Authors: T. B. Markinson
Before I wanted the night to end, it was time for Maya to whisk me back to reality. Agnes packed up all the leftovers, including the pie, and shipped us both off with another one of her hugs, which I hoped would last months.
Sitting in a car filled with the aroma of authentic home cooking, my face warmed. “That was fun. Your mom can cook. I’ve never had such a scrumptious meal in my life.”
She tsked skeptically.
I slapped her leg. “I mean it. I can’t remember a time when my mother cooked.”
“But aren’t you used to fancier meals?” Maya asked. “Like lobster?”
“Trust me, if anyone in my family ate that meal, they would be pleading for your mom to cook for them every day.” Shit! Had I really just implied my family would want to hire Maya’s mom as their cook?
What the eff, Ainsley
? The reporter in my head blared, “Ainsley Carmichael can’t keep her foot out of her mouth.”
Maya didn’t seem insulted. “I guess we’ll never know.”
“We can try an experiment.”
She tilted her head, waiting for me to continue.
“We’ll give some to Fiona and Pat, and see what they say.”
***
When Fiona turned her head, Pat dipped his fork into her dumplings. Spying the treacherous act out of the corner of her eye, Fee attempted to swipe his hand away. “Hands off my dumplings, buster!”
“You see.” I turned to Maya. “This is the best meal ever.”
Pat nodded enthusiastically, unable to speak with his mouth overloaded.
“Did your mom cook for you like this every night?” Fiona asked in a dreamy voice.
Maya laughed. “Not every night. On Sundays she makes a special meal.”
Pat forced down a large bite by whacking his chest. “I’m free next Sunday and every Sunday in case you gals ever want company.” He flashed his award-winning smile.
“Hey, Irish. I met Maya first. I should get the first invite.” Fiona’s tone bordered on pleading, which brought a smile to Maya’s lips.
“My mom loves to cook for people. It won’t be a problem if y’all want to come,” she said in a natural Texas drawl—too natural.
Fiona and I momentarily locked eyes.
“You have Sunday dinner every Sunday? Still?” Fiona gulped lemonade. “That must be…” She looked away, leaving the rest unsaid.
Maya studied her profile and then nodded thoughtfully. I sensed she was seeing further into the Carmichael rabbit hole, and it didn’t scare me entirely to show her more of my life.
“Yep. We’ve done it since I can remember.” She stood and fished her keys out of her jeans. “I better get the car back to my mom.”
I walked her to the car. She started to wave good-bye, but I swatted her hand away, threw my arms around her neck, and kissed her on the lips. “Thanks. This has been a wonderful night.”
“Tossing the Carmichael shackles off?” she joked.
“Maybe.”
“How does it feel?”
“Normal. This”—I fisted the hair on the back of her head—“is what I want out of life.”
Maya rested her forehead against mine. “It’s all I want, too.”
“Will I see you later?”
She nodded. Her eyes told me I’d be seeing a lot of her later.
“Good. Drive safe.” I waited for the car to disappear out of sight before returning inside.
Back in the kitchen, I announced, “I need Chuck.”
Fiona stopped mid-bite, her fork hanging an inch from her mouth. “What happened?”
“Who’s Chuck?” Pat asked, concern etched into his brow.
“During dinner, I’m fairly certain Maya’s mom called her Carisa.”
“Fairly certain?” Fee squinted.
“They were speaking Spanish.” I waved a hand. “I’m wondering whether that’s her real name.”
“Could be a term of endearment.” Fee blinked excessively.
“Maybe.”
“But your gut says differently.” Fee rubbed her chin and nodded.
“Something like that. Can you have Chuck widen the search?” I didn’t tell her to have him search Texas, but I knew Fiona would understand.
Fiona disappeared from the room, and I took a seat, not wanting to speak.
“Who’s Chuck?” Pat asked again with frustration in his tone.
I shrugged. “One of Fiona’s friends. I haven’t met him.”
“Neither have I. You don’t meet people like Chuck.” Fiona returned and slipped back into her seat. This spy stuff didn’t take too long, it seemed. “He’ll have a full report by morning.”
A full report. It was a risk, but I needed to know, especially if Grandmother’s minions were already one step ahead of me. I needed to prepare—it was the Carmichael way.
“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Pat was almost frothing at the mouth.
I looked to Fiona. She knew Pat better than I did. Could he keep it quiet? She must have thought so, because she told him how little we knew about Maya.
