16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Wyatt
My right eye is twitching. I can't make it stop. It started when I was walking down the hallway to the kitchen and now I'm in here stirring tomato soup while my eye tries to jump off my face.
Why... what was the reason? How did they get there? Have I somehow missed some kind of social cue that led to Shaun pushing himself on her in the shower? Is it still considered pushing if it was welcome? Does her obvious approval make this situation better or worse?
He knows this whole thing is already volatile. I can't wrap my head around why he'd add another layer of trouble to the ones we already have piled up. This, more than the crying and the theatrics and the dramatics, is why I don't do jobs with women. Especially jobs with other men who I don't have a long-running and honest working relationship with. Shaun seems fine enough, but walking into that bathroom to find him groping Larken invoked more than a few emotions.
He accused me of being jealous. I am not jealous. What I am is irritated. Frustrated. Flabbergasted that he would put an already fragile woman in that position. What bothers me the most, though, is why she would allow it? Why would she welcome it? It seems to me, considering her reluctance to go back to her husband, that she wouldn't want that sort of attention. I wouldn't think that a woman who has so obviously been abused would want anyone to touch her, much less one of the men who dragged her from her bed and threw her into the trunk of their car.
Jealous.
I am not jealous.
And now I've burnt a sandwich. I'll make sure it finds its way to Shaun's plate. Maybe I'll burn both sides.
Jealous.
A jealous person wouldn't be in the kitchen making lunch. If I was jealous, Shaun would be making lunch and I would be the one helping Larken get dressed.
I transfer the soup to bowls and the sandwiches to plates and set the table. Regardless of anything else, Shaun is right about a couple things, one of them being that this is no longer the job we were hired to do. This job has become a situation. It's a problem that needs to be solved before it festers. It's already festering. Shaun's hands on her body and her reaction to that is exactly what festering looks like.
Jealous.
I am not jealous.
I just need to get this finished, whatever that looks like, so I can be done with it.
Larken walks into the kitchen with Shaun close behind her. Gone is the grating expression he had in the bathroom. All I can see on his face right now is pinched worry. He keeps his hand on her elbow until she's seated and then he takes his place across from her. I've only been away from them for a few minutes. What could have possibly happened in that time?
“I like tomato soup,” Larken says, but she doesn't pick up her spoon, not even when Shaun starts in on his bowl.
She stares at the bowl blankly until I clear my throat. “It shouldn't be too hot.”
“Thank you.” She smiles over at me, still not reaching for her spoon.
“There are also sandwiches,” I continue.
“Burnt sandwiches,” Shaun scoffs.
“Only one is burnt.”
I dunk the corner of my grilled cheese into the soup and take a bite, making sure she's able to see the entire process. “I have crackers and croutons if you'd rather have that.”
“That's okay,” Larken says and picks up her spoon.
But she still doesn't eat.
“Want to switch bowls?” I ask. “Would that help?”
She shakes her head, but it slowly turns to a nod. “Do you mind?”
I switch the bowls, and the sandwiches even though I've already taken a bite. “Better?”
Larken takes a breath and gives me a sad smile. “Thank you. I'm sorry.”
“I understand why you're afraid, Larken. Regardless of how this situation began, I was never going to drug or poison you. It isn't my style.”
She glances at Shaun.
“Not my style either, baby,” he assures. “I'm more of a hands-on type of guy.”
She nods and takes another breath before she puts the spoon into the bowl and lifts it to her lips. She swallows and puts the spoon back into the bowl. “I don't know if I can do it.”
“Is it the soup itself? Or food in general.”
Larken thinks for a moment before answering. “My favorite is tomato bisque.”
And just like that, I go back to the opinion that she's the most spoiled woman that I’ve ever met.
“Adrian used to make it for me. The recipe he uses is perfect. It's delicious. I guess that's why he used it…” Her eyes flick to mine before going back to stare down at her soup. “He put the medication in it. Smoothies, too. I don't think I can eat tomato soup anymore. Or smoothies.”
I exchange a look with Shaun. “That's alright. I need you to eat a sandwich, at least. If you want something more, we can make it.”
She nods again and takes a bite of the sandwich I started on. Shortly after lunch is finished, she falls asleep in her chair. We don't bother securing her to the chair again. Larken isn't trying to get away. Shaun was right about that, too. We're not the bad guys here.
