Young Lies (Young Series Book 1) (32 page)

Upstairs something breaks. I freeze and I hear the two intruders—both male as far as I can tell—pausing to listen as well. I can’t tell where the noise came from, Matthew’s office maybe, but I can’t wait any longer. If these two decide to investigate they’re going to see me immediately. Keeping the bat at the ready, I start up the stairs, relieved that I’m not being followed. My relief is short-lived as I reach the top of the staircase to find a hulking figure approaching me, carrying something wrapped in a blanket that I am certain is my son.

“There you are, sweetheart,” whispers a voice behind me before an arm wraps around my neck, pressing into my windpipe. I try to fight, but he’s too strong and I feel myself beginning to blackout.

-------------o-------------

My wedding day was quite possibly the most nerve-wracking day of my life. Despite my repeated protests, Leo insisted on throwing me a typical bachelor party which included booze, girls, and more booze. I managed to convince my friends to stop paying the girls to give me lap dances, but they had their fun and I enjoyed sitting back and getting it all on video. Naturally my thoughts were locked on my soon-to-be bride. Last I saw her, her sister and Claire were dragging her out of the house with the insistence that she’d see me tomorrow. I barely got to kiss her before she was pulled out the door.

I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Samantha Everett loved me and wanted to be my wife. The logical side of my mind knew she wouldn’t leave me standing alone at the altar. What had me most concerned as I stood in my Armani suit waiting to set eyes on my fiancée in her wedding dress was the thought that she had a night with several of her friends from Iowa, most of whom didn’t like me because they thought I took her away from Tom Saunders, who will have probably tried to talk her out of marrying me. I also know Claire was there and will have stopped this sort of talk immediately.

But that doesn’t mean Samantha hadn’t spent the night thinking I might not be right for her. I can’t think of any reason she should put up with my bullshit for the rest of our lives. My best friend lives on my property. I have a very dangerous profession that keeps me away from her much more often than I want. Wherever we go, women fall over themselves to get my attention, completely ignoring Samantha regardless of the fact that I hold onto her for dear life. I would never even have considered cheating on her—why would I, when she’s everything I wanted and more? I know she knows that. I have a short temper. I behave like a frat boy at times. Possibly my only redeeming value is my net worth and the fact that I could take her to bed and make her scream my name over and over. Though I was always aware she had no interest in the balance of my bank account.

Her, though. There was nothing to
not
love about her. Beautiful. Brilliant. Funny. Quirky. Accepting. Compassionate. Thoughtful. I could spend hours listing all the different adjectives to describe her. From the moment I set eyes on her, I had to know her. And even after getting to know her, I needed to know
more.
It didn’t matter how much I learned about her, it was never enough. I always wanted more.

She breathed new life into me at a time when I was trying to figure out what my role was in the world. Her energy and innocence and eagerness were like a breath of fresh air. The pull she had on me was inexplicable and unlike anything else I’d ever experienced. I’d seen friends fall in love and get married to the person they believed to be their soul mate only to find out months down the line how huge a mistake they’d made. I’d also seen friends fall in love and get married, and they’d never been happier. In my life, there was no such thing as love at first sight. Until I met her.

We’d discussed children several times, and as eager as I was to start a family with her, we agreed it wasn’t the right time. She was still in school and my career was skyrocketing. And then one afternoon she arrived at my office in the middle of the day shaking and upset, and I thought someone had died. It took fifteen minutes to calm her down enough that I could understand what she was trying to tell me through her sobs. I knew she’d been sick the week before that day, but we just assumed she’d caught Danny’s stomach flu. Claire took her to the doctor that morning and she found out she was pregnant. Nearly three and a half months at that point. She even pulled an ultrasound image from her purse to show me. I still have the photo. I remember staring at it for what felt like hours, tracing the outlines of our baby’s face, his nose, his fingers and toes. The shock I felt was so great that I didn’t realize I hadn’t said anything to Samantha in response to the news she’d just shared with me. I think she was expecting me to get upset or angry. Honestly, it was upsetting for a few brief moments—I didn’t think I was ready to be a father, not by a long shot.

This had been far from a planned pregnancy, but I made sure Samantha left my office that day knowing I couldn’t have been happier at the thought of her having our child. If I thought my life would never be the same after meeting Samantha, that feeling was blown out of the water the second I laid eyes on Tyler.

But I digress.

As I stood at the altar with Leo as my best man beside me, staring down the aisle of the church and waiting for the doors to open revealing Samantha and her father, I felt a moment of panic. Between my dad, my sisters aside from Claire, Samantha’s friends, and even her older brother, there was every chance in the world she had been smuggled back to Iowa. In that moment, I felt my heart beginning to break.

