First Light

by Isabel Jolie

  “Hey,” she called from upstairs. We hardly ever went upstairs, as our living area and bedroom were down on the main floor. Her feet clattered down the wooden steps. “I’m using the guest room upstairs to store the bulky items. Does that work?”

  “Sure.” She stepped up to give me a hug, and I held an arm out to warn her away. “I need a shower.”

  My warning didn’t stop her. She smacked her lips against mine and squeezed my ass.

  “Here, I bought new shampoo and soap. Let me get the bathroom stuff unloaded, and then the shower’s yours.”

  “You’re in a good mood.”

  “I am. We had a great day. Before we went to Costco, we went into Wilmington. Did some shopping. Had lunch. Everything over there is like there was never a hurricane. Everything’s open. Decked out in holiday decorations.”

  “Places will be opening here soon.”

  She hummed what sounded like disagreement as she carried an armful of products into our bedroom.

  “Did you get everything you needed?”

  “Yeah, we’re set. We can handle Armageddon.”

  I swung the refrigerator door open and reveled in the blast of cold air. I picked up a bottle of water from the lower shelf. It wasn’t cold yet, but it was cooler than room temperature, and I ripped off the top and chugged.

  After scanning the contents of the remaining groceries and seeing there were no more bathroom-related items, I headed that way. Cali stood in front of her sink, holding a tampon box. Her eyes squinted, and she had the expression of someone doing math in her head.

  “Everything okay?”

  “I’m late.” I barely heard the words, and my breath caught. Her cheeks held a subtle rose hue, barely discernible against her olive skin.

  “How late?” She held a pink jumbo box of tampons, and below in the open cabinet, two additional boxes sat.

  “Almost a month?”

  My brain slowed. It didn’t mean anything, did it? “Are you normally late?”

  “Never.”

  “We were only apart for a few days…”

  And we never really broke up, did we? During those days of hurricane prep I hadn’t seen her at all…

  “You’re the only person I’ve been with in years.” She emphasized the last word and gave me a look that snapped my brain back to the present. I’d believed something was wrong with my sperm, but I’d never been tested or even talked to a doctor.

  “Really?”

  She picked up the tampon boxes below the sink and stacked them on top of the others, as if presenting evidence. Her fingers trembled.

  “Hey.” I wrapped my fingers around her arm. “Come here.”

  Her dark eyes lifted, heavy with emotion, searching.

  “If you’re pregnant, I mean… I don’t want to get hopes up. You could just be late. But if you are… I’m…how are you feeling about this?”

  “It would be my fault.” She spoke like she hadn’t heard me, flustered. “I don’t even know how. I was still on the pill, but I forgot a day here and there. It was so crazy—” I tugged on her chin, forcing her to look up.

  “Hey. Listen to me. Cali, if you’re pregnant…” I searched the ceiling for guidance on what to say so she’d understand. “I’ll consider it a miracle.”

  She reached up to my jaw and ran her nails along the rough growth. I leaned into the welcome sensation.

  “Me too.” Those dark brown eyes glassed over. I recognized the emotion. It was a lot to take in. I lifted her up onto the bathroom counter and stepped between her legs.

  And then I kissed her, long and slow. I didn’t want her to have any doubt, not about us, or about the baby. When I broke the kiss, I reached out and ran my hand over her flat, tight stomach, in awe that my little baby might be growing inside. And god, I’d told her I couldn’t do this.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I think so. Since you’re okay with it, I’m thrilled. I mean, I always assumed I’d have a kid one day, but that day was way off in the future. And, you know, if we’d needed to…or if we end up needing to adopt, I’ll be okay with it. I think what Luna and Tate did is amazing.” Her hands fell over mine on her belly. “It’s early. I haven’t taken a test. Sometimes women just skip. And a lot’s been going on…”

  She lifted my hand, calloused and dirty from a day outside on clean-up duty, and slowly placed her lips on each of my knuckles. I recognized she might not be pregnant, but the sheer enormity of my hope that she was showed me how badly I did want to be a father—how badly I wanted to be a father to her children.

  Those dark eyes grounded me, and her melodic words soothed. “Even if I’m not, we’ll be all right.”

  Epilogue

  9 months later

  Logan

  * * *

  “How’s he doing?” I tiptoed on the carpet in the nursery. My wife held our baby son, swaddled in her arms. She loved to hold him when he slept. Her gaze reflected all the love I felt. The kind of love that filled your insides to the point of bursting with warmth and everything good in the world.