“She just popped up in 2003?” Pat shook his head. “Poor kid. There’s a story there, but I’m not sure it’s one meant for you to find out.” He pointed his fork at Fiona and then at me. “It ain’t right having Chuck dig around where he’s not wanted.”
“I know.” I blew a red curl out of my eyes. “But I have to know. I really like her, Pat. Hell, I think I’m in love, and you know… with the Web, how much of our lives are actually private anymore?”
“That’s just an excuse. It ain’t right. Not at all.” He pushed his plate away. “The poor girl has no idea what she’s up against.”
Chapter Seventeen
Early the following morning, I left Maya in bed, telling her I was meeting Fiona for a run. She didn’t suspect I was entering full-fledged panic mode.
“Well?” I said as soon as Fiona stepped outside in running gear.
Fiona eyed me. “Let’s run first.” Without waiting for my response, she took off; that wasn’t good.
I chased after her, faster than normal, but Fee’s long legs kept me out of reach. After the third mile, I found Fiona sitting on a secluded bench by the river, waiting.
I slumped next to her and tried to gird my nerves; it wasn’t working. I feared I might vomit.
“Agnes isn’t Maya’s mom. She’s her aunt.”
The arm on my bullshit meter, the one I’d been ignoring for weeks, flipped all the way to the right, indicating there was more to the story. Did I want to know?
“As you suspected, Maya’s real name is Carisa. Carisa Torres.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Fiona let out a long breath, like she was trying to cleanse her soul.
“Maya’s mother was murdered.”
“Murdered?” I covered my mouth.
Fiona squeezed my leg. “Listen carefully. There were rumors that her mother was the mistress of a business tycoon in Texas.” As if sensing my question, she went on. “Maya only lived in Wyoming for a summer, when Agnes worked as a cook at a dude ranch outside of Cody, the year her mom died.”
“Who killed her?”
“It’s unsolved. The businessman was questioned, but…”
“But what?”
“He’s really powerful.”
“Carmichael powerful?”
“My guess, more powerful.”
I pulled my knees onto the bench and cradled them. “Who is he?”
“Raymond Eckley.”
“The Texas billionaire? Married to the governor of Texas?
That
Raymond Eckley?” I swallowed.
Fee nodded, and I whistled. “He has more money than Bill Gates,” I said.
“Actually his wife has all the money, not that he publicizes that when he’s throwing his weight around. I thought there were whisperings about a prenup though. Not surprising given the amount of money involved,” Fee said.
“Prenup?”
“If he cheats, he’s out. Just a rumor, though.” She nibbled on a hangnail.
“My daily briefing sheets frequently feature the Eckleys. Isn’t that a weird coincidence?”
Fee didn’t respond, so I left the thought alone. “How old was Maya when her mom hooked up with him?”
“Unclear, but all signs indicate Maya wasn’t yet born.” Fee avoided my eyes, now practically gnawing on her finger.
The idea forming in my head was terrifying. “Was Eckley’s wife ever questioned?”
“Yes.”
“So if Maya is his, she’s proof of the affair?”
Fiona rubbed her eyes. “Unfortunately.”
“The prenup.” I shook my head. “How did Chuck…? Never mind.”
Fiona nodded. There was no use asking how Chuck knew so much. People like him didn’t elaborate, and who knew how much could be discovered on the dark net.
“Here’s the theory according to some crackpot bloggers,” Fiona said. “Maya’s mom either knew too much about the businessman, or she tried to blackmail him. Once she got popped, Maya’s aunt panicked and left the state with Maya. Somehow, after the dude ranch, she bought them new identities. It’s not a clear picture—fuzzy at best. And the sources are about as reliable as Susie Q. Another interesting tidbit, none of the bloggers have been heard from since.”
“No wonder Maya and Agnes ran, but how? Who helped them?”
“Good question.”
“Fuck. So, if Chuck is right, Maya is on the run from her father, who doesn’t want his wife to find out he has a child. And Eckley’s wife is one of the most powerful politicians in America and has more money than God. This is much more than I thought.”
“Exactly. This is the show: the establishment against us, the little guys.”
It was the first time anyone had called the Carmichaels the little guys.
“How old was Maya when her mom was murdered?” I asked.
“Seven.”
“Shit! Here I was afraid of her dealing with my powerful family, when all along I was in the Eckleys’ crosshairs.” I hid my face between my knees. “Can it get any worse?”
Fee’s silence wasn’t comforting.
