Broken Build: Silicon Valley Romantic Suspense

by Rachelle Ayala

  He could look up the articles again, hunt her down, but then what? What use would that do? She had cried most pitifully. He had not pressed charges, only wished her good riddance and closed his heart forever.

  A tear wet his cheek. He would never know what it’d be like to read Abby a bedtime story, give her warm milk and tuck her in. The nanny had deprived him of everything, and there would be no forgiveness. He poured himself a glass of bourbon and slumped onto the couch.

  Chapter 13

  Jen woke aching from her head to her sore ankle. She fumbled with the Tylenol bottle and downed two tablets. After she washed and changed her bandages, she put on contacts against the doctor’s advice and slipped into her clothes.

  Grabbing a single crutch, she stepped out of the guest room. Steady snores came from the direction of the living room. The door on the other side of the hall from her led to Jocelyn’s sewing room. Had he kept it the same? Did she dare look? She cracked open the door.

  Sunlight seeped through lacy curtains topped with ruffled valences. A dressmaker’s mannequin stood like a silent maid, a partially completed bodice pinned at an angle to the shoulder. Jen swiped a dusty cobweb off the velvety material and brought the pleated skirt to her nose. Chalky and dry. Not a whiff of sparkly scent, bright citrus mingled with warm lilacs, survived in the stark room.

  A Cornflower Cissy doll stared at her with bright-blue button eyes. A ninth grade project. Jen fluffed its long elegant hair and traced a finger over the rose red lips. The gathering of its silky pinafore was evenly distributed and the golden piping perfect, as all Jocelyn’s work had been. Jen picked up Jocelyn’s cheerleading photo and blew off the dust. Looking at the perky bow-shaped smile in the sweet face of youth and hope brought a mist to her eyes. How simple it had been—the post-game pizza, arcade games, and sitting on the porch sipping lemonade—a time when best friends were meant to be forever.

  A spray bottle of Jennifer Lopez Glow sat on a dresser alongside a giant conch shell and a row of cheerleading trophies. Jen uncapped the perfume and spritzed her neck, and for a moment it seemed as if Jocelyn would march through the door to tell her a joke. She set the bottle down and looked over her shoulder. He would not like her invading his sanctuary.

  The snore droned from the living room. Relieved, Jen hopped over. Dave lay on the couch. Dark hair swept rakishly over his brows, and the shadow of his beard roughened the lower part of his face. She sighed. A man like that wouldn’t give a woman like her a second look if it hadn’t been for the blood under his car and the fact that Rey’s murder led to complications for his company.

  She remembered sitting in church with Jocelyn and watching Dave in the choir. He was the only reason she attended the services. When Dave started dating Jocelyn, it hurt to sit there with a pasted-on grin while they went to restaurants and concerts, using her as a chaperone. Safe, fat, Jennifer Cruz. Nothing ever happened with her around. Of course, Dave paid for her meals and event tickets. But she was as invisible as if she had a sheet over her face, or a large paper bag marked FoodMax.

  Dave yawned, blinking up at her. “What time is it?”

  “Eight. It’s Sunday morning.”

  He smiled. “Imagine waking up and seeing you.”

  Gotta think of something safe. She avoided his gaze. “Are you going to church today?”

  He chuckled under his breath. “I should, shouldn’t I? Maybe all this is happening to me because I’ve been sinning.”

  Yeah, sinning. That’s what it’s called.

  She tapped the floor with a crutch. “If it makes you feel better, I haven’t been to confession since…” Since before the kidnapping.

  “Ha, you? You haven’t been guilty of half the things I’ve done. I read your personnel file, squeaky clean.” His eyes twinkled despite the redness. “Not even a traffic ticket with the way you drive.”

  She perched on the arm of the couch. “What church do you go to?”

  He rubbed his jaw, making a sandpapery sound. “I haven’t been since shortly after my wife died.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Not your fault. I’m not a lot of fun to be around in the morning.” He stood and stretched to his full height. “Let me take a shower, and I’ll fix you breakfast.”

