KATIE

 

I'm in the business of stealing secrets and then auctioning them off to the highest bidder. It's not the most noble profession in the world but it's one that has enabled me to live the life I want to live. It's enabled me to wake up every day on my own schedule and it has given me a sense of adventure that has never failed me.

Sometimes it can get quite dangerous. When you're dealing with people who have such dark secrets, it's always a possibility that they will come after you. Everyone has secrets. I certainly have my own. Everyone around me has secrets. Everyone on the streets, everyone I ever see, there are secrets all around me and yet, I’m the keeper of them.

But for the most part, the secrets people keep are of no interest to me. I don't care if your husband is cheating on you, or if you caught your son running an old woman over while he was drinking and driving and then moved swiftly to cover up the crime. The only way I would care about those scenarios is if they could be used for leverage and even then, the person would have to be willing to pay the right price.

Sometimes the secrets are nothing more than white lies used to discredit others in court testimonies. Other times, the secrets can be of the most urgent matter. In the name of the game of stealing secrets, I've certainly had my fair share of mishaps.

Once, I was almost prosecuted after I had been set up to steal the secret schematics of an up-and-coming technology start-up. It was an act of revenge by someone who believed I had wronged him. Thankfully, I had my two best friends beside me. And they were the ones who threw the first red flags in the air, they said something wasn't quite right and I chose to believe them. And because I believed them, I saved myself from a life in prison.

After that situation, one would think that I would try and change my ways, but if I'm being honest, I simply have too much fun doing what I do. Again, it all goes back to being able to do what I want to do, when I want to do it, and how I want to do it.

I once came into contact with a man named Seth Grimm. It was at his request that I found the location of a sworn enemy of his. Once I had that information, I sent him a briefing on where he could find the man. The next day I woke up to the news that that man had died in the middle of the night. How he died? By being tied to a railroad track just as a train was approaching.

I think that's when I sold my soul.

I began working for Seth Grimm because he paid very well. He paid more than most others were willing to pay. Others would scoff at his prices and to be honest most of the time it was easy work. And I love money so I wasn’t about to turn down easy work.

Eventually though, even though he had hired me to steal secrets from others in exchange for money, he ended up stealing something far more important from me.

My brother.

He said that he had just gotten tired of paying me to do what he knew he could get me to do for free. And I was defenseless to stop him. It should've been a warning sign for me to get out of the game. But by staying in the game, and by extension continuing to work for Seth, I knew it was the only way I would ever be able to find my brother.

And then the bastard died. Not once but twice. And neither time was I able to be the one to pull the trigger. With Seth and all his associates long gone from the world, blown to hell and back in a timed explosion, his secrets went to the grave with him. And out of all the secrets I ever sold to him and out of all of the secrets he kept in his dark soul, there was only one that piqued my interest.

My brother is out there somewhere. He is somewhere in this world and just when I had given up hope that I would never find him, I received a tip. You see, a little birdie got in touch with me and told me that there was one man left in this world who knows where my brother is.

But I'm not stupid, even with the help of my associates, I wouldn't try to pry this particular secret from this man's hand on my own. There is simply too much to risk if it would go wrong.

So here I am left with a problem that I can't solve. Not on my own anyways.

To take down the man who knows where my brother is, I'm going to need the help of somebody else. The problem is that nobody seems to want to go against this man. He calls himself Christopher Lawson and somehow he survived the explosion at the Grimm Industry tower.

From what I've heard, he's a well-connected and dangerous man. And though I've survived going against strong men before, I'm not willing to take this particular risk of my own.

That's where Dominic Ford comes into play. 

# # #

Alice Parker has been my best friend since we were in preschool together. Long after her light blonde locks had faded into more of a strawberry blonde, our bond remained as tight as ever. We went to colleges on separate sides of the country but always kept into contact.

And in the days following college, days that were filled with anxiety about getting a real job and stepping foot out into the real adult world, the two of us came back together. Both of us were tired of the job hunt and were anxious to get on with our lives and that's when she pitched an idea to me. She threw her strawberry blonde hair over one shoulder and cocked a curious gaze my way.

