Fraud

by J. L. Berg

  “It smells good in here,” I said, distracted by his appearance.

  “Thanks. I decided to try out that Crock-Pot you had tucked in the back of your cabinet.”

  “I have a Crock-Pot?”

  He grinned. My eyes darted to the kitchen where I caught a glimpse of a stainless steel appliance on the counter. Was it wrong I found him even more adorable now that I knew he could work a Crock-Pot?

  “Why are you all sweaty?” I asked, still clinging to the note in my hand.

  “I noticed your shower wasn’t draining right, so I went to the store and got some things to fix it. Picked up a new showerhead, too.”

  He was incredible.

  “I have a manager for stuff like that.”

  He nodded. “I know,” he said, grabbing the hem of his shirt to wipe away the sweat from his face.

  I would be a liar if I said I didn’t watch every single millisecond, my mouth hanging open, as his raised shirt exposed his chiseled abs and that sexy little arch his hip bones made.

  “Well, thank you,” I managed to say.

  “Just trying to—”

  “Earn your keep, I know.”

  He smiled. “Hey,” he said, walking to the fridge to grab a soda, “not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but can I ask what you’re doing home so early? When I got your text, I figured you were checking in, not coming home. Is everything okay?”

  My face fell.

  No more Crock-Pot talk or boyfriend ogling.

  It was time.

  “When was the last time you saw Liam?” I asked, squeezing the message in my hand.

  His eyes narrowed as he looked me over, trying to figure out what was going on. “A few days. Why?”

  I took a step forward, holding out my hand and passing the note over to him. “I found this on my desk when I got in from lunch,” I said, realizing I’d told him this morning I was eating at my desk so I could write. “I decided to eat outside. It was a nice day.”

  God, I hated lying to him.

  I could see his confusion turn to fear as he read the words from his brother.

  “I’m sorry?” he said softly, repeating the words his brother had written, and the note slowly crumpled in his hand. “What does that even mean?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” I said.

  His gaze met mine, that same fear mixing with a fresh new wave of panic. “I should call him.”

  His hand reached for his pocket but found nothing. He turned in a rush, taking off for the bedroom. I heard him stumble into the bathroom, the noisy fan coming to life as he flipped on the light.

  I followed slowly behind, unsure if I was supposed to or not.

  I found him leaning forward on the bathroom counter, his phone to his ear.

  “He’s not answering.”

  Taking a hesitant step forward, I placed my arms around him and felt his muscles relax slightly. “Maybe he had to go back home?”

  His eyes met mine in the mirror. I could see doubt in those baby blues.

  But he just nodded and said, “Yeah, maybe.”

  Neither of us believed that.

  I helped him finish up in the bathroom after that, noting the way he continued to check his cell phone every half hour. When the shower was put back together, we ventured into the kitchen and finished preparing dinner.

  Killian had made a pot roast, something my mother had made nearly every week when I was growing up. The smell coming from the Crock-Pot brought a mixture of joy and pain as we each scooped individual helpings for ourselves.

  All day, I’d been worried about that note and how it would affect me.

  Me.

  Not Killian.

  Just me and my new perfect life.

  And, since that moment, when I’d stood in front of him and handed that note over, the only thing Killian had done was take care of me.

  That was all he ever did.

  He moved silently to the coffee table in the living room, but I stayed in the kitchen. Grabbing two pieces of plain bread, I quickly popped them in the toaster.

  Waiting for bread to toast was like watching nail polish dry.

  It took forever when you were in a hurry.

  Fortunately, after snagging the butter and a few other things from the fridge, time was up. With the tips of my fingers, I gingerly snatched the toast and headed out of the kitchen.

  And straight for the dining room.

  It took a few seconds for him to notice my detour.

  “Are you serious?” he asked the moment he saw me set my plate down on the forbidden table.

  I simply nodded.

  A wide grin spread across his face.

  “Are you sure you don’t want cereal for this occasion?”

  I laughed. “Maybe next time. Tonight, I thought we’d share another family favorite.”

  “Okay.”

  He didn’t waste any time. Jumping up from the floor, he joined me at the table, opposite me. I placed a piece of toast next to him, and the mate was left for me.

  “Are you going to sit down?” he asked, watching me as I stood there, staring down at my plate.

  “Yes. In a minute. I promise.”

  “Take your time.”

  He slid into one of the stained oak chairs. They’d been my mom’s favorite. Probably more formal than I’d ever pick out, but it didn’t matter.

  Just running my hands over the solid grain, I felt closer to her.

  A tear ran down my cheek as I finally took a deep breath, lowering myself into the seat that was always reserved for my mother.

  And, now, me.

  “Whenever my mom made pot roast, she’d almost always forget the bread until it was too late. I loved those crescent rolls in the containers that popped open. Anyway, she’d be dishing out dinner when she’d suddenly remember those stupid crescent rolls lying in the back of the refrigerator. So, one night, I suggested, being the bread-loving kid I was, that we have toast.”