  Jen found her laptop on the end table next to the couch. The screen was still locked so he couldn’t have snooped. An empty glass tumbler sat on a damp napkin. He had been drinking. Jocelyn’s picture lay on the floor. Jen picked it up and placed it on the coffee table next to the chess set. Jocelyn’s smiling face graced every wall of the house. Her trophies and awards were stacked on every surface. There were no pictures of Abby, not even ones with Jocelyn. Strange.

  She unlocked her screen and checked her email. Another build had been kicked off in the morning with the fixes to the database lock. They still waited on a solution for the auto-update feature, but had spun an interim build to begin testing. She glanced at Jocelyn’s picture. Dave still mourned for her, but what about Abby? Maybe it was too much for him, not knowing if she was dead or alive. Jen hiccupped and a sour heaviness pressed into her chest. She had let Abby down. How could she have a moment’s rest? How could she have forgotten her, pushed her out of her mind? She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “Hey, didn’t I say to stay off the laptop?” Dave leaned down to stare at the screen, his aftershave invigorating. “Why are you crying? Is there something wrong with the build?”

  “Build’s fine.” She closed her laptop and stood. A jolt of pain shot through her sprained ankle, and she toppled into Dave’s arms.

  He pulled her close. “Whatever it is, it’ll be all right. I won’t let them hurt you again.”

  The protectiveness in his voice struck a chord, and her chest shuddered with remembered fear. “But they could be outside.”

  “Shh… I’m here. They won’t be back. The police have added patrols.” He stroked her hair. “You can talk about it if it helps.”

  “They held me down. I couldn’t move.”

  He tucked her head on his shoulders and swayed from side to side, comforting her.

  She liked his arms too much, and his chest. She could curl up and disappear. If only he’d let her in. But that heart didn’t beat for her. That heart was reserved for Jocelyn—bruised, damaged by his loss of Abby. Not a single picture to remind him. Guilt slammed into her gut. She had no right to take their place.

  She disengaged his embrace. “I guess I’m no fun in the morning either. I don’t know what to do without my face in a laptop.”

  He grinned, his gaze focused on her lips. “I’ll make you eggs and sausage, unless you’re the oatmeal or cereal type. You never know with women.”

  “Anything is fine, really.” She picked up her crutch and hopped to the kitchen table. Abby’s highchair stood in the corner, covered in layers of dust. She twisted a napkin, fighting another round of tears from the memories flooding over her.

  Dave seemed oblivious, standing at the stove with his back toward her. Being so close to the place she lost Abby drained her, sapped her of all life, as if she were suspended in time. What she wouldn’t give to turn the clock back.

  “Two eggs sunny side up. You want salt and pepper?” Dave was suddenly at her side with a plate.

  “Yes, thanks.” She gave him a smile of appreciation. “Maybe I should go to confession.”

  “What do you have to confess about? Didn’t you already tell me you gave out code?”

  Jen’s face heated. How stupid could she be to talk to him about her sins? “Let’s forget it.”

  He buttered a piece of toast. “Are you sure? It’s Sunday and you finally have the day off. Which church?”

  She stirred the eggs into a soupy mess. “No, really. I should go back to my laptop and leave you to your Sunday activities.”

  “You’re not allowed on your laptop, so you’re coming with me. Do you have a skirt?”

  “You mean a long one, right?”

&
nbsp; His eyes sparkled. “No, a short, slinky red one.”

  “Don’t have one. I guess it’ll have to be a long black one.”

  * * *

  Dave put on a suit and a tie. Marina Baptist was huge. They could sneak in and sit in the back, maybe in the balcony. No one would recognize him after all these years, and he no longer had to put on that stiff smile, like everything was fine, just to make everyone else feel better. That’s how he ended up in the care center, numb and catatonic.

  He brought the SUV around. The Camry was hidden in the garage. He’d junk it when he had time off. Take it on a road trip and abandon it out of state. If Jen ever talked to the police, he’d be in serious trouble. Fortunately she also had an aversion to police, although nothing showed up in her background check.

