by Mary Malcolm
It did have a nice ring. And he looked so convincing spelling it out like that. Not to mention a little hot. Plus, I loved the idea of being able to use what I do for something good rather than just have it hang like some annoying albatross around my neck.
“Yeah, I can see that. Who would I go to?”
He licked the corner of his mouth, finally gathering up the mustard and quelling the panic in my chest. “How did you know about Sleepless in Seattle?”
“You said good morning, and I just grunted… I’m not a morning person.”
“And?”
“You told me, verbal ability is a highly overrated thing in a girl, and it’s our pathetic need for it that gets us into so much trouble. It made me laugh, but it’s also straight out of Sleepless in Seattle.”
He leaned back in his chair and, keeping his eyes leveled on mine, took a sip of Coke. “Could be one of my favorite quotes.”
“It played last night on the classic movie channel.”
“Again, could be one of my favorites.”
“I took an educated guess.”
He laughed, deep and rich. My ribs tickled at the sound. His laugh pooled like water from the river near my childhood home lapping around my ankles on a hot summer day. I would spend a lifetime trying to shake that laugh out of him as many times as possible.
“It is one of my favorite movies.”
I scrunched up my face at his non-answer.
“But you were right.” He paused, then reached forward and lightly touched the back of my hand.
He’d touched me before, but this felt different. I smiled as puppies and kittens and rainbows, or possibly too much soda danced around my stomach. “Simon Winters. He’s on the fifth floor, accounting. Good guy. Always nice to me. He’ll hear you out.”
“Thanks, John.”
****
I’d expected boring, white-walled cubicle living at its finest when I got to fifth-floor accounting and instead found what seemed to be the party hub of HGR. Glittery orange pumpkins, vampire bats, and lazy skeletons hung from every cubical in preparation for upcoming Halloween. One set of four cubicles held the equivalent of a zombie graveyard, another featured cauldrons, witches, and cobwebs. A sign on the wall explained: Winners of the cubical decorating contest will receive a day off with pay, and passes to the Texas State Fair.
A gaggle of people stood laughing and talking around the break room. What looked like a birthday celebration or retirement party turned out to be nothing more than everyone snacking and standing around. Country music blared from a radio in one of the cubicles, while another played Eminem. If the errors were mistakes instead of theft, this would be the place for them to happen.
I also found that when John gave me his connection, he didn’t go for some low-level nobody. Simon Winters was the head honcho of accounting. His office sat in the corner, walled by windows and surrounded by potted plants, and a plethora of awards.
They’d told me during orientation that HGR did work for a lot of government agencies, private contracting for large corporations, and basically were the badasses of the tech universe. They were the premier company for most of the programming needs of the free world. Not that they were the only source, but certainly a big deal. And after talking to Simon Winters for only a few minutes, I understood the company pride. Hell, I even felt a little of it.
“We’re not a company that makes those kinds of mistakes. You must be wrong,” he said after I explained what I’d found.
“Our department might seem lax from the outside, Lucy, but my people are the most knowledgeable, most dependable in the world. It is because of the way they are that I allow them the freedom to express themselves and play at work. You might see a lot of craziness walking into our area, but what you don’t see are the long hours they’ve worked that led up to this. We have people and programs to back-check every person and program. We have state-of-the-art security.” We left his office, and he pointed to cameras and monitors as we walked through the maze of cubicles. “There are cameras everywhere. Our security department sees everything. Between the people, the systems, security, and generally having to stay on budget and make sure our figures track, you have to understand that what you think you’re seeing isn’t actually what you’re seeing.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” I said, not wanting to step on the toes of anyone so early in my HGR career. “But that doesn’t account for what I see. Who does the data go through before it comes down to data entry?”
“Central Processing.”
“I’ll check there, then. Maybe it’s a computer glitch or some kind of little error.”
He shrugged and grabbed one of the pizza boxes, offering me a slice.
