Shot in the Dark (Blackbridge Security Book 2)

by Marie James

  “So, your number?” he prods.

  “I can’t give you that.”

  “Maybe I should stop ask—”

  “Are you familiar with the TalkToMe app?”

  “No.”

  “It’s an app that allows you to chat without disclosing any personal information.”

  “I didn’t know that an app like that existed.”

  “It’s rated one of the safest apps there is.”

  “Is it like one of those apps that conversations disappear from? One the kids are using these days to sell drugs and engage in prostitution?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “So it’s not an app that hides conversations so people can cheat on their spouses?”

  “How would I know? I just created an account.”

  “Just for me?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You created the account just so you can talk to me? I’m flattered.”

  And there he goes again with that damn charm. Also, why is his damn voice so husky, his quick laugh so mesmerizing that I find myself making jokes just to hear it over and over again?

  “Do you want my username or not?”

  “Of course I do.”

  I pause before handing over that information. It may not seem like a big deal to many but initiating something like this is very unusual for me. I don’t have social media, or many apps on my phone. Call me paranoid, but tracking happens everywhere, and that is never good for my business. Leaving footprints behind is a big no-no in my field, and I do everything in my power to protect client data.

  W45PN357: TalkToMe app username is W45PN357-2

  “There,” he says after he types out the message. “Now you can decide if you want to reach out to me. No pressure.”

  But I feel pressure, low and deep in my gut, and not the kind that makes me want it to stop.

  “Dash 2? Is the original Wasp Nest on the app?”

  “Impossible,” he mutters, but at least this is a way to bring up something I’ve always wondered.

  “Why did you choose that handle for Orc’s Realm?”

  “I like it.”

  Simple enough, but he probably doesn’t understand the ramifications of using the same username as one of the greatest hackers of our time.

  “You know it’s the name for one of the greatest hackers of all time?”

  “The greatest,” he clarifies. “Think he’ll be mad?”

  “I think he has better things to do than search online for people using his name.”

  “But he’d only have to set up a search program once to keep filtering through online data that tags any use.”

  “Very true,” I agree. “I get the feeling you know a little more about computers than you initially let on.”

  “I never said I didn’t know computers.”

  “Yet you played Orc’s Realm like a guy who never touched a keyboard before.”

  He laughs, causing cold chills to run down my arms. On a whim, I add him to my TalkToMe app and he accepts immediately.

  “I explained that I online game, and Orc’s Realm is completely different. It just took some getting used to. Plus, YouTube is full of videos.”

  A cat meme pops up on my phone screen in the app, but he doesn’t mention it. I chuckle at the image of the fat cat and send him back another already saved in my phone.

  “Are we going to collect this chest tonight, or not?”

  We play online for several more hours, and not once does he try to pressure me into meeting him again.

  When I finally log off, I’m both relieved and disappointed.

  Chapter 7

  Wren

  Today is the day.

  I woke up feeling that in my bones this morning.

  I’ve been asking Whitney to meet me for coffee each day for the last two weeks. She always says no, and I leave the subject alone for the rest of our interactions, but I can tell she’s starting to crumble.

  The TalkToMe app was her suggestion when I asked for her phone number, and it’s been amazing. We don’t use actual words very often, instead showing each other our moods and senses of humor through videos, memes, and websites we find online.

  I’m in my own head, floating on a freaking cloud as I climb on the elevator to head to work. Puff Daddy is being oddly quiet this morning, which I’m grateful for. There’s a very strict no animals allowed policy in this building. Of course Adrian knew I had Puff, but it’s no surprise that a hundred dollars a month kept his mouth shut. If upper management treated their people better, then they wouldn’t be so easily swayed to break the rules for renters. But Adrian is gone and I haven’t gotten the best read on the new girl at the desk. Best I can tell she’s more involved with herself than what’s going on around her. This helps me, but I know my luck will run out eventually.

  I don’t even lift my head when the elevator stops before hitting the ground floor. Avoiding eye contact is a must around here. The last thing I want is some old lady knocking on my door asking to borrow sugar or something.

  “Nice tits!”

  My eyes dart to the carrier in my hand, but in my line of sight are a pair of legs in grey, marbled spandex. I know those legs. Well, I know those leggings.

  “Oh shit,” I hiss when my eyes run up the length of Whitney’s body. She isn’t smiling, not finding the catcall the least bit funny.

  “Did you ju—”

  “No! God no! I’d never!” I point to the bag in my hand, but the dark mesh keeps her from seeing in. “Him! He said it!”

  She glares at the bag before looking back up at me. I’d call the look on her face cynical, and now my pet is going to ruin any chance with this girl.

  In an attempt to try and save face, I unzip the bag. Thankfully, Puff is being cooperative this morning and sticks his head out of the bag, but since I can never determine his mood or what’s going to come out of his mouth, I’m well aware this could go to shit very quickly.

  Why am I even on this elevator right now? I know this is the time she heads to the gym. Is my subconscious trying to help me out?

  “So this—”

  “Nice tits!”

