Broken Build: Silicon Valley Romantic Suspense

by Rachelle Ayala

  She slunk past him. “To give them a good build.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” He followed her to the kitchen, his voice harsher than he intended.

  “Are we finished now?” She crossed her arms. “I’ve had a long day.”

  “Jen, can you forgive me?” He palmed his forehead. He was pathetic. He’d hurt her with his accusations. Accusations he didn’t really believe. Jennifer had been kind, never devious, sweet and loving to Abby. She didn’t steal his heart, no, his heart whimpered like a puppy craving for affection. He wanted to hear her say she loved him again.

  She stared at him, considering. “I can’t pretend to understand what you’re going through.” Her expression softened and she touched the gauze strip on the side of his temple. “The bullet grazed you?”

  The wound throbbed, but not as much as his heart. He took her hand and held it still. “You said you loved me. Did you mean it?”

  Her hand shook and her breath caught as she nodded. “I did, but you should leave.”

  No, no. He couldn’t leave. Not when every cell of his cried to hold onto her. “Say it again.”

  “What does it matter?” Her voice cracked.

  “Because, maybe I can believe it, that you wouldn’t hurt me again.”

  She lowered her face. “I never wanted to hurt you. But even if we find Abby, it won’t make up for what I’ve already done.”

  He tipped her chin and pulled her toward him.

  * * *

  Warmth flowed over Jen as she leaned to kiss him. How could she resist him when her heart was already his? Tender and tingly, his kisses swirled like a lover’s hand, carefully removing layers from her heart, peeling off her defenses, and threatening to undress her soul. Tugging and flicking, he gave her a taste of his tongue, entreating her to take a leap and heal his brokenness.

  Yet she could not let him penetrate. No, not all the way. She couldn’t live with losing him. Not if she gave her entire being to him.

  Kisses trailed sweet delight down her neck. His hands slid under her sweater, skipping over the healing cuts and cupping her breasts. Jen’s knees liquefied, and a web of tingles flushed her entire chest and trickled down to curl her toes.

  He lifted her and placed her on the counter, opening her legs as he stepped between her thighs. Heat suffused her, and her breathing quickened. The sweater was suddenly too warm. His thumbs flicked her erect nipples, and his mouth nibbled her earlobe, filling her with a surge of agonizing want for denied pleasures.

  He removed her sweater and fumbled with the hooks in her bra. The light touch of his lips over her shoulders and neck aroused her to a fevered pitch. His mouth returned to hers, swallowing her involuntary moans. He ripped the bra off with a snap and before she could protest, his hot tongue wrapped around her sensitive nipple while his other hand teased and massaged her to the point of swooning. Her breath panting for more, Jen pulled off his polo shirt and clutched at his firm, tight physique.

  Her jeans constrained her as she tightened her legs, centering herself along his hardness, tearing a cry from her throat. With an almost feral grunt, he lifted her and carried her to the bedroom.

  A nagging alarm jogged her brain during the short walk. He laid her on the bed, and nervousness shook her shoulders. She tensed and swallowed hard. How quickly would he walk away afterward?

  “What’s wrong?” he said. “Does it feel good?”

  “Yes.” Too good and frightening.

  His grey eyes glittered. “Not just good, but right.”

  Jen suddenly felt naked, empty, and she pawed at the sheets to cover herself.

  “You don’t want this?” he asked, eyes full of concern.

  She trembled. Half of her wanted to let go, to experience being loved, of having a man fill her and value her, if only for a brief moment. She would regret letting this moment pass.

  “I do, but what happens when you’re done with me?”

  He hid a scowl behind his hand and sat up. There, she’d ruined the moment. Now she’d never know. She stared at the sheet covering her belly, still itching with scabs from the healing cuts.

  He stroked her long hair and arranged it on the pillow and over her shoulders. “You make it sound like you’re a disposable utensil. Is that how I come across, as a user?”

  Well, now that he put it that way… there was Claire, Melissa, Sheila, and God knew how many others he’d seduced. “Are you?”

  He rolled to his side. “You might find it hard to believe, but the only woman I’ve completely made love to was my wife.”

