by Sheila Lowe
She pushed his hand away. “Not now.”
“Hey, you’re not ditching me for some punk your own age, are you?”
“That would be the smart thing to do. Have you already forgotten the fight we had last Friday?”
“I’d like to forget it. You know my marriage is just a sham. With the boys both at West Point all Chris needs from me is to be an escort at fundraisers, and the lab makes her look good with her billionaire pals.” His voice turned bitter. “Twenty-five years, solid as a rock. What a crock. I’m stuck like a damned bug in a roach motel.”
Jenna flicked a glance at him. A depressing sourness spread in the pit of her stomach that she had involved herself with this man. “That’s such hypocrisy. You know want to be the First Gentleman, or whatever it is they’ll call it. You want it as much as your wife wants to be President. Don’t pretend you don’t. If you wanted to be with me, you would have left her.”
His jaw hardened in his handsome profile. “Goddamn it, Jenna! How many more times do we have to go over this?”
“None. We’re done with it right now.” She turned onto Harbor Boulevard. “Where do you want me to drop you?”
“Where you always drop me.”
Oh hell, where is that?
With neither of them willing to yield, the silence in the car stretched uncomfortably. As they got close to the pier, Jenna noticed him looking at the Crowne Plaza. She hung a U-turn and braked at the curb near the parking garage, hoping she had picked the right spot.
Simon Lawrie got out of the car and slammed the door behind him, making no attempt to hide his anger as he strode toward the hotel.
With each new memory Jenna built, the world was beginning to seem a little less alien. She tested herself constantly to make sure she was retaining information—the name of that street; the co-workers she had met; her next appointment with Dr. Gold—Saturday. The new memories could never replace those she had lost, but it was some consolation that they were staying within easy reach.
One thing she had retained was the ability to find her way around town.
With a couple of hours to kill before her return trip to BioNeutronics under the cover of darkness, after dropping off Simon, she gassed up the Nissan at the USA station next to the old Trader Joe’s on Victoria, then went into TJ’s and bought groceries for the next few days.
She packed the bags into the trunk and left the car parked in front of Trader Joe’s, then walked across the wide parking lot to Batteries Plus. There, she purchased a cell phone battery and charger. She also picked up a hefty MagLite flashlight.
Reaching to push open the door, Jenna noticed a familiar figure on the sidewalk outside. Her neighbor, Zach Smith, dressed a little more formally than his standard beach attire in a dark T-shirt and slacks. She paused inside the door wanting to avoid any conversation that might lead to a discussion of what she was doing in the battery store or where she was going that evening. He didn’t seem in any hurry to leave.
Moments later, a black SUV pulled up next to him and the passenger, a woman in a navy blue suit, got out. She walked over to Zach and handed him something small enough that Jenna could not see what it was. They exchanged a few words, then the woman gave him a nod and got back in the vehicle. The SUV drove away.
Jenna instinctively stepped back as Zach took a quick look around, then climbed into his pickup and drove away.
She thought about it on her way back to the Nissan, puzzling over what she had just witnessed and whether or not it meant anything. But with no way to satisfy her curiosity she set it aside in favor of concentrating on her plan to get the flash drive back.
There was nothing to do but return to the apartment and hunker down until darkness fell. She plugged the charger into the cell phone, then studied the emergency evacuation map over a bowl of ramen noodles. The third-floor ladies room was located at the southeast side of the building, which would put her out of the view of anyone driving by on the street.
After a quick shower she dressed in a pair of Levi’s and a black long-sleeve tee shirt. Having discovered a navy blue watch cap in one of the drawers, she pulled it down over her blonde hair and hoped the dark clothing would cover an unobtrusive recon.
The sun seemed to hover on the horizon for hours longer than normal, but by eight o’clock dusk was falling at last and Jenna headed out, nerves wound tight.
Afternoon drive traffic had died down and the return journey to the Oxnard lab took a quick fifteen minutes. Driving around to the rear, she paused at the main doors to check out the guard station in the lobby. Unmanned. With any luck she would be in and out of the parking lot within five minutes. She pulled the Nissan into a dark area of the lot and scanned the upstairs windows floors until she located the ladies room.
In and out. Go.
The coffee cup had dropped straight down. Assuming she had judged correctly, it should be on the ground behind the foliage, easy enough to find for someone looking for it.
Jenna crossed the parking lot hunched low and moving fast.
Melting into the shadows at the edge of the building, she knelt in the dewy grass and switched on the MagLite. Sweeping it from side to side, she aimed the powerful flashlight at the intersection of cement wall and ground.
Nocturnal creatures scuttled out of sight.
No cup.
Maybe the cup arced.
Maybe you’re an idiot.
Crab-walking across the grass several feet to her left, she paused every few steps to sweep the light across the base of the shrubbery. By the time she reached the end of the building empty-handed, her heart was pounding. When she had made her plans for retrieval it had never occurred to her that she might not find the Starbucks cup.