Was he the one responsible for the quotes? I scanned the river’s surface for answers. Surely, a Texan wouldn’t know diddly about a long-dead historian. Most Texans spouted crap about the Alamo when making a point.
“Do you think she knows? Or suspects?” I asked.
“Hard to know. Agnes probably knows, though. Knows enough to run, at least.” Fiona turned to face me. “Eckley isn’t just big in Texas. He’s also big in DC. And he’s a Texan. You know Texas has a finger in every presidential election. This is—”
“It’s either good or bad,” I interrupted. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“How is it good?” She craned her neck to stare into my eyes.
“I’m still working on that. This type of scandal could be political suicide—Grandmother may not be able to rescue me.”
Fiona gripped my shoulder. “I’m not worried about Grandmother. You don’t fuck with men like Eckley. He makes Grandmother look feeble.”
Could Ham and his fixers handle the Eckleys? But would Ham step in considering who we were dealing with? Or would he worry about committing political suicide? Would his advice be to cut and run? Also, would alerting Ham and his crew set off alarm bells in Eckley’s camp? My stomach churned. I leaped to my feet, dashing away to finish our run. I needed to keep moving or go mad.
Fiona didn’t object.
My mind flittered to Maya showing me her branding. Was that her way of letting me in some or simply a moment of weakness? Would she ever confess all if I asked? But how could I ask without her knowing how I found out?
Outside the apartment building, I tugged on her arm to prevent her from entering. “How much does Pat know?”
“Nothing, except that we were looking into her past. Chuck knows, of course.”
“Do you trust him?”
“He hasn’t let me down.” The implied
yet
didn’t have to be said aloud. Information gathering was a dangerous game.
“Is his name really Chuck?”
“Highly unlikely.”
Pat was already dressed and on his way out when we entered. “So are we still on for this Sunday?”
“This Sunday?” I asked.
“Sunday dinner with Maya’s mom.” He cocked his head, baffled that I’d already forgotten.
“Oh, right. Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?” Even I could tell that my voice was uncharacteristically shaky, which was not Carmichael-like. My only thought was Maya, and protecting her at all costs. But how? She’d said it herself: she’d lose her anonymity dating me. Was that what she’d been afraid of that day we’d kissed near Walden Pond? Not the bullshit that we’re from different worlds, but that Eckley would find her and finish the job? All along I thought I was being the magnanimous one, but her sacrifice to be with me made my silly presidential ambitions seem petty. Maya’s life could potentially be on the line.
Pat’s limp smile made my stomach lurch. “I hope the news wasn’t that bad. And don’t you dare tell me what you found out. People’s secrets are just that.” He waggled a finger at us as he left.
“It wasn’t really that bad, considering,” Fiona said, stretching out her calf on one of the kitchen chairs.
Unable to speak, I flashed her a look that said
You’ve got to be kidding.
She didn’t even bother to glance in my direction. “She’s not the first kid to have a questionable mom. And look at how far she’s come. The media will eat that shit up.”
“I would never splash her history about for political gain!”
“I’m not saying you would. But how can you keep this quiet if you continue to see her? Think, Ains! Everyone in our lives gets vetted, not just by Grandmother’s goons, but also by the media. A single picture of you two together could be the game changer. Besides, it might be safer to air her dirty laundry in order to protect her. Right now, Eckley has the advantage.”
I collapsed onto a kitchen chair.
“Think, Ains!” she said again. “We need to figure out the endgame. The timer started the moment you two kissed. We just didn’t know it.”
But had Maya?
***
Later that night, while I waited at the restaurant for Maya to finish her shift, I pondered Fiona’s words. Did we need an endgame, or were we needlessly trying to turn my life into an episode of
House of Cards
?
“You look deep in thought. Everything okay?” Maya set her bag down on the empty chair next to me.
I squeaked, “Just jittery. Too much caffeine today.”
She smiled. “I’m not surprised. You’ve had five cups in the past two hours. Let’s get you home.”
It was her night to stay at my place. For weeks, we’d been switching back and forth, trying to ensure we both had access to clean clothes. Packing an overnight bag every other day wasn’t overly burdensome—not yet, at least. Her roommate, while never around, was still a threat to our domestic bliss. We feared she might fight with her boyfriend and crash into the dorm room at three in the morning, finding us in bed. Yet Maya was adamant about not moving her stuff to my place. Was that a sign she knew the dangers? Was she trying to protect me? Or was it her desire to remain an individual? The more I learned, the more Maya the Gray baffled me.