Stolen Secrets (13 page)

“That’s not true, Scott,” Robyn protested, looking ready to shake the big man. “He has a life ahead of him. You haven’t seen him lately. He’s got a motorized wheelchair and gets around by himself. He’s finishing college this year and looking forward to a career at Microsoft.”

“Yeah, well... did Ryan tell you about the break-in at the office?" he said, wisely changing the subject. "I'm beginning to wonder if I should get a new secretary."

Robyn gave Angie a warning look before she answered. "Yes, we all heard. Will you have to fire Patti?"

"I don't know." He shrugged, drawing a hand through his shaggy blonde hair, rumpling it from its well-combed state into its more common disarrangement. "I don't know what to believe anymore. It's crazy. If that girl hadn't been leaving the office and mentioned the conversation Patti supposedly had on the phone, I wouldn't have suspected anything.”

“Uh, huh.”

"As it was," he added, baffled, "we lost only the one CD. Maybe that girl simply made up a story to use as protection if she got caught... you know, to divert attention from herself. I never did find out if she was legit or some no-good vagrant trying to find shelter for the night." His disgusted tone made Angie squirm. "Patti said she talked to Ted before she left, but didn’t know the CDs had been left behind. I think that vagrant took it."

“How about the break-in at Ryan’s place the other night?” Robyn asked. “Doesn’t that prove there was—”

"It could’ve been unconnected— some dope-head out for drug money," Scott reasoned.

"A dope-head? But who prompted him on what to steal? And who told him Ryan was a black belt?”

“I don’t know. But Ryan’s picture’s been in the paper several times. Maybe the nut keeps a file.”

“Well," Robyn said, with another warning glance at Angie, "we'll never really know the true situation, will we— about that girl or the thief— unless Patti manages to spirit away something else. Why don't you build more burglar-proofing into your office? You and that genius brother of mine should be able to come up with something that would foil any amateur thief. Maybe a siren that goes off if you enter the room after hours."

"That's in place, but it wasn’t armed. What's hard is to protect against your own employees, if that's what happened. I’m sure I locked the door when I left. I can't imagine how that girl got in."

At that moment Ryan arrived with his mother, a charming lady with spun-silver hair. She was as gracious as her children, seeming to delight in getting to know Angie.

As for Angie, her skin immediately acquired eyes of its own, aware of Ryan's movement around the apartment while she talked to his mother. Soon his soft-toned voice joined Sunderstrom's louder rumble as they speculated on what could be done to prevent theft from their own offices.

Angie excused herself to help Robyn with the table. She waited until they were alone in the kitchenette before asking Robyn, "Why’d you say what you did... about not knowing about me? Shouldn't I tell Scott I was the ‘vagrant’ he mistrusts?" She kept her voice low, so others would not hear.

Ryan's sister shook her head fiercely. "Don't you dare! That man’s got a phobia about security,” she hissed. “He insists upon references a mile long before he trusts anybody. If he suspected you were the ‘vagrant,’ he would never let the matter rest— he'd be suspicious of everything you do." She picked up a knife and started slicing the turkey, accentuating her words with determined strokes.

"I suppose so... but why should it bother him? Ryan's the one I’m working for."

"Yes, and it's taken Ryan a long time to find someone. He doesn't need Scott's suspicious mind giving him any more doubts."

Confused, Angie slumped against the table, knowing Ryan already felt that way. Scott’s doubts couldn’t make it any worse. "I don't know. What if Scott figures it out someday? That could be awkward. He'd wonder why I never said anything."

"It's Ry you have to please, not Scott. You really won't see too much of Scott anyway, they go their separate ways most of the time." She waggled the knife in front of Angie. "You won't find my brother volunteering the information, I tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because... because he... well, he wouldn't want to degrade you in Scott's eyes. He knew it wouldn't bother me, that's why he told me. But Scott is sort of a connoisseur. He wants everything brand new, untouched. You saw how repelled he was by Alison’s brother. He wants perfection. Nothing else is good enough for him.” She paused. “I think. I don’t want to judge unfairly. He's hard to read, sometimes. He's extremely possessive about the things he owns. It's a wonder he didn't tear you apart that night."

