The Assistant's Secret

by Emerald O'Brien

  So, he knows.

  And he still deals them?

  “Truth or dare?” I ask.

  “Truth.” He leans in toward me.

  “Why do you deal drugs, then?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t.”

  I push myself away from the table and stand. “You don’t play by your own rules. Tell the truth, right? I want to go home.”

  “You’re not trapped.” His voice is void of emotion, and it offends me somehow, frustrates me more.

  “I don’t have a car.”

  He looks up at me and leans against the back of his chair, “You’re not trapped,” he says with force this time.

  “What does that mean? If I want to go, I have to walk? Fine.”

  I spin around, and he stands as I do, so I stop. I’m not scared he’ll hurt me. Just that I’ll miss whatever he’s about to say if I leave. “Am I free to go?”

  “You’re free to go anywhere you want to go.” He runs his fingers over his beard. “You’re a little bird in a cage, and the door is open, and you don’t even know it.”

  I turn around and face him, mere feet apart. “You don’t understand. How could you? You’re a dealer. You’ve got a gang. You’ve got power and lots of money. You wouldn’t know a thing about being trapped.”

  “Do you know why you were sent here? By Locke Industries? By Cathrine?”

  “As a test.”

  He shakes his head. “Because you’re desperate enough to turn a blind eye to the darker things in life, broken enough to bend at their will.”

  “They told you that?”

  He shakes his head again. “It’s written all over you. I saw it from the moment we met. You want to advance in your position, but you need money more. You need to pay off your debts and take care of your family. Take care of your sister.” His gaze falls to somewhere just before me and a far-off stare replaces it. His fists clench, and he turns to me once again, taking a step toward me. “Do you ever wonder who you’d be if you weren’t focusing on everyone else’s problems and had to look at your own? You know what your company didn’t realize or see or care about? Your morality. They should have seen this coming. I should have trusted my gut.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He grabs my glass from the table and takes a sip. “Judging others isn’t going to help you. Getting to know them will.”

  I squint at him. “What?”

  He shakes his head in an instant and calls, “Danes!”

  “Please,” I whisper.

  He takes another step toward me, staring deep into my eyes. “Everything you need, you already have.”

  He looks past me. “Take her home.” He looks back at me and stares, but without the same intention. Whatever moment happened between us is over.

  I turn around and follow Danes out of the room, past the hallway and to the foyer.

  I glance over my shoulder, expecting Tackman to be there—hoping he is—but he didn’t follow.

  Is Danes really going to take me back home?

  Danes pulls the keys from his pocket and walks to my door, opening it for me. I climb inside, and he closes it lightly behind me before rounding the truck and hopping into his own seat.

  He slips the key in the ignition, but his hands slide off it as he faces the garage. I squint through the darkness, trying to see what he sees.

  “Tackman needs your help.” I give him a side-eye glance. “He needs you to do your job well. Your company picked you because you’d do what they said. Follow orders. He picked you because he needed someone he could trust.”

  “Haven’t I proven that? That I won’t say anything to anyone? You followed me! If I didn’t report—” I lick my lips and shake my head.

  “Tackman doesn’t trust easily.” He turns the key in the ignition. “But he must’ve seen something in you to let it all go this far.”

  To let me live after how I’ve reacted and what I’ve seen.

  That’s all anyone’s letting me do—letting me live—but I’m not living. I haven’t in a long time, and I won’t be told how to by the man with my life in his hands. By the men who want to control me and the woman who uses me like a pawn in her game to take over the board.

  Maybe the fight’s left me, but I don’t have much left to lose either. End up like Billy or end up dead, and if I don’t do that, I work for the worst kind of people and do their dirty work for them.

  Keep their secrets.

  I have their secrets.

  Everything I need, I already have.

  They’ve been the ones threatening me, but I have something they need. Trust.

  They trust in me to a certain extent because I’m desperate. Predictable. Even Katie thinks I’ll stick it out for a while.

  I won’t let the company or Tackman use me up.

  I’ll use their secrets instead until I have my freedom.

  They have my signatures on bad papers. My prints on a murder weapon.

  But I’m a woman with a lot less to lose in their eyes, and if I can get proof that what they’ve done is worse, it could be enough to buy back my freedom.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wake Up

  After ironing another of my mother’s skirts to wear before the sun hints at rising, I carry the ironing board back down the hall to the closet as Maggie comes out of her room, her curly hair in a wild, messy bun.

  I’ve been giving her space since she told me she was upset with how I look at her. But the debt collectors keep calling; Andy still asks if she’ll be back if she goes anywhere and acts out afterwards. I’m afraid of what she’s been doing during the times she goes out.

  If I look at her, she’ll still see the worry and disappointment in my eyes, and I don’t want to hurt her—making her more susceptible to relapse. No signs of using yet, but she’s sneaky—one of the best.

  She yawns and passes me. “You’re up earlier than usual.”

  “No, it’s the same time,” I say, just to be contrary, even though she’s right. “You were up late last night. What were you doing?”

  She’d gone to her room while Andy and I played video games together, and I could hear her talking to someone.

