by Ben Muse
“Long story,” she said. Who’s on deck?”
“Ash is, why? What’s going on?”
“What does that mean, ‘who’s on deck?’ I thought that only applied to baseball,” I asked.
“It means one of our team is always sleeping. We have a rotation of sorts and the person asleep is the on-deck person,” she said to me. To Christian she said, “Wake her up and set up a secure conference call with Schmidt. I want everyone on it.”
“Can’t this wait till the morning? It’s three thirty in the morning, for chrissakes.”
“There’s a good chance we’ve been compromised, Christian, so no, it can’t wait,” she said in her first-grade-school-teacher voice.
“What about him?” Christian said, pointing to me.
Have I mentioned that I wasn’t very fond of Christian? He exuded pompousness, and he never seemed to be doing much of anything, save for staring at a computer screen. To top it off, he has great hair.
“What about him? We’d probably be dead if it weren’t for Chase. He’s earned the right to sit in,” Jenna said.
And sit in I did, for the entire twenty-five-minute call. I made sure to thank grumpy Agent Schmidt for my freedom and to tell him how much I’ve enjoyed the past twenty-four hours of my life. He ignored me.
Schmidt agreed with Jenna that Durov was probably on to me, based on what had happened. He supposed one of Durov’s people had probably seen me enter the Coral Towers to meet Viktoria for something more than a romp in the sack and, on a hunch, had me followed back home. Great.
Schmidt was sending a two-person counter-surveillance team. They would follow us from a distance to see if they could find our tail. So it goes like this. I’m spying on my father’s firm for the FBI. Durov and his people want me dead, and now the FBI was sending a team to tail us in order to see who else was tailing us. It all made sense, and I was exhausted.
“Chase, what do you make of the contraption you and Jenna were in beneath that yacht?” Schmidt asked.
“I have no idea. We do know that water stays out of it as long as the hatch above isn’t opened. What this could be used for I’m not sure. Scuba diving, maybe,” I suggested.
“I’ll have our analysts take a look at your pictures, Jenna. Maybe they can come up with something,” he said.
“As I told Jenna earlier, we’re taking Sergei on a trip up to New York City next weekend and training his crew on this new feature, even though his yacht will not be ready for more than a year.”
“Keep us updated on that, Chase, and thanks for getting Jenna out of there safely tonight,” The call lasted a few more minutes, but I was tired and tuned out the rest.
Christian left around four fifteen, and it was too late to go to my place, so once again I was stuck with the couch. Jenna stood in the bathroom doorway as I finished brushing my teeth. She looked amazing, even at this hour. Unexpectedly, she reached up, kissed my cheek, and caressed my face. Her lips were warm, and they lingered there for a moment.
“Thank you for getting us out safely tonight,” she offered.
“Consider it payback for saving my life yesterday. It feels good to still be breathing, but I’m exhausted, Jenna, and I have to be at work in a few hours. G’nite.”
She didn’t move out of my way. Instead, she said, “No couch tonight. You deserve a decent couple hours of sleep. No funny business though.” I was too tired to joke, so I silently followed her into the bedroom and shut the door behind me. When we were both under the covers, she turned to me.
“I thought we were dying tonight, Chase. And since, I’ve thought about all the things I wanted to do, but haven’t. Puts things in perspective, huh? I don’t want this to be weird, but would you mind just holding me? I need to feel connected to someone.”
“Um, ah, yeah sure.” Smooth, Chase. “Hey, for what it’s worth, I thought you were damn cool under pressure tonight,” I whispered as I put my right arm around her and she laid her head on my chest. We lay like that and slept the sleep of the just, for two hours anyway.
***
My tired eyes opened at five fifty-five, five minutes before the alarm on my iPhone was set to go off. Jenna’s head was still buried in my chest. She had let her guard down and showed a different side, a softer one, and it was nice. I had to remind myself that she was off-limits. I carefully extricated myself from the bed without waking her, grabbed a spare set of clothes that hung in the laundry room and went into the bathroom for a quick shower.
