Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

Miles looked down at the table and shook his head. “Once I’ve tracked everyone down, had a chance to talk to them, see how they feel about this, then I can arrange for everyone to meet each other. Bring everyone together.” He cracked a grin. “I guess reunion would be the wrong word. An introduction.”

“Yeah, well, I guess. But they could be all over the place. Anywhere in the world.”

“I can cover that,” he said.

“Why? You rich or something?”

“Yes,” he said plainly.

“Oh,” Chloe said. She waved her arm at her surroundings. “I’m working on my first million here.” She shook her head wonderingly. “This is all so weird. And yeah, it’s a lot to take in. Here you are, just sitting there. I’m not sure I actually believe it.”

“Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know. I’m not saying you are. But it’s kind of hard to get my head around. All my life I’ve wondered who my honest-to-God father is, and now you’re here, and I think, shouldn’t I feel different? Is my life changed?”

“Maybe not yet,” he said.

Her face became serious. “So, why?”

“Why?”

“Why are you here? Why find me?”

“Why’d you get in touch with WhatsMyStory? There are things you wanted to know.”

“Okay, but I’m thinking, with you, there’s got to me more to it than that.”

This was going to be the hard part. “I had some tests done recently,” he said.

“Tests?”

“I was noticing some changes. Muscle-type things. Short-term memory lapses. Involuntary movements.”

“You seem okay.”

“It’s early days. Anyway, they checked me out, to see what might be wrong.”

And then he thought, I can’t tell her .

If she knew anything about Huntington’s, she’d immediately know she was at risk. He couldn’t drop a bomb like that on her. Not this fast. Tell her he had something that presented with similar symptoms. Something that wasn’t as likely to be passed on.

“I’ve got ALS,” he said. “Sometimes it’s called Lou Gehrig’s disease. That’s—”

“I know what it is. I visit my grandfather all the time at his seniors home. There’s someone there who has it. It’s a bad fucker.”

Miles smiled. “Yeah, it is. So, the clock’s ticking. Although I don’t know how fast. I’m considering... my legacy. I want to find the people I’d be leaving behind that I didn’t even know I had.”

“Okay.” This time, a tear escaped and ran down her cheek. “So, after all these years, in one hour, I find out who my dad is, and that I’m going to lose him.”

“Well, not right away.”

“Fuck,” Chloe said, grabbing another napkin and wiping the tear away. “I’m sorry. I’m making it sound like this is all about me. You’re the one who’s sick.”

There was so much more to tell. About what he intended to give her and the others. About how she would become very, very rich. And, eventually, the health threat she might face.

But that could come later.

Chloe sniffed a couple of times, pulled herself together.

“You know what I think I should do?” she said, attempting a smile.

“What?”

“Introduce you to Todd. You don’t have to show me your list. I know about him. I could kind of pave the way, ease him into it.”

Miles considered it.

“It’s a long way to go.”

“That’s okay. And you could send your driver home.” Chloe took a phone from her pocket, set it on the table. “I’ve got my Pacer parked out around back.”

“A Pacer?” Miles said, incredulous.

She flashed him a smile. “One of the wagon models. The radio doesn’t work and all the wood paneling has peeled off, but it gets the job done. You don’t have to get all snobby. What do you drive? A fucking Porsche?”

Miles started to tell her he’d just given it away, but held his tongue.

Chloe was tapping away on the phone, sending a text. “Todd always gets right back to me,” she said. “He’s kinda... strange? And his mom? She’s something else.” She laughed. “Like I’m normal. She’s the one who’s really into this whole trace-your-DNA thing and got Todd to do his.”

Chloe looked down at her phone again, the absence of a response.

“Huh,” she said. “He’s not answering. That’s weird.”

New Haven, CT

The day after Gilbert had shown her the list, Caroline found herself in a room at the Omni Hotel in the Yale University neighborhood. She was in one of the luxury units, on an upper floor, standing at the window with a view of the Yale campus. She could see the Sterling Memorial Library, the Law School Towers, the High Street Arch. Well, she could have seen those things had it not been for the black, silk Hermès scarf covering her eyes and knotted tightly at the back of her head.

She had followed his instructions explicitly.

Caroline was to go to the hotel desk at four in the afternoon — not one minute before and not one minute after — and ask for the room key that would be waiting for her.

She was then to go to the room, let herself in.

There would be a recently opened bottle of champagne, chilling, and two flutes. She was to fill one, have a drink, unwind.

A tub would already have been run for her. Caroline was to strip down, have a relaxing bath. She had mixed feelings about this part. Did he think she wasn’t clean enough? But she had to admit, he got the water temperature just right, and it was relaxing.

At half past four, she was to get out, dry off. When she came out of the bathroom, she was to slip into the intimate apparel laid out for her on the bed. Lingerie from Agent Provocateur, Bordelle, other high-end brands she’d seen in magazines but never felt she could afford.

And the scarf.

She was to go to the window, fold the scarf into a four-inchwide band, and tie it around her head, blindfolding herself.

And then she was to wait.

It might be no more than a minute. It might be ten. When she heard the door open, sensed someone coming into the room, she was not to move. He would approach silently, moving across the carpet as stealthily as a cat. She wouldn’t know he was there until she could feel his breath on her neck.

And then things would really start to get interesting.

This was their routine. This was how Broderick liked to find her. He’d been very specific about his desires, right from the first time. That had been months earlier, a week or so after he’d used his powers of persuasion with the service manager who had refused to do the necessary repairs on Caroline’s car for free.

It only seemed right to find a way to show her gratitude.

She had researched the court records to learn more about Broderick, starting with a last name. Broderick Stiles, forty-three years old. There had been an address attached to his name, but when she went to look for it, she found a vacant lot. She could find no phone record for him, and he certainly didn’t have a Facebook page or a Twitter handle.

So she kept going back to the coffee shop where they’d first met, hoping they’d cross paths again. She tried to go at the same time of day as when she had first met him, but after a week she became discouraged, and more than a little overcaffeinated. It was on the eighth day, while paying for her latte, when she heard someone behind her say, “Car running okay?”

“Oh!” she said, whirling around.

They sat at the same table where they’d first chatted. She said, “I don’t know what you said, but they fixed the car and they were very, very nice about it.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Broderick said.

“So what did you say?”