“No, you give me the code first or we hurt the child, or kill her. Your choice.”
A hollow pit opened in her stomach. Jen gripped the phone and wiped her other palm on her jeans. “Hurt or kill the child and you get nothing.”
“Except I’ll take you down, bitch.”
Jen swallowed and straightened her shoulders. “Bring the child back to her father,” she said. “You may keep me prisoner, but I won’t give you the code until she’s restored to him.”
The voice laughed. “Be careful what you wish for.”
The call ended. Had that been a man or a woman?
Chapter 17
Dave prowled the darkened office building. Five in the morning and he couldn’t sleep. He had dialed his answering machine to check for messages. None. His email was full of the usual ‘Sherry M’ diatribes. Nothing from the purported kidnappers. He stepped around occupied camp cots and sleeping bags. The men had camped in Big Chill. Lisa and some of the ladies were in Moonstruck. But where would Jen be?
He approached the Nightmare on Elm Street conference room. It was a smaller one tucked near the lab with spidery elm tree branches outside the window. His father really had a sense of humor, naming all the rooms after movies of the eighties.
He peeked in. A pair of crutches leaned against the whiteboard. Jen lay curled in a sleeping bag, her hair flung across her face and onto the carpet. He sat on the floor next to her, wanting so much to touch her. He hadn’t exactly clarified his relationship with her. Jocelyn wanted him to be happy, but could he?
Jen opened her eyes and blinked. Dave froze, hoping she hadn’t seen him. She rolled over and shut her eyes again. He’d been so lonely, first in the mental facility, then working nights and weekend developing the code, starting the company—all to forget the emptiness and focus on getting Abby back. No pictures to remind him of her lost babyhood. Abby would be seven by the time Shopahol made enough money for him to hire the mercenaries.
“Dave?” Jen’s voice brought him out of his reverie. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes… no. I’m really worried. What if they do have Abby?”
She reached for his hand. “Ask them for DNA. What do you think they want?”
He clasped her hand with both of his. “It has to be money. Why wait until we’re on the verge of signing some big deals. Would the kidnappers really hurt her?”
Jen sat and drew her robe tighter across her chest with her left hand. “What would you trade for Abby?”
“Anything. I’d give my house, my company, my life.”
Her eyebrows tented with sympathy. “So would I.”
Did he hear her right? She jerked her hand away and sat on it. He was tired, probably hallucinating. “Look, Jen. I’m sorry to disturb you. Is the build okay?”
“It’s stable,” she said. “The database locking is resolved. We’ve been simulating one hundred thousand transactions a second with no problem. Praveena will put in a fix for the thread count issue. We’ve suspended all testing of auto-update since it requires manual reimaging of the test beds.”
Okay… She fired off a lot of information, her voice almost robotic. He should leave. “Sorry I woke you. Want to go back to my place for breakfast?”
“There’s gossip already, and I should stay away from you.”
“I’m sorry. Will you forget everything that happened? I didn’t mean to take advantage of you.”
“You didn’t. I’m fine, really.” Her voice was cool and too smooth, and she wouldn’t meet his eye.
His heart sank and a lump caught his throat. With everything going on, it was wiser to leave her alone. He was so damaged he’d only drag her into his depression. The kidnapping wasn’t her problem.
He stood, his stiff muscles complaining. “Let me know if you need anything. You have my number.”
“I’m good. Bye.” She sounded distant, like her throat had tightened.
* * *
“That’s good to know.” Dave hung up the phone call with his banker. Melissa’s money had been deposited. He could pay his workers and reward them with bonuses if they pulled off the Black Friday build. He leaned back and yawned, glancing at Jocelyn’s picture.
The ever present ache clenched his chest. He picked up the photo and kissed it, touching the image of her rosebud lips. Somehow it didn’t comfort him like it used to.
His cell buzzed. It was Melissa.
“Dave, did you get the money? Any chance I can camp at your office to see how my investment is paying off?” Her chirpy voice stretched his nerves like an over-tightened guitar string.
“It’s not a party.”
“Heather and Amy want to come too. We can make positive energy circles around your build servers and test beds.”