  “And, let me guess…it became a household staple?”

  I nodded, grabbing my piece of toast before reaching for the butter. “Yeah. I wasn’t big on cooking. Shocker, I know. But I could toast up a mean piece of bread on pot-roast night.”

  “Well, I think it’s a perfect addition,” he said, holding up his own piece in a mock salute.

  We settled into our meal. The moment that tender meat hit my mouth, I nearly groaned with delight. I really had been missing out while eating takeout for all these years.

  I’d been missing out on a lot actually.

  “I love you,” I blurted out over pot roast and buttered toast.

  He looked up at me, slightly stunned.

  I knew it wasn’t the first time, but there had yet to be a second. And I doubted he’d expected it now at the inaugural dinner at my dead parents’ dining room table.

  He opened his mouth to respond, but instead, he set his fork down and rose from the table. “I’m sorry,” he said, avoiding my gaze. “I have to go.”

  I joined him, rising from my seat in an instant. “What is it? What did I do?”

  He shook his head. “Why do you always think it’s something you did, Kate?”

  His napkin fell to the floor, and I felt the air shift as he brushed past me.

  And then he was gone.

  The door slammed shut, and all I was left with was a pot roast and a million questions.

  It took me exactly five minutes to make the decision to go after him.

  The first minute or so, I had spent staring down at my half-eaten plate of pot roast, trying to figure out what in the world had just happened. The next two and a half minutes, I’d blamed myself, concluding it had to be something I had done or said that sent Killian running for the hills.

  And then reality had hit.

  I remembered the moment before he’d left.

  “Why do you always think it’s something you did, Kate?”

  He was right.

  Not only did I blame myself for everything that had hap
pened around me—from my coffee order being made wrong in the morning to my own parents’ deaths—but I also always found a way to turn every situation and make it about me.

  But life didn’t work that way.

  Relationships certainly didn’t.

  It was time for me to take a step back and stop blaming myself for everything. Otherwise, I’d be sitting here, staring at countless more meals, wondering what I had done wrong this time.

  I didn’t want endless meals with faceless men.

  I just wanted Killian.

  The last minute or so of my mind-blowing epiphany had been spent running around, trying to find a matching pair of shoes. It might have actually taken longer than sixty seconds.

  I really needed to organize my shoes.

  Racing down to my car, I realized I didn’t have one.

  He’d taken it.

  The nonconfrontational part of me gave a little sigh of relief and opted to go back upstairs. If he had taken my car, surely, he was planning on returning, right?

  I could just eat ice cream until he came back.

  I immediately shut that idea down and got into action.

  Sitting on the couch, eating ice cream, was not how one went about claiming her new life. Although it did sound like a good option for afterward.

  Grabbing my cell phone from my purse, I opened the handy little app Jane had downloaded the last time she came to town, and within minutes, a nice man named John arrived, ready to take me wherever I needed to go.

  I reminded myself to thank Jane in a future call.

  Giving him directions to the other side of town, I said a silent prayer that Killian would be there.

  Because I hadn’t given much thought to where he actually might be.

  Not that he’d given many hints when he stormed out of my apartment. But I was going with my gut, and it was telling me to go to the crappy hotel across town.

  Why?

  It was where I would have gone, and ever since he’d gotten that note from Liam, he hadn’t been the same. He’d tried to brush it off, playing the cool and collected older brother, but I could see the worry in his face.

  This wasn’t typical behavior for Liam.

  Thankfully, John left me to my thoughts, and soon, we arrived at the shabby hotel Killian had once called home. I thanked John, making sure he received a nice tip, and then I headed for the entrance.

  The girl I’d become close with early on was off tonight, and instead, there was an older-looking gentleman behind the counter.

  He gave me a gentle nod as I briskly walked toward the elevators, not bothering to check in. I knew where I was headed.

  One silent elevator ride later, and I was almost there.

  The room Killian and Liam had been occupying was the farthest from the elevator, but I knew there was something wrong before I got halfway down the hall.

  The door was wide open.

  My walk turned into a run, and I sprinted into the room.

  Clothes were everywhere. Furniture was flipped over, lamps were broken, and paper had been thrown about.

  And in the midst of it was Killian hunched over on the bed, looking lost and alone.

  “What happened?” I asked softly.

  His vacant eyes met mine.

  “I don’t know,” he confessed. “I don’t know.”

  I joined him, taking the spot next to him, as my hand reached toward his.

  “I should have checked on him. I knew he was in trouble.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Talking was making him restless, and he rose from the bed, pacing in front of me, as he spoke, “My brother is different. He’s smart, like child prodigy smart.”

  My eyes widened. “I had no idea.”

  “Not many people do,” he said. “He has several degrees and is a fucking genius when it comes to computers and technology.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing.”

  “No, it’s terrifying. He’s not like those nerds you see on TV. He has no vision beyond his own self-gain. He hasn’t held down a job since…well, ever, and he gets his rocks off by doing stupid shit for stupid people.”