Looking back, I feel like a right idiot for doubting her. The moment the doors opened and the bridal party started down the aisle, ten years were added back onto my life. I’m sure my sister and Sam’s sister and Sam’s two friends from Iowa were gorgeous. All I had an eye for was the woman walking in wearing the most incredible wedding dress I have ever seen. Off the shoulders. No sleeves. Fabric flowers sewn all over it. The material was little more than several pieces of thin lace wrapped around her body, a long train trailing behind her. Her hair was pulled back from her face and she wore long dangly earrings. My knees actually went weak just looking at her and watching her approach me. And the look in her eyes... At once it was relief, incredible joy, a ridiculously amazing amount of love.

I’ve spent the last five years thinking about that expression in her eyes on our wedding day. Every time I swore I would do positively anything to see her look at me like that again. She’s barely been back in my life two months and I’m already trying to figure out what I need to do. Of course, first things first: I need my family safe. At whatever cost, I will make that happen. They will not be hurt because I’m too
Goddamn stubborn to give in to threats. Then, technically, I’m still dead. Though it won’t be long before I can rectify this problem. There are people who need to answer for the things they’ve done, people who have betrayed my trust one time too many. People I knew I shouldn’t have trusted from the get-go, even though enough people told me to take a couple chances. Well, look where it’s got me.

I’m currently speeding through the dark towards my home terrified of what I might find once I’m there. Marcus recommended keeping me a safe distance from anyone who might recognize me. I drew the line at hiding out in a different country—the most likely being Canada—because if the time came that I needed to be at Samantha’s side quickly, the last thing I would have patience for is US/Canadian border customs. I’ve been moved all around the state of New York from crappy motel to crappier motel. Now I’m near the end of a two hour drive to Santa Clara from Carthage and if I have my way, I won’t be leaving my house for the next six months.

Leaning back, I glance over at the driver’s seat. Marcus hasn’t said a word to me in nearly two hours. Can’t say I blame him, all things considered. But even he’ll admit these circumstances are far from normal and they do say desperate times call for desperate measures. I wonder vaguely whether he’ll give me the gun back even after I pointed it at him when he tried to stop me hotwiring a car in the motel parking lot. I’m guessing not.

“You’re lucky I didn’t break your fucking neck,” Marcus growls, still looking straight ahead at the road. “That’s what my training tells me to do, Young, especially when some rich young punk decides to point a fucking gun between my eyes.”

I snort a laugh, covering it with a cough. “You could have just let me take the car, played stupid like you thought I was still in the room,” I remind him.

He gives me a look of warning. “Are you going to tell me what was in that email?”

Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “They’re monitoring her calls and moves. Following her. Watching her. They’re too close and apparently even my security team can’t keep them back.”

“So we’re back to the inside leak?”

I nod. “I’m no closer to knowing who it is, though I have my thoughts.”

“Look, Matt, I know you’re concerned, but this rushing off in the middle of the night bullshit has to stop. You want me to do things that could have me thrown into federal prison and you don’t even give me any real answers. I’ve got a lot on the line for you right now and you need to start letting me in—”

Marcus’ lecture is interrupted by a call on his cell phone. “West,” he snaps into the handset. I look over at him as he listens and I’m on edge again as I see his shoulders tense, his fingers grip the steering wheel more tightly. “You’re sure?” His eyes dart to mine. “When?” He listens intently for a few moments and his eyes close very briefly. “We’ll be there in ten.”

“What?” I demand the moment he switches the phone off.

With another darting glance at me, he reaches beneath his seat and I watch in confusion as he passes me my handgun. “I’m giving this back to you on the grounds that you’re not going to do anything stupid,” he tells me. “The other agents will not hesitate to shoot it out of your hand if you stop listening to our orders for even a second. Is that clear?”

I hesitantly take the gun. “Marcus,” I say, feeling my heart beating in my throat. “What’s going on?”

“Three of your security guards at the house are dead. Necks snapped. They cut the power to the house, killed anyone who got in their way...” He trails off, unable to finish the statement.

“Samantha and Tyler?” I whisper, gripping the gun in my hand.

“Not there,” he says grimly.

I smile in relief that is so short-lived I remind myself not to react until I know the entire story next time. “Where are they?”

“Don’t know. They’ve been taken.”

The rest of the drive is a complete blur. Marcus’ car breezes past the entrance gate which is wide open and I see several sets of flashing lights in my driveway.

