The Middle Man Page 9

  "What?" I asked, caught, turning back from where I'd been watching Gemma down on her knees amongst a group of kids, blowing bubbles as they squealed and chased them. She still looked exhausted, but her face was lit up with joy as the kids begged for more.

  I'd been actively trying not to look at her since we both walked back into the party. But what can I say, that was one scene it was impossible to look away from.

  "She's good with the kids," he added, casual, not a hint of suspicion there. I should have known better with Kai. He wasn't the type to think the worst of you.

  "Yeah," I agreed.

  "The kids missed her this week," he went on. "It's not like her to be so busy. But since she took this job at Blairtown Chem, she's been more distracted, not around as much. We hate seeing it."

  "It's just a temporary job," I told him before realizing that wasn't information I was supposed to have. "I mean... I can't imagine Gemma would want to stay in a job like that for long. Unless they are transitioning to more earth-friendly products."

  "Yeah, hopefully. We just want to see her happy again. She's jumpy too. Did you notice how she jolted and shrieked when one of the kids popped a balloon?"

  I had, of course.

  My eyes seemed to follow her everywhere she went. And I knew better than to think it had anything to do with wanting to protect her. Nothing could happen to her in this crowd.

  "It's a loud sound," I told him, shrugging it off.

  "You're being... off."

  "About what?" I asked, stiffening.

  "About how Gemma has changed. I'd think you'd notice more than anyone else since you haven't seen her in so long."

  "Yeah, I wonder why that is..." Finn said in a low enough voice for only me to hear as he passed by. It didn't escape me that he had rubber gloves on and a spray bottle hanging out of his back pocket. He was off to clean something in the house.

  "Speaking of recluses, you've been locked in your office a lot," Kai went on, thankfully oblivious to everything.

  "Paperwork," I told him. Sure, the truth was that I had maybe been doing an hour of actual work each day followed by fucking around on my phone.

  "Yeah, and how much longer do you think that is going to take?" Quin asked, moving next to Kai.

  "I don't know. A week or two. Why? There a big job going on?"

  "Things have been relatively quiet actually. Mostly work for Miller and Nia."

  "She just got back," I mumbled.

  "Yeah. And she's about to head back out tomorrow. Got a job in Mozambique. Local guy can't get some hotshot trafficker to agree to some shit."

  "She isn't going alone, is she?" I asked, knowing it was usually me who was with her, not liking the idea that she might be on her own because I was dragging my feet on my paperwork.

  "To Mozambique? Fuck no. Organized crime is fucking insane there right now. I would never send her alone."

  "Please don't say you're sending Bellamy with her." Lethal, he might be. But also a bit flighty, unreliable.

  "Nah. Smith is going to take the time with her. We're hoping it won't be a long job. Though, from what I can tell, this trafficker is not one who tends to compromise."

  "He's not under fifty and halfway decent looking, is he?" Kai asked, smirking.

  "Couldn't find any pictures of him. And it is driving Nia fucking crazy."

  "You guys aren't talking about work, are you?" Jules asked as she breezed by with a tray of food. "We get enough of that every other day of the week, don't we?"

  Jules wasn't one for scolding us, so we all separated, heading off in other directions, talking to other people.

  I would like to say that my confusing feelings toward Gemma had nothing to do with the fact that I actively sought out her parents, stuck by them for most of the rest of the party, talking about how things had been since I had last seen them at Jules' wedding.

  It didn't exactly escape me, either, that Gemma kept glancing over.

  "Gemma, come over here," her mother called a few minutes after the cake was cut, signaling the beginning to the end of the party. "You've been avoiding us all day," she accused when Gemma made her way over, Benji on her hip, actively playing with her dangling star earring, the one that didn't match the gemstone dancing around from her other ear.

  "I haven't been avoiding you," she told her mother, pressing a kiss to her father's cheek. "I've been spending time with these cuties," she added, passing off Benji to his grandmother.

  "You quit that job yet?" her father asked, making a look that seemed a bit like pain flash across her face.

  "No."

  "We told you that we would help you out while you job-hunt for something less soul-sucking."

  "Honey," her mom scolded. "We said we weren't going to do this. She's a grown woman. She can make her own decisions. Right, Lincoln?"

  There was no mistaking the chin lift Gemma had at that, like her mother was reinforcing what she was feeling. That maybe she thought I was seeing her as a child, that I was trying to make decisions for her.

  "Right," I agreed, watching as her eyes blazed a bit defiantly at me.

  "You love your job, right?" her mother asked.

  "Yes. I get to travel, then get a lot of downtime after too."

  "Gemmy has always wanted to travel," she went on. She had plans to see the world. But you know how life is. You need to get rational, pick a stable career. Things like that get pushed to the side."

  "If you want to see the world, Gem, I think that is something you should do."

  "I always appreciate your unsolicited advice." The words themselves were biting, but the tone with which she uttered them was low, timid. Like maybe she had rehearsed the line to herself, told herself it is what she was supposed to say, but didn't find much conviction to say the words with. "I'm gonna go help Jules get a head start on cleaning up."

