by Snow, Nicole
I haven’t been comfortable in weeks. I wonder if I even forgot the meaning of the word over the past thirty-hour hell-drive here.
Sighing, I can’t help but guess what rock Keith found this snake under.
3
It’s Only A Week (Gwen)
You know that ringing dizziness you get when someone says something so outrageous, so unbelievable, so upsetting?
Yeah. It’s a minor miracle I’m even standing.
“You’re serious?” I ask him, too stunned to say more.
I run through all the reasons why I might’ve heard wrong. Maybe I didn’t get enough sleep last night, or that pasta salad did something funky to my head. Maybe that little game of phone tag with Mr. Snarlypants gave me a terrible case of second guessing. Maybe I never woke up this morning and I’m still freaking dreaming, waiting to fly up in a rush when I really do wake up past my alarm and try not to be too late for work.
Because what Manny told me – what he’s asking me to do – is so unreal I have to be dreaming. Right?
He can’t be serious about some strange man and his two kids moving into my house. Oh, but his lips are moving again, every bit the beak that makes him look like his Stork namesake.
“You have two bedrooms, don’t you, Ms. Courtney?”
“Um, yeah.” I shake my head as soon as I answer.
I can’t believe I’m not screaming.
The number of bedrooms in the townhouse doesn’t matter. Not for this.
I knew I was up the creek without a paddle the second Manny pulled me into the hall outside our office, obviously for privacy. The guy he’s talking about – the super tall, very well-built beast who looks more like a jacked cop who hasn’t shaved for a week versus the creepy serial killer kidnapper on the run I’d been imagining since hanging up the phone last night – is still in Manny’s office.
But his kids are in the waiting room, perched on the secondhand furniture. They’re busy flipping through the small stack of old magazines on the end table, financial journals that wouldn’t interest most adults, much less children. I feel bad for them.
“I don’t even know him,” I hiss, my eyes bouncing to the closed door behind us like he’ll hear through it. “Those might not even be his kids for all I know.”
“They’re his rugrats. He’s all they’ve got in the world from what I understand, and the poor guy’s in trouble.” Manny follows my glance to the door. His voice softens strategically. “Poor things. They barely had time for it to sink in before big daddy hit the road. No time to even say goodbye to their friends.”
I’m so not falling for this. He’s not pushing my buttons. I don’t know if Manny Stork could manipulate a potato into growing eyes.
Still, I feel for those kids, and it has nothing to do with his hilariously selfish persuasion.
Something akin to sympathy fills his face as he looks back at me. “You don’t have to know someone in order to help them, Ms. Courtney.”
“Help them—” I stop myself before the compassion that started sprouting inside me last night gets any bigger. “No. Hell no,” I add, trying harder to convince myself this is not something I want to be mixed up in.
Forget wanting to know more. Screw the big mystery. Curiosity killed the cat, and I have a feeling the truth here just might leave me roadkill.
“Ah, yes, I thought maybe you’d be reluctant. I’m not asking you to do this pro bono – Lord knows I did plenty of that crap when I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed right out of law school. You’ll get paid for it, Ms. Courtney!” He beams like the sun, lifting a brow, waiting for me to start jumping up and down. “Paid well,” he adds.
I barely hold back a snort.
“By who?” I know it’s not my boss who’ll be signing the check.
He’s a true believer in starting salary. One that barely reaches above minimum wage for wearing a whole hat rack as his secretary, receptionist, data recovery specialist, sometimes paralegal, and part-time office maid.
“Don’t look so shocked. I’ll write you a check right now if you want me to put the money where my—”
I shake my head, holding up a hand to stop him. “No. Forget it.”
“Fine then, cash!” he says a little more sharply. “You’ll be paid in cash. Nothing less for your services rendered, just as soon as you agree. No tricks, no games, no fuss. An incredibly generous offer, Ms. Courtney. How’s that sound?”
I huff out a breath. “It sounds like I’m still saying no. I won’t do it.”