If it hadn't been for Ryan, he might’ve. Angie still had some remnants of the bruise marks on her shoulders where Scott had yanked her to her feet and shaken her. "He did, somewhat."

"Ryan says he has a hot temper. So my advice is to not mention the office. At least let him get to know you, then if it ever comes up you could laugh it off as unimportant. You want to beat the potatoes?” She raised her voice to normal.

"Sure. I like your mom.” Angie took the hand mixer Robyn handed her and plugged it in.

“She’s a sweetie. Dad would be here, but he’s stuck in Germany on a business trip.”

“That’s too bad.” She stopped talking as she turned on the mixer and focusing on the job. When finished, she took the beaters to the sink, then asked, “Do you have any other brothers or sisters?"

"Three— two older brothers in New Mexico and Illinois, and one sister in Florida. When my folks got Ryan and me at the same time, they stopped. We’re twins, you know."

"Really? Ryan never said. What's it like, being a twin?" Finished with her task, Angie took off her apron.

"Frustrating when everyone expects us to act alike, but it's fun most of the time. There's a special closeness we don't share with the rest of the family, even though we aren’t identical. I understand him. When we were little, I used to talk for both of us."

She finished carving the meat and laid the knife aside. "We'd better start before this cools off. Take the dressing while I carry the turkey. Then we’ll call Mary. They gave her a sleeping pill to take after I brought her home last night. She’d fallen back to sleep this morning, last I looked."

“I’ll get her.” They carried the food out to where the table was set up in the living room. Then Angie cajoled Mary into joining them, and they waited for her to wash up. Once they were seated, Robyn asked Ryan to offer thanks for the food. Angie agreed wholeheartedly to his prayer, especially to his ending. "Thank You, Father, for bringing Mary and Angie to us, and thank You for our families.”

It made Angie think about her own parents. Even though she was hurt by some of the things they said and did, they were still her parents. She was fortunate in having them.

Mary would soon be without anyone.

Eyes misted in emotion, Angie added her own silent words of thanksgiving. Thank You, dear Lord, for my family. Help me to not judge them so harshly. And thank You for bringing me a job, a place to stay, and Ryan.

During the meal Scott carried most of the conversation, seemingly adverse to silence. He had an easy flow of words, a slightly loud congeniality that dominated the conversation. His eloquence reminded Angie of a famous television talk-show host she admired, ever ready with a comment to keep the topic going, having a wide range of jokes and stories to draw on. It contrasted sharply with Ryan’s lack of conversation today.

Scott’s comments and attention flattered Angie although she couldn’t help thinking each time he complimented her of what he might say if he knew the truth. And some of his more personal questions were hard to answer.

The others tended to the business of eating, except for Mary, who merely moved her food from one side of her plate to the other. Robyn cast worried glances at her, and Angie, sitting next to Mary, started mentioning how good each item of food was, suggested she try it, and in the end succeeding in getting her to eat about half of what she should have.

They had finished the meal and Ryan had left to help Robyn carry in the desserts, when Scott asked the question Angie had been dreading.

"How did you and Ryan meet? He hadn't advertised the position, so what caused him to hire you?"

Angie took another sip of coffee to give herself time to come up with an answer to Scott’s question. She had met Ryan while she worked for Scott. But she didn’t want to say that. That would just open the conversation to a lot more questions. She needed to keep things near enough to the truth so her answers would be easy to remember, and still not lie to him.

"I was looking for a job and got to talking with Ryan and he saw my résumé. Well, one thing led to another. He asked me some questions and then took me on for a trial period."

"He checked your references, first, surely?"

"I assume so," she added, trying to look innocent. "I can't imagine why he wouldn't."

