Young Lies (Young Series)

by Kimble, W. R.

  One of the things that Matthew always said he both loved and hated me for was my incessant curiosity. If something caught my attention, spiked my curiosity, I couldn’t just let it go. No matter how many times he told me it was better for me not to know something. No matter how he spelled out the possible consequences of my gaining knowledge. I still wanted to know. And that is the reason I’m slipping into Frank’s office right now. He showed me once how to disable the security alarm if I happened to get in before him, and while he was doing that, I happened to notice the screen that displayed all the different camera visuals throughout the building, even a couple I couldn’t physically place because I hadn’t been in those rooms.

  Telling myself I’m doing this to ensure the building is secure, I sit behind his desk and boot up his computer. As I wait, I look around, I don’t see the normal things a person would see in an office. There are no personal effects. No photos of family members on the desk. The only plants are plastic and dusty. What throws me off most, though, is the open padlock hanging from a file cabinet drawer. If it hadn’t been left unlocked, I probably wouldn’t think anything of it.

  Convincing myself I’m only going to readjust the files that are sticking out of the top so the drawer will shut, I glance very briefly at the papers and suddenly freeze as my eyes register what I’m seeing. The folder is full of information and photos. Of me. And my son. Everything about us. Who our friends are. Where we’ve lived. There are pictures of us with Tom.

  “What the fuck is this...” I breathe in horror, flipping further through the file. Surveillance photos taken outside Tyler’s school while he’s on the playground. And these are recent.

  Frank’s desk phone rings suddenly causing me to jump and yelp. I stare at the phone for a few moments until it stops ringing and realize my hands are shaking. Stuffing the papers and photos back into the file, then the file back into the drawer, I rush out of the office, back to my desk to grab my purse and jacket before bolting out of the building altogether. I very faintly see Bonnie standing outside her shop door watching me peel out of the parking lot in the direction of my son’s school with a dropped jaw.

  I manage to get myself under control as I pull into the school parking lot, not wanting to seem like a panicked mother—even though I most definitely am right now—and not wanting to frighten my son. From what I could tell, my boss has been stalking me. For a long time. That in itself is disturbing, but there’s something else I can’t quite put my finger on that has me looking over my shoulder the entire way into the school. While I wait for Tyler, I realize I left the travel agency open and unlocked. Not that it was my top priority at the moment, but I should probably tell someone where I am. I place a quick call to Bonnie telling her I’m okay, but left in a rush because Tyler was ill and needed to be taken home. She assures me she’ll take care of locking the place up and telling Frank for me, then promises to deliver some homemade chicken soup later in the evening.

  As I hang up, Tyler comes around the corner to meet me, looking confused. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  My eyes shut briefly. That should not be the first question out of any child’s mouth when they’re leaving school early. “Nothing, sweetie,” I assure him, smoothing back his hair and bending to press a kiss to his forehead. “I just thought we could spend the afternoon together.”

  He shrugs in acceptance of my lie and I lead him out of the school towards my car. Again, I waste no time in the parking lot, not missing a single thing around me as we drive away. I glance in the rearview mirror when we’re on the road to home and find Tyler humming to himself and looking out the window. As much as I don’t want him to worry, I need to know what we might be dealing with...

  “Tyler,” I say, getting his attention. “Have you seen anything strange lately?” I watch his little brow furrow as he processes the question. “Or maybe strangers hanging around where they shouldn’t be?”

  He thinks hard about my question, then shakes his head. “No,” he says simply. “Don’t think so.”

  At least not that he’s noticed... I think darkly. “Good. And you’d tell me if you say anything strange?”

  “Uh huh.”

  I smile reassuringly at him and we drive along in silence until we pull into the driveway. This is our safe place. It’s the place Matthew told me hundreds of times during our relationship where I could go if I was scared or in danger. No one could touch us here, he promised me that. And of all the people in my life, past and present, I still trust Matthew more than any of the rest of them. He trusts Leo. Which means Leo is who I need to see about this situation.

