Wrong Place, Right Time

by Elle Casey

  “You can keep your money and your stupid gift certificate. I’m done.”

  “Why are you so mad?”

  I stop so fast, she runs into my back and scrapes my heels with her shoes. I twist my head around to glare at her. “Are you serious? You can’t possibly be that dense, May.”

  She frowns at me. “Dense? That’s kind of harsh, don’t you think?”

  I shake my head at her, thoroughly disappointed. “I have no idea what’s happened to your attitude in this place, but I don’t like it. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to debate it with you right now because I have less than forty hours before my kids are back, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you ruin it for me.”

  May’s face falls. “You really think I’m ruining your weekend?”

  I throw up my free hand and let it fall down to slap my thigh. “Are you kidding me, May? I’ve been locked in a panic room for almost an hour with a giant, sweaty ninja guy!”

  “How do you know he’s a ninja guy? Did he show you his swords?”

  My eyes bug out of my head. I don’t even know what to make of this statement. She can’t be serious.

  May continues. “Listen, Jenny, I know you’re upset, but it’s only because you don’t really know what happened. And getting locked in the panic room was a mistake. It’s all just a bunch of little misunderstandings. I promise, it’s going to be fine. And the job hasn’t changed. We still need you, and I think this is going to be something really easy for you, because you’re so smart with computers and everything.”

  “Do not try to flatter me, May. You know that doesn’t work with me.”

  “Since when? I flatter you all the time to get my way.”

  I sigh. “You’re not going to wear me down with your silliness, either. Not this time. I have to go. Call me later.”

  I turn around and start walking in the direction that I think will take me to the front door. After a couple turns down some hallways, the cubicles come into view, telling me I’m on the right track. As I pass the last one, someone approaches from the opposite direction. I slow, but don’t feel nervous about who this stranger might be, because I sense May coming up behind me and she’s not yelling at me to run.

  “May, is that you?” the man asks.

  “Yes, Thibault, it’s me and my sister, Jenny. Have you guys met yet?”

  As the man draws nearer, I get a better view of his face. He’s just a little bit taller than I am, with very dark hair, and he’s wearing black cowboy boots, jeans, and a tight black T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up a little. I’m pretty sure there’s not an ounce of body fat anywhere on him. He’s more compact than Ozzie, but no less intimidating. It’s a good thing he’s smiling so much, or I might worry that he’s the guy planning to steal things from the mysterious lockers in the panic room.

  “No, I haven’t had the pleasure yet.” He stops in front of me and holds out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Jenny.”

  I take his hand because I don’t want to be rude, even though he’s slowing down my exit. “Nice to meet you too.”

  Thibault looks over my shoulder at my sister. “She’s angry, huh?”

  “Yes, just a little. I was trying to explain to her that it’s really no big deal, and that she can still do the work for us and then go home to enjoy her weekend, but she doesn’t want to listen.”

  Thibault’s smile fades and his expression turns serious. “I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea.”

  I look over my shoulder at my sister. “See? I told you. I’m going home.” I move to go around Thibault, but he sidesteps to block my progress.

  His smile is apologetic now. “If you could just hold off on leaving for a minute, I think Ozzie would like to talk to you.” He nods at something behind me.

  “Well, if Ozzie wants to talk to me, he can call me on my cell. I have somewhere I need to be.”

  As I take another step forward, Thibault holds out an arm. I stop in my tracks and look down at the offending limb. What in the heck does he think he’s doing?

  “Hey, Ozzie! You want to come over here and discuss the situation with May’s sister?”

  I turn around, and the sight of Ozzie and Dev striding through the darker cubicle area toward us has me hesitating. They look like storm troopers or something, the way they walk in tandem with their shoulders swaying forward and back, forward and back.

  Be still, my heart. I know these guys are crazy, but I can kind of see in this moment why my sister is so gaga over them. They make stupid shit like being locked in a panic room seem not nearly as awful as it is.

