by Lori Power
Mitch’s finger’s tingled with the urge to take over the computer search and satisfy his own burning desire to know all, but was at a loss about to how to explain his interest. Instead, he shook his head, peering closely at the pixels on the screen.
“My file shows no specific details at any rate,” Jordan’s finger tapped the monitor as though reading his mind. “He’s since died out on the coast. No other known relatives. Scrolling down, I see she lived with foster parents Mariam and Brent Cobalt when she was thirteen. Yes, here it is. Mariam and Brent, one child. Natural. Named Natasha. Now deceased…”
“Natasha Cobalt?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Jordan confirmed, absently nodding, still clicking away on the keyboard.
Mitch sat back on his chair, listening to the information being relayed in a clinical, non-emotional tone of voice those used to looking at such information honed. She had been an orphan? He remembered her best friend and roommate, Natasha. Easy on the eyes. His mind flashed to a friendly smile. One of the guys on the team dated her.
“Funny Lorna didn’t change her name to Cobalt.”
He didn’t realize he had spoken the words out loud until Jordan replied. “No adoption listed.”
“Did you say they were all deceased?”
“No. Brent Cobalt and his daughter, Natasha. Not at the same time. Different dates are listed. No specifics on cause of death for either. Again, I could search it, but I don’t see it as valid to your purpose,” Jordan paused and cast Mitch a questioning look over his shoulder before turning back and pulling up yet another window. “Mariam Cobalt, as it turns out, shares the same address with Lorna Tymchuk.” He continued to type and read. “We’re in luck. They’re local.”
“How so?”
“She’s right here in the city. Four-twenty-five Dunfield Court.”
“Jesus.” Mitch’s fingers reached for his temples to ease the sudden pain.
“Yeah. You say the accident happened in another city, and yet she’s from here. Quite a coincidence.”
Mitch slapped the back the chair he straddled. “I don’t believe in coincidences.” He stood and patted Jordan on the shoulder, preparing to take his leave. “Okay, thanks, rookie.”
Out in the corridor, his phone, just returned to him that morning, buzzed in his pocket. Holding the phone up, the caller ID showed ‘blocked.’ Shrugging his shoulders, he answered. “Morgan here,” he said crisply as he walked down the hallway back towards his own department.
Nothing. Not even breathing relayed through the line, indicating another person. Mitch held the phone away from his face to confirm the line was open, but he could hear nothing on the other end.
“Morgan here,” he repeated.
Nothing.
Shaking his head, he pressed ‘end’ and replaced the phone in his pocket.
***
Mariam scanned the scuttling clouds drifting by the window above the kitchen sink. “Gonna be a scorcher today.”
Lorna leaned across the counter to peer through the same window. “You get all that from scanning the sky?” Lorna laughed, stepped back and moved towards the back door to gather her shoes and briefcase. Bending down, she held her arms wide to her son. “Come here, baby boy. Give mama a kiss bye.”
Mariam held up her smart phone. “No, from this handy app. It’s the six-thirty guaranteed weather application.”
“Glad to see you’re getting on to it—”
Kris banged his spoon on the table, staring up at her from his morning cereal with earnest eyes. “I not a baby no more,” he interrupted. His words contrasted the smile lighting his chubby face as he rose from his chair and rushed to her arms.
“No, not a baby anymore.” Lorna breathed in his fresh three-year old scent. Just to me you are. She kissed his forehead. “Mama’s sorry.”
His rosebud lips smacked a wet kiss on her cheek. “Okay. ’Ave a gud day,” he said, before turning back towards his ‘special’ table where his breakfast cereal waited. His self-assured confidence reminded Lorna of his natural mother. Her heart ached with the reminder of Natasha.
“I will ba-ah-honeybun,” Lorna stammered, turning her gaze towards Mariam. “Be good for Nana.”
Concentrating on his Cheerios and making pictures with the O’s all over his toddler table, he had tuned her out. Straightening, Lorna cast Mariam a sad smile. “Reminds me more of Natasha every day.”
