The alcohol burned his throat but spread comforting fingers of heat through his body. The laptop beeped and his cell jingled at the same time. The upload had completed successfully. He dragged his hands over his cheeks, his fingers pinching his jaw. Jen had saved his company. He should be ecstatic, celebrating, but instead, he was a black well of emptiness. He raised the glass of amber liquid and sloshed it down his throat.
* * *
Dave woke with a blanket over him. Sunlight streamed through the living room curtains. Jen sat on the short leg of the sectional sofa. Her head was cradled in her elbow, and she was sound asleep, her breathing in soft puffs. He stared at her. She had probably checked the laptop and then fell asleep on the couch. His fingers tingled wanting to touch her. He put an arm around her and drew close, and his breathing quickened as he inhaled her morning scent, rainforest warm.
Jen squirmed and woke. “Wait, what’s happening?”
He pushed her hair back from her face. “It’s really you, isn’t it? Jennifer Cruz…”
She lowered her gaze to his chest. “Unfortunately.”
He couldn’t help kissing her temple. “I can’t explain it, but ever since I found out who you were, I feel closer to you.”
She shuddered as he ran his finger down the side of her head to her neck and tilted her chin toward his lips. He gazed deeply into her amber eyes, like crystallized sherry. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”
Her face full of disbelief, she swept her palm in front of his eyes as if checking for consciousness. “But you hate me. I’m the nanny, the idiot who ruined your life.”
“You didn’t mean to. Forgive me for yelling at you? Scaring you?” He thumbed her smooth skin and focused on her beauty mark.
“It’s okay. I deserved—”
“No, you don’t deserve to be hurt.” He hauled her into his lap. “Let’s start fresh this morning. No regrets.”
“Do you mean it? Can God take us back, give us the giant undo?” Her voice held a wistful quality.
“Maybe if we pray hard enough.”
She cuddled closer to him. “Could you really forget?”
“I won’t look back if you won’t.”
“We could still have Abby, couldn’t we? I mean, we’ll find her.”
He exhaled and held her tight. She sounded so hopeful, as if Abby were within reach. If only it were so easy. He kissed her cheek. “Yes, we’ll find her, and then we’ll have more.”
“We?” She giggled.
“No, just kidding.” He threw the blanket over her head and tickled her through it, too embarrassed to admit what he’d been fantasizing.
She tried to remove the blanket, but he gripped her tighter and rolled her onto the floor. Laughter tumbled from his lips and gloom lifted from his heart.
He snatched the blanket from her face. “Well, well, well... Look what I found this morning.”
Her smile was genuine. “Dave, you’re silly.”
“And you’re beautiful, inside and out.” He launched into a volley of kisses before she could recover. The plastic Jen Jones had attracted his CEO image, but it was the real Jennifer Cruz, the woman who loved Abby and suffered like he did, the woman who knew guilt and sorrow who captured his heart.
She relaxed in his arms and kissed him back. The sweet release of forgiveness was more blissful than any sexual act he could have imagined. Dave broke from the kiss and stared into her leonine eyes. Was he in love? Should he tell her? Could he truly forget what she’d done?
The strident bell of the telephone zipped through their bodies. His muscles tensed and Jen froze, her breathing suddenly shallow. He covered her protectively. The ringing stopped and went to the answering machine.
“Hey, sorry to bother you, but we’re a big hit!” It was Marty from Marketing.
Dave rose and pressed the speaker button. “I’m here.”
“Have you gone online? We’ve been up and running since midnight. The shoppers have flocked to the system, and Mississippi is having a blowout Black Friday. They’re getting more than sixty percent of all internet sales. Millions of people are glued to their smartphones and snagging sales without fighting crowds.”
Dave high fived Jen. “Sixty percent!”
“My phone’s ringing off the hook. All of Mississippi’s competitors want to rebrand their own social shopping networks with our software, but Mississippi wants an exclusive. Oh, and Lystra wants to increase their stake. But OgleNet might make a counter.”
“Great. Let’s meet at the office this afternoon and go over the offers. I’ll take financing immediately, but I’m not selling.” It figured Claire’s and Melissa’s husbands would want to call in their chips.
