Young Truths (Young Series) (41 page)

“I’m sorry, Samantha. I never meant for this to happen. I love you.”

My eyes widen at the faint words in my mind as they connect with an image. A face. Mark’s face. “No,” I say to myself. “No, he wouldn’t have anything to do with the poisoning.”

I try to convince myself of this by thinking rationally. Matthew said himself that the poison came from Young Technologies, which means someone who worked there would have had to take it from the secured labs. There is no way Mark would have access to the building, much less the labs.

Unless he was working with somebody.

But why would Mark have any involvement with Frank Marone? It’s no coincidence that the poisoning happened amidst everything else going on around us. The rest of it is connected with Frank, so why not this?

My cell phone rings, startling me out of my thoughts and I glance down at the caller ID, wondering if brain waves have the capability to reach across the world so that the subject of my thoughts is prompted to call me. I hesitate a few seconds, debating whether I should let it go to voicemail or not. In the end, I lift the phone to my ear. “Hi, Mark,” I say, attempting to sound excited to hear from him.

“Hello yourself, Samantha,” he says warmly. “I haven’t talked to you in a while; just wanted to see how things were going. I hope you’re feeling better?”

“Yeah, good as new,” I say. “And our vacation seemed to be just what Matthew and I needed.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs. I wonder if that’s a reaction to hearing my husband’s name. “Listen, I thought that since our weekly lunches have been pushed to the side with everything going on, you and I might have dinner later in the week. My treat, of course. I was h
oping we could catch up a bit.”

I hesitate, knowing what Matthew’s reaction would be to the very idea of me having dinner with Mark, especially after learning the depth of his feelings for me. A small part of me, though, wants to say yes. Maybe I can set things right between Mark and me, make him understand I couldn’t ever feel the same for him. Convince him to get Jessica back. Matthew would call that naïve. He’d probably be right. Still, I really don’t want to lose another friend and if there’s a way to salvage this relationship with Mark, I need to at least try.

“Sure,” I say quietly. “I’d like that.”

I hear him let out a sound that’s part sigh of relief, part laugh. “Excellent,” he says happily. “Shall we say Friday night, then?”

“Yeah, that works,” I respond. What the hell am I supposed to say to Matthew about this? We spend a couple minutes making arrangements. I agree to meet Mark at a small Italian restaurant after work Friday and spend a few more minutes talking about nothing in particular before ending the call. My head falls into my hands and I’m suddenly exhausted.

Why does everything have to be so complicated?

“Where the hell did you get this?”

My gaze snaps away from my computer where I’m answering a few emails before heading home for the night and find Carson striding into my office. “Yeah, come on in,” I say sarcastically, grinning. “No need to knock or anything.” The amusement slips away at the look on his face. He’s carrying the plastic bag containing the vial I found at the bookstore and he looks incredibly unsettled. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you know what was in this?” he asks, placing the bag on my desk in front of me. Before I can answer, he goes on, “That’s the military-grade chemical composition that we turned back over to the government last month. There was an issue when they came to pick it up, because the inventory numbers didn’t match up against the physical product. One vial was missing and no one knew where it went. We tore the lab apart searching for it and finally found a paper trail that suggested it was wasted after some testing. Now I’ve got this. Where did you get it?”

“Found it,” I tell him, gesturing for him to take a seat. “It was under a chair in my wife’s bookstore. Someone used the poison on her before we went on vacation, mixed it in her food. Whoever it was left the vial behind.”

Carson goes completely white. “You do realize what that stuff does, don’t you? The fact that she survived at all is a fucking miracle. What concerns me most is that this vial went missing so what else could have been taken from the lab? There’s enough in those rooms to end the world if someone had half a mind to do it.”

“I realize,” I say quietly. “Carson, this stays between us. You don’t tell another soul about this. Got it? I’m going to have the security tapes pulled and examined to find out who took the vial in the first place. Whoever it was tried to kill my wife and I’m not going to just let that pass without doing something about it.”

“Can’t say I blame you there,” Carson says. “You don’t think it was Damian, do you? The one who took the poison, I mean. He had full access to the lab from day one, which, honestly, I always thought was strange. Nobody comes in with such high security clearance. I just figured you and Leo had it all under control.”

“Leo did,” I say grimly. “I didn’t even know about the guy until a few weeks ago.”

Carson nods. “I should get back. I need to find out if anything else has gone missing and I just haven’t noticed yet.”

“If you find anything, call me immediately,” I instruct. “There shouldn’t be anything else in there that could be harmful—most everything has been boxed and shipped off to the other companies, right? Best be careful and thorough, though.”

“You got it, boss,” Carson dutifully replies.

Once he’s gone, I sit back in my chair and stare at the bag on my desk. Carson didn’t exactly tell me anything I hadn’t yet figured out, but I suppose I’d been hoping I was wrong. Just once, I wish I could be wrong about something. Anything. Leo’s betrayal keeps getting deeper and deeper, and I can’t even confront him about it. Or take out my frustrations on him. I wonder vaguely what would have happened if Leo had lived the night Tyler was kidnapped. Would I have allowed him to be arrested, as he deserved? Would I have tried to forgive him? I just don’t know. But the more that comes to light about how deep his involvement goes, the more pissed off I become at him. He arranged for Damian Rogers to be in position in the labs for the purpose of stealing from me and my company. Whether that plan included poisoning Samantha, I don’t know, but it wouldn’t be the first time Leo did something that put her in danger.

Not liking the direction my thoughts are taking, I shut down my computer for the day and head home. What I need right now is to be with my family, if for no other reason than to reassure myself that they are safe. Everything else can wait.

“Tyler, get your shoes on! You’re going to be late for school!” Samantha calls up the staircase.