“I like her hair,” Shaun says. He's sitting in his usual place on the couch watching her.
“I need to go out. I'm making a delivery to the husband this afternoon.”
“Wouldn't it make more sense for me to do it?”
It might, and I'm tempted to let him because of the whole shower incident, but it's not happening. All I need is to take this bag of her hair to her husband and come back to find Shaun doing more than just groping her. “Maybe, but I'm going. Are you good here?”
He turns on the TV, making sure the volume is low. “Yeah, I'm good.”
I grab the freezer bag with Larken's hair from the counter in the kitchen and the keys from the hook by the door before heading out. I don't intend to be gone long. I'm going to stop by a florist and pick up a bouquet. I wish I knew what flowers Larken likes best. Roses usually do the trick because everyone uses them for this kind of thing, but I think it would hit the husband so much harder if her hair was tucked into a bouquet of her favorite flowers.
Considering the husband is even aware of what her favorite flowers are.
One dozen pink roses later, I'm at the front desk of Vincent Solutions communicating the recipient of the bouquet to the receptionist.
“I can take them to Mr. Nash’s office, but I need you to sign them in.” She pushes a clipboard toward me, eyeing my surgical mask.
I give a loud fake cough to further demonstrate how unwell I am. The working-class, us versus them story that I gave her is that I'm sick with something but couldn't get a day off from work so please feel sorry for me and make this as easy as possible. “Okay,” I say in a nasally, stuffy tone, “I'll sign it, but you should probably disinfect the pen afterwards.” I scribble a few lines that resemble a signature and a time on the next line of the sheet on the clipboard and hand it back to her.
She barely glances at it. “Alright. I'll run this up as soon as I can. I hope you feel better.” I can almost see her plans to disinfect the whole desk and everything on it, not just the pen I touched.
“Thanks. I'll try. You take care.” I start for the door and turn back just in time to see her throw the pen in the trash can. I don't blame her, I'd trash a pen, too, if I thought it carried the plague. It also works out for me because a pen that I touched going into the trash just makes everything cleaner.
The bag of Larken's hair is rolled up in the freezer bag and tucked neatly into the bundle of stems. Whoever puts them in water will discover it, as well as the note with the newly increased amount printed on it. If the situation were different, if I had been hired to abduct a man for ransom, there actually would be a finger among those pretty pink blossoms. I hope the insinuated threat will be enough to encourage Adrian to send the money and keep things going.
But...
Why? What is the point of him sending money? Larken isn't going back to him and now that the police and news stations are involved she will have to make an appearance. Adrian has twisted my arm in a way that I didn't anticipate. Sure, I can send her back. I can truss her up, throw her back in the trunk, and drop her off on her own lawn in the middle of the night, but I'm not doing that. It would be wrong on a level that I'm not comfortable with. Her trauma is deep and obvious. I'm not going to be the person who makes that worse.
I never should have taken this job. What am I even supposed to do with this mess? Keep her? Then what? I could just cut her loose, but her face has been all over the news. Someone would turn her in. The police would pick her up, and then she goes back to her husband, so that's out. I could let Shaun drive her off into the sunset. That seems like a functional option now that they're getting handsy in the shower.
I am not jealous.
I don't care where his hands go, so long as it doesn't make things more difficult for me. I really should send him off with her and the money. It would serve him right.
Sighing, I drop my mask into the gutter before I step into the parking garage where I left the car. It's two blocks away from Vincent Solutions and I didn't take a straight route to get back, not that I'm truly worried about anyone seeing and recognizing me.
The drive back to the house helps clear my head. I'm not stupid, just delusional. I am, in fact, jealous. I've only known Larken for a few days, but sometimes that's all it takes to form an attachment to someone. Or your idea of them. This is an easy problem to solve. I'll just embark on a crash course on figuring out who Larken is outside of a shitty husband and being the focal point of the job I took. If the idea of her is better than the reality of her, then I'll toss her on her ass in front of her perfect house and let her and her shitty husband sort out their shitty problems.
And if the reality of her is as good as or better than the idea of her that's in my head...making me jealous... I'll keep her.
And kill the husband.
And move into her perfect house.
Maybe get a dog.
Name it Shaun.
~
“How did it go?” Shaun asks when I walk through the door. He and Larken are sitting at the kitchen table playing cards.
