Unmasked (New Adult Romance) (The Unmasked Series) (3 page)

"Alright, alright. Married? I don't exactly know
you expect me to manage that when I can't even leave this damned compound. No
matter that I run an entire company or not. Here I sit, under house arrest,
except when you're with me."

"It's not like that sir, it's for your protection.
You know that."

"Protection from
what
exactly, Gadsen?" The
venom hissed in Preston's voice.

"From outside. I promised your mother I would
protect you. Promised your father as well."

"Well you've certainly protected me from
everything very well. The only scars I have, aside from the ones that have no
explanation," he ran his finger along the white mark, "is from nicking myself
with a razor. Then you took those away!"

"Calm down, sir. Please, there are guests in the
foyer." Gadsen moved closer and smoothed his lapels, then put his hands on
Preston's shoulders and turned his chair around.

The mismatched eyes, they didn't shock Gadsen.
They never had. After all, he was there when the boy was born. He helped bring
him into the world. He knew everything. But he said nothing.

Especially not to Preston.

"Are you ready to listen to me, sir?"

"Go on warbling, Gadsen." Preston pinched his
temples again, trying to ward off the fourth – or was it the fifth – headache
of the day. "Just say whatever it is you want me to do. I'm sure I'll do it."

"Whatever you were thinking about has put a
terrible mood in you."

"Go on, Gadsen."

"The stipulations of the trust are that you must
be married, and must have the reasonable expectation to remain so – meaning it
can't be a convenience marriage and then immediately annulled – and the
reasonable expectation that the Webb line will continue. You must accomplish
this within five years of your father's death. As you know, that was-"

"Four years, ten months, one week, four days and,"
he checked his watch, "eight hours. I can go to the minutes if you like, but
after that it gets a bit murky."

"No sir, I remember very well. I lost my best
friend on that day, if you'll recall."

"Did you?"

Gadsen swallowed.

"Well that's all well and good. I don't know what
exactly it is you expect me to do about it. Is there some local bar I should start
frequenting?"

"No, sir."

"Well then what would you have me to do? I don't
actually know anyone outside of this house, and then there's...this..." He ran
his finger along his scar.

"You have all the money in the world, sir, I'm
sure that would be enough to get someone to look past a scar."

"So you'd have me buy a wife, then. Good. That's
good, just what I want. An entire life without human contact, and then I buy a
wife. Good, Gadsen. Glad that's cleared up."

"At least think about it. If you don't manage to
fulfill the terms of the trust, ownership of the company, and full decisions
thereof, will revert to the board so that they can run the company. And we
can't have that."

"You."

"What, sir?"

"You can't have that. That's what you mean."

"I don't know what you're getting on about, but
I'll not listen to any more of this rubbish." The stiff-necked butler stuck out
his lower jaw. "Do think on what I've said. Whenever you're more reasonable
we'll talk again."

"Right, Gadsen, right."

The door clicked softly.

Preston Webb stared straight out his window, right
at the spot where he watched that pretty little girl – the only one he'd ever
watched – all those years ago.

"Wait a minute. If she's back in town, I wonder if
she's going to keep up any old habits. If my dad's any indication, picking
mushrooms is one of those life-long hobbies."

He reached across his desk to the phone, picked it
up and dialed the security office.

"Webb Oilworks, security station four, this is
Peter."

"Peter, good to hear your voice," Preston smiled.
Peter Roark was, of all the employees, the only one he really trusted to not
get things back to Gadsen. He was a big man, round-faced and ruddy, who worked
harder than anyone Preston had ever known. He set up the entire security system
and team for the property, and knew every single secret passage, tunnel, door,
and blind-spot in the cameras. When the elder Webb built this place, he went on
a hunt for the best in the business, and that was Peter. He had never once
failed.

But he and Gadsen never got along. And that was
another reason Preston trusted him.

"Mr. Webb? What's up – uh, I mean what can I do
for you, sir? I didn't expect to hear from you."

"Do you ever?"

"Well no, s'pose not." Peter laughed and switched
the receiver to his other ear. He was hard of hearing in the left one, and
always answered with it as a way of screening calls. "What can I do for ya?"

"I'm not sure if there's anything you can really
do, not yet anyway. But, in the mornings, could you check the woods on the
western perimeter? You don't have to spent a lot of time or anything on it, but
just buzz by there and see if you find anyone."

"Sure, but, who am I looking for? Do you think
someone's been breaking in? Because I can pretty much promise you that-"

"Oh no, no, nothing like that. I know this place
is locked up tighter that Gadsen." They both laughed for a second. "Do you
remember that girl that used to pick mushrooms out there? She lived in the
house just on the other side of those woods. Her name's Alyssa Barton."

"Sure, I remember her. She stopped coming through
here four years ago? Maybe five? I didn't know her name, but sure I remember
her. Why?"