I thanked him for his time, declined the pizza, and headed back to my cubical o’ data doom.
****
That evening I met John for a John Hughes fest at the Ridglea Theater. Normally they showcase new musicians there, but that night it closed for one of the bartenders’ birthday. Since John knew the crowd, he received the invite and I became his plus one.
One of the owners greeted us at the door. “Hey, John! I’m so glad y’all made it. Everyone’s inside.” The woman faced me. Her low-cut top showed off cantaloupe-sized breasts and I counted at least ten visible piercings. “And who might this be, lovebug?”
John took my hand and squeezed. “Sandy, this is my friend, Lucy. Lucy, Sandy.”
My heart thudded faster than the loud music already blaring through the doors. Do I squeeze back? Stay limp? Oh my God, John is holding my hand! Brain to mouth, use your words, use your words! “Nice to meet you,” I said, hoping neither could tell how excited this progression made me feel.
Sandy nodded back in response.
“This place is awesome,” I told him once inside, finally feeling my heartbeat return to normal.
A little dark, with an awesome old theater ambiance. Not the creepy cinema feel, more an impression that hipsters lived here. I could imagine the cigar-smoking, cognac-drinking ghosts of old beat writers kicking back in the booths. Tonight, a projection screen had been set up on the stage; Molly Ringwold and Ducky, decked out in their ’80s couture, had never been so large.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s sit over here.”
Since the bartenders were otherwise occupado with the private celebration, this was a BYOB event. We’d stopped at Central Market and picked up a six-pack of Rawr beer on our way in. Seeing John around his crowd and in his element brought up excitement I hadn’t felt since breaking up with my last boyfriend, Bobby. He was handsome enough at work, but also just a work bud.
Tonight, he wore a plaid short-sleeve shirt over a gray thermal and skinny blue jeans. He’d look pretentious if he weren’t so damn, lickably hot.
After we set our things down, he took my hand again and introduced me to his friends. “You know everyone here,” I said after a while, wondering if he’d always had those gold flecks around his irises and if I could actually drown if I stared at his pool-blue eyes for too long.
He laughed. “This place is awesome. My home away from home. I’d love to bring you here for a show sometime.”
That sounded like an invite to a second date before the first one even started.
Nervousness and excitement made my stomach tumble, which was good and awful all at once.
Because I see things the way I do, I try to stay out of relationships. It isn’t that I’m some unsexed beast or anything, I’m kinda fairly cute, if nerdy, but knowing what people are doing without them telling me sucks. It’s hard to believe how much the average person lies in a day. Yet I see them. Probably not all of them, thank God, but enough to know that people, by and far, are liars. Which makes dating suck. Because when I’m dating I can’t let go of those little lies. Eventually I can’t see the person as anything but a liar.
So far I hadn’t caught John in any lies, but it was still early.
We tucked ourselves into a booth. He opened a beer for himsel
f and one for me. “Any luck with Simon?”
I placed the beer at my lips but didn’t drink. “Not his department, he says. He completely trusts his people, and even though they look pretty crazy, they didn’t seem to have much to hide.”
“Man, that sucks.” He took a swig and looked around the room. “Great start to your first week, huh?”
I laughed a little nervously, more because as I sat across from him I felt acutely how long it had been since I’d been with a guy. Not “sex been”, more that close conversation thing. I’d hidden so much from my ex, Bobby, that I never gave us a chance. No reason to do that again, not from John, at least. John already knew my deep dark secret, and he accepted it. I like liked him. My libido shifted into overdrive making my clothes sticky-hot against my skin. I tried to push myself back toward the conversation. “This isn’t the first time this happened.”
I went on to explain about my series of crazy jobs and experiences. At twenty-two, I’d managed to be hired and fired from more places than my aunt Dolores in her entire lifetime. Something she brought up often, usually while pinching her face and frowning simultaneously. “It isn’t my fault,” I explained. “I just see what I see.”
