The Assistant's Secret

by Emerald O'Brien

  Tackman’s chest heaves, and he bites his lip, shaking his head. The three of them stare at me, and I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what to say. My hands tremble, and I wipe at my cheek once more before grabbing my heels and putting them back on to regain some sense of composure.

  “What did you see?” Tackman asks once I’m in my shoes.

  I can’t lie and say I didn’t see anything. If I try to run, I’ll never get out of here, and that’s all I want.

  I clear my throat and tug my blouse down, back in place. “Some man came running in,” I point to the hallway, “and then he told me to go outside,” I point to Carver, “and I tried to, and then he yanked me back in here.”

  Tackman turns to Carver, and he nods, running his fingers through his blond hair once again. Tackman runs his hand over his beard and stares at Danes.

  “It’s taken care of,” Danes mumbles.

  Tackman looks back to me. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  But I can’t hear the regret in his voice. Is he sorry I was subjected to it, or that I saw something I shouldn’t have seen, and now they have to deal with me?

  “Whatever’s going on here is none of my business,” I blurt out.

  “I didn’t know what was happening,” Carver tells Tackman. “I didn’t want her involved, but—”

  “We’ll talk after,” Tackman tells Carver, still calm, and turns to Danes. “We’re good?”

  Danes nods.

  I turn to Carver. “We’re not.” My body buzzes with anger, raging against the calm in the room. Against the way I feel like a victim. Why am I embarrassed? How’ve they made me feel that way? “If you ever touch me again,” I shout, “that will be my business.” I clench my jaw and give him a stern look before turning back to Tackman. “And speaking of business,” I bring some control back to my tone as best I can, “I’d like to conclude ours for the day. Where would you like your monitors set up?”

  “How about we worry about that when your guys get back?” he says. “Follow me.”

  He glares at Carver until he steps out of the way, before walking back down the hallway toward the kitchen. I follow him with my legs shaking beneath me as we walk through the clean kitchen to the back wall where a hidden, sliding glass door sits open. He walks through it, and I follow with footsteps behind me into the gray of the afternoon.

  “You can wait at the door, Danes.” Tackman doesn’t turn around, and as I step outside onto the solid concrete patio, the footsteps behind me stop.

  Tackman passes the sleek, white patio furniture and stops before the long, rectangular pool. Birds chirp around us, easing the tension but adding a false sense of peace. I don’t know when I caught my breath, or when my tears stopped falling, but anger still lingers with the confusion swirling inside of me.

  Tackman folds his arms over his chest. “I’d like to assume the confidentiality agreement we signed covers what you saw,” he turns to me, his sharp, dark eyes fixed on mine, “but I never make assumptions.”

  He wants my assurance, and I’ll give it to him. Whatever it takes to get out of here.

  “It covers it.” I fold my arms over my chest.

  He shoves his hands in his coat pockets and tilts his chin up as if considering the sincerity of my voice.

  I don’t want to push it, so I stand still and maintain eye contact. His confident stare intimidates me, but he’s not hard to look at, and he seems like my best shot at reason out of the three men, with the most power.

  “The men in the basement were involved in a business deal gone bad.”

  Men? More than one?

  I hold up my hand. “That is none of my business. Your security is our top priority—”

  “They will not be harmed,” he continues, and I wonder if he heard what I said at all. “I’m keeping them both safe until their business associate sets things straight.”

  Keeping them safe. That’s not what I saw in there. Is that what he expects me to believe?

  “Mr. Tackman, I’m here to oversee the security installation and manage your contract. I don’t need to know your specific business to do my job with the utmost care and confidence.”

  “Understand they will not be harmed. They are not in danger. I am keeping them safe, and your security will help me accomplish that until their associate gets back, and then they’ll be released.”

  I shake my head and hug myself tighter. “Why are you telling me all this when I told you it’s none of my business?”

  “This isn’t about what you need to do your job properly,” he raises his voice. “It’s about what I need.” He jabs his finger at his chest. “I need to know I can trust you, and I don’t think you’ll keep quiet unless you understand the situation.”

  He really wants me to believe him, but does it even matter? Once I leave, I’m telling Cathrine everything, and I’m calling the police. He can’t just hold people hostage here. His men can’t just grab me.

  “Both men will remain safe, and it isn’t for you to worry about.”

  I clench my jaw and nod. Whatever gets me out of here. “Yes, I understand.”

  He scratches the scruff of his chin. It’s less maintained than yesterday. A little longer.

  “Josephine Oliver.” My name on his lips, said slowly like that, sounds like silk magic. “Thirty-three. Lives in New Gilford. Parents passed away when you were young.” What is he doing? “One sibling. Maggie Oliver. One nephew, Andrew Oliver.” I ball my hands into fists. He’s threatening me. “Aunt and Uncle raised you. You went to college after high school. Worked and attended night school for administrative professionals. Changed career paths when you were thirty. Began working at Locke Industries. You live at 115 Haverstock Street with your sister and nephew. You take care of them.”

  “Was that supposed to scare me?” I sneer. “You know where I live; you know the basic facts about my life that anyone with a Google search engine and social media could find. What was the point of all that?”