"It's a little embarrassing, but she's back in
town and I was hoping she might resume her visits. If she does, I'd like to
finally meet her. I used to... Anyway, if you see her, could you bring her in?"

"Hold on. You want me to catch some girl wandering
through the woods and kidnap her?"

"No, it's not kidnapping. I just want to meet her.
Don't hurt her or anything."

"Couldn't you just, I don't know, talk to her?
Seems easier."

A long silence hung over the phone line. Neither
man spoke for ten seconds, twenty.

"Sorry sir, not my place. I'll do what you say.
I'll keep an eye out, and if I see her, I'll bring her in."

"Thanks Pete. I can trust you, right?"

"Of course, sir. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. I just might need to know who exactly
I can count on when it comes down to it."

"Uh, well," Peter clicked his teeth, "yeah, I'm
your man if you need me. I loved your dad like a brother."

"You're a life saver. Remember, don't hurt her,
and – well, I'd say don't scare her but that might be impossible." He chuckled.
"Alright. Talk to you later."

"Right, Mr. Webb. I'll let you know as soon as I
see anything."

"See that you do."

The line went dead with Preston still holding the
phone and staring dead-eyed out the window in front of him. In his mind, a girl
stumbled out of the woods and looked at him from across the field that
separated the two of them.

She smiled, waved, and mouthed 'be home soon,'
before disappearing back into the trees.

Preston Webb slid his fingers across his eyes and
rubbed them for a moment. He yawned and looked down at the stack of papers in
front of him, the letter from Ryan Barton off to one side, and the contract
that Gadsen had brought. Then he remembered the tea and took a drink.

"One thing I can say for Gadsen is that he can
certainly make tea."

The paper on top of his growing mountain was on
cheap white copy paper, but the signatures at the bottom were real enough, in
three different colors of blue when he looked closely.

"Underground Usage Permit," it read. "This is to
permit Webb Oilworks to lay underground pipes for the purpose of transporting
oil and other petroleum products underground through the Township of Newton,
State of Pennsylvania. These pipe works must comply with all Federal and State
practices and guidelines for the transport of petroleum and petroleum
byproducts."

He let out another heavy sigh and folded the
contract.

"We'll see about this," he said.

Creasing it hard between his fingers and the top
of his oak desk, Preston Webb closed his eyes, felt underneath his desk for a
latch, opened it, and put the contract inside. Slowly pushing the hidden hatch
closed, he listened for the lock to click.

––––––––

Alyssa rolled over, looked out the windows, and
was a little disappointed when the dueling squirrels chose not to make a repeat
performance. That minor tragedy aside, she had a lot to do for the first time
since she got home.

One dramatic, stretching yawn later, she touched
her toes and popped back up fast enough to get a little woozy.

The first thing on her to-do list was already a
failure when she went downstairs. Jake and Lori were dressed for school and
waiting at the table.

"Hey! I was supposed to make breakfast. You're
supposed to sit there and read the paper." She patted her dad on the back, and
then tugged him by the hand back to the table. "Sit!"

"Okay, okay. I just wanted to make sure you had a
good morning is all. Square meal and all."

"I'll be fine. I can cook some eggs and some
bacon. At least I think I can," she teased, taking up the spatula and flipping
the two un-flipped pieces of bacon. "Need coffee?"

Her dad grabbed his paper and said: "yes, please!"
with a huge grin across his face.

"Good. You're learning," she said. "I'm here to
help. Stop taking care of me. Okay?"

"It's a hard thing to do, baby girl."

"I know, but that's the whole reason I'm here."
She stared at her dad's face for a second.

His face was looser than it was only a couple of
days ago. His eyes didn't have that pinched up forehead between them and the
crow's feet, from where he squinted when he laughed, were back along with the
smile lines in the corners of his mouth. As he sat there and took a big gulp of
steaming hot coffee, Ryan Barton smiled even though he didn't know anyone was
looking his way.

"By the way, Lyssie," he said without looking up
from the sports page, "I found the letter you left me."

Lys's stomach almost turned a flip. Every word of
the note was true, but that sort of emotion was something she'd just never done
much of before. Her voice trembled a little when she told him she hoped he read
it all the way through.

"I did," he said. "It's a lot to think about. What
you said struck a few nerves. It... Well, is it okay if we talk about it when I
get back this afternoon?"

"Sure, yeah," Alyssa said, trying to hide her
disappointment.

"One thing really hit me though," he continued,
"because I thought the same thing."

"Should we talk about this in front of the kids?"

"I don't see why not. They're old enough that I'd
hate for them to see their dad as a cold-hearted old man with no emotions. I
want them to know that it's okay to have feelings. Right guys?"

"Yep," Jake said.