“You could keep it to yourself,” he offered with a shrug.
I’d thought about that before, keeping these things to myself. But I’m human; I’m not perfect, and sometimes my mouth works faster than my brain. Plus, things like those going on at HGR were bigger than something I could in good conscience keep to myself. “It’s like that show, you know, where they throw people into bad situations and expect them to do the right thing. Sometimes I feel like I live in the middle of that show.”
“Blows.”
“Yeah.”
We drank a little more and watched the movie. He started out across from me, but by two beers in, he had slid in next to me, scooting close. I did my best not to let out a girly grin. At first our hands brushed, and then our thighs. The longer we sat together, the more I wanted to kiss him. Or have him kiss me.
Then he did.
Our lips touched, softly at first, tentatively. He held my face tighter and the edges of my skin melted. All the naughty thoughts from earlier flooded, his tongue danced quick, tantric circles around my mouth. My body heated as his hands ran down to my thighs and back up. His knuckles ever so slightly grazed my nipple and I lost the ability to breathe or think or reason. Months of pent-up sexual tension filled my body with endorphins, and though I’m normally fairly straight-laced, I wanted nothing less than to feel every inch of John’s naked flesh.
Back at his place, our shirts flew off, and he kissed his way across my shoulders. My hands tangled in his hair. I pressed myself against him, boldness surging through me. Tiny droplets of moisture rose on my upper lip, and as I licked them away, a feral moan escaped through John’s plump, kissable lips.
“Man, you are sexy,” he said, unbuckling his belt.
His erection pressed against his jeans, and I didn’t care how fast it went, I needed to feel John inside me. My last good sex happened a little over three months ago with a hot bartender at a bar I no longer frequent. That guy did things to me I never thought of before, yet even with all that, he didn’t leave me half as excited as John did. I couldn’t explain it, something about John felt amazing and right, like when I found out they’d deep fried rum and Coke at the State Fair. I reached back to unclasp my bra. “You ready for—”
His buzzing phone clattered against his nightstand.
“Gotta answer,” he said, a finger held against my lip. “I’m on call tonight.”
I sat at the edge of his bed and tried not to eavesdrop on the call. My body still hummed, and I tried my best to quell the heat by looking around and not focusing on the half-naked man only two feet away. His room wasn’t what I would have imagined, not that I imagined it much before tonight, but it was definitely not young and hipster. No posters of The Ramones or The Velvet Underground, no Santa Muerte masks, like I saw on his tattoo, or strange knickknacks or anything that identified John.
Other than a wall of computer monitors, and what appeared to be a kick-ass sound system, it looked more like a guest room he stayed in temporarily. I tried to push back my Spidey-senses; we’d had way too good a time tonight for me to ruin it with my brain.
Hanging up the phone, John sat on the bed next to me and rubbed his hand across my thigh. He wouldn’t look at me, though. “Lucy, I need to go.” He hesitated. “One of the VPs was found murdered at HGR, and they’re calling all hands in.”
“That’s awful. What happened?” My stomach tightened at his news. What kind of place did I work at that someone could waltz in and kill another person? Or worse, if the killer worked there too, how would any of us feel safe going back? A shiver tingled down my spine.
John wiggled into work slacks and yanked a white shirt over his broad shoulders. “Don’t know yet. Nothing like this has ever happened. I can’t believe it.”
I closed my eyes and pushed away images of every murder I’d ever seen on TV. And the one dead body I’d seen in real life.
“Lucy,” John said, pulling me out of my head. “Do you want to stay here and wait for a taxi, or go with me and I’ll call for one from there?”
I imagined his mom waking up and finding me sitting on their couch. No, Mrs. Poole, John isn’t here. Who am I? Oh, just someone he works with and someone who likes him and who almost had sex with him tonight. Yes, in your house. Oh, is your room right next to his? I wasn’t aware. Protection? Um, we didn’t get that far before we were interrupted… “No, I’m going with,” I said, all previous sexual excitement banished at the word “murdered.” I pulled my sweater back over my head and straightened my skirt.
