The Middle Man

by Gadziala, Jessica

  Oh, this was the tricky part.

  The truth mixed with the lie once again.

  "They're doing something."

  "Doing something?" he repeated.

  "I'm the assistant to the CEO. Everything passes over his desk. Which means most of it crosses my desk first. It's not my business, per se. What the files contain. But it is part of my job to figure out what everything is so that I can sort it by priority or give him bullet points. He has the attention span of a gnat most days. He doesn't actually read through any of the files really. So it became my job to do that for him."

  "And you noticed something off."

  "I noticed something was off." That, at least, was the truth.

  "Off?"

  "There has been a lot of testing going on recently. On chemicals."

  "Because of all the people dying of cancer," Lincoln filled in.

  "Exactly," I agreed, pleased a bit more than I should have been that he had heard about it, committed it to his memory, thought to bring it up in context.

  "So, what is off about the testing?"

  "I'm not sure," I told him. A partial lie. "Something isn't lining up. I can't put my finger on it exactly. Which is why I've been... trying to figure it out."

  "Okay," he said, leaning forward, his cup clinking down on the coffee table as he turned fully to face me, elbows resting down on his thighs. "This is where it goes bad."

  "Sort of, yeah."

  "Sort of how? You said your boss was an idiot."

  "He is. His CFO isn't."

  "Alright. What has he done?"

  "Nothing." The word squeaked out of me. A little too fast. A true false note in an otherwise pretty perfectly executed song.

  "Gemma..."

  "To be fair, he has always hated me. On my first day, he took issue with my shoes, my earrings, the way I styled my hair, the fact that I used almond milk in my coffee, the way I greeted him, the fact that my desk was messy..."

  "Stick-up-his-ass sort."

  "Exactly. And he spends a lot of time in my boss's office. So, he has had a long time to learn to dislike me even more. But the tipping point was when he caught me in Phillip's office. Going through his computer. I mean... it wasn't an incriminating thing in and of itself. I have been on his computer a few times in the past. But Phillip was out of the office for a long weekend. So, yeah, it didn't look good. And David just... suspected. Ever since then, I have noticed him watching me, checking in with Phillip a lot more."

  "Alright." Lincoln's breath exhaled as he reached out, putting his hand over my knee. It was a typical Lincoln move. He was a touchy-feely person. He offered comfort physically. It meant nothing to him. Yet even knowing that, there was no denying the little zing that coursed from the contact and through my body. "Is that why you are hiding out here? Because your CFO is keeping an eye on you because he caught you snooping?"

  There was a small snort that escaped me, making his head tilt. "Sorry. It's just... I worked here a long time. It takes a little more to spook me than some middle-aged numbers nerd keeping an eye on me." Pausing, I took a breath, trying to figure out a way to tell enough of the truth to make my fear make sense but not enough to make him tell me to quit or to call in the team. "I am pretty sure he isn't just watching me at work."

  To that, all the sort of boyish charm you could so often find in Lincoln disappeared, leaving a seriousness you didn't expect to find there, a hardness that made you see the part of him that made military life possible.

  "What do you mean you don't think he's just watching you at work?"

  "Honestly, I don't know if I am overthinking this, being paranoid about a few separate little things because of what I am up to and the fact that I know it is suspicion-worthy. But it all just freaked me out. I live alone now. And I didn't want to bother anyone in case I am just being paranoid. So I decided to just... crash here. It eases my mind. Without inconveniencing anyone or making them worry unnecessarily."

  "Alright. For now, we are going to skip over all that crap about you possibly being an inconvenience. And it is crap because everyone loves you and wants to make sure you are in a good place. But we aren't getting into that right now. What I want--need--to know is what little things you are talking about that have made you paranoid."

