Young Lies (Young Series Book 1) (30 page)

His eyes narrow on me and I think he’s realizing I’m not the naïve little girl I had been when he first met me. I’m not going to cave to his demands and I’m sure as hell not going to cower at his feet. Regardless of what he believes, this is my home. It’s my son’s home. And we’re staying here. “We can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way,” he says, approaching me. I stand my ground, squaring my shoulders, and trying to keep my wariness for the situation hidden. “Clearly you’re too stubborn to do it the easy way. We’ll see you in court.”

Without knowing where this newfound confidence is coming from, I hear myself get out one last comment. “Just make sure you call before you drop by next time so I can alert the front gate not to let you through.”

With a snarl, he walks past me, down the stairs, and out the front door, slamming it shut behind him. I’m left standing in Matthew’s office, shaking in rage, trying to work out what just happened. Unless I’m very much mistaken, Paul Young has just threatened to challenge Matthew’s will, and I am not looking forward to finding out how far he’s willing to take it.

Suddenly the entire situation makes me sick to my stomach and I bolt from the office down the hall to the bathroom and heave everything I’ve eaten today into the toilet. I’m sobbing. I’m angry. I’m scared. Eventually, my stomach settles and I push myself off the floor, rinsing my mouth and brushing my teeth thoroughly. When I leave the bathroom I stop immediately to find Leo leaning against the wall opposite me looking concerned.

“You all right?” he asks quietly.

I nod. “I’m fine,” I say hoarsely, my throat raw. “I hate to ask this of you, but would you mind taking care of Tyler tonight? I just need to lie down for a while.”

Leo smiles sympathetically. “Not a problem,” he tells me. “Get some rest. Oh, and I don’t know what you said to Paul, but he’s pissed. Good job.”

This unexpected compliment makes me laugh and I thank Leo for watching Tyler for the night before stumbling to my bedroom and falling asleep with my eyes locked on a bedside photo of me, Tyler, and Matthew smiling like the loving family we had been.

-------------o-------------

I haven’t slept in days. Between all the information I’d gathered after getting into my office at Young Technologies and realizing my visit wasn’t nearly as secret as I’d hoped it would be, I’ve spent my days trying to fight my way back to the living. All I’ve achieved is more frustration. One would think with all my connections and creative genius I could work out who it is on my team that has been working so hard to ruin me, my career, and every last thing I’ve worked for. But one would be wrong. Whoever this person is, they’re highly skilled in covering their tracks. It doesn’t seem to matter what I do; I can’t dig this person up. And it’s really starting to piss me off. The longer it takes to resolve this, the longer I’m away from my family. And the longer they’re exposed to danger.

A knock on my motel door snaps me out of my brooding reverie and I automatically reach for the gun I’ve started carrying with me. I loathe the damn thing, but it’s getting to the point where I truly don’t have any other options in defending myself. The people who are trying to wipe me away aren’t going to hesitate to use everything at their disposal and I’m willing to do to whatever it takes to protect myself. I approach the door silently, releasing the safety on the gun, and press my eye to the peephole, grinning and relaxing. I store the gun in my belt and work on unlocking the door.

“Took you long enough,” I grumble as Marcus enters wearing jeans and an NYU sweatshirt and carrying a brown bag that smells like dinner.

“Not my fault you’re a spoiled rich boy who doesn’t know the meaning of patience,” he grumbles right back, shoving the bag into my chest. “And put away that fucking gun before you shoot off your balls.”

Flinching at the very thought, I set down the bag and do as he instructs before taking a seat at the small round table beside the curtained window blocking the view inside. My mouth waters as I remove a large bacon cheeseburger and even larger order of fresh french fries. “Have I told you lately that you’re my hero?” I ask through a mouthful of fries.