She returned to her starting point and stepped up on the low retaining wall that surrounded the hedge. Holding the light at an oblique angle so that it raked the top of the foliage, she looked for the cup.
Without warning, the bright flare of a second flashlight lit her up. A rough shout cut through the night. “Hey! What are you doing there?”
Startled, Jenna jumped down onto the grass, scrambling for a believable cover story.
The security guard lowered his flashlight. “I asked what you’re doing here,” he challenged her again. Broad, not flabby, his uniform buttons pulled taut against his chest. Grey hair buzz cut, military style. His right hand hovered over a gun holster. Not a rent-a-cop. Even in the darkness she could see the stony set of his mouth.
“Please don’t shoot me.” She put her hands out where he could see them. “I uh—I lost something.
“I—I work here—I—I think I dropped it out here at lunchtime.” The words came out choppy and disjointed.
“Lost what?”
“Um...” She cleared her throat, trying to sound contrite. “Uh, it was a—a credit card. I think it fell out of my pocket.”
“Yeah?” He wasn’t buying it. He moved his hand away from the gun and extended his palm. “ID.”
Jenna dug in her pocket with clumsy fingers. Thank god she had brought her employee badge. The guard shone his light on it, studying it as thoroughly as though he were cramming for an exam, then pointed it back at her face, forcing her to squint against the glare.
She strained to see the name on the name pinned to his shirt—Nate Farley—and tried for friendly. “Nate, I work for the lab director, Dr. Lawrie—”
Nate Farley jerked his chin at her the watch cap covering her head, interrupting her. “What’s up with the beanie?”
She pulled off the cap and ruffled her short locks. “Oh, I didn’t have time to dry my hair.”
He gave a loud snort of disbelief. “Riiiiight. You come here at night dressed like a cat burglar and I’m supposed to believe you’re looking for a credit card?”
“Well, yeah. I didn’t mean to look like a cat burglar, and it’s not really night, it’s early evening.” She couldn’t seem to stop babbling. “Listen, Nate, do you know if anyone turned in a credit card?”
&n
bsp; “That’s Mr. Farley to you.”
“Fine, Mr. Farley. So, about my credit card—”
“I’ll be sure to make a note for the next shift,” he said with obvious sarcasm.
That was the last thing she wanted. “Don’t bother, I’ll ask around when I get to work tomorrow.”
“You sure you lost your credit card over here?”
He was looking at her with open contempt, letting her know he knew she was lying. At this point she had no choice but to brazen it out.
“I think it was around here because I was eating lunch on the wall. Look, I know it was stupid to come back tonight. Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
He cast a last look at her badge and handed it back to her. “You oughta be more careful with your ‘credit cards,’ Ms. Marcott.”
“I will. And I’m going now, so good night.” The words had scarcely left her mouth before she turned tail and sprinted to the Nissan. She didn’t glance back until she was behind the wheel with the door locked. Farley was marching toward the area where she had been searching for the cup, the beam of his flashlight a milky pool spilling across the grass.
Jenna held her breath and sat there observing him for a minute or so as he hunted. When he gave up and let himself in the front doors she drove slowly past. She could see him at the security desk through the big plate glass windows. He appeared to be writing something.
The back of her neck was damp with perspiration. If her nighttime visit was reported to Simon he would know that she had eaten lunch at her desk, not on the brick wall. He would want to know why she had lied.
What were the chances that the maintenance crew had seen the cup and picked it up, tossed it into the trash?
Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she gave a moment’s thought to where the trash dumpster might be located and the possibility of her searching it.
You idiot. If that guard finds you dumpster diving, you’ll be totally screwed.
I may already be totally screwed.
She couldn’t decide which was worse—that someone might even now be accessing the files, or that the cup had been trashed, its contents lost to her.
f i f t e e n
By the time Jenna returned to the apartment, the cell phone battery was charged. The only positive thing that evening. She installed it in the phone and pressed the power button. The welcome tone played and an envelope icon appeared on the phone’s LCD display, indicating new voicemail.
Punching buttons, she arrived at the voicemail access message and when prompted, entered *1Ariel*, the password from her computer at work. A recording informed her that she had entered an invalid password and suggested she try again. Knowing there were messages she was unable to access drove her a little nuts. Just one more thing outside her control. Right now, that pretty much represented this juncture of her life.
She didn’t have the heart to call the service provider for a password reset tonight. They would ask for her social security number or her mother’s maiden name to verify her identity. She would be SOL.
Scrolling to the text sent and received boxes, she found them empty. Simon had accused her of ignoring his voicemail and texts. Why would he lie about that?
In the received calls list, five of them, all dated the previous week, had originated from the same number in the 310 area code. 310 was part of greater Los Angeles and included Marina del Rey. The name “Belle” was associated with the number.
Another two calls were from the 760 area code, which was around San Diego.
That made sense, given that one of her driver’s licenses had an address in Escondido, a San Diego suburb. No name or phone number was associated with either call.
