by Alexa Davis
Or at least that's what my father had told me. Once I left for basic training, he wrote weekly updates with the regularity and precision of a true military man. The letters were reports, really. They told of his daily activities and discussed various things going on in the lab without disclosing much about what he was actually doing. None of it was particularly personal, and I always felt more like an audience member than a participant in his life, but at least it was regular mail. I dutifully replied to every letter, but I got the feeling that he didn't read these letters or that by the time he wrote again, he'd forgotten what I'd said in them.
Sometime around my fifth year, while I was in training to become a SEAL, my father's letters dropped off. I'd get one a month, if that, and I figured it was because the research had taken precedent over his need to describe it. I shrugged it off and focused on my training, and by the time I'd left for my overseas appointment, his letters had stopped coming. I told myself it was better this way. I had no expectations that he would contact me, and that meant there were no expectations that I would have to write to him.
The last time I'd seen my father had been two years before when I'd come home on leave for Christmas and spent the holiday with him and Eva in the Park Avenue apartment. He seemed content, and when we went to a Knicks game in Madison Square Garden he seemed more relaxed that I'd ever seen him. He told me about the strides they were making with the AI project and offered to let me tour the lab if I wanted. I had agreed, but we'd never made plans for me to accompany him to the office. I headed back to my post after the holiday without having seen what my father was working on.
Since then, our communication had been sporadic at best. I was sent out on mission after mission and my father had locked himself in the lab as the project became more intense. Eva had no idea what was going on, nor did she care, really, and since I had no siblings to keep me informed as to what was going on, I had no idea what had happened to my father over the past two years. His letters had been sporadic at best, and I'd rarely answered them.
As I sat in the waiting area of Julian's office, it occurred to me that, aside from the basic stats, I had no idea who my father was. I didn't really know Julian either. Growing up he'd been akin to wallpaper or the frame of the house, present and important, but not always someone I noticed. He and my father did the vast majority of their business at the office per my mother's wishes. It had been her only real request, that our home be a place separate from work, and my father had always respected that wish. In doing so, he'd kept Julian at a distance from me and my mother as well.
"Mr. Powell? Mr. Baines will see you now," the secretary said as she gestured toward the double doors behind her desk. When I didn't respond, she stood up and said, "Mr. Powell?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes," I said shaking my head to clear the memory of my mother standing at the kitchen sink washing an apple as she hummed along with the radio. "Yes, thank you, ma'am."
I smiled at her as I got up, grabbed my duffle bag and walked toward the doors. I pulled one open and walked into Julian's office. Inside, Julian stood up and walked around from behind his desk offering me a hand.
"Ryan, it's so good to see you again," he said smiling with all the warmth of a reptile sizing up its prey. I felt a chill go up my spine
"It's good to see you, too, sir," I said as I dropped my bag at my feet and offered both my hand and a guarded smile.
"Sir? What is this, the academy or something?" he grinned. "Call me Julian!"
Yes, si..Julian," I said as he gestured toward a chair and told me to have a seat.
"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked. "Soda? Tea? Whiskey?"
"No, I'm good, thank you, sir...uh, Julian," I said raising my hand and waving him off. His face was unnaturally tan and his hair was messily styled with what looked like wax. A tall man with broad shoulders and rather wide frame, he wore an expensive suit that looked like it had been tailor made to fit him but he'd ruined the effect by wearing a pair of leather driving moccasins that made him look like he had forgotten to change into his big boy shoes.
"I'm so sorry about Alan," Julian began.
"Thank you," I said not knowing what else to say about a man I hadn't known to a man I didn't know.
"He was my closest friend since high school," he said looking away for a moment. I got the feeling that this was for effect because I saw his eyes light on a reflection of himself in the window and then raise his hand to smooth down his hair. "He was my business partner, but first and foremost he was my friend."
"I know, I'm sorry for your loss," I said. There was something not quite right about Julian's behavior, but since I didn't know the whole story between him and my father, I didn't want to jump to conclusions.
"I'm going to miss him terribly," he said in a quiet voice that, for a moment, actually sounded sincere. I simply nodded in response. "He was the backbone of our research and development team. There's no replacing his talent and his skill."
"Really? I thought he'd hired a group of really talented people so that they could take over for him when he retired," I said as I watched Julian more closely. He was fidgeting in his chair and I wondered what that was about.
"He did, indeed," he said. "But Alan was one-of-a-kind. We couldn’t replace him if we had a hundred outstanding graduates. It's just not possible."
"I see," I said uncertain as to where this was leading.
"But you didn't come here to discuss that, did you?" Julian smiled and again, I shivered. "You want to talk about the will and his estate."
"Yes, sir," I said forgetting to call him by his name. "I'm concerned because my stepmother has been evicted from their home and it seems that my father has been having trouble paying bills for some time now. Do you know anything about this?"
"What? With Alan's personal business?" he asked in a surprised voice. "Oh goodness, no. I have no idea what he did personally. He was very, very private about things outside of the office."
"Even though you two had been best friends for close to forty years?" I asked.