“Yeah, well, you’re not going to think that when I show you what I dug up,” he informs me, sitting beside me and retrieving his own dinner from the bag. I freeze midway through stuffing another handful of fries into my mouth and look at him warily. Given the task I asked him to take on, if he managed to actually dig up something negative, I probably don’t want to know. But of course he won’t just let it go. Marcus West has always been among my favorite federal agents. While most of them would beat around the bush as they try to keep information from a person, Marcus gives you the plain truth, whether you like it or not. I value that in the people that surround me. I don’t have time for bullshit. Especially not right now. “You were right about the plane. It was sabotage. Still working on exactly how they pulled it off so neatly. Not to mention they managed to gain access to the fucking thing with all the security surrounding it.”

Sighing, I drop my burger back onto the wrapper, sitting back in my chair. “And despite knowing I was right, having it proven just makes it worse,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It had to be someone with clearance, right? Someone who wouldn’t seem suspicious coming and going from the plane in the middle of the fucking night.”

“That’s a theory,” Marcus says, nodding. “If I had to place bets, I’d almost say it was a member of the flight crew. They would have the most access to the plane. They could have been bribed or blackmailed into busting that engine.”

“And they still boarded the plane before takeoff, knowing exactly what was going to happen,” I say doubtfully. “What’s the point in accepting a bribe or giving into blackmail if you know you’re going to die anyway?”

Marcus shrugs. “Matt, there’s honestly no telling why some people do what they do,” he tells me. “Maybe the threats and bribes were linked to their families. There are a hundred different scenarios.”

Resignedly, I accept his explanation and force myself to return to my dinner, not knowing the next time I’ll get this decent a meal. “What about the other thing I asked you to look into?” I say after a few minutes of eating and drinking. “Any luck?”

I could say things as nonchalantly as I like, but Marcus is shrewd and won’t be fooled into believing I only have a passing concern about the other information I wanted him to look into for me. “Yes, actually,” he says, setting down his burger and wiping his face before reaching over to his backpack and pulling out a manila file folder and handing it to me.

Accepting it, I open the folder and read through the report, not seeing anything that really surprises me. Turning the page, I look at the photo paperclipped to the folder, feeling a pang of longing shoot through my heart before reading the rest of the information. When I reach the bottom, my head snaps up to meet Marcus’ gaze. “You’re sure about this?” I ask sharply.

He nods. “One hundred percent,” he says quietly. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but...”

I shake my head, silently telling him to stop as I realize the implications of what all this means. No, it’s not what I want to hear, and I swear to God, if something happens to her...

Tossing the folder onto the table, I jerk to my feet. “We need to get to the bottom of this,” I say determinedly, pacing the room. “They’ve gone too fucking far this time, Marcus, and I can’t sit around much longer waiting for something to happen.”

“Matt, we’ve discussed this,” Marcus tells me exasperatedly. “It’s safer having everyone believe your dead. At least for now. For all we know, this isn’t even related to your involvement. It could be coincidence.” I shoot him a glare; he relents. “I know it’s a long shot, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility.”

“There’s nothing coincidental about any of this,” I say darkly. “And the worst part is I can’t even give her any warning because it will give the game away.”

“Look, I get this isn’t easy for you,” Marcus says. “But we’re doing everything we can to find out who’s behind this. You have to be patient, Matt. If you keep thinking up worst case scenarios, you’re going to drive yourself to madness.”

I flop backwards onto the bed, pushing my fingers into my hair and staring at the ceiling. “It’s a little difficult
not
to think of worst case scenarios when I’m locked up in this shithole,” I grumble. “Just tell me you’ve got some sort of security detail keeping an eye on her, keeping her safe.”

“Of course I do,” he assures me. “And if she gets herself into trouble, they won’t hesitate to intervene whether it blows cover or not. She’s safe, Matt.”

I want to agree with him immediately, I want to trust him, but when it comes down to it, I’m hesitant to trust the safety of Samantha and Tyler to anyone that isn’t me. If I were with them, I could rest easily knowing without a doubt they’re safe. From here, I can’t do shit. The situation is out of my control. And there is nothing I hate more than feeling out of control.

