Page 39 of The Second Ending
“I’ve got to go.” Ashleigh put down the folder and ran to the door, grabbing her coat on the way.
“But, Ashleigh, dear…” her mother began.
“What about my papers?” Her father’s voice was petulant.
“Not now. I have to go.”
This time she ignored their entreaties and commands to stay. She grabbed her purse and fled from the house without another word. This was awful. Unbelievable. It couldn’t be true, but she knew, deep down, that it was. She had so much to do, so much to research. Because if this meant what she thought, it was very, very bad news for a lot of people she’d come to care a great deal about.
Marcus dragged himself inside.Instead of spending the weekend with Ashleigh, as they had planned, he’d called his cousin and agreed to help him with a construction project that needed some extra muscle. He liked to keep his hand in, and thesweat and pain of physical labour helped to keep the frustration at bay.
He was frustrated at her, of course, for not having the guts to stand up to her family, but she’d explained it. He knew about the music program in Chile and how important it was to her, and he understood that she needed the fat wallets that wandered in and out of the Lynch house to stay wide open for her. They’d also talked about her new ideas for funding the music program, which would allow her to walk away from her toxic family.
But his real anger was reserved for Mr Walter Bloody Lynch, who couldn’t keep his fingers out of Ashleigh’s life. He was furious at what the man had done eight years ago, and he was furious at what he was doing now. God help him, if he ever set eyes on the man again… He couldn’t wait for the day when Ash’s music project was properly funded and the two of them could tell her parents what to do with themselves.
Sticky sweat and the grit of sawdust and sand clung to his skin, making it sore and itchy, and he stripped, layer by layer, as he made his way to the shower. Water sluiced over him, cool at first to counteract his overheated skin and wash away the grime, and then hot to soothe his aching muscles. He shampooed his hair and beard, and let the suds run over his skin, before taking a sponge to scrub at the last bits of grit that clung to him. At last, feeling somewhat clean once more, he stepped out of the shower and glared at his reflection through the fogged-up air.
Damn, he wanted Ashleigh there with him. He pictured her standing behind him, hair wet, water streaming down her shoulders and around her breasts, a soft smile on her lovely lips, a glint in those glorious green eyes.
Bloody Lynch! The man had a lot to answer for, taking her away like that. His hand curled into a fist, and he released it with effort.
He dried off and pulled on some shorts and a clean t-shirt and made his way to the kitchen, where he pulled a frozen pizza from the freezer and set the oven to bake it. Then he put on some music and brought out his computer to check email.
His eyes locked on a message from Nick, the lawyer. Prickles traced their way up his spine as he clicked on the link.
Don’t ask me how I got this information, but I might know the name of the person who owns that property. Call me at the office tomorrow.
The prickles stabbed their way to Marcus’ stomach, where they turned into a ball of lead. Whatever it was that Nick had learned, he was pretty certain he was not going to like one little bit.
“Are you positive?”Marcus growled into the phone.
Nick made an unintelligible noise at the other end. “No. Not positive. He’s gone to a great deal of trouble to obfuscate things, and I’m not proud of how I finally found what I did. But if I had to put money on it, I would. Walter Lynch is your man.”
A string of obscenities turned the air blue, as Marcus described in rather explicit detail what his nemesis could do to himself. That damned fucking bastard. What sort of game was he playing?
“What are our next steps?”
“He doesn’t know we know. That could be to our advantage, but I still need to think how. We could approach him—”
“Ha!” Marcus spat out the word.
“You speak as if you know him.”
“We have a history,” Marcus hissed, “and not a good one.”
“Ohhhh…” Nick drew out the word. “Then could this be personal?”
Marcus swore again. “The bastard has made it his life’s work to destroy me.”
“Oh.” Silence. “Then we have a lot of thinking and planning to do.”
“Bloody bastard!”
Ashleigh staredat the computer screen.
It couldn’t be. Just couldn’t be.
With that kernel of suspicion engendered by her father’s letter, she went searching for information, not from the public side presented to the world, but from inside. Her first attempt, made that same evening, had been to no avail. She knew the information must be there, but she wasn’t sure exactly where to look.
