Keeping Her Close

by Carol Ross

  “You accused him of being in love with me?”

  Mia smiled. “Yeah, and just so you know, he didn’t deny it. I thought it was odd how miserable he seemed to be about something that should be making him happy, but now I get it. His loyalty toward Owen versus his love for you must have been eating away at him. Not to mention his obligation to Dahlia. Please don’t think I’m defending what he did, but I know how my brother thinks.

  “Kyle values duty, honor and loyalty above all things in this world. His dad made sure of that. Bill was a perfect role model of putting duty and honor before anything else, even his family. Even his wife, our mother, who doted on him. He attempted to mold Kyle into his image. For a long time, it worked. But then Bill died, and Kyle realized his dad wasn’t quite the pillar of perfection he’d grown up believing he was. It’s been very difficult for him to reconcile all of this. It took me a while to realize how much. Even with all of that, he still has that sense of duty and responsibility. You can’t shake that. It’s ingrained in him. Even Jay has it from his time in the Coast Guard. They do the ‘right thing’—” she paused to add air quotes “—‘no matter the personal cost.’ Through all of that, Owen was there for him. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but Owen saved my brother’s life.”

  Harper nodded. “Yes, but I never heard the details.”

  “Owen didn’t just save him. He risked his own life to go back for Kyle under impossibly dangerous circumstances. It was truly heroic. They both should have died. Owen might have been involved in this shady business, but he loved Kyle. He was loyal to Kyle. There was bravery and honor in there, too. There had to be in order for him to do what he did. If there’s even the slightest chance that Owen is innocent of this, Kyle will hang on to that thread. He’ll do everything in his power to prove that before he accepts his guilt.”

  Harper could see how some of this might be true. Most of it, probably. And it only strengthened Kyle’s goodness. His ability to see right into the heart of a person was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him. That’s what he’d done with her, wasn’t it? Seen her for who she really was and loved her anyway. He’d done the same thing with his dad. Harper felt her cheeks burn with a combination of regret and shame. If only she’d been able to see this sooner. If only he hadn’t left without explaining some of this to her. But she hadn’t let him, had she? Nope. She’d fired him and kicked him out.

  And when Kyle discovered the truth about Owen—and Harper had no doubt he would—he would be devastated all over again. To once again discover that a man he idolized was not the person he believed him to be. She knew what that was like; to find out someone wasn’t who you thought they were. It took time to work through those feelings, to acknowledge them, to accept that they were about that person’s actions and not a reflection on you. She’d lived it more times than a person should have to. And yet she hadn’t allowed herself to see that Kyle was going through that very thing. Or would be as soon as he discovered the truth.

  A sense of urgency rushed through her so quickly it left her a little shaky. Turning so that she faced Mia, she said, “Mia, I need to see him but he’s gone. He left yesterday. Do you know where he is? Has he left for his job with Dahlia?” She needed to apologize, to explain, to tell him she loved him. She needed to be there for him when his world came crashing down.

  “Harper, he didn’t take the job.”

  “What?”

  “He didn’t take the job with Dahlia. He hasn’t signed the contract. Technically, he has until the end of the month to decide, and he decided to take the extra time.”

  “Then where is he?”

  “Newport Beach, California. I have no idea where exactly or why he’s there.”

  But Harper did. At least, she knew the why part.

  * * *

  HARPER BROUGHT UP a map on her tablet and tried to think calmly and rationally. Kyle had said that after his contract with her was complete, he would “go get answers” about Owen. The inference being that the information he sought resided elsewhere. That had to be why Kyle had gone to Newport Beach.

  Harper had to get there as quickly as possible. She tried to calculate Kyle’s timeline. It was roughly a two-and-a-half-hour flight. The closest airport to Newport Beach was LAX, approximately an hour’s drive. He’d likely rent a car when he arrived, which would also add time. With efficient planning and a little luck, she could be there at the same time if not get there ahead of him. She cringed thinking about the angry words she’d spoken to him just before he’d walked out her door. How could she get him to talk to her?