“How do you know all our problems?”
She giggled. “It’s all over Facebook. I’m friends with Bob, remember?”
“Oh, him,” Dave muttered. Figures she’d know Bob, the test manager with the bulging biceps.
“I already told you it’s not a party.” His voice came out gruffer than he intended, especially to a major investor.
“Grouchy, grouchy. I know you’re not busy. Claire’s on that extended Mediterranean cruise, the one that detoured permanently to Iceland.” She snorted over the line. “And besides, you owe me.”
Dave scratched his stubble. “I’m not having much fun right now.”
“Which is exactly why you need me. How about I meet you at your place in thirty? I’ll bring the bubbly.”
“Umm…. I don’t know… What’s there to celebrate?”
“Your success, of course. Don’t tell me you have another woman tucked in your bed. See ya.”
He clicked the line, wishing he had one of those old rotaries where he could give it a hefty slam.
His phone buzzed again. His lawyer, Phil Marshall.
“Are you sitting down?” Phil said without preamble.
“Yeah.”
“Greta Debeers’ lawyer called. She’s suing you for sexual harassment.”
Steam rose from Dave’s rumpled collar. “I fired her yesterday… but I never touched her!”
“She’s suing on behalf of Jennifer Jones, third-party harassment.”
“What?” Dave clenched his fist. “Is Jennifer behind this?”
“I’ll have my assistant contact her.”
“Wait until I talk to her. Besides, I want no distractions until after Black Friday.” So that explained Jen’s coldness this morning.
“Okay. I’ll tell Ms. Debeers’ lawyer we are conducting an internal investigation. Thirty days is fair.”
The call ended, followed by a text message. Same mystery number. The bitch used your car.
What the hell? Dave slammed his cell and crunched it with his boot heel. How had he let himself be drawn into this? If it hadn’t been for those big doe-like eyes, the trembling, kissable lips, the blood on his car. Jen had used his car and framed him, and she had promised not to sue. Now she was waiting to steal the next good build. He clenched his fist. She wasn’t going to get away with it this time.
* * *
Jen yawned and downed another cup of cold cappuccino and scrolled through her messages. She checked the prepaid cell phone. No missed calls. She had to be prepared to turn over the code, but they still didn’t have a good build. It was already mid-afternoon, and she’d been respinning builds all morning.
Once they had a build, she’d be ready as long as the criminals gave her proof. One thing for sure, she wouldn’t hand it over until Abby was safe. What to do, what to do?
Damn, she was jittery. The wait was driving her crazy, and with all the food in the conference rooms and her sprained ankle, the weight would pile back on.
She put her laptop in her backpack and picked up her crutches. A couple of crutched jumps around the building might clear her mind and burn a few calories. Praveena promised to call as soon as the last few problems were fixed.
Jen hopped out the back door. Eddie and Br
uce stood in the November chill, hunched around the ashtray. Smokers. How disgusting. She avoided them and looped to the side parking lot, shuddering at the thought of a white Camry covered with blood. What if Rey had blackmailed Dave or Mrs. Tyler, his high society date? Dave had been too quick to wash off the evidence. Why? She squinted at the area where the body was found. Piles of leaves lay in soggy puddles. No one parked in those spaces anymore.
She ambled her way out the lot toward the surrounding business park. Rows of vacant office buildings, some with lease signs, others with the tattered remains of once proud dot com logos stood like ghostly sentinels to a dream once bubbly, now popped.
Jen concentrated on skipping over the puddles. She was building up a sweat, and her single working thigh burned. A yellow muscle car, a Charger, turned suddenly onto the driveway in front of her, screeching to a stop. She stumbled to a halt. It was Rey’s car. The doors flung open and two men jumped out, heading straight for her. Jen turned to escape, but her crutch caught in a crack on the sidewalk, and she fell.
A man wearing a dirty red bandana grabbed both her arms and shoved her into the backseat while the lanky one with a scraggly beard threw her crutches and backpack in the trunk.
Jen fought to breathe, and her pulse stuttered like a runaway jackhammer. “W-where are you taking me?”
