by Elle Casey
I nod, accepting his perfectly reasonable explanation and turning to follow the bald man, who is now almost all the way across the warehouse. Finally, things are starting to make sense. My nerves calm just the slightest bit.
Dev pauses, looking over his shoulder at me, smiling with that dimple again. “You coming?”
Coming? Gah! That word! My face gets hot again. “Yes. I’m . . . on my way.” My heart is speeding way too fast, and my feet feel like they have lead in them. This should be such a simple thing, walking into my sister’s workplace and doing a little job for her. Why does it feel so momentous? She trusts these people, so they have to be good guys, right? I have nothing to be afraid of. Not even the fact that it’s been so long since I’ve had sex that I can’t even have a normal conversation with a guy without imagining all the wrong things and reading sexual innuendo into simple sentences.
A huge boom coming from behind me has me skittering toward Dev faster than I thought possible. And I’m so focused on getting away from the scary sound that I don’t see him running toward me, and we smash right into each other. All the air is knocked out of me and I feel myself falling.
His huge arms reach out and catch me when I’m about halfway down to busting my ass. We look like partners in a really random swing dancing class. Thank goodness he rescued both me and my laptop, because the floor in here is solid concrete, and I don’t think either one of us would have escaped unscathed.
It’s a moment later that I realize he has now transferred a good portion of his sweat to my body. Ew. I try not to grimace, but it’s impossible. I smell like sweaty bald guy now.
“Sorry,” he says, righting me and then stepping away. “Got some sweat on you.”
When I’m back on my feet again, Dev and I turn simultaneously to look at the big warehouse door. It’s still vibrating on its tracks and it looks like there’s a giant dent in it, bulging inward. The sweat transfer incident moves to the back of my mind, supplanted by the more immediate weirdness.
“What the heck was that?” My voice is unnaturally high.
“I have no idea, but it can’t be good.” He steps around me and pushes me a little so I’m fully behind him.
I try to move around to be next to him, but he blocks me, stepping in my path.
“What’re you doing?” I’m hugging my laptop to my body, partially to protect it and partially using it as a shield. I’ve got enough Dev-sweat on me for one lifetime.
He twists his head around and looks down at me. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m protecting you.”
“Protecting me?” I lean out sideways to look around him at the entrance to the warehouse. “From what?” I pause to consider what he’s actually saying and then look at the dent in the big door. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t there before. “Please tell me that was the sound of the door locking.”
Another boom rattles the door on its hinges, and then there’s shouting coming from outside. I can’t make out a word that’s being said, but whoever it is sounds really angry. A random thought about the forklift guy being jealous over me being in here floats through my head before my fear takes over. I feel like I’m about to pee my pants. “Seriously, what was that?”
Dev grabs me by the upper arm and starts dragging me toward the darker area of the warehouse. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Go? Where? Where are we going?” My panic level is high, like level ten right now. If I were a possum, I’d be stiff on my back, legs straight up in the air. Nothing to see here! Just a dead possum. Move along, people . . .
“Somewhere safe.” He’s all business now, no longer smiling or flashing that cute dimple at me.
I can feel his hot hand through the material of my shirt, and I don’t like any part of this manhandling that’s going on. I dig my heels in and jerk my elbow out of his grasp.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice rising. “We need to go!”
“Go where?” I stomp my foot, reminding myself of my three-year-old son, Sammy. “I’m not going anywhere with you until I know what’s happening.” I take a few steps away from him. “Is this some kind of joke? Is this some sort of weird initiation?” I point at him. “I’ve heard about you guys. I know you like to play practical jokes on people who work with you.” My sister is so going to get a nipple twist for this. One for each boob.
He takes a step toward me with his hands held out. His voice is much calmer than before. There’s no dimple going on though, so he’s not fooling me. “I promise you, this is not a joke nor any kind of weird initiation. There’s something going on outside, and I need to make sure you’re safe before I investigate what it is.”
“But what about my sister?”
“Your sister is with Ozzie, so she’s fine. Come on.” He takes me by the arm, more gently this time. “Please, follow me.”
Even though this is the most ridiculous start to a new job I’ve ever experienced, I can tell Dev is serious. And it seems like he wants to do the right thing by making sure I’m okay before he moves on to the next step, so I decide to play along. But if this turns out to be some sort of weird initiation or hazing ritual, heads are gonna roll.
CHAPTER THREE
Dev’s hand slides from my arm down to my hand as he drags me through the warehouse to our destination—a destination I do not yet know. I’m trying not to have all these silly, girly reactions to holding hands with this strange man, but it’s impossible. I can’t remember the last time I felt a man’s fingers wrapped around mine. I can say I’ve never felt anything quite like this before; his hands are huuuuge. This must be what Sammy feels like when he holds his father’s hand. Of course, Sammy is three and I’m thirty-two, and I should be over stupid things like this. Ridiculous, the things that will flow through a person’s head when she feels like she’s running for her life.