When I came out fifteen minutes later, she was sitting on the couch in her robe, waiting for me with a steaming mug of coffee.
“Thanks for being a gentleman in there,” she said, the remnants of sleep evident in her voice.
“Thanks for letting me see the non-badass side of you,” I replied.
She nodded. “Be careful today and tonight. It’s not a game, Chase.”
I remembered the last time someone told me this was not a game. That person ended up dead a few hours later.
I left the apartment, unsure of when I would see Jenna again, and drove straight to work, expecting to walk into a shit storm. My ID had been recorded coming through the gate early this morning, as well as entering Refit. I had no idea what happened to the yacht after we escaped, but at least it wasn’t flooded. The plan was to clam up if confronted by anyone other than my father, and then I’d wing it from there. Some plan.
I drove through the gate at six forty-five, and there were very few cars in the lot and no sign of an emergency as I walked into the building. My father arrived at seven, and Bailey came into dad’s office fifteen minutes later.
“Will I ever see you outside of here? You’ve been pretty much shacking up elsewhere all week. That blonde from Shooters must be something in the sack,” she joked.
“Jenna and I are enjoying each other’s company. I’m sure she’ll grow bored of me eventually. Plus she’s graduating soon,” I said.
“Don’t you have a date with Anna tonight?” Dad asked.
“I do.”
“Hmm . . . my brother, the player,” Bailey quipped.
I was catching more grief about my dating life than I was about Dock Two, and that suited me just fine.
“A little leeway please. I’ve been out of commission for seven years,” I reminded them.
“Yeah, yeah. Just be careful,” she said. If you only knew, Bailey.
I was tempted to visit production during lunch to see what, if anything, had happened, but I decided against it. No sense looking for trouble. The entire day turned out to be a breeze, and I was thankful, because I caught myself dozing off a couple of times. Meetings and reading took up much of the afternoon, and by the time I glanced at the clock, five fifteen had come and gone. My father was the first to leave, and Bailey came in a few minutes later on her way out the door.
“Will I see you at all tonight?” she asked.
“Depends on how my date goes, sis.”
“Back for a week, and you’re already getting laid more than I am,” she sighed.
“I guess I was born with the Hampton charm, and you got the work ethic. Maybe you focus too much on work. Plenty of eligible bachelors out there. Shooters was full of them.”
“Right. The problem was the lack of teeth and all around good hygiene in those fine gentlemen. Oh well. I have a date with a nice bottle of red wine that is nonjudgmental and well mannered. Maybe I’ll see you at some point this weekend. Have fun tonight.”
“Will do,” I said. She left and I waited five minutes before I walked out on the terrace. I checked Bailey’s office door and luckily the duct tape over the strike plate was still intact. She’d locked herself out one too many times on a smoke break, and her solution to the problem was to my benefit. I slipped inside quickly and kept the lights off. From my pocket, I retrieved another small black transmitter and hunched down next to the bookshelf near her desk.
Suddenly, her office door opened and the lights came on. I felt like a cockroach caught in the middle of
an empty room. Busted.
“What are you doing in here?” Her tone was deliberate, accusatory, and spot on, and I did the only thing I could think of—I pretended it was no big deal.
“Hey, I’m looking for a book I saw in here earlier, Principles of Yacht Design. Can you help me find it?”
“You could have started by turning on the lights.”
“Yeah, but I thought I remembered seeing it on the lower shelf.”
“Top shelf, right side.” Whoops.
“Oh, there it is,” I said, standing up. I pulled it off the shelf and thumbed through it. “Thanks. Dad mentioned this book would be a good primer.”
“Yachting for dummies,” she said.
“What’s with the attitude, Bailey?”
“I’m not used to walking in on people snooping around my office,” she said, perturbed.