  He purses his lips and tilts his head to the side. “I know more than you think, and we have more in common than you know.” He turns and sits on one of the long cabana chairs by the pool, interlocking his fingers and cracking his knuckles as he stares down at them. “I’ve been a caretaker too.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” The cold air brings the shivers back, and I press my lips together to fend off the cold.

  “I know you’re having financial troubles. That’s putting it too nicely and doing you a disservice not to acknowledge what you’re really up against. You’re drowning in debt because of your sister’s rehab bill.”

  I turn away, staring at the trees as the wind blows through the leaves, rustling them softly.

  “I’d give anything to have my brother back and well again. Anything. I think you would too, for your sister. I’m going to give you the money for her debts if you abide by the confidentiality agreement. Keep my secret, keep your job, and keep your sister well.”

  Just that easy? No. I don’t want his charity. He can’t buy my silence.

  If Maggie knew where the money was from, what I had to do to get it, she’d call me a hypocrite, and she’d hate herself for it. It’s wrong.

  “I don’t want your money.” My teeth chatter together.

  He stands up in front of me, but I keep still. “No?” he asks, taking off his coat.

  “No.” I squeeze myself tighter. “I’ll abide by the contract, but I don’t want your money.”

  I want out of here.

  He walks around me and hangs his jacket over my shoulder. I cock my head to the side, ready to shrug it right back off onto the ground, but it smells of oak and citrus cologne, and staves off the chill enough to stop me from shaking as he walks around to face me again.

  I turn to look away, and he leans in closer. “You’re a nice girl. You saw something bad. You’ve got problems. Let me fix them.”

  “I don’t take handouts.”

  He steps toward me and leans in
closer. “It’s not a handout,” he whispers. “I’m buying your silence. This is just between us. No one will know—not Cathrine, and not your sister.”

  “I’m already being paid to keep your information confidential. I don’t need a bribe,” I whisper, turning away from him.

  He takes a step back, studies me, and walks to the open sliding door. He leans over to Danes and says something before walking back through the kitchen, down the hallway. Danes comes outside, and I steel myself, not letting him see my fear as he approaches.

  “You’re done for the day.” Danes waves his hand away from me. “You can go. Have your phone with you at all times. If a security call comes through to your company, or anything suspicious happens, we want you here before the security personnel from your company. If you don’t answer your phone, we’ll consider the contract null and void.”

  I nod and walk past him.

  “I—” he says, and I turn to face him. “I wanted to say sorry for before. Carver didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “He didn’t,” I spit.

  But he did. Not much, but enough that I’m still rattled.

  “I really am sorry.” His face is crestfallen as his gaze slips away from me.

  I walk away as his apology lingers in the air, and he follows me to my car until I slam the door behind me, sitting in my driver’s seat, shaking as I absorb the afternoon’s events.

  I have to get back to the office and tell Cathrine. She needs to know what we’ve been involved in, and she’ll know how to handle it.

  Chapter Nine

  See No Evil

  I drove back to New Gilford on autopilot, straight to the office, and as I walked across the lobby, my legs still shook.

  Everything happened so fast in that house. I couldn’t see straight; I couldn’t think straight—and the gun.

  Was that the scariest part?

  Or the fact they’re keeping people trapped there?

  Or was it being grabbed from behind and trapped there too?

  Dane’s apology made it seem like Carver had no other choice, but he could have let me go.

  Even if they didn’t trust me not to say anything… but I guess they couldn’t. I guess he saw no other way to make sure their terrible secret was kept safe.

  When people find out about this—what they’re hiding in that house.

  “Hey, Jo!” Rob, board member Mathison’s assistant, calls to me across the lobby, jarring me out of my thoughts, and I haven’t even pressed the elevator arrow yet.

  I press the button and glance over my shoulder. Two young women from the accounting department follow him. “You working today too?” Rob asks.

  I nod as the two women stay back a bit and whisper to each other.

  “Coming out to The Twisted Olive when you’re finished?”

  One of the most popular bars in New Gilford, the place traditionally hosted happy hour for Locke Industries associates.

  I shake my head as I distinguish a few of the words from one of the women. “...doesn’t even know...wasn’t invited.”

  “She’s weird,” the other says a little louder and shoots me a fake smile.

  “I heard you got your own contract.” Rob ignores them. “Congrats.”

  “Word travels fast.” But these elevator doors don’t. Not for me today.

  “Sure does.” He smiles and turns to one of the women. “What time will you be finished?

  “Shouldn’t take more than an hour,” she says. “We’ll meet back here in the lobby.”

  Rob nods as the elevator doors open and turns back to me. “After you.”

  I step in, and the other women file in behind me.

  “Maybe you’ll join us next Friday.” Rob grins, and one of the women jabs him with their elbow. He steps to the side, pressing the button to our floor and then the one below for the other women. I remember the resistance as my elbow connected with Carver’s chest. “It’s our pre-anniversary celebration.” He stares at me, and I stare back blankly, remembering how close I was to freedom. To getting outside, into my car, and driving away. “The fiftieth anniversary of Locke Industries. At the Lockes. Next Saturday?”