His face darkens. He opens his mouth, but I head him off.
“Don’t you dare think about terminating me on the spot. Employer or not, you can’t make me take work this far outside my job description. It’s one thing to ask me to slave over your stupid computer with your 'gigs' when I’ve barely so much as swapped out a hard drive. Forcing me to open my home to strangers is against every employment law on the books. A major violation of privacy.”
For a second, he looks mortified, then angry, then bemused.
That makes two of us, I guess. Mom would be proud of me for showing some backbone. I think I’m even a little proud of myself.
“Whoa,” he whispers. “Whoa, Ms. Courtney, now hang on a minute. I’m not asking you to–”
“To what?” I snap. “Seems like you’ve asked for plenty more than I was hired for ever since I started here. Hey, what’s one more little task?”
He freezes. We both know what task means. That’s what Manny calls it, as if he’s doing me this huge favor asking me to run around like a hen on fire. Diverse 'tasks,' all for the 'experience.'
“Ms. Courtney...Gwendolyn...”
I cringe as he says my name, something he rarely does. All part of the mock prestige at this fake law firm, I guess.
“I’d never force you to do anything you don’t want to do, or that would breach your personal sense of ethics,” he says. “I simply assumed you wouldn’t mind helping this guy out. He’s on the up and up, you know. A hero of sorts. A whistleblower. He just needs a safe place to stay with his munchkins until it’s time for him to jet and reveal his sources. Somewhere he won’t have to worry about shooting himself in the back of the head five times.”
My jaw drops a little. Both at the morbid fake suicide analogy and because it tells me this is as deadly serious as I feared.
Curiosity bites harder. So does the way my heart aches for those poor kids.
What does Manny mean? Really? That someone would actually kill their father over whatever 'sources' he has? That someone would murder all of them?
A chill sweeps up my spine. It’s a balmy day in an office with craptacular A/C, and I’m suddenly shivering like it’s winter.
I think about the two adorable kids on the other side of the door. Twins. Fraternal. Ten years old.
I had to try hard to get even that much out of them.
“Whistleblower for what?”
“Well, I’m not privy to all the dirty details,” Manny says. “That’s not really my role.”
“Exactly what is your role in this?” I cock my head, crossing my arms.
Even though we’re the only two people in the hall, and every office space in this building except ours is empty – available for rent – he lowers his voice. “I’m not at liberty to say. It’s part of the contract.”
“Your contract with who?” My eyes narrow. If there was ever a time I wanted to yank on his stupid tie, royal purple with mock-royal heraldry...
“Sorry, Ms. Courtney. Can’t say. And you’ve already made it abundantly clear you aren’t interested, so...”
He turns his back but barely gets a step away from me before I yell out.
“Wait!” The wheels in my head spin like garden whirligigs. “Who do you mean? The government? Is this, like...part of some elaborate witness protection plan?”
He shrugs slightly, offering me a wry smile. “I truly can’t say. It’s classified.”
A rare tingle of excitement fills me. “I’m right, aren
’t I?”
Adrenaline surges through my blood. It’s making more and more sense. So maybe his gigs aren’t all weird, under-the-table deals with creepers.
Working with the Feds would explain why there’s so much encrypted data on his old computer. Heck, it might even explain how he manages to keep the lights on and the fans running at this joke of a firm, which probably hasn’t ever turned a profit.
“It’ll be short term,” Manny says. “Him and the kids staying at your house, I mean, if you’re willing to reconsider...”
“How short term, Manny?”
He reaches up, stroking his pointy chin. “Oh, shouldn’t be more than a week. Maybe two at most. Let’s say...ten days?”
Oh, God.
I’m caving. Little by little. Piece by piece. Even though I know I shouldn’t be.
I’m simply too intrigued with this man, a real life thriller hero who just walked through the door. My palms are going sticky, my mind racing with possibilities.
