Shot in the Dark (Blackbridge Security Book 2)

by Marie James

  The lines between his brows crease, and it would be adorable if my nerves weren’t shattered in tiny pieces.

  “You didn’t want to invite me,” I explain, somehow gaining the courage to be truthful with him when I really just want to duck out and hide in my apartment until he forgets he ever met me.

  “I did,” he assures me, his hand circling my waist before settling at the small of my back.

  I want to lean into his touch. I want to look up at him and find sincerity in his eyes, but the disappointment of knowing I’ll discover irritation keeps my eyes lowered to his chest.

  I shake my head, trying to keep those same feelings that popped up when he knocked on my door earlier from rising again. Wren in a t-shirt and distressed jeans was a sight of the sexiest proportions, but the man in a slim-fitting tux with fabric straining against muscles no computer nerd has the right to possess is downright devastating.

  “I was afraid you’d say no.” His words are whispered, meant only for my ears, and I try my best not to overanalyze those as well.

  I’m on a sinking ship, and I know it. I hate the way I feel right now. I hate the doubts and questions. I hate everything in this moment, including the lovesick couple with hearts in their eyes. And that makes me the biggest dick in the universe.

  “I should—” I press my hands against his warm chest.

  “You should listen to me.” In a move he’s perfected in such a short time, he crooks a finger under my chin and lifts it, forcing me to look him in the eye. “Weddings are a big deal. They’re romantic and force people to consider what their own happiness could look like.”

  And this is where he tells me that’s just too much for him to consider where I’m concerned.

  “I didn’t want you to freak out by being here. We just met, and things between us are… intense to say the least. But have no doubt that I want you here.”

  He presses a soft kiss to my lips.

  “I want all of those things in your head.”

  Oh shit.

  “I just don’t want you to think I’m moving too fast. I didn’t want you here thinking of someone else because it’s too soon to consider the possibility of things between us.”

  Who else would I even consider such happiness with? But he has a point. It is too soon, no matter how many times a day, thoughts of him infiltrate my mind.

  “I’m glad—”

  “Wren Douglas Nelson!” He stills as if frozen ice filled his veins. “Are you avoiding me?”

  Wren turns, his fingers falling from my face, and we watch as a grey-haired woman in a striking champagne-colored dress approaches.

  “Nana,” he grunts, a look of pure love mixed with the slightest hint of aggravation filling his features. “I’m not avoiding you.”

  “So, you’re just purposely trying to hide this beautiful woman from me?” She swats him away when he leans down to kiss her cheek before shoving herself between the two of us. “I’m Nana.”

  I get a smile ready, but it’s knocked away by force when she wraps her arms around me in a bear hug too tight for a woman of her age.

  “N-nice to meet you,” I manage on a squeak.

  “Nana, stop.” Wren wedges his hands between us until the elderly woman takes a step back. “You’re going to crush her.”

  “Look at you,” she grunts, her hands cupping both sides of my face. “Now I can see why he’s been hiding you. Such beauty needs to be protected.”

  “Nana,” Wren groans, his hands covering his eyes. His cheeks turn pink, and I swear this man blushing is my new favorite thing.

  “Don’t Nana me, young man. You said you weren’t dating anyone.”

  Ouch.

  “And then I find you with a date to this beautiful wedding.”

  See? Wedding dates are a big deal. At least I thought they were, but then again, Wren is a computer nerd and may not be aware of the significance of an invite. The guilt of pressuring him into asking me here rears its ugly head once again.

  “It’s new,” Wren informs her as she takes a step back, her eyes never leaving mine. “Please don’t run her off.”

  The pleading in his tone makes my heart sing.

  “Run her off?” She swats at his chest like he’s an annoying fly. “Will you come to Sunday brunch?”

  I meet Wren’s eyes, and the look marring his face earlier that made me want to run away is no longer around. A smile plays on his lips, and he must sense my eyes there because he rolls them between his teeth. Her invite feels like a test, and he’s not giving me a single hint as to how I’m supposed to respond.