  I sat down on the ottoman in front of her rocking chair and lifted her feet into my lap. My thumb drove into the pad of her foot, and she moaned quietly. Everything we did, we did quietly, as we lived in perpetual fear of waking the baby. When he slept, we wouldn’t even dare to turn on the television.

  Our house in Virginia came wired for functionality with Siri or Alexa, and we disabled it. Cali wouldn’t have anything in the house that might be used as a listening device. She insisted we turn our phones off at night, and our computers, and it was with great reluctance that she even agreed to a television. A TV that remained off almost all the time.

  Although her reasons for the TV remaining off didn’t have as much to do with fear of being watched as it did with the advice from one of her baby books to limit screen time. I told her she’s the one in charge and that I’d do whatever she wanted. I didn’t watch much television, anyway. Besides, I couldn’t imagine anything better than watching my little newborn son. Every facial expression, every “oh” of the lips, if he crinkled his cheeks—it all floored me. And when he wrapped those tiny, frail fingers around my finger, too small to even wrap all the way around, every part of me became his.

  Cali held her precious bundle out for me, and I lifted him from her arms and placed my lips ever so softly against his forehead. With great care, I positioned him in the crib. I held my breath, careful to not move too quickly, watching to see if he remained asleep.

  Cali joined me, and I wrapped my arm around her as we both gazed down on our baby. Martin Dylan Callahan weighed in at a solid eighteen pounds now, and over ten pounds at birth. His name honored Cali’s mother, as Martin had been her maiden name, and Cali believed Dylan bore a strong resemblance to her first name, Dahlia.

  I didn’t think I could ever love this much. Every day, it surprised me, the emotions that gushed out of me. Having a son didn’t take away my love from my wife, but instead it somehow compounded. I’d die for either one of them, my wife or my son. But when I looked to the future, what I hoped for was decades by Cali’s side.

  She lifted the monitor from the counter and placed an index finger over her lips, directing me to be silent. As if I needed the direction. You’d think our child had sonic hearing, the way we tiptoed around the house. When we reached the main floor of our home, she wrapped her arms around me, and I closed my eyes, soaking in all the warmth after having been at work all day.

  She led me into the kitchen, and a large basket filled with onesies, blue balloons, and baby paraphernalia caught my eye.

  “Who sent us that?”

  She smiled her smile that told me she had a secret, and it made her happy. She placed a finger over her lips and led me out the door onto our porch.

  “It’s another gift from my dad. And he says he’s going to come visit soon.”

  “I thought Erik said that wouldn’t be a good idea?”

  “I don’t think he can keep my dad
away from his grandson. Son trumps most things, but apparently grandson trumps more.”

  “Erik is allowing it?” In my new role within the NSA, I happened to get regular updates on her twin. And I ensured he was kept abreast of his sister, and now his nephew. Given how much I loved my wife and son, I appreciated Erik’s hyper-protective stance.

  “Kind of.” She passed me a scroll. Grease smeared the corners and sections in the center. “This arrived via my DoorDash lunch order today.”

  “Did you even order lunch today?”

  “No. But my dad sent me my favorite, Banh Mi.”

  Cantonese, an artform, covered the page. “What does it say?”

  “He’s hoping we’ll take a long weekend to upstate New York. There’s a cabin in the woods.”

  “He clearly knows everything your brother is doing.” We’d debated how much her father knew over the last several months. “I mean, look at the precautions he’s taken.”

  “He’s a smart man. And yes, I think my brother has told him what’s going on. Dad is planning on spending some time in the cabin, away from everything. Once Erik feels it’s safe, he’s planning on moving permanently to Virginia, so he’ll be closer.” She waffled the paper in the air. “He says Mom would want to be near her grandchildren, and he’s uprooted anyway. He doesn’t think Erik is going to be providing him any grandchildren in the short term.”

  “Have the two of you talked about Erik?”

  “Not really. At some point, Erik must have come clean to him. Or wouldn’t you think he’d be full of questions?”

  Being a member of the NSA, I knew plenty. There were several organizations we monitored constantly, along with other countries. The Dark Web enabled a brave new world. One that required constant monitoring in an entirely different crime stratosphere. A world that made the organized crime and mafia syndicates from the seventies and eighties look like child’s play.