“Am I in danger?” Dev doesn’t answer me, so I continue, my sneakers squeaking in fast rhythm as I nearly run to keep up with him. It’s a good thing I’m not wearing corduroy right now or I’d be setting my thighs on fire with all the friction I’m kicking up. “Because I didn’t sign up for any danger when I told my sister I would come here and help. I’m not into danger like you guys are. I’m into warm baths and wine and quiet. Quietude. I like quietude. I’m no commando. I always wear underpants.” Apparently, when I panic, I overshare. It’s weird, learning new things about yourself when you’re over thirty.
My pleas are falling on deaf ears. Dev says nothing as we rush past a set of cubicles.
“Is this where I’m supposed to work?” I look over my shoulder, the comfortable-looking chairs and cubicles disappearing in the distance. I complained before about coding, but I won’t complain anymore. Just let me code! I don’t want to run from strange sounds!
“Later,” he says.
Another boom echoes out behind us, this time fainter because we’re farther away. I pick up the pace, no longer interested in those damn cubicles. Screw coding . . . get me outta here. He better be bringing me to a back door.
“Is somebody trying to get into the warehouse?” I ask, fearing the obvious.
“Could be.” We reach a hallway and he turns right and then takes another quick left.
“Where are we going?” I’m whining now. I can’t help it. I’m so going to kill my sister when I see her again. Forget nipple twists. Those are for minor transgressions; I’m going to put her in a figure-four and make her beg for mercy.
“You’ll see.”
He stops at a door that has a keypad on the outside of it. He jabs in a code, and the click of a lock releasing follows.
Pushing the door open with his shoulder, he takes me by the elbow and drags me in behind him. A dim overhead light illuminates the small closet-sized space we’re now standing in. I am so not impressed with this rescue plan. There are mops hanging on the wall, for God’s sake.
I crane my neck back to look up at him. “You’re seriously hiding me in a broom closet?”
Dev doesn’t answer
me. Instead, he reaches over and starts pressing buttons on a keypad hidden behind one of the mops on the wall. As he enters another code, the keypad lights up, displaying both the numbers and a black screen below it. This device looks a lot more sophisticated than the one on the outside of this closet, which should make me feel more secure, but instead it makes me more worried. Exactly how much trouble am I in right now?
Dev finishes with the code and puts his first three fingers on the screen below. The click that I hear when he’s done is much more substantial this time, leading me to believe it’s a more secure place that we’ll be entering; which is awesome, because this closet we’re in now is only good for protecting janitorial supplies. A portion of the wall housing a shelving unit separates from the back side of the space and swings inward.
Whoa. Super-secret hideaway bat cave. I’m not sure if I should be impressed or worried that I’m about to enter it.
Dev steps inside and turns on a light. I can’t see all of what’s behind him, but what I can see is enough to make me scared all over again.
“What the hell is that?” I’m pointing to a space that has not just chairs and tables, but a bank of computers and a row of bunk beds. There’s enough room for at least ten people in there.
He reaches down and takes my hand again, pulling me through the door. “This is a panic room. But you’re not supposed to panic when you’re in here, because you’re safe. Stay calm.”
When I’m clear of the threshold, he shuts the door behind us. There’s a long beeeeeep and then the sound of locks clicking into place. The place is as silent as a tomb, and I can now smell the strong scent of iron coming off of him, probably from his workout or whatever he was doing before I came in through the door of this crazy place that I am now going to call the Hotel California. If he tells me I can check out any time I like, but I can never leave, I’m going to do something he seriously won’t like. I’m not sure what that thing would be exactly, but I’m sure I can come up with something.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say, snorting my disbelief. “Not panic? Stay calm? Dude, you must be high.”
He lets go of my hand and walks over to a telephone that’s hanging on the wall. Without responding, he picks up the handset and presses a single button. He waits in silence, and I pass the time by listening to my heart beating in my ears. It’s going way too fast. I look around to see if they have any of those electric heart attack paddle units attached to the wall. I might need one of them soon.
This cannot be happening. This has to be some kind of joke, but I have no idea why my sister would work with a bunch of jerks who play pranks like this on people when they show up for their first day of work. That guy Ozzie must be seriously good in bed for her to put up with it. I knew I shouldn’t have backed out of my bathe-and-drink-wine plan. Stupid, stupid, stupid . . .
Dev puts the phone back on the hook and shakes his head, hissing out a sigh of frustration.
“What’s wrong?” I’m not even sure I want to hear his answer.
“I can’t get through upstairs. Maybe Lucky isn’t up there anymore.”
I reach into my back pocket and pull out my cell phone. “That’s it. I’m calling my sister. I’m not playing this game anymore. You guys can find yourself another freelancer to help you with your marine case or whatever it’s called.”
He sighs. “Your cell won’t work in here.”
I look up at him, suspicious. “Why not?”
“Because this is a panic room. The walls are three feet thick. No signals get in or out.” He tilts his head very slightly toward the phone on the wall, letting me know that this ancient piece of junk is our only mode of communication with the outside world.
Unfortunately, I’ve seen just about every bad-guy action movie there is, and I know for a fact that all you need to take down that piece-of-crap wall phone is a damn pair of scissors to cut the outside line. We’re doomed. Doomed!