  I go all-in. “I’d love to come to Sunday brunch.”

  She squeals in delight, clapping her frail hands together. Wren’s smile breaks free, and I’m fairly certain I made the right choice.

  “Mrs. Nelson.”

  Her eyes go wild as she looks past me. “Absolutely not!”

  She turns on her heel and scurries away. I watch in awe as the woman, who can’t be a day younger than eighty, moves faster than most fifty-year-olds.

  “She fucking hates me.”

  I look over to Finnegan who has refreshed his drink. He’s watching Nana scurry past the gift table and disappear behind a door on the other side of the room.

  “She doesn’t hate you,” Wren assures him. “She just thinks you’re a warlock.”

  “A warlock?” I ask, my smile wide.

  “His hair.” Wren waves a dismissive hand in front of his friend.

  “Ah. I see. The curse of the ginger.”

  Finnegan huffs before walking away muttering about batty old women and discrimination over something he can’t control.

  The night continues, and I somehow manage to let the happiness around me seep in, blocking out most of the doubt that is always threatening to creep in. I dance with Wren, who I discover isn’t perfect after all considering my need for steel-toe boots and Tylenol after we shuffle off the dance floor.

  “Are you going to make an old lady sit all alone?” Nana says, reappearing only after Finnegan made a hasty exit.

  “Do you mind?” Wren asks.

  “Such manners,” his nana praises.

  “Try not to step on her toes,” I tell him with a smile.

  He presses his lips to mine in a chaste kiss right there in front of his grandmother and every one of his friends. The doubts threatening disappear altogether, and as I watch his grandmother stare up at that man as if he hung the moon, I finally convince myself that Wren Nelson is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

  My bliss ends the second I get a notification ping on my phone. I wouldn’t normally have my cell in the pocket of my fabulous dress at such an event, but my online research was drawing close to a resolution before I left my apartment earlier. My need to keep the money Jones paid me for this job forced me to keep it close to me.

  I frown, looking down at my phone and swiping through several programs to reveal what the notification entailed.

  “Excuse me,” I tell Brooks, Wren’s friend that’s sitting beside me trying to schmooze his way into one of the bridesmaid’s bed for the night.

  He nods in my direction as I make a beeline for the lobby of the swanky hotel that is hosting the party.

  The information revealed on my phone makes my blood run cold.

  I hail a cab and climb inside without so much as a consideration of telling Wren where I’ve gone. If the information is correct, and I’ll verify that once I get back to my apartment, I’m going to have to say more than goodbye for the night.

  Cold sweat begins to run down my back as the taxi approaches my building. I pay and climb out, thanking my luck when the elevator pings the second I press the call button.

  My fingers thrum against my thighs as I make the climb to the ninth floor. Simon greets me at the door, but I can’t focus on him right now.

  I don’t even bother sitting in my desk chair as I wake my computer and pull up the information that was limited on my phone.

  “Jesu
s,” I hiss as my eyes scan the details.

  I was hired by Stephen Jones to get dirt on William Theold, under the auspices that the latter was engaging in illegal activities, hence the reason I was hired outside of the FBI. His story made sense. If there aren’t spies and evildoers infiltrating the FBI, then I’m a sixty-year-old man with mommy issues and a penchant for anime porn.

  Stephen “Dirtbag” Jones wanted information alright, but he failed to mention that when Theold was spending time with his wife in San Diego, he was keeping Amanda’s bed warm in Boston. My mouth is hanging open, the threat of catching flies a real possibility as I continued to read.

  What started out as the making of a Jerry Springer episode quickly turns into the first Godfather movie.

  William Theold is a giant douchebag, but Stephen Jones is the criminal. The evidence continues to pile up. Who keeps such immaculate track of wrongdoings, especially while working for the FBI? Emails pop up with threats and warnings hinting at the pain and violence Jones is capable of.