  I want to slap myself when I realize I’ve been distracted by my own hormones. Illusions. Hotel California alert! It’s all just illusions, Jenny! Get your head together!

  “Let’s take this upstairs,” Ozzie says.

  “Good idea,” my sister agrees.

  “No! Bad idea! I’m not going upstairs or anywhere else with you people. I’m going outside to my car, and I’m going home.”

  I turn around in a rush and shove Thibault’s arm out of my way, spinning him sideways. I refuse to listen to whatever nonsense they’re going to say to me, and I am done with this failed big-sister rescue. May will get an earful from me later.

  The squeaking of my sneakers echoes around the warehouse as I make my way across the large open space, to the keypad that will open the main door. Freedom. I’m almost there.

  Behind me comes the sound of someone else’s footsteps, but I don’t turn around to see who they belong to. I know it’s not my sister, because the footfall sounds heavy.

  I am done playing around. I’m done pretending to be someone I’m not. I’m a mom and an employee of a second-rate software development firm, and I just need to keep my head down and my nose clean for the next forty years until I can retire and travel. I’ll wait until then to have a fun life. A freelancer . . . ha! What in the hell was I thinking?

  “Hey,” says a voice from behind me.

  I say nothing. I’m almost to the keypad.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  I abandon my escape temporarily and spin around.

  Dev stops short just behind me, his arms still in jogging position. He smiles innocently at me, making me want to scream.

  “Where am I going? I’ll tell you where I’m going—I’m getting the hell away from you people. Someone just tried to break in here in the middle of the afternoon and you’re all acting like it’s no big deal.”

  “It’s evening, actually.”

  “Whatever!” I feel like tearing my hair out. Is he crazy? Is that what his Kryptonite is? Lunacy might explain his lack of a wife, despite how good-looking he is.

  He presses his palms together in front of his waist. “We deal with random criminal activity all the time. It’s really no big deal.”

  “Dude . . . I don’t know what you all have been smoking in here, but I’m not interested in those kinds of hallucinations. I live in the real world.”

  Dev reaches up with one hand and rubs at his bare scalp. Then he pulls it away, looks at his palm, and frowns. Rubbing his hand on the front of his shirt, he gives me an awkward grin. “I hate to tell you this, but you actually can’t leave right now.”

  I stare him down, silently daring him to say that again.

  He doesn’t even blink.

  “Oh. So we’re playing this game again?” I won’t lose a stare-down contest a second time.

  He shakes his head, looking almost sad. “It’s not a game, I promise. We’ve got a call in to the police, and we’re waiting for one of their officers to stop by and have a little conversation with us about what happened, and we’d really like for you to wait until we finish that before you go.”

  “Why?” If he doesn’t give me a really, really good reason, I’m outta here. I will totally leave here and never glance in my rearview mirror, not even once. Goodbye, Bourbon Street Boys, and hello, reality. The thought makes me a little sad, which is totally and completely irrational, of cou
rse. I don’t need to see this Dev guy again. He’s nothing to me. A practical stranger. A sexy one.

  “Because we want to assess the threat, and we want to figure out exactly what’s going on before we put you out there where you might be in danger.”

  My heart skips a beat. “Danger?” I gulp, having a hard time swallowing past the lump that’s materialized in my throat. “Why would I be in danger?”

  He shrugs. “Because you were here when everything happened.”

  I feel a little better after his brief and completely unconvincing explanation. “Yeah, but I was inside. Whoever caused the problem was outside. And I don’t know if they got into the warehouse, but I know for a fact they didn’t get into the panic room, so why would I be in any trouble?”

  “We won’t know until we know.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense.” I really feel like I could poke one of his eyes out right now, I’m so frustrated.

  “Would you like some jambalaya?”

  His question comes from so far out in left field, I don’t know how to respond. My mouth opens but no words appear to save me from looking like a fish out of water.

  May, Ozzie, and Thibault come walking over from the cubicle area, talking among themselves. May comes right for me, no doubt with plans to convince me to stay.

