The Assistant's Secret

by Emerald O'Brien

“Did you find it odd that he wanted to uninstall a camera?” I fold my hands over my chest. “Which one did you take out?”

  “The one that overlooks the back pool, and no, not really strange. From what I’ve seen, our clients are very particular about their requests.”

  “You were at Mr. Locke’s residence the day I waved you through for the installation with Ms. Locke. Didn’t know if you’d remember me.”

  Recognition washes over his face—and something else.

  He scratches his head. “Uh, yeah, right.”

  “You’ve been Ms. Locke’s head technician for the residential sector for almost ten years.”

  “Has it been that long?” he asks and walks toward his van. I follow him. “Well, I love working for her. She keeps the hours coming.” He swings his bag into the passenger side of his truck. “Will that be all?”

  He wants to leave. Was it bringing up Cathrine that made him uneasy? Or something about that day of the installation at Orrick’s home?

  “Thanks for coming out, Casey. It’s nice to officially meet you.” When I shake his hand, a smile returns to his face. “Can I count on you should any more work be needed here?”

  “Of course.” He raises a hand. “Have a good day.”

  “You too.”

  I walk back to my car as he gets in the van.

  I have to check out the work order for that installation at Orrick Locke’s.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rivals

  After a long day of work, taking small breaks of time to search through Cathrine’s client files for any sign of scandal, I lost track of time. It’s four, and I promised Maggie I’d watch Andy while she goes to her meeting before dinner. I pack up my things, toss my coffee cups in the garbage, and walk down the hallway toward the elevator.

  “You’re leaving earlier than usual.” Cathrine steps out of the elevator.

  “I’ve got a personal commitment, if that’s alright? I came in an hour early to make up for the time.”

  “Yes, fine, but we need to talk before you go.” I walk with her, through the glass door to Fern’s desk. “We have a client meeting tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “And, Fern, could you call Mathison and see if we can do a meeting for the afternoon? I need to discuss the residential sector with him. Josephine, you’ll be coming to take notes.”

  Fern nods, and we walk to Cathrine’s office. She rests her briefcase on the satin chair by her bookcase and pours herself a clear drink from the cart. She swirls it in the glass as she looks out over the cityscape and sighs.

  “I’ve spoken to Casey. He told me about your appointment with the client yesterday.” She glances at me and I nod. “I must have taught you well, because it seems like you anticipated the needs of your client and catered to them with a follow-up.” She turns to me and takes a sip of her drink from her crystal glass.

  “Yes, Ms. Locke.”

  She purses her lips, and her gaze falls somewhere past me. “I was once your age, working here, right alongside Orrick’s father, Lawrence. I did a lot of learning. Hard lessons.” She sighs, takes a sip from her glass and rubs her fingers across her neck as she swallows. “What I’m saying is, I’m not oblivious to the obstacles you face. You can be a hard worker, ever loyal, and still get the short end of the stick. You can still get held back.”

  I nod. I should leave to be back home on time, but this is my chance to get a little closer.

  “May I ask your advice?”

  “Is there an issue?” She squints at me.

  “No, nothing like that. You’ve accomplished so much in your career, but you started from a place, like me, where you had to learn the business. I could only hope to one day own part of a share in the company, to have achieved so much.” Her lips twitch as she absorbs my words. A smile? “What’s been the key to your success?”

  She releases a huff of air and walks behind the desk. “You don’t get to where I am without an excellent work ethic; even if others might believe nepotism had a part in my success, I assure you, I earned this all on my own. I should have more. It should have been more,” she whispers and takes a sip of her drink. “Being related to Lawrence Locke got me through the door, but it was my hard work—loyalty—that got me where I am today. I see that in you, Josephine. Your work ethic is unmatched by any of the other assistants.” The comment almost flatters me, but I remember what Tackman said the other night. I was chosen because I’m in a desperate position. Because I don’t make waves. Because they saw I’d do whatever it took to succeed. “I see so much potential in you.” She sips her drink and sets the glass on the desk, sitting in her chair behind it.

  “I appreciate that.”

  “I called your client yesterday, after you and Casey had been there. I wanted to know if the issue had been resolved.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he was satisfied,” she says gently.

  Just satisfied?

  I guess that’s what happens when he has my fingerprints on a murder weapon. He has what he needs from me now, my trust, and he has no other use for me. Couldn’t care if I was around or not. He’s made that clear.

  She taps her palm against the desk twice. “You know what? I’m going to contact Orrick and let him know you’ve appeased the client.”

  I raise my brows. “That would be great.”

  “Mhmm.” She uses the desk to pull her chair close to it. “He needn't worry about you, or my judge of character, any longer.”

  That’s it. She lost trust in me, so Orrick lost trust in her. She still has to fight for his respect, even after coming up with his father. Being like a right-hand woman to Lawrence, if the rumblings are true. She’s not used to having to appease someone who isn’t already fond of her. Maybe that’s where the noticeable friction comes from with them.

  “Thank you, Ms. Locke.”

  “You keep working like you do, keep proving your loyalty to the company, and a new potential client will be sent your way soon.”

