Young Truths (Young Series) (31 page)

“Sorry, ma’am,” he says quietly, popping his head into the room. “Boss’s orders.”

Again, I roll my eyes, settling back against my pillows. As much as I love Matthew, sometimes his pettiness amazes me. I understand keeping people away that might want to hurt me, but Mark? The only threat he poses is the one to Matthew’s ego and jealous streak.

A flash of an image passes before my eyes, involving Mark, but it’s gone too quickly for me to identify it. Shaking my head, I go back to my mindless television, already planning the discussion I intend to have with my husband when he comes back.

Three days have gone by since Samantha was poisoned and I can’t remember a time when I was being pulled in so many directions at once. There haven’t been any further side effects from the poison, thankfully, and little by little, it’s evaporating from her system. She’s being released this afternoon and has even been given the all-clear to travel. Bodes well for me since I have no intentions of taking her back to the apartment; I’ve already got our things packed and ready to go straight to the airport this evening. In the meantime, I’ve been looking into who might have gained access to the lab where that poison was being stored. So far, nothing has come up as suspicious, but while I’m away, Marcus intends to do his own investigation which I imagine will entail a small room, one very bright light pointing directly at the person he’s interrogating, and possibly the good cop/bad cop routine. That’s an amusing thought; I’m on the fence about which one Marcus would actually play, though I suspect the latter.

I’ve done my own investigating in town, more specifically at the café where I know Samantha eats practically every day. Aside from having to ignore the head waitress who seemed more interested in checking me out and flirting rather than actually answering my questions, I didn’t learn anything important. I have a vague idea of when Samantha might have ordered her lunch, but the café had been so busy at that time that no one seemed to know whether my wife personally picked up her order or not. The only thing they could tell me is that the order was paid for with cash. I suppose I could pull some strings and check out their security cameras—or if I’m really feeling lazy, I could just hack into the system—but I’m really hoping Samantha will be able to fill in the unanswered gaps.

One name keeps popping up wherever I go, haunting and taunting me: Mark Reilly. I hated that bastard the moment I walked into a hospital room where Samantha had been recovering from a near miscarriage only to find Reilly fast asleep at her bedside, holding her hand while his arm was draped protectively over her belly. I should have killed him that day, saved all of us the stress. I haven’t forgotten Jessica’s words to me the other day about her suspicions that Reilly is in love with my wife and supposedly stalking her, if she’s right about that box of pictures in his apartment. It wasn’t news to me that he’s in love with Samantha; it’s almost impossible to not fall in love with her once you know her. But it sure as hell left a bad taste in my mouth. All the time she’s spent with him, usually without me, when anything could have happened. I trust my wife more than anybody, but even I have to admit to wondering whether something ever happened between them that she never told me about. I would never consider the thought that she would cheat on me, but I certainly wouldn’t put it past her to conveniently forget to mention to me that he made some sort of move on her if for no other reason than to keep me from going to jail for breaking the good doctor’s jaw. I’m starting to think it would be worth the risk.

Samantha wasn’t particularly pleased to learn that Reilly wasn’t allowed to see her. She went on for fifteen minutes about my jealousy and pettiness and unfounded concerns. I let her. When she finished, I considered telling her about Jessica’s visit and the things she told me about Reilly, but I held my tongue, agreeing that I might be a little overprotective. She seemed surprised and suspicious at my lack of argument on the subject. When she and I sit down to talk, I don’t want it to be in a hospital room where we could be interrupted at any second. Then again, it might be very smart to have witnesses nearby when I tell her I visited Natalie; I harbor no delusion that that bit of information will go over well...

I’m also still dealing with Lucy’s murder and the mysterious appearance of my fingerprints all over her apartment, including, apparently, her bedroom. For obvious reasons, I haven’t mentioned that particular detail to my wife and I have no intention of doing so. Samantha believes I wasn’t in contact with Lucy and on top of everything else I don’t want her to worry about this, too. Or doubt me. Mostly the latter. And I can only imagine her response when I tell her the poison came from my building; if that doesn’t convince her she’s better off without me... Well, we’ve been down this road before and I’m not particularly eager to pursue it again.

After a half day at work, during which I’ve gotten absolutely nothing work-related accomplished, I head out to pick up Tyler from school. As luck would have it, he has the next week or so off school for spring break, so I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty for taking him out a few hours early. Besides, he hasn’t seen his mother since she was hospitalized and according to Claire, he’s seconds away from full-on thermonuclear temper tantrum because of it. Before I pick him up, though, I stop by the bookstore which is temporarily closed while Marcus and his team search for any evidence of who might have poisoned my wife. Right now, the building is empty, allowing me to wander around freely. I don’t know what it is I’m looking for or whether I’ll even find anything. The first thing I notice is that there are two empty Styrofoam containers in the trashcan, both of which came from the café across the street. Somebody marked them as “1 of 2” and “2 of 2”. I suppose they could belong to anyone who works here—maybe Samantha ordered something for Lauren that day.

Or maybe Samantha was having lunch with somebody else altogether.

My next destination is the back office where I boot up the computer and load the camera footage from the other day. I fast forward through most of it—Samantha arriving for the day; straightening up bookshelves; helping the couple customers that came in; feeding and changing Olivia. The only out of the ordinary thing I notice is a block of time that seems to have been blacked out. I suspect this block is around an hour or two before Samantha was taken to the hospital. I’m immediately on alert, instantly recalling the tampered video in which Natalie and I were having a midday quickie in my office. The video that caused Samantha’s blood pressure to skyrocket and landed her in the hospital while I was away in Germany. Somebody was here with Samantha that day and whoever that person is, they went to some pretty great lengths to cover their tracks. Why? So they couldn’t be identified as the person who poisoned her? That seems most likely.