  "I should go apologize," her father told us, following behind his daughter.

  "I've always liked you, Lincoln," her mom said, pulling her chunky necklace out of Benji's hand.

  "I've... always liked you too," I agreed, unsure what the hell was going on.

  "It would be really nice to start seeing more of you. If things, you know, work out."

  And on that little gem, she was following the path the rest of her family had taken.

  So, Finn knew shit was going on. And was going to fucking kill me if Gemma ended up hurt.

  And Gemma's mom was somehow picking up on a vibe between us, and was secretly hoping we might work it out and, what, end up together?

  Christ.

  Who would have thought that this day would end up a bigger mess than it had started?

  "Hey," Kai called to me as I snapped the lid on some Tupperware Jules had thrown at me a few minutes before, needing to bring Benji upstairs to wash off the mud bath he had just taken. "Gemma told me to tell you that she's sorry she couldn't say bye. She had some things to handle."

  Shit.

  She snuck out on me.

  "Oh, I didn't know she headed out."

  "Yeah, like twenty minutes ago. I got caught up with Bellamy. You don't have to do that. I got it," he insisted, brushing me out of the way.

  Twenty minutes.

  She might have already been fucking done at my house.

  "Thanks for having me. It was fun."

  "Em loved the Hummer. She's still chugging around the yard in it."

  "I'm glad she liked it. I will see you at the office."

  I kept my stride slow and casual until I hit the driveway.

  Then I was running.

  And maybe speeding a bit.

  All in vain.

  By the time I got back to my place, as expected, she was gone.

  I knew there would be no sign of her at her apartment, but I couldn't help but double-check.

  I knew her phone would be off, but I called. I texted. I stressed the fuck out.

  But I heard fucking nothing back.

  After stressing out Sunday and all day Monday and Tue
sday at work, I decided that if I didn't get in touch with her by Wednesday afternoon, I would have no choice but to show up at her work.

  But fate had other ideas.

  Because, as it turned out, Gemma hadn't been wrong to be so scared.

  And the man she feared most was every bit the danger we had feared.

  SIX

  Gemma

  I found myself constantly flip-flopping between hurt feelings and bruised pride to the knowledge that I was probably not handling the situation with the maturity I should have.

  I wasn't a teenager anymore. It wasn't acceptable to give someone the silent treatment because they didn't react the way you wanted them to. That wasn't how rational, self-aware adults acted. Even if they were hurt or embarrassed.

  I had totally meant to speak to him after Em's birthday party. I figured I would tell him my plan to go back to my life, that I was clearly being paranoid if nothing bad had happened to me yet, that I wasn't interested in playing house with someone who didn't see any kind of possible future in it.

  That was what I meant to have happen.

  But then I had been cornered by my mother in the kitchen, going on and on and on about how much she liked Lincoln, about how she kept seeing him staring at me, about how much he clearly liked me.

  And I had needed to tell her that he, in fact, wanted nothing to do with me. At least not in that way.

  The crushing disappointment on her face had soured the rest of the party for me, leaving me exhausted from lack of sleep, with a sore head from whacking it on the door, and absolutely no motivation to try to have a reasonable conversation with Lincoln.

  So I took the coward's way out.

  Then, well, as time wore on, it became more and more impossible to actually call him back or return his texts.

  This embarrassment was of the personal failure sort. I couldn't seem to even think about calling him and listening to him lecture me when I knew damn well he was right. Just the idea made my face flush, my skin feel itchy, uncomfortable.

  By the time Tuesday came around, I was sick of the noise of the hotel, of constantly ordering in food because I had no place to cook, of the unsettled feeling of not being in my own life anymore.

  I tried to convince myself it was for the greater good, that it would all be over soon.

  As the hours wore on, though, it seemed a lot like I was simply trying to convince myself of that falsehood rather than actually buying into it.

  But then something amazing happened.

  Phillip got the stomach flu in the middle of the workday, leaving tons of things that needed to be handled in his office, giving me the perfect excuse to be there for a prolonged period of time without arousing any suspicion at all.

  I handled a few things then, with the laser-focus I had been lacking for the weeks I was staying with Lincoln--more caught up in those fantasies than firmly rooted in reality--I whipped through the files on Phillip's computer, printing out a few sketchy things I had come across that had nothing to do with what I was looking for, but I was inclined to think that if you were looking for dirt, you swept it all up when you came across it, not just the kind that was living in one particular corner of a room. Or in a computer, as it were.

  "Oh, my God," I hissed, not exactly believing what I was seeing when I first opened the document, so used to false hope and a grudging cynicism over the whole endeavor that my mind couldn't seem to really grasp what it was I was looking for.

  Exactly what I was told I would find.

  Exactly what was needed.

  To right wrongs.

  To expose the truth.

  It was equal parts satisfying and exhilarating as well as sad and disappointing.

  That people really were as wicked as others claimed, that it truly was impossible to think anyone could be trusted, that anyone told the truth anymore.