  “Thank you.” I nod and leave the office, walking back to my desk and opening the residential sector database once more. I search the job order for Orrick Locke’s home installation and open the file.

  Extra security cameras on the exterior of the building.

  An upgrade to the monitoring system software.

  That’s it. Nothing unusual.

  Why would Cathrine herself have to be there, and what other reason did she have for wanting me to announce Orrick’s arrival? Was she doing something sneaky? Was Casey involved? Was that why he wanted to shut it down when I brought it up?

  I have to figure out how to approach it with him—but if he’s Cathrine’s most trusted technician, the one helping her—he’d never tell me, would he?

  Maybe if he thought I already knew… but then I risk it getting back to Cathrine.

  I look at the time. Quarter after four.

  By the time I get back home to the apartment, Maggie’s waiting with her purse by the door, and she looks nicer than usual.

  “Sorry.” I slide past her, giving her a double take. Something’s different. “Are you wearing makeup? My makeup?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think you’d mind me borrowing it.”

  “And that’s my skirt.”

  “Mom’s skirt.” And it fits her better than it fits me. “See you.”

  “Back in an hour?” I ask as my phone vibrates.

  I check it. A message from an unknown number. Tackman. Come by at six.

  He remembered me.

  But I can’t. I can’t bail on her when she has a meeting… but she looks more like she’s going on a date.

  No. Her health comes first. That’s what all this is for. I can give her the benefit of the doubt.

  “You remind me of my last parole officer,” Maggie says with a smirk. “Yeah, in an hour. Bye, Andy!”

  “Where are you going?” he calls from the couch, deep into his video game.

  I text Tackman back
. Seven?

  “I told you, I have a meeting, but I’ll be back soon.”

  If he wasn’t in the middle of a game, he’d put up more of a protest, but he doesn’t say anything, still focusing on the screen.

  If Tackman says six, what will I do? Say no? Will he take that for an answer? He’ll have to.

  “Bye,” she says, taking the chance to leave while Andy’s preoccupied.

  “Bye,” I echo absentmindedly as another text message comes in, and she shuts the door behind her.

  Six or nothing, he says.

  My first urge is to stop Maggie.

  I need to find that gun, and I need to get close to him for the keycard to the room and find a way to get in. If I go down for a murder I didn’t commit, I won’t be able to help Maggie and Andy at all.

  I grab the door handle, but the way Maggie looked sitting at the kitchen table with the full bottle of whiskey in front of her… I stop. I can’t put her through that. She needs support.

  I tap the unknown number and press the phone to my ear as I walk to my bedroom and close the door behind me.

  “What’s so important that you can’t come and see me?” The warmth returns to his tone that was missing yesterday before he left. Probably to see that Cami woman.

  He wants the truth from me. He wants to trust me.

  “My sister has to go to a meeting, and I have to watch my nephew.” Just saying it aloud to someone feels odd, like a betrayal of my sister’s trust, but he already knows my situation—understands it because of his brother, to a degree, I’d guess. “There’s no one else who can.”

  “A meeting.” It’s not a question, so I don’t answer. “Seven. Don’t be late.”

  He ends the call, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I return to the living room with Andy, a surge of energy buzzing through me.

  “Will you play with me?” Andy asks.

  “I have time for one game, and then I need to make dinner.” He smiles and taps the couch beside him. “How about classic Mario Kart?”

  “Yeah!” He hands me a controller and sets up the game.

  I want to ask him what he’d like to have for dinner and make whatever his heart desires, but groceries are getting low, always low, and all we have is soup, bread, baked beans, and condiments.

  “Would you like beans and toast or soup and bread?”

  “Umm, will you cut it in windows?”

  He loves the simplest things, like cutting the toast into four squares he calls windows and eating each bean one at a time. It’s what Tackman said he liked about me. That I enjoy the simple things in life. Maybe Andy gets that from me.

  I smile and rub his hard-gelled hair until it comes loose a bit. He pushes me away, still smiling. “What? Who are you trying to impress?”

  “No one,” he groans.

  “Why do you always do your hair?” I ask as the game starts. He’s done it up with gel since he started school. “Did your mom teach you how?”

  He nods.

  “That’s nice.”

  “Yeah, and she’d get too—too sick to do it sometimes, so I learned how to do it.”

  “You did.” He’d learned how to do so many things for himself and was more capable than most teenagers around the house, all out of necessity.

  “If I do it, she doesn’t have to, and she can sleep and feel better.”

  “You were doing it so she didn’t have to?”

  He nods, and as we race our cars down the virtual track, my heart breaks for him.

  So many things he did for himself that he’s still doing, all to relieve the pressure on Maggie. He probably thinks if he doesn’t take care of things himself, she’ll get overwhelmed again. That she’ll relapse and get sick, and he’ll have to do it for himself anyway.

  We have a lot in common, but I don’t want those burdens on him. He’s just a kid.

  How much pain can I take away for him and how much will always remain, like scars, reminding him of his struggles with his mom?

  “Do you want her to do your hair for you again? Would you like that?”

