In the shadow of truth s.., p.15
In the Shadow of Truth: (Shadow Series Book 3), page 15
It was a question she couldn’t answer, so she remained silent. The way she felt at that moment, her heart might never sing again.
Dominic leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands thoughtfully across his belly. “What of your friend? Is there no hope?”
“I’m afraid that’s over.”
“Over for her. Not for you.”
“Unfortunately, the result is the same.”
Dominic nodded regretfully. “I am sorry for the both of you.”
“So am I.”
With nothing else to say about the subject, and their business concluded, Kathryn got up and promised that, from now on, her work would please him.
Dominic rose and took her hand. “Do not do it for me, Kathryn. Do it for yourself—because you love it. Because it moves you.”
Easier said than done, she thought to herself, as she left his office and headed to her dressing room. It should move her, and she didn’t have to wonder when it stopped, only marvel that she hadn’t noticed.
Kathryn sat at her vanity and reached for her powder. She glanced at herself in the mirror and did a double take. For weeks, she had been looking but not seeing. She hadn’t seen the dark circles under her lower lids, or her sallow skin, or the way her tired eyes narrowed in protest under even the softest light.
She closed the windows to her soul, not wanting to see the emptiness she knew she’d find there. She didn’t want to see who she’d become or acknowledge what she had lost.
Smitty was right. Something had to change. She had tried to lose herself in her assignments. It had worked in the past. She would embrace her character, become the product of her lies. It was a well-worn pattern, almost automatic.
She tried convincing herself that that’s what she had done with Jenny—played a role, as ordered. It just hurt less. But she knew that wasn’t true. She had been in love. Really in love. The truth made losing Jenny that much harder, made her assignments that much more repulsive. Instead of embracing her considerable power over Forrester and Bouchaule, she found herself torn, desperately trying to hold on to the woman Jenny saw and loved while, at the same time, denying that woman ever existed.
Kathryn put her elbows on the vanity counter and rubbed her temples, trying to stave off the wave of conflicting emotions.
She allowed herself some anger toward Jenny for showing her how to love and then leaving her to flounder without it. But the worst part was that Jenny didn’t believe in them. She didn’t believe in her.
The pain of it twisted around her heart and threatened to spiral her anger into grief. There was no place in her life for the anger or the grief. Breathe. Just breathe. She let the emotion flow through her like the wind blowing through an empty house and then let it go. It wasn’t Jenny’s fault, and she forgave her for leaving. Her lack of trust was understandable, and while she was in the forgiving mood, she forgave herself, admitting there was nothing she could have done differently.
This time when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t flinch at her reflection. No more would she use Jenny’s love to punish herself. Instead, she would embrace it, use it to give her strength. A burden lifted, and a warmth she’d thought she’d lost filled her heart. She shed tears finally, not because she’d lost Jenny, but because she’d found something good in herself through their love.
Smitty knocked on the door and entered, uninvited.
Kathryn wiped a tear from her cheek as he appeared behind her in the mirror.
He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s about time,” he said of her tears.
She smiled at his reflection and pressed her cheek to his hand.
“I’m sorry, Smitty. I’ve been horrid.”
“Skip it. Are you okay?”
She looked up into his concerned eyes as a reassuring peace settled about her. “I’m going to be.”
Smitty squeezed her shoulder. “That’s right, honey.”
He seemed as relieved as she was, but she wondered if he really understood.
“I really loved her, you know.”
“I know you do.”
Kathryn turned and looked up in appreciation.
Smitty offered her a tight-lipped smile. “I know you miss her.”
Kathryn nodded and turned to the mirror again. She did miss her, but the tears were for having found her again, and this time she would keep her with her always.
The sounds of the band tuning their instruments drifted up from the club below, and Kathryn earnestly wiped the tears away to prepare for rehearsal. She didn’t feel joy for her music just then, but she knew she would again, and soon, and that was enough.
After Smitty left, she warmed up properly for the first time in weeks and then went downstairs, where she would let music soothe her ravaged soul.
Jenny smiled curtly at the secretary in the outer office and then slammed the door behind her as she left her meeting and entered the hallway.
“Arrogant son of a bitch,” she said under her breath. To be threatened with removal from the Ryan case was not what she had expected when she had entered Colonel Holmes’s office.
“I am very disappointed in you, Miss Ryan,” he had said, his clipped British accent telegraphing his annoyance. “You should have come to us with this information immediately, not taken it upon yourself to investigate. You could have blown your cover, gotten caught, tipped our hand—myriad things could have gone wrong, all spelling disaster for our case.” He shook his head in disgust. “I think your involvement has been a mistake.”
Jenny stood up, astonished at his lack of gratitude. “Now see here, Colonel! You’ve been crawling up my uncle’s behind for how long? And what did it get you—nothing. I practically walk in off the street and I bring you the biggest break you’ve gotten so far.”
She leaned in on the desk to show him she meant business. “You need me, Colonel, because I can see things your people can’t. This is my fam—” She stopped herself, having banished the word from her vocabulary when speaking of the Ryans. “I know these people. No one you have knows them better.” She sat down and raised her chin in confidence. “You’ll keep me on this case because you’re closer to the truth with me than without me.”