  I scanned the documents onto an external drive I kept solely for the possibility of this day, then made sure I closed everything down, left it all the way I had found it.

  I don't know why I finished my work, why I bothered cleaning up Phillip's mess, or finishing his tasks for the day.

  Maybe a part of it was because it felt wrong to inconvenience other people--the ones he had meetings with, the ones he said he would call back--when they were counting on me. The other part, though, was almost having a hard time transitioning to this new reality. The one where I wouldn't have to wake up and slip into clothes I hated, get groped by men and needing to bite my tongue, listen to inane talk around the office about things as unimportant as who was sleeping with whom on some two-bit reality show that wouldn't matter in three months' time. I wouldn't have to feel sick to my stomach at the idea of contributing to something, enabling something, that I didn't believe in.

  I would be free again.

  It would all finally, finally be over.

  Nerves swirled around my core, snaked up over my chest, curled around my throat.

  I wasn't a coffee drinker by nature, but I found myself filling and refilling my cup as I ran around the office like a hamster on a wheel, doing a lot of movement, but not actually getting anywhere.

  By a quarter to five, I was pretty sure I was one dropped pen away from an actual breakdown.

  I carefully packed up my desk, getting every little piece of me inside my purse, not wanting to leave anything of myself behind.

  In a last-minute move of pure paranoia, I restored my desk computer to the day before I started working there, I took out all my keys and my security badge, laying them out on the desk, then I walked myself out the door.

  My heart was slamming against my ribcage as I attempted to keep my pace slow, deliberate, non-suspicious.

  The door was only five feet away when I heard a shout.

  I didn't need to turn to know who it was from.

  David.

  My stomach flipped as my hand pressed into the cold glass door.

  "Gemma!"

  Crap.

  Crap crap crap.

  I pushed through the door, keeping pace around the front of the building where the windows were, then breaking into a dead run toward the parking lot, saying a silent prayer that a team of security guards weren't chasing me down as I dropped my keys, scratching my knuckles on the ground as I grabbed for them.

  I was sure I was going to be sick all over myself as I finally got the door open, locked, the engine turned over, and the car into reverse.

  There was a strong, irrational part of me that didn't want to look, that wanted to keep my eyes on where I was going instead of where I had been.

  The part of me that had spent an important chunk of my formative years at an office that had taught me that details were important, that they were everything, that they made a difference between, at times, life and death.

  I took a steadying breath that shuddered through my chest; I turned to look out my side window, and saw David there.

  Not running after me.

  No.

  This struck me as even worse.

  He had a phone to his ear.

  And a chillingly serious look on his face.

  Who he had on that phone was anyone's guess.

  The cops.

  Some shady guys who would work around the law.

  Neither spelled anything good for me.

  Everything in me wanted to run. Drive straight out of town, never look back.

  But everything I loved was in the area.

  Everyone I loved.

  I couldn't run.

  I had to stay.

  I had to see this through, then figure out an exit strategy that didn't include me behind bars or in a shallow grave in the woods.

  Breathing seemed all but impossible as I drove back to Navesink Bank, wanting to be in my old stomping ground, close to all the backroads I knew in case I needed them.

  Pulling into the post office, I climbed out, going in to grab a padded envelope, pretending to ignore the way my hands were almost violently shaking.

  Th
is was the safest option, I reminded myself as I filled out the mailing address. Once the envelope was in a bin in the back, it was safe.

  People were willing to go to great lengths to save their own asses. Not many were willing to commit a federal crime by tampering with the mail.

  "Overnight, please," I told the woman at the desk, trying to keep myself from jumping around, forcing a smile. Jumpy, nervous people didn't get their mail sent through with the rest of it. They got detained as the cops searched their packages.

  I honestly didn't remember putting my card in the machine, getting my receipt, or making my way to the door.

  I went from asking for a next-day package to being out on the street again, looking both ways like an amateur drug dealer on the lookout for cops.

  Objectively, I knew what I should have done, what the smartest move was.

  Marching myself down the street, letting myself into my old workplace, to the end of the hall, into Quin's office, and telling him the truth.

  All of it this time.

  Tell him about my worries, my suspicions. Then fall on his mercy, beg for him to help me fix things.

  That was what he did.

  Sure, I couldn't pay the astronomical fees that his typical clients could, but that didn't mean he wouldn't take me on. For nothing else but obligation. I mean, not that I thought he would do so begrudgingly. Quin and I had always gotten along pretty well. He was a good man. He liked helping people. Maybe especially those who genuinely needed it. And the astronomical fees he charged those who could afford it, they made it possible for him to occasionally help the little man.

  Like me.

  But the situation just... didn't seem to warrant that.

  With the external drive and paperwork safe, on their way to someone who would protect them, and outside of the building where eyes seemed to always be watching me, I felt some of the frazzled nerves ease. My belly settled. My pulse slowed.

  Even if David suspected me of something, well, he couldn't exactly prove it, could he? I had been careful. I always had a reason to be in Phillip's office. There was nothing to pin on me.