This could be it. The lucky break that gives my muse something meaty to chew on, a chance at real research, real experience for my book.
The best of the bestsellers don’t just materialize from nothing. They happen when writers get butt in chair, words on paper, and bleed experience.
“...and you’ll be paid in cash,” Manny says, bringing my attention back to him. “A considerable sum, as I said earlier.”
I frown. “Considerable?”
“Three year’s salary, tax free, Ms. Courtney. We’ll round up a few thousand because I’m nice like that.”
What the what? I reach up and rub my ears, wondering if they’re hallucinating again.
“A hundred grand?” I’m flabbergasted. Ready to go falling through the floor.
Manny nods. “If you’re willing to do more, I’ll see if we can get that doubled. This client has ample resources.”
“Doubled?” I squeak, too stunned to even be embarrassed.
“You heard me, young lady.” He nods, chuckling to himself. “Play your cards right, and you won’t even need another degree to make some big lawyer bucks.”
Holy Toledo. Screw the degree. Screw law.
If he isn’t just playing, filling my ears with a fairy tale, I could quit working here on that type of money. I could lock myself away and write my novel. I could give it my very best for a couple years before I’d have to worry about anything. “Manny...are you serious? Tell me this isn’t some kind of weird joke.”
“Scout’s honor. It’s all real.” He glances at the door again. “But there are a few stipulations.”
Oh, of course.
Of course, it’s too flipping good to be true.
“You have to pretend you’ve known Mr. Rush and the kids for several years.” He shrugs, a funny look on his face, his eyes shifting around. “Almost like...they’re family or something. Long lost relatives, if that makes sense.”
I eyeball him warily. That’s it?
I was expecting to lose a limb or something.
This whole thing still sounds too easy, too basic, too good to be true. “Where’s the catch?”
Manny grins. “That’s it. A little theatrics, if anyone comes sniffing around. But I think the chances of that are very unlikely, and if all goes according to plan, Mr. Rush will be gone before he even leaves a caveman-sized dent on your sofa.”
A week. Maybe two. That’s hardly a big deal, and my social life is blander than porridge.
No one in the neighborhood would even notice a man and a couple kids staying over, keeping a low profile. So I guess pretending I’ve known them for years has no bearing on my decision whatsoever.
“I’ll tell you what,” Manny says, raising a finger. “I’ll even give you the rest of the day off, paid, so you can show them where they’ll be living and get them all settled in. We want Mr. Rush and his family to be comfortable. They’ve got a stressful time ahead.”
“A day off with pay?” I can’t stop shaking my head.
This case must be extremely important to him. That thought makes me pause. I look him square in the face. “When I called you this morning, you sounded almost surprised that your appointment with him was today. But if you’ve been waiting for this so long, shouldn’t you have known?”
“Guilty as charged. I was surprised, Ms. Courtney,” he says, sounding strangely honest. “My contact originally said it would be next week he’d be coming by. But circumstances changed, him and the kids had to leave earlier than planned for their own safety. That’s why I’m kind of in a bind, asking you to help. The lady I’d originally asked to put him up can’t do it on this short of notice. I didn’t have time to get ahold of anybody else who usually assists me with these sorts of cases.”
Intrigued, I ask, “How many of these witness cases are you involved in?”
“Now, a gentleman can’t reveal everything. Particularly in this line of work. I’ve already said far more than I should have, I hope you’re satisfied with the answers. Wouldn’t want to breach my contracts or my ethics letting more slip.”
I almost laugh in his face. Up until now, he’s never had an ethical bone in his body.
But what if I’m wrong?
What if the shoestring, penny-pinching lawyer-by-day persona he wears is just an act to shore up his real work?
Again, he seems weirdly sincere, and uncharacteristically honest.
Witness protection? Holy crap.
This is spectacular stuff.
Stuff I could really use for books, without ever revealing the true cases of course. For once, Manny’s potential goldmine might have a few nuggets for me.