The mattress sags behind me and I feel myself smiling as I reenter the waking world. Of course my first thought is that Matthew has decided to join me in bed again; he’s been in my dreams all night and I turn over to see him with my own eyes before getting a harsh kick back to reality. Matthew isn’t on the bed beside me. It’s Claire. And I suddenly remember Matthew won’t be sharing my bed ever again.

Tears inexplicably sting my eyes. Granted it’s not the first time I’ve woken up like this, wanting him after a night of dreaming of him in a variety of ways. It’s not always sexual, though I’ve had my fair share of those dreams. Sometimes we’re just sitting around talking. Sometimes we’re off doing dream-like things that would seem insane in the waking world. Sometimes we’re not doing anything more than sitting with each other. Whatever the dream, I always wake up with this expectation of seeing him, whether it is beside me in bed, or him coming out of the bathroom after his shower, or downstairs having coffee with Leo. And every time I feel my heart cracking a little more to know he’ll only ever live in my dreams.

“Hey,” Claire says, her brow furrowing in concern as I hastily wipe away an escaped tear from my cheek. “What’s this?”

I shake my head, forcing a smile onto my face. I really don’t want to get into this with her. “Nothing,” I tell her. “I’m good. What are you doing here?”

Claire frowns at my attempt to change the subject, and I know it’ll come back up soon. “Leo called me last night,” she tells me gently. “Said my dad paid you a visit yesterday and afterwards you weren’t feeling well. He thought you could use some company.”

Affection for Leo surges, though I have to consider his calling Claire in to tend to me was so he could avoid an awkward female emotional scene. “He wasn’t wrong,” I admit.

“What did my dad want?” she asks bluntly.

Sighing, I consider how I should respond. On one hand, I want to get it all out into the open to someone, just to get it out of my head. On the other hand, we’re talking about Claire’s father and I don’t want to put her in a more awkward position than the one she was in when her sisters told her what their father allegedly did five years ago. “He basically told me I have no right to be in Matt’s house,” I say carefully. “And final wishes or not, he’ll make it his priority to see me gone.”

“Fuck him,” Claire says firmly. “He has no idea what your relationship with Matt was like. He doesn’t know the reason you left. He doesn’t know how badly Matt wanted you back. All he sees is another instance where he can lord over Matt and get what he wants.” She sighs heavily and slides down in the bed, turning on her side to look at me. “Dad always held Matt to a higher standard than us girls. He expected Matt to be a carbon copy of himself and when Matt graduated high school and didn’t immediately join the military, Dad was
pissed
. I remember that fight and it was bad, Sam. We thought they were going to start throwing punches. Dad was shouting that Matt owed it to him to enlist. Matt shot back that he didn’t want to end up a cold robotic drone.” My eyebrows shoot up. I know Matthew never had an interest in joining the military, but I didn’t realize how he really felt about it. “Don’t get me wrong: Matt knew what the military meant to my dad and he respected it. He just didn’t see it being the path for him and by that time he’d started resenting all my dad’s demands that he prepare for that life. I think he would have said anything to piss Dad off even more.

“Anyway, the argument went on for days before Matt finally took off and went to stay with Leo for a few days. Mom and I visited him and he told us he’d been accepted to Stanford and would be starting in the fall. We were thrilled for him. Dad and my sisters, not so much. I think Dad was getting close to disowning Matt altogether, but Mom talked him out of it. Their relationship wasn’t right until Matt was a junior in college, and even then it was really strained until Matt started his business. And that sure as shit didn’t stop Dad from trying to control how Matt dealt with his company, what deals he made, what aspects of technology he got involved in. Matt kind of let him run his mouth, then did whatever he was planning on doing before.”

“And then I came along and didn’t fit into the mold,” I mutter sardonically.

“Exactly,” Claire confirms. “The fact that Matt was crazy about you from the beginning didn’t help. I think dad’s opposition to your relationship made Matt fall for you even harder.”

I raise an eyebrow. “If that’s supposed to make me feel better, you’re failing.”