"Ryan, your father was a very private man," he repeated with a knowing grin. "Surly you know that about him."
"Yes, I most certainly do, sir," I said deciding to stick with the more formal way of addressing him. Calling him by his first name felt somehow wrong. "I know he was a private man, but you were his best friend."
"C'mon, son," he said shaking his head. "You're a man, you know that there are many things that a man doesn't tell even his best friend."
I nodded, thinking about Opie and how I hadn't spoken to anyone about his death. There were many other things that I'd never told anyone in my life, but somehow I felt like my father would have been less guarded with his best friend of forty years.
"Then what about his will?" I asked. "Do you have any idea what he arranged for or even who has his will?"
"I have no idea what your father did with his will, or if he even had one," Julian said as he looked down at the cell phone buzzing in his hand, flipped it over and set it face down on the desk. "I assume that his lawyer would have that document."
"Do you have any idea who his lawyer is?" I asked. I was rapidly dawning on me that I literally knew nothing about my father, and that this lack of knowledge was going to make it very difficult to put his affairs in order.
"I think he hired Gates, Markham and Weller to represent him," Julian replied before pulling a pen out of his suit pocket and writing something down on a post it. "Here's their number, give them a call and find out if your father put them in charge of things."
"Thank you, sir," I said tucking the slip of paper in the front pocket of my jeans. I sat staring at Julian until he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, son?" he asked. I hated the way he called me son. I sounded like he was trying to step in and substitute for my father.
"Well, I'd like to take a look at his office and see if there are any pictures I could have," I said. After my father and Eva had g
otten married, she had put all of the pictures of my mother into storage. I knew that the office would be the only place that my father would have kept pictures of my mother, and if he had kept them, I wanted those.
"I'll call down and ask his assistant to gather up the pictures and have them brought to where you're staying," he said as he picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Miss...um...Miss Frost, please go into Dr. Powell's office and collect his personal mementos and box them up. I'll send a service to pick them up and deliver them to his son."
"I'd prefer to go up and get them myself," I said as I stood up, grabbed my bag, slung it over my shoulder and turned toward the door.
"Ryan, I'm sorry, but that's just not possible," Julian said. "You are not to go in your father's office. We need to make sure that everything that's in there now, stays in there, and that none of his papers are disturbed until someone on the project can go through them."
"I'm sorry, sir?" I replied. It seemed like such a strange thing to say to someone who only wanted the personal mementos. "I'm not interested in going through his work papers, I simply want the photos and his personal effects. I'm not sure I understand what the problem with that is."
"I'm saying that I do not want you in your father's office, and that's my final answer," he repeated in a terse voice. "Are we clear on that?"
"I'm not sure I understand why you're so against me picking up his things," I said as I made a mental note of his tone.
"I said I would have everything delivered to you," Julian said as he narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. "You are not to go near that office, young man."
I'd dealt with enough people in my career to know when someone was trying to hide something, and Julian was doing an exceptionally bad job of hiding the fact that he was hiding something.
"Sure, I understand," I said as I flashed a non-threatening smile. "No worries, I just wanted the pictures of me and my mom and dad, but I guess there's no reason I can't wait to have them delivered. It keeps me from having to lug them uptown, doesn't it?"
"Indeed," he murmured as he studied me. My backing down had raised his suspicion. "You're staying at with your stepmother, aren't you? I'll have everything sent over there."
"Yes, I am," I nodded and then made my way to the door. I turned and looked back at him and added, "Thank you, sir."
Julian Baines nodded as he gestured for me to leave the room.
Chapter Six
Echo
I was sitting at my desk going over paperwork and trying not to cry when a man who looked like he'd just walked out of an advertisement for every branch of the military pushed through the door and dropped his duffle bag in front of my desk. I looked up at the tall broad-shouldered man who was sporting several days worth of stubble, but still managing to look impeccable and wondered what he was doing in my office.
"Can I help you, sir?" I choked out as I tried, and failed, to stop staring at him. He was wearing a dark short-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans that looked like they were brand new. Both fit him like a glove. I could see that he had multiple tattoos on each arm, but I couldn't tell what they were as I couldn't stop staring at his eyes. They were a shade of amber that seemed to change color as he scanned the room talking it all in. I couldn't look away.
"Can I help you?" I repeated in a stronger voice this time. "I'm Echo Frost, Dr. Powell's assistant. And you are?"
The man turned and stared straight into my eyes for what felt like an incredibly long time before he held out his hand and said, "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Frost, I'm Lieutenant Ryan Lucas Powell, Dr. Alan Powell's son."
I inhaled sharply before taking his hand and pumping it a few times. I had known that Dr. Powell had a son, but I'd never seen anything but childhood pictures, and Dr. Powell had never talked about his son in any way that led me to believe he was an incredibly good looking man.
"It's nice to meet you, sir," I said in a shaky voice, then remembering where I was and what was happening, I added, "I'm so sorry about your father. He was a good man who was very kind to me and I'm going to..." I trailed off as the lump in my throat threatened to push upward.
