Page 94 of A Game of Deception
I started the engine, heart hammering. “Twelve years,” I muttered. “Twelve fucking years of guilt and not knowing.”
One thing was certain: after today, nothing would ever be the same again.
24
TARA
Xander pulledout of the parking lot, following the GPS directions to the storage facility. We drove in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. My hand found his on the center console, our fingers intertwining without discussion. The simple contact anchored me as my mind raced ahead to what we might discover.
The storage facility appeared on our right after about twenty minutes—a sprawling complex of identical orange metal units baking under the sun. A faded sign proclaimed “SecurStore Self Storage” above a small office building. Xander pulled into a visitor spot, and we both stared at the rows of numbered doors stretching into the distance.
“Unit 218,” I said, breaking the silence. “Let’s find it.”
The woman at the front desk barely glanced up when we entered, focused on her crossword puzzle. An oscillating fan pushed hot air around the cramped office.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“We need to find Unit 218,” Xander said. “We have the key.”
She pointed a pen toward a map on the wall. “Row D, about halfway down.” Her eyes flicked to us briefly. “You have until six.”
Outside, we followed the lettered signs until we reached Row D. The units stretched before us, each identical to the last except for the numbers stenciled on the rolling doors. My heart hammered against my ribs as we counted down—222, 220, 218.
We stopped. The padlock hung from the latch, unremarkable and rust-spotted.
Xander held out the key. “You should do it.”
I took it, surprised by how heavy it felt in my palm. My fingers trembled slightly as I slid it into the lock. It turned with a reluctant click, and the padlock sprung open.
Xander lifted the door with a metallic rattle. The smell of dust washed over us. We stood side by side, peering into the gloom.
The unit was small, maybe ten by ten feet, and surprisingly empty. No towers of cardboard boxes or old furniture like I’d expected. Just a few plastic containers stacked in one corner, a folding table against the back wall, and on it, a single metal lockbox.
Our prize.
“There it is,” Xander said quietly.
We stepped inside, the concrete floor gritty beneath our shoes. The air was stifling, trapped heat making it hard to breathe. Xander pulled out his phone and switched on the flashlight, illuminating the space more clearly.
I approached the lockbox slowly, as if it might disappear if I moved too quickly. It was military-style, olive green with a combination lock on the front.
“Shit,” I breathed. “We need a combination.”
Xander kneeled beside the table, shining his light across the dusty surface. “Check underneath. People always hide codes under things.”
I ran my fingers along the bottom of the table and felt a piece of tape. Peeling it back revealed a small slip of paper with four numbers: 1-9-6-7.
“Birth year, maybe?” I suggested, entering the digits into the lock. It clicked open on the first try.
Inside the box lay a single manila folder, labeled in neat block letters: “SWANSON, J. - ORIGINAL NOTES - DO NOT FILE.”
My throat constricted. I’d been building my entire life around finding Xander, confronting him, making him pay for what I thought he’d done to Jimmy. And now the truth was literally in my hands.
“I can’t—” I started, then stopped. “Can we look at it in the car? I need air.”
Xander nodded, understanding without explanation. He took the folder, and I closed the lockbox, leaving everything else untouched. We pulled the storage unit door down, replaced the padlock, and walked back to the car in silence, the folder clutched in Xander’s hand like a bomb that might detonate at any moment.
Once inside, the air conditioning washed over my flushed skin. Xander placed the folder on the console between us, neither of us immediately reaching for it.