“No, I didn’t think you would. This is big, man. Big. And oh, Craig Pearson’s not too happy. He thought your data center fire ended you. But Lystra took out a full pager in the Wall Street Journal: Virtual Servers Save Shopahol. And I’m fielding media requests to interview your photogenic build engineer. Is she with you, by any chance?”
“Uh… I want to keep her away from the media.”
“You can’t. Go to OgleNews. Her mug shot is there, and a video of your fight with her kidnapper, photos of the burnt hulk of your bombed rental car. Everything. Oh, you’re not going to like it, but there’s a shot of you kissing her. Think you better slip her the rock. There are rumors you’re going to do a Bill and Melinda Gates style merger.”
Dave cleared his throat. “I’ll see you at two o’clock. Thanks.” He hung up and pinched the bridge of his nose, not daring to look at Jen. Instead, he picked up the remote and switched on the stereo to his dad’s playlist of eighties rock: Foreigner, Phil Collins, John Cougar Mellencamp, Springsteen.
Jen came up behind him and put her arms around his waist, rubbing her face into his back. “I knew it would work. When we replace the data center, we should get Lystra bladeservers and switches. They integrate the storage, network and server fabric into a single management entity. It’s a scalable, unified, policy-driven computing environment for applications, automated provisioning of compute power with the privacy of VLANs, VSANs, Virtual firewalls, combined with the benefits of Lystra network services, QOS, load balancing and SSL tunneling.”
He grabbed her wrist and swung her around to face him. “I love it when you talk shop. You sound like a Lystra commercial.”
“Actually, we could rent the virtual servers, it’s called cloud computing. No more smoke and fire, broken security cameras and pallets raising your workman’s comp insurance. Just a set of conference rooms, work centers, and virtual desktop infrastructure.”
He kissed her. “Virtual.” Kissed her again. “Virtual.” And again. “Virtual.”
“Yes, remote access, remote conferencing, remote collaboration. Lystra sells—”
“No remote nothing. I want you up close and physical.” He cranked up the stereo. “Let me chill the champagne and take a shower. Then, I have a business proposal for you.”
* * *
Jen stepped out of the shower and spritzed herself with Jennifer Lopez Glow. A business proposal? Her hand shook while she pressed her contact lenses into her eyes and applied her mascara. From almost getting fired to a promotion? Would he make her head of engineering? She’d redo the build system and replace it with continuous integration.
Every engineer would have a virtual Shopahol powered online commerce system with a simulated social network complete with flocks of bidders. No code would be integrated without a set of automated tests that would run as soon as that module was built. These tests would be provisioned automatically by the build system on a virtual server.
If a test failed, she’d roll back that module while allowing the build to continue to the next section of the code. The build would run continuously without manual intervention and pick up the fixes automatically at its next iteration.
Broken builds would be a thing of the past, a relic of the days of hand-crafted build scripts, a single build system and shared t
estbeds where a single failure stopped the entire system.
Jen pulled on a long skirt and a soft cashmere sweater. The prepaid cell rang, and she flipped it open.
The gender ambiguous voice said, “Bitch, the stakes just went up. Tell your boyfriend to deposit stock or we blow up the company.”
Cold sweat popped over her brow, but she composed herself. “Try something newer. With virtual servers you can blow up our entire building, but our code will resurrect.”
“We’ll hurt his daughter.”
Jen collapsed onto the bed as the blood drained from her head. She closed her eyes and steeled her voice. “He thinks his daughter’s dead, so that won’t work. Unless you provide me DNA, he won’t listen.”
She shut the phone and turned it off. If they truly had Abby, let them show their hand. She’d give them her stock options and her share of the company to get Abby back. She knelt and laid her head on the bed, her shoulders heaving. Dear God, don’t let them hurt Abby. They won’t hurt her, would they? Please keep her safe. Amen.
Dave knocked on the door. “Are you presentable?”
