  Ben Grewing braced his hands on the top of the plastic chest.

  Did he dare brave the office?

  Were they gone?

  If it weren’t for the motion sensor cameras he’d had installed in the back stairwell, he’d have never known the FBI were coming. Thanks to the camera feed he’d had about two minutes to slip out of the suite he rented in a small office building and into the neighboring unit in the middle of a remodel.

  Why the hell were the FBI raiding his office?

  Ben was careful. He had to be. The people he did business with were powerful and dangerous. They also had long arms. Just because he was in the US didn’t mean he was out of their reach.

  What time was it?

  His phone had died around five o’clock, but he’d heard enough movement in the hall to keep him where he was. He couldn’t stay here forever.

  Word of this raid would get out and then a lot of people were going to be looking for answers.

  Shit.

  This was the worst timing.

  One of his newer clients had a big, three million dollar deal going down in a week. If Ben didn’t figure out a way out of this mess, he was royally fucked.

  It was time to get ahead of this.

  He pushed the top of the chest open a crack. A thin beam of light from the windows shone in. He tilted his head, listening for voices. That light wasn’t from the sun. These windows pointed east. It had to be late enough for the security lights outside to be on.

  Nothing stirred. There was no thump of feet or doors, no voices carrying on.

  Ben sat up and opened the lid of the chest until he could lean it against the wall. He pushed himself up, his head spinning after hours in a dark, enclosed space.

  Could he have successfully evaded the FBI by hiding across the hall?

  He got out of the chest slowly, stretching the knots out of his muscles.

  If he pulled this off, it would be a major miracle.

  Ben crept across to the windows overlooking the parking lot. A few cars remained and one, lone van. One man stood outside, the yellow FBI letters on his shoulder sticking out even in the semi-darkness of sunset. This had to be the last guys packing up stuff.

  How had they zeroed in on him? He was careful. He made sure to keep everything on the straight and narrow. Being the middle man for people in countries blacklisted by the US was a precarious and profitable position. It came with risks, but he’d been certain he was covered.

  Clearly not well enough.

  Ben glanced around the room.

  His window for escaping was closing. If the FBI wanted him badly enough, he’d be on a no fly list. He couldn’t cross any border without getting flagged. His best bet was chartering a private flight under an alias, and fast. Anyone he’d done business with would know very soon that he was at fault here.

  He went room to room, looking for something he could use as a disguise. He had to hide from not only the agents here, but any cameras or people watching the place for signs of him.

  It was time to fall back on his escape plan.

  In the large conference room he found several five-gallon buckets of paint and a white painters cover-up. Ben shook the paint splattered garment out. He might ruin his five hundred dollar suit, but he’d come out of this alive.

  He suited up and hung a breathing mask around his neck to hide half his face. A discarded bandana made for passable headwear.

  Now he just had to walk out of here.

  His car was off limits, which meant wherever he was going it would be on foot or public transportation. He had the cash, but what he really needed was a charger for his phone. The sooner he could make a few calls the sooner he could get out of the country.

  Ben picked up a paint bucket and blew out a breath.

  If this didn’t work, he could kiss his life goodbye.

  He crossed to the only exit from the suite and pressed his ear to the door.

  Nothing.

  He cracked the door open.

  The frosted glass door to his office stood open.

  This was his chance.

  Ben stepped into the hall and eased the door shut behind him. He hunched his shoulders and kept his gaze down, making a direct line for the elevators at the end of the hall.

  “This is the last of it,” a man said right behind him.

  Shit.

  “I’m going to look around one more time,” another man said.

  Sweat broke out along Ben’s spine.

  Did he go back? He’d have to get out of the painter suit to get the key.

  The stairs were behind him.

  Deviating from this course would only be more suspicious.

  Ben kept going, all the way to the elevator. He pressed the button and waited, conscious of the man at his back.

  The digital floor counter hit four, and the ding signaled the doors sliding open. Ben stepped in first. The camera was in the corner of the elevator across from the panel of buttons. He turned his back toward that and fished his dead phone out of his pocket to give him something to stare at.

  The man got in after him and turned his back toward Ben.