  She smiles and rubs her eyes, leaning against the door frame to the bathroom.

  “What?” I ask. “You look like the cat who ate the canary.”

  Something our mom used to say.

  She smiles wider, revealing her cute, crooked teeth, and shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”

  I sigh. “Fine.”

  As I open the closet door, she lingers with the same goofy grin on her face. I put the ironing board away, close the closet, and go to pass her.

  “I met someone,” she whispers, pressing her lips together after, barely concealing her grin.

  “Met someone?”

  When did she have time to meet someone? Between taking care of Andy, her meetings, and other errands, she barely has time to clean around here. And that’s fine. She doesn’t have to clean, but she should be focused on herself and her son. Not somebody else.

  “Are you supposed to do that?” I ask. “Like, isn’t it a rule once you’re recovering, you shouldn’t see anybody for like a year or something?” It’s only been a few months.

  Her smile disappears, and she turns around, walks into the washroom and slams the door behind her.

  Well, that’s what she gets for expecting I’d be pleased to hear about her new love interest. If she met him at a meeting, this could be so unhealthy. She’s not ready for a relationship yet. She almost relapsed the other day.

  I rush to gather my things and make sure I leave before she gets out of the washroom.

  Don leaves his apartment with his pup at the same time, and I nod and smile. He nods to me, and we walk to the elevator and share the ride down. “Have a nice day,” he says to me as the doors open.

  “You too.” I walk out, and although this couldn’t be a good day, I’m filled with purpose again.

  With a mission.

 
; Build the loyalty and relationships with the company and Tackman, gain leverage to use in exchange for my freedom, and get another job lined up so we still have enough to live.

  Tackman gave me the idea, and with everything he said, if I were as naive as when I started, I’d think he was trying to look out for me. I want that to be true, and I hate that I want it. He’s attractive, and when he looks at me, when he’s paying attention to only me, it feels good, even if he’s not a good person. It was the same with Orrick… but not the same. I’ve never wanted to kiss Orrick Locke.

  I shake the thought from my mind.

  Tackman wants to keep his secrets safe, and just like the company, he believes I will.

  Now that I know they’ve all been involved in bad business dealings with dangerous people and have protected them at all costs, I have a chance to look over the files and see if I can make any past connections to scandals involving Locke Industries clients, specifically Cathrine’s. She has the power to set me free, and Orrick Locke would be too difficult to get to. I need something so bad on her, she’d do anything to keep it to herself.

  To get to Tackman and get that gun back, I need a plan to get me back there.

  Something about security.

  As I get off the elevator, I walk past the glass doors, and Fern waves me in, opening the door for me.

  “Good morning. Your caramel macchiatos.” I pull hers from the tray. “And Cathrine’s.”

  She studies me and takes the coffee. “She just got in, and she’s got to leave for a meeting soon.”

  I nod and grab the remaining two coffees, bringing them to her office and knocking on the door.

  “Come in,” she calls.

  I set the coffees on her desk, and she stares up at me from behind her computer screen. I have to gain her trust again. Get back in her good graces.

  “Let me give you some advice. If anything else happens, you will be gone, so do your work here, and make sure the client is taken care of. That’s all there is to it.”

  I nod. “And I’d like to apologize for any stress I’ve caused you and for disappointing you.”

  “Hmm,” she hums before swallowing her mouthful of coffee. “Well, I appreciate a person who can acknowledge their faults and apologize.”

  “I’ll handle this contract and make you proud.”

  “You’ve changed your tune.” She sets her cup on the desk. “Your talk with Orrick must have been life-changing.” She grins. “Or maybe it was mine.”

  I walk back out to my desk and pull up Cathrine’s database of client contracts and files. The particulars are password-protected, but their initial order is there with their names and addresses. I need to search these and see what comes up in connection to the clients, but first, I need to contact the technician on my contract, Casey, the one who went to Orrick’s that day, and set up a reason for me to see Tackman again.

  Orrick said I have to take care of the client by any means necessary, so maybe outrageous lengths won’t be questioned.

  I find Casey’s extension in the database and call him, reaching the voicemail. “Hello, Casey, this is Ms. Locke’s assistant, Josephine. Regarding the Tackman contract, I’d like to set up a follow-up appointment to our installation for this afternoon at the client’s residence. I want to make sure he’s satisfied with the set-up, angles, and please bring extra cameras in case there are additions we need to make. If you could call me back with a time, I’ll meet you then. Thanks, Casey.”

  After I hang up, I dig deep in the database, but my heart races thinking about where the gun could be at Tackman’s.

  How could I be so stupid to touch it, hold it?

  I didn’t care then, and the fact I do now scares me more than anything.

  I’ve tapped into this side of myself, the survival mode, and it’s never failed me before.

  I’ve also never come up against murderers and blackmailers.

  Wherever that gun is, I have to find it for my plan to work.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Just Business

  I park behind the black Locke Industries van, and Casey the technician hops out of the driver’s side to greet me in the middle of the driveway. He squints into the midafternoon sunlight, using his hand to shield the sun from his eyes.