  Pulling up her contacts, she tapped on her dad’s number.

  He answered on the second ring. “Hi, honey. How are you? What’s up?”

  “Hey, Dad. I’m fine. I’m calling because I need your help.”

  “Okay.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask what this entails before you commit?”

  “Harper, you rarely ask me for help. So if you’re asking for something, then I know it’s important.”

  Harper felt her anxiety ease a little. No matter what happened in her life, at least she had her father on her side. “Thanks, Dad. It is kind of important. Are you home right now?”

  “I am. Just reading the paper.”

  “Oh, great. That means you’re in the family room, right?” Lounging in his recliner and reading the paper was one of his favorite things.

  “Yep.”

  “Here’s what I need you to do. Stand up and go over to where all my photos are hanging.”

  “Uh, okay.” Harper could hear him shuffling around as he set the paper aside, adjusted the recliner and stood. A moment later, he said, “I’m there.”

  “I need you to take down one of the photos hanging there, scan it and send it to me.”

  “I’m on it. But which one?”

  Harper told him.

  A few seconds of silence ensued while Harper tried to imagine what her dad was thinking. “Um, honey, are you sure this is the one you want? It’s not exactly the best photo you’ve ever—”

  “Believe me, Dad, I know. I’m positive.”

  “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

  “It’s about Kyle. But I don’t have time to explain right now. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” Maybe. Hopefully. If this plan worked.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll trust you. I like Kyle.”

  That made her smile. She suddenly realized that in all the time she’d dated Owen her dad had never said that. “I’m glad,” she said. “I like him, too. One more thing?”

  “Anything.”

  “Can I get a lift in one of your airplanes?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  KYLE APPROACHED THE National Hometown Bank of California and silently reviewed his strategy. Internet searching the night before told him that he’d need a picture ID and a signature to access the box. Because he hadn’t initially opened the box with Owen, he had no idea how he was going to get access. The idea of forging Owen’s signature didn’t sit well with him. He doubted that speaking with the bank manager would do much more than arouse curiosity.

  He couldn’t help but think that Owen would have been aware of these issues. In the end, he decided he’d attempt to follow Owen’s request exactly as he’d laid it out. Kyle put his casual “I belong here” face on, reminded himself to dole out information only as necessary, and casually strolled through the bank’s sliding doors. He took his place in line and waited to see a teller.

  A cheerful woman with long, glossy black hair called him forward. Her name tag read “Stacy,” and on the wall of her station, she had photos of two little boys who may have been twins. “Hello, sir, how can I help you?”

  “Hey, Stacy,” he said, returning her friendly smile. “I’d like to access a safe-deposit box.”

  “Oh, okay, um, let me send you ove
r to customer service. They do our safe-deposit boxes.”

  Stacy clicked her mouse, pressed buttons, spoke into her headset and then pointed the way. A plump, middle-aged woman with curly red hair met him outside a small office.

  “Hi, I’m Renata. I understand that you need access to your safe-deposit box today?”

  “Hi, Renata. I’m Kyle. And, yes, I do.”

  “Okay, follow me. I’ll get you set up.”

  Kyle did as she instructed.

  “What’s your last name? And do you have your picture ID and box number?” she asked once they were on opposite sides of a counter. Kyle could see the vault behind her.

  This is where things got tricky. Was the box in Owen’s name or both his and Owen’s names? He went back to the basics of keeping it simple. “Kyle Frasier. Box number 1499.” He set his ID on the counter between them.

  Renata glanced at his driver’s license, then did some clicking with her mouse, mmm-hmmed a few times, then unlocked and opened a drawer beside her. She pulled out a card and slid it across the counter. “Here you are.”

