The Blue Link (RUSH, Inc. Book 1)

by Carol Caiton

  Simon smirked. "We're that provincial."

  "Sure we are. Protecting the vulnerability of a sister might not be all that common in today's family dynamics, but it apparently means something to Dalton. And if you think about it, we operate RUSH along the same guidelines. Look at the measures we've taken to protect our resident females—hell, all of the women at RUSH. I've got extra guards posted at the gate on I-Drive as a warning to the protesters out there. Try to hurt one of our female clients and we're prepared to fight back—physically, legally, and to make a lasting impression, financially."

  "That's business."

  "It's more than business. No woman should have to physically defend herself."

  "You're right. I concede. But do you know what you're about to take on? I've seen Dalton at the gym. He works out as regularly as we do. And I've seen him in the ring with Malcolm."

  "Nobody beats Malcolm in the ring."

  "No, but Dalton holds his own."

  "Well, I guess I'm just dog meat then."

  Simon chuckled. "I know. You hold your own in the ring, too. But it's going to make a lousy impression when our chief of security gets into a brawl and has to be restrained by his own staff."

  "I'll deal with it. Knowing Dalton's sister is the root cause will go a long way toward smoothing things over."

  Simon had to agree. "Neanderthals that we are."

  Without warning Ethan stiffened. He uncrossed his ankles, gripped both arms of the chair, and straightened. His gaze shot to Simon. "We have a problem."

  Simon straightened as well. "What kind of problem?"

  "Your blue link." Ethan's eyes shifted to the computer monitor. "The entire Psyche department is out on vacation, remember?"

  Simon froze. He stared at Ethan. "Which means Meredith couldn't have sent that icon."

  CHAPTER 2

  Although high-ranking links were rare, nearly to the point of non-existence, RUSH's female clients had the exclusive option to choose which color level they preferred to engage with, whether amber, green, or blue. The database then generated a link and sent an icon to the most compatible male in that range. There were exceptions to that process, however.

  Pink icons, meant for RUSH's resident females—its R-links—were first routed to the Psych Department for Dr. Zeman's files. Pink was the only color an R-link received, pairing her with a different partner three days each week, and Dr. Zeman monitored the activity and health of each young woman with monthly appointments and file updates. His administrative assistant, Meredith Seymour, printed out a profile of each candidate with whom the R-links were paired, attached it to the file, then initiated the process that sent a pink icon to both the R-link and her male recipient.

  The same procedure was applied to monogamous links. Green and blue had been added as part of the contract agreement Dan Zeman had negotiated. After nineteen months of collaboration with ten other psychologists, he wrangled for the option to track and gauge the accuracy of his work from a full spectrum of relationships. The members of the board hadn't cared for that stipulation, but eventually yielded because Daniel Zeman, along with his Park Avenue reputation and twenty-two years of experience as a sex therapist would add to the sophisticated image they wanted to project. Amber, however, was to be the color RUSH promoted while the higher-ranking colors remained in a shadowy background.

  Ethan reached for his cell phone and punched a speed-dial number. And because of his proximity, Simon heard the tinny voice that answered.

  "Security. What do you need, Ethan?"

  "Jeremiah, see if Michael Vassek's on property."

  A few seconds later the voice responded. "That's a negative."

  "Thanks." He disconnected and punched another speed-dial number, waiting in silence while it rang.

  "Michael's not answering," he muttered. A few seconds later, when voicemail picked up, he left a message. "It's Ethan. We have a situation. Call me back."

  "Michael does a fair amount of business on the side," Simon offered. "If he's in a meeting, it could be a while before he calls."

  "Hmmph. He's probably with a woman. That guy's had a link every day since we opened the place."

  "Seems that way, doesn't it? But if Michael was with a link, he'd be here on property. He doesn't take women to his house."

  Ethan pushed to his feet. "Slide over, will you?" He circled the desk again as Simon made room for him.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to find out whose computer initiated that link."

  "You know how to do that?"

  "I've never tried it before, but I've programmed the entire security system, so I'm not going into it blind." He lowered one hip onto the edge of Simon's desk, reached for the keyboard, and turned it for easier access.

  "Would you rather sit here?"

  "No, I'm good."

  It took ten minutes of guesswork before Ethan accessed the program he wanted, then several more before he was able to locate the source that initiated the blue icon. "Sheer luck," he muttered, then pointed at a string of gibberish on the monitor.

  "What is it?"

  "Your blue link was sent from Meredith's desk. Someone typed in his or her password and logged on, but I don't know whose password it is." He typed in another command. "Try to get Michael again, will you? He'll be able to tell me how to find out."

  Simon reached for the phone on his desk, punched in Michael's number, and let it ring.

