Chapter 4
The little hourglass Cleo had brought her was sixty seconds long, and Abigail watched it as the blue-grey sand ran through the tight waist of the glass. The color was beautifully complemented by the deeply tarnished copper-colored metal that held the glass in place. Byron turned it as soon as the final grains ran out—he must have been watching it closely as well.
When the sand had run its course for the second time, Byron stirred the teapot gently and poured the light amber liquid into the waiting cups. He removed the mesh strainer from one of them and handed it to her.
"Darjeeling with a controversial addition of dried lemon in the blend," he said.
Abigail looked up at him, confused, “I don’t remember having that in my cupboards?"
Byron smiled and shrugged, “I bought it a few weeks ago and added it to the pile."
"Oh," she said, taking the cup.
How hadn’t she noticed him giving her that? Or that it had been on the counter all this time?
He tidied away the tea things and sat across from her, taking a slow sip of his tea before placing it carefully down and sighing.
"Right," he said, “I am not great at this, so please bear with me. I am genuinely very sorry for the way I acted the other day. Not only was it rude and unkind, but it was also disrespectful. I am happy to explain as much as I can, but I also need to ask you to understand that there are some things I cannot share. For that as well, I am sorry."
Abigail blinked and stared. That was one heck of an apology. It was delivered smoothly and calmly yet with the right amount of sincerity.
"What makes you think you’re not good at this? You seem to be a consummate apologist. Have you had a lot of practice or is this beginner’s luck?"
The words were out of her mouth before she had even really thought about them, and she was silently appalled—she hadn’t had any intention of eviscerating him! She must be angrier about this than she had thought...
Byron smiled sheepishly. “I’ve made my fair share but I meant talking about my personal life and the work I used to do."
That made Abigail pause. She knew that he had been in Law Enforcement, but his reaction to the conversation at the time had stopped her from bringing it up again.
"Uh... right?"
Byron nodded and shifted his weight to retrieve the photograph from the envelope he had placed silently on the counter when he’d entered. He slid it back to her. It was in significantly worse shape than it had been when it had left here. The corner was even torn.
"Jeez, remind me to never lend you a book..." she said, inspecting the now slightly crumpled paper.
He winced, "Yeah, sorry about that. It... got handed around a lot."
Abigail looked at him in distaste, and he tried for a smile, but it came out as much more of a grimace.
"Okay, I’m going to be really honest and really blunt now," he said, his eyes seeming to beg for some kind of pre-forgiveness. "You know that I was in Law Enforcement but left, right? Well, during my time there, I came across a few people who I’d really rather not discuss and several more who I actually can’t because it would be incredibly illegal. One such person is that person in the photograph, or at least I thought it was. Them being here at the time these photos seem to have been taken could have had some pretty insane impact on some other stuff I can’t really talk about. I took it and showed someone I know who is still involved in all that—they’ve assured me it’s fine. All I can really say is that I genuinely believed it to be a case of life and death, or I wouldn’t have taken it or acted like that... I really hope you can believe me and maybe even forgive me?"
She stared back at him silently, desperate to ask questions but hyper-aware of the ‘incredibly illegal’ and ‘life or death’ parts of his explanation. He was also looking at her like a scolded puppy, and Abigail realized that she didn’t have the nerves to outlast that for long. She kicked herself mentally for it, but nodded.
"Sure, I believe you. I can’t say it’s okay because I’m still pretty mad about it and if I’m totally honest, your explanation actually gives me more questions than it answers," she said, "but I believe you."
Byron nodded. "Good, that’s what I really care about."
He sighed and picked up his cup of tea, holding it tightly and breathing in the scent before setting it down again.
"I’m really sorry about this," he said.
Alarm skittered through Abigail’s body and she felt herself flinch.
"What?"
"I... if it’s okay, can I see the other photos again? I’d also really like to show them to my ex-colleague... on the phone! Not, like, taking them or anything..."
Abigail pressed her tongue against the ridges of her teeth as she watched him squirm. She didn’t want to do him any favors for a number of reasons, and she wasn’t kidding herself that at least one of them was because she didn’t want to give him anything he wanted right then. She could also admit that wasn’t a great reason.
