Shot in the Dark (Blackbridge Security Book 2)

by Marie James

  “I had a coupon for this.”

  “Of course, you did.”

  “Saving money is important,” she chides when I roll my eyes.

  Nana doesn’t ever have to worry about money. If she ran out of the life insurance money my grandfather left behind, which would entail her going on a very long spending spree, I’d have her covered. But she’s a very independent woman, often reminding me that if she spends all of her money, then she’ll have nothing left to leave me.

  Even though I’m twenty-six and in no way in need of help from someone else, she’s hell-bent on providing for me when she’s gone. To avoid the conversation about how everyone dies and that’s okay, I just agree with her.

  “You made too much food,” I say instead as she pours the pasta into the boiling water on the stove.

  I’d offer to help, but she’d only shoot me down, which she’s already done a half dozen times since my arrival an hour ago.

  “I was hoping you’d bring a lady friend with you.”

  “Of course, you were.”

  “Or a male friend.”

  “Flynn had plans.”

  She spins around to face me as fast as her old body can manage. “I told you about that warlock.”

  “Flynn, not Finn. I learned my lesson the last time Finnegan joined us.”

  How could I forget? The woman threw the sign of the cross enough times she looked like a religious gang member spearheading a Crusade right in the middle of her kitchen. Let’s ignore the fact that she isn’t particularly religious, nor Catholic for that matter.

  “The British young man?” she asks when she finally gets her bearings.

  “The one and the same.”

  “Do you spend a lot of time apart on the weekends?”

  I might have tried to interact with women more growing up if I knew it was going to lead to my grandmother thinking I’m a closet case so in fear of my sexuality that I refuse to come out.

  “He’s just a friend and colleague,” I assure her.

  “Of course he is, dear. He’s welcome, anytime.”

  “He likes girls with big tits.”

  If my eyes could open any wider, you could drive a semi-truck through them. I glare over my shoulder at my fucking bird, but he doesn’t do very well with nonverbal communication. At least he pretends to not understand the daggers I’m throwing his direction.

  “Isn’t he just the cutest little thing?” Nana asks as she slowly makes her way across the room with another treat for the traitor.

  “Thank you, Nana,” the bird coos. “I’m so hungry.”

  I get another nasty look from her. “Aren’t you feeding him properly?”

  I don’t even open my mouth to argue that the bird has access to food all the time, but treats are supposed to be limited. She wouldn’t listen to me, anyway. The way she fed me as a child, always insisting I needed a snack, I’m surprised I’m not four hundred pounds right now. Thank fuck for good metabolism and the exercise I get in my apartment.

  I have been contemplating a few workouts in my building’s gym, but I’m sure to fuck something up if I run into Whitney there. Besides, it’s incredibly hard to hide an erection in gym shorts—make that impossible.

  “Do you want some pasta?” She’s no longer speaking to me. Puff Daddy has all of her attention. “You’re looking a little thin.”

  He’s not. He’s literally the same size within a few ounces of when I got him. I take pride in the way I treat my bird, and even though he’s insufferable most days, especially recently while he’s watching me watch Whitney, he’s very well kept.

  “He can’t have the spices in the tortellini. It’ll upset his stomach.”

  “I love pasta!” Puff argues. “Give me pasta!”

  “If you say so,” Nana says, agreeing with me. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt him either.

  “This bi—”

  I spin and point a finger at him, muttering under my breath so she can’t hear, “I will defeather you.”

  “My body, my choice!” He scoffs, the rush of air hisses past his beak. “Asshole. Give me pasta!”

  “How about dried pasta?” Nana offers in consolation.

  “That would be much better,” I agree, practically snarling at the way Puff cackles because he’s won this damn battle.

  Nana busies herself with supplying my overeager bird with more pasta than he’ll eat, and it’s the smile on her face for feeling useful that I’ll try to remember when I have to sweep the floor after this messy fucker is done. He tolerates her touching his head even though he hates people in his space, and for that I’m grateful.

  “Maybe Puffy needs a lady friend as well.”

  Oh shit.

  “Hey pretty lady! Wanna fuck?”

  I hang my head in shame, but thankfully Nana doesn’t have the best of hearing and can only understand half of what he says.

  She turns to look at me over her shoulder, hand still rubbing the top of his head. “What did he say?”

  “He said,” I speak louder, enunciating my words, “Hey pretty lady, wanna dance?”

  Her smile is wide, the sparkle in her eyes catching in the light.

  “Such a sweet bird. But no, honey, my old hips can’t take any dancing right now.”

  I offer her a chair at the table when she heads back to the stove, but she waves me off the way she has been doing for years.

  I love spending time with Nana, and if I could get away with not bringing Puff, it would be a more enjoyable experience, but she loves him and complained the entire time the one time I didn’t bring him. But come to think of it, she was so busy grumbling about his absence she didn’t mention me needing a girlfriend or a boyfriend once. This gives me ideas for my next visit.

  ***

  I tell myself as I head to work on a Sunday that I’m going to get some things done, but in reality, my equipment at the BBS office is just a tad better than the stuff I have at home. Meaning, I can watch Whitney easier.