Lori followed with another affirmative sound that
was a bit like a honking horn.

"What you said about this place not feeling like
home with mom gone, that struck a nerve. For a couple months, I felt the same
way. Something just wasn't right about it. I was tense, and that made the kids
tense. Then them being irritable made me even more up-tight and on and on. Then
all the working and the stress made me sick. Like physically sick."

"Oh daddy," Alyssa said, "I'm sorry this all
happened to you. I should have come back sooner."

"No, no, hear me out. Taking care of me isn't your
responsibility, but I do absolutely appreciate it. But no, what I was saying is
that it didn't feel like home until you came back, not really. You're a lot
like your mom, you know. You handle things the same way. No matter how bad
things might get, you've got that easy smile that she does. Did, I guess."

She took the plate of bacon around and distributed
the stuff without speaking.

A moment later, she cracked a whole pile of eggs,
beat them together, and then as soon as they were sizzling gently in the pan,
she turned around slowly and shuffled over to where her dad sat, threw her arms
around his neck, and squeezed him as tight as she possibly could.

––––––––

The drive to school brought back all sorts of
memories. The long, shadow darkened canopy road from their house to town was
the route Alyssa's mom took every morning to deliver her daughter to Mrs.
Klipple. Her teacher for most of elementary school, and a good chunk of middle
school, Mrs. Klipple brought cookies every Thursday for the kids because she
baked them Wednesday for church, and there were always leftovers.

Phantom brown sugar, butter, and chocolate chips
tickled her nose, right along with the actual biting smell of the pine and the
junipers that surrounded the road, and the rest of the earthiness that she
spent so much of her younger years loving.

As she pulled into the driveway, organizing the
rest of the day's tasks in her mind, and trying not to forget what she needed
to do before she had a chance to write it all down, she reached to her front
pocket where she kept her phone, but it wasn't there.

"Huh," she grunted. "Wonder if-"

Inside, she heard the ringer blasting off. She had
it turned up so loud that with fifty feet and three walls separating her from
it, the dulcet tones of her favorite banjo duel were still crystal clear.

She trotted to the door and swung it open just in
time to see the screen across the room, where she'd left it on the kitchen
table, display the big, red missed call image.

"Who in the world would be calling me?" A list of
the most horrible things she could imagine crawled through Lys's brain before
she grabbed the phone and when she finally did, it was one of the possibilities
she completely forgot: Bret.

Her heart sunk in her chest.

Of course he calls now. Of course he does. He
calls as soon as I finally start getting over him. Of course he does.

Staring at the screen, finger hovering above the
call-back button, she shook her head.

"Nope. Not doing this to myself. Not gonna do it."
Decisively, she tapped ignore and set the phone down again in favor of a
notepad and a pen to jot her tasks for the day.

"Alright, let's see. Grocery store first. Need to
get some milk – not whole – and some vegetables. I think they've been living
out of a freezer for a while, so they probably need some greenery in 'em. Also
need to run by the dry cleaners and drop off my jacket. Oh, and I need to-"

The phone interrupted her. Somehow the normally
pleasant banjo plucking made Alyssa grit her teeth. She shot a glance over at
it, saw it was Bret again, and rejected the call.

"Not a chance in Hell. Nope. Not happening."

Grabbing her notepad, she remembered to write down
a trip to the gym in town to set up a membership, and new shoe-laces for her
dad, since he apparently decided to tug the ends off his, and just left his
Reeboks tied so he didn't have to fight them.

Just as she was gathering her purse, gym clothes,
dirty jacket, and keys, the phone rang again.

"Damn it! Leave me alone!" She said, grabbing it
off the table. "This is gonna be a long, long day if he keeps this up."

But, when she looked, the call was from a
different number. Bret's area code was 826, this number was an 860. She stared
at it for a second, but as the banjo playing intensified, she wondered if it
was Publisher's Clearinghouse, and answered.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," a familiar voice said
before she had a chance to say anything.

"I haven't won a sweepstakes, have I?" She said
with a bone-dry voice. The curl on her lip matched one in her voice.

"Sweepstakes? No? I don't know what you're talking
about."

"So what is it Bret? You've called...let's see,
four times in the last hour? Three of them while I was in earshot. And then you
have the nerve to do it from a different number? Whose phone did you take? I
thought you agreed not to call me until I said it was okay."

"Yeah, look, I'm sorry. I really am. I just needed
to talk to you. I needed to hear your voice."

All of a sudden, Alyssa feared the entire day of
plans was shot. She had carefully laid out a schedule, drawn up an efficient
path, and even figured out where she'd go to grab some lunch for her dad from
on the way past the post office. And in the blink of an eye, it was gone.

"Well you've got me now. And you've also got a
whole bundle of nerves. What is it you want?"