"Ryan says he’s fortunate in finding you for his assistant," Mrs. Duvall remarked as Ryan entered the room. "He's been saying for ages that he needed one. I'm surprised someone finally met his standards."

"Angie came highly recommended," Ryan declared, his glance daring her to contradict.

"She must’ve!" Scott exclaimed, then complimented all the ladies, turning more and more of his attention on Angie.

Her gaze swung to find Ryan and seek his support. The warm glow of his approval lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, instilling confidence. She could do anything if he believed in her, and she turned back to Scott's questioning with renewed spirit.

Still, some of his questions became too personal, and Angie looked over to Mrs. Duvall. That lady took over the conversation by asking Scott a number of questions about his life at the moment, letting Angie finish her dessert in peace.

* * *

Ryan ate slowly, enjoying the conversation around him. He felt relaxed, knowing he didn’t have to keep it going. By inserting a comment now and then, he did all the talking he wanted to. After dinner, he jumped up and cleared the table, getting Scott to join him. He started to fill the dishwasher, but Robyn stopped him.

"You two go watch your football game. I'm sure it's started by now. Angie and I and the dishwasher will finish. We can only manage two in this tiny kitchen, and that's just because I've worked out a system."

“Fine with us,” Ryan said, heading for the sofa while Scott located the remote. He tossed a pillow aside and sat down. “Say Scott, did you see a messenger in our building the other night?”

“Uh, yeah. Just as I was leaving. One came to my door, asking for Gordon’s office. I sent him on.” He joined Ryan on the sofa and switched on the TV.

“I was wondering if he might have carried the CD out.”

“Hmmm.” Scott looked at him. “He didn’t stop at Patti’s door. And the CDs were still on my desk while I talked to him. Although...” He changed channels until he found the game, second quarter, fourteen to ten.

“What?”

“He could’ve seen the stack on my desk. I left as he walked away. Maybe he came back.”

“Did you recognize his uniform?”

“No. But it’s worth checking out.”

“Why wouldn’t he have taken the whole stack?” Ryan asked, putting his feet up on the edge of a small hassock and leaning back.

“Maybe Patti sent for him. Just gave him the one.”

“I’m to meet her tomorrow night at seven. I’ll ask her about the messenger.”

“Good. I’ve been unable to reach her. When did this happen?”

“She called. Said some bookie— a friend of Ted’s— was threatening her.”

“A bookie?” Scott leaned back on the sofa and laughed. “That can’t be right. She must be imagining things. Can you picture a bookie being a friend to anyone?”

“You’ve got a point. He could be using the term sarcastically. But if Ted owed him a lot of money—”

The quarterback got sacked and the network showed a replay. The trainers helped him off the field.

“True. If Ted owed him money, the bookie might go after Patti.” Scott frowned for a moment. “Looks like he’s out for the rest of the game. Too bad. Hope they don’t send in Donaldson. He’s second rate as well as second string. Does she want you to hide her?”

“No. She offered to show me where the guy lives so I can find out who it is and take care of it if I can.”

“Where’re you meeting her?” Scott asked.

“Yep. Donaldson’s in. Bellevue Park & Ride.”

“Donaldson will lose the game for us. You watch.”

“I don’t need to. This one’s over.”

“You want I should go with you? Just in case she isn’t imagining things?”

“No thanks. I’ll just get the address. The guy might’ve moved. Or she might show me the wrong house. She didn’t sound too sure. And it never pays to rush in.”

* * *

Angie walked over to see how the game was progressing, content to be with Ryan and his family. The men pointed to the score— thirty-six to seven— and turned the game off. Robyn got out a deck of cards and Mrs. Duvall took Mary into the bedroom to talk about Mary’s work as a cartographer. She came out soon afterwards saying that Mary had fallen asleep again, and sat down to watch the card game.

Cold turkey snacks kept everyone stuffed. It was growing dark when Scott followed Angie into the kitchenette long enough to ask her out to dinner. She stammered, not knowing what to say and how to turn this aggressive man down without insulting him. Finally she said, “I don’t feel I know you well enough. Thanks anyway.”