The mention of Kris’s mother—Natasha—brought her best friend’s face swimming clearly into view. Natasha had been one of those rarities in the modern age. She died during childbirth, leaving Kris as much an orphan as Lorna had been.
With vivid reflection, Lorna recalled her last conversation with Natasha.
“Promise me,” Natasha panted, her words strained. Lorna nodded encouragement and held tight to her hand while Mariam mopped her brow. “Promise me if something happens to me, you’ll take care of the baby. Don’t let what happened to you happen to my baby.”
“Shush, don’t talk like that, Tasha,” Lorna whispered amongst the mayhem of the doctors and nurses fluttering around, preparing for the emergency cesarean section. “It’ll all be over soon.”
“Do you want us to call the father, love? Shouldn’t he know?” Mariam prompted.
Natasha’s tired eyes fluttered before her old spark lit briefly. “Fucking junkie doesn’t remember his own name, let alone mine,” she ended on a whisper, laying her head back on the pillow, seeming to gather strength. “He’s dead to me and mine.”
“We have to move her,” the nurse said gently. She walked around the bed to pick up Natasha’s wrist, counting the pulse beats. “The OR is ready.”
Lorna blinked misty eyes at Mariam, not having heard what she said. “What was that? Sorry?”
Mariam’s words brought her back to the present as Lorna watched the older lady cross herself. “God rest her soul and thank the good Lord for sending us you when he did.”
Mariam’s words, however well intended, made Lorna uncomfortable. A childhood of unanswered prayers left her skeptical. This combined with how the older woman always made it sound as though Lorna had somehow done something good for being fostered onto them, when in fact, the Cobalts were her second chance at a family, a home and they gave her the sister of her heart, Natasha. And, of course through Natasha, Kris.
Lorna dabbed her eyes and stood. She straightened her pencil skirt and gathered up her case and purse. Her feelings of disquiet collided with the cozy kitchen and she sighed heavily. “I’ve been summoned. The meeting’s at two-thirty, but I should be home for supper.”
“Poor dear, not that June woman again.” Mariam returned to the kitchen sink to clean the already immaculate counter.
“The very same.”
“I thought you sent the proposal through the last time you were away?”
“I did. I’m hoping this meeting is for final decisions and next steps.” Lorna crossed her fingers superstitiously in the air before reaching for the doorknob. “If it’s not next steps and we’re back to square one, I swear I’ll scream.”
***
If curiosity killed that damned cat, then I’m doomed.
With the television fixed on Sports Central, Mitch sprawled across his bed, surfing the net for information on Lorna. This is a mistake. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitant. Time slipped away as though it hadn’t been five years since he last saw those amber eyes smolder. He closed his own eyes and the touch of her lips left him yearning like he never had for another woman. I’ve tried. “God, how I’ve tried.”
The world according to Google beckoned to him as he searched out the one woman he vowed he would never think of again.
The website U popped up next to her name: Lorna Tymchuk, President and Founder of U marketing and promotions, with the tag line, “Our business is all about U.”
The stylish site seemed to match the personality he remembered, nothing out of place. “Oh, Lorna, haven’t you
learned how to eat, drink and be merry?” Have sex to loosen you up. God, how she could loosen up.
Mitch coughed and sat up straight. He didn’t want to think of making love with Lorna and he certainly didn’t want to think of her parallel with anyone else.
Skipping out of her site, he searched up newspaper articles. He learned U was just three years old and already claimed some high-powered companies as clients. A boutique provider to the petroleum industry, Lorna made her mark in public relations by encouraging news stories about big oil in a positive light. So maybe we can assume she’s not driving a smart car or some electrical-powered hybrid, he smiled, remembering the big red diesel that crashed the passenger door.
“It’s important to keep my clients top-of-mind to the public, not just for the product they supply but for the massive innovations it took for them to provide it and the positive mass implications of those technologies.” He read a recent quote from a local paper Visionary Women. The article went on to feature several pictures of Lorna fashionable, chic with never so much as a wrinkle in her starched suits. She moved in high-end circles with her business clients.
