“Nathan, off,” I demand. I snap my fingers at him to get off the bed, and he finally listens. “Go tell Casey to start dinner. I’ll be right down.”
He skips happily out of our mom’s room, finally, and I begin ripping the sheet off. I feel around the mattress for a slit or opening. I round the corner and still don’t feel anything. Frustrated, I finally lift the mattress up as high as I can. Adrenaline and determination feed my strength to flip the entire thing over, and then I see it—a white envelope taped to the bottom of the mattress.
I run over and grab it, ripping the tape off with it. It’s sealed shut with nothing written on the outside. I rub my fingers over it, wondering if it’ll give me any information that I’ve been craving.
I rip the envelope open and spot a small piece of folded paper. I pull it out and hold it firmly in between two fingers.
My breathing quickens as I unfold it, delicately as if it’ll break. I unfold it once more before it’s completely open, exposed.
Samuel Anderson.
42-19-36
No. 6
I stare at it and realize it’s some kind of lock box code. Number 6 and this was the lock combination. But for what? And where? And who the hell is Samuel Anderson?
“Cecilia!” I hear my sister shout up the stairs. “Get your ass down here!”
“Hold on, I’ll be right there!” I shout back unhappily.
I clench the piece of paper in my fist as I push the mattress back on top of the box spring. I quickly put the sheets and pillows back on before leaving the room.
As I walk down the stairs, I think about the secrets my mom must be hiding—hiding for my dad. Were we always unsafe?
After dinner, I go on a Google hunt for a Samuel Anderson. I have no idea what I’m looking for, and considering it’s an extremely common name, I end up with thousands of Google links. But if it’s important enough for my mom to hide, it has to link to my dad somehow. I can feel it.
I narrow it down and search Samuel Anderson + Nebraska.
No matches.
I try again, this time adding in my dad’s old job title. Samuel Anderson + insurance broker.
Nothing.
This is going to be so much harder than I thought.
Bentley
My room still smells like her. Well, a blend of her anyway. Mixed with me. And sex.
Lots and lots of sex.
After last night’s events and the alcohol finally wearing off, I can finally think straight. As much as my body craves and desires Ceci, I need to start thinking with my other head.
As soon as I arrive to work, I tell Erika to get me Ceci’s file and her guidance counselor on the phone. I was supposed to check her references three weeks ago. And with the suspicion building up inside me, I have to know. I need to know for certain that she is who she says she is to get over this huge lump in my chest. I can’t let my need for her take over my ability to protect my father’s company.
“Here you are, Mr. Leighton. Everything’s in there.” Erika gently places the file on my desk and quietly leaves without another word. Let’s just say, she’s been well-trained. I don’t do small talk and chit-chat.
I immediately open it up and rack my brain about the details of her interview. It wasn’t that long ago, but for some reason, it feels longer.
Casey West. 21. Senior. University of Nebraska.
I remember the exact way she looked the day of her interview. Sophisticated and put together on the outside, fearless and strong on the inside. A deadly combination…
I look over her transcripts, her letters of recommendation, and college awards. It’s obvious she’s extremely bright. Her professors rave about her skills, her ability to learn quickly, and her desire for journalism and criminology. It’s perfect.
Perhaps a little too perfect.
Thinking back to her, I decide to do a Facebook and Google search on Ceci. Something I don’t typically do on my colleagues because I don’t need to. Everything is usually broken down in the criminal background and security check. Yet, nothing popped up for Ceci. Her record was spotless.
I find Google records of her license, registration, and insurance. I find a Twitter account that looks as if it has never been used, and a Facebook account that’s set to private. However, I notice the profile picture isn’t of her face. Her back is angled to the camera as her shirt falls off her shoulder, her body turned away. Her hair is a darker blonde and swept to one side with light curls.
I stare at it and notice how vulnerable she looks—unlike how she acts in real life. There’s so much I don’t know about her, so much that she could be hiding.
My phone rings and distracts me from my thoughts. I quickly exit out of all the screens before answering it.
“Yes?”
“Sir, Professor Hennings is on line one for you.”
I thank her and quickly switch the line over.
“Hello, this is Bentley Leighton from Leighton Enterprises,” I greet. “Thank you for calling me back, Mr. Hennings.”
“Hello, Mr. Leighton. How may I help you?”
I can tell it’s an older gentleman by the raspy tone in his voice. I only plan to get a few details about Ceci because now all I can think about is she and that pretty little mouth of hers.
“Yes, I was wondering if you could give me some information on one of your students. A Miss Casey West. She applied to an internship program here a while ago and actually received it. My apologies for not contacting you sooner on this matter, but I thought we should at least communicate about her references.”
I hear him clear his throat before responding. “Uh, Casey West, you say?”
“Ah, yes, sir. She’s one of your students?”
“Yes, she is. I wasn’t aware she was even looking into internships, nevertheless applying for them.”
I hear the confusion in his voice and wonder if perhaps he’s getting too old for his job.