The guy with the bandana leered at her. “How are the wounds healing?”
“What did you guys do to Rey? You’re driving his car.”
“Well, duh!” Scraggly Beard turned from the passenger seat.
The driver stepped on the gas, and Red Bandana clamped an arm around Jen. “Hey, sweet stuff, gimme a kiss.”
The driver glared at him. “Boss said leave her alone until after she gives us the code.”
“I wasn’t gonna hurt her.” Red Bandana let her go and stuck a piece of chewing gum in his mouth.
While he folded the wrapper into a tiny wad, Jen tucked her left hand into her jacket pocket and punched 9-1-1 on her cell phone. Red Bandana slipped his arm around her before she could say anything.
With no way of knowing whether the dispatcher had picked up or not, she pushed the off button and fumbled to call Dave, thankful she had an old-fashioned phone with raised keys.
Red Bandana made smooching sounds. “Why are you wiggling about, hottie?”
“Where are we going in Rey’s car?” She enunciated clearly.
Scraggly Beard narrowed his eyes and pointed at her. “What’s she got in her pocket?”
Red Bandana grabbed her hand and wrestled the phone from her.
“Help!” Jen screamed right before he threw the phone out the window.
He stuck his gum on the seatback, shoved her against the door, and silenced her by pressing his mouth over hers.
Chapter 18
Dave flattened his palms on Lisa’s desk. “Get Jen for me.”
Lisa quickly exited a browser window and brought up the instant message app. She spit out her gum. “Jen’s not online. I’ll call her cell.”
Dave’s pulse swished inside his ears while a splitting headache clamped behind his eye sockets. “Is she answering?”
“Jeez Louise, calm down. She’s probably in the lab. You look like you met the business end of a rototiller. Remember, deep breaths and calm.”
“Fuck calm!” Dave clenched his fist. “She’s pulling some shit. Lying, stealing code, and dammit! Did we get a good build yet?”
Concern knit her brow. “What’s going on? Should I call your therapist?”
“No!” He kicked her wastebasket. “Jennifer Jones has a lot of explaining to do.”
Lisa stood and grabbed Dave’s shoulders from behind, pressing him down into a chair.
“I don’t need a massage. I need Jen. Where is she?”
Eddie and Bruce walked by.
“Jen’s outside exercising,” Eddie said.
“What the hell is she doing exercising at a time like this?” Dave hit the armrest.
“Beats me.” Bruce popped open a can of soda. “She took off down the sidewalk about half an hour ago.”
Dave pulled his car keys from his pocket. “Cut off her access.”
“But the build hasn’t been fixed yet,” Eddie said. “She was waiting for Praveena to finish.”
“Good, then we still have time.” Dave dropped his broken cell on Lisa’s desk. “I need a new one.”
He ran out the front door, looking left and right. No sign of Jen. Exercising? Likely story. She’s probably meeting her crime buddies. The attack at his house, the scratches on her stomach, decoys to make him sympathize with her.
He marched to his SUV and opened the door. Jen’s personnel file was stuffed in the map pocket. He flipped through her resume: Newark Memorial High class of 2005, San José State 2007-2011. One year missing: 2006. The year Jocelyn died from a hit and run. The year Abby was kidnapped.
Wait! No. She couldn’t. Jennifer, oh shit! Jocelyn and Jennifer, the two J’s. What happened to that fat nanny? She was Hispanic. Her last name, what was it? Not Jones. He screeched out of the parking lot. The answers lay in Jocelyn’s yearbook. He ran three red lights before a police car pulled him over. The officer was unsympathetic. “I don’t care if your wife’s going into labor or your baby’s been kidnapped.”
Dave’s pulse swished hot under his collar, but he stayed silent and accepted the ticket. Never give the police a reason, his father had taught him. He drove through Saratoga at a reasonable speed because school children were walking home. But as soon as he left the school vicinity, he floored the accelerator.
He tore around the screen of oleanders into his driveway. A loud metallic thud shook the car, and an explosion of white punched his sunglasses into his brow and slammed his eardrums like a stun grenade. He swept aside the deflating airbag and swung the door open.