I throw my hands up in frustration. “Well, that’s just dandy, isn’t it? What am I supposed to do now? Just sit here and wait for someone to come kill me?”
He doesn’t answer me. He just stares.
I look around the place to avoid catching his eye. It’s making my blood pressure go nutty to have him focusing on me like that. “You must be crazy if you think that I’m going to sit here in your little Hotel California panic room and relax while you guys play cops and robbers outside.”
“This isn’t a game, Jenny. This is serious. And until I know what’s going on out there, you’re not going anywhere.” His voice is softer. Mesmerizing, almost.
I put my hands on my hips, turning my attention back to him, giving him my full-on angry mom stare.
“I’ll have you know that I am very familiar with the laws of this state, and I know for a fact that you can’t keep me in here if I don’t want to be in here. That’s called false imprisonment, buddy, and I’m not going to stand for it.”
He raises what would be an eyebrow at me, except that he has no eyebrow there. It still works to express the challenge he’s throwing out at me, though. “Is that so?”
I stick my chin out. “Yes, that is so.”
He gestures at the door. “Go ahead, then. See yourself out.”
“Fine. I will.” Yes, I’m scared that I’m walking out into a bad situation, but not scared enough that I’m going to back down. I’ll show him who’s the boss of me. I can hide in a cubicle. No problem. My cell will work out there, and I’ll dial 911 and get the real cops over here, not these Bourbon Street Butthead wannabe cops.
I walk over to put my hand on the door, but there’s no knob there, just a keypad. I chew on my lip and stare at it. Do I remember the code he entered? No. I do not. Dammit.
I turn around. “You need to unlock the door for me.”
“Sorry, but I can’t do that.”
“What do you mean, you can’t do that?”
He shrugs. “We have protocols in place for these types of scenarios, and the protocol for alien entry with a civilian inside the warehouse requires that one of us secure the civilian and wait for contact from the outside before we open the door. And I was the lucky guy who happened to be standing with the civilian when the threat presented itself.” He smiles at me with that damn dimple.
“Protocols? Aliens?” I turn back around to face the door and smack it. Then I start pressing random buttons on the keypad. “Protocols, my big, fat butt. I have things to do and places to go, so your protocols need to step aside, Buckrod.”
“Your butt isn’t that fat.”
My hand freezes in mid-button-pressing. I slowly turn. “Are you kidding me?” He’s seriously going to talk about my butt now? He must want to die.
He shrugs. “A couple months with me, and I’ll have you sporting a six-pack under that blouse.”
My jaw drops open and just hangs there. I’m speechless. And it takes a lot to render me speechless, trust me.
“Why don’t you just take a seat for a little while, and we’ll wait and see if we receive contact?”
I stare at him like he’s crazy, because he obviously is. Finally, my throat unlocks to let my voice free. “First of all, don’t talk about my butt! You don’t even know me! And second of all, you expect me to just sit here for hours on end while we wait for someone to maybe call us? How do you know that they even know we’re in here? They’re probably out there wondering what the heck we’re doing! They probably think we just went for a stroll somewhere. They’re probably all sitting around waiting for us to come back.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you really believe that?”
I shrug angrily and glare at my feet. He’s making me feel stupid, but I can’t seem to stop this train from running down that track. I open my mouth to argue some more, but he cuts me off.
“You heard that big noise—I know you did. Somebody who didn’t have the access code was trying to gain entry into the warehouse. That tells me it’s got to be trouble. Standard protocol requires that
all personnel secure themselves and secure the building when something like that happens. Then we confront the threat if necessary. My team is doing that right now while I keep you secure in here. We have communication lines set up all over the place, so it’s only a matter of time before someone reaches out to us. All we have to do is wait.”
I snort in disbelief. “Please tell me you have a better plan than this.” I’m no security expert or Bourbon Street Boy, but even I can see the holes in this stupid so-called protocol.
He frowns. “Why? What’s wrong with our plan?”
I look around the room with my eyes bugging out. “You do realize that all a bad guy would have to do is start a damn fire in this place and we’d be burnt into two crispy critters before anybody reached out to us.”
He shakes his head, like I’m the pitiful one with no brain juice on tap. “First of all, we have a state-of-the-art fire suppression system in place all over the warehouse. Second of all, this panic room was specifically designed to withstand a fire that lasts up to six hours. Believe me, if somebody wants us bad enough that they’re going to try to set our warehouse on fire, they’ll have to bring a whole army to be successful.”
“I guess I’d better hope they don’t bring an army then, huh?”
“Maybe.”
We glare at each other as the seconds tick by. I feel an epic stare-down competition starting, and I smile with sinister, wicked glee because I’m totally going to win it. I do this with my kids daily, so I have a lot of practice, and I crush their sorry butts at it every time. Boo yah, tall man, you can suck it because you are so going down right now. Feeeel the dry eyeball burn . . .
More seconds tick by. My eyes are starting to get a little tacky. Is there an advantage to staring someone down from seven feet up? I think there must be, because he’s not flinching. His eyeballs are still glistening, whereas mine probably look like hundred-year-old marbles. Dull. Frosty. Damn. I think my eyelids are stuck to them now.