I don’t know how long I sit in front of the computer, but eventually, I remember my son is waiting for me to pick him up. Before I go, I send Marcus a text message to let him know what I found with the video and the food containers, hoping he can connect the dots I’m unable to connect.

Tyler is thrilled to see me and even more thrilled to get out of school early. When I tell him we’re heading to see Samantha then going on a plane ride, I think he might actually burst from the excitement. We head back to the hospital where Samantha and Olivia are waiting to be picked up. She’s already been released by her doctors and can’t seem to wait to get out of this place. Can’t say I blame her...

“Mom, guess what!” Tyler says excitedly, walking alongside Samantha’s wheelchair pushed by a nurse. “Dad says we’re going on a plane ride!”

For some reason, Samantha looks wistful for a brief moment. “I know,” she says quietly, smiling at Tyler. “We’re going to see Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Lisa and the farm with all the animals.”

Tyler’s eyes light up even more. “Can I see José?”

I snort a laugh from Samantha’s other side. José the goat. I remember Samantha mentioning him the night she and I had coffee together, and how I thought it was so very fitting for her to name her pet goat José. The couple of times I actually met José, however, we did not hit it off at all. I don’t know if he just didn’t like the smell of me or if he was being protective of Samantha, but he made it his mission to chase me away from her whenever possible. I can’t even count the number of times he tried eating my clothes or my shoes...

Samantha looks up at me, grinning, clearly remembering the same things. “Yes, you can see José,” she answers. “And all the other animals.”

The drive to the airport is incredibly normal, all things considered. Tyler tells us all the things he wants to do while we’re on the farm. Apparently Samantha’s dad taught him how to drive a tractor a couple years ago, but judging by my wife’s pursed lips, it was not an activity she condoned.

We arrive at the airport and pull around to the private plane hangars where my company plane is warming up for flight. Samantha hesitates to get out of the car, her eyes glued to the plane. It doesn’t take much deduction to realize why she looks so nervous—she hasn’t seen one of my planes since I flew her, Tyler, and Saunders out from Omaha and less than a month after that, I was supposed to board a similar one and it crashed.

“It’s perfectly safe,” I reassure her quietly, reaching for her hand. “I wouldn’t even consider doing this if I thought otherwise for even a second.”

She nods mutely, the anxiety still plain on her face.

I sigh. “Samantha, do you really believe I’d let something like that happen again?” I ask, moving in front of her slightly to block her view of the plane. “Since then, I’ve gotten access to people who are specifically trained to check for problems with the engines or the navigation equipment or even the slightest tear in the carpet. These are people who check Air Force One for safety.
We’re safe
.”

Reluctantly, she nods, agreeing to get out of the car. Before we board, I take her hand and walk her through the preflight checks with the pilot in an attempt to further reassure her. She seems to relax significantly after that. Our belongings are stored, our children are buckled in their seats, and we begin to taxi down the runway. Samantha distracts herself by digging in the diaper bag for Olivia’s pacifier and trying to urge her to accept it as we take off. I think I’m the only one who sees the tiny light inside the base of the pacifier blinking; Samantha probably thinks it’s the kind that lights up to entertain the baby. That works for me, since I forgot to mention to her I modified that particular pacifier weeks ago along with the Batman watch Tyler still wears wherever he goes and the locket around Samantha’s neck.

By the time we level off in the sky, all the tension has finally left Samantha’s body. Tyler’s gotten bored of looking out the window since all he can see are clouds and the darkness of night. A flight attendant has brought us all dinner and we eat in mostly silence as we watch a cartoon movie that keeps Tyler completely entertained until he falls asleep in his chair. With a fond smile, I get out of my seat and move to tilt his back, rearranging him in a more comfortable sleeping position. Covering him with a blanket, I glance over to find Samantha staring out the little window beside her and decide this is as perfect a time as any for us to have the talk that very much needs to be had. Both kids are fast asleep and once we’re at the farm, it’s unlikely that we’ll have much privacy for the duration of our stay.

“Come with me,” I say quietly, holding my hand out to her.

She turns her head, looking at my hand in slight confusion before taking it. “Where are we going?”

I don’t answer as I lead her toward the back of the plane to the bedroom, inwardly smirking at the look on her face. Clearly, she has other expectations of what we’re doing here than what I intend. “I told you the other night that there are some things we need to discuss,” I inform her as we curl up on the bed together. “And if you still want to know, I thought we’d get it out of the way now.”

Her body stiffens against mine and the anxiety returns. “Okay,” she says quietly into my chest.

I sigh. “Firstly, I need you to know I’m doing everything possible to find out who poisoned you, but unfortunately, they’re not exactly making it easy for me. The café said they don’t know who picked up your lunch that day—whether it was you or somebody else—since they were so busy. Also, the surveillance cameras in the bookstore have been tampered with; there’s a block of about two hours that are completely missing and unaccounted for. I’d bet anything that’s more than just a coincidence.”

“Why would somebody go to that sort of trouble, though?” she asks, genuinely bewildered.

I shrug the shoulder she isn’t resting against. “Because they don’t want to be caught. This was a very well thought out, well executed plan and it was a deliberate act of attempted murder against you.”

I look down, hoping to see her reaction to my words, but she burrows further into my chest. “Is there a way to narrow down where the poison came from?” she asks in a whisper. “Dr. Lassiter says the Ricin or whatever isn’t something commonly found around here.”

“No, it’s not,” I agree quietly, tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling. “And I already know where it came from.”

She pulls away from me in surprise. “What?” she exclaims. “Where?”

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I brace myself. “It came from Young Technologies,” I say, unable to meet her gaze. “Specifically from one of the labs that specialize in weapons development and biological threats—simply put, poison.”