  “Stupid people who would do something like this?” I asked, taking a look around.

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “This isn’t the first time?” I guessed.

  He shook his head. “No. I’ve bailed him out a few times. Small stuff, like identity-stealing for petty criminals, and a few bigger ones that required some serious cash.”

  “I’m so sorry. I—”

  He froze, and his eyes widened. Turning toward me, he asked frantically, “Have you checked your bank account recently? Today?”

  “No.”

  “Do it now. Pull it up on your phone.”

  “I don’t understand why—”

  “Just do it, please.”

  I did as he’d asked, pulling out my phone and logging into my secure app. My hands shook as I waited for it to load.

  He knew the answer before I even spoke.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “Oh my God,” I said softly.

  “How much did he take, Kate?” he asked as the pacing began once again. “I told him to keep the fuck away. I told him not to touch your money.”

  I sat there, staring at my bank account, which was now twenty-five thousand dollars slimmer. “What do you mean? How did he know anything about my bank account? My money? How did you?”

  His eyes met mine, and in them, I could see so many emotions.

  Sadness.

  Regret.

  Doubt.

  I’d once read somewhere that a person’s eyes were the windows to their soul.

  I’d seen Killian’s soul and it was dripping with deceit.

  I began to back away as he stepped closer. The door that was wide open shut behind me as I felt it push against my back with a startling finality.

  This was it.

  The big precipice I’d been fearing.

  I’d thought that pink note of doom was a false alarm.

  Turned out I was wrong.

  Just a delayed reaction.

  And, now, my life was about to explode.

  Ready, set…boom.

  WATCHING KATE BACK HERSELF INTO the door was like witnessing an unsuspecting animal being thrust into a cage. The door clicked closed, and I saw her trust in me bleed out onto the floor as I tried to find the words to describe my actions.

  But how could you defend yourself when, in your heart, you knew you were wrong?

  “Please explain, Killian, because my mind is going wild with ideas,” she begged.

  I nodded, taking a step back to allow her some breathing room.

  “A while back, I briefly dated a woman named Kim. It was superficial, as all my past relationships were, but we kept each other entertained for a while.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, looking about as uncomfortable as I felt.

  “The reason we got along so well, despite what you might be thinking, was that we were both workaholics. Neither of us had time to put what was required into a relationship, so we gave what little we had. A few hours here, a few hours there. It worked.”

  She’d grown silent, listening to my every word, as she tried to piece it together. Part of me hoped she didn’t, but I knew better.

  She was my Kate.

  Stunningly brilliant and tenacious.

  That was why she finally deserved the truth, no matter how much it would cost me.

  “Our time together was brief, as I mentioned. Just a few months. I was finally where I wanted to be, working for the top newspaper in the country, and she was busting her ass as an editor.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “At a major publishing house.”

  Her expression changed, suspicion mixing with surprise. “Which publishing house?”

  I ignored her question altogether, continuing with my long-winded explanation.

  If I was going to tell her the truth, it was going to be everythi
ng.

  From the very beginning.

  “Kim was highly stressed over a certain potential client they were trying to bring in. A super-secret author with a book so hot, her boss was willing to offer up almost anything to have it.”

  Suspicion turned to fear.

  “No,” she said softly. “You know?”

  “Please let me finish,” I pleaded as I watched her hands wrap around the door handle behind her.

  “Did you come here…for me?” she asked, her voice so strained that her words barely registered with me.

  I didn’t have to answer.

  No elaborate truth or speech was going to save me from this.

  The doorknob turned as tears fell down her cheeks. “I trusted you,” she struggled to say.

  “I know.”

  “I loved you.”

  The door creaked open.

  “You still do,” I pressed, stepping forward. “Let me explain, Kate. Let me show you—”

  “No!” she cried out. “Was this a game to you? From the very beginning? Seduce the infamous Laura Stone? What kind of sick, twisted individual does that, Killian? Is that even your name?”

  My gaze fell to the floor. “I’m a journalist. Killian Turner. You were a job.”

  Her eyes widened. “Killian Turner? As in the Killian Turner? The guy who hates women?”

  “I don’t hate women,” I argued. “It was just a—”

  “A job? I can’t listen to any more of this,” she said, wildly shaking her head, as she moved back and twisted the knob behind her.

  All I saw was the long corridor.

  The one she’d walk down, leaving me forever.

  My instincts took over as I lunged forward, slamming the door and both our bodies against it as it crashed closed.

  “I can’t let you leave me,” I said, feeling her heavy breath against my neck.

  “Why?” she sneered. “Don’t have enough on me yet? Want another exclusive, Killian? Maybe a reenactment of a few scenes from the book? Or perhaps your brother isn’t finished stealing from me yet? Maybe you want to take a swing next?”

  “Stop it, Kate. The low blows are really beneath you.”

  Her body froze against mine as our eyes met, her lips hovering inches from mine.

  “How would you know?” she sneered. “Maybe this is exactly me.”