  I know it’s creepy. I know what I’m doing is illegal and could technically land me in jail, but it’s not like I’m exactly interfering with her life. I’m not mining her data to use for personal gain…

  But I am, aren’t I?

  I’ve discovered her love for Orc’s Realm and pretended to be some random stranger needing help to make it through levels—utterly difficult to play that card because there are things I could show her to increase her efficiency in the game.

  I watch her damn door on the building’s security camera.

  I watch the scowl on her face every morning when she’s begrudgingly running on the treadmill.

  I’m a stalker.

  Not even kind of a stalker.

  I’m a full-fledged snake.

  It doesn’t sit well with me at all, but it also doesn’t stop me from opening all my programs the second I sit in my desk chair. I’m like an addict waiting for the sight of her, but her morning workout is done and since she never leaves her apartment, the most I can hope for today is catching her when she has her dinner delivered.

  I show some restraint by not rewinding footage to catch her from earlier, and I even do some quick research on therapists in the area but quickly kick that idea to the curb. Don’t they have to report illegal activity? If I go to jail, I won’t be able to play online with her later.

  Since I’m not deep into watching an active video of her, I hear the footsteps approaching my office today, giving me enough time to clear my screens. Several stock market websites are on display when Flynn shoves open my office door, once again without knocking.

  “Really?” he scoffs, looking at the screen.

  “Just keeping an eye on my investments,” I lie. I probably know too much about stocks and trends, at least enough to land me in federal prison for insider trading.

  “It’s Sunday, you prat.”

  “Can I help you with something?”

  He slow blinks in my direction, and I realize my mistake already. Normally, I’m on my game. I
know what I’ve worked on for each guy here and have it at the ready when they enter. Hell, usually I take the research to them when I’m done. Not so much lately, and it’s evident in the way Flynn is looking at me now.

  “The report on Heizer,” I say before he can remind me. “I have it right here.”

  I hand him the report, but he doesn’t pull his eyes from mine as he takes the folder.

  “I completed it a few days ago.” Technically within a couple hours of him giving it to me, another attempt at getting back to my normal life. “Everything checks out.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Things are great.”

  I look toward Puff Daddy’s open cage, hoping he’ll spew a couple insults to change the tone the room has taken, but that turncoat is passed out from the stuffing Nana gave him earlier.

  “I’m here if you need anything.” He continues to watch me, his eyes darting between mine.

  This is an opening, right? He’s literally asking me to lay my problems at his feet.

  “I have a crush on a woman.”

  “A crush?” He runs his hand over the top of his head, his top lip twitching slightly in the corner. “Sounds a little juvenile. Is this person online or did you finally get away from your computer long enough to run into a normal woman?”

  “Women online are normal,” I defend. “Mostly.”

  “So online then?”

  I nod. I could get angry for his roundabout insults, but I’m desperate here.

  “I’m not an expert on women,” he adds. “But I imagine an online interest would be easier. You can take your shot and if it doesn’t work out, you can just move on.”

  He shrugs with the simplicity of his plan.

  Has he lost his damn mind?

  “Just move on,” I confirm.

  “Yep.”

  I don’t want to move on from her. I’ve never felt such a connection before. At first, of course, it was purely physical. She has the look I love, amazing tits, and even her scowl when she’s unhappy gets me thinking dirty thoughts.

  After playing with her online, hearing her voice, discovering how funny she is?

  It would be impossible to just walk away.

  “Good chat,” I tell him and turn back to my computer screens.

  He chuckles as he leaves, and the sound grates on every last damn nerve.

  There is no way to move on. That just means when I do take my shot, I have to make sure it’s an offer she can’t refuse.

  And honestly, at this point, I’m not completely opposed to kidnapping. I mean, what’s one more felony?

  Chapter 6

  Whitney

  Slow blinking didn’t make the message disappear. Neither did rapid blinking.

  Nope.

  It’s still there.

  W45PN357: Meet me for coffee?

  We’ve been playing Orc’s Realm nightly for over a week, but it’s too soon, right?

  When we discovered yesterday that we lived in the same city, it should’ve skeeved me out, but at the time I felt a little zing of excitement. We clicked. This guy is hilarious, and his voice over the mic is like melted butter.

  Granted, I’m certain he’s like most of the guys who play online, living with his mother, drinking energy drinks to stay alive, and bathes so infrequently each shower is like a brand-new experience, but the idea of him being normal is nice.

  RachelNRoss4Eva: No.

  See? That was easy.

  “Did I freak you out?” he asks through the mic.

  Less than it should’ve, I think.

  But I don’t say it. What I do find weird is that our mics are open, but he made his request via the chat box instead of the words coming out of his mouth.

  Is he actually shy? That’s a possibility, but since my character flaws tend to lean in the direction of pessimism, I also wonder if he’s tracking our chats for some nefarious reason.

  He could’ve easily asked his question. Not that the answer would’ve changed. It would still be a hard no. I don’t meet people. I don’t leave the building unless it’s absolutely necessary. I’m not exactly a hermit, but why put extra strain on myself when there are so many conveniences in today’s age?

