Code Name: Genesis

by Sawyer Bennett

  “He won’t get near you.”

  “Can you guarantee that?” Her eyes are narrowed on me sharply.

  “Yes,” I say with a hard edge to my tone. There’s no way I’d ever let that fucker touch a hair on her head ever again.

  “How are you going to lure him?” Rachel asks, and I focus on her.

  Pulling the pan from the flame, I scrape my eggs onto an awaiting plate, tossing some bacon on top. I’d given this a lot of thought after I’d shown Joslyn to a guest room last night. I turn the stove off, then put the pan back on it. Placing my hands on the edge of the counter, I lay out my plan to them.

  “We’re going to put on a show for him, and he won’t be able to resist coming after Joslyn.” I twist my neck slightly to give my full attention just to her. “We’ll get your publicist on it. Announce you and I are a couple. We’ll do a few photo ops. I’m going to brag how you’re absolutely protected now under my watch and this loser isn’t going to get anywhere near you. His ego won’t be able to handle it. His psychosis will demand he prove me wrong.”

  “I’ve heard crazier ideas,” Rachel says before taking a huge bite of a donut.

  Joslyn, I notice, lets her gaze drift off so she’s staring out the kitchen window into the side yard. Whether she’s contemplating doubts or that I might be the craziest son of a bitch she’s ever known, I have no clue. But while I might have all kinds of enmity for her, I don’t want her to have the stress of worrying about this. I wouldn’t want that on any of my clients.

  “I’ll keep you safe, Jos,” I promise, surprised by the way I’ve so easily slipped back into using the endearment by shortening her name.

  Those blue eyes come back to me and she nods. “I know. I trust you.”

  “Good,” I say with a nod of my head, then turn back to Rachel. “I’ll keep my current schedule. Joslyn will come with me to Pittsburgh and after I finish the interview, we’ll head to her house on the West Coast where we’ll start to set the trap.”

  “Pittsburgh?” Joslyn asks with surprise.

  “Opening a new headquarters there, and I’ve got a potential employee to interview,” is all I say. She’s on a need to know basis and she doesn’t need to know any more. Certainly not any details about my life and this amazing career I’m still building into something more involved and complex.

  She doesn’t deserve to know anything about my life, so I can’t figure out why I’m all of a sudden frustrated when she doesn’t press me about it. Instead, she just nods and picks up a piece of bacon to nibble on. It’s disconcerting because the Joslyn I’d known was a firecracker. Her personality shone through at all times, and she never just sat by quietly while things unfolded.

  I let it go, though, turning back to Rachel. “Going to need you to get a few things rolling for me.”

  “Shoot,” she says, and I proceed to lay out the details of my plan to take this fucker down.

  Then Joslyn can be on her way to a happy life and I can get back to my own.

  CHAPTER 4

  Joslyn

  I’ve been to Pittsburgh a handful of times, usually a quick in and out for a show or concert. But it never fails to dazzle when I enter the city from the Fort Pitt tunnel. Before then, it was just a drive on a lazily curving interstate through the mountains and rolling hills.

  Then it’s a drive through the belly of a mountain before emerging onto the Fort Pitt bridge. It’s a yellow steel, double-decked arched bridge that crosses the Monongahela River and heads straight for the heart of the city.

  What makes this entrance into Pittsburgh so dramatic is when people come out of the tunnel, it’s like boom… there’s this sudden appearance of a beautiful city of tall glass and steel buildings surrounded by sparkling water. It’s just something no one expects.

  Kynan navigates the traffic with ease, telling me he’s spent some time in this area. He has one hand resting casually on top of the wheel, the other on his left thigh where he taps his fingers to the beat of the music playing from the radio. He turned it on as soon as we pulled out of the airport, then turned the volume up enough to discourage conversation.

  I don’t mind because I’ve found it difficult and awkward to talk to him anyway. He’s been cool and aloof today, spending this morning plotting with Rachel at the kitchen island while I went and took a shower.

