Almost Elinor: A Jet City Novel

by Gina Robinson

  "No," he said. "Being able to sew well has been enough of a beating to my manliness."

  "I suppose you don't knit or crochet, either?" she said. "We'll need to do a bit of that for her cowl, gloves, and scarf."

  "I'll leave those to you," he said.

  "I'll take that as a no." She waved him to me. "Get to it, then. Measure the girl. Start with her waist." She glanced at his hands. "I bet you can span it with your hands."

  He grinned, knowing what she was up to and what she was implying. "I have big hands."

  Beth shrugged. "Give it a try."

  He stood behind me. "Ready?"

  "Should I suck in my breath?" I said.

  He laughed and put his hands at my waist, circling it completely. My breath caught at his touch. I tried not to show it.

  Beth clapped. "I told her I could cinch her in that tiny." She fist-pumped the air. "That's some corset."

  I shook my head as Beth instructed him which measurements to take. My waist. My bust—part of the corset's job was to shape and push up my breasts. From the middle of my back to my wrist. From my waist to the floor.

  As he kneeled to make the measurement, his hand slid up my calf out of sight from Beth—or so he assumed—tempting me to react and not go weak in the knees. He knew how to turn me on.

  Like all moms, Beth had eyes not only in the back of her head, but everywhere. She cleared her throat. Loudly. "Young man. That's my girl you're feeling up."

  He froze, peeked around the skirt of my underwear at her, and grinned. "Just admiring your handiwork on these stockings."

  She started laughing. He joined her. I couldn't help laughing, too. We laughed and laughed, enjoying each other's company. We laughed so hard I had to wipe away a tear. It was all fun and games until I laughed to the point that I actually couldn't breathe in that damn corset. I started to hyperventilate.

  Now I knew the real reason Southern belles fainted. Austin realized I was in trouble before Beth did. He spun me around and pulled at the laces of my corset, loosening them until I was free enough to be able to gasp and pull in a lungful of air.

  Beth stared at him, stunned. There was an awful moment of silence.

  Until Beth said, "Oh, dear. I guess I laced her a little too tightly."

  Austin and I stared at her with our mouths open.

  She shook her head. "We're going to have to lace her so she can both laugh and breathe. We're going to have to measure her all over again." She pointed at Austin. "And you! I have never seen a young guy so eager to get a woman out of her clothes. And in front of her mom, too!"

  With that, Austin pulled me to him and kissed me thoroughly. We all broke into gales of laughter again.

  When the measurements were finished, we had ice cream, which was about the only food that sounded good to Beth most of the time. I was happy for her to eat as much of it as she liked.

  As we sat in the kitchen, the three of us, laughing, talking, joking, I was happier than I ever remembered being. I never wanted that evening to end. Fortunately, it was just the first of many where we worked on our costumes. Austin and Beth sewing and designing. Me watching. Making suggestions. Getting the coffee.

  Truly? I wasn't eager for my wardrobe to be finished. I could have lived in this space forever. But it was just the first part of our lives intertwining.

  * * *

  Since meeting Austin's friends at Comicon, I felt almost like one of them. The guys welcomed me into their circle with open arms.

  "Another woman's brain to pick and study besides Ashley's," Cam had joked.

  They exercised every morning before work at the gym with their kickass instructor Stryker. The guys liked to regale me with tales of their workouts and envy at Stryker's skills and physique.

  "I'd like to meet the infamous Stryker for myself," I said innocently enough one evening while I was hanging out at Austin's with the guys. "Besides, I'm jealous. All of you are in great shape. I feel left out. Austin's fame has already eclipsed mine. No one can compare to Jamie, I'm afraid. And to add insult to injury, I'm worried about looking flabby and out of shape for the promo pieces. Sam is so thin and fit as Elinor. I want to do her justice."

  "Join us," Dylan said. "But be forewarned—he'll kick your pretty little butt. He has no mercy."

  "I can't—"

  "That's a great idea," Cam said. "Stryker teaches us martial arts and self-defense moves as part of our training. After that attack, you should always be prepared. How the hell do you think Austin knew how to jump the guy?"

