The Assistant's Secret

by Emerald O'Brien

  “What are you really bringing me there for?” So, my car will be back at my own place and no one will know I was here, except Katie, but she’s long gone. If not to Vancouver, definitely out of my life.

  “I told you, Tackman will fill you in.”

  As we drive over hills and along winding back roads in the dark, I wonder what Maggie and Andy will do without me. How will Maggie take the responsibility of raising Andy on her own? How will Andy do, depending on her when he’s never been able to before, or not for very long, anyway? Can they create a new pattern, or will the devastation over my disappearance or the discovery of my body send Maggie over the edge one last time?

  Tears pool in my eyes as we turn down the familiar dirt road, and the truck headlights flash across the house, briefly revealing a figure—Tackman’s? —standing in the window of the study.

  Danes parks the truck and gets out, walking around to my side, and I sniffle and collect myself before he opens the door for me. I hop down, clutching my purse, and he shuts it behind me and gestures toward the house. The feeling of his presence behind me as I draw near the front door is unnerving.

  No escape. I’m just going through the motions now.

  The front door opens, and I walk inside. Danes shuts the door behind me, and Tackman steps out of the shadows of the bright study into the dark foyer, his jaw clenched and his gaze long.

  “Mr. Tackman. How can I be of service?”

  Can he see right through me? Will he catch that the fear in my eyes is caused by more than what I’ve been subjected to thus far in this house to his knowledge?

  “It’s come to my attention that while you were here last night, you saw something you shouldn’t have.”

  I swallow hard before I speak. “Is that what this is about?”

  His eyes brighten, but his expression remains unchanged. “Tell me what you saw.”

  Is this a test? Is there a chance they don’t know, and this is about something else completely? If they know for sure, will they have to get rid of me? If I lie, will this all be over anyway?

  But the security cameras installed outside, as per the contract, reveal every angle of the outdoor property, including the front door. I approached it, ran away—did I run? —and then approached again. But asking for my purse wasn’t a lie. I left it there.

  “Josephine?” he says, his voice quick, out of patience.

  I’m damned no matter what I do. I was when I let hostages—and then a murder—go unreported.

  The best I can do is what I always do—fight to live for my family.

  “I saw the body,” I say in a perfunctory tone that carries through, “and if that is what you brought me here for, I don’t understand.”

  He bows his head slightly and studies me from beneath his furrowed brow.

  “I signed a confidentiality contract, Mr. Tackman, and what I saw was not my business. We were hired to protect you. That’s my business.”

  It’s been hammered into me for so long, I can say it without my voice betraying me.

  He takes a deep sigh and shakes his head. “I really wish you hadn’t seen that.”

  He nods to Danes, and he takes a step toward me as Tackman continues, “And—I wish I could believe you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  One Drink

  Danes steps beside me and gestures to the seating room. If I don’t go, he’ll bring me there like Carver did right where I stand, so I take cautious steps toward the seating room, and they follow behind me.

  “You can believe me,” I say. “I really won’t tell anyone.”

  And I won’t. My life and the lives of my family depend on my silence.

  “Past the hallway.” Danes points to the open entrance of a room ahead.

  I enter a billiard room with bookcases lining the walls and a pool table on one side of the room, with a poker table on the other side, closest to another floor-to-ceiling glass wall. We’re right beside the kitchen, facing the pool in the backyard, and its shimmering green light reflects against the glass, sending waves of light across the walls of the room.

  It’s beautiful.

  Will this be the last thing I see before I die?

  No.

  I swivel around and face Danes. Tackman’s not there anymore.

  “Please,” I ask him and hold my hands up, as if they could stop him from attacking me at more than three times my size. “Do you have a family?”

  He squints at me. “Yeah.”

  “I have a sister and a nephew who depend on me. They need me. Please.”

  He folds his arms over his chest. “Take a seat at the poker table.”

  I take a step backwards, keeping my eyes on him, until I back up against the chair.

  Carver enters the room and walks past me to the table, taking a seat with his back facing the pool, and leans his arm over the edge of the back of the chair, staring at me. With the men flanking me, I take a seat directly across from Carver, my shaky legs and aching toes finding relief out from under me.

  I feel his presence behind me first, like an unstoppable force. Out of my peripheral, Tackman walks to the sofa table on the wall beside us with a tray of drinks. Lowball glasses of a neon-tinted liquid filled halfway in each.

  He picks up two glasses and hands them each to Danes and Carver before grabbing the other two and extending one to me.

  I shake my head.

  One last drink before I go? No. It could be drugged. Poisoned.

  The alcohol itself is poison, and I haven’t had a single drop since Maggie got back from rehab.

  “Have a drink with us.” Tackman lifts the glasses. I shake my head again, and he stares at me with an intense gaze. “You don’t drink?”

  “I haven’t in a while.”

  “Since your sister came back.” Tackman nods. “It’s a whiskey sour. Do you like whiskey?”

  “I used to.”

  The whiskey bottle in front of Maggie at the kitchen table several nights ago was my favourite brand. I’d never even realized—so trivial—but we have the same taste.

  Carver raises his glass to us before taking a sip.