“Just a minute.” She stuffed the phone under the pillow and took calming breaths. But nothing worked. He knocked again, and she opened the door, rushing into his open arms. He laughed and spun her around into the living room. Then he popped a champagne bottle and handed her a flute. Hope bubbled in her chest. She’d get Abby back, he’d forgive her, and they’d live happily ever after, or so it went in romance novels.
And there he was, staring at her, his grey eyes warm and focused at the same time. He lowered his eyelids and kissed her knuckles. Jen’s mouth opened slightly as his gaze swept her face slowly. He moved closer. The song by Foreigner “I Want to Know What Love Is” played on the stereo.
Jen held her breath. If he would allow it, she’d love him to the depths of her soul. Helpless under his gaze, she leaned forward.
He brushed her lips lightly as if she would break, then tucked his hand around her neck, caressing in slow motion. Jen’s fingers traveled through his hair and explored the muscles on his shoulders. He stroked her temple and massaged her neck, but did not move further down. His hands comforted and excited her like spiced cider with rum. He stayed respectful, as if proving his honorable intent. Was it business he hinted about? Or something more?
She lost herself in the sensation of being loved, flowing where he led, giving without expectation. The song ended. He touched her face and looked in her eyes. “I’ve waited so long to live again. I want—”
Smash. The sound of breaking glass was followed by shots. Dave pushed her to the floor, covering her. The cathedral windows shattered from ceiling to floor, and wetness trickled onto her cheek.
Chapter 27
“Dave, Dave.” Jen squirmed from under him. She shook him, but he didn’t move. A black-purple mark swiped the side of his temple and a jagged line of blood trailed down his face.
“D-Dave, wake up.”
She pressed the blanket to his head, her hands shaking uncontrollably. The heavy smell of firecrackers blew through the room from the nonexistent window. Broken glass littered the sofa and carpet.
Dave hadn’t moved, but at least she felt a pulse. Her eyes settled on the gun cabinet in the dining room. If she could get there… Almost hyperventilating, she crawled toward it. She pulled herself onto her sore ankle. It was locked. She fumbled with the combination. Crap, what was it? She tried Abby’s birthday, then Jocelyn’s. Dave? A combination, right. Dave and Jocelyn’s together. Sweat dripped down her face. Her fingers shaking and slippery, she unlocked the cabinet and grabbed a shotgun.
Voices hooted outside followed by a rebel yell. Another round of bullets pummeled the leather sectional couch, spraying stuffing over Dave. Jen released the slide lock and pushed the shells into the chamber. She hadn’t shot a gun since her father left, but she remembered the pumping action. She stepped along the wall over the broken glass, thankful for her slippers. Twinges shot through her sore ankle as she squatted to point the muzzle out the window opening. Were they still out there? She didn’t dare look over the hedge just outside the window.
A brick flew through the opening followed by shouts. “Bitch, we know you’re in there.”
She pulled the trigger and the recoil almost knocked her over. A muffler rumbled and tires squealed along with the popping of another round that sounded more distant. Jen pumped off shots until she ran out of ammo. Her arms and legs trembling, she staggered back to the cabinet, grabbed more slugs and limped toward the front door.
A hand clamped her shoulder. “Jen, give me the gun.”
Dave. Thank God. Blood covered his face. Suddenly drained, Jen dropped the gun as if it were a sandbag. Dave yanked her arm. “Go to the kitchen and hide behind the island. Call the police.”
* * *
Dave picked up the shotgun and exited through the laundry room door. He ignored the screaming pain in his head and blinked back dizziness. Anger surged. How dare they attack his home and endanger his woman? He’d sneak up on them from the service entry.
A whimpering sound came from the area of the trash cans. One of them was hurt. Good job, Jen. He unlatched the gate and pushed it open while he crouched behind the air conditioner unit. Other than the moans, he heard no other sound. He slipped out the gate, staying close to the wall. Melissa lay in a pool of blood next to the trashcans. Dave dropped the gun and fell to his knees.
“Melissa.” He touched her face. What was she doing here? He cupped his mouth and yelled, “Jen. Call an ambulance.”
Melissa’s eyes rolled as she gasped for breath, coughing blood. She tried to talk, but no words came out of her mouth.