“Okay, fine,” I tell him, and have to take a deep breath before adding, “I’ll do it.”
For a moment, I wonder if my boss is going to hug me, and I take a step back. Because that would officially be more than I could handle. Plus, I have a personal space bubble I rarely let anybody pop.
He doesn’t hug me but does smile from ear to ear while patting my shoulder with his manicured hand. “Great decision, Ms. Courtney! I knew you’d come around. Thank you, thank you.” Stepping toward the door, he adds, “Now for the easier part. I’ll just need a few minutes to get everything in order with Mr. Rush.”
“Is that what I’m supposed to call him? Mr. Rush?”
“That’s the name, Miller Rush. The kids are Shane and Lauren.” He gives me an affectionate nod and then opens the door and holds it for me to enter.
I walk back in from the hall. While Manny sails past me, heading for his office, my nerves do the jitterbug as I see the children still in the waiting area. Big Daddy’s standing next to them.
Miller Rush.
Forget jitterbug. I think there’s an entire stampede in my belly.
He’s taller than me by several inches – a rarity to begin with for guys – but it’s so much more than that. He’s hot.
Like fashion magazine underwear model picture-perfect hot. Like eyes so ladykiller, Congress should pass a law against them. Like the kind of man who’d never give me a magnetic stare.
His black polo shirt clings so tight I get a good idea what he’d look like without a shirt, and his black jeans...holy hell. My imagination spins into overdrive. And not just because of this whole crazy witness protection thing I somehow signed up for.
“Mr. Rush?” Manny says from his doorway. “All ready for you.”
The man doesn’t say anything to the kids, Manny, or me as he storms past my desk into Manny’s office. The door shuts and I finally heave out the air that was locked in my lungs.
One week. Seven days. Maybe a few more.
I can do this for more money than I’ve ever had in my life. It’s not like it’s any huge burden on my privacy or barely-there social life either.
The townhouse has two bedrooms, and the guest room has bunk beds. They came built-in from the original owner. The couch in the living room is also oversized and comfortable.
I slept on it last winter when I tore the tendons in my ankle whi
le skiing and couldn’t manage the stairs real easily for a couple of weeks.
I can sleep there again if they want both rooms. It’s just a week or two. No big deal.
“Excuse me?”
I snap out of my thoughts and smile at the little girl staring up at me. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Um, I was just wondering...does this town have a library?”
I can’t help but smile. A girl after my own bookish heart, which I probably got from Mother.
Crud. Mother.
I forgot about her. She’ll have more questions than I do about this situation if she even gets a whiff I’ve thrown my door open to total strangers.
But for this chance? It’s a risk I’ll have to take. I’ll just have to brace myself to cross that bridge if and when we get there. “Oh, yes, there’s a nice big library off Main. Biggest in the county, it serves people from several towns over. It’s not too far from the grocery store.” I walk to the waiting area with her. “It’s not like a big city or campus library, but they do circulate books with larger places, so they have a good selection. Do you like to read?”
A smile lights up her cherub face. “Every day!”
“She’s a bit of a nerd. Always has her nose stuffed in a book,” her brother says. “She read three whole paperbacks on our drive here. Big ones.” He rolls his bright-blue eyes.
“Not that big,” she says, nudging him with an elbow.
“Three books? How long was your trip?” I ask.
“We left home yesterday morning,” Shane answers. “Dad said it takes like twenty-five to thirty hours to get here from Seattle. Sounds ’bout right.”
Holy crap. That kind of drive would turn me into a puddle of sleepy mush.
Not wanting them to think I’m being too nosy, I keep talking books. “You read three whole books in one day? Wow, that’s impressive at your age. Any age, really. I read somewhere most adults are lucky if they read one book a year.”
Lauren nods shyly. “They weren’t super long, and I have a book light so I could read after dark. Daddy said we should wait before using the tablet so...I read the old school way.”
I nod, turning to Shane. “How about you? Read anything good on your trip?”