“Well, for one thing, I’m not snooping. I wouldn’t know what I would even be snooping for, and two, I’m your brother, and I share an office with the O-W-N-E-R, who happens to be our F-A-T-H-E-R. So get over yourself,” I said, and winced inwardly at my harshness. I knew she had every right to be upset.
“Wow, you’d think I was the one in the wrong here. Are you finished?” She had her arms folded and stood there by the door. Her eyes burned a hole right through me.
“Yes, I’m done. Thanks. You may want to make sure you lock this outside door, though. The duct tape on the strike plate seems like a possible security no-no,” I said as I walked down the hall.
“I’ll take that into consideration,” she said icily.
As I entered dad’s office, I placed the small transmitter back in my pocket. Too close.
Chapter 31
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Warm rain from a midmorning spring thunderstorm lashed the double-paned windows outside Anna’s bedroom, and thunder boomed in the distance as I stood up from her king-size, cherry sleigh bed and walked naked to her master bath.
“Come back to bed, Chase,” she whined. I looked back at her as she tracked me with bedroom eyes through loose strands of black hair that created an erotic mask of sorts. Her naked body shifted under the sheets and exposed her right breast.
“I can see that you want to,” she added, as she cast her eyes toward my midsection.
“Anna dear, it’s already ten in the morning. What do you say we clean each other up in that big shower of yours? If I don’t get up now, I’ll feel worthless the rest of the day. Besides, I’m making you breakfast this morning.”
She’d met me at the door to her modest two-story home yesterday evening with a kiss, wearing only a simple, cream-colored bathrobe. As I sat at her kitchen counter and watched her cook dinner, the sash that held her robe in place became increasingly looser as the dinner preparations progressed. We caught up over a bottle of chilled Moscato, and she flirted by provocatively dipping her finger in a cabernet sauce she was preparing, and licking it off while smiling at me. As she pulled the pan-roasted veal chops from the oven, the sash came undone, and I knew this dinner would be like none I had experienced. Anna was uninhibited, while at the same time sweet and tender—a girl next door who feared nothing. I wondered, not for the first time, why she was so into me.
“So make me lunch later and let me have you for breakfast,” she said, clearly pleased at her choice of words. Her pull was strong, and I fought the urge to rejoin her. I put on a robe she’d provided and sat in a black leather club chair near her bed instead.
“Anna, I’m not good at this relationship stuff, so I’m not sure if this is the appropriate time to ask this or not, but where do you see this going?”
She smiled at me. “Chase, I like you. Okay? There is a connection with you. It is not something I can explain; it is something I feel. You seem like a good man, regardless of your past. I trust you. Maybe in time we will both discover that we are not compatible, but I would like to give us both time to figure that out, if that is okay with you?”
I trust you.
“You make a very convincing argument, counselor,” I smiled, while I felt like a fraud on the inside. “I like you too, Anna. You are smart, beautiful, and a welcome breath of fresh air to me.”
Two listening devices were now active in her house thanks to my late-night exploits. Once she had fallen asleep, I planted one behind the nightstand on my side of her bed, and the other I placed downstairs in her study. I felt sick to my stomach at this invasion of her privacy. Inexperienced as I was at relationships, I was sure this was not the key to a long-lasting one.
“So will you be staying with me in my cabin on our little cruise to New York next week, or do we need to keep us quiet for now?”
“To be honest, Chase, I love the thought of sneaking into your cabin in the middle of the night and screwing your brains out,” she said in her sultry voice.
“It does seem a little more naughty, Ms. Petrov,” I agreed. “So what is this trip all about? My father has been very secretive regarding it. All I know is that Mr. Durov is bringing some people to train on some newfangled feature his boat will have.”
“Mr. Durov has been quiet as well. Perhaps we will both find out together. The ‘not knowing’ builds the excitement level, no?”
No.
“Do you know who these people are?” I asked.
“They must be involved somehow in his mining business,” she surmised.