  “I don’t want to know.” He had a twisted way of defining love. This wasn’t about love then, just sex. The only woman he’d ever love was Jocelyn. He’d told her that already.

  He cuddled up to her and made small, feathery circles on her collarbone. “But I can pleasure you, make you lose yourself.”

  His fingers walked between her breasts and fluttered down the side of her ribcage to her hips, then traced her waistband and unzipped her fly. A flurry of sparks zigzagged from her nether regions, but Jen didn’t dare let him touch. For she would be forever lost, spinning out of orbit, flung off into another universe. And wake to find him gone.

  He tilted her chin, his eyes darkening. “Let me make you happy.”

  Jen swallowed. “I don’t have casual sex.”

  “I respect that.” He kissed her on the lips and pulled her to a sitting position. “I want to know what it’s like to be in love with you first.”

  A part of Jen’s heart sunk. This was the best he could do.

  Chapter 31

  Sunday morning, Dave drove toward his house to collect Jen’s luggage. His back ached from sleeping on the couch. She was right to deny him. He’d spent the night to ensure she was safe, but snuck away before she woke. He gunned his accelerator and swung around the oleander bushes onto his driveway, almost rear-ending a white news van. What the hell?

  Reporters and cameramen rushed him. His hired security guard cleared a path so he could step out of his car. A crowd of gawkers pointed cell phone cameras at him.

  “Step aside, step aside,” the guard warned as Dave walked up the driveway.

  “Any comments on the bidding war between OgleNet and Lystra?”

  “Who set fire to your data center? Have they been caught?”

  “Now that Shopahol is an internet sensation, any hint at when you’ll IPO?”

  Dave waved them aside with short ‘no comments.’

  “Why did your girlfriend shoot your mistress?”

  “What about the code you stole from BuyFriend? Think they can shut you down?”

  His face burned, and he shoved the microphones out of his way.

  A gangly red-headed punk with gapped teeth scurried under the elbows of the other reporters and blocked his path. “Didn’t your wife die from a hit-and-run?”

  Dave froze as if an icepick had skewered his heart. “Leave my wife out of this.”

  “Then teach your girlfriend how to drive better,” the young man jeered from behind his video camera.

  He swatted the camera and punched the creep in the nose. Flashes blinded him, and the guard grabbed his shoulders. “Come on, get inside.”

  The red-headed guy writhed on the ground making loud, agonizing howls. “I’ll sue you, asshole.”

  “Get off my property!” Dave shook his fist. “All of you.”

  The guard opened the door and shoved Dave inside. His lawyer, Phil, stood in the foyer.

  Someone pounded on the door and shouted. “Where was your girlfriend when your wife got hit?”

  Dave turned toward the door, but Phil and the guard held him back.

  “Things will only get worse,” Phil said. “Stay in control. Everything you say or do will be on OgleShare. Price to pay for being an internet star.”

  “Why did they have to bring Jocelyn into this?” Dave kicked the bullet-ridden sectional and propped himself on Jocelyn’s piano. Several bullets had punctured it. His cracked weddi
ng picture lay on its side, a hole through Jocelyn’s face. He swept all the rest of the broken pictures and trophies off. They clattered to the ground. “That comment on Jocelyn was uncalled for.”

  “Does make you wonder, doesn’t it?” Phil said. “Where was Jen when Jocelyn got hit?”

  “Shut up!” Dave slammed the chipped keys. A series of broken sounds thundered from the ruined piano. “You and everyone else. Blame it on Jen. What does she have, a target on her forehead?”

  “Fine, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.” Phil sat at the dining table and opened his briefcase.

  The guard cleared his throat. “Mr. Jewell, I’m calling in reinforcements to secure your property.”

  “Tell them they’ll be arrested for trespassing.” Dave rubbed his hair. The gauze pad on the side of his temple needed changing, and his hair was stuck to the tape.

  “Yes, sir.” The guard opened the door and let himself out.

  Dave stepped into the bathroom and went through his first aid kit. Phil followed behind. “You asked me to find out about Rodrigo Custodio.”

  “I’m listening.” Dave yanked the soiled gauze, cleaned his wound and applied antibiotic ointment.