A flash of disbelief glittered in his eyes before he turned away, and soon afterwards he excused himself and left.

The more Angie thought about a date with Scott, the happier she was that she had refused. She didn’t need to entangle herself with him. He acted so overbearing, so self-absorbed, so determined to have everything his own way. Scott lacked the sensitivity that made Ryan so precious to her.

Dating him might push Ryan away, and that was the last thing she wanted. Ryan had been strangely quiet today whenever she had singled him out. Had Scott’s presence— and the way he had looked at Angie— bothered him? Or had something else happened to make Ryan suspicious again?

She had never trusted a man as fully as she trusted Ryan. She had never before met a man of such integrity, who wanted the best for her and put himself out to get it for her. Even her father had always put himself first, begrudging the money spent on her gymnastic training, making promises he never kept. Her life was filled with picnics that never took place, movies that never were seen— a long history of “Not now, Angie,” and “We'll do it later.”

Ryan’s generosity came as natural as breathing. He included her in his plans as if she were an extension of himself.

Yet he had never asked her for a date. If he was interested in her— that way— would he ask? Or had their relationship jumped that step the first night?

She stepped next to Robyn as they were getting the coats out of the bedroom. "Can you tell me more about Scott? He asked me out to dinner Saturday night."

"Really? That was fast."

"I turned him down, but he doesn’t look like he’ll take ‘No’ for a final answer. What's he like?”

"Okay, I guess." Robyn picked up her mother’s coat, then paused. "I only see him a couple of times during the year. Ryan never says much about him and I've never asked. They seem to get along all right, although they are opposites.”

"Has Ryan said anything about me?"

"He's glad you're his assistant. He thinks you're doing an excellent job." Robyn pulled her own coat out of the closet.

"Anything else?"

"You mean like...?" Robyn stopped and smiled. "If you really want to know, ask him."

Angie shook her head. She would never ask a man if he was interested in her. She’d be too uncomfortable. Although why should the man necessarily be the first to say anything? Someone had to put their pride on the line and take the chance of being rejected. "You think so? How would he react?"

Robyn thought for a moment, then said, "He'd tell you the truth." She looked down for a moment, then back at Angie. "Don't hurt him, Angie. Please. I think he's the greatest, a prince of a man, but women tend to steer clear of men who aren't silver-tongued. He fell in love with Kathleen a few years ago, and Scott took her from him overnight. It devastated him. I thought he'd never recover. So if you're not interested, tell him so. Don't lead him on if you don't mean it."

"I won't, Robyn, I promise." She could feel her eyes shine with the intensity of her feelings, and knew Robyn could pick up the message.

“And thanks for helping Mary. The doctor hoped she might eat here.”

“She’s awfully thin.”

“She somehow thinks she’s responsible for her dad. Her birthday was last week and Warren went to George’s place to buy her a present.”

Angie shook her head, then pulled on her coat. “She should realize no one’s to blame. As for getting her to eat, try keeping some Brazil nuts around the hospital room. I gain weight on those— and it doesn’t take very many. Nibble food, if that’s what Mary needs. Are you taking her back now?”

Robyn nodded, shrugging into her coat. “If you want to make Ryan happy, stay away from Scott.”

“I will.”

Ryan and Angie took his mother home first. The main roads were bare, but the side streets were packed by the wheels, forming a solid crust of ice. The trees had dumped their loads and were dark and bare. Beneath them the snow had melted and compressed to about three inches, covered with an icy crust.

Once back at the houseboats, Angie asked Ryan if he wanted her help with any work. He shook his head and motioned towards Grandma Miller’s, so she took the hint and walked on.

* * *

Ryan watched her walk away, feeling a sense of loss as she turned her back. He should have thought of some task they could do together. Maybe he’d go to Grandma’s later...

The neighborhood kids detached themselves from the side of his house and swarmed around him, shouting excitedly. Angie turned and came back to see what was the matter.