  Staring at the empty coffee cup next to his monitor, he realized his muscles were tense in anticipation of disaster. Someone had hacked into the linking system. Only two people had access rights to initiate links—Meredith Seymour and, in her absence, Michael. Since neither of them was on property, it had to be assumed that whoever broke into the system had done so with malicious intent. Should the files—the extremely personal files—of RUSH's clientele be accessed . . . . Hell, he didn't want to think about the possibility of a class action law suit.

  "Michael still isn't answering," he said, hanging up. "We should phone the others."

  Ethan slid off the desk and straightened. "Give me a few minutes first. I'm going back to my office to look at the surveillance video. We'll have something to go on after that."

  "Phone me."

  "I will."

  Alone once more, Simon centered himself behind his desk, but turned toward the floor-to-ceiling glass that made up the outer two walls of his office. The courtyard beyond was dark now. Green and blue floodlights, strategically placed amid the foliage, invited a private stroll along the winding pathway. Clear ones sparkled the water with diamond drops as it flowed from a three-tiered fountain. It was one of many courtyards, many fountains, and many pathways that wound through RUSH.

  Reaching inside the top desk drawer, he withdrew a small remote that controlled both sets of drapes, and pressed the appropriate buttons to close out the night. Then he settled back in his chair and returned his gaze to the now mysterious blue icon and its unrelenting clock.

  Was it even legitimate? Could the woman at the other end be compatible with him on a level that defied comprehension? Or had the linking system been sabotaged? What if he was the last man in all of RUSH who should be paired with her?

  Now, more than before, he wanted to know who she was. As soon as Michael corrected whatever had happened here tonight, her icon might vanish and her file would go with it. There would be no way of identifying her and, despite his earlier dismissal, he wanted the face of a woman he could pick out of a crowd. He wanted the opportunity to watch her, weigh his interest, and toy with the notion of a superior match. Because what if the blue was valid?

  That need to know compelled him to call up the same stats Ethan had checked. He'd take another look at the number of new members because it was possible another new female had been approved for membership since he last checked—not that he expected to narrow the field. But it didn't hurt one way or the other.

  He zeroed in on the approved applicants. Seventeen. Then, clicking on that
figure, he scanned the table that appeared, only to find that fifteen of the seventeen were male. So, other than Denny Cooper and the woman who would live on property as one of RUSH's prized R-links, there were no new female applicants.

  He slid the keyboard away and sat back. If Dalton's sister was linked to Ethan, and the new R-link, Nina Millering, was about to join the small community of resident females, then his supposed ideal mate came from the pool of established members already belonging to RUSH. She could be an employee, or she could be a civilian. Her file may have been inactive while she observed the overall process before applying for a link, or she might be a participating member who had decided to test the system for its match-making potential—an unsettling possibility that didn't bode well for the company.

  Why would a woman who was active in the system suddenly decide to apply for a monogamous link? Why would she give up the freedom to enjoy casual sex without censure? She wouldn't have joined RUSH in the first place if she hadn't wanted that freedom. Many of the women who had applied two years ago were still here, still active.

  He pondered that thought. It was possible she'd enjoyed the game and now decided it was time now to settle down. And if she, like Ethan, worked at RUSH, she probably had little opportunity to meet someone on the outside.

  His cell phone rang and Ethan's name appeared on the display.

  "What do you have?" he asked in place of a greeting.

  "I think we're in the clear. It looks like a mix-up."

  Simon checked his monitor. The blue icon and its option buttons were still there. "What sort of mix-up?"

  "A conscientious employee."

  "A what?"

  "A conscientious receptionist who happens to be a computer geek."

  "What happened?"

  "Nothing covert. The Psych department's messages are being handled by the receptionist at Medical Services. She walked over to deliver the day's take and spotted a yellow sticky note under Zeman's desk. She walked in, picked it up so Housekeeping wouldn't assume it was trash, and saw that it had a woman's name, along with the word link doubly underlined."

  "And?"

  "And she took it for granted the note had been meant for Meredith—that it was supposed to have been handled before the department shut down for the week."

  "You're telling me a receptionist hacked into the linking system and knew what to do?"

  Ethan harrumphed. "She called it initiative."

  "I don't care what she called it. She should have consulted with her supervisor or forwarded the note to Michael's office."

  "She said she phoned Admin, but Michael had already gone for the day."

  Simon closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Unfortunately, it did nothing to relieve the tension. "Okay. Why did she use Meredith's computer? Why not go back to her own station?"

  "Because it was after five. The next shift was already in place and someone else was at the reception desk. I asked the same question."

  "So an unskilled medical receptionist found her way into the linking system and initiated a top-level status-2 blue."

  "She did admit to having seen Meredith exit out of the system. And she does have programming experience. I checked her file. The evidence backs up her story."

  "Michael isn't going to like this."

  "That's an understatement."

  "How did you track her down?"

  "The surveillance footage. I got a lock on her face and ran it through Security. Then I pulled up her file and phoned her at home."

  "Was she surprised?"

  "Scared more than anything."

  "Hmmph. I don't doubt it."