  “Yep,” she says, a wide grin transforming her perfect face from the previous scowl. “Isn’t he the cutest thing?”

  “He’s offensive,” I mumble.

  “They only say things they learn from their owners and things they repeatedly hear.”

  She turns her head, a challenging look on her face.

  “He’s a rescue.” Jesus, if we ever meet for real, I’m going to have to apologize for the lies.

  “Well his previous owners were amazing then. I love a filthy-talking bird.”

  As if on cue—“Hey, pretty lady! Wanna fuck?”

  “Jesus,” I grumble. “I’m so sorry.”

  I don’t think Whitney hears me because she’s laughing so hard.

  The elevator door opens on the 3rd floor, but she doesn’t make an attempt to leave.

  “What else does he know?”

  “Enough to make a sailor blush,” I confess, my own mouth beginning to transform into a small smile.

  Would she go out with me today if I ask her right here? Would she accept an invite to hang out at my apartment while my foul-mouthed bird ran through his extensive vocabulary?

  I jostle the carrier, trying to move it so I can be the one closest to her, but it only serves to irritate Puff.

  “Put your dick away!”

  Whitney laughs again as the elevator doors close behind her. I know she’s going to have to get off eventually. We both will, but I’m not going to be the one to inform her.

  Puff bounces his head back and forth like he hears music no one else can.

  “Come give Daddy a kiss!”

  “Is he always this flirtatious?”

  “Only with very beautiful women.” I swallow thickly, beginning to regret the words until I see the blush begin to form on her cheeks.

  “Quit being a cockblocker!” Puff screeches befo
re making kissing noises.

  Our fun is cut off when the elevator moves again, stopping on the fifth floor. Whitney looks around, a little confused, realizing she missed her chance to get off. I quickly zip up the carrier and press myself against the back of the car. Whitney does the same, looking at me in her periphery with a secret-sharing smile.

  A little old lady scuttles in, pressing the ground floor button, making me realize when I got on this morning, I never pressed it for myself. If I had, I would’ve missed this interaction with Whitney. Floors ten and above are prime real estate in this building, meaning that they shoot directly to the location we select, bypassing all other floors. Had I pressed the button, Whitney would’ve had to wait until I got off in the parking lot before the car arrived for her.

  “This place smells like death!”

  “Shit,” I mutter. Hiding him is usually easy because I know I’m going to ride the car alone.

  The old lady scoffs but doesn’t turn around. Whitney chuckles, hiding her laugh behind her hand, and I can’t help the grin that shows up on my own face. We share one last conspiratorial look as she begins to follow the old lady off the elevator.

  “Oh.” She laughs again. “This isn’t the gym.”

  She climbs back on the car, brushing her arm against mine as I begin to leave.

  “Have a nice day,” I tell her, opting to head out front instead of riding down another floor to the parking garage.

  “You, too.” She’s still smiling when the elevator closes between us.

  ***

  “Have a nice day!”

  “I’m going to fucking cook you with olive oil,” I threaten.

  He’s been taunting me since we got in my car. I could’ve said a million things to Whitney, but have a nice day is what I decided to go with? Jesus, I’m such a spaz.

  Now I know how Deacon feels. Each time my boss walks into my office, Puff Daddy spits some ridiculous shit in his direction. I know the guy hates my bird, and I’m beginning to understand why.

  “Have a nice day!”

  “I see he’s finally learning some manners,” my boss says as he walks into my office.

  “This motherfucker!” Puff squawks.

  “Not really,” I complain. “What can I do for you, boss man?”

  “Do you have plans this evening?”

  “I am at your disposal,” I tell him, even though I already know where this is going.

  “I need you to go see Anna.”

  “Same as always?”

  “Just from work to home.”

  “You got it.”

  See? I’m not the only guy up here with a penchant for stalking.

  Even my boss is doing it.

  Annalise Grimaldi, a long-time frenemy of his, needed help a couple months ago, and his ass ended up falling for her, but he’s too much of a coward to go tell her. So instead, when he isn’t available, he asks one of us to go keep an eye on her. Go see Anna translates into watch her leave work and make sure she gets into her building with no trouble.

  The only excuse he has that makes his stalking just a little saner than what I’m doing is that she’s not a stranger and she and her best friend had some problems with some very bad Russians. He’s watching her “to keep her safe.”

  “You know she has that thing coming up soon.”

  “Thing?” he asks, but he doesn’t look the least bit impressed that I’m bringing her up out of the scope of agreeing to track her for half an hour.

  “That gala or whatever. I still have her calendar linked up.”

  “Just,” he scrubs his hand over the top of his head, “just go see Anna tonight for me.”

  I give him a quick salute as he leaves, then spin back around and pull up the camera focused on Whitney jogging on the treadmill.

  “Is that the sex toy girl?”

  “Fuck. Don’t you people ever knock?”

  I click the screen away which is pointless because he already busted me.

  “The door was open,” Ignacio says as he hitches his thumb over his shoulder.

  “Put your dick away!”

  Now the damn bird decides to give a warning shout? He’s growing useless.

