Chapter 26
fake-smiling-lying
Liam
I’m leaving it with my brother-in-law to discuss with Ayla and Ci. I hate my father, but my brother and sister suffered terribly at his hands. Making a decision to relive their ordeals must be something they can live with. And something they can explain to Mom.
I’ve made some calls and should arrive home to a company ready to install a new garage door on Lorien’s unit.
Along with it, I’m adding a stronger opener and a Bluetooth relay to notify us when it’s opened or closed.
While they do that, I’m adding another router and Wi-Fi network.
I want the camera feeds to have back up beyond the robust system I already have in place.
Hers already backs up to mine but both need redundancy.
I know she’ll hate it, but we need to discuss what could be in her house that someone would be searching for. There’s no evidence she lives lavishly, so I don’t suspect it’s cash or jewels. Hell, the ring on her finger cost more than everything I’ve seen in this house combined.
I exclude the thumb drive, because the only person who seems to know about that is in St. Louis, and he has never seemed to be interested in the data.
Only in the fact that it was stolen. For someone to have known the data was stolen, there would have to be bugs or cameras in her office.
And those types have the money to hire non-idiots for their contract work.
So, who or what could be after the plucky biochemist?
As best I can tell, her biopharma bosses, the board, and the shareholders have no knowledge.
Hell, she hasn’t done anything with it and isn’t trying to sell it.
From what it sounds like, she’s protecting whatever she found that’s on the thumb drive more than her own job security.
Her ex isn’t in the picture. She doesn’t know I know about him. Then again, I don’t think she even knows what he’s capable of, what he attempted, or how poorly their breakup went. Blissfully ignorant.
We have two movers and a company she got crossways with. Well, they got crossways with her, and I straightened it out.
So why the foiled break-in attempt and the not-so-foiled alley antics?
Assuming they were coming after me would be more reasonable, but neither seems to be accurate.
My name is on the police reports along with my address and other pertinent details.
It wasn’t my garage, my yard, or my car.
And the criminal didn’t seem interested in me as I passed him.
He didn’t tail. He was after something in her house.
I run his plates and the clearest photo I can from my GoPro through the engines at my disposal. The plates are stolen and don’t belong to the vehicle. I have no VIN to check, but maybe the tow company does.
The picture is clear as is the fucker who whined like a baby and ran when the police arrived.
He has a mug shot from an armed robbery of a convenience store in Idaho eighteen years ago.
He was charged with a felony and served time.
He’s been out for a handful of years with no real work history and no permanent address.
His dad has been incarcerated since he was ten and his mom is deceased.
One living biological family member. I set the crawlers to run on both and check on the garage.
After signing off on the work, I take a shower and collapse into bed.
A ding wakes me. I have so few I allow through, it must be important. I roll over, grab my phone, and grin.
Lorien: Don’t worry about later. I’ll grab an Uber.
I don’t respond but check the clock.
I reprogram Lorien to Wifey. The poor girl has no idea who she’s playing with
Lorien
No response.
I can’t say I’m disappointed. I can say I’m surprised. And I’m beyond relieved.
Last night I climbed the man like a tree, made him my safe space, and kissed him. He was unaffected, or worse, uninterested. Brutal to my ego. Crushing to my fragile heart.
I know where I stand. And that would be fine, but having to explain the boulder on my finger today to everyone I crossed paths with means I’ve had to fake, fake, fake and lie, lie, lie, all while smiling and fawning over the man who rejected me.
The man who dropped me at the door and called me Wifey while threatening me with his return.
At least I don’t have to fake it in close proximity with him. This morning was brutal. And when he slid that ring on, his huge warm hands so gentle in their task, it was all I could do to avoid crying. Or screaming.
Work is a bust. Yesterday was terrible. Today is more of the same. If the research weren’t so important, I’d take a vacation and get my head straight. But it is.
Instead of giving my half-assed efforts to the thing I care about most, I meet with the topicals team, pulling sampling criteria for them and lining out the requirements for the clinical trial.
It’s tedious administrative work, but my analytical mind is toast. At least I’m doing something for someone.
I’ve booted everything down when my desk phone rings. “Hello?”
“Dr. Anderson, there’s someone here to see you. Can you please come to the front desk?”
“Can you tell me what this is regarding?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t.” The line disconnects and dread pools in my belly. If they found out what I did, they could have me arrested. Removed from the property, never allowed to come back.
A family photo sits on my desk. It’s from my graduation and hooding ceremony.
Mom and Dad are on the left, arms around one another.
Sam’s on the far right. In the center is me in all my regalia, Strider’s arm slung over my shoulders.
They’re my whole world. I slide the photo into my purse, in case I’m not allowed back here, and close up my lab.
I’ve just made it to the reception area when I realize how wrong I was.
I’m not being escorted out. It’s not security or the police.
It’s worse… It’s my jailer.
“Hey, Wifey. How was your day?”
Kill me now.
The security guard smiles huge. “It was nice meeting your husband, Dr. Anderson. And here I didn’t even know you were married.”
I do my fake-smiling-lying routine. “I’m still a newlywed.”
“Honeymoon phase,” Liam adds over my head, grabbing my hand in his, and leading me out.
He opens my car door. Come to think of it, I’ve never opened a door when he’s been around. He takes those old-school manners to the extreme, but in a very quiet way.
I glare as he closes my door and throw on my sunglasses before he can make it to his seat.
“I’m so glad you didn’t have to call an Uber.” There’s humor in the man’s voice as he buckles. “I’d hate that.”
Grrrr. I manage to avoid a growl, but just.
I haven’t said a word to him since I pretended to be sleepwalking last night. Well, except his name. I think that streak should continue.
“Did you want dinner on the way home?” There’s false cheeriness in his tone.
I ate those vending machine powdered-sugar donuts, which were dry to the point of chalky and overly sweet, from my desk drawer and had a Diet Coke. That’s been my whole day. Then again, I had a full meal after midnight so maybe my body’s just revolting.
“I was thinking about Indian food, but I don’t know if you eat Indian.”
My stupid stomach growls, but I cough to conceal it.
“There’s a great place in Olde Town that has a delicious buffet.”
He just won’t stop.
“Their butter chicken melts in your mouth and the paneer? Delicious.”
When I say nothing, he makes a left. “If you’re not hungry, you won’t mind if I grab something real quick? All this talking is making me hungry. And I’ve been craving something spicy.”
All this talking is right. The man seems to say as little as possible but goes on and on and on about curries at the first sign of the silence? I swear there’s a How-to-Get-Under-Lorien’s-skin manual and he’s read it.
He pulls into the parking lot of what must’ve been a turn of the century house and parks, rounding the stupid SUV to open my door.
Nope. Nuh-uh. No chivalrous acts during the annoyed phase. It’ll have me melting into some amorphous goo and forgiving what shouldn’t be forgiven.
I step out and walk to the restaurant, as he beeps the locks and pulls the door open for me.
It’s way easier to be mad at the beautiful—yes, I can admit it—man in front of me than at myself for him rebuffing what seems to be unwanted sexual attention.
A niggling voice in the back of my head says I need to forgive myself and stop expecting him to overcome my behavior, but I silence that devil on my shoulder.
Or would it be the angel side?
It doesn’t matter.