It was she who first came up with the idea of stealing secrets. Back in the day, the art of thievery usually pertained to the theft of valuable possessions. There are thieves known throughout the world who make their marks by breaking into safes and banks. There are thieves who make their name by stealing diamonds, and there are thieves who make their money by stealing art.

There are even thieves hired by the government to steal information. These people are often called spies, but my friends and I don’t slap that label on ourselves. We are independent contractors with a laser focus on one goal; to make as much money as possible and have a great time doing it. We don't let moral objections stand in our way. We don't consider ourselves either good or bad, quite contrary we find ourselves somewhere in between—neutral, I suppose, would be the proper adjective.

Instead, we are merrily mercenaries for sale to the highest bidder. We've been on a little bit of a hiatus though because lately things have gotten stale. But the three of us—Alice and I, and our mutual friend and partner in crime, Tosha—still sit away in our hideout shooting the shit. We talk about anything and everything while sipping on hard liquor. We talk about our nonexistent love lives and we reminisce about former heists and adventures.

On this particular night, at three in the morning on a Sunday when all the world is sleeping, Alice and I find ourselves sitting alone in the dark recesses of our sky loft.

It’s not of the most suspect place for women like us to hide out and do our business. Most of the people who do what we do hide deep underground, in lairs underneath old abandoned factories, for instance. But I live my life by the motto that it's easier to avoid detection when you're living amongst the crowd.

In the large open space, there is a lounge and a kitchen. There's even a bar too because us three women love our hard liquor. Off to the side is a hallway that leads to four different bedrooms. And each bedroom has its own bathroom.

For better or worse, not only are the three of us business partners and best friends, we're also roommates. We figure it's easier that way. It allows us to watch over each other much more efficiently. And make no mistake about it, we live in a dangerous world hidden beneath the surface of everyday life.

Alice sits on the white leather couch across from me. We're both dressed down in nothing more than comfortable pajamas. It's an odd sight seeing two grown ass women dressed like this but nobody is watching us. Right now it's just the two of us sipping on whiskey in a dark loft that overlooks the city of angels.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city is bright even at this time of night. They say New York is the city that never sleeps but maybe that's because New Yorkers never really set foot outside of their city.

Los Angeles is just the same. We don't sleep.

"Is there something on your mind?" Alice says from across from me then takes a sip of whiskey. "You look like you're lost in your own thoughts."

"Aren't I always?" I force a smile and swivel the drink in my hand. "You know, it is three in the morning."

"Yeah, but that shouldn't mean anything. We are night owls.”

She has a point. "Do you ever wonder what it's like to be somebody else?"

"I don't often catch myself in a daydream. I'm content with the life I've built for myself."

"Right." I drop my eyes and take a long sip of whiskey, reveling in the way it wets my lips first and then burns against the back of my throat. "But you don't ever find yourself wondering who we would be if we didn't choose this path?"

"Sure, sometimes." She shrugs and sits her glass down on the accent table beside her. “But every time I think about that alternative reality, I think about the fact that I probably wouldn't be happy. And I know I wouldn’t be happy because this right here is my happiness. This work we do, no matter how unconventional or dangerous it is, it makes me feel alive." She chews into her bottom lip. “I like feeling alive and that's why I'm worried about you because behind those dark, sleepy eyes, it's almost like you look dead."

I can't help but to roll my eyes and laugh a little uncomfortably. "That's the way to make a girl feel good about herself."

“You know I didn't mean it like that,” she says, and when I roll my eyes again, she reaches for the nearest pillow and launches it across the short distance between us.

I manage to grab the pillow just before it collides with my face and launch it back at her. It lands against the accent table, knocking her drink over and spilling the dark brown liquid on to the white surface of the table.

"I'm not cleaning that up." She laughs and then shifts her feet to the floor so that she can stand up. And even though she proclaimed she wasn't going to clean up my mess, she begins to march towards the kitchen to grab some paper towels. "Don't take your aggression out on me, sister."

"You've seen me when I'm aggressive," I point out to her. “I’m being as calm as a cucumber."