  “If you’ll please indulge me, share a drink with us.” Tackman takes a sip from my glass and extends it back to me, as if to show it wasn’t drugged or poisoned. “One drink. You’re not driving.”

  No, but will I be leaving wrapped up in a tarp? Just do what he says; he’s in control now.

  I take the cold glass, wet with condensation, and set it on the table as he takes a sip of his own drink, rubbing his fingers against his lips after he swallows. “We’re going to play a game.”

  “What kind of game?” I ask.

  They all stare at me like I’m the only one who doesn’t know. I guess I am.

  “It’s like truth or dare, except we use cards.” Tackman removes a deck of cards from a pocket or drawer beneath the poker table. “You pick black or red. If you guess right, you get to pass, but if you guess wrong, the dealer gets to ask truth or dare. And if you tell the truth, all will be set right here tonight.”

  Tackman takes a seat to my left and Danes, my right. There has to be a reason he wants to play this. It’s an interrogation.

  “I’ll go first.” Tackman grins. “And remember, everybody, no lying.” He leans a little closer to me and shuffles the cards, cutting the deck and asking, “Red or black?”

  Play the game. Get out alive. Maybe.

  “Black.”

  He nods down at the cards, and I pick out the Queen of Diamonds.

  Tackman smiles, his eyes narrowing in their deep pockets, and his fingers caress his beard as he locks eyes with me. “Truth or dare, Josephine?”

  I fold my arms over my chest and stare into each of their eyes. “I don’t see how this has anything to do with our business.”

  “Humor me,” Tackman says.

  “Truth,” I snap back.

  I’m tired; my nerves are shot, and if he’s going to string me along, make me play his games and drink his alcoho
l, I’d better get it over with so I can go home to bed with Maggie and Andy again, but I won’t be able to. I can’t let Maggie smell the alcohol.

  “What were you just thinking about?” Tackman asks. “Your eyes are so sad.”

  “My family.” Tears fill my eyes, blurring my vision, and I turn my head toward the wall.

  “Okay.” His warm voice is almost comforting. “Your turn.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t have any questions.”

  Tackman raises his brow. “You don’t?”

  I shake my head. “There’s nothing I need to know about any of you if it’s not about our business dealings.”

  “You asked me if I have a family.” Danes studies his drink, lowering his voice. “You seemed like you really wanted to know.”

  “Tell her.” Tackman nods in my direction.

  “I have a beautiful wife and a brand-new baby girl.” Pride fills his eyes. “Six weeks old.”

  “Congratulations,” I mutter.

  “Your turn, Danes.” Tackman points to the deck.

  Danes shuffles the deck and cuts it, pursing his lips. He scans his friends and shrugs, stopping at me. “Black or red?”

  “Red.” I turn over the next card, and it’s black.

  “Truth or dare?” Danes asks and takes a sip of his drink.

  “Truth.”

  He stares out at the pool and sighs before looking back at me. “Where did you go after you saw what you saw last night?”

  “Home,” I say quickly. “Straight home.”

  Tackman licks his lips. “Carver, you have a turn.”

  Carver shuffles the deck, and as he cuts it, I say, “Red.”

  He grins up at me and turns a card over. Black. Luck’s never been on my side, but this is ridiculous.

  “Where were you when we called tonight?” Carver grabs his glass. “When we asked to see you.” He presses it against his bottom lip with his lingering grin before taking a sip.

  “At my friend’s apartment.”

  “And what were you doing there?” Carver asks.

  “Ah,” Tackman holds up a finger away from the grip of his glass, letting the others do the work. “She answered. Your turn’s over.

  “If you want me to tell you the truth about something, say it.” I immediately regret saying that as Tackman puts his drink on the table.

  “You want the truth, but you run from it.” He pushes air from his nose and runs his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “Like you did on the video last night. I really wish you hadn’t seen that, because then Danes wouldn’t have needed to follow you.” I turn to Danes, and he averts his eyes, staring somewhere between Carver and Tackman. “You’ve told us the truth, thus far, and I really appreciate that.”

  I swallow hard. “I don’t have anything to hide. Not from you, anyway.”

  “Maybe you don’t.” He grabs the deck from Carver and hands it to me. “Your turn.”

  I shuffle and split the deck in half, turning to Tackman. “Black or Red?”

  “Red.”

  He turns the card over, and it’s black. I guess luck isn’t on his side, either.

  I can ask him a question. It might be my only one.

  “Time’s tickin’.” Carver drums his fingers against the leather edge of the table.

  Tackman’s staring at me; I can feel it. I want to catch him off guard for once. Put him on the spot.

  I want the power.

  I turn to him and cock my head to the side. “Who’s Cami?’

  “Ooo,” Carver says, and Danes chuckles a little until Tackman gives him a cold stare.

  “Sorry, boss.” Danes makes a straight face, but Carver’s still smiling.

  Tackman takes a sip of his drink and speaks from behind it. “She’s a close friend.”

  “That’s it?” I ask, and he almost spills his drink on his shirt, pulling his glass away and staring me down. I don’t break eye contact. “Cami’s a close friend?”

  “A very close friend,” he almost growls the word “very.” “My turn. Red or Black?”