“You know what I mean,” she scolds, rolling her eyes. “And as for him trying to kick you out of here, he’s not going to get very far. Danny drew that will up and he damn sure wouldn’t have left any loopholes. So stop worrying your pretty little head about all this, come downstairs and have breakfast, and you can tell me all about this new job of yours.”

Before I can summon any sort of protest—not that I would, even if I could think of one—Claire is on her feet and out of my room. I make my way to the shower and think about what’s happened between yesterday and today. I’m still a little in shock at coming home to find Matthew’s father here waiting to do nothing more than stomp all over me. Like Claire said, fuck him. He’s trying to exert control over what little remains of his son’s life and while I appreciate he might want to keep anything that might be associated with Matthew close to him, he’s going about it wrong. Six years ago, I might have given into whatever he demanded just to avoid a nasty confrontation; but now Tyler is involved and I have no intentions of uprooting him again. He’s happier than he’s been in years and I believe that’s because he’s in his father’s home. Nobody, especially not Paul Young, will take that away from him.

By the time I arrive in the kitchen, I find Claire sliding bacon and eggs onto two plates and I grin as I retrieve the orange juice. Glancing over her shoulder at me, she tells me Tyler is out back playing with Leo and that Danny and the kids are on their way. Apparently she’s somehow conned her husband into not only taking out their three young children, but mine as well. If he manages to survive the day, he’ll have my eternal respect.

“I’m not worried about it,” Claire tells me, dropping a couple pieces of toast onto my plate. “One of his work friends is coming along to help with kid wrangling.”

“So it’s two men versus four children all under the age of seven,” I muse. “My money’s on the children.”

Claire laughs.

After breakfast, Danny has arrived in the minivan and I throw in Tyler’s booster seat. He’s always been small f
or his age, having been born three months premature. Matthew and I spent weeks at his side praying he would gain enough strength to come home with us. For a while, it was touch and go; his lungs were the biggest concern. He hardly moved most of the time and the only thing to assure us he was still alive were the beeping monitors surrounding him. The best day of my life was the day Matthew and I walked into the NICU to find a team of nurses standing around our son’s incubator. He’d opened his eyes that day and Matthew swears Tyler smiled at him. That was the only time I’ve seen Matthew cry.

At six years old, he’s barely taller than Claire’s three-year-old daughter. The doctors assured me throughout the years that he is perfectly healthy, though they did warn me about him possibly developing asthma as he gets older. That’s a very small price to pay for having my son happy and healthy, and one I’ll have no problem dealing with if it comes to pass. 

Claire and I watch as Danny backs down the driveway until they disappear behind the trees. She links her arm with mine and practically drags me back inside. We spend our morning lounging on the couch eating junk food and giggling like teenagers for no particular reason. It’s refreshing and I come to the sudden realization that I haven’t had any real friends I could just sit around with in five years. Claire has been it and we didn’t see one another nearly as often as either of us would have liked. I suppose I could have made friends with the girls in my office or in my old neighborhood, but I never had that inclination. It’s almost as though my life was on hold after I left Matthew, just waiting for the moment we would be reunited.

And of course I have to roll my eyes at myself at both the thought of what had happened when we were finally reunited as well as the fairytale-ish tone my thoughts take when I have these thoughts.

I tell Claire all about my new job and my new boss. She’s fascinated. Fascinated enough that she digs out her phone and immediately does a Google search for Frank Marone. To my surprise she actually manages to find something on him. Pictures, mostly, in context with the travel agency.

“Oh, he’s cute.” Claire grins. I roll my eyes; she winks. Her face freezes suddenly and her complexion pales.

“What?” I whisper.

She looks at me, startled, and tries to stow away her phone. I grab it before she can exit the browser and look at the photo that seems to have panicked her and I see why she reacted the way she did. It’s a photo of Frank at some black tie affair and standing right beside him is Matthew. I feel a smile on my face at how incredible he looks when he’s forced to dress up in fancy clothing. As much as he loathed the suit and tie look, it suited him well. The tuxedo he’s wearing fits him perfectly and the black tie seems to make his normally dark green eyes bright. He never bothered trying to style his hair; whatever he did to it, it only returned to its normal, messy state within an hour. Which was fine with me since I loved running my hands through his hair.