I’m in the kitchen feeding Olivia and reading through a couple emails on the laptop I set up on the table. The morning started out on a hectic note. Neither Samantha nor I managed more than a couple hours of sleep last night, which was mostly my fault since I decided the only way to get my mind off things was to bury myself in her until we passed out from sheer exhaustion. And it worked. It always does with Samantha. She could make me forget my own name—I’m sure there have been occurrences when she’s done just that. The best thing about it is that she doesn’t question me when I need her in that way; she’s perfectly content to go along with whatever I have in mind. Of course, those sorts of plans always result in her satisfaction as much as mine, so really, there’s no downside. Well, aside from only getting a couple hours of sleep.

Glancing at the clock, my brow furrows and I wonder where my mother is. As far as I know, she’s still coming to babysit Ol
ivia today, but we’ve yet to hear from her. Samantha enters the kitchen, slipping her earrings in. “No sign of your mom yet?” she asks, heading over to the counter for a cup of coffee.

I shake my head. “Nothing,” I answer. “Hand me my p
hone and I’ll give her a call.”

We trade our daughter for my phone and I immediately dial my parents’ house, assuming my mother just got a late start herself. At the third ring, both Samantha and I look towards the door where someone has just knocked. “There she is now,” Samantha says, heading over to answer it.

I slip my phone into my pocket and leave the kitchen, knowing we have to be going soon if either of us has any intention of getting to work on time this morning.

“Where the fuck is he?”

I freeze in my tracks at the shouting, knowing immediately my mother isn’t the source. Claire is standing at the door looking livid and upset, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s been crying. Shit. What now...? When my baby sister finds me, she very nearly shoves Samantha and Olivia aside to enter the apartment. “Easy,” I warn her. “Whatever your problem is, don’t take it out on Samantha.”

“I don’t intend to take it out on anybody but you,” she seethes, shoving me when she reaches me. “You fucking asshole, what did you do?”

Samantha and I exchange confused glances. “I haven’t
done
anything,” I say tentatively. “What’s the matter?”

“He’s
dead
because of you!” she shouts, her voice cracking as she punches me in my shoulder. “Nothing is ever good enough for you—you have to strut in and act like a spoiled brat!”

“Who’s dead?” I ask, my blood turning to ice.

“Dammit, Claire!’

I look over to find Danny entering the apartment as well. Samantha closes the door behind him and they join Claire and me. “I told you this is a very bad idea,” Danny continues, reaching out to touch his wife.

Claire shakes him off, still shooting me a death glare. “It’s all your fault,” she growls, her entire body shaking. “You killed him!”

“Killed who?” I snap impatiently. “Will you just fucking tell me what’s going on already?”

I vaguely realize Samantha walking past us and telling Tyler to go back upstairs for a little while. Claire’s jaw tightens and tears well in her eyes. “Dad,” she bites out. “He’s dead.”

I stare at her for a moment before stumbling backwards several paces until the backs of my legs hit the arm of the couch and I sit down. “What?” I breathe in horror. “What are you talking about? When? How?”

Danny sighs when Claire doesn’t answer. “Last night,” he says quietly. “Diane apparently got home yesterday evening and couldn’t find Paul in the house, though she knew he was there since his car was still in the driveway. She heard a noise—a gunshot coming from the backyard shed—and found him in there. According to the police, he was dead before he hit the ground.”

There is no way this is happening. My father can’t be dead; the man is fucking invincible. I can’t even entertain the thought that he had cancer which meant he was anything but. Part of me believed he’d beat the odds of death and live another twenty or so years. And now he’s gone. And apparently he killed himself.

Claire is shouting again, punching me, kicking me, inflicting as much pain on me as she can manage. I don’t feel any of it as I stare at a spot on the floor, unable to look at anybody or say anything. She’s right; I’m the reason our father committed suicide. It can’t be a coincidence that only days after the worst fight the two of us have ever had, he does something like this. I can forgive myself for a lot of things—
have
forgiven myself for a lot of things—but how am I supposed to forgive myself for being responsible for my father’s death? Claire clearly thinks I’m to blame; will my mother think the same thing?

My mother... God, I can’t imagine walking in and finding Samantha the way she found my father. How do you come to terms with something like that?

Danny is still talking—something about a note that apologized for letting his family down and not being what we needed. Samantha is trying to calm Claire down, though it doesn’t seem to be working. Claire is still flinging accusations at me. I can’t even summon the energy to argue or defend myself. Not that anything I say would make this better for any of us.

I don’t know how much time has passed when I feel Samantha kneel down in front of
me, her hands resting on my thighs. Some part of me registers that Claire and Danny have left. “Matt?” she whispers tentatively.

Meeting her gaze, I see her flinch at my expression. “I killed him,” I say, deadpan. “I killed my dad, Sam.”

She shakes her head, her own eyes filling with tears. “No, you didn’t,” she says firmly. “Matt, you didn’t do this. It’s not your fault.”

“It is, though,” I argue, feeling lost. “If I hadn’t gone to the house the other day and had it out with him, he’d still be here. You weren’t there; you didn’t hear the things I said to him. And now Claire hates me. My mom will too.”

“No one hates you,” she says. “Claire is upset; you know how she gets when she’s upset. She finds someone to take out her emotions on; you just happen to be the target. She’ll get over it.”

“How, though?” I challen
ge brokenly. “Everyone close to me gets hurt in some way. Look at everything I’ve done to you. I’ve never been able to understand why you put up with it. You love me, I know that, but every time I turn around, something happens and you’re either in the hospital or in tears, and I don’t know how to stop any of it.”

The look on her face is the epitome of sympathy. “I put up with it because, like you said, I love you. And I’m not going anywhere, Matt; I’ll get you through this.”

There is no proper response to that. “I need to be alone for a bit,” I say tonelessly. “Is that okay?”