“Don’t all talk at once,” he said. He turned to Kent. “You speak.”

“After dinner, when we came over to climb, some dude had just started to go up the wall. He pulled a gun, then left.”

“Did anyone follow him and get the— “

“He was in a speedboat. A small one, but fast.”

“Was there a name on it?”

“Chase? Any writing on the boat?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you been climbing all day?” Angie asked.

“Some of us, off and on. We only left for dinner.”

“Sounds like you’ve got pretty good burglar protection here,” she said, smiling at the group.

“Not when he pulls a gun. Nothing’s worth getting killed for, you guys. Unless it’s a person. Can you describe him to me? Tall, short, fat, hair color?” Ryan pulled out his notebook to get their descriptions down.

They took turns, each adding his comment.

“He was tall,” said Garrett.

“Real, real tall,” his six-year-old brother chimed in.

“Mouse-colored hair. Well, like my mouse at least.”

“It was brown.”

“Black. And marble eyes.”

“He means they bugged out.”

“He had a big ring on his finger.”

“I didn’t see a ring.”

“Yeah, a shiny ring. White, like my mom’s diamond.”

“Which hand?” Ryan asked, and the boys looked at each other and shrugged.

“Brushy eyebrows.”

“No, they weren’t.”

“They were too.”

They stopped, looked at each other again, then back at Ryan.

“Who actually saw him?” he asked.

“Only these three.” Kent pointed to the youngest ones. “They were waiting for the rest of us to come.”

Ryan looked at them. “Well, can you tell me if his hair was black or brown?”

“Brown.”

“Okay. Brown.”

“He doesn’t know his colors yet,” chimed in his older brother.

“Oh.” Ryan looked at Angie, who was laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“You. You’re asking the wrong questions.”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

“Then you ask.”

“Okay. Whose father did this man look like?”

They looked among themselves and Chase said, “Nobody’s. He had mean eyes.”

“So much for your approach. How old?” Ryan asked.

“Real, real old.”

“I see. As old as Grandma Miller.”

“Oh no. Not that old.”

“As old as your father.”

“Maybe.”

“As old as me.”

“Uh, huh. That old.”

Angie laughed harder. “You’d better re-do tall while you’re at it.”

“Okay. Was he as tall as me?”

“Taller. As tall as Father.”

Kent looked at Ryan. “He pointed the gun at Chase. Threatened to shoot him. The rest of us were coming down the dock. Scared us all.”

“But you stayed,” Ryan commented, impressed. The boys were brave.

“Well, we figured he wouldn’t come back while we were here. We decided he might’ve come by earlier and waited for us to go eat— a speedboat passed by several times, but we didn’t pay much attention. We had Jason and Selina run and tell our dads. They called the cops.”

“Did a policeman come?”

“Yeah. Two hours later. We told him what we told you, sorta.”

“Have you been here since?”

“Some of us. We took turns.”

“Sounds like I’d better get a dog.”

“And a gun.”

“I’ve got a gun.”

"You do? Awesome,” Kent said, looking impressed, as did the rest of the kids. “Why don’t you have a dog?"

"I’m gone so often, I’d have to board it out all the time. That's no life for a dog."

"And now?"

"I'll get one, train it, and see how it turns out. I'll try to work around it. But I’m going to need someone to care for it whenever I go out of town. Boarding it won’t protect— ”

“I’ll take care of it,” Blake said.

“You’re too little,” Kent scoffed at the eight-year old.

“Am not.”

“I’m afraid he’s right,” Angie said, entering the conversation. “Ryan would need to leave a key to his place. It’d have to be locked every time.”

“Not if you got a doggie door,” Blake said, and Ryan looked at him with interest.

“That’s an idea.” He hadn’t thought about a dog door. A motion detector would be more effective— but the kids would set it off. He could get a surveillance camera from Scott. “Tell you what, I’ll set something up, then let you know.”