  An hour after that, we were at the private terminal at McCarran International Airport just outside of Vegas and Kynan was loading me onto a Lear jet bound for Pittsburgh. When I asked him why we weren’t flying commercial, he merely said, “I want to make it hard for your stalker to track you.”

  That made me have a million other questions. Why does he think he might still be tracking me right now? How long will we be in Pittsburgh? Is Kynan going to stay mad at me forever?

  None were asked because Kynan put on a pair of headphones when we settled into sumptuous leather captain’s chairs on board the plane and promptly went to sleep.

  We move deeper into the city, crossing another bridge. Pittsburgh sits at the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers where they form the Ohio River. While the city was once known for its steel manufacturing, it’s a leader in banking and medicine these days.

  As Kynan cuts across city blocks, I notice the buildings become a bit shabbier and the streets more littered. Business people walking the streets give way to the homeless and aimless. I watch a drug purchase go down on a street corner as we wait at a red light. The next block down, a prostitute waves at Kynan as we drive by. If Kynan weren’t the one sitting beside me, I’d be feeling decidedly unsafe to be in this part of the city by myself. I have to wonder where he’s taking me.

  At the next intersection, Kynan turns right and then immediately signals another right-hand turn. He pulls up to what appears to be basement parking under an old warehouse that runs the length of the entire block. It’s four-stories high, not counting the parking level with graffiti sprayed over the red-brick surface. There are beautiful arched windows on every floor that must let in spectacular light if they weren’t coated in so much grime.

  There’s a rolling metal gate closing off the entrance, but it rumbles open when Kynan taps something on his iPhone, presumably a security app. When he pulls in, I glance over my shoulder to see the gate rolling closed.

  Kynan drives deep into the underground lot and parks the SUV near a stairwell, also covered in graffiti. I don’t wait for him to open my car door, preferring to step out on my own. I’m immediately feeling insecure as only half the lights seem to be working and no natural light from the entrance reaches this far back. Kynan moves to the stairwell door. I quickly move to catch up with him, finally voicing my fear-tinged curiosity.

  “Where are we?” I ask as we move up the flight of stairs.

  “Welcome to the Jameson Pittsburgh office,” he replies at the landing to the first floor. There’s an old dusty wall sconce that barely provides enough illumination to reveal a faded numeral one painted on the heavy steel door.

  “A real fixer-upper,” I mutter as he punches a code in an alarm panel on the wall.

  A panel that appears incredibly new and high tech, a sharp contrast to the overall dilapidation of the building. A short chime sounds, and I can hear a lever inside the steel door click.

  Kynan pushes the handle down, pulls the door open, and motions for me to precede him inside. It’s what I’d imagine an abandoned warehouse would look like. Empty floor space of approximately ten thousand square feet. There’s a thick layer of dust on the cement floor and scattered trash all about, indicating this building has been sitting empty for quite some time. I wonder what it was used for.

  We move across the space to the opposite side where I notice a freight elevator. It’s got a metal gate Kynan opens and I step inside. He follows and hits a button for the second floor, closing the metal gate behind him. We take off with a slight lurch and a groan of cables, slowly rising upward. I expect to see another similar floor, but as the second floor comes into view,
my jaw drops wide at what I’m seeing. I think this is what Dorothy must have felt when she stepped foot into the full-blown color of Oz for the first time.

  Before me is a completely finished and renovated office space. Kynan opens the gate and I step onto glossy, hardwood floors in a brown so deep it almost looks black. The perimeter walls are the same red brick as the outside of the building, but it’s been sand blasted and restored to its original glory. Above me are exposed iron pipes, steel beams, and black ductwork, lending an industrial vibe to the space but the furnishings are elegant and expensive. Black leather couches and chairs dot the area with silver aluminum tables holding uniquely different lamps. A bold steel gray rug sits under the furniture, lending a warm feel to the entire space, and a massive painting of galloping ghostly white horses on a black backdrop covers one wall.