  My wife’s connections to that world were too close for my comfort level. But I also knew her brother was now playing a key role in our battle for a safe cyberworld. He’d given us invaluable information over the last nine months. His newly formed covert black ops group also served to foster inter-agency communication amongst the FBI, NSA, CIA, and Homeland.

  A neighbor waved from across the backyard fence, and I waved back. He picked up a large red ball and disappeared to the front of the house. Our neighbor’s kids were toddlers, but they assured us Martin would be a playmate before we blinked. I couldn’t help but hope they were wrong. I loved my little man and didn’t want any of this to fly by. Although I did look forward to playing ball with him as he grew older.

  “Are you good with us spending more time with Dad?”

  “Cal, I don’t have anything against your father. Nor your brother, but I’m beyond thankful he’s being as cautious as he is. If something happened to you, or…” I trailed off because the idea was too painful. One day, Erik would return to the United States, and I suspected we’d see him when he did. And I braced for that inevitability.

  “Nothing is going to happen. And even if it does, what do we always say?”

  She smiled at me and hummed her mother’s song.

  The End

  The journey continues in the Twisted Vines series. Read on for the beginning of Crushed, Erik’s story.

  Crushed Prologue

  Erik

  * * *

  The red bulb in the corner of the room flares. Life transitions to slow motion. The man on the security camera shatters the glass sliding door eight floors below. Dressed in black, he raises a suppressed semi-automatic pistol and steps over the shards of glass then out of the view of the back door security camera. He enters the view of the first-floor security camera. His stride shows purpose.

  I pick up my phone and tap out an urgent text to my team.

  * * *

  Under attack. Get out.

  * * *

  I slide open a drawer and lift the pistol I hoped to never have to use. The security camera flashes the intruder on the second floor. I push a button on my phone, and the wall slides, exposing a ladder. With my phone in my mouth and the gun in my hand, I climb the cold metal bars to the room above. Kill or be killed. The tao of Jiu Jitsu. The click of the panel informs me my location is now secure.

  Through the air vent, I watch the wall of monitors. The assassin continues up the flights of stairs without pause. He knows his destination. I steady my breath, and sweat beads on my brow. I swallow, and the sound reverberates through my head. Focus. Nothing good comes from divided attention.

  The door to the security room opens. The man in black enters, gun in front and at the ready. One step. Two steps. His back to me as he watches the monitors.

  I point my gun. Hold steady, same as at the shooting range. I aim for his chest, the largest area. My best chance. I breathe in. Steady. My finger pulls.

  The loud gun kicks. The recall throws off my aim. A cloud of dust appears on the far wall. Dammit.

  The intruder ducks, searching for the source.

  Breathe. Steady.

  He raises his gun toward my hideout. It’s him or me.

  Aim.

  A cracking sound reverberates through the space. The sound is similar to a strong bullwhip.

  The intruder falls back. My finger hovers on the trigger. I never pulled it. Trevor, a member of my team, stands framed in the doorway. His gun points at the man on the floor.

  I press my phone, and the wall panel clicks.

  I climb down and join Trevor. The intruder wears a balaclava, the thin black mask preferred by the military and assassins.

  “Who do you think he is?” Trevor asks me, or maybe the room. A trickle of blood leaks from the dark hole in the center of the assassin’s forehead, darkening the fabric.

  I gesture to the body on the floor. “You can do the honors.”

  He reaches for the mask and unceremoniously tugs hard enough the body half rises. With a sickening thud, the head falls back onto the floor. Trevor closes the eyelids with his thumb.

  “You recognize him?” he asks.

  “No.”

  Trevor places two fingers against his neck, I assume out of habit. Then he checks the front pockets and rolls him over. He lifts a single piece of paper from his back pocket and unfolds it. His eyes go wide as he turns it around for me to see.

  A candid photo of our team. With addresses.

  Fuck.

  “He’s a professional,” Trevor says. “Kane found us.”

  “We’ve got to move. Now.”

  Notes & Acknowledgements

  First Light has gone through massive reiterations. And the more I researched, the more aware I became of all the ransomware attacks in the world, and all the various forms of cybercrime.

  Future Crimes by Marc Goodman provides a great overview of our new world, and perhaps more interestingly, the new age crime syndicates. Obviously, there’s a tremendous amount of propaganda out there, often spread by fake accounts. A quick Google search shows that in the most recent reporting period, Facebook removed