Pretty classy. He paused to contemplate the fly resting in the middle of his white stucco ceiling. Just what I would have expected from the girl. But his mind fixated on the sealed record and orphaned beginnings. The path to Lorna wasn’t at all paved. There were definitely some graveled bits that didn’t seem to fit.
To think she’s all over this town and I never ran into her until I literally ran into her. Albeit in another city. Mitch scrolled the photos. She certainly doesn’t run with the same crowd I do.
Addressing the fly on the ceiling, Mitch said, “Well, I think this may be a good opportunity to run into Lorna again.”
Chapter Six
Aqua Oil’s ultra modern office in hues of greys and silver, interspersed with splashes of crude-oil-gold, suited the personality of the owner. As much as she appreciated the elegant lines, she was surprised he hadn’t pulled from his Oriental roots in some of the décor. Her heels clicked across the marble floor as she walked to the main reception to sign in.
A talent—secret—Lorna never revealed, even to Mariam, was her ability in computer hacking and hijacking—when required. Trained as a child criminal at the hands of her drug-dealing uncle’s questionable business associates, Lorna’s early-identified knack to “see” programmable mappings and read algorithms like other children the same age could read the alphabet became a lucrative asset to her guardian. While other kids watched Sesame Street, Lorna honed logical forms and computer translations to move money from one account to another, stealing people’s identities and their wealth. She could pick a pocket with a smile, and wave goodbye to the mark without their ever knowing the difference. Within an hour of stealing the wallet, she’d have gift and credit cards printed for distribution.
But when it tanked…no, I won’t think of it. She moved the memory back into its compartment and straightened her back, ignoring the reminder of the now painless scars which lay on her body. That’s all behind me now.
With her skills, she could have easily attended MIT, but in her quest to shed her former life and any connection to it, she pursued a different direction entirely. However, she did draw on these early abilities to ‘research’ new and potential clients.
The simple surface background check didn’t pull up much of interest about the sole owner and CEO of Aqua Oil, and she refrained from delving deeper. Was it really necessary to know everything about everyone? She had enough for the sake of her pursuit of this account to know he had been raised in Hong Kong, educated at the Harvard School of Business, and made his home in Canada. Seems he saw an opportunity to make his mark in petroleum and went for it. Blah, blah, blah. Nothing of interest there. Her job now consisted of finding that something-of-interest about the business. Using said information to the company’s favor.
In the business of marketing and promotions, there was no room for knee-jerk reaction. Therein lay the thrill for Lorna. It was what kept her interested. She was the iron on the board with a job to smooth the wrinkles. At the moment, she was just waiting to see if U would be granted the contract before she sunk her teeth fully into the project.
“Here you are, Ms. Tymchuk,” the pretty blonde behind the tall reception desk said, handing her a visitor ID badge.
Lorna laid her bag gently at her feet, rising to hook the clip to her lapel. “Thank you.” She nodded.
“I’ve already notified June of your arrival. She said to head on up.”
Smiling politely at the security officer stationed at the bank of elevators, hearing the whirr of the approaching lift, she stepped on and the doors whispered closed behind her. She nodded and waited for the man to run his card over the panel. For the few times she had been to the building, Lorna always found the security more like mob dog than law enforcement. Perhaps it was their calculated stare rather than friendly observation?
Even after so many years, Lorna continued to be haunted by the faces that attack with purpose and without remorse. She saw enemies in strangers at every turn and struggled every day to control the urge to hide. You’re not a vulnerable child anymore, she chided to herself as she wiped a hand across her brow and smoothed her hair.
“She’s a warm afternoon.” He nodded his head without allowing his face to break the mask of stern stoniness. “What floor?”
“Penthouse,” she answered, lowering her hands to her side, her voice mirroring his lack of expression.
“Top floor?” The large gorilla of a man stopped in mid motion. “Right to the boss then?”