“It just seems so quick after Viktoria’s death and his own painful injury. Is he up to this, physically and mentally?”
“Mr. Durov is a very resilient man. Perhaps this is his way of coping. Returning to the scene of the crime, so to speak.”
“We all deal with things differently, I guess. How has he been?”
“From our few discussions, I could sense that he is still distraught about Viktoria’s death, but Mr. Durov has always been an impatient man.
“Impatient, how?”
“Chase, I do not wish to waste our time discussing my employer, but I will take you up on that offer of a shower,” she said, as she exited the covers in all her naked glory, took me by the hand, and led me to the Shower Promised Land. We spent the first fifteen minutes rubbing an oval-shaped Dove soap bar over every inch of each other’s body below the chin line, and the next fifteen engaged in our own version of shower geometry. After a very late breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and fresh berries, I reluctantly left, promising to return Sunday afternoon.
***
Four doors down from Anna’s house, a Wilmington Utilities box van sat with an orange traffic cone placed in front. Jessica was in the driver’s seat, and she shook her head slowly from side to side as I drove by. She must have been the lucky one listening in.
Jenna texted me five minutes later:
Devices active, but not as active as you apparently. Get some rest, will talk later.
I deleted the text and sat the phone down when it began ringing. The number displayed on my Caller ID was from California. My first thought was, how did my mom get my number? However, the voice on the other end was neither my mom nor female. In fact, it was creepy and disconcerting.
“Hello, Chase.”
“Who is this?”
“Who this is . . . is not important. What is important is that you listen closely. If you care for Bailey, you will cease your little investigation. I’m sure you would hate it if anything happened to her. There are forces at play here that you can’t begin to understand or defend against. Choose your decision wisely. Bailey’s life depends on it. Good day, Mr. Hampton.”
The call ended and I started to shake with a mix of fear and anger. How did this man even have my phone number? I hit redial and a message came on immediately: “The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and try again.”
I raced southbound on the Wilmington Highway and on my third call to Bailey, cop lights flashed in my rearview mirror. Damn. I pulled off to the side of the highway, ended the call to Bailey, and shot a quick text off to Jenna:
Pul
led over- speeding, Bailey in danger
“License and registration please?” said the officer. He was young, medium height, and lean. Dark-mirrored sunglasses combined with light-brown pants and a darker brown shirt completed the uniform. The nametag said Sparrow and he smelled of spearmint gum. The most important thing I could see was that the patch on his shoulder said Brunswick County Sheriff’s Office, instead of Foggy Harbor PD.
“I apologize for speeding, Officer Sparrow,” I admitted, as I handed over my ID and insurance card.
“Hang tight, Mr. Hampton. Let me run you through the system, write your ticket, and we’ll have you on your way soon.”
Fat chance.
When I could see that Officer Sparrow was back in his vehicle, I speed-dialed Jenna, put the phone on speaker, and sat it down next to me in the passenger seat. Bugged car or not, I needed to talk to her. She answered on the second ring.
“Chase, what’s going on?”
“Male caller told me to stop my little investigation. Said Bailey’s life depended on it. So I hauled ass, got pulled over, and Officer Sparrow from the Brunswick County Sheriff’s Office is in his car running my license through the system. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but he’s probably taking me in. What’s most important is that you find Bailey. She isn’t answering her phone, but it could be because she found me snooping in her office Friday afternoon after she left, and she’s still pissed. Don’t worry. I played it off as if I were looking for a book.”
“Shit,” she said. “I’ll call Schmidt and get him working on your problem, and we’ll see if we can locate her. Hang tight, we’ll try and get you out.”
“I’m leaving the phone on so you can hear what’s happening. Just don’t say anything.”
Officer Sparrow approached cautiously five minutes later with his hand on the butt of his service weapon.
“Mr. Hampton, I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle slowly and place your hands on the hood. No sudden movements, okay?” he said cautiously.