  I don’t actually believe that because he was well received not long ago on the elevator, but he could be a little more consistent.

  “Did you need something?” I turn to face Ignacio completely, wondering how he would’ve handled the situation on the elevator.

  I know he would’ve been late for work because his charm, accent, and that smile I’ve seen him give women would’ve landed him in Whitney’s apartment with her probably screaming his name.

  I grow even more irritated as he stands there just smiling at me, and the thought of him going after the girl I’m certain I’m falling for doesn’t help my mood.

  “I wanted to see what you were doing for lunch.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “What?”

  “Lunch. You know the meal in the middle of the day.”

  “We never go to lunch together.”

  It’s true. We’re normally all so busy, we just eat when we can. The breakroom is stocked with all types of food, and when we don’t feel like eating what’s available, we have something delivered.

  “Are you telling me no?”

  “Not exactly, but I am suspicious.”

  We have a stare down, both of us watching the other without saying a word for long, drawn out moments.

  “I spoke with Flynn.”

  “Of course you did,” I mutter. Just like there’s no privacy around here; there are also no damn secrets.

  “He said you’re in need of woman help.”

  “I’m fine,” I lie, because I’ll never ask him what I should’ve done to at least secure a date before walking away from Whitney this morning. I know it was a missed opportunity, but I’ll never confess my lack of skill out loud.

  “I figured I could give you a few pointers.”

  “Shouldn’t Brooks be the one offering assistance?”

  Brooks can charm the cotton panties off of a nun, but honestly, Ignacio isn’t very far behind him in skill.

  “He’s busy. He’s on the schedule to help tomorrow.”

  “There’s a fucking schedule?”

  “We’re only here to help.”

  “So there aren’t any side bets going?”

  At least he looks a little sheepish for being called out.

  “What’s the over under?”

  “Finn, Gaige, and Jude think the first time you go out with your girl, you’ll fall on your face.”

  “I can’t help it I’m a little clumsy,” I seethe. Why do they think I’m so good with computers? Do they honestly think people wake up one day and decide to be a nerd? I tried sports when I was younger, but apparently that shit requires coordination. I missed every aspect of that. I don’t open my mouth to tell him I haven’t tripped over my own feet in days. It doesn’t seem very relevant.

  “And?” I ask instead.

  “Brooks, Quinten, and me think you have the potential to take it all the way.” He smiles like I should give him credit for having faith in me.

  “What about Deacon?”

  “He’s not involved. He’s got his own lady troubles.”

  “And how exactly is going to lunch going to help me with her?”

  “You mean sex toy girl?”

  “Her name is Whitney.”

  “Lunch will be a practice in flirting and using your charm.”

  “And there’s no possible way this will go bad,” I grumble, but finally agree to his help.

  I’ll take any tips and tricks I can to make sure I end up with this girl.

  Chapter 8

  Whitney

  “I’m just saying it’s possible.”

  “But still very improbable,” I repeat.

  “You’re so pessimistic,” Sarah says with a sigh.

  “But you love me anyway,” I remind her.

  “Of course I do, but could you at least cons
ider that the guy on the elevator and the guy you’re falling for online could be the same person?”

  “No,” I deadpan.

  I won’t even let my mind go there. The guy in the elevator was so freaking hot, like model hot. The unintentional five-o’clock shadow on his jaw, those bright blue eyes, hell, even his messy sandy-blond hair made him attractive. My luck isn’t that good.

  “He lives in St. Louis,” Sarah reminds me.

  “Over three hundred thousand people live in St. Louis.”

  “He has a bird.”

  “Lots of people have birds. They aren’t exactly a rare animal.”

  “What about his voice? The guy on the elevator talked, right? Was it the same voice infiltrating your wet dreams at night?”

  “Why do I bother telling you anything? And it wasn’t a wet dream.”

  “Damp, moist, whatever.”

  “Hork, you nasty bitch.” I make a gagging noise for emphasis.

  We both laugh. Her louder than me.

  “The voice?” she prompts when I get distracted by the work I have going on my screen.

  “I don’t know. Maybe?”

  “Really?” She squeals like she’s just won a car on The Price is Right.

  “The guy on the elevator had a lovely voice,” I confess, but truthfully when I replay that interaction, all I can hear is the hilarious bird saying crude things to me. “Wasp has a lovely voice.”

  “You guys haven’t gotten around to telling each other your real names? You suck at online dating.”

  “I’m not online dating. We met playing a game. Everyone uses handles. Using your real name is dangerous, especially around groups of people with nothing but time and top-notch computer skills.”

  “You’re the best hacker ever. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not a hacker and I’m not even close to the best.”

  I don’t mention that Wasp’s systems are locked down tighter than an all-girls’ school after lights out.

  “Digital data researcher, sorry.”

  “That’s not right,” I mutter, my fingers punching in a code to bypass another site’s firewall.

  “Everything about this is right! I’ve seen what you can do. Hit that man’s backdoor and do a little snooping.”

  I smile at her words because they do have a disgusting sexual innuendo to them and because my maturity often leans more toward pubescent boy than grown woman.