  Jen was waiting in the living room. Her face shone with subdued makeup—a bit of lip gloss and lightly lined eyes. The urge to kiss her slapped him so hard he lurched backward. This wasn’t right. He was taking her to church, not a real date.

  He helped her into the passenger seat and then took the crutches and placed them in the back. “Have you ever been to a Baptist church?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which one?”

  She seemed flustered and looked away. “I was very little. I remembered the candy.”

  “This is the largest one in the Bay Area. Don’t worry. My mother doesn’t go there anymore.”

  Her blush traveled from her cheeks clear to her hairline. “That might be awkward.”

  “For me. I’d have to explain how I got such a beautiful woman to come to church with me.”

  She continued to stare out the window. “I’m not very beautiful.”

  “Trust me, you’re gorgeous.”

  “Men only look on the exterior. My mother said God looks at the heart.”

  He turned onto the expressway. “That’s what the Bible says. So how does your heart look?”

  She didn’t appear to hear him. After he switched on the radio, she said, “Black as a cesspool.”

  “Couldn’t be blacker than mine. Shall we turn around?” He slowed the SUV.

  “No, let’s go. I need forgiveness. I didn’t kill Rey, but whatever I did led to his death. I’m convinced he got on the wrong side of his buddies. Maybe he tried to hold out on them.”

  “Why would it be your fault?” His voice grated the back of his throat, annoyed that she blamed herself for Rey’s death.

  “If he hadn’t been blackmailing me, he wouldn’t have gotten mixed up with our software and that gang of thugs.”

  “You seem to think this is all about you. What about the message on my answering machine? Or the Sherry M’s in all her infestations? Or someone playing tricks with my car?”

  Jen fixed him with narrowed eyes. “What do you really think happened with your car?”

  A flush of sweat blossomed under his collar. “I had an old friend from high school who was unemployed and I let him borrow my car last year, but he gave the key back and he couldn’t have known where I was parked that night.”

  “What if he made a copy and tailed you?”

  Dave tugged at his tie. “I don’t know.”

  Jen moved her hand toward him, but pulled it back and pressed the pleat in her skirt. “What about the phone messages? How often do you get them?”

  He stopped at a red light and grimaced. “Every year, when it gets close to the anniversary of her kidnapping. When it first started happening, I called the police. They tapped my phone, tried to trace the calls. Random payphones. Now? I don’t bother, with payphones gone they use throwaway cell phones.”

  “So you don’t involve the police?”

  “What use have they been? They ran around in circles following up all sorts of phony leads while the real culprits got away.”

  “Who do you think did it?”

  “Jocelyn’s family moved to back to the Philippines. They’re filthy rich, own all the cops and politicians there. What pisses me off is our police let them off too easily.”

  “What makes you think they did it?” Her voice jittered.

  “They hated me ever since Jocelyn converted from Catholicism to marry me.”

  She folded her hands on her lap and took a deep breath. “It must have been hard. Certainly they wouldn’t be calling you and making threats if they had Abby. I’d think they’d want to lay low.”

  “It’s not them who’re harassing me.”

  “Then who?”

  He turned onto eastbound Highway 237. She was awfully chatty, prying information from him. “No idea.”

  “Think it’s the same people who want the code?”

  Of course he did. But he wasn’t going to share this with her. For all he knew, she could be working for them. Yep, Craig Pearson, his former college roommate, had accused him of stealing his idea to start Shopahol.

  He took the exit at First Street and headed toward Alviso. The church appeared as an incarnation from a foggy sympathy card set in stark contrast to the bright Californian wasteland surrounding it.

  * * *

  Jen’s nervousness increased each step they took into the church. Dave had gone silent on her, and the sickening sweet, painted-on smiles on the chirpy people bothered her. Everyone rushed to shake hands and welcome her. A chorus line of brightly arrayed coeds with perfectly shaped haircuts, perfectly appropriate makeup, perfect nails and perfect skin ogled Dave discreetly while giving her the wondering eye.

  “Can we go to the balcony?” She tapped his arm.

  “I’m trying.” He guided her with a hand between her shoulder blades.

  An usher with a smile fit for a toothpaste commercial glad-handed Dave. “You must be visitors. We have a special visitor’s section in the front.”