  Staring blankly, Kyle grappled with disbelief. His name was the only one on it, the signature so remarkably like his that he would have sworn under oath that it was his handwriting. Apparently, he’d accessed his box three times in the last two years. Huh. Kyle memorized the dates. One of them clicked into place. The first date fit. He’d had training in San Diego that week. Owen had been between jobs. He’d flown in for the weekend, and they’d stayed with Josh at his place. Kyle remembered it well because he’d “lost” his driver’s license. He now surmised that Owen had commandeered it, driven north and opened this box in Kyle’s name.

  Analytically, he could see how Owen could pull this off. According to their IDs, their stats were very similar. Both had brown hair, and although Kyle’s was darker, when it was cut military-short, you couldn’t tell. They both had brown eyes; again, Kyle’s were darker, but the photo was small. A mere ten pounds separated them and while Owen was a couple of inches taller, who would stop to measure?

  Likely, only someone with security or intelligence training would note the differences strongly enough to be alarmed. He wondered now if ID comparison was something he should have covered with Harper. Pain sliced through his chest at the thought of her and how much he’d hurt her. He knew that raw look of devastation on her face would haunt him forever.

  Renata laid a pen on top of the card. “Sign right there in that box, please. Just under your last sign-in.”

  Kyle picked up the pen, marveling one last time at Owen’s forging ability. Vaguely, he wondered what else his friend had perpetrated in his name. Renata seemed to study it for a split second, and Kyle almost laughed at the irony of being accused of forging his own name.

  “Perfect,” she chirped. “If you want to grab your key and follow me, we’ll head left through that door like last time.”

  * * *

  HARPER SPENT PART of the plane ride tracking down Kyle’s hotel reservation. The thought occurred to her that he could be intending to stay with a friend or relative, but she couldn’t recall either him or Owen mentioning anyone they knew nearby. A hotel seemed more likely.

  Kyle knew about Owen’s preoccupation with Newport Beach better than she did and so might naturally gravitate toward the upscale area Owen preferred. She started with the swanky beachfront resort where she and Owen had stayed when he’d ushered her around the city, pointing out sights like he’d been born there. Even though she suspected Kyle wouldn’t stay at a hotel as expensive as that one, especially when he was likely in town for an entirely different purpose, she called anyway. No luck.

  She worked her way inland from there. On the fifth call, she hit pay dirt at a smallish boutique-style hotel three blocks from the beach. Rooms were available so she secured a reservation for herself. Then spent the remainder of the flight trying to decide how to approach him and what she’d say. She’d considered calling but felt better about seeing him in person. Her greatest fear was that he’d refuse to talk to her.

  Since her plane had taken off from a private airfield near Pacific Cove and would land right in Newport Beach, Harper estimated that she’d arrive just before Kyle. After taxiing to the hangar, she thanked the pilot, texted her dad to let him know she’d made it and then hired a car to take her straight to the hotel.

  The ride was short and once in the lobby, Harper greeted the clerk, gave her name and handed over her credit card. “I’m meeting a friend here. His name is Kyle Frasier.” Harper briefly considered making up a story about being his sister or girlfriend and asking for his room number, but she knew hotels weren’t supposed to reveal information about their guests. Instead, she asked, “Can I have a room near his?”

  “Sure. Just a sec. Uh, let’s see... Mr. Frasier hasn’t checked in yet, but I’ll make sure you’re in the same wing.”

  Harper smiled in relief. Just that simple amount of information gave her what she needed to proceed. “That would be perfect. Thank you.”

  “No problem.” The clerk finished checking her in, gave her a quick overview of the hotel’s amenities and handed over a key. “You’re all set, Ms. Jansen. Enjoy your stay here with us at the Beach Whistle.”

  Harper thanked the young woman and headed to her room where she changed her clothes and twisted her hair up into a bun. Her hope was that a few simple changes would ensure that the employees behind the front desk wouldn’t recognize her and, thinking they were being helpful, point out Kyle to her when he arrived.