  “Black.” I pick the next card.

  Black. Finally. I smile until Tackman opens his mouth.

  “Have you told anyone what you saw last night?” He stares at me from beneath his brow, and I feel all their eyes on me.

  I told Katie. I told her, and now she’s gone. I might as well have not told her for all the help she was to me… But if they know she knows, they could come after her too.

  “No,” I mutter.

  Tackman’s chest heaves, and he takes a drink. “It’s your turn, Josephine. Do you want to ask anyone anything?”

  I sit up straight. “Truth or dare?”

  “Dare,” he whispers with a grin.

  “I dare you to trust me,” I sneer. “I dare you all to leave me alone.”

  He pulls at his earlobe and wipes his hand over his well-kept beard. “We’re bound, Josephine, by contract. I need to know I can trust you, or this won’t work. Truth or dare?”

  “Dare,” I hiss, and he smiles and stands.

  He walks to the sofa table, pulls out a drawer, and grabs a brown paper bag. He sets it on the table in front of me. “I dare you to take it out.”

  I open the bag, stick my hand in, and feel cold heavy metal as I pull it out.

  A gun.

  I drop it on the table, and Tackman nods to Carver. He pulls out plastic gloves from his pocket, puts them on, grabs the gun, and slides it back into the bag.

  “That’s the gun you used to kill that man with.” They’ve set me up.

  They don’t realize I’ve already got so much pinned on me, this feels like just another drop in the bucket.

  “That’ll do.” Carver takes the bag out of the room.

  “Can I go now?” I ask, the weight of my mistake just sinking in now that Carver’s so damn happy to have caught me in something.

  Tackman frowns. “You realize what the police will find if they investigate a murder around here, right?”

  “My prints on the murder weapon.” I snap back. “It’s not exactly original. Who says they’ll believe it?” I sneer.

  “The police?” Tackman asks without flinching. “I’ve got friends—cop friends—with the Copperfield County department. It won’t matter if they believe you or not. They’ll have their evidence. They’ll have an M.O. too.”

  I frown and crane my neck back. “How? I don’t even know whoever he was.”

  “If I told you that, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” Tackman purses his lips and nods to Danes. He gets up and leaves the room.

  “You can’t prove it,” I sputter.

  “I don’t need to.”

  The light from the pool ripples across the walls, washing over me like the realization that no matter what I do or how I try, it won’t be enough. Nothing will change. If the police are in his pocket, it’s true. The gun would be enough to put me away for murder. He probably didn’t even need my prints. It was probably just to scare me into submission again.

  Tackman sighs, presses his hand against his mouth, and rests his elbow on the table, staring at me.

  “Was it me?” His muffled voice comes from behind his hand.

  I focus on him again, and when I do, I see just one of the people who have complete control over me. “Was what you?” I whisper with the last of the energy I can muster.

  “Did I make the life disappear from your eyes?” He licks his lips and takes a sip from his glass. When I don’t answer, he continues, speaking slowly, “When you first came here, I saw a passion for life in you. The way you took in my home—the trees outside. The way you savoured the burger I made for you. The way you snapped at Carver after he grabbed you. The fight’s all gone. Did I take it?”

  Yeah, you took it, but not all.

  Everybody takes a little piece of me, and there’s not much left anymore.

  I shake my head, tears pooling in my eyes. “It’s still there,” I whisper, “but I don’t know how to… to…”

  I
don’t know how to fight this. How to stop it.

  The company.

  The debt collectors.

  Andy’s abandonment.

  Maggie’s addiction.

  My emptiness.

  “You,” I whisper, wiping the tears from my eyes. “I don’t know how to survive what’s happened after you… but it was already hard. Next to impossible.” I shake my head and turn it away so he can’t see it anymore.

  “Your sister,” he says.

  I sniffle. “Among a lot of other things.”

  “They need you. I heard you tell Danes they need you. But you’re giving up?”

  I shrug. “Giving in.”

  “I know I don’t know you, as a person, very well,” he picks up his glass, “but I never pictured you to be a quitter. A victim? Sure. A judge? Yep. A martyr? Definitely. But not a quitter.”

  I let out a huff of air. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s not, but none of it matters. Not what anybody thinks about me except my family. “Are you going to kill me?”

  He runs his fingers over the felt top of the table. “You sound like you want it over with.”

  “No.” My voice shakes, and I turn to him, but he’s staring at the table. “I just want to know if I get to see my sister and nephew again.”

  “You’ve worried about that before in your life, before me, haven’t you?”

  My bottom lip quivers as his fingers trace the lines, placeholders for the cards.

  “You worried your sister would O.D. That she’d be irresponsible with your nephew. That something bad would happen.”

  I nod, wiping the tears from my hot cheeks.

  “Sleepless nights, worrying about her, but there was nothing you could do, or you were already doing everything you could, and it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough, is it?”

  “No,” I huff.

  He nods to me. As we lock eyes, I see another part of him, another kind of light in his pupils.

  “I had a brother.” His lips twitch, but his expression remains stoic afterward.

  It’s all he says before tipping the rest of his drink into his mouth and setting the glass down with a loud thunk on the table.

  He lost a brother to drugs.