  “Ma’am.” He nods. “The client said they’d only be here until five.”

  I lead him toward the door and knock on it. “Will that give you enough time?”

  “Should.”

  No one comes, so I knock again, and the door swings open as Danes takes a step back and looks from Casey, to me, back to Casey. “Come on in,” he says in the cheeriest tone I’ve heard him use. “Or did you want to take a look outside first?”

  “Already did, sir,” Casey says.

  “Wait here.” Danes walks with swagger to the study and knocks. “Tech’s here.”

  No mention of me. Maybe I’m a surprise.

  Tackman slides the metal door open and smiles at Casey, “Hello, thanks for coming.”

  “No problem, sir. We want to make sure everything’s in great shape for ya.”

  Tackman presses his lips together and turns to me. “Thanks for being here.”

  “Of course. May we come in?”

  He leads us into his study, and I sit in the same chair as last time, memories of our intense moment flooding back as the men sit. I can almost feel his finger grazing mine.

  “What we’d like to focus on are the angles, sir.” Casey’s voice pulls my focus back to the task at hand. “Do you find you’re getting full coverage, or are there any angles we haven’t covered?”

  “I can tell there are no blind spots.” Tackman shoots me a smile. “Isn’t that right?”

  I press my lips together and nod once.

  “Great,” Casey smiles. “Are there any other cameras we can install for you today? I’m fully equipped to hook them up to your monitoring system. As many as you want.”

  So enthusiastic. Everyone’s in a good mood today. Is it the sunshine or something else?

  Tackman eyes him and turns to me. “Actually, there’s one I’d like uninstalled.”

  “Are you sure about that, sir?” Casey asks.

  “Yes,” he says, still staring at me.

  “Of course.” I turn to Casey. “You can do that, right?”

  “Yes. Which one?”

  “Danes will show you. I’ve got a call to make, but once you set that up,” he turns to me, “that’ll be all.”

  Casey nods. “Yes, sure. Is the picture clear enough for you, sir?”

  Tackman nods, still staring at me. “It’s proved helpful already.”

  He saw me, seeing the body.

  The way they shuffled around, carrying the weight across the foyer. The way the bloody arm fell out of the tarp…

  Casey stands, and I refocus on Tackman.

  “I’ve got a business call. Will you be fine on your own? Danes is waiting for you out front.”

  I nod and follow Casey to the foyer.

  Blood must have dripped on these floors. Blood from the bullet of the gun with my prints on it. I have to find it.

  I close the study door behind me and nod to Casey. “I’ll meet you by the van once you’re finished. Have to use the washroom.”

  “Sounds good.” He steps out the door.

  I wait in the foyer for Danes to come back in and insist I stay within his view. For Carver’s footsteps to slap down the hallway and surprise me. For Tackman to come out of the office and want a word with me.

  But he didn’t, and he won’t. His lack of interest in me is surprising, but I can’t think about it a moment longer.

  I rush past the hallway to the billiard room and check the drawer the gun initially came from. No gun. No brown bag. Carver brought it out of the room… Where did he take it?

  I walk down the other hallway to the bathroom and check in the toilet tank, where I’ve seen people in movies hide guns and drugs. Nothing.

  Would it be so simple that it’
s in the room full of guns? A room that’s locked. That makes sense.

  He waved a keycard in front of the wall. I need that card. I need to get closer to Tackman to get it.

  I walk back to his study, and before I knock on the door, I hear his muffled voice, full of anger, “It doesn’t matter what you want. You know why I’m doing this... Cami, stop.”

  I keep quiet and wait.

  “You don’t get to be angry. I stepped up.” He shouts, getting closer to the door. “How should I know where he is? I don’t care about that. I care about you!”

  I take a step back and bump into something. I turn around and Carver stands behind me.

  “I, uh, I guess he’s on a call,” I sputter.

  Carver grins. “Back so soon? Want to play another game?” I sneer at him but hold my tongue. “Listen, sucks we had to do that, but I think it’s for your own good.”

  I scoff. “How’s that?”

  “Now you know you can’t get anything by us.”

  The study door opens, and Tackman stalks out. He notices us and barely slows down, walking into the kitchen.

  “Mr. Tackman,” I call, “when you have a minute—”

  “Not today,” he calls back. “I’ll text you a better time. Carver, I’m heading out.”

  Carver follows him, and I stand awkwardly in the foyer. He walks back, crunching on a red apple, and Carver follows him to the door. Maybe this is my chance to be alone in here, in his study, but Carver waves me out. “Don’t forget your purse again,” he says as I walk to the door and shoot him a look.

  Tackman jogs down the driveway, hops in the red Camaro and reverses, kicking up dust around his spinning tires. He revs his engine, speeding away.

  Danes and Casey walk around the side of the house by the garage. “All finished,” Casey calls to me and shakes hands with Danes before they part ways.

  Carver extends his hand to me. “Thanks for comin’ out.” I stare at his hand and back up at him as he laughs and lets it fall. “Ah, worth a try.”

  Carver follows Danes back into the house, and I walk with Casey to my car. “Everything went well,” he said.