"Fine."
She stood and waited for him to follow suit, but he didn’t move. He was staring down into his cup.
"Byron?"
"Sorry," he said, straightening.
He rose quickly and strode through the kitchen door and into the hallway. Abigail felt her tension headache brewing and tried to breathe calmly. A part of her had wanted to tell him about the gun, but he was acting so strangely. Quietly, she followed him into her dad’s old office. He was leaning awkwardly against the desk.
"Where are they?" he asked, sounding a little panicked.
Abigail stared, "They’re back in the safe..."
"Oh, good."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Or did you just think ‘oh, she probably doesn’t realize her father locked them away for a reason and is fully likely to just leave them floating about to get stolen with wild abandon’? Maybe a side thought of insulting my intelligence or trustworthiness as well?"
In her mind, Abigail was once again surprised at her anger towards him as she watched him stammer.
"NO! No, I don’t think you’d do anything like that!" he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I trust you! I really do... and I would never think anything uncomplimentary of your intelligence. You’re incredible..."
The only response she could muster was to purse her lips at him grumpily. He shrank back from that, and she took pity on him by heading straight for the safe and opening it up to withdraw the photos. He waited patiently for her to lay them out on the desk the way he had the last time they had been in this room together.
Byron pulled out his phone and dialed a number. Within one trilling ring, the call was answered and Byron glanced at her before he spoke.
"Identification Byron Whitehaven," he said, making eye contact with her, "authorization code one, delta, niner, four, foxtrot, three, eight, seven, seven, gamma, India, Juliet, three, delta."
Unblinkingly, Abigail watched him as he spoke. She had absolutely no idea what was going on but she couldn’t shake the sense that it was important, or that she needed to stay entirely silent.
A male voice sounded from the phone speaker but Abigail couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. Byron removed the phone from his ear, aimed it at the desk, and turned the camera on—the person he was calling left theirs off. Slowly, Byron scanned the camera across the array of photographs. The voice sounded again.
"Pause."
Byron paused.
Several long seconds ticked by before it spoke again.
"Continue."
The command came three more times and Abigail made a mental note of which photographs had interested the mysterious voice on the phone.
After nearly a minute of silence, the voice broke the silence.
"Completed—assumptions confirmed, no further action. Is destruction an option, Whitehaven?"
Alarmed, Abigail made a face and gestured aggressively towards him.
"Not an option, homeowner unaware of intel transfer or potential content," he said, holding out a hand and making deliberate eye contact. “Destruction would open more questions than the risk level dictates."
A pause.
"Homeowner poses risk?"
He didn’t hesitate.
"Negative, certain."
Without another word, the call terminated and Byron placed a finger to his lips. From his pocket, he withdrew a silver box that looked like a miniature instrument transport case. He opened it, and sure enough, the inside was lined with foam and soft materials, the edge lined with a thick rubber seal. He placed the phone into the case and sealed it shut.
Abigail remained silent, unsure of what she thought would happen next. Byron placed the case on the desk with the photographs and closed the distance between them. She expected him to stop a few feet from her, but he continued until they were almost toe to toe, and she could feel the heat from his body. She swallowed hard as he looked down into her face.
"Abby," he whispered, “I know you probably feel like you can’t trust me and you are justifiably angry with me, but what I just did makes you the single person in this state who knows me best. Please, believe me when I say that I trust you."
Her heart was beating hard against her ribs and she had to focus on the words coming out of his mouth because the only thing other certain parts of her could focus on was exactly how close that mouth was as he spoke.
"Okay?" he whispered, leaning closer.
She wasn’t sure if she trusted herself to speak, so she nodded instead.
A warm hand grasped her upper arm and she could feel the radiating heat high up on her shoulder—or maybe that was her imagination. He squeezed.
"Thank you," he said quietly, "shall we finish our tea?"
Somehow, through the tingling fog of whatever him being that close to her had done and the sheer confusion of the last ten minutes of her life, Abigail managed to nod and follow him as he stepped away from her and back into the kitchen.