She watched Colonel Holmes weigh her outburst against the truth of her words. “You’re a high-spirited young woman, Miss Ryan. But don’t think for one moment you are indispensable. Insubordination will not be tolerated, do you understand?”
Jenny swallowed her pride. “Yes, sir.”
“You will not visit that warehouse again. Is that understood?”
She wanted to point out that the warehouse was not under his jurisdiction, and more than that, it not only contained information he sought, but also information about the Ryan family that would fill in the blank spaces she didn’t even know existed. She bit down on her objection and repeated a meek “Yes, sir” instead.
If Colonel Holmes was pleased with her find, he didn’t show it. Jenny thought it was grand though, smiling proudly as she handed over the film from her small agency-issued Minox camera.
At first, she thought the warehouse had been a bust. What she assumed was furniture turned out to be printing presses and various items used in the print business. Stacked neatly were boxes and boxes of blank envelopes and reams of paper. Several boxes contained copies of Daniel Ryan’s three medical journals. She was reminded that she had given Kathryn a set that she had never returned—another reason to dislike the woman.
Jenny was confused for a moment as to who owned the contents of the unit. More searching revealed personal Ryan family keepsakes. There were old photos, college sporting trophies for the two brothers, etching plates from her grandmother’s artwork—all forgotten traces of lives left behind. The warehouse was a Ryan family catchall, it seemed.
It was all very interesting but not what she came for. A large locked desk was the pot of gold at the end of the footprints in the dusty floor.
She made quick work of the lock and tugged on the old oak desk’s center drawer, releasing the locking mechanism for the file drawers to each side. To her surprise, instead of files, the deep drawers contained money—lots of it. Cash, in hundred-dollar bills, in neatly banded piles. She couldn’t even fathom a guess at how much lay before her, and because of the weakening batteries in her flashlight, she didn’t have time to count it.
She opened the large center drawer and found a ledger book. It tracked cash transactions dating back years. To her shock, the handwriting was Daniel Ryan’s. She turned to the most recent entries and found Calvin Richards’ name prevalent, but in Paul’s hand. The amounts to him weren’t significant, and she cringed, as it appeared he had been paying him to woo her. She followed the entries back a year and found a gap in the dates—several months of inactivity after Daniel Ryan’s death. The entries then started again, with Paul Ryan the new accountant. Jenny didn’t recognize any of the other names on the pages. Some were common between the two men, others recent additions to Paul’s regime. She found the entries to Calvin Richards calming. Somehow, she found a modicum of relief in the fact that Paul knew the man as Cal Richards and not some imposter bent on treachery. But still, the redheaded man remained a mystery.
She pulled out her miniature camera and took photos of the ledger, starting with the most recent entries and going back for as long as her film and the batteries in her flashlight held out. When her light began to fade, she made sure she put everything back exactly the way she found it. Her light had almost gone, but she couldn’t resist opening one last box to take a peek.
She blinked when she was met with pictures of herself. She held her fading light closer and realized they were pictures of her mother. The rest of the room faded away as she reverently reached into the box, gently parting the contents to see every precious item inside. She found pictures, letters, small books of poetry, and weaving its way through the woman’s history was a brightly colored silk scarf. From the unique pattern, Jenny recognized it from the picture in the study. She gently removed the scarf from the box and touched it to her cheek. She smelled it, hoping against hope her mother’s scent would still be there. The scarf revealed nothing of its owner, and Jenny wilted in disappointment. She closed her eyes and clutched the smooth fabric to her heart. It was the only tangible piece of her mother’s existence, and it was all she could do not to take it with her.
She was angry at Daniel Ryan for keeping these things from her. He’d reduced her mother to a picture on an expensive piano and relegated her life to a few memories in a musty box.
Jenny opened her eyes to find her flashlight almost extinguished. She shook the heavy metal cylinder in her hand, begging it to give her a few more moments of light, but beyond a brief flickering, she could coax no such grace from it.
She reluctantly closed the lid on the only family she had but vowed to return—and next time, she would be prepared with fresh batteries and more film.
* * *
As Jenny stormed down the busy halls of headquarters with a reprimand ringing in her ears, she could barely contain her anger. Colonel Holmes couldn’t possibly understand how important the contents of that box were to her. To hell with the Ryan family and their dirty little secrets. The OSS could have them, and good riddance. She had to spend the rest of the day at the Daily Chronicle, but no one was going to keep her from learning about her mother.
“Stay away from that warehouse my ass,” she muttered.
The shocks on Jenny’s car groaned with every dip into the minefield of potholes on the dimly lit road to the industrial district. She was glad she’d had the fender repaired or she would’ve blown another tire. As she crept along, she wished she were in her first car—an old Ford coupe. It would have been a little less conspicuous than her relatively rare Cord, and a lot less expensive to repair should all the jarring shake the wheels off.
She’d driven by the entrance to the warehouse section several times, and, to her dismay, found the area quite active for nine o’clock on a Monday night. She was afraid she’d never get to the storage unit unseen, so she devised a new plan.
