Torn (Deep 8, #5)

31. Harlow

THIRTY-ONE

Harlow

In some masochistic way, Roger has given me what I wanted. My life keeps me moving from one place to another. I can’t afford to stay in one location. Settling down somewhere would mean I’ve failed in my goal to save as many people as possible. It’s the fuel I run on or run from. I’m not sure which it is at this point. The rescues seem to meld together, and I don’t get the satisfaction high from it anymore.

My focus snaps back to the train wreck in front of me. Lucas’s office has been tossed. We weren’t the first ones here, but I’m unsure what they were looking for.

Roger’s eyes scan the entire area, searching for clues to what happened and why. We step into the room and close the door, locking it behind us. Questions about Deep 8 swirl in my head.

"Who do you think was here, and what were they looking for?" I ask, desperate for answers.

"If this is the work of Deep 8, it doesn’t make any sense. They have us running around the world, retrieving pieces while they hold my dad captive. We are getting the pieces in exchange for his life. The strategy is counterintuitive. Maybe there’s another player in the game we don’t know about." He frowns.

We sift through his desk and pick through the scattered papers on the floor. The furniture has been overturned, and a Tiffany lamp lies on the floor unbroken.

He stops in the middle of the room. "Does it seem odd to you the bookcase went untouched?"

The chaos is in the middle of the room like there is a perimeter around it. His bookcase is filled with biographies, philosophy, and legal books.

"If you are looking for something, you would look in the bookcase too," I reply, following his train of thought.

He moves closer to the bookcase. "It’s almost as if we were supposed to find it like this. If this was staged, they did an awful job. Let’s start looking through the books."

He starts at one end, and I start at the other. We could be here for hours, thumbing through each book without knowing what we’re looking for. As we approach the middle, Roger points to a book we’ve seen before.

"He has The Art of War book here too. We found the one in his London office with the highlights." He pulls it from the shelf and tries to leaf through the pages, but they stick together.

The inside of the book is hollow. He flips it open to reveal a gray zip drive. We stare at it, lost in thoughts of this being the next bombshell.

"We’ll have to take this back to Pippa," Roger mutters. "Can you take pictures of the room?"

"Yes, but Dean destroyed mine." I hold out my hand for his phone.

His face is stern, and he hands me his phone as his eyes search the room again. We’re on the same page. Something is off about Lucas’s office. The laptop sits untouched, the lamp is not shattered, and the bookcase is pristine. Lucas loves his book collection and would be devastated if it was ruined for any reason.

This feels personal. Someone close to Lucas knew what to toss and what not to touch. Who would be close to him that would do this? I’ve dealt with most of his friends, which are few, and acquaintances along with people in business, but I couldn’t put my finger on any one of them who has a grudge against Lucas. He tends to play nice when he needs something.

"We’ll leave this the way it is for now. There are more pressing matters. I’ll be interested to hear what the rest of the team found at my father’s house." His words are clipped as he heads for the door.

I lock the door behind us and struggle to keep up with his pace. Before we make it to the car, I grab his arm and pull him to a stop.

"Hey, do you want to slow down a bit?"

He whips around to face me. "I’ve pulled out all the stops and can’t figure out what’s happening. None of this makes sense. Who is close enough to him to figure out what to ransack and what to leave alone? I’ve failed again in his eyes." He puts his hands on his hips and lowers his head, hiding his beautiful blue eyes.

"You haven’t failed in the least. We can figure this out together." My gentle tone is meant to soothe him.

He turns toward me. "What? So, you can say you saved me and add it to your count?" He spins away. "Shit. I’m sorry." He holds his head in his hand.

My blood turns cold. His words are like needles. The prick is meant to get my attention and deal with where it came from. He’s not wrong, and that’s the part that pisses me off the most.

"Let’s drive back and give this to Pippa. We’ll see where this leads." My words are covered in ice as I walk toward the car. He calls my name several times, but I ignore him. My wound requires attention.

The ride back is frostier than the drive into the city. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel and glances at me throughout the drive. The green trees and dense forest speed by and captivate me through the haze of my thoughts. At what point did I let my past take over my life?

Thoughts of my mother cross my mind. A visit with her would be futile. We left on unsettled terms when I took my assignment with Lucas. She wanted me in a mold I broke out of, stepping away from being the most popular in my class and wearing the right designer. The facade slipped away as I saw through the people in my inner circle. Their dark ugliness seeped through the glamour they surrounded themselves with and their pasted-on fake smiles.

My friends clung to their siblings like life rafts because their parents were too busy traveling, partying, or ignoring them. Having children was a status symbol so they could talk about their child's travel sports team and how many trophies they had won. If a test was required for having children, they would have failed.

Part of my life shed away and part of it went with me. Living with extreme wealth was the only thing I had ever known. I want to turn back the clock to before my father’s death and live in ignorant bliss, but I would never be free. Money can bind you into trying to continue to attain a way of life, even if you can’t afford to live it.

After my father died, I gained a huge inheritance that my mom fought to strip me of, throwing her axe into the ground. The will was ironclad, and no lawyer or court considered her challenge. I left for good after his death to find the answers to the questions I had about his death. Coming back to Australia is like taking the stitches out of a deep wound, letting the sad thoughts back into my heart.

My trip back to the future is a never-ending cycle, leaving me exhausted as the sun gets swallowed by the dense flora gracing the sides of the road. My mouth is dry. If I stay here much longer my demons could take over, and I’ll be lost forever, volleying between two unsatisfying worlds.

"Harlow?" Roger’s voice breaks through my fog. "Are you okay?"

"I’ll be fine. We need to find Lucas so I can get the answers I need," I mumble without thinking.

"The answers to what?" Confusion is written on his face.

My body stiffens. "Who took Lucas and why," I reply, staring out the front window.

His fingers tighten around the steering wheel as we coast onto the dirt road leading to the house. He throws the car in park, and I’m out the door, heading toward the house. The zip drive burns a hole in my pocket. The ache in my stomach hasn’t gone away since we left Canberra.

Pippa sits at the dining room table on her laptop as I slam the drive down next to her. "We found this at Lucas’s tossed office. See what you can find out." The anger in her eyes dissipates when she looks up and sees my face. I can’t hide my pain and frustration.

The bedroom door slams behind me as I close the drapes and flop on the bed, surrounded by darkness. I don’t want to think, I don’t want to feel. I just want to be without any attachments, which is nearly impossible.

Somewhere in the night, the bed moves and an arm wraps around me from behind. The smell of fresh ocean and sandalwood calms me. My eyes stay closed as I breathe him in.

"I’m not letting you get off that easy. The burden you carry is too much to bear alone. I’ll uncover your secret and take it from you, carrying it as my own. We battle and pull at one another, but it won’t keep me from wanting to be with you. ‘I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.’"

His quote from Shakespeare tears at me. A tear slips out of my eye and wets the pillow. If only I were worthy of his devotion.