  "I don't want to intrude," I said.

  "Intrude hell," Cam said. "We don't care." He looked around at the others for confirmation. They all nodded.

  Austin squeezed my hand. "Do it."

  "If the cost has you concerned, don't worry. Lazer's paying for it," Jeremy said. "What's one more in the class?"

  "Once you learn a few self-defense moves, I'll teach you how to use a knife," Cam said. "I have a boot knife for you—a credit card knife, too. Like I promised. But I won't hand them over to you until you know how to use them."

  With that, it was settled. I showed up for my first class tired and bleary-eyed. I soon woke up.

  Stryker was everything the guys had said—a perfect specimen of manhood and muscle who showed absolutely no mercy for the flabby and out of shape.

  While the guys ran through their individual weight routines and circuit, Stryker assessed my level and needs. He measured and weighed me and recorded everything. I felt like I was back in Beth's sewing room.

  "So we can measure your progress," he said, and figured my BMI.

  Later I remarked to Austin, "You and Beth aren't going to be at all happy with me if this workout changes my measurements and my Elinor costume you're working so hard on doesn't fit."

  "Nothing you could do could make me unhappy," he said in that voice that turned my heart upside down with delight.

  I showed up for my fourth workout with the guys to find Stryker had put thick pads on the floor. But, uncharacteristically, he was nowhere in sight. The guys, however, were waiting for me as if I was the main attraction.

  I walked into the room in my usual workout gear—sports bra, loose workout tee, knee-length spandex exercise pants, and athletic shoes—and froze at the sight of them. They were up to something.

  "A welcoming committee? I'm flattered." I looked around at their faces. They were trying hard not to grin. "Why do you all look so smug and eager? And almost like a firing squad?"

  Austin came over and kissed me without answering my question then slid behind me.

  Cam, who'd been in an elite military unit, had brought a rubber training knife with him. He held it up and waved it around menacingly. "Stryker has given me control of your training today, grasshopper." He wiggled his eyebrows like a cartoon villain.

  Austin put his hands on my shoulders. He leaned around and whispered in my ear, "Cam's the best. You're in good hands."

  I'd hoped Cam had forgotten about this. "Look. I don't need a knife. I have a tactical pen I carry all the time while I'm on duty or jogging. It was simply bad luck that I didn't have it on me at Erica's party. I don't need a knife."

  "Bad luck." Cam shook his head. "Or perfect timing for the bad guy? You had a dress on and fancy fashion boots. No pocket to put a pen in. No handbag on you. So you decided to go out unarmed and unprepared, thinking, like we all do, that nothing would happen to you. But you were wrong." He looked at me sternly. "If you'd had one and known how to use it, you could have put a knife in your boots.

  "You went out unprotected. The key to being safe is to always be prepared. Can't carry a pen? Too conspicuous? Need a hand to carry a drink? Put a knife in your boot. Or beneath your skirt. But know how to use it."

  A diabolical grin spread across his face. "These guys all know how to defend themselves, thanks to Stryker and me. I'm not sending one of our rank out there unprotected."

  I looked at the rubber knife in his hand and sighed, then made a point of looking down
at my exercise clothes. "Gee, this is just too bad. But I don't have anywhere to put a knife."

  He laughed and tossed me a small knife holster. "Now you do."

  Austin helped me strap it on my calf. "You'll do great." He kissed me and slapped me on the butt. "Make me proud, Southron." He stepped back.

  Cam stepped forward and showed me the knife. "This is the size and approximate weight of the knife I have for you. That one's much more lethal." He was enjoying this. "Your knife also has a small holster that clips inside a boot as well as the one you're wearing."

  He held the rubber knife out for me to get a closer look at. "Never engage in a knife fight if you don't have to. They're dangerous as hell."

  "You don't have to tell me," I said, with my chin up. I met his eye. "I've patched up my share of fighters. I was a paramedic. I did a stint in emergency. I've seen just about everything."

  "Good. Then you'll take me seriously," he said.