John reached forward and took me by my hips. We swayed for a moment or two. I leaned my head on his chest. “This really is awful.”
He placed his index finger under my chin and moved my head up until our eyes met. “I had a great time.” He gently kissed me and then cleared his throat, looking away.
I didn’t want the night to end. Not like that, not so quickly. My shoulders slumped at the inevitable, and I finally asked, “Who died?”
He looked back at me, his eyes soft with tenderness. “Simon Winters.”
Chapter Two
Officer Len rubbed a finger across the bridge of his nose and wrote something down. He took a sip of coffee and wrote some more before looking up at me. “So Mr. Winters died, and you and Mr. Poole went back to HGR.”
“Where are your glasses?”
His eyebrows scrunched together. “What makes you think I wear glasses?”
“You rubbed the bridge of your nose where they normally sit. Plus, you’ve been squinting at the paper you’ve been writing.”
He cleared his throat. “Broke. Earlier today.” He looked at me for a second. Then two. Cleared his throat again. “Is that when you became involved with the police department?”
“Sort of. I met Detective Reyes, Eli, that night…”
****
When we got to HGR things were crazy, people shuffling everywhere. Because of the nature of their work, all their secrets and confidential information, the security department worked double-time trying to make sure the people coming in needed to be there. And no one could leave before talking to the detectives. I went in with John, but when I tried to explain that to Detective Reyes, he didn’t listen.
“Ms. Carver, you said you talked to the victim today. What was the nature of your conversation?”
“Really, I only came back with John. We were on a date tonight, and he was called in.” The detective waited, so I felt like the only way I’d be able to get my taxi home was to go ahead and answer. “I found some information missing in the data I entered. John told me to go see Mr. Winters. We talked, he said his department wasn’t involved.”
The detective wrote, and I bit my lower lip. If I thought hard enough I could still feel John kissing me. I didn’t want that killed by some late-twenties Spanish
Channing Tatum-looking guy who didn’t understand why I was there. Not my type, but from the up-down glances the other women in the room gave him, I stood in the minority on that. Dark hair, neatly cut, equally dark chocolate eyes. Sharp cheekbones and not a touch of stubble. Trim and tight inside a button-down white shirt, sitting with one leg casually tossed over the other.
He looked up from his notepad, closed it, and leaned back in his chair, causing his shirt to pull even tighter. “Make me understand.”
All my experience living with what I do, what I can’t control, taught me that eventually I’d probably end up in jail or dead because of it. People don’t like to have their thoughts invaded without their consent. “What am I supposed to explain? We talked, he was nice. Offered me pizza, and then he said they aren’t involved. Look, I’m really not a part of any of this. I just started this job. I really have no idea who the man is, and I only talked to him once. Can I go home, please? I’m supposed to work tomorrow morning.”
“Work should be the least of your concerns. A man is dead. A man you spoke to about a serious allegation on his last day of life. If there is some reason something you said might have gotten him killed, we have to know about it. This is a murder investigation, Lucy.” He paused. “Do you mind if I call you Lucy?”
“That’s fine.” I shrank in my chair. Jail, it seemed. My world closed around me as I imagined how guilty I must look for something I didn’t do. I didn’t mean to find problems, and I doubted my information killed Mr. Winters, but who’s to say? Half a million is a lot of money.
As the thought hit my head, so did another. “Am I in danger?”
Detective Reyes sat up. “Should you be?”
That’s when I spilled it, all of it. And to his defense the detective held his mask of intent, listening through my entire story.
“So you’re saying you have a photographic memory and you happened to observe the loss of a great deal of money on the same day Mr. Winters died. Mr. Winters, the head of the accounting department and probably one of the top suspects were this loss, if there is a loss, to come to light.”