  I set Tyler up at a picnic table outside to start on his homework while I make my way to the guest house that Leo has made his home. I’ve only been in there a handful of times and it’s a typical bachelor pad. He’s sitting on the front step looking out over the lake when I approach.

  The smile on his face when he sees me quickly slips and he stabs out his cigarette before standing. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he comments quietly.

  “Not exactly,” I tell him. At his raised eyebrow, I take a deep breath and tell him what I found in Frank’s office. He listens patiently, impassively, as I explain the photos and the information that must have taken years to acquire. When I finish, he stands suddenly and heads inside briefly, returning with a glass of water. I smile briefly in thanks and sit down beside him on the stairs.

  “The thing about Frank,” he begins quietly, looking out at the water again, “is he’s never been a guy I would consider firing on all cylinders, if you know what I mean. He’s smart, there’s no doubt about that. He knows what he wants and goes for it, and he usually gets it. A few years ago, he and Matt had an argument—a bad one that I had to get in the middle of—and they parted ways. They remained friendly in public, but they would never consider doing business with each other again. Over time, they settled their differences after a couple drinks and just in the last year or so, I thought they might work together again.”

  “Work together on what?” I interrupt.

  Leo sighs, lighting another cigarette. “I can’t give you details, mind you,” he says apologetically. I nod impatiently. “Tracking technology. Radar, GPS, that sort of thing, only more... involved and sought after.” His vagueness is annoying, but I know better than to press for answers. “Anyway, Frank wanted Matt to head in a direction Matt wasn’t comfortable with, and Frank decided to take the direction whether Matt was onboard or not. You knew him well enough to know how that went.” We both wince. “Matt went after him with everything he had and eventually Frank relented, rightfully signing over all the patents and information that was Matt’s to begin with. Frank disappeared for a while and when he came back, he went straight to Matt needing help with some group he’d gotten too involved with that was demanding things from him he couldn’t produce. Matt being who he was remembered he and Frank had once been good friends and helped him. I don’t know the details on that one; Matt was pretty damn tightlipped on the whole thing. I don’t think Matt really trusted Frank after that, but his motto had become keep your friends close and your enemies closer. He was determined to keep Frank in his sights to keep him from screwing his company over again.”

  Of the multitude of feelings I have right now, only one pushes forward. I glare at Leo; he has the good grace to lean away, knowing exactly where I’m going with my next words. “You knew all this,” I begin quietly, “and you still sent me there for a job?”

  He shrugs. “Despite his many faults, Frank really is a good guy,” he tells me. “As for what you found in his office... That’s news to me. And I’d be upset about it too. I don’t know why he’s got all that stuff, but I’m telling you right now, Sam, you have nothing to worry about. I’m not going to let anything happen to you or to Tyler. I promise.”

  There’s light and sincerity in his eyes that I haven’t seen since before he and Matthew left for Italy or Russia, or wherever it was they went. It sets me at ease for the first t
ime in what feels like days, though it’s only been hours in reality. “Thanks, Leo,” I say quietly. He winks and smiles at me. “How are you, anyway?”

  He raises his eyebrow in question and I flush slightly, realizing this is the first time I’ve actually asked him this question.

  “Since everything’s happened, I mean,” I clarify. “We haven’t really done much talking.”

  “I’m fine, Sam,” he says quietly. “I won’t lie and tell you this has been easy—Matt and I had been friends practically all our lives—but I’m getting through it.”

  I nod uncomfortably. As good of friends as Matthew and Leo were, and as much as Leo and I got along for the three years I was in his life, he and I never really bonded much. The last few weeks since I’ve been here has been the most we’ve interacted possibly ever. I suddenly wonder whether Leo had any friends aside from Matthew, and if not, I have to wonder who’s helping him through this situation. Maybe it’s good Tyler and I are here. He might have misjudged Frank, but I know he’ll do everything in his power to keep us safe. And maybe he’ll help me get through the whirlwind of heartbreak I seem to have gone through in the span of only a couple months.