  Jeremy made a smartass comment to Dylan.

  Cam rounded on them. "What are you guys doing standing around gawking? Go do your workout before Stryker has your heads."

  The guys walked off, laughing.

  Cam shook his head at them and returned his attention to me. "The first thing to try with your knife is to use it to scare the other guy off. Show it to him. Show him you know how to use it and will. And hope he runs off."

  I nodded.

  "Knowing how to hold the knife is key. Most people get it wrong," he said. "This is how it's done. Hold it in your fist like this. Blade down and extending out past the little finger. Thumb on the hilt." He demonstrated. "It's harder to disarm you when you hold the knife like this and it gives you more striking options. You can jab." He demonstrated. "Or slice. Or even punch."

  He made me try until I got the grip right and felt comfortable with the rubber blade.

  "Now," he said, "the mechanics of protecting yourself. First step, draw the knife." He slid it in my holster and had me practice.

  When I was proficient to his satisfaction, he proceeded with the lesson. "Show them the knife and hope they're smart and run like hell. If they hesitate or look like they might strike, yell a warning. Scare them. Puff up and act confident and menacing. Make a bunch of BS up if you have to. Tell them how sharp it is and how lethal you are with it. Keep your body at an angle to them." He positioned me. "Protect your vital organs with your other arm. Keep moving. Always moving. Make yourself a moving target. Moving targets are harder to hit."

  We practiced.

  "Good. Good," he said as I got the hang of it. "If they're trying to kill you, use equal force. Go for their vital organs. I don't have to tell you where those are." He looked me in the eye. "Got it, doc? Pretend it's a scalpel and do your damage."

  I nodded. We ran through a few more practices.

  "All right, then," Cam said finally. "I think you have it. I want you to practice with this rubber knife. I'll test you again next session. Holster it for now."

  I took a deep breath and nodded as I holstered the knife. Cam had given me a real workout. I was about to relax when I spotted a man dressed in a padded suit out of the corner of my eye. The kind self-defense instructors wore to protect themselves. He also wore a helmet and facemask. And was intent on rushing me.

  "Oh, no. Not Stryker." I quickly glanced at Cam. "Damn you to hell, Cam!"

  I had no time to think. Stryker was on me before I could react. He body-slammed me to the ground. I landed with an oomph that stole my breath.

  "Go for your knife, doc. But don't telegraph your intentions," Cam said calmly, as Stryker put his hands on my throat like he was going to strangle me. "Use the element of surprise to your advantage."

  With Cam yelling it out, my element of surprise was pretty much nil. Fortunately, an adrenaline rush kicked in. The panic I felt when I'd had a knife to my throat at Erica's party kicked in, too. I had to fight myself and swallow it. My heart hammered as I struggled to reach my knife.

  I somehow managed to get my leg up and grab my knife. I was short of breath and not thinking now, just acting on survival instinct. The kidneys were in the back. If I struck one, I could disable him.

  I grabbed my knife in my fist like Cam had taught me, raised my knife, and stabbed at the padding on Stryker's back.

  "Kill shot!" Cam yelled.

  Stryker rolled off me.

  I gasped for breath and fell back with my arms outstretched.

  Cam walked over and offered me a hand up. "Good job. Keep practicing."

  I wanted to call him some choice names. Fortunately, I bit them back.

  Stryker pulled his mask off. His hair was plastered to his head, but he was grinning. "Fantastic work, Blair."

  "Did I hurt you?" I worried that I'd bruised him through the suit. I'd just reacted. I hadn't pulled my punches—or my stabbing, in this case.

  "I'm fine," Stryker said. "The suit is reinforced for this very reason. But damn, you struck with surgical precision."

  I laughed. "I am a doctor." He laughed with me.

  I realized with a start that the guys had gathered around to watch the action. My focus had become so narrow I'd blocked them out during the "attack."

  Austin crowded Cam out of the way and pulled me to my feet and into his arms. "Remind me not to sneak up on you, Southron. Impressive work."

  I laughed. "Shut up and kiss me."