She parked in a fairly populated portion of the district so that her car wouldn’t stand out, and pockets weighed down with fresh batteries and plenty of film, she made her way through a break in the chain-link fence behind the warehouse she sought and waited patiently in the shadows until the coast was clear.
Her lock picks at the ready, she snuck around the building and kneeled before the large padlock. She picked the lock quickly this time and allowed herself a proud chuckle as she set the defeated lock aside and lifted the large bay door. She quickly ducked inside and pulled the door down behind her.
She rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “Okay, Momma, here I come.”
She felt as though she were meeting the woman for the first time, and her heart swelled as she pulled the flashlight from the back of her waistband and turned on the switch. She aimed her light at the center of the room and stood in stunned disbelief as she stared into an empty shell.
“No,” she breathed.
“What the—” She rushed forward and focused her light into each corner. There was nothing left. No trace of the contents that filled the room the night before—even the floor had been swept.
“This isn’t happening.”
She panicked and hoped, all at the same time, that she’d broken into the wrong unit. She quickly ducked outside and trained her light on the number under the unit’s smashed lightbulb. It was the right place. She shook off her disbelief and closed the door and replaced the lock.
She ran to her car, hopped in, and drove until her heart stopped pounding out of her chest. She pulled to the side of the road and tried to process what had just happened. She certainly couldn’t confront Colonel Holmes. He would know she disobeyed his direct orders. What would happen when Uncle Paul found out?
“Damn it!” She pounded the steering wheel in frustration.
The OSS could have the rest, but that one box—her mother’s box—belonged to her. She looked at the road sign in front of her car. If she turned left, it would take her home. If she turned right, it would take her to Kathryn’s apartment. She would know what to do. She might even know where they would take the contents of the storage unit, and if she didn’t, maybe Smitty would, or could find out.
Turning to Kathryn for help was almost too much to swallow, and it made Jenny a little sick to even consider it, but then she reasoned, turnabout was fair play. Kathryn had used her to get information, why couldn’t she do the same? If Kathryn truly cared about her, as she claimed, it would be easy to get back into her good graces. Once there, she could easily convince her to help, and once she got what she wanted, Kathryn would get a taste of her own medicine.
Jenny stared at the road sign, weighing her decision. She looked in the rearview mirror and angled it until she could see her face. She closed her eyes and exhaled. Kathryn wouldn’t hesitate to do such a thing. That’s what made her a great agent. Jenny wanted to be a great agent.
She centered the Cord’s back window in the rearview mirror and then turned left, toward home.
Kathryn mingled in the main lobby of the hotel while she waited for Marcus Forrester to arrive. He had made a day trip out of a community award ceremony and had yet to return to town. Kathryn marveled at the public’s perception of the man. His industrial endeavors courted favor with the communities they supported, and all the while his dark pursuits ran swiftly under the surface, like the sewers beneath their feet, contaminating the unsuspecting sea with its silent poison.
Kathryn recognized the usual offenders. They appeared anxious as they looked at their watches and nervously scanned the crowd. Negotiations were coming to a head, and anything out of the ordinary set everyone on edge. Kathryn looked at her watch. Forrester was late.
A busboy approached and handed her a note. It was not the explanation she expected. It was an invitation to one of the rooms upstairs. She gave a final glance around the crowded hall and quietly slipped away.
“Thierry, this is outrageous,” she said, shouldering past the Frenchman and into his room. “Marc will arrive at any moment, and I’ve got to—”
She was interrupted by a passionate kiss, to which she momentarily surrendered with the expected moan before pushing away.
“Are you mad?” she said, pretending she was flustered.
Bouchaule smiled and went to the bar, where he poured two glasses of champagne. “Apparently as mad as you, because you are here.” He held out a glass. “I have it on good authority that Mr. Forrester has been delayed.” He looked at his watch. “For forty-five minutes, at least.”
Kathryn ignored the glass and feigned trepidation. “Then he’ll call, and I’ve got to—”
She was interrupted by the ringing phone.
“I believe that is for you.”
Bouchaule smirked and turned down the soft music in the background. Evidently, he’d instructed the concierge to forward Forrester’s call.
Kathryn picked up the phone with an incredulous glance to her host.
“Hello? Yes, darling.” She cradled the phone like she cared. “Yes, the fog was dreadful here too. When will you arrive?”
Bouchaule smiled on cue when he heard Forrester’s voice through the receiver say, “In forty-five minutes.” Kathryn shook her head at his conceit.
“Yes, Marc. Please be careful. I’ll see you soon.”
She hung up the phone with a capitulating grin and, this time, took the offered glass of champagne.
“I suppose you arranged the weather too.”
He raised his glass. “You would be surprised by what I can arrange.”
“Mm. You are full of surprises.”
He smiled and turned up the music, then he took the glasses and placed them on the serving cart beside the ice bucket and held out his hands. “Shall we dance?”
Kathryn swept into his embrace, where their bodies molded perfectly as they swayed to the rhythm of the mellow swing song.