  Groceries delivered? Check.

  Taco Bell delivered? Check.

  Medications delivered? Check.

  Everything I could ever want is dropped right off at my door. Hell, I don’t even have a car because everything is brought directly to me. If I can’t have it delivered immediately, then Amazon is my best friend. They literally have everything.

  Meeting a guy I met online a week ago? I don’t want that delivered to my door.

  Or do I?

  I shouldn’t be sitting here in silence wondering if I’m going to regret the decision to turn him down.

  “Rach?”

  Damn it.

  “I’m not freaked out,” I begin to explain. “I just don’t meet people.”

  “Ever?”

  “Not usually.”

  I hit a few keys on my keyboard, trying to track his IP address, but I come up blocked. It’s not unusual for many gamers to have tons of protection on their systems, but I’m usually able to infiltrate them with a few keystrokes.

  “What do you do for a living?” I snap my jaw shut the second the question leaves my lips.

  “Will knowing that change your mind?”

  Is he purposely being evasive? Is his question to my question a red flag, or normal since I’d have done the same thing?

  “I think getting to know you better might help some.”

  “So it’s a no for now, but not a no forever?”

  I shrug as if he can see me. I never game online with active video. My avatar is very similar to what I look like in real life, but people are very hard pressed to find actual images of my real person. It’s a way to keep me safe, and honestly, I find it creepy to have stuff out in the cyberworld that makes it easy for people to stare at, judging and thinking they know me when we never had any sort of personal interaction with each other.

  “Are you purposely avoiding the question?”

  “I work for a small company downtown.”

  “That explains everything,” I tease.

  “I guess you could consider my work computer related.”

  That helps to explain the government level firewall he has.

  “What about you?”

  And now I want to avoid the conversation just like he did, but I opened the damn door.

  “Same.”

  “So computer related? Do you create software? Designer?”

  “I mainly do research.”

  It’s pretty close to the truth, but I’m never going to tell some man I met online what I really do.

  “Working from home.”

  I stare at my screen even though the words were spoken. Both of our characters are standing in the middle of the field, the quest we were on completely forgotten when he asked me to coffee.

  Those last three words didn’t sound like a question. They sounded knowledgeable.

  Or am I just being the cynical person I’ve become since learning just how easy it is to lie to people online?

  Cybercrimes are an increasing problem with the loads of data primarily online, and I refuse to be a victim. Although I don’t feel like I’m being catfished, I can never discount the possibility.

  He asked you to coffee, not for your social security number.

  “I work mostly from home.”

  “Man, I wish I could do that. Not having to leave my apartment would be amazing. Nothing but pajamas and Door Dash for days.”

  I chuckle because apparently, I’m living his dream.

  “It’s a pretty sweet gig.”

  “What company do you work for?”

  “I’m an independent contractor,” I reply immediately, and just as quickly regret it. It’s too much information.

  “So, you’re the epitome of success. Nice.”

  I smile, unable to keep my lips from tilti
ng up. I know my life is amazing. I know there are tons of people who wish they could do what I do.

  “Any animals?”

  This is a common question, right? Or is it weird he asked about pets before even asking if I had a boyfriend, girlfriend, or husband?

  “I have a cat. What about you?”

  “I have a bird. I wonder if they’d be friends.”

  “Aren’t they natural enemies?” Is this another sign?

  God, I’m driving myself crazy right now.

  “Maybe?” It sounds like he’s actually contemplating it. “But you won’t even meet me for coffee and you’re wondering if our pets will get along? Who’s being overeager now?”

  “Asshole.” I chuckle because he’s got me there.

  “I have a question.” Here we go. Nothing good comes from those words. It’s almost as bad as I’m not trying to offend you, but… “I know you aren’t ready to meet, but what about giving me your number? So we can text during the day rather than having to wait until the evening to chat on here.”

  I grow silent once again, but my fingers fly over my keyboard, already making an account on a popular chat app.

  “Fair warning, I’m kind of addicted to memes and animal videos, so if you aren’t interested in getting bombarded with those, you might want to say no.”

  And now he’s aware of my kryptonite?

  “I love animal videos, but the memes that make me laugh the most are actually pretty offensive.”

  It’s his turn to laugh. “Thank God, because I’m the same way.”

  “Really offensive,” I clarify. “Dark humor, extremely sexual, and of course ones that make me ask too soon? Because if you can’t joke about the horrors in the world in real time, I think people will go crazy.”

  “Did we just become best friends?”

  “Maybe,” I answer, but my head is firing off all sorts of warning signs.

  He’s so agreeable. Through Orc’s Realm we’re so compatible, it’s growing scary, a little too coincidental.

  Would it be the same in real life? Is it possible, just by pure luck I found a guy online—something my parents are convinced would never happen—that is my perfect match, a complete reflection of myself in male form?

  I really need to talk to Sarah about all of this, but she’s pro-dating, and I know she’d tell me I was a fool for turning down his offer of coffee from the start.