  THE GATHERING

  JULY

  Chapter 9

  Austin

  A battle was always being waged. I couldn't stop it. Collectively, we couldn't stop it. No matter how hard we tried, we were like Sisyphus, always pushing the rock up the hill.

  A cyber-skirmish. A cyber-battle. A war on commerce and the smooth flow of information. An attack that would crash websites and leave people's personal information vulnerable. Or bring down the power grid. Or a military plane. Completely change our way of life forever.

  There was always an attempt being made somewhere by someone on almost everyone and everything, from pacemakers to cell phones. Someone is probably using a bot to attack your computer or phone right now.

  The motivations varied. Individual hackers with personal vendettas. Some for the fame and notoriety of it. Some for financial gain. And some for the pure terrorist opportunity to bring the free world to its knees, even for a few milliseconds. To kill the free market or control it. Or us.

  My colleagues and I stopped many of them every day. The big project I was working on with Randy was a success. So far. I'd hoped I'd be rid of him when we thwarted the initial threat. But it turned out we'd only won one battle, not the war.

  The first attack uncovered an even bigger possibility for breach during our vulnerability analysis and threat modeling and penetration testing. Yes, of course, we advocated security by design. But some of these systems were older, others not designed with newer threats in mind. Hackers were innovating every day.

  Now we were in a situation where we were trying to revamp the systems to fail secure, rather than fail insecure and allow damage and breaches. Adding in complex, un-crackable cryptography, and other defensive measures. It looked like the project would stretch into the fall. It had already been raised to top priority. Even the Department of Homeland Security was involved.

  I had a top-secret clearance. Had for years. But I was ready to be out. Ready to be done. Ready for the sale of our app to be final. But the process dragged on into the summer.

  Randy was making noises about canceling all scheduled vacations. Dan wasn't on board with that. Yet.

  Blair and I were scheduled to leave for Scotland the Tuesday after the gathering. I was getting ready to head out to the gathering Friday night festivities as soon as I finished closing up at the office. Blair and I and her friend Erica and her husband were staying at a little bed and breakfast in the small town on the edge of the fairgrounds where the gathering was held. The guys were camping nearby. I was meeting Blair and them there. Tuesday couldn't come soon enough for me. I wanted to be on that plane
before Randy found a way to hold me hostage here. My vacation started as soon as I left the office.

  Randy's jealousy and envy of me were tangible, almost a core part of him. There was something deep-seated and disturbing about his obsession with besting me. As if he wanted my soul and wouldn't be happy until he either owned it or destroyed me. In that light, he was unpredictable and dangerous, the worst kind of foe.

  He was still pissed off by the attention I was getting for my romance with Blair and my cosplaying of Jamie. He tried almost daily to ruin my reputation, making a jab at it here and there, planting rumors and seeds of dissatisfaction with my work. The old accusations of incompetence, and possibly even collusion with a known hacker, suddenly resurfaced for no apparent reason.

  I had always suspected Randy was at the root of them. Way back when, it had been his jealousy of my skills and desire to rise through the ranks more quickly than his talents indicated that had gotten me into trouble. Being five or so years older than me, he'd been my lead on that first project. As almost everyone who plays corporate politics will tell you, you don't get any credit for running a smoothly flowing, efficient, profitable organization. The way you build a reputation is by solving problems. Yes, everyone longs to be known as the problem solver, the go-to guy in a crisis. That's how you get to be chief technology officer or CEO.

  If you're an upwardly mobile, focused guy with no problems? You have a problem. Your only option is to create a crisis. Which—I don't have hard evidence, but I'm convinced it's true—is what Randy did. He monkeyed with my code, thinking he wouldn't be caught and could just swoop in and save the moment. That experience, by the way, was what taught me to build traps into my code. Unfortunately, for him—both of us, as it turned out—he was in over his head. Events conspired against him.

  I took the blame—thrown at me, conveniently, by Randy. But everyone in the know suspected Randy of the sabotage. Duke stepped in to save him. Dan picked me up. And my reputation had grown despite that one spot of tarnish on it.