“Yes,” she said, positioning her back against but not touching the wall of glass.
His eyes swept her like an x-ray from her two-toned shoes to her neat chignon. “Well, you look like you can hold your own.” The big man suddenly broke his mask with a quick wink.
Strange. She turned her attention to the view from the elevator while being whisked up thirty-six floors, her hand hanging onto the rail. The bell dinged, and she strode off the elevator exuding what she hoped was pure confidence. I really need to land this one.
Heels clacking, Lorna pasted her most professional smile to her face, bracing for whatever June might toss her way.
“Ah, Ms. Tymchuk,” the receptionist rose from her chair. “June asked me to show you straight into the boardroom.”
“Call me Lorna, Mary,” she replied, remembering the woman’s name from the last time she was there.
Compensating for her own insecurities she prayed never showed, Lorna had a strict rule of first names in business. Notwithstanding her assistant’s—Tia—demands for formality when referencing clients, Lorna held firm everyone needed to be on equal footing to get the job done. She didn’t stand on titles and wouldn’t work with clients who did. Fortunately, it hadn’t hampered her so far, and Tim, the president of Aqua Oil, responded well to her casual approach, despite his probably being a gazillionaire.
“Ah, yes. Lorna,” Mary’s words faltered only slightly. “Can I get you a coffee, tea, water?”
“Water would be great. Tall glass. No ice.” She stopped to make eye contact before adding. “Thank you.”
Lorna had barely taken her seat when June and Tim joined her in the glass-walled, ultra-chic room. Standing to shake hands, they congregated in seats at one end of a table large enough to seat thirty comfortably and complete with intable computer monitors and plug-ins masked as part of the decorations.
“Lorna, thanks for getting us the outline so quickly last week.” Tim’s cultured tone held only a hint of an Asian inflection on some words. “An impressive turnaround after the mix-up of the e-mails, wasn’t it?” He turned his narrow eyes to glance at June.
“Yes, right,” June began, her long face never quite able to live up to a smile. “I sent the e-mail outlining the direction we were looking for, but apparently it was never received.”
Lorna didn’t miss the emphasis on apparently as she returned her attention to T
im, seated at the head of the long table.
“None of us here are cyber wizards after all and who can tell what happens out there in that black wall of electronic space?” He smiled back at Lorna. Quite a handsome man for his age. He’s likely in his early fifties. Fit and well dressed. Lorna remained silent but open to the conversation waiting for when it would be appropriate to speak about business. “Well, nonetheless, it’s all water under the table now.”
He stopped to regard Lorna in a speculative manner, taking a drink from his china teacup, pinkie lifted just a bit as the liquid poured into his mouth. With deliberate purpose, he carefully set the delicate cup back on the saucer without clatter before continuing.
“I understand from June you had a bit of an adventure in Vancouver. An accident?” His thin lips quirked a little, and he raised his eyebrows at her.
Seeing the opportunity for participation had arrived, Lorna returned his smile and glanced between June and Tim trying to imagine these two holding a conversation on anything unrelated to their work. Unlikely. “A bit. A hit and run.”
He gestured a pianist hand. The long fingers fluttered in illustration down the length of her. “And you’re okay, I see,” he said, stating the obvious.
“Yes. It was really quite strange,” Lorna shook her head remembering. “I hit him and he ran.”
“Oh, that’s different,” June said laying her hands on the table on top of her covered iPad. “You hit him and he just took off?”
“Not my fault, but yes.” Lorna laughed a little at the memory, seeing absurdity. “Try explaining that to the local authorities. The man drove a hearse of all things. He ran a stop sign. I was driving one of those big pickup trucks, if you can imagine it.” Lorna indicated large with her hands.
“You, in a pickup.” Tim leaned his elbows on the table, moving forward, interested in the small talk.
“I know. What a day.” She huffed dramatically, enjoying relaying the fascination of a story. Small talk made for easier sales. Familiarity bred trust.