I smirk to myself before replying. “Well, sir, I actually have a letter of recommendation from you. It says you acknowledge her skills as a student and that she would be a valuable asset to our company.” I try not to sound rude, but I’m annoyed at how he can’t even keep his students straight. “Casey West, she’s about five feet-three, maybe a hundred and ten or twenty pounds. Um, brownish-blonde hair?” I ramble off her looks as if it’ll matter.
“I’m aware of what she looks like, sir. I’m not aware of any internship she’s applied to.” His tone is harsh, and I’m immediately pissed off. “Or any letter of recommendation.”
I run my tongue along my lower lip as I take in this new information. I’m not sure what it all means, but one thing’s for sure—she lied on her application.
Chapter Four
Cecilia
I SPEND THE better part of Friday night trying to research Samuel Anderson and what connection he could possibly have to my dad.
I end up falling asleep at my desk with all my lights still on. By the time I wake up, I’m already late for work.
“Shit!” I frantically rush to get ready and drive faster than I should. I finally arrive at 8:27 am.
I don’t have time to feel nervous anymore. All I can think about is how mad he’s going to be. And how I have no idea what we are…or how I’m supposed to act around him.
I smooth my skirt with my hands as I walk down the hall to Bentley’s office. I walk in slowly and watch him intently to gauge his mood. He sits tall as he continues writing something.
“Good morning, Mr. Leighton,” I say as I stand in front of his desk with my arms folded in front of me. I don’t have his coffee either…fuck, he’s going to fire me.
“Good morning, Miss West.” His voice is deep and smooth. I nervously stand there, anticipating him yelling at me soon.
He finally lifts his head and makes eye contact with me. There’s an amused grin on his face as he takes in my outfit. I wonder if he’s going to mention Thursday night, but after sneaking out early, and taking a cab to my car Friday morn
ing, I haven’t heard from him since. And I haven’t tried to contact him either.
I watch as he squirms in his chair as if he’s fighting an inner battle. His eyes aren’t as soft, and suddenly, I feel butterflies in my stomach, as I fear something is wrong.
“I have a project for you this morning,” he says as he hands me a thick manila folder. “In order for me, as your boss, to know your abilities, we have all interns and out-of-college grads complete a practice case file.”
I nod in understanding, but inside I’m completely dying.
“It’s a simple junior college-level case, something similar you’ve probably already covered in one of your class projects.” He smiles back at me, and I feel as if he’s challenging me.
“Great, I’ll get started.” I smile wide as if it’ll be no big deal and turn to walk out the door.
“Oh, and Ceci.” His voice jerks me back around to face him. “You have one hour.”
I nod and hurry out of his office and into the one I’ve been allowed to use. My body is shaking with nerves as I realize the task he’s given me—something a college senior should be able to do in their sleep.
I adjust myself in the office chair and flip open the file. I read over the notes, the case information, and the evidence.
Victim: Mark Philips
Background information: 34-year-old Caucasian male, never returned home after work on Thursday, March 19. Wife reported him missing the next day.
Case Notes: Police followed up with his job at Tillman & Tillman, a sausage processing company. He worked 6AM to 6PM Monday-Thursday.
It was confirmed that he punched in at 5:57AM and punched out at 12:35PM for his lunch break. He then punched back in at 1:35PM but never punched back out for the evening.
Detectives interviewed the company owner, his supervisor, his line partner, and five other employees that said they saw him that day.
Ty Neumann, his line partner, claimed he left work early. Records proved he punched out at 5:02PM.
Randy Huntington, his supervisor, claimed to not have seen him after lunch, as he was in a business meeting from 1PM to 4PM and then left immediately after to pick up his daughter from daycare. Detectives confirmed his daughter was picked up at 4:17PM.
Jerry Sullivan, Heath Tyner, Joseph McMillian, Lenny Johnston, and David Winters were also interviewed—they noted that Mark always worked twelve-hour days. Jerry was known to not get along well with Mark, and David was currently in anger management (both unrelated, just an observation.)
His car was found undisturbed in the parking lot. No video surveillance.
I read over the rest of the papers that are included in the file, all made up notes and interviews.
With one minute left, I shuffle the papers back in the manila folder and head back to Bentley’s office.
I knock softly, and he tells me to enter. I cautiously walk to his desk, his body language unreadable. A shift has occurred since we were together the other night, and my increased heart rate tells me it’s from him finding me in his office. The alcohol that once flooded his blood veins is no longer doing the thinking for him—he’s suspicious.
“Well?” he asks as I approach him. He’s leaning back all the way in his chair, his hands resting behind his head. “Do you have a conclusion?”
I can hear the amusement in his tone. It’s as if he’s expecting me to get this wrong, expecting me to not know the answer.
“I believe I do.” He gestures for me to keep going. I clear my throat, stand up a little taller, and respond, “His wife is the suspect.”
His eyes widen as his lips curve up into a smirk. “And what makes you think that?”
If I told him how I knew—the truth—it’d give too much away. When the shooting happened, my mother was inside. She had no idea what had happened, who was hurt, or where the shooting was coming from, but her first reaction? Get help. She didn’t waste time finding answers. A wife and mother’s first reaction should always be to get help.