  18

  That evening, despite my conversation with Leo, I’m on edge. All through preparing dinner—which I very nearly burned—and eating dinner—which I hardly ate—and watching television before Tyler went to bed—I have no idea what we even watched. I jump several feet, startling my son, when my phone dings to alert me of a text message. It’s from Frank and my hands are shaking as I press the button to read it:

  Sry I bailed 2day. Unavoidable meeting. Hope your boy feels better. C U 2morrow. Frank

  I stare at the words for at least five long minutes, my heart racing as I try to figure out if there’s a chance he knew what I was up to in his office after he left. I can’t imagine he would be completely clueless, if he checks the security cameras every night. At the same time, though, maybe he doesn’t check the cameras every night, only when he thinks he needs to. It’s not like I turned the office upside down, leaving a trail of evidence to show I was going through his things. Then again, this is a man who’s got a folder full of information and photos of me and my son; God only knows what else he might have in those drawers or behind those locked doors. And who the hell was in the building earlier today after Frank left?

  I don’t respond to the text message. Instead I turn off the television, let my son have his ritual protest about how not tired he is even through the huge yawns he emits, then take him upstairs to get him ready for bed. As I read him his bedtime story and he falls asleep against me, my gaze falls to the broken Batman watch still on his wrist. Nothing I say or do can get Tyler to part with the thing, which only confirms my suspicions about why it’s broken. I’m tempted to take it off him, smash it with a hammer. Whenever that happens I remember my promise to Matthew before he left about trusting him.

  With a sigh, I close the book and slide out of the bed, pulling the blankets up to Tyler’s chin before kissing his forehead. I’m too wired for sleep or reading or watching television, so I head to the laundry room and start taking clothes out of the dryer, then go up to my bedroom. As I’m placing socks and underwear into my drawers, I see something at the back of one that flips my stomach upside down. It’s the gift Matthew left for me in his jacket. The one he said he’d bought for our wedding anniversary that we never saw together. He asked me to wait until he returned to open it.

  The sight of the gift seems to actually push me away from the dresser until the backs of my thighs hit the bed. I sit down, my eyes looked on the box in my hands as I debate what I should do with it. Yes, Matthew wanted me to wait until he came back. But clearly that won’t be happening, not now. I could either open it and stave off my curiosity, or I can wait. It’s only another month and a half from our anniversary date; I could open it then, probably when Matthew intended to give it to me.

  For the first time in my life, I don’t want to open a gift. Whatever is in here will be the last thing he’ll ever give me and perhaps I should save it for some day down the line when I feel my connection to him slipping. With shaking fingers, I see myself pulling apart one end of the dulled wrapping paper and I can almost imagine him handling this box as he debated keeping it or getting rid of it, because really, what’s the point in keeping a gift meant for a specific person when you know you’ll probably never have the chance to give it to them?

  I neatly remove the paper without ripping it, setting it aside for the moment and eyeing the long plain black box in my hands. It has a very tiny clasp that I flip open before lifting the lid and gasping. I’m looking at a silver heart-shaped locket with an intricate daisy design in the center and vines surrounding it. I turn it over and feel my eyes water at the engraved message on the back: ‘You are my forever. Love, Matt‘. Trembling, I carefully open the locket and sob a laugh at the sight of the black and white photos he chose: One is of us on our wedding day, our first kiss as man and wife; the other is the day Tyler was born, the only one we have not taken through the plastic of the incubator he spent so much time inside. His little fists are raised, his eyes are very slightly cracked open, and he’s not crying. Two of my all-time favorite photos.