  "Like I said, just a few random things. Like... my mailbox was jimmied open, my mail itself opened. My work computer has a button that allows you to turn off the camera, so you don't have to put one of those ugly covers over it. It was the first thing I did when I sat down at the desk. The fact that people can access the cameras has always freaked me out since I heard about it in high school. It was flipped on. When I got paranoid about that, I checked the logs for the computer. And there were several instances of someone being on it after I had left for the day. I ran to grab coffee once when Phillip had a meeting. I mistakenly left my phone in the lobby because I had an issue with my badge, so I had to talk to the security desk. When I came back, I was locked out of it. For twenty minutes."

  "And since the more you wrongly guess the passcode, the longer the lockout is, it suggests someone was really trying to get into it, not just accidentally touching it."

  "Exactly. It's just... a bunch of small things like that. I'm probably overthinking it, but it has been freaking me out. I haven't been able to sleep. And the more I didn't sleep, the more jumpy and paranoid I was at work. It was a vicious cycle. I just... coming here eased my mind. I know I shouldn't have done it. Quin would be pissed if he knew I did it. I just... I needed to sleep."

  For a few short snippets of time, anyway. There was truth in all of that. But not the whole of it. Not everything that had set me on edge. Not why that set me on edge. Not what was at stake. Not the fact that my emotional and mental health had been on edge, frazzled for longer than I was admitting to him, for reasons I wasn't telling him.

  To that, Lincoln sat back against the cushions again, silently lost in thought for a long moment before he sighed out his breath.

  "Without more to go on, I can't say for sure if you are being really paranoid, or a little paranoid based on some weird vibes. But I want you to feel safe. And be able to sleep. And have someone to talk to. Without, as you said, pissing off Quin."

  "How do we go about managing all that?" I asked, taking a sip of lukewarm tea that did nothing to settle my nerves.

  "How about this," he proposed, facing me again, keeping almost unnerving eye contact. "I want to keep an eye on you, monitor this shit that is going on. And I want you not to feel alone in this, even if it turns out to be nothing. Since we both know you are not quitting for reasons of practicality and damned stubbornness, at least not until you have a valid reason to quit. How about you stop staying here? How about you stay at my place?"

  Maybe I should have expected that offer.

  The guys in the office had been known to offer their places or offer to stay at clients' places. It was what they did.

  But for a job.

  Because they were getting paid.

  Sure, my salary was pretty good, but not 'could hire a fixer firm' good.

  "I have the room, Gem. I have a great security system. No one would think to look for you there. But you could call it a temporary home. Without sneaking around. Without worrying about Quin or anyone else here. Think about it. It's a solid option. If you insist on continuing to work at that place."

  I had to keep working there.

  I had to know what they were up to.

  No matter the stakes.

  "You won't tell Jules? Or Kai?"

  "My original statement stands, babe. I won't tell anyone if I don't have to. But if I feel like you aren't being paranoid, that shit is getting out of hand, then I have to bring them in. And you can't hate me for it," he added, giving me that boyish grin that so easily got him girlfriend after girlfriend. No matter how mismatched they always were.

  "I don't think it is possible to hate you."

  "That sounds like a yes."

  It sounded like my on
ly viable option.

  "It's a yes."

  "Alright. Let's get the fuck out of here before you get found out then."

  "You were coming up here because you were too tired to drive."

  "Yep. Which is why you are driving."

  "You're going to let me drive your car?" It blurted out of me before I could really give it any thought.

  "No, Gem, honey. First, no one drives my cars but me. Second, we need for your car not to be around here in the morning when everyone shows up for work if we don't want everyone asking questions."

  "Oh, right."

  "So, let's clean up a bit, then we can get going."

  With that, we both hopped up. He grabbed the mugs to clean. I went back to the room I was crashing in to make sure everything looked how it did when I came in, grabbed my bags, then followed Lincoln out the door, waiting for him to engage the locks, then led him toward my car.

  "Holy shit, babe," he hissed when I unlocked the door. From inside. The lock was busted for the past year. I pretty much never had anyone in my car, so it never occurred to me to get it fixed.