  Dev continues. “Ozzie is an amazing cook, and he made one of his best dishes earlier today. We have some leftovers, and I’m starving. Would you like to share some with me?”

  I know it’s completely crazy, and I know I should probably just get the hell out of here, but when he says the words, my stomach growls really loudly, and I realize that I haven’t eaten anything all day. And that glass of wine I drank earlier feels like it’s eating a hole in my stomach.

  “Good. You didn’t leave,” May says as she stops at my side.

  “I’m trying to convince her to have some jambalaya with me.”

  “Great idea!” says May in an overdone, cheerleader-type voice.

  I chew my lip as I decide what my next move should be.

  “I promise . . . I’m not messing around,” Dev says, his voice warm and assuring. Liam Neeson ain’t got nothin’ on this guy, damn him.

  May is giving me her puppy-dog eyes again.

  I’m starting to fold and feel powerless to stop it. “How long will it take? For the police to get here and for you to make your statement or whatever?”

  “No more than an hour.” Dev gestures toward the stairs. “Come on up. This will be the best jambalaya you’ll ever have. If it isn’t, I’ll let you use your sister’s Taser on me.”

  “I have it locked and loaded,” she says, nodding like a bobble-head doll.

  So, so tempting. I take a deep breath in and out before answering, trying not to laugh at his promise.

  “Fine.” The teenager in me is giggling over the fact that this feels a tiny bit like a date. Like an invitation to meet in the school cafeteria and sit at the same table during lunch hour.

  With my mind made up and a plan in place, I feel better. I sigh and shake my head as I walk beside him to the bottom of the stairs. May stays behind to chat with her boyfriend and Thibault.

  I must be high to have let him talk me into eating dinner here. Maybe I should work as a freelancer for these ridiculous people, because apparently I could fit right in, given the complete lack of decision-making skills I’m showing right now.

  Thank goodness Miles has the kids, is all I can think. And then I realize how awful that thought is. It’s at that point that I realize how far I’ve already fallen. Into what? I have no idea, but it can’t be good.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Oh my god, this is so good.” I’m talking with my mouth full of food, and I’m pretty sure I have a couple grains of rice clinging to my lip, but I can’t stop myself. Hell, I can’t even slow down. I’ve eaten an entire bowl of jambalaya in less than five minutes. Dev was right; Ozzie is an amazing cook.

  Everyone is still downstairs except for Dev and me, but as soon as the big man comes up I’m going to tell him I’m a fan. Even if I am still mad at him and his team, a talent this strong should be rewarded. Besides, maybe I could convince my sister to invite me over for dinner more often. At her place, of course. I’m not coming here again. This will be my last meal at the Bourbon Street Boys Café.

  “I know, right?” Dev nods. “I’ve probably eaten this meal fifty times now, but it never gets old.”

  “Fifty times? Wow. Does he make it every day?” I dip a hunk of French bread into the sauce and take a hearty bite of it, not caring that this marks me as a piglet. Thank goodness Dev is just as hungry as I am. His nose is so close to his bowl, I’m surprised he hasn’t splashed the spicy sauce up into his nostrils yet. He’s already on his second helping.

  “No. Maybe once or twice a month. He has a pretty big repertoire, and he likes to cook, lucky for us.”

  “You don’t know how to cook?”

  “Not really. My mom always tried to teach me, but I’m not a very good student.” He gives me a half smile, and I can almost picture him as a small boy. The vision reminds me of my son, Sammy, and makes me go warm with happiness.

  I smile. “Oh, I don’t know if I believe that.” I realize after I say it that it sounds like I’m flirting. My face feels a little warm, but I’m pretty sure it’s the spice in the jambalaya and not the little wink he gives me.

  “Believe it.” He holds up a hand that I’m absolutely sure could palm a basketball with no effort. “It’s hard to use regular-sized knives with paws like these.” He uses that paw to pick up another piece of bread and dip it into his sauce. A big slice from the thick baguette looks like a crouton in his giant fingers.