  I see now why Matthew held onto this for so long. He and I cherished the same memories and moments in our life together, and even if he never gave me this locket, he’d never part with it. Though my fingers don’t feel like they are willing to cooperate, I manage to undo the chain’s clasp and lift the necklace to encircle my neck before reattaching the ends and letting the locket come to a rest just above my breasts. I press the locket into my chest for a minute, give myself time to get a hold of my emotions, and go on with my laundry.

  One thing I can say about Matthew is that though he could always afford to give me the most expensive over-the-top gifts, he always had an inherent ability to pick out the things that were incredibly thoughtful. That didn’t stop the gifts from being expensive, but unlike most men, he put work into the ones he gave me. Flowers. Jewelry. Beautifully framed photos. Vacations. I’m-sorry-please-forgive-me groveling gifts. I never had to worry about faking enjoyment when he gave me something. Reciprocating, though, was always difficult. Every time an instance arrived where we would exchange gifts, I spent days and weeks stressing over what to give a man who had everything he wanted or, if he didn’t, could go out and buy it for himself. It never mattered to him how lame I thought my gifts to him were; he treated every one of them as though they were gold and the best thing he’d ever seen. He never looked down on me for not being able to buy the best things.

  After laundry, I find myself standing in Matthew’s office. It’s becoming easier to be in the places where I know he spent most of his time and it’s comforting feeling as though he’s surrounding me. Rolling my eyes at yet another mental cliché, I go behind his desk and sit in his chair. Oh the memories I have of this chair. I smirk mentally, my hand returning to the locket. It takes me a moment to realize his computer is on, though the last time I touched it was days ago to send a couple emails, and I know I shut it down when I finished. I reach out to switch on the monitor and feel my eyebrows rise at the images from security cameras. It’s not a place I know, definitely not here in the house. The first one depicts a small room filled with boxes. Another is an outdoors shot of a loading dock. When I find the third I realize where these cameras are located: East Coast Travel. And almost the moment my brain makes the connection, I see Frank walk to one of the locked doors, punch a key code into the pad, and enter the room. Immediately my eyes dart to the first image and Frank stands in the middle of the room as though he’s waiting for someone. I’m more riveted to whatever is happening on the camera than I could be by a television show or a book.

  I watch Frank’s posture straighten just before another person appears. It’s a woman, possibly around my age, with long brown hair, a supermodel body, and a grace and elegance I could never possess. Frank and the woman seem to be flirting a
little and I’m starting to think I’m watching a lover’s rendezvous until the woman reaches into a bag hanging from her shoulder and hands Frank a package of some sort. He looks into the box, nods in satisfaction, and talks to the woman a bit more. I then realize that the volume is turned off on the computer, and quickly rectify the issue just in time to hear the tail end of the conversation.

  “...won’t say a word,” the woman tells Frank. “He’s frightened enough to know if he lets anything slip he’s a dead man.”

  “And you’re certain it’s untraceable?”

  She looks insulted. “Of course it is. What do you take me for? Even if it is traced back to someone there’s no way to prove you were in Russia.”

  My body freezes and I’m sure I stop breathing. Frank was in Russia? And when was this...

  Frank seems annoyed that she said what she did, even though he can’t possibly know I’m several miles away watching the video. “I’ll tell you now, if this comes back to me, you will regret it.”

  The woman looks unconcerned, even bored, by the blatant threat. “It won’t be an issue,” she tells him dryly. “I’ll be in contact.”

  With that, she pivots on her heels and strolls out of the room, leaving Frank looking pissed. He turns to leave the room and his eyes dart up at the camera. For a very brief moment, I feel as though he and I are staring at one another, that he knows where I am and what I’m doing. I quickly turn off the computer, regardless of the logical side of my brain telling me there is no possible way Frank can know I was watching his interaction with the woman. As I leave the office, my brain is in overdrive trying to work out what it means that Frank was recently in Russia and why he would want to hide that fact. Was he there at the same time as Matthew? Did he possibly have something to do with the microchip and all the trouble it’s caused over the last couple months? Is he the reason Matthew is dead?