  In the middle of the room is a wide, floating staircase that ascends to the next level and to the levels beyond that from what I can see. It’s made of black iron and reclaimed wood with steel cables for support.

  “Wow,” is all I can say as I look around in shock at the upscale space that stands in sharp contrast to the crappy exterior and first floor.

  Past the staircase, the open space is punctuated with red brick support columns. In between those sit simple black desks with mesh office chairs. Each desk has a computer screen, phone, and printer. On the back wall sits a row of glassed-in offices with black metal frames, each one empty of any furnishings except the middle one. It’s larger than the others to either side. Inside sits a long oval conference table. I follow him in there, marveling at the artistry as the table sits on heavy twisted beams of rusted steel—perhaps a nod to Pittsburgh’s heritage and history—with a long rectangular slab of gray, speckled cement on top. It’s sturdy, masculine, and imposing, everything that describes Kynan and Jameson Force Security.

  The room itself is barren other than the table and chairs, the only warmth coming from the three large arched windows that run floor to ceiling. The outside is so coated with dust and dirt I can’t see what’s on the other side, but they’re beautiful, nonetheless.

  “If these are your offices, how come you’ve only restored this floor and by the looks of it, the ones above?” I ask Kynan curiously.

  “Have a seat,” Kynan says, pointing specifically to a chair. I take it, and he sits two down from me at the end of the table, a position of authority. I get the distinct impression he wants to talk now. But thankfully, he appeases my inquisitiveness first. “These offices are sort of ‘off the books’. It’s where our more covert type of operations will be based from, which includes top-secret government work. It’s not open to the general public or even potential visiting customers. Only employees of Jameson. I’d like to keep up the appearance this is just an abandoned old building.”

  “What’s above us?” I ask, since he’s in a sharing mood.

  “Third floor is all tech and weapons support, including a soundproof shooting range. Fourth floor is going to be communal space… kitchen, gym, living room, theater, and dining room.”

  “Communal space?”

  “For any agents who want to live here. We’re also upfitting five personal apartments on the fourth floor. Call it a perk of the job.”

  “Will you be living here?”

  “Yeah,” he says, then shakes his head with exasperation. “As soon as they’re ready to move in.”

  I have many more questions, mostly dealing with what type of operations he could possibly be doing that would require such a set up and secrecy on top of that. It fascinates me wondering what this man has made for himself. But I also know it’s none of my business, and I doubt he’s willing to indulge me.

  So I merely fold my hands in my lap, letting my silence indicate he now has the floor for whatever we need to discuss.

  “You and I are going to head out tomorrow morning for your house in California. We’ve got a stop to make along the way, but I need you to arrange to have your mom and whatever publicist you use—or whoever else is on your team these days—ready to meet with us early the day after.”

  My chin lifts. “My mom isn’t managing me anymore.”

  Kynan blinks in surprise. “Since when?”

  “For a long time,” I murmur. “She’s actually back in Cunningham Falls, married to a rancher.”

  Kynan just stares as he digests this, and I get why it’s surprising to him. My mom, Madeline Meyers, was my manager when Kynan and I first met years ago. She’s actually my stepmom but having raised me since I was six meant she was always just my mom. The woman who gave birth to me died in childbirth, so I don’t remember her.

  Why it’s probably surprising was Madeline Meyers sole purpose in life was to make her daughter rich and famous. She was like a pit bull with my career, using a heavy hand to direct and control me at all times. Only after I’d met Kynan was I able to get a little of that control back, but that was rather short-lived. My mom never liked Kynan. She felt he was a distraction, which was why she’d had a tough time hiding her gloating smile when I found out he cheated on me. She so enjoyed showing me the picture of Kynan and another woman.

  It was crushing being shown the man I had fallen in love with was seeing another woman behind my back. I couldn’t defend against the physical evidence she showed me, and it made it extremely easy to run from Kynan. I cleanly broke things off, choosing not to confront him on his treachery. After a simple phone call to him, I merely ran off with my mom to Hollywood where I could start my career in earnest, without the distraction of young love.