“Stay with me. Help’s coming. Keep breathing.” He tore off his shirt and pressed it onto her bloody torso. “Oh, God. Don’t let her die. God, have mercy.”
Gravel crunched behind him. He turned with a start. Jen covered her mouth and dropped to ground. “What have I done?”
“Did you call an ambulance?”
“Y-yes… Oh, Dave… I didn’t mean to shoot her.”
“Go back to the house and wait for the police.” Dave stroked Melissa’s matted hair. Her breathing weakened. He held her head in his lap and prayed. Beyond the trash cans, Melissa’s Volvo station wagon sat shattered, littered with holes and broken glass.
Sirens overwhelmed the neighborhood, and a blur of emergency vehicles streaked onto his driveway. The paramedics peeled Melissa out of his arms.
Several minutes later, Dave and Jen were herded into separate squad cars and taken to the station.
* * *
Jen lost count of the times she had been in a police station in the past week. The detective gave her a bottle of water and switched on a recording device. “You’re not under arrest, but you may request the presence of your lawyer.”
Jen waved her hand. “I’ve nothing to hide.”
She described the shots shattering the window and destroying the couch. “It was so close. We were just sitting there. We… we could have been killed.”
He hummed and tapped on his keyboard, looking more like a college professor than a savvy detective. “Yes, must have been frightening. That neighborhood’s not known for drive-by shootings. Secluded and extremely high end. Have you any enemies?”
“Enemies? What do you mean?”
He lifted his gaze from his computer and took a bite from a powdered sugar donut with blood-red filling. “Oh, sorry, you want one?”
Jen shook her head. The detective, what was his name? Tanner or something returned to his computer. Scattered Post-its littered his desktop along with crumpled coffee cups. Stacks of paper and candy wrappers were shoved in piles under his monitor. Nothing like Detective Mathews’ sleek, bare desktop. Why wasn’t he on the case?
Tanner finished his donut, wiped his hands on the wrinkled shirt that stretched over his paunch and swiveled his chair to stare at Jen. “You never thought how dangerous it was to handle a firearm? To shoot without looking?
It’s called reckless discharge of a firearm.”
“B-but I didn’t mean to shoot Mrs. Bowers. They shot at us first. I heard a muffler thunder and tires squealing while they were shooting. They must have gotten away before the police showed up.”
He scribbled something on a Post-it and stuck it on his monitor. “Of course they did,” he sneered. “But where were you standing? Pretty convenient that you placed yourself where you weren’t hit.”
“Huh?” Chills gripped Jen’s sides from her armpits to her hips. “We were near the stereo.”
“Doing what?” The examiner pulled on his mustache.
“K-kissing.”
“Kissing.” He tapped his keyboard again. “So the perps saw you kissing, shot out the window, and then threw a brick?”
“I don’t know if they saw us. I mean, it happened so fast.”
He twirled a pencil over his lips and looked at the ceiling, as if counting flies. “I don’t see the point of the brick. Sure you didn’t plant it?”
A cold jolt of panic dropped to her stomach. “What are you talking about?”
He lowered his horn-rimmed glasses and glared over the top. “Mr. Jewell has been a victim of harassment ever since his daughter was kidnapped.”
Sweeping over the clutter, he grabbed a stack of files and plopped them on the desk in front of Jen. “Maybe you don’t have enemies, but he does. Crank calls, anonymous tips leading nowhere, fake police reports, vandalism, threats. And it’s escalating as his company gets closer to the initial stock offering. You might just be the latest, most effective form of harassment—giving out fake code, attracting his attention, seducing him.”
Jen’s gut twisted and shockwaves vibrated up her neck. She couldn’t find words to respond.
He tapped the desk with a pen and pointed it at her. “I know your type. I must admit you took some lumps with the kidnapping, but you were clever, staging the phone calls, making sure your GPS-enabled iPad was on and trailing him to the drugstore parking lot so he could rescue you.” He made air quotes around the word ‘rescue.’
Broken Build: Silicon Valley Romantic Suspense Page 21