  I screech like I’m being attacked when my phone rings in my pocket. Thinking it’s Wren, I pull it free, catching the caller ID a split second before answering.

  MR. JONES lights up the screen, and as the device clatters to the floor at my feet I know it isn’t a coincidence that he’s calling me right now. I haven’t spoken to the man in weeks. The tireless work my computer has been putting in to uncover this mess is substantial. I’ve never had to keep so many programs running and filtering for a job before in my life.

  He’s calling because he knows, and as deep down as I had to dig, I have no doubt Mr. Jones may have been watching me just as hard as I’ve been watching William Theold looking for an ounce of criminality.

  My fingers fly over my keyboard, the system whining as I order it to practically self-destruct. It won’t blow up or anything, but by the time I scurry around my apartment, collecting necessities, it’s practically useless for anything other than a paperweight.

  I just wiped years of work, years of research, and years of my life as if it never existed. Even though I knew that one day this was a possibility, that at some point I’d have to take off and start over, I never thought it would truly happen.

  Tears roll down my cheeks as I shoulder the strap of my gym bag and unceremoniously shove my agitated cat in another.

  Simon is growling like he’ll scratch my face off the first chance he gets as I throw my apartment door open. Not willing to wait for the elevator, I hit the stairs.

  A second before the heavy door to the stairwell closes, I hear the ping of the elevator. I run down the stairs as if the hounds of hell are nipping at my heels.

  Chapter 19

  Wren

  “She’s a lovely girl,” Nana says, but I take her kind words for what they are, a push for more information.

  “It’s new,” I repeat, using the same words I spoke earlier.

  “You like her a lot.”

  “I do,” I confess, focusing more on not breaking her toes than the conversation she seems hell-bent on having.

  “She seems like the type that’s able to keep up with you.”

  I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. If Nana only knew how true those words are. “She is.”

  “Have you discussed children? Marriage?”

  I sigh, looking down at my petite grandmother with a frown. “Did you miss the part where I said it was new?”

  “And I knew I was going to marry your grandfather before he even opened his mouth to introduce himself.”

  “Things aren’t like those days. This isn’t the nineteen-twenties.”

  A surprisingly strong hand slaps my chest. “I wasn’t born until thirty-six, you weasel.”

  I grin down at her. “It’s new.”

  She scoffs, her eyes taking on that dreamlike state they always do when she’s thinking of my grandfather. Even years after he left this world, she’s still madly in love with the man.

  The slow song we’re dancing to turns into something more upbeat so we make our way off the dance floor. After getting her settled at a table with another glass of champagne, I go in search of the girl that hasn’t left my mind in weeks.

  “Have you seen Whitney?” I ask Brooks who seems averse to pulling his mouth away from the woman’s neck who is practically sitting in his lap. He doesn’t bother to pull his hand from the thigh revealed in the slit of her bridesmaid dress as he looks up at me.

  “She left a little while ago.”

  “Left?”

  “As in she’s not sitting here any longer.”

  That’s all I’m going to get from him I realize as he buries his face in his conquest’s hair and whispers something too low for me to hear but makes her grin wide and nod.

  I continue to look, but neither Finn nor Gaige has seen her. Ignacio left shortly after the ceremony, and I can’t find Quinten either. I search for thirty minutes before deciding she actually left me here. She was acting a little strange, but I thought my declarations calmed her. Unease fills my gut when I imagine my words having the opposite effect on her. Did I scare her off? Was meeting my grandmother too much for her? Too soon?

  I find Deacon and Anna, meaning to tell them goodbye and wish them well, but they’re curled around each other in a dark corner of the room, heads lowered and whispering like they’re just biding their time before they can sneak out and do very dirty things to each other. Actually, from the looks of it and what I know from catching them going at it in the parking garage several times, they may not even wait until they get to their room for it to happen.