  "What?" I asked, swiping the contents of the passenger seat--reusable water bottles, receipts I hadn't gathered up yet, some food wrappers, a small stack of my reusable produce bags--onto the floor. "What?" I asked again when he slid in, gaze on me, smile something I couldn't quite place. A mix of amused and almost... confused? Maybe even a tad superior.

  "You're a fucking slob, huh?" he asked, making my gaze move around my car.

  As I said, no one really ever got in my car with me. As such, the passenger areas were, admittedly, a little cluttered. Alright. Maybe more than a little. My entire backseat was loaded down with discarded sweaters, a blanket, some slip-on shoes, and a box full of various things that might be needed in a pinch--a medical kit, some water, granola bars, a leash, a dog bowl. I didn't have a dog--yet-- but I had come across a stray or two in my day and didn't have the leash or bowl to get him to my car or give him a good drink.

  Maybe there was even more than clutter too. Food crumbs from eating on my way to and from work, a bit of stickiness on the center console from tea surging out of its cup.

  "It's a little messy," I admitted, shrugging.

  "I'm surprised you don't have rats," he grumbled, toeing a bit of garbage out of the way so he could grab the bar to scoot the seat back to accommodate his legs.

  "It might not be like your factory-new cars, but if I ever found myself stranded in my car, I could survive for a week until help came," I informed him, throwing the car into reverse, only wincing slightly at the metal-on-metal noise I had been pretending not to hear for the past two weeks, simply not able to find any more hours in my day to get the car into the shop."

  "You might need a series of shots afterward," he added, grimacing at the center console as his forearm met the sticky surface.

  "Take a breath. You only have to tolerate it for a few minutes," I informed him as I pulled off onto the main drag. "Do you still live over on Cypress?" I asked, having known the addresses of all the team members on the common occurrence that they needed Jules or me to order something and have it sent there.

  "I do," he told me, using his fingernail to scrub at some stain on the dashboard.

  I didn't know Lincoln to be a neat-freak. Not like Finn. But I did know he was anal about his cars, something Miller especially always teased him about. So I figured the state of mine was bothering that side of him. Even though my sixteen-year-old sedan that was hardly worth more than the metal scraps it could be sold for was nothing like his insane sports cars.

  It was a ten-minute drive from the main area of Navesink Bank to the quiet cul-de-sac he called home.

  While I knew the address, I had never seen the place myself.

  I don't know what I had been expecting, but I somehow never imagined him living in the suburbs. Despite it being the only option outside of the center of Navesink Bank.

  It somehow felt strange, though, to know that Lincoln lived there in a house on a dead-end where kids rode their bikes and neighbors compared their lawns to the one next door.

  "The one straight ahead," Lincoln told me waving his hand toward the house in question.

  I don't know why, but I pictured all of the guys at the office living in places that were maybe a little cold or sterile. Stucco outsides with lots of glass and modern furniture inside.

  Everything about Lincoln's sweet Cape Cod style home, though, was warm. Inviting. Completely unexpected.

  The white wooden shakes and black shutters around the large windows, the dormer with windows on either side of the chimney, the walkway and front porch made out of uneven cobblestones, the mums in bright yellows and mauves burst into life, happy for the chill in the air, finally, it was all homey, the kind of place you could see yourself raising a family.

  "Pull all the way down the drive," he told me, making me realize I had hit the brake only a third of the way down, admiring the front of this place he called home.

  "Oh, God. What is that?" I asked as we hit the end of the driveway. I had expected a sprawling backyard, seeing as his placement on the curve in the cul-de-sac, gave him the biggest lot. There did seem to be some sort of yard to the left, but was blocked off by a board-on-board fence. But the monstrosity in front of us was what seemed to take up most of the valuable real estate.

  A giant, ugly metal building.

  "The garage."

  "That is not a garage. That is an airport hanger."

  It certainly resembled one in both design and size. The steel was a brownish color. And there was nothing warm or inviting about it. Just a giant rectangle with a normal door to the side of the giant garage door.