  Phil flipped through his PDA. “He never left the country. There’s no trace of him getting on a flight from any airport on the West Coast. So, either he lied to Jen or Jen lied to you.”

  Dave stared at Phil’s reflection in the mirror. “Then how did he take Abby to the Philippines?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t him.”

  “Here, tape this for me?” Dave pressed a pad on his temple. “So we’re back to square one.”

  “Yep. He died in an accident in his scrapyard this summer, crushed in the metal compactor.”

  “Ugh… that must have been awful.” Dave scratched his unshaven chin.

  Phil pressed the first aid tape over the pad. “They didn’t find him until someone noticed the key in the switch a couple days later.”

  Dave cringed. He must have been a bloody pulp. What was that message on Jen’s cell? I saw you at the chop shop. Jen couldn’t have been involved, could she?

  “Could he have kidnapped Abby and given her to someone else?” he asked.

  Phil nodded slowly. “Maybe. He was quite a loner, hung around with a bunch of losers. He left behind his mother, a sister, and a niece. What’s strange is the amount of money he had. His niece has over three hundred thousand in her 529 plan and she’s only six.”

  Dave whistled. “That much money?”

  “Yep. My guess is Rodrigo’s been blackmailing folks for a long time. After he died, Rey picked up the business.”

  “And somebody offed Rey, took his cell phone and is trying to figure out Rey’s gravy train. Jen and I have been getting text messages from Rey’s old cell.”

  Phil pointed a bony finger at him. “Just because your car was cleared of Rey’s murder, doesn’t mean Jen is. The police let her out to tail her. They think she’ll lead them to bigger fish. I told you to stay away from her.” He glanced at his PDA. “Heard anything from the kidnappers?”

  “Huh? Oh, nothing.” Dave wasn’t about to let Phil know about the prepaid cell phone he found nor the promise of DNA. Phil would go to the police and spook the kidnappers.

  “What’s the plan for the day?” Phil asked.

  “Wait, before you go.” Dave rummaged in the cabinet and found the hair trimming set. “How much for giving me a haircut?”

  “You’re asking a lawyer to cut your hair? Buzz cut only.”

  Dave handed him the trimmer. “Might keep the paparazzi away.”

  “Why, where are you going?”

  “Mall, Christmas shopping, you know, holiday cheer.”

  * * *

  Jen stepped out of the shower and strapped on her ankle brace. She stood on it with her full weight, registering only a slight twinge. She pulled on a pair of old jeans and a bulky sweater, one her father had left behind.

  The phone rang. Praveena’s cheerful voice greeted her. “I heard you’re home again. Do you need anything?”

  “Actually, I need a rental car.”

  “I’ll be right over. I’ve missed you. What happened to your car? Did it get shot up?”

  “No, Mr. Jewell’s rich friend took it to the body shop. She’ll pick it up tomorrow, but I can’t just sit around.”

  “Let’s go shopping then.”

  “Great. Afterwards, I want to visit an old friend.” Not that she knew Vera very well, but she was Rey and Rodrigo’s sister, and way back, Rodrigo had introduced them and she’d seen her a few times with Rey. Perhaps Vera knew what Rodrigo had been up to. She’d drop by and apologize for missing Rey’s funeral.

  Fifteen minutes later, Praveena picked up Jen, and they were on their way to the mall.

  “I feel so out of it without my laptop,” Jen said. “And I need to buy a few necessities. Everything you packed is still at Mr. Jewell’s. Look what I’m wearing.”

  Praveena giggled. “Holey jeans are always in style, but that fisherman sweater… it’s way oversized.”

  “My father’s. So, how’s the build doing?”

  “Everything’s going great.” Praveena idled behind the long line of cars waiting to enter the mall. “We haven’t hit any glitches. Satish has been watching the management console.”

  Jen breathed relief. “I’ve been in jail, can you believe it?”

  “Was it horrible?” She pulled into a parking space. “Oh, look… isn’t that Mr. Jewell?”

  “Where?” Jen glanced where Praveena pointed and sunk into the seat. “Can you park somewhere else?”

  “We’re lucky to snag this spot. Let’s wait for him to leave. He looks so funny with a buzz cut.” Praveena giggled.