Melissa’s orange Volkswagen van lay smashed in front of his SUV.
“Melissa,” he yelled and scrambled to the driver’s door of the van. Empty. Tiny stars flitted in his field of vision. He stumbled and threw up on his front lawn, barely missing a pair of feet in glittery, gold-winged goddess stilettos.
“You’re bleeding.” Melissa removed the cracked sunglasses from his face. “Oh, you poor thing.”
Dave struggled to his knees. “Help me into the house.”
Blood dripped down his forehead and made a trail on the pebbled concrete. Melissa walked to the SUV and took Dave’s keys from the ignition. “Should I call an ambulance?”
Dave staggered to his feet and leaned against the porch rail. “I’m fine. How about you?”
“Oh, my stars! I would have been hit had I not been peeking in your window.” Melissa opened the door and guided Dave to the leather couch.
Dave’s head careened like the ball in the roulette wheel. “I’m sorry about your van.”
“Oh, it’s Pete’s old van. You lie down, sweetie.” Melissa clucked and pressed him into the couch. She headed for the kitchen, and a moment later, she brought an icepack and damp towels.
“My poor, sweet Dave.” She adjusted his head on a throw pillow and took his shoes off. “Were you rushing to see me? I wouldn’t have been parked so close to the edge if it hadn’t been for that red sports car hogging the driveway. Whose car is that, by the way?”
It was Jen’s. Dave wasn’t about to admit to Melissa how foolish he had been. He groaned and held his throbbing head.
“Let’s cuddle.” She nudged him to make room for her.
“Could you bring me Tylenol first? There’s a jar in the guest bathroom.”
“Sure thing, big boy.” With a flounce of her lavender scarf, she fluttered to the guest room, tottering on too-high heels.
Dave blew out a deep breath and willed his head to stop spinning. What else could go wrong?
The phone rang. He let it go to the answering machine to record the call in case it was the kidnappers.
“Dave, it’s Lisa. Are you there?”
Dave picked up the handset. “Lisa?
”
“Jen’s still missing, and Lester wants to give you an update.”
“What? Have you tried calling her again?”
Lisa didn’t reply. Lester’s voice came onto the line. “We’ve fixed all the issues and have a good build.”
“Great. Thank you.” He ended the call.
So they had a good build for Jen to steal. Damn. Eddie should have cut off her access by now. Where could she be? Painful twinges radiated in his chest. She had seemed so sympathetic, like she cared about him, about Abby, even about Jocelyn. Too good to be true. Too quick to accept his wife. She knew and planned to… to stalk and seduce him and steal him blind, that’s what!
Melissa floated down onto the couch with a bottle of pills and a cup of water. “Your lady friend left her glasses.”
“What did you say?” His head spun and he thought he saw double, but it was just Melissa’s big hair poofed from side to side. He swallowed the tablets, spilling water on his shirt.
“Her glasses.” Melissa unsnapped the waistband of her dangerously tight cigarette jeans. “I placed them on the kitchen table.”
“Thanks, I’ll let her know when I next see her.”
“Really, will you see her again? I doubt she’d look that attractive through those soda bottles.” Melissa drew her scarf over his eyes and kissed him. “Were you so dizzy in love with me you smashed your poor weetle truck? I’ve still got the bubbly in the ice chest. Fortunately it was in the front seat.”
His stomach lurched. He wasn’t here to bed Melissa. He tried sitting up. “Shouldn’t you check if your van is drivable? Or call a tow truck?”
She looped her swirly scarf around his neck and pointed toward the master bedroom. “After I tow you to bed and check if you’re drivable.”
“No.” He resisted. The master bedroom was off-limits. Jocelyn’s territory.
* * *
Nausea rocked Jen. Red Bandana’s forced kiss slobbered worse than a St. Bernard. She squirmed and pushed, but it made him more fervent. He assaulted her with his tongue and she bit it.
“Ow!” He shoved her head into the door. “Bitch!”
The two men in the front laughed. “What happened? Cat got your tongue?”
Broken Build: Silicon Valley Romantic Suspense Page 14
