“Did you find anything yet on Taylor Stockdale?” Cliff asked.
“No, sir, haven’t started on it yet. I didn’t realize it was top priority.”
Cliff’s face went hairy with anger, and claws shot from his fingertips. “She’s my mate,” he bit out. “It’s higher than top priority. I can’t figure out what clan or pack she belongs to.”
“She’s your mate and you don’t know what pack she belongs to?” Truman echoed in confusion.
“Did I stutter?”
“I will get on it immediately,” Truman said.
Chapter Five
That evening…
Taylor leaned back in the recliner on the front porch of Chantelle’s house and tried not to let panic overwhelm her.
On the surface, it was a peaceful, happy suburban scene. The air was warm and sultry. The scent of fresh-baked cookies filled the air, and a chorus of grasshoppers creaked in the woods behind their house.
“I’m glad he fired you. Chantelle told me how nasty those girls were to you,” said Chester Zywicki, Chantelle’s father, shaking his head. “I don’t know why you put up with it. The offer to work for me is still there. Any time.”
Taylor couldn’t tell him why she’d stayed with the firm for so long. She and Chantelle had agreed to keep it a secret. Her parents knew nothing about the fact that the product samples Taylor stole were the reason Chantelle’s fatal blood disease was in remission. They thought it had been a miracle, that the doctors had been wrong and Chantelle was cured.
“Eat some more,” Carol added. She shoved a tray of her gooey homemade chocolate chip cookies towards Taylor. “You’re wasting away to skin and bone.”
Taylor grabbed another cookie. “That’s why I love you, Carol,” she said. “Because you’re near-sighted.”
“Oh, pshaw. Men don’t like a skinny girl,” Carol said reprovingly. “They want a little meat on those bones.”
“I’mskinny, Mom,” Chantelle protested around a mouthful of cookie.
“And maybe if you ate some more of what I cook for you, you’d fill out a bit so you could catch a man and give me some grandchildren.”
“I can’t help it if it’s impossible for me to gain weight.” Chantelle took another cookie.
Carol and Taylor exchanged glances.
“We hate her, don’t we?” Taylor said.
“We certainly do.” Carol nodded, giving her daughter a look of mock exasperation.
“Oh, Chantelle, before I forget, do you have that lipstick for me?” Taylor asked.
“Of course. It’s in my room. We’ll be right back, Mom.”
They hurried into the house. Chantelle’s room still had the same four-poster bed she’d had since she was a teenager – with a roll-out bed underneath, where Taylor had spent more time than she had in her own bedroom. First she’d hidden from her father’s drunken rages, then she’d sought refuge from the stream of men her mother had brought home night after night after her father had left.
There was a corkboard on the wall with pictures of the two of them on vacation in Hawaii. A leopard-print lamp that Taylor had bought Chantelle for her twenty-first birthday sat on the nightstand; Chantelle was a nut for leopard print. Memories were everywhere.
Taylor dug in her purse and pulled out the box that contained the precious capsule. She’d taken the job at the marketing company for one reason only – because it was located next to the factory where the Bronson company’s products were packaged and distributed. As a little girl, her father used to take her to the factory, where he’d worked as a janitor before his drinking got bad. That was before the Bronsons had bought it a few years ago – but they hadn’t changed the layout. She knew exactly how to sneak into the room where the most expensive products were kept, and she went there every few months to grab a Platinum pill for Chantelle. Her eyes filled with tears. “This is it,” she said as she handed the box to Chantelle.
“If you cry, I’ll slap you,” Chantelle said. “We both knew this would only last for so long. You bought me more time than I had.” She took a deep breath and looked down at the samples in her hand. “Come on – if you fall apart, I’ll fall apart.”
Taylor took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m fine,” she said.
“I see that look on your face,” Chantelle said. “Whatever it is you’re planning on doing, don’t.”
“Sure.” Taylor avoided her gaze as she said it. There were things she could do. Would do. She could break into the factory and steal a bunch of the product, enough to last Chantelle for months…maybe years. If she got caught, she would just say she was selling it on the black market, so Chantelle wouldn’t be implicated. There was nothing Chantelle could do to stop her.