  “Right.” I nod. One of the women giggles. I glare at her and turn back to Rob. “Probably won’t have time.”

  “That’s too bad.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at me in the reflection of the elevator walls. “I’d love to buy you a drink to celebrate your raise.”

  My cheeks flush, and I bite my lip, turning away to hide my smile, but out of my peripheral, I can see he’s smiling too. The doors rumble open, and the women step out, shooting each other looks before disappearing down the hallway without a word.

  As the doors close, he takes a step away from me and leans against the gold railing. “I hope you don’t give a shit what they say or think.”

  I turn to him with what’s left of my smile. “I’ve got more important things to deal with than office gossip.”

  Like the clients we’ll need to turn in to the police.

  I lick my lips and sigh.

  “You work too hard.” He corrects his posture, pushing his chest out and shoulders back as the doors rumble open. I lift my brows, surprised he believes in such a thing in a culture of hustle. But he’s just trying to get a drink with me. He’ll say what he needs to to make it happen, even if it’s making me feel bad for being no fun. “If you decide to come next Friday for the pre-celebration, come find me, okay?”

  I nod and stride out of the elevator, down the hall a few steps to the glass door. As Fern comes into view, my body buzzes with adrenaline, and the nagging feeling of relief annoys me while there’s so much left to deal with. I could have ended up in the basement too, but I didn’t. They let me go. I wasn’t truly harmed, but I feel like I came close. This false sense of security since I got away leaves a hazy film over my judgment.

  Was I ever in danger?

  Of course I was.

  Was it as bad as it seemed?

  Fern buzzes the door open, and I march in. I need to get this over with.

  “Is Cathrine in?” I ask, my tone more level than I feel, but as Fern studies me, I decide I’m not hiding my anxiety well. “I need to see her straight away.”

  She studies her computer screen. “Ah, your client’s installation. Is that where you’ve just come from?”

  “Yes.”

  She nods once and slides out from behind her desk, standing at just over half my height, resting her hands on her hips. “What’s the matter?”

  I shake my head with an uneasy smile. “I just really need to speak with Ms. Locke.”

  She makes a tsking noise and stares at the desk with pursed lips.

  “Is she in a meeting? I’ll just wait here. I really have to speak with her.”

  “What you really need to do is get ahold of yourself.” My eyes open wide and then squint at her, as if looking harder could assure me I’d just actually heard what she said. “You need to sit down and think about the issue you’re bringing to her.”

  “I have. I thought about it for the hour it took to get here in rush hour traffic.”

  She rounds the desk and leans against the front of it, much like Cathrine does. “Something’s upset you, but I can guarantee, if you take a problem to Cathrine without a solution, you won’t like her conclusion. Do you understand?”

  She’s warning me, like I don’t know Cathrine. Like I wasn’t just called out this morning for my incompetence, but that’s not what this is. This wasn’t my fault. She’ll see that, even after this morning.

  But Fern has a point. I can’t expect Cathrine to fix it. A good assistant doesn’t take their problems to their boss without possible solutions. Even in this terrible case, I know what needs to be done, and I’ll be the one to do it.

  “I have a solution.” I say with confidence.

  I’ll talk to the police and tell them everything I know. Everything I saw. We’ll disassociate with the client and let it be known we don’t deal with criminals
who harass us—threaten us—and think they can get away with whatever they want.

  Fern makes her tsking sound once more and rounds the desk again, sitting back in her seat and grabbing the phone. “If you’re doing something to compromise the contract you just signed, the best solution is to smooth things over yourself.” She presses a button and stares at me, raising her brows. “What’ll it be?”

  She’s never steered me wrong before, but this is different. This is something Cathrine needs to know about. If Fern knew what had just happened—happened to me—she’d understand.

  “I’d like to see her, please.”

  Without a word, she presses another button on the phone. “Josephine is here to see you… Yes.”

  She hangs up and nods to me. I stride to the door and pull it open, eager to unburden myself. No more waiting.

  Cathrine’s holding the phone and her finger up for me to wait. I nod and stay where I am.

  “Thank you,” she speaks into the phone. “You too.”

  She hangs up and waves me over.

  “Ms. Locke, I’ve come from Mr. Tackman’s residence, and the concerns I had yesterday have turned into a confirmed issue. More than an issue—”

  “I just finished speaking with Mr. Tackman.”

  My breath catches in my throat as I choke out, “You did?”

  “He has some concerns about you. About us.”

  “He has concerns?” I shake my head. “No. Ms. Locke, I know you always say that our clients’ business is their own, but he took it upon himself to show me the drugs and guns in his home.”

  She holds her hand up and presses her thin lips together. “That’s enough.”

  She’s not shocked. Maybe she really did already know about them.

  “I saw them there yesterday. A room full of them, and today, I saw a man.” Running to escape. Running for his life.

  “A man.” She frowns and stares at me.

  This might be the first time she’s surprised.

  “Yes, a man they’re holding there against his will. There’s two of them!”

  Her eyes open wider, and she takes a step back, resting her hands on her hips. “Two men?”