She spins back to me with a smile and paper towels in her hands as she steps back over to the spilled drink and begins cleaning it up. “Are cucumbers calm? I'm sure you meant to say you were as cool as a cucumber, but what do I know?"

She passes me a shit-eating grin so I grab the nearest pillow and launch it at her. She manages to duck out of the way and the pillow rolls onto the floor behind her.

"When you're done cleaning up that mess, would you mind passing me that pillow?"

She finishes mopping up the spilled liquid, disposes of the paper towels into the trashcan and then turns to me with one hand on her hip. "I know you don't want to talk about it—”

“You're right," I snarl and sigh heavily at her attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere. "So we're not going to talk about it."

"But that is what you are thinking about, right?"

"I said we’re not going to talk—"

“I heard what you said." She places her other hand on the other hip. “And I'm telling you that you're wrong." She wags her finger at me. "We’re going to talk about it because it’s obviously on your mind and it’s something that affects us all."

I push my tongue against my cheek and look away from her. I understand the sentiment she's trying to project on me. The secret that Christopher Lawson is still alive is one we could make millions off of. It's a secret so scandalous that we wouldn't have to worry about working for the next decade. There are plenty of buyers interested in knowing his whereabouts, but what I want from this information isn't money.

It might be time to let Alice in on that secret because she’s right, this should be a decision that affects us all equally.

“Christopher Lawson is more than a target. He’s more than some rich asshole." I stare her dead in the eyes as confusion passes over her face. "And I've been avoiding having this conversation with either you or Tosha because it’s something that makes me deeply uncomfortable."

She takes a few measured steps towards me, pacing towards me with caution. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm surprised neither of you have figured it out yet." I scratch at the back of my head nervously. "You know that Lawson worked with Seth, right?”

“Yes, it was a part of the discovery process."

"He worked a lot closer with him than we previously thought. After doing some digging, it's come to my attention that Christopher Lawson was the man who oversaw the kidnapping of my brother. He wasn't the man who took him, but he was deep enough in the organization that he should know where my brother is being kept."

"Katie," she begins to plead with me to stop going in circles about this the same way she’s been trying to get me to get over it for the past few years. In her mind, Victor—my brother—is long gone and holding onto hope is akin to a knife twisting slowly in my gut. She could have a point…

But I'm not having it. I throw a hand up to her, gesturing for her to stop. "Don't you dare," I scold her and then force myself from the couch to move and stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. It's easier right now to stare out into the city than it is to stare at her. Because this is a fight we've had before. We're close, we’re best friends, but we still fight like all families do. And that's exactly what she is to me; she's a part of my family.

I see her approach from behind me, see her reflection in the mirror. The outline of her body like a silhouette that’s painted by the lights of the city outside. It's like she's a ghost hovering over me.

"He's alive," I say flatly and almost as low as a whisper. Almost like I'm trying to convince myself the same way I'm trying to convince her. "It's been eight years and I know I have no reason to suspect that he's alive. I know I have no reason to suspect that he was still alive even when Seth first took him. Reason tells me that Seth probably offed him at the first opportunity and he never planned to give him back to me. I know that.”

“You know, I miss him too." She’s standing beside me now, staring out into the same never-ending city. "He was my first boyfriend, my first love."

I swallow nervously and glance over at her to see her eyes staring so deep into the distance, it’s like she's not even there. I imagine it's the same exact look that I was wearing earlier that made her suspect I was not well.

I drop a hand to caress her back and then pull her body against mine so that we’re in an embrace while the both of us continue staring at everything and nothing.

"I choose to believe he's alive not because it's what I want,” I say. “I choose to believe he's alive because that's what I need. In so many ways, if I'm able to find him and reconnect with him, then it makes everything we've done worth it."

She drops her head with a heavy sigh and then glances upwards at me with eyes that glisten with possibility. "Then what are we going to do?"

"We can't do it alone.” I cock my head back to look out the window and see my stoic reflection in the glass panel. "So we’re going to go to the only other person who has the same interest at heart."

"And who is that?"

I look to her one last time and stare her deep in the eyes. "The one man in this world with nothing left to lose…”