  "I told her it had come to the attention of Security that a link was initiated from Meredith Seymour's workstation. Then I asked if she could explain how that might have happened."

  "Did she meddle in anything else?"

  "She says she didn't. We still need to have Michael check things out, but I think we can relax."

  Simon hesitated, then asked, "So the blue is real?"

  "Looks like it."

  "Did you think to ask the name of the woman on the note?"

  Ethan laughed outright. "You know, I did think about it. But if I'd questioned her, she would have been put in an awkward position. She already knows she's in possession of classified information—I made sure she knows. But she also would have known that I had no legitimate reason to ask for it."

  "You're right." Nevertheless, Simon took a last stab at getting what he wanted. "What about the note? Where is it now?"

  "She said she tossed it, and the video confirms that. But Housekeeping has already been through and emptied the trash. I checked."

  "Damn. I keep running up against a brick wall here. What's her name? —The receptionist."

  "McGarvey. Holly McGarvey. You've probably seen her ."

  "I think I can put a face to the name."

  "Well, she doesn't know her input ended up in a blue. But if you start questioning her, she'll realize you're the man at the other end of the link."

  "I hear you. I wonder how trustworthy she is."

  "I can't say. My phone call alarmed her, but I've put Jeremiah on it. He's got someone checking out Facebook and the other social networks. If she has a web presence, we'll know what sort of person we're dealing with by tomorrow morning."

  When Simon ended the call he turned his gaze toward the monitor again. So the icon was authentic . . . and he'd never know the woman's identity unless he accepted it.

  Ethan's words drifted through his mind . . . it might never happen again.

  Hell.

  Not once—ever—had his emotions been engaged while he'd been involved with a woman. He enjoyed their company, liked them even, but deeper involvement was uncomfortable. It always had been. Dan Zeman would probably assign a label to him that fell under the heading of intimacy issues. Then, if he dug deep enough, he'd say it was rooted in childhood neglect and Simon wouldn't argue the point. He was fully aware of his background.

  But the truth was, he had no desire to spend more than a few hours at a time with a woman. The female temperament, with its disproportionate tangle of emotions, had a peculiar tendency to confuse a reasonable situation from one moment to the next. He—and probably every man on the planet—preferred something less complex. Shared goals. Friendships. He couldn't envision sharing with a woman the sort of rapport he had with Ethan, Malcolm, and the others. And love? Well, he didn't doubt its existence. He'd seen evidence of it his entire life. But one didn't miss what one never had.

  So he was satisfied. And if satisfaction was synonymous with contentment, then he was content. He didn't require a long-term relationship, just casual interaction. Sexual release. And that was what RUSH was about. Not blue links or even green. If generating high-ranking links was about to become a trend, then something was wrong.

  He considered that for a minute. The application process was designed to screen every candidate. Anyone interested in more than casual sex was tagged and rejected, which was why there were so few women compared to men. It was also why the system rarely generated more than a status-2 amber. In spite of the unbalanced ratio of men to women, however, the linking system kept things running smoothly. It had been fine-tuned over time, and was still being fine-tuned whenever one of those curveballs materialized. It was unfortunate that a large, rotating population of male clients was always unlinked, but even that had been anticipated from the start.

  Rotation was the key. Each link was allotted a specific time frame. In the amber range, that time frame spanned ninety days and all clients were permitted a total of three concurrent links after the first month of membership. Following that, the female moved on, engaging with the next male the system chose for her.

  Green and blue were treated differently because of their relationship potential, green commanding a three-month period of monogamy while blue commanded six. Which was why, if he accepted the blue folder, the two ambers he held would vanish from his hard drive and be passe
d on the next compatible males in line. It was doubtful he'd ever hold two folders at the same time again since the male-to-female ratio wasn't expected to change by much.

  He scowled at the unwanted icon. RUSH could claim only one active female for every sixteen males and if those numbers didn't improve in the near future, the board would have to make some tough decisions. The majority of female clients were employees, and membership at Entertainment Level 1 came free with the job. Conversely, civilian male clients paid a high premium to be registered with the system and a number of them hadn't had a link for some time. There were those who were able to find what was needed at Threshold, where a unique classification of women achieved their own brand of pleasure through a variety of experiences. But those women were as rare as RUSH's resident links, and every female client was cautioned to forego that venue without a full understanding of the dark side.

  If he accepted the blue icon and it ended up being a washout, he might be one of the untold number of men over at Threshold. But if the unknown woman at the other end of that link turned out to be the genuine article . . . .

  Ten years from now he'd be forty-two. Ten years after that he'd be in his fifties. What sort of future did he see for himself? What did he want to see?

  At once, those two questions led him to understand why he'd been given no information upon which to base a decision. This wasn't about the woman. It was about him taking the time to look at the path he was on, facing who he was and what he wanted for himself. He didn't require a name or photograph for that. This was about compatibility in its purest form and, like it or not, his faith in the linking system was close to unshakable.