  My car, as if it’s just as unsure as I am, takes two tries before it cranks, but I can’t worry about mechanical failure right now. Not when my world may be crashing down around me. The words I plan to use to convince her not to freak out fade away the second I get off the elevator and come face-to-face with her apartment door.

  The door is pulled almost closed, but the cracked doorjamb prevents it from closing all the way. Ice fills my blood as I kick it open. I don’t have the skills that Flynn would have looking into this situation, but I know I can’t touch anything. Ruining evidence is the last thing I want.

  My hands are trembling in my pockets as I walk through her apartment. It’s neat but cluttered. There’s no broken glass or overturned furniture, but as I walk deeper inside, a sense of overwhelming foreboding settles deep inside of me. Her computer desk in the corner looks as it should if it weren’t for the dangling cords that should be attached to a CPU. Further inspection reveals open drawers in her bedroom and the closet light left on. The bathroom shows a stark absence of everyday items. Her shampoo and conditioner, what I know to be lavender scented just from her proximity, are gone.

  Kidnappers don’t normally force you to pack a bag, and they definitely don’t allow you time to grab your cat and its food. She wasn’t taken. She left.

  In a hurry.

  Without saying goodbye.

  Is this what devastation feels like? A crushing pain that steals your breath and makes your muscles want to give up.

  She was smiling, happy. She grinned when I winked at her over Nana’s shoulder.

  I don’t know if it’s because I just can’t accept the fact that I may have run her off or what, but the need to find her wins out over everything. If she doesn’t want to see me or have anything to do with me, she’s going to have to say those words to my face. I have to know she’s safe and not on a slow boat to some war-ridden country to be used for the disgusting need of evil men.

  I’m panting by the time I make it up to my apartment, and it has nothing to do with the flights of stairs I just ran up. I’m nervous and scared. God, it’s been a long time since I felt honest fear, the last time having been the second after hearing my nana call to tell me my grandfather was gone.

  I channel all of my anxiety and despair into my fingertips as I force them over my keyboard. I’d have more information a lot quicker if I hadn’t deleted the programs I was using to keep track
of Whitney, but having the icons on my computer was a temptation I couldn’t handle at the time.

  The security feed directed at her apartment door is the first thing I pull up, watching at high speed until she appears on the screen. Entering her apartment, she looks concerned, but it has nothing on the look of pure terror in her eyes when she leaves her apartment mere minutes later. All of that is concerning, but the tears streaking down her cheeks as she disappears into the stairwell nearly guts me.

  Picking up my phone, I shoot off a text to Flynn.

  I wait for his response as I set the parameters for my computer to search for Whitney as she leaves the apartment building. I have to get to the office to do better work since I don’t have all the same systems here. My access to certain things is protected under the realm of what I do for BBS and those things have to be kept in the office, no matter how much I want them at my fingertips right now.

  I don’t remember the drive to the office, and that doesn’t bode well for me or any other driver on the road tonight, but somehow, I make it there safely, hating the eerie feel of the emptiness of the office. This may be the very first time in recollected history that at least two people weren’t found lounging in the breakroom.

  I shouldn’t expect anything less. Even though my world is imploding right now and I’m terrified of what’s going to happen, all of my colleagues are still at Deacon’s wedding. Except for Brooks. I’m sure he was out the door moments after I left with that woman he couldn’t keep his mouth and hands off of.

  “You should be at the wedding.”

  I scream like a frightened woman and karate chop the air, but it’s Ignacio’s weighted chuckle that brings me back to earth.

  “You left the party early,” I hiss.

  “So did you.” He raises his eyebrows in challenge, and it reminds my pounding heart why I’m here.

  “Something’s wrong,” I say as I clear the span of the room and shove open the door to my office.

  “What’s up, fuckers?” Puff Daddy squawks the second we step inside, but I don’t even acknowledge him.

  “Tough crowd,” he complains when I slide into my desk chair and move my fingers over the keys.