  Of course, one had to think of his car collection. This was Lincoln, after all. He had more money in his car collection than most people would ever hope to have in their retirement fund. And because he was Lincoln, he was nitpicky about how his cars were cared for. Meaning he would never let one of his babies sit in the driveway for rain or sap or bird droppings to splatter down on their perfect paint.

  Of course he had a giant garage to keep them all in.

  "I'm gonna unlock it so you can drive in," he told me. My face must have shown my confusion because he chuckled. "They don't do it often, but on occasion, one of the guys or Miller might pop over. If your car is in the driveway, they will have the questions we don't want to answer. Later, I will do some moving around so you can park in the attached garage. But for now, it's late. This is the plan."

  With that, he hopped out, going over toward a panel, plugging in a code, then--and I kid you not--placing his hand on a palm sensor.

  The door grumbled open, and I waited for Lincoln to wave me in before I dared pull in.

  The inside was less ugly than the outside. Which seemed unlikely, but indisputable.

  Where I expected more cold steel, there was, well, what seemed to be a luxury showroom. Tile floors, a fancy wooden ceiling, special lights, art on the walls.

  And, of course, the cars.

  Seven of them.

  Plus the one at the office, that put him at eight.

  It was excessive by any standard, but I guess I maybe figured it might be more. It sure felt like every time I saw him, he was in something new.

  I pulled my car into the empty space, giving myself a second to worry about any potential fluid leaks before I reminded myself that this was what he wanted, then grabbed my overnight bag, and climbed out.

  "This garage is nicer than my apartment," I told him, shaking my head.

  "It's probably nicer than my house too," he admitted, putting a hand at my lower back again to lead me back out of the giant door, and up the quiet driveway to open the front door. That he hadn't even bothered to lock.

  Sensing the direction of my thoughts, he shrugged. "If someone decides to take my TV when cars that are worth more than an average doctor's salary are back there, then, well, he's a fucking idiot. Come on, let's get you settled so you can get some sleep."r />
  The foyer opened up to two rooms at the sides and a hall to the front, everything somewhat open. Living room at the left led into the kitchen that led into the dining room that led back into the family room at the right beside the front door again.

  The decor was somewhat reminiscent, I believed, of the women who had shared part of their lives here, not Lincoln's taste, seeing as nothing seemed to match. The white couches paired with the black leather recliner. The floral runner in the kitchen with the chunky geometric hand towels hanging off the handle of the range.

  "Stairs are back here," he told me, leading me into the kitchen and up the back stairs onto a second floor that led in both directions, cut off from the hall by closed doors. The master and the guest, I imagined. "This is you," he told me, opening up the door to the right, revealing a medium-sized room with a wrought-iron bed covered in all white, wide-planked wooden floors, a closet, a small bath, a steeply pitched ceiling, and even a little window seat overlooking the backyard I hadn't been able to get a look at driving up. And still wouldn't, given how dark it was. I found myself oddly excited to wake up in the morning to look it over.

  "Let me grab you an extra blanket," he told me, going into the hall, then his room, and coming back with a giant fluffy deep green one, draping it over the bed. "I tend to keep it a little cool in here," he explained. "Alright. We can talk more in the morning. I think we're both dead on our feet," he explained, moving toward the door. "Sleep tight, Gem," he offered, closing the door, leaving me alone in my new home-away-from-home.

  The dominant feeling should have been guilt right then. At half-deceiving him. In accepting his help without giving him the whole story.

  But all I could feel was a deep contentedness as I put down my bag, kicking out of my shoes, and climbing into the bed that protested a bit as I tried to find a comfortable position.

  I'd been prone to sleepless nights, tossing and turning, for the past few months. Even when I knew I was safe in the room above my old workplace.

  But I was asleep before five minutes even passed.

  It was the first time in longer than I could remember that I slept hard and deep.