  Jen pulled the sweater over her head. “What’s he doing here?”

  “It’s a public place, besides everyone knows he spent the night at your place.”

  “W-what?”

  “It’s in Nick the SnotOgler’s Blog. You haven’t seen the video? Mr. Jewell punched Nick in the nose.”

  “What? Dave’s been fighting? Why?”

  “Nick says you’re a horrible driver and you mowed down Dave’s wife.”

  A shockwave smashed Jen’s chest. Her phone sang Jennifer Lopez’s “I’m Into You.”

  Praveena looked at the screen. “Hey, Mr. Jewell’s calling you. He’s standing over there looking this way.”

  Jen waved frantically. “Don’t answer it.”

  “What’s the matter? Did you have a fight?” The voicemail jingle sounded.

  Jen put her head on her knees. When Jocelyn was hit, she had been the one who called the police. But she had run off before they arrived. Abby had been screaming, and her only thought was to get her away from the broken body that had been her mother.

  * * *

  Dave glanced at the Honda that pulled into the spot two cars from him. Praveena and Jen were inside. He headed over, but Jen slumped into the seat and refused to look over, even when Praveena pointed him out. He had been wrong to offer her sex when she wanted love. He’d buy her something special, a gift, so she’d know beyond a doubt how he felt about her. His chest tightened. Was he ready for such a leap?

  He left a voicemail. “Let me know when I can drop your things off. Maybe we can have dinner?”

  Dave ended the call and looked over his shoulder. No one had stalked him so far. He stepped out of the parking garage and wandered around the Christmas displays inside the mall. His mother had always set up the tree the Monday after Thanksgiving. She’d make wreathes of bay leaves, holly, juniper berries and, of course, mistletoe. Christmas used to be a happy season for Dave. But, no longer. Abby had not even spent her first Christmas with him. Born in March and kidnapped in November.

  A long line snaked around the center of the mall where Santa sat. Parents pushed strollers and held onto excited children still innocent enough to believe in fairy tales and dreams come true. A group of Asian children waited their turn, the little boys wearing sui
ts and the girls in velvet dresses. One girl was taller than the rest. How old was she? Hard to tell. Her hair wasn’t quite as black as the others. Dave angled around to get a better look. Her eyes were round. The adults taking pictures were all Asian. Could she be Abby?

  It was the girl’s turn. She swept her wavy hair back as Santa put her in his lap. She smiled, her bow-shaped mouth achingly like Jocelyn’s. Dave moved closer.

  An irate parent said, “Line’s back there.”

  “Oh, sorry. I was just waiting for them.”

  The man stared hard at Dave, his blue eyes bulging. Dave shrank under his gaze and backed up, pretending to look at the gaily wrapped presents and the glittery reindeer display. An Asian woman took pictures of the girl and Santa. After her turn was over, she and the girl walked toward the man who accosted Dave.

  Dave cringed when the man whispered to the woman and pointed at him. Both of them grabbed the girl, one with each hand, and led her away. Shit. The man approached a uniformed security guard.

  Dave slipped through the crowd and crossed the train tracks, barely missing being hit by the Holiday Express full of laughing children. His eyes focused on the guard, he ducked in the nearest store and hid behind a rack of red lingerie with white trimmed fur lining.

  “Sir, may I help you?” A twiggy woman waved a crimson fingernail at him.

  “I was just looking.” Dave backed into a headless mannequin wearing nothing but a silky scarf with a glittering thong.

  The saleslady pursued him. “Lingerie, or slinky dress?”

  Dave gulped, not quite seeing Jen wear the fur-lined camisole. “Dress.”

  “Size?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll know when I see it.”

  She held up a red dress that was little more than strips of cloth criss-crossing the chest area with laddered ties down the sides. He had to get out of here. With his luck, Jen would walk in and get the wrong idea. “I’ll take it.”

  “Good choice.” The saleslady rang up the exorbitant price, and Dave tucked the dress in a pink and red striped Victoria’s Secret shopping bag. Holding it behind him, he escaped the store. He turned in the opposite direction from the Santa line, his heartbeat pounding lest the blue-eyed man spotted him.