  Tucking the envelope with the print of the photo from her dad into her handbag, she set off for the hotel bar, conveniently located just off the lobby. She took a seat in a corner where she could watch the door. And wait.

  But not for long. Less than an hour later, Kyle walked into the lobby, worn backpack hanging heavy over one shoulder. In his hand he held a small duffel bag. His expression was set to his default of somber intensity, making it difficult to get a read on his emotions. But Harper thought the tension emanating from him indicated stress. He definitely looked tired.

  She wished she could go to him and wrap her arms around him and pretend that none of this had ever happened. Of course, that was impossible. But she was determined to find a way to make things right between them.

  Check-in complete, Harper watched Kyle head toward the same wing where her room was located. Harper forced herself to stay another ten minutes before she removed the manila envelope from her bag and went over to the concierge’s desk.

  * * *

  KYLE STARED AT the stack of items he’d removed from Owen’s safe-deposit box: some envelopes, three ledgers and a couple of small boxes he hadn’t opened yet. In the bank, he’d thumbed through the first ledger, scanning the countless rows and columns of numbers, desperate for the explanation he sought. He didn’t know what the numbers meant, but he couldn’t ignore the bad feeling as it rapidly pushed his hope aside and spread through him like a cold dark cloud.

  The next ledger had only heightened the sensation. It contained pages and pages of coded names to decipher. Names that didn’t mean anything to Kyle.

  The final ledger had left him reeling. The entries were written in his and Owen’s invented code. Kyle quickly translated enough to validate, and likely prove, Harper’s assertion. Kyle knew he’d need more time to analyze everything to be certain but the final thread he’d been grasping for disintegrated into the truth.

  There was a part of him that wanted to shove all the material back inside the box, leave the bank and pretend like he’d never received the key. He could send it to Dahlia or the FBI and let them figure it all out. But he knew he couldn’t do that. The authorities would need his help to interpret all the information. They’d need his help to prove his best friend was a wildlife trafficker. A criminal, just as Harper had asserted.

  Standing in that little room at the bank he’d begun to feel claustrophobi
c. Chest tight, he’d focused on simply breathing as he transferred everything to the small duffel bag he’d brought along and went to his hotel.

  Now here he was, in his room staring at the items and feeling like a fool. Should he call Dahlia first? Or the FBI? He should probably confirm his suspicions before he called anyone. He was trying to decide where to start when a knock sounded on his door.

  A look through the peephole revealed a young guy wearing a hotel uniform and a wide smile. He was holding a manila envelope.

  Kyle opened the door. “Can I help you?”

  “Hello, Mr. Frasier?” At Kyle’s nod, he went on, “I’m Sean, one of the concierges here at the Beach Whistle. I have a package for you.”

  “From who?”

  “Uh...” Furrowing his brow, Sean studied the envelope. A white sticker on the front bearing Kyle’s name was the only marking on it.

  “Do me a favor and open it, will you, Sean?”

  “Who, me? Are you sure?” Sean’s happy-go-lucky smile morphed into one of abject concern. “Do you think you’re being served with divorce papers? Or a subpoena? What if it’s poison? Or a bomb? It could be anything... If you’re worried about the contents, we should probably call the cops.”

  “No.” Kyle couldn’t help but chuckle. “Sean, buddy, relax. None of those things have crossed my mind. I bet it’s a mistake. No one in my life knows I’m here. Nobody I know would be sending me anything. I’m just saving you a trip of having to hike back here and fetch a package that was delivered to the wrong room. And, in case it’s valuable, I’d like a witness to the contents.”

  “Oh, cool. I get it,” Sean said, nodding, smiling again. He opened the envelope. His face scrunched with confusion as he removed the contents, which from what Kyle could see was a photograph. Then his head began a slow shake. “Dude, it’s definitely for you. At least, your name is on this sticky note here. But I’ve got bad news for you. It’s worse than a subpoena. Looks like maybe you’ve got yourself a stalker. And not even a hot one. This chick is kinda homely...”