Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

She saw Boris standing at the base of the broad stairwell and said, “If she comes back, toss her ass onto the sidewalk.”

Rather than go back to her office, she ascended the stairs, continuing past the second floor and on to the third, through the doors with the security keypad, down the wide hallway lined with erotic, black-and-white photography.

She found Jeremy not at his desk but in the Winnebago. The door was open, and she saw him sitting inside at the tiny dining table, working on a laptop.

Roberta poked her head in and said, “Permission to come aboard.”

Jeremy looked away from the screen and smiled. “Permission granted.”

She stepped in and squeezed onto the cushion bench on the other side of the table. Jeremy’s attention had gone back to the screen.

“I love working in here,” he said. “A mini-office within the larger one. It feels like I’m somewhere else, on the road someplace. I’m doing a piece for the Times . Promised to get it to them by this evening. It’s for tomorrow’s edition, although they’re going to post it online soon as it’s ready.”

Roberta, who didn’t give a rat’s ass about what her boss was pontificating about for the Times , did not ask. Although she had to give him credit: the man could multitask. He could keep a young girl prisoner in his home and still bang out a think piece for the country’s biggest newspaper. Nothing was going to stop him from sharing his brilliance with as wide an audience as possible.

She said, “This issue has to be resolved.”

A brief look of puzzlement crossed his face, as if wondering what she was referencing. Roberta glared at him, figuring he’d piece it together eventually.

“Oh, yes,” he said.

“We just had one of Nicky’s friends at the door, asking if she was here. One of the first rules of the house is, you don’t tell strangers you work here. That stupid Nicky. If she told that girl, who else might she have told? What if, at some point, someone in an official capacity comes knocking?”

“I’d make a call. Get the chief on the line, tell him we were being harassed.”

“That might not work. They come with a warrant, there’s really nothing we can do.”

Jeremy strummed his fingers on the tabletop. “If somebody comes, gag her, sedate her, stuff her somewhere until they’re gone. Move her off the property if you have to.”

“And take her where?”

“Roberta, why do I employ you?” Before she could offer a response, he said, “I pay you to solve problems. I pay you to put out fires.”

“With all respect, Jeremy, this place is going to burn to the ground if you don’t sort this out soon.”

Jeremy tented his fingers. “Sit tight. Help is on the way.”

New Haven, CT

They’d gotten off to a late start.

Shortly after Miles had told Chloe to get ready to go, Dorian received two unrelated messages about ongoing issues at Cookson Tech — one was a frivolous lawsuit by another software developer who’d alleged one of Cookson’s travel apps infringed on its copyright, and the other was an update on a medical app that would help people self-diagnose — and Dorian felt strongly that Miles needed to make some decisions with regard to them.

That ended up taking nearly two hours, and by then it was time for lunch, so they didn’t leave for wherever it was Miles wanted to go until nearly one in the afternoon. Chloe made two calls. One was to the diner to tell them she had a family emergency, which she chose not to elaborate on, and would be gone indefinitely. The other call was to reply to a voice mail from her mother, wanting to know where she was and when she would be coming home.

“I’m gonna have to tell her,” she said to Miles.

“Your call,” he said.

So she retreated to the guest room for privacy and phoned her mother. When she answered, Chloe said, “I found him. I found my real father.”

Her mother was stunned into speechlessness to the point that Chloe thought the call had dropped out.

“Are you there?”

Finally, her mother said, “Found out... who he is? Found out where he lives?”

“Yes, and yes, and I’m with him right now.” She told her mother his name and where she was.

Another moment of silence. “How did you — was it that WhatsMyStory thing again?”

“Not this time. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. And I’m okay. Trust me.”

Chloe’s mother asked, “Is he... nice?”

“Yes.” She paused to make sure she had control over her voice. “And he’s sick. He’s not so bad right now, at least most of the time, but he’s going to get worse.”

Her mother’s voice softened. “Then it’s a good thing you found him when you did.”

When Chloe ended the call, she sat on the edge of the bed and started to cry. She’d been caught off guard by her mother’s reaction. She’d expected her to be angry. But what really released the tears was telling another person Miles was dying. Verbalizing it made it all the more real.

She’d known this man for such a short time, but she felt a connection.

Chloe liked him.

She realized that she genuinely cared about him, and hoped that they’d be able to get to know each other before his illness got much worse. She wanted to spend time with him, catch up on a lifetime of separation.

She grabbed a tissue and dabbed her eyes. She didn’t want to head back out there having anyone think she’d lost it.

Miles had explained to her earlier where they were headed: the ReproGold Clinic in New Rochelle. And he’d also explained why he wanted her to tag along.

“You’re smart,” he’d said. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. If I lose focus, you can put me back on the right path. And with all that’s been going on, I feel better knowing where you are. At least you’re not going to disappear on me.” After a pause, he’d added, “And you’re good company.”

So, after lunch, Miles and Chloe were in the back of the limo, Charise behind the wheel.

“Mr. Cookson, Ms. Swanson,” she had said, opening the door for them. Charise had quietly asked Miles what Chloe’s last name was so that she could address her appropriately.

“I think she’d be okay with Chloe,” he said. “And you can call me Miles.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Cookson.”

Once they were on their way, Miles shifted in his seat so he could look at Chloe more directly. He reached into his pocket for his phone. “When we get to the clinic, I’m going to have a few questions for Dr. Gold. I’m going to asking him specifically about these people.”

He opened a document on the phone’s screen and handed it to her. She looked at it and said, “Who are these people? I see my name and Todd’s and...” She looked at him. “Holy shit. This is them.”

“Yeah.”

“These are my half brothers and sisters.”

“It’s time for you to know everything.”

“Who are the missing ones?”

“Katie Gleave, Jason Hamlin, Dixon Hawley. You recognize any of those names?”

Chloe read through the list twice. “No.”

“None of them have been in touch?”

She shook her head. “Maybe Todd and me are the only ones who used WhatsMyStory. But this is for real? These are, like, these are your kids?”

“Sounds funny putting it that way, but yes.”

“So this clinic we’re going to, that’s the one you went to, way back when?”

Miles nodded. “I went to see him once before, since I got my diagnosis. He wasn’t very helpful. I’m hoping he’ll be more so, this time.”

Chloe grinned. “We’re going to rattle his cage.”