“They knew each other?” Claire asks me quietly, sliding over to look over my shoulder at the photo again.

I nod. “Apparently,” I tell her. “I didn’t know until I actually met him, but they did business together or something.
God only knows what that business might be...”

And for the first time since I found out Matthew was somehow involved with Frank, I’m curious about what they did together. Maybe Leo can tell me...

“Matt looks like James Bond,” Claire says fondly, resting her head on my shoulder. “We tried getting him into a bowtie before some big benefit he attended. He wasn’t a fan and threatened all sorts of things about shoving the bowtie where bowties should never be shoved.” I laugh imagining the outraged look on his face at the very mention of wearing a bowtie. Claire sits up suddenly. “I’ve got a great idea...”

I groan, my head falling to the back of the couch. “Five words I always live to regret...” I mutter.

Snatching her phone from my fingers, she jumps to her feet and pulls me along with her. “Let’s go through Matt’s stuff,” she says conspiringly.

My eyes widen. “What?” I ask, laughing incredulously.

“You heard me.” She’s dragging me up the stairs. “It’ll be fun.”

“I seriously doubt that,” I grumble.

“Oh shut up,” she shoots over her shoulder. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Resignedly, I go along with her, knowing it’s pointless trying to argue her out of something when she’s so determined.

-------------o-------------

Patience is not something that’s ever been in my vocabulary. I’ve never been the type to sit around waiting for people to do things for me. The old adage of if you want something done right, you better do it yourself has been proved correct hundreds of times in my life. I try not to be domineering, but I’m damn sure going to have things done my way. And if they don’t go my way, heads will roll.

Sitting alone in this Godforsaken motel, my only form of entertainment is listening to recordings from the wiretaps we’ve had placed on several different phones. I’ve got days worth of this shit to sift through and as much as I want to, I can’t skip any of it. Every detail is important. Every word can mean disaster. And I’m ready to bang my head against the fucking wall until I’m unconscious.

For the most part, every call I’ve listened to has been innocent. A few have thrown up red flags, but on further investigation, I hit even more dead ends than before. Most of the taps have been placed on my business associates, people who had access to the same things I had access to, though a couple were arranged to set my mind at ease. I’m not proud of listening in on Samantha’s phone conversations, not that she makes many calls, but at least I’m able to hear her voice. I hate how sad and defeated she sounds; most people wouldn’t pick up on it, but I know her almost as well as I know myself, and therefore, I know when something has affected her. I’ve heard her speaking to Claire, her siblings, and occasionally Bonnie. Every time I hear her speak, she sounds a little stronger, a little more confident, and I don’t imagine it will be long before she’s back to being herself again.

There’s a part of me that wants to see her get back to herself fully, to the woman she was before I came barging back into her life a couple short months ago. I want to see her happy and carefree. And as much as I hate the thought of her with anybody but me, I almost want her to meet somebody who is less complicated, who doesn’t come with a frightening amount of dangerous baggage. If I stay out of her life, like I told her I would when she left me, she and Tyler can live a comfortable fulfilling life.

Of course, I’m far too selfish a man to actually give this much real consideration. From day one, I’ve gotten what I want and that will not change. In order to get what I want this time, I have to listen to hours of mindless phone conversations.

A ping alerts me to a new email. I pause the recording of one of my senior advisors speaking to his wife about dinner and open the message. It’s a forwarded email that raised a red flag in one of the many alerts I have setup. Of everything I’ve seen and heard today, this is the one that freezes the blood in my veins. The sender is speaking in heavy code, the message being hidden in something about vacation arrangements. It takes me a few minutes to work out why this is significant. Only a few words register as important and I suddenly know exactly what’s happening, who’s involved, and what the goal is.