  “Hold the elevator,” the last remaining FBI guy called out.

  Ben could have missed them entirely if he’d waited another minute or two.

  “Hurry the fuck up.” The man in the elevator stuck his foot in the way of the doors while his friend caught up and joined them.

  “Man, what a day.” The second man leaned against the wall and blew out a breath.

  “Just once I’d like for a job to be all digital.” The box carrying man sighed.

  Ben kept the large portion of his files in hard copy. People couldn’t hack and steal those. They had to physically break into his office. Given the building’s security, it had never been an issue. Until now. There wasn’t a thing he could do about people with badges.

  They reached the first floor without incident.

  The two men got off without even paying Ben any mind.

  He jabbed the button for the basement where he could gain access to the service entrance and garage. From there he could get free.

  “Hey, sir? Sir?” The security guard thrust his hands between the closing doors.

  Ben stared at the man he’d walked past for years.

  “Dude, you forgot to sign out.” The man thumbed over his shoulder with one hand and made a signing motion with the other. “Sign out? Comprende?”

  The fucker thought he was a wetback.

  They all thought he was some Hispanic day worker.

  If Ben believed in a higher power, he’d say a prayer. Instead he nodded his head and followed the security guard to the receptionist desk and handed him a pen. Ben took it and scrawled Pablo Escobar in as messy a script as he could manage.

  “Have a good night,” the night guard said.

  Ben nodded and strode back to the elevator, sweat slicking his shirt to his spine. Hot damn, he was going to make it out of here.

  RYAN PLACED THE LAST pan in the dishwasher. He picked up his newly opened beer and took a sip. The moment the liquid hit the back of his throat he tasted the mistake. He’d gotten into this problem by trying to drown his history.

  That stopped tonight.

  He upended the bottle into the sink, watching the frothing liquid rush down the drain until all that was left were drops.

  Two hours after getting blindsided by the fact he was going to be a dad, he still had no idea what came next.

  “Last call for dishes,” he bellowed out.

  “Coming,” Silas yelled from the front room where he and Paxton were playing some video game.

  “I’ve got two right here.” Alec scooped up plates from the coffee table.

  Ryan shook his head and tosse
d the beer bottle into the recycling.

  Never fucking failed.

  His four housemates produced at least two dishes a piece.

  “This is going to make a whole other load.” Ryan glared at the dishes.

  “That’s your problem.” Alec bit into a cookie and waggled his eyebrows.

  They each rotated duties between cooking and cleaning. Ryan was going to be up all night doing the God damn dishes at this point because the rules were the rules. Any dishes in the kitchen before ten were his responsibility.

  “Where’s the baby maker?” Alec glanced over his shoulder.

  “Her name’s Carson.” Ryan picked up a plate and scraped it into the trash.

  “What kind of name is Carson? Isn’t that a guy’s name?” Silas leaned on the counter.

  “What I want to know is, do you believe her?” Alec asked.

  Ryan paused with a plate in hand and stared at Alec.

  “What the fuck kind of question is that?” Ryan countered.

  “What Alec means is, we don’t know her, and we should.” Vito crossed his massive arms across his chest.

  “What are you saying? She’s not pregnant? The kid’s not mine? What?” Ryan tamped down on the simmering anger. That was his kid they were talking about.

  “Easy.” Paxton braved the kitchen and picked up another plate, scraping it off and pitching in when he didn’t have to. “It’s our job to look at a situation from every angle.”

  “And you think Carson is a threat?” Ryan couldn’t see a tiny woman like her threatening anything.

  “Look, you’ve had some pretty crazy girlfriends since that whole dancing princes video shit. I just want to know that the girls you’re bringing here aren’t going to chop our dicks off.” Alec shrugged. “If you don’t care to find out anything else about Carson, that’s your business.”

  “You’re damn right it is.” That kid Carson was carrying didn’t deserve this treatment. It hadn’t asked for this, and he’d damn well take care of it if it was his. But for now Carson was here.

  Ryan finished filling the dishwasher and got it started while his audience watched.

  “Is she in your phone?” Vito asked.

  “Yeah.” Ryan glanced at his phone charging. That’d been one of the first things he checked out.

 

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