  “Do you have a manager? Publicist?” Kynan asks, and I jolt back to the present, ignoring the nauseated feeling produced by thinking about the comprehensive investigative report my mom gave me about Kynan. She’d hired someone to check him out. To tail him and make sure he was good enough for her daughter.

  Turns out… he wasn’t.

  Strangely, twelve years later, I find myself without anger because I don’t have room for it. I guess the passage of time makes it so I just don’t care anymore about why Kynan would do that to me. Besides… I chose to leave without asking him those questions. It would serve no purpose now. On top of that, I’m terrified I’ll be killed by some stalker and Kynan is my sole means of hope I’ll get through this. I can’t waste my energies on wondering about my past with him. I have to worry about my future and staying alive now.

  I finally respond to his original question. “I have a manager and a publicist. You want them both there?”

  “Yes,” he replies, drumming his fingers on the table. “I want to discuss the best way to reveal us as a couple to the media. I’m thinking an engagement will do the most to piss your stalker off, but we’ll have to massage a cover story since this is coming out of the blue. I suggest we stick as close to the truth as possible… that we’ve known each other for years and have reconnected. Sound okay?”

  The thickness in my throat prevents me from answering right away. It got clogged with emotion when he said “engagement” since I’d once dreamed about having that with Kynan. I thought we’d be together forever, which meant getting married and having babies one day.

  Now I’m stuck in this weird alternate universe. Someone is hunting me, and I have to pull off a fake relationship with the man I used to love and who broke my heart because I clearly wasn’t enough for him.

  I give a cough to clear my throat. “That’s fine. I’ll put calls in now.”

  “Good,” he says, then he checks his watch. “You can hang out in here. I’m interviewing someone for a position at Jameson. They’ll be here soon. Then we’ll go check into a hotel for the evening.”

  “How long do you think this is going to last?” I ask.

  “You mean before this guy will make a move on you?”

  When I nod, Kynan’s eyes turn hard. “Hopefully not long. I know it’s not a comfortable situation for either of us.”

  “Agreed,” I say softly. “But I do appreciate you doing this for me. I can’t thank you e
nough.”

  “Thank me when we bring the guy down,” he mutters before pushing up from his chair. “If you can, work on setting up that meeting for the day after tomorrow. My meeting shouldn’t last more than half an hour.”

  “Got it,” I reply, then pull my phone out of my purse.

  I’m completely at Kynan’s mercy. I can only hope this plan of his—while dangerous and scary—produces results quickly. It’s just far too painful being near him and being reminded at the same time he was once the love of my life.

  CHAPTER 5

  Kynan

  I leave Joslyn in the conference room to make my way back down to the first-floor entrance door. As expected, Cruce Britton is waiting there for me. I had given him the alarm code to the parking deck gate, which randomly changes every twenty minutes, but I wasn’t going to give him full access to the building until I’d officially hired him. He still needed to pass personal muster with me, which was the reason for this meeting.

  “Glad you could come,” is how I greet him after I unlock the steel door and pull it wide. I offer my hand, and he gives it a crushing shake.

  Cruce Britton is a big guy. He stands at six-foot-six. While I’ll never admit it to him, he’s my number-one recruit to join this new branch of Jameson.

  “Got a real fixer-upper here,” he says as he steps into the warehouse and looks around.

  “You’re not the first to say that.” I laugh, thinking of Joslyn’s words just a few minutes ago. “But not all is as it seems.”

  I take Cruce the same route I had just taken Joslyn, up through the freight elevator to the second floor. He whistles low through his teeth in appreciation as we step onto the second floor.

  “Nice cover,” he says as I lead him over to some black leather chairs where we can sit and talk. He notices Joslyn in the glass-walled conference room, where she paces back and forth with a phone to her ear. She’s far enough away her details are fuzzy, but her platinum hair and slight build would have any man looking twice.