I clear my throat again, stalling. His eyes wander up my legs to my chest and meet back up to mine. I smile confidently and continue. “She waited too long to call the police. Her alibi is improbable at best. Any concerned wife would’ve called his cell phone several times or the company phone, and after that, the police. Except, she didn’t. She waited until the next day. She also made sure it was a Thursday, his last work day of the week. I found the likelihood of her coming into his place of work much more plausible than any of his co-workers having anything to do with his disappearance. She had distracted him before he got the chance to punch out, which was her sole purpose in getting the attention off her.”
His lips form into a half-sided grin, a cocky smirk that could melt the panties off any girl. But right now, all I want to do is impress him—wash away any doubt that he’s feeling.
“That’s very impressive.”
“You look surprised.”
“Well…this case is used in many trial interviews and internships. It’s been used as an extensive training guide due to the fine details that often get overlooked.”
“And you didn’t think I could do it.” It’s more of a statement than a question because I can hear the doubt in his tone.
His jaw ticks as he smoothly rubs a hand over it. “No.”
I take a step back, shocked by his confession. “Then why even give me the task if you expect me to fail?”
“Let me make myself clearer. I didn’t think you could do it…because it takes most people three hours to come to the same conclusion you just did.”
“And you only gave me an hour,” I whisper, confused.
“Correct. I wanted to challenge you.”
“Why? I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do. Do you doubt my ability to work here?” I ask with anger in my tone, but I quickly control myself—I have to remember he’s still my boss.
“You’re very bright, Ceci. Extremely smart and confident. Trust me. I don’t doubt those qualities at all.”
“Well, I can sense it’s something, so why don’t you just come out and tell me?” I snap reluctantly.
He leans forward in his chair and crosses his arms over his desk. His intensity makes me nervous, but I try to shake it off before he can sense it.
“All right.” He looks me over once more before continuing. “I was finally able to speak with your guidance counselor, Professor Hennings.”
My body stiffens as I hear his words. I assumed he had done all that before I was accepted. I didn’t know I still had to worry about it.
“Did he even know who I was?” I smirk, trying to play it as if he’s losing his memory from old age.
“He did.”
I swallow. His face is firm as his intense eyes burn into mine. I suddenly decide to switch my plan.
“I guess he doesn’t remember writing the letter since you’re bringing it up?” I ask, trying to keep my voice strong.
“That’d be correct.” I can see he’s thinking the worst in his head, and I know I need to come up with something plausible.
“Okay.” I clear my throat and blink a few times. “He didn’t write me that letter of recommendation. Professor Hennings and I don’t have a good relationship. I-I might’ve come on too strong around him when I was trying to ask why he gave me a B instead of an A. He made a pass at me and I told him off. Ever since then, he keeps his distance. I was too afraid to ask him for a letter of recommendation, so I asked his TA.”
“His TA?” His eyebrows lift as if he’s skeptical.
“Yes, Jordan Walsh. He’s a friend of mine and I asked him for a favor. It was a letter I deserved, but I didn’t want to approach Professor Hennings because of what happened last time.”
I try to sound believable and look the part. I feel pathetic. This is pathetic. But I have no choice. I’m too far in. If I tell him the truth now, I’m ruined.
“You understand what could happen if I told your professor? Not to mention what would happen to your internship?”
/> I swallow hard again. Because I do know. I know very fucking well what will happen. This game—this strategy—will have been all for nothing.
I nod. “Yes, Mr. Leighton. I do understand.”
Chapter Five
Bentley
I WANT TO believe every fucking word she’s telling me. I want to believe her because I want her. But I need to remember what I’m doing here.
You’re a Leighton, son.
My father’s words echo in my head as I stare at the beautiful girl in front of me. She’s strong, determined, and bright. I can’t keep the thought of her out of my head for more than two seconds—the way she presents herself, the beauty in who she is, and the way she gets under my skin are all reasons I want to believe her.
Not many women try to use their brains to get my attention. And it’s the fucking hottest thing in the entire world watching her use both—brains and beauty. But she’s so much more than that. Her personality, witty sense of humor, and her ability to act professional when it’s needed are all screaming at me to believe her—forgive her for lying about one damn letter.
“All right. I’m not going to say anything to the committee about it.” She exhales a breath of relief. “This time,” I emphasize. “Is there anything else you need to tell me, Ceci?” I ask, but deep down, I’m unsure I want an answer. I don’t think I can handle having to let her go, telling her to walk away from this internship, since I can tell how important it is to her.
“No, Mr. Leighton. Nothing else.”
“Good.”
I watch intently as she shifts from foot to foot. We’ve slept together, and yet I make her nervous still. She swallows slowly, taking in whatever I’m about to say. I want to scream and yell at her for being in my home office and demand the truth, but I know that’ll backfire. She’s given me a reasonable explanation, yet it still isn’t sitting right with me. And I’m not sure that has anything to do with Ceci, or the fact that I need to keep her a safe distance. The closer she gets, the worse it could be.
The Intern: Vol. 2 Page 3