In addition to the two phone numbers in the received file, the contact list contained a scant three items: clinic, hairdresser, voicemail. Listings that held no meaning for Jenna Marcott. It seemed a sad indictment that her phonebook held no contact that might be a friend, except maybe Belle, whoever she might be.
Something deep inside her stirred, shifted sideways.
Belle. Ariel.
Two characters from Disney kids’ movies: The Little Mermaid; Beauty and the Beast. That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?
What sort of reaction would she get from the person who answered if she called Belle’s contact number and said, “Hi, do you recognize my voice or my name? Can you tell me anything about myself?”
She wasn’t yet ready to do that.
Praying fervently that Simon wouldn’t show up shitfaced after his evening with his buddies, Jenna undressed at ten and got ready for bed. At eleven-thirty, he had not shown up and she climbed under the covers feeling as though she had been granted a reprieve. As hostile as they had both been when he’d left her car, she counted on him understanding that she had no intention of sharing her bed with him.
She lay awake for hours that night agonizing over the lost Starbucks cup and its secret cargo.
What information was so important, or perhaps, if what she had told Dr. Gold was true, so dangerous that she had buried the flash drive in the planter? Where was it now?
In the end, unable to stop the thoughts chasing each other, she got up and poured herself a glass of the “two buck Chuck” pinot noir she had picked up at Trader Joe’s. Curled up in the big leather armchair, drinking wine and fretting, she waited for exhaustion to knock her out.
Sleep brought an unwelcome rerun of the bad dreams of previous nights, but Friday morning started without incident. Jenna had half-expected Nate Farley, the security guard, to be waiting at BioNeutronics, pointing an accusing finger at her. It was almost an anticlimax when he was not. To cover herself, she asked at the reception desk whether anything had been turned in to the lost and found.
“Not that anyone told me,” Keisha said. “What’d you lose?”
Jenna repeated the story she had told the guard, Nate Farley, about the missing credit card.
“Damn, girl, how’d you do that?”
“Stupid, I guess.”
Keisha gave a sympathetic shake of her head. “You’d better call and cancel that card. You know how it is. Somebody might’ve picked it up and kept it.”
Simon had left a message that he would be out of the office until the afternoon. After the hostility in their parting Jenna was not looking forward to seeing him again. The tension of working with him, pretending to know about their relationship but not remembering any part of it, was already starting to wear on her. For now, though, she needed the income the job provided.
She would have to make it work, at least until she had created a new life for herself. Until then, the unpredictable blackouts, the buzzing when stress became unbearable, not knowing anything about her past or what had happened to her memory made it impossible to think very far into the future and looking for a new job.
She checked the company directory on her office computer for Kevin Nguyen, the person Simon had told her to contact, and learned that he was BioNeutronics’ chief of security. Clinging to the hope that her nocturnal visit had gone unreported, she punched up Nguyen’s extension on the desk phone and relayed Simon’s message that the Project 42 client was bringing in their own employees.
Nguyen’s voice was that of an older man whose American accent still bore strong traces of his native Vietnam. When he made no mention her being caught on the grounds the prior evening, Jenna breathed a little easier.
As Simon had predicted, Kevin Nguyen was cranky when she delivered his message.
“The clients are sending their own people? They have to go through background check, just like everybody else, you know. Nobody starts work here unless they get clearance first. You know that. You had to get clearance. Everybody gets clearance. You tell Simon Lawrie these people have to complete the paperwork. I am gonna email it to you, you get it over to them, just make sure they return it to me so I can review and approve these people.”
He stopped to take a breath and Jenna broke in before he could renew his rant. “They’re supposed to start
on Monday, Kevin. Today is Friday. That doesn’t leave much time to get their information.”
“They can’t start Monday. Too soon. They need clearance first.”
“Simon said—”
“Why does he wait to the last minute to tell me this? How can I do my job if he works against me?”
“Maybe it was a last minute thing. I’m sure he didn’t mean to upset you.”
Ignoring her efforts to soothe him, Nguyen made a sound that could only be construed as disgust. “Never mind, I’ll call him myself. I heard you were out sick.”
“I had the flu.”
“Now, don’t you let him work you too hard.” The security chief cackled as if he had said something hilarious. Jenna felt her cheeks warm. She figured he was referring to her sexual relationship with her boss. It was obvious Keisha knew about it, too. Who else at BioNeutronics?
“What was up with the surprise search last night?” she asked, keen to change the subject.
“A surprise search is supposed to be a surprise,” Nguyen retorted. “Random search, random times. If people know when they are going to happen, they would know when it’s safe.”
“Safe to do what?”
“How we gonna know, unless we do random check?” When he laughed again the sound grated on her. “They think they are being clever,” he said. “No worries, we gonna get them. Sooner than you think.”
Something in his tone worried her; some secret knowledge, maybe. She said, “I saw someone get pulled out of line. Did you...catch anyone in the act?”
“You know better than ask me that.”
“Well, I just thought...as Simon’s assistant...”
“Hah! Random search. Like the airport. What we are looking for and what we find is our business. Security department business. Not your business.”