  “No, she doesn’t know how I like it anymore.”

  “Maybe you could teach her.”

  Although he doesn’t respond, I know he’s considering it. He’s thoughtful about everything suggested to him, whether he likes it or not.

  You’re afraid to test the waters to see if you can trust her again.

  Me too, buddy.

  After dinner, Maggie comes back in and pours the rest of the beans in a bowl on their own from the saucepan on the stove. Andy sits with her while she eats, and I get ready to go to Tackman’s. I brush my teeth, re-curl my hair, and add a little extra lipstick, a light pink I haven’t worn since I was a teen, before I head for the door. “I’ll be late,” I call.

  “Do you have a date?” Maggie asks.

  “No. Business meeting with a client.” And it’s true, but to some extent, I put as much effort into preparing for him as I would a date.

  I used to put my best foot forward and represent the company well—to be taken seriously.

  Now, it’s to play the part of a willing manager, eager to cater to her client’s requests, capable of keeping his secrets.

  When I pull up in his driveway, his red Camaro is the only one there. The house is dark, not a hint of light, and a whisper in my ears tells me something’s wrong.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Key Card

  I walk up the driveway, my heels clicking against the pavement the only sound in the darkness besides the rustling tree leaves in the wind, like a gentle spray of rain. I take a deep breath, easing my nerves away. I need to play this calm and cool like he does.

  Did he forget I was coming? I check my cell phone. It’s the right time. I’m five minutes early.

  I knock on the door and wait, peeking in the windows as a flashback of the man in the tarp consumes me. I knock again and step back, checking my phone once again.

  No messages from him. Should I call him?

  I hit the unknown number I still haven’t saved under his name, and I hear a light trill of a phone somewhere outside.

  A muffled click precedes the sound of breathing by my ear. “Come around back.” He ends the call, and I walk backward.

  The backyard? What’s he doing out there?

  I round the side of the house, passing the slender floor-to-ceiling glass window at the end of the hallway to the bathroom, and as the pool comes into view, I remember Casey’s words.

  He wanted the camera on the pool uninstalled.

  Each step forward I take is heavy; my feet are heavy, and my legs shake as the soft glow of gas lanterns illuminates the glass wall of the home by the kitchen. Tackman sits at the small table for two outside with a drink in front of him and one across from him with a pink lipstick stain on it.

  Cami.

  His face is sullen, and he wipes his hands over it as I approach, my heels clicking against the patio.

  Is this a trick, or is it just him? Even if it is, don’t let your guard down. Get the key card, get the gun.

  He picks up his drink and takes a sip as I stop a few feet away, and as he sets it down, it slips from his hand, clunking against the table. He makes a hissing sound and shakes his head, staring up at me.

  Is he drunk?

  “What do you want?” he asks.

  “I need to speak with you. May I?” I gesture to the white block seat beside him, and he nods. As we both look out over the pool, I take a deep breath. “After what happened the other night, I know you’ve got power over me. This whole thing seemed beyond my control, but what you said. That everything I need, I already have? It might be true.”

  “Oh yeah,” he scoffs and leans back in his chair, taking me in. “How’s that?”

  “Maybe you were right. Maybe my morals are getting in the way, but there are certain things I can’t—won’t accept. You have control over me, reassurance you can trust me, but I want to be able to trust you.”

  He cranes his nec
k back. “You do?”

  I push my hair over my shoulder, revealing my neck as he stares at me. “I want to know no one else is going to die.”

  He licks his lips and picks his glass up again. “I’d like that.” He takes another sip, his lips lingering on the glass.

  “Promise me.”

  He swallows hard and looks at me. “Is that what you came here for? That what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well damn, Josie. You sure grew a pair.” Josie. No one ever calls me that. He leans back, gripping the glass with his fingers and spreading his legs apart a bit, revealing something white in his pocket next to me. It has to be the card. He shrugs, shaking his head. “It’s not the nature of the business.”

  “The nature of my business is keeping you secure, but it’s not in my nature to let people die.”

  He purses his lips and nods, pointing at me and squinting one eye. “That’s right. I know that about you.”

  “You have your terms, and I have mine. Do we have a deal?”

  He smacks his lips. “While you’re working for me, you have my word.”

  I need a distraction. He’s in a weakened state, and I need something to avert his attention while I go for the card.

  “I see there’s someone’s drink here,” I say. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll have what you’re having—in my own glass.”

  He lets out a huff of laughter. “Didn’t think you drank.”

  “I’ve seen a lot lately, nothing I can speak on, but I could use one. May I?”

  I grab the bottle of tequila sitting in front of him, pop the cork, and take a swig. He smiles and watches, eyes open wide, as I take the lime wedge off his glass and bite into it, easing the unfamiliar burn from my tongue with the acidity.

  “Josie, Josie.” He smirks, and I smile too. I like the way he says it.

  Is this what he wants? A drinking partner? Someone to keep him company now that Cami is gone? I take another swig from the bottle and hold it in my lap. “This is mine now,” I whisper with a smirk.

  He flashes a sexy smile at me, and I almost feel bad about what I’m about to do.