"You don't have to call me sir," he smiled as he pulled his hand back. I blushed when I realized I'd held on, and then dropped my eyes to my desk as he continued, "You can just call me Ryan. I'm here to pick up a few things from my father's office and Mr. Baines said you were the one who held the key. Is that correct?"
"Yes, si — Ryan," I nodded as I opened my top desk drawer and grabbed the keys. I quickly walked over, stuck the red key in the lock and turned. The door swung open and I flipped on the lights. It was the first time I'd opened the door that day and it felt overwhelming as I realized that Dr. Powell would never be sitting at his desk asking me to bring him the days tech reports or inquiring whether the labs he'd asked for had arrived. I put my hand over my mouth as if that would hold back the flood that was threatening to break through my emotional dam. I sagged against the wall and felt Ryan's hand on my shoulder.
"Are you okay, Miss Frost?" he asked quietly.
"Echo," I said softly. "If I call you Ryan, you call me Echo."
"Are you okay, Echo?" he said leaving his hand on my shoulder. It was large and warm, and it felt comforting to know that he was there in case my grief was going to pull me to the ground.
"I'm...I'm... I'm fine," I stammered. I felt ridiculous. I was standing here being comforted by Alan Powell's son. I had no right to be as sad as I was, and yet I couldn't help it. "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay, you cared about him, I get it," Ryan said.
"But you're his son!" I cried as the tears began to flow. "I'm just his office assistant and I have no right to be this sad."
"Sure you do," he said squeezing my shoulder. "You cared about him, and he obviously cared about you. It's natural to be sad."
"How do you know he cared about me?" I said wiping my eyes grateful for the steady hand holding me up.
"He let you keep your job," Ryan grinned. That made me laugh, and pretty soon we were both laughing. Ryan said, "He was not an easy man."
"No, he most certainly was not," I said shaking my head as I recalled the times during my first few months on the job that Dr. Powell had handed back papers with things circled red and told me to fix the errors. I'd quickly learned to triple check everything I typed for him, but after six years, he would still occasionally drop a report on my desk saying that it needed a bit of work.
"He was demanding," Ryan said. "Very demanding."
"But he never asked me to do anything he wouldn't do himself," I said as I raised my hands to my face to cover the tears that were again flowing. Ryan moved around in front of my and wrapped his arms around me so that the backs of my hands were pressed against his chest as I cried, "I miss him so much already!"
"I know," he said as he patted my back and rested his chin on the top of my head. I could smell a hint of his musky cologne, and it made me feel a little dizzy as he held me close. I could feel his muscles through the t-shirt when I pulled my hands away and buried my face in his chest. I clung to him as I cried harder. He didn't say a word. He simply cradled the back of my head with one hand and wrapped his arm around my waist as he waited for the storm to pass.
When I finally felt like I'd cried all the tears I had, I pulled back and looked up at his face. He held my gaze as I noticed that his amber eyes contained flecks of gold and green, and I felt like I could get lost in them. Suddenly aware of how close we were and that my body was starting to respond in a way that was totally inappropriate, I stepped back, while wiping my eyes and trying to smile bravely. Ryan returned the smile and dropped his hands, and I felt saddened by their absence.
"You probably want to take a look around without someone over your shoulder, don't you?" I asked as I walked to the desk and grabbed a tissue from the box on the corner.
"I'd just like to sit here and think," he replied. "If you don't mind."
"Not at all," I said as I headed to the door. I w
ondered if he'd felt anything when he'd let go of me, then I shook my head to clear the thought and smiled weakly as I said, "If you need anything, just let me know, okay?"
"Thank you, Echo," he said as he turned toward the desk and rested his hands, palms down, on its surface as if he could pick up some kind of vibration. "I'll let you know if I need anything."
I ducked out of the room and quietly shut the door behind me as I went back to my desk. I didn't turn around to see what he was doing, but for the rest of the afternoon, every nerve ending in my body was on high alert waiting for Ryan to re-enter the room.
Chapter Seven
Ryan
I'd been sitting at my father's desk sorting through his things for over an hour when Julian came bursting into the office followed by his secretary.
"I told you that you were not allowed in this office!" he shouted as he grabbed my duffle bag and unzipped it. "Where is it?"
"I didn't take anything," I replied mystified by his behavior. He was digging through my bag tossing things out onto the floor as he muttered under his breath about confidentiality and proprietary information. I tried to figure out what was going on and said, "Sir, I'm not sure what you're looking for, but I guarantee it's not in there."
"Mr. Baines, maybe if you tell me what you're looking for, I can help?" Echo interjected.
"Did you let him in this office, Miss Frost?" Baines asked as he glared at her.
"I did," she replied looking at me nervously.
"And I don't supposed he informed you that I had said he was not allowed access to this office, did he?" Baines said as he turned and glared at me.
"He did not, but I'm sure that he didn't—," Echo began.
"Don't be so sure of anything, Miss Frost," he snarled. "You're entirely too trusting."
"Mr. Baines, I'm simply gathering my father's personal effects," I said as I watched him march over and pull open my duffle bag.