  “Actually, we’re just… returnees.” Dave shook the man’s hand, visibly trying to disengage.

  “Why, no problem. Come this way.”

  Jen struggled with her crutches, feeling like a beached whale on stilts.

  “What was it that Jesus said about the lame, blind, and maimed?” Dave quipped with an amused smile. “Maybe the pastor will make an object lesson out of you.”

  “I’ll never forgive you.”

  He helped her down to a pew. “Don’t forget, I was the one who wanted to turn back.”

  A huge altar, covered with burgundy carpeting, rose in front of them. Four gleaming white grand pianos were spaced behind white walls leading to the choir loft. A giant baptismal chamber rose like a wedding chapel toward the back. The pastor’s lectern was as big as a boat, festooned with fresh bouquets.

  “Four grand pianos!” Jen’s jaw dropped. The last time she’d been here, everything was still under construction.

  “It’s grown quite a bit since I was young. Oh, here comes the pastor.” Dave bent down to arrange Jen’s crutches under the seat.

  A friendly-looking man with a hawk-like nose held out his hand. “I’m Pastor Thomason. Welcome, nice to have you.”

  Jen mumbled her name and thanked him.

  He clapped Dave on the back so hard Jen was afraid his fillings would pop out. “Why, little Davey Jewell. How good to see you again.”

  Dave’s face reddened. “Thank you, Pastor. It being close to Thanksgiving, I thought—”

  “You don’t need an excuse to come to church. How’s your mother? Sister?”

  “They’re fine. Moved to Arizona.”

  “It’s good to see you. And your dad?”

  Dave’s knee jiggled. “He’s retired. Bought himself an antique mall in Reno.”

  “Tell him I said ‘hi.’ You should come more. We missed you.”

  Dave shook his head. “Too busy. What with the big launch we have coming up.”

  The pastor patted Dave’s shoulder. “You’re a good man. Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it.”

  “Thank you, Pastor.”

  The pastor moved onto the next row.

  Jen nudged Dave. “They’re tough here. When you go to
a Catholic church, no one says anything and the priest never even looks at you. He’s up there sprinkling incense and chanting in Latin. Do they pass out candy?”

  “They have piñatas in KFC, ‘Kids for Christ.’ Wanna go there?” The mischievous crinkle in his eyes made him look momentarily like a small boy. Little Davey Jewell. Now she really had blackmail material.

  The four grand pianos heralded the beginning of the service. Dave helped Jen find the songs. They stood and she leaned on him while he held the hymnal. His vibrating chest and deep sonorous voice threatened to excite her heart to Tacoma Narrows Bridge resonant mode.

  After two songs, the announcer told everyone to shake hands and greet their neighbor. Entire family groups greeted them. Jen cringed when an elderly woman held onto her hand too long.

  “I know you, young lady. You used to come with what’s her name?”

  “No. You must have mistaken me for someone else. I’m Jen Jones from New Orleans.” She made sure to twang her accent a bit more nasally like the way her father spoke.

  “New Orleans? Oh… I could have sworn. Well, you’ve certainly blossomed into a swan.” The woman winked and tip-tapped her cane back to her pew.

  Dave turned to her. “New Orleans? I didn’t see that in your personnel file. I thought you graduated from Newark Memorial High School the same year Jocelyn did. Hey, wait. I bet I have a yearbook somewhere.”

  Jen’s stomach hopped, skipped and flopped, and she was sure she resembled a Martian. “I kind of barely finished. I was away a lot senior year. My mother had cancer, so I don’t think I even had a picture.”

  He squeezed her hand. “That’s too bad. Jocelyn had the best senior year. I guess you didn’t make it to the prom either?”

  She shook her head. “I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind.”

  He hugged her. “Sorry.”

  “Are you allowed to do this at church?” A feeling of contentment loosened her chest.

  The handshaking was still in full tilt. He leaned close and whispered, “Everyone thinks you’re my girlfriend. They’ve been looking for a ring on your finger since we walked in. Nosy bunch, aren’t they?”