I hang the keys on the hook and drape my jacket over the back of a chair before I sit in it. Gin, or rummy. That's what they're playing. Probably Gin based on the discard pile.
“Fine. I didn't see him, just made a delivery. He's either going to call the police or call me. We'll know soon enough. I had some time to think on the way back here. How are you feeling right now, Larken?”
She glances at me then back to her cards. “Better than I was. I think the steam and heat got to me.” She draws a card and tucks it into her hand and then discards onto the pile of cards between her and Shaun.
I reach across the table and turn the pile into a neat stack. “The point of the discard stack is not seeing what's underneath the top card. I'm glad you're feeling better. I need to find out a few things and I'm not trying to take a long time to find them out. I'd like to ask you some questions.”
She looks back at me, pulling the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. “Okay.”
“Do you want me to deal you in on the next round?” Shaun asks as he studies his cards.
“Sure,” I answer. It might be easier to get a better idea of what I'm working with if her mind isn't focused entirely on giving me what she thinks are the right answers. “How long have you been married?”
She balks at the question. “What?”
“How long have you been married?”
“Less than a year. Why?”
“Because. Did you date your husband for very long before you married?”
She goes back to studying her cards. “I don't see what that has to do with the current situation, but yes. Adrian and I dated for a while before he asked me to marry him. It was a fairly basic courtship. He's a little older than me, but that never mattered. Our priorities and ideals lined up for the most part, as well as our professional and personal timelines. He really wanted to prove himself to my Dad.” She frowns, her brows knitting together the longer she thinks. “I don't think that's what he was doing anymore, though. I think he,” she looks at me, stricken. “I think he planned... what if he...” The color drains from her face.
“What?” I ask, watching her closely.
“I didn't want to let myself think about it,” she starts, hesitating. “I've known things weren't right for a while, but it's been so hard to really think about it. Everything has been so foggy because of the shock of my Dad's passing and all the medications and changes. I can't believe I didn't see. I can't believe I let him do this.”
“It's your turn,” Shaun interrupts. He lays a card down on the stack and glances at me before looking at her. “What didn't you see?”
“I think,” her voice breaks off again. “I think Adrian had a plan from the beginning. I think, oh god, I think he killed my dad.”
I look away from her and at Shaun. He nods slowly. “For the money.”
“For the company,” Larken quietly corrects. “Which gets him the money … Forever... Oh my god. That's why he wanted to marry me.”
The gut-wrenching heartbreak on her face, the stark grief, the horror and humiliation seals the deal and my fate. She isn't spoiled. Well, she might be a little spoiled, but she's earned the right to a little spoiling hasn't she? She's been living a lie for so long and she never knew it.
Her eyes are filled with tears, her voice trembling. “I am so angry.” She doesn't sound angry. She sounds devastated.
“I'm so--” I start to apologize but her sob stops me from finishing.
“He killed my dad,” she cries. “It wasn't an accident. He started the fire. He killed my dad.” She breaks off, burying her face in her hands. “He... he...” she stammers, unable to continue.
Shaun and I exchange a look, then he nods and I take a deep breath. Larken is slowly collapsing over the forgotten cards she dropped on the table, her guttural, choking, weeping echoes off the walls. I slowly stand up and go to her side. I start out rubbing her back, but that isn't enough. I bend down and pick her up and carry her to the living room where I sit with her in the armchair. I rock her, making any kind of comforting sound I can think of until she finally exhausts herself and falls asleep in my arms.
I sit with her like that for a long time. At some point Shaun comes in and sits on the couch. He doesn't turn on the television. He doesn't take his eyes off of Larken. My left foot is numb but when I move a little to shift her weight on my lap to relieve it, she whimpers softly and clutches my shirt, so I wiggle my toes and sigh instead.
This is bad, very bad.
I shouldn't have taken this job.
I look down at her face and sigh again. Her nose and eyelids are a little swollen from crying and she has dark circles under her eyes. Her mouth is turned down in a frown, even in her sleep.
Well, I guess I'm going to kill the husband.
Keep her.
Get the damn dog.
“Soooo,” Shaun says quietly, “when are we going?”
I look up at him. He's got a little more amusement on his face than I do, but the anger and determination are just the same.
“We'll help her get herself back together first. Then we'll get the husband.”