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I was wrong. I
need you back, Alyssa. I can't live without you. And, I-"

"Ugh, that's enough." She let out a long, breathy
sigh. "Are you being serious right now? You told me that your start-up was
going to – let me get this right – I believe you said that the company was
'going to last for sure' but that I was 'statistically not going to be around
forever' right? Did I get that right?"

Alyssa's temples pounded like they hadn't since
she and Bret had the fight that broke them apart after a year and a half of
relationship. That was only three weeks ago, and it still made her teeth crawl
to think about.

"I just don't get it, Bret. I really don't. Did
something happen with the business?"

Silence.

"Oh. So that's it. Something happens with the
business and you figure you may as well call me to talk about it because that's
all I'm good for?" The sharpness in Alyssa's voice echoed in the phone.

"No, it isn't like that, not at all. I just really
miss you. I miss waking up and calling you first thing in the morning. I miss
smelling the shampoo in your hair. I just miss you."

She sighed again.

"This isn't the first time I've heard this crap
from you, Bret. You know that as well as I. Why do you keep doing this to me?
If you really cared, you'd leave it alone. You'd let me get my mind around
everything that's happened lately and get myself back together." Lys's eyes got
blurry and she wiped at them.

"Why, Bret? If you can answer that, I'll let you
say whatever you want. I might even respond."

For a moment, there was no speaking. She only
heard breathing from his end of the line. Then he sniffed.

"Was that a real sniffle?"

"Alyssa..."

"Sorry, that was mean."

"No, it's my fault. I shouldn't be doing this to
you, but, yeah. I mean, I realized in the last couple of days, maybe a week,
that I really screwed up with you. We had a good thing going and I got all
obsessive about the company and fuc – uh, sorry, I mean I messed it all up."

"It's okay." She couldn't help but giggle at his
self-correction. For most of the time they dated, Lys had a mouth that Bret
constantly described as "sailor-salty" and hounded her to clean up. After she
calmed down a little, he picked up the habit, which never failed to entertain
her. "Go on, please."

"Okay. Well, that's most of what I needed to tell
you. I hope that five years from now, or ten, or whenever it is that you're
settled down with a great guy, living like a queen, with the little brood of
kids you've always wanted, you don't remember me as the world's biggest assho –
sorry. Again."

"Really," she said. "It's okay."

"About the cursing?"

"I don't give a shit about your cursing." They
both laughed. "I don't care about that. I don't think you're the biggest
asshole in the world, or the country, or even the state. You're not even the
biggest asshole that I've ever known. Really. We're just in different places."

"Okay," he said, and exhaled. "Thanks, Alyssa.
Thanks for listening to me. It means a lot. You deserve so much better than I
can give you."

Alyssa cleared her throat.

"No, I really don't. Did you hear the way I went
on attack mode with you just then? I'm a hothead. I get all worked up over
absolutely nothing and think the world is coming for me. I'm a hedgehog."

"Hedgehogs don't have hair that smells like
yours."

She felt a hot blush creep down her cheeks, and
cracked a smile, in spite of herself.

"If they used the same shampoo, they probably
would." Alyssa's eyes moved along the line down the middle of the table, where
a leaf would go if there was any reason to feed ten people.

"I want you to be happy. Really, I do." Bret said,
in that low-toned voice that he won her over with in the first place.

She heard him say something, but her attention was
completely taken by the very top of a chimney, way off in the distance. The
Webb house, invisible from everywhere but right where she sat, grabbed her
imagination like it did when she was a child. From here it was probably a mile
or more away, she wasn't really sure, but it was sufficiently far to be barely
a speck. She thought back, again, to that kind old man who taught her about
which mushrooms were safe to pick and eat, and which ones would get her the
most money at the farmer's market back in Newton that ran on Saturdays and
Wednesdays during the part of the year it was warm enough. He certainly didn't
seem like a greedy oil baron.

Every so often, when she was out in the woods
where she knew she shouldn't be anyway, Alyssa popped out of them and looked at
the house, or as much of it as she could see. The way the hills lay in that
part of Pennsylvania, there was one that blocked a clear view of the house
until you got right up on it, which she was never brave enough to do, of
course. She could only ever see the second floor, what she assumed was a few
bedrooms that faced west.

Her thoughts settled on the man who once stood in
the window, and, she imagined, watched her. It was much too far to see what he
looked like, but in her youthful imagination, that had only just started to
notice boys by the time she learned about mushrooms, and started making regular
trips, he was tall and dark and handsome, as heroes were supposed to be.

"Lys?" Bret's voice broke her daydream. "You still
there, Alyssa? Goddamn phone keeps messing up."

"Watch your mouth," she teased. "Sorry, yeah, I
just got to thinking about something. What were you saying? I drifted off."

"You fell asleep? Isn't it like nine-fifteen
there?"