  “You do have pretty big hands.” Is he thinking the same thing I am? I squirm in my seat a little bit. Damn, this jambalaya is spicy. I reach up surreptitiously and pull the collar of my shirt out a little.

  He shrugs. “It comes with the territory.”

  I’m confused. “Being a trainer?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Massive growth spurts.”

  I put my spoon down, intrigued about his history. I’ve never met anyone taller than six-two. “You had more than one?”

  He’s chewing more slowly and looks as if he’s considering my question, not sure he wants to answer it. Once again, I’m worried that I’ve gone too far with my interrogation, but then he responds as he stares into his bowl.

  “I guess I had my first one around twelve years old. I grew an entire foot over the summer. Then I had another one when I was around fifteen. The third one when I was around eighteen.” He looks up at me with a wry grin. “Let’s just say it left a lot of stretch marks on my back.”

  “Wow. So, how tall are you?”

  “Seven feet even.”

  I don’t know why, but that makes my heart flip. “Holy crap.” I grab my spoon and act like I’m going to take another bite of my meal, even though every last bit is gone. I’m afraid that I’ve insulted him with my reaction, so I scramble to pick up the pieces of the conversation as I scrape up speckles of sauce and collect them over on the edge of the bowl.

  “That’s really cool. I’ll bet you can reach everything on the top shelf.” I feel like thumping myself in the forehead with my spoon. Good one, Jenny. It’s as if I’ve never talked to a man before.

  He laughs. “I haven’t met a shelf I can’t reach yet, unless you count the ones at Costco. But I’m pretty good at climbing, so I think I could handle those too.”

  I sigh with jealousy. “You have no idea the struggles that I have being only five-three.”

  “Oh really?” He puts the spoon down. “Tell me about it.”

  I know he’s mocking me, but I play along like he’s not. “Well . . . I have a step stool that I have to carry around the house with me so that I can access my pantry, my linen closet, and my clothes closet.” I pretend-frown to make sure that he’ll be suitably impressed by my very sad story.

  “You poor thing. I never realized
how challenging it could be to be so petite.” His smile has turned upside down into a very overdone frown.

  I know he didn’t mean it as a compliment, but being called petite makes me very happy. “Yep. That’s my personal struggle. I don’t like to complain, though. I just suffer in silence . . . try to be strong for all the other height-challenged people out there who look up to me . . .”

  He laughs and leans back in his chair, wiping his mouth off with a napkin that he then throws on the table. He laces his hands and puts them behind his head, leaning back so he can stare at the ceiling. “Ahhhhh . . . ,” is all he says.

  “So, you said your son might be tall for his age, huh?”

  Dev swivels his head to the left and right, using his stationary hands to rub his scalp. Then, without warning, he lurches forward in his chair, stands up, and grabs both of our empty bowls to walk them over to the sink.

  I’m stunned by his out-of-the-blue reaction, wondering if I missed something. I feel like I should apologize, but I’m not sure what I’m sorry for. Is that rude? To ask about your kid’s height? I guess I’m not used to talking to men about their children. Usually, it’s just the other moms hanging around waiting for their kids to come out of school that I interact with, and they all seem very happy to compare the heights and weights of their children. It’s almost like a competition, in fact.

  Dev rinses the dishes at the sink, but just as I’m about to apologize, he speaks. “I’m not really sure where my son falls on the height chart.”

  I have about ten questions on the tip of my tongue, but I’m not completely deaf, dumb, and blind to body language. This is a subject he doesn’t want to discuss for whatever reason. Maybe he thinks it’s a mother’s job to worry about those things. Maybe he feels bad about the fact that Jacob’s mom isn’t around to participate.

  My mouth switches over to autopilot while he cleans up the kitchen. “My son is actually small for his age. I guess he takes after both of us. His dad and me. But both of my daughters are at the higher end of the height chart at the doctor’s office. I don’t know if they’re going to hang on to that height into adolescence, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”