“Leave that for now,” Marcus tells me, looking at the gun as he puts the car in park. “Those aren’t my guys,” he nods towards the team of agents swarming my front lawn, “and I’m not in the mood to negotiate your release from jail for carrying a gun without a permit.”

I nod my agreement and shove it beneath my seat, jumping out of the car. The power is back on—lights are flooding the yard, every lamp inside my house seems to be lit. There are people everywhere, none of them I know. I search their faces for my guys—Leo or Mike or Brandon. I wonder who was killed. Knowing Samantha and Tyler aren’t here is both a relief and terrifying. If they’re not here, they could still be alive. But if they’re not here, where the hell are they?

Marcus and I speak to the lead investigating agents, several of whom recognize me, none of whom stupid enough to mention it. Finally I’m allowed to get into my house and everywhere I look, my heart wrenches as I see signs of struggle. Photos that were once hanging on the wall leading upstairs are broken or smashed. There are holes in the walls themselves, fists or feet. I stop at the top of the staircase as I see the wooden baseball bat I keep in my basement gym. I wonder whether Samantha found it and was using it as protection. My office is turned upside down, only my aquarium is untouched. Chairs have been sliced by knives, drawers pulled from the desk. The lighted display case where I keep my favorite trinkets that I’ve developed over the years has been smashed open and I notice immediately the microchip is missing. Inwardly, I gloat. They grabbed the wrong one. Again.

It won’t be long until they realize their mistake, which is probably why they have Samantha and Tyler. I leave the office and head down the hall to where I can see something lying in the doorframe to Tyler’s bedroom. All the breath in my body rushes out at the sight of a stuffed toy penguin. Reaching down, I pick it up and hold it close for a moment, wondering how long it took for Tyler to discover it in here. I bought it years ago. For him. Even though at that point I didn’t know if he’d ever see it, let alone play with it. I imagine him curled up in his bed, holding his penguin to his chest as he slept and some stranger coming in and yanking him from his bed. Was he awake? Was he scared? Did he cry when he dropped his penguin? Or did he inherit my deep sleeping patterns and not wake up at all? For his sake, I hope it was the last.

Turning away, still gripping my son’s toy, I start down the stairs again. Whoever did this is going to pay. And if anyone harms my family, I’ll fucking kill them.

I’ve never been so frustrated with a federal police investigation as I am right now. People are scattered all around my house, trying to collect clues and evidence and I’m sitting around being fucking useless. Marcus quickly gave me no other option but to sit idly by while he and his teams did their jobs; within thirty seconds, I was ready to yank out my hair. I don’t understand why we’re just staying here while Samantha and Tyler are
God knows where. Time is of the essence. If my suspicion on who has taken them is accurate, anything could be happening to them right now. I stand suddenly from the bar stool in my kitchen, drawing Marcus’s attention across the room. He raises an eyebrow at me, reminding me I’ve been told to stay put. I gesture that I’m just going upstairs; he nods reluctantly, knowing me well enough to know how easily I could give him the slip, especially in my own home.

But I have no intention of giving him the slip. At least not right now. I head upstairs into my bedroom, noticing immediately it doesn’t seem like anyone’s been in here for months. I’d half-expected Sam to move directly in here, since it’s the place we spent most of our time and made several hundred very wonderful memories. Though I can understand if she needed to separate herself from such constant reminders of those memories. For the hundredth time, I imagine what our reunion will be like. The look of joy on her face reflecting what I would be feeling internally. Incredulousness. Possible severe annoyance for making her think I was dead. I have every intention of dragging her back in here once things calm down and spending as much time as possible with her, reacquainting ourselves with each other.

There are still so many things she and I need to discuss, of course. What it is we want; though I know exactly what I want and it involves her and my son back in my life on a very permanent basis. I have to assure her she’s safe, despite what’s gone on recently. I know I’ll need to convince her she’s who I want, who I’ve always wanted, and who I will always want. There is nobody else for me and I believe with every bone in my body she feels the same about me. And once things settle, we can get back to where we’re supposed to be—married again, increasing our family. I missed so much of my son’s life and I regret that. I never saw him take his first steps or heard him speak his first words. I didn’t teach him to ride a bike or read him bedtime stories or any of the things I promised myself I would do for him. Even as a teenager, I swore I wouldn’t raise my child the way I was raised—with an absent father. Of course I understood why my father was away so much; Navy life tends to do that. But I always wished he was there more often and that we had a better relationship than the one we have even now. I wanted to be there for my son and I failed in that duty. That will change and when (if) Samantha and I have more children, I will be there for them every step of the way.

Rubbing my hand over my face roughly, I head out of my bedroom and down the hall to my office. I’m going to have my work cut out for me cleaning this mess... Luckily my fish are unharmed. I sit back behind my desk, switching on my computer and trying to take stock of anything that might be missing or broken. Only a few of my prototypes were actually in complete working order and none of those would spark any interest for the people who have taken my family. The missing chip is slightly worrisome, but that’s easy enough to remotely destroy to ensure it can’t be used for its intended uses.

I’m feeling anxious again as I pull up several different programs, the first of which is a long shot in locating Samantha and Tyler, but it certainly won’t harm anything. At least I really hope it won’t...

When I developed the chip for the IRS, I’d been experimenting with shrinking the size of GPS trackers. My first dozen attempts were useless—the trackers worked, but only reached about twenty feet out. Not really all that useful in practice. Eventually I realized making a useful compact GPS tracker was easier than I was making it out to be. I’d been overcomplicating things. The day I placed both the chip and tracker into Tyler’s watch, I had no idea whether the latter would actually work since I hadn’t had much time for field testing.

The first thing I did when my plane touched down in Italy was to logon to check the status of the chip. Much to both my relief and delight, I could find Tyler’s location accurately to within twelve feet. And I knew his location to be true when I checked with the guards I assigned to keep my son and Samantha safe. At the time, I’d only wanted peace of mind that Tyler was in no harm; I never actually believed I’d have to use the tracker to physically find him. Of course there’s the concern that he’s no longer wearing the watch or that somebody took it from him.

Waiting for the program to boot, I notice the surveillance program my company developed has been used recently. I bring it up and feel my blood freeze for a moment before it boils again. Frank fucking Marone. He’s sitting in his office at East Coast Travel alternately writing something and glancing with what I can only describe as an expectant expression at his desk phone. Having once been my friend, I trusted Frank more than most. By the time I ended our business and personal relationship I would have been much more at ease dragging him out to the woods and getting him out of the picture altogether.

Leo and I have known him for years, and I should have trusted my judgment on that first meeting. Frank can be a nice enough guy when he wants to be—usually when there’s something in it for him—but some of the decisions he’s made for his business dealings are downright illegal. I don’t have any proof aside from my gut instinct, but I believe Frank has gotten into the arms dealing business with a side gig dealing drugs.. Even Leo knows there’s something off about him and his supposed travel agency; more than once Bonnie has mentioned seeing some very shady characters pulling up to the building in the middle of the night. She’s smart enough not to be seen by those people and it’s left an unpleasant taste in her mouth about Frank.

Samantha met him once, though I doubt she remembers. It was at a party during which I was working to get funding for a new project and was one of the first times I brought her along to such an event. She’d looked gorgeous, of course, in a little black dress and her hair styled. And I suppose I can’t blame Frank for flirting with her—if it had been the first time I’d seen her, I wouldn’t have rested until she agreed to go out with me—but the moment he realized she was with me, his entire demeanor changed. He’d made her incredibly uncomfortable and that alone should have been enough for me to permanently imprint my fist in his face, but the leering, lustful looks he shot her for the rest of the night made me nervous and protective enough not to let her out of my sight for longer than absolutely necessary. She wrote the evening off as Frank drinking too much and hitting on her, which was fine with me; the less she realized the better. But I never trusted Frank enough to invite him to my home when Samantha was around.

Watching Frank now, I have to wonder what he’s been up to these last few months. I’m well aware of his involvement in my current situation, though I don’t know how he seems to think he’ll benefit from this. The minute I lay eyes on him, he’s going to regret ever crossing me.

Finally my tracking program loads and it takes only a few taps on the keyboard to get a very rough map pulled up. It takes another minute or so once I’ve activated the tracker before it begins to hone in on its target. I almost laugh when the coordinates pop up on the screen and I quickly commit to memory the surroundings. It’s right on the edge of a lake, about forty-five minutes drive. Relief hits me; I know I’ve found my family. Now that I’ve got a rough idea of where they are, I pull my phone from my back pocket and turn it on for the first time in weeks, then leave the office to find Marcus.

-------------o-------------

Even before opening my eyes, I know something is very wrong. My head aches, my throat hurts, and I’m queasy. Taking a few quick breaths, I run through the last few things I remember, none of which puts me at ease in the slightest. I try to figure out where I am. All I can conclude is that I’m lying on a wooden floor that’s moving. The air is musty and humid.

Every part of me hurts, but the moment I hear a tiny sniffle, I’m completely alert. My eyes snap open and look around until they find the little boy huddled up in a corner. “Tyler,” I whisper, pushing myself into a sitting position and watch as his head whips around and his eyes widen at the sight of me. “Come here, baby.”

I didn’t need to say the words; he’s already halfway across the tiny room, then he’s in my lap shaking and crying and holding onto me. I breathe him in, gently running my hands all over his body to check for injuries. He seems unharmed. Thank
God. “Are you okay, sweetie?” I ask him.

He nods, nuzzling himself further into me. I don’t know where we are, but I need to get us out of here. Before that I need to know what the immediate threats may be. “Tyler, have you seen any people?” I ask him.

Again he nods, looking up at me. “A woman,” he whispers. “She brought me in here. She told me we’ll be okay.”

Blinking, I process this information. “Do you remember what the woman looked like?”

“Tall,” Tyler says decisively. “Taller than you. And dark hair.”

“Was she old or young?”

Tyler purses his lips together in thought. “Old,” he says. “As old as you.”

In any other situation, I might laugh at my son’s idea of “old.” “Was there anyone else? Any men?”

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “And I think we’re on a boat.”

“A boat?” I repeat. That’s actually helpful. “Why do you think that?”

“Because it feels like it did when Tom and me went fishing on Matt’s boat,” he says. “And Tom got sick because the boat was rocking so much.”

Tom got seasick? That’s news to me. Another tidbit to file away for later amusement. “Have we moved?”

Tyler shakes his head, his hair going everywhere. “Don’t think so,” he tells me.

I take a deep breath and, holding my son in my arms, push myself to my feet, giving myself a moment to adjust for the rocking motions beneath me. We tiptoe to the one little porthole in the room and I look out, trying to gather my bearings. From what I can tell, we’re still docked, though I have no idea
where
we’re docked. It doesn’t look familiar, which means it’s not Matthew’s dock. We could be anywhere. There aren’t any sounds above us, no footsteps, no voices, so I briefly consider making a run for it. The only problem being wherever we go, we’d be lost and if someone caught up to us, we’d be screwed. Despite not knowing what level of danger we’re currently in, I can’t risk putting Tyler in anymore.

I walk us back to the spot where I woke up and sit down, trying to keep my emotions in check. There’s a crash of some sort just above us and I have to place my hand over my son’s mouth to keep him from yelping too loudly. I listen intently at the low, grumbling voices that I can’t quite make out. Lowering my hand from Tyler’s mouth, I try to relax, though I know it’s not doing either of us any good right now and it’s certainly not fooling my son.

“Are you scared, Mommy?” he asks me very quietly, resting his head on my chest.

I could lie. Tell him I’m not scared and he shouldn’t be either. “Yes, baby, I’m scared,” I whisper.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

Smiling genuinely, I kiss his forehead. “I know you will.” I start to say something else but I can hear footsteps approaching the door just feet from us. Instinctively, I gather Tyler against me and push back with my feet until I’m resting against a wall. Someone tests the doorknob before finally turning it. An unfamiliar woman enters the room. Though it’s too dark to see her in great detail, I can tell she’s got long dark hair and she’s tall.

“Mommy, that’s her.” Tyler stretches up to whisper the words in my ear. I nod, wrapping him more tightly in my arms.

“Well, it’s good to see you awake, Samantha,” says the woman. “I do apologize for the less than stellar surroundings, but it was the best we could get at the last minute.”

“Who are you?” I ask, my voice stronger than what I’m actually feeling. “What do you want?”

She raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. “We’ll get to that,” she says dismissively. “In the meantime, are you comfortable? If you’re cold, I can fetch a few blankets.”

“We’re fine,” I say icily. “Though I would appreciate it if you took us home. My son needs to sleep before school in the morning.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. As valuable as an education is, I think you have bigger things to worry about,” she says smoothly.

“Like what?”

“Like where I might find Matthew Young.”

My eyes widen and I swear to God, I almost laugh. “Good luck with that,” I say. “From what I understand he’s all over Europe. Literally.”

Amusement flashes across her expression and I really want to slap it off. “The sad thing is you really believe that,” she murmurs thoughtfully. My eyes widen at her words and my breathing is shallow, though I have no idea what she might mean by them. “Okay, we’ll try a different track. Where’s the chip?”

I try to keep my expression as blank as I can, though inside I’m on the verge of panic. If I’m right about Matthew’s actions, this chip she’s looking for is much closer than she knows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say evenly.

Irritation flashes across the woman’s face. “Don’t play games with me,” she threatens in a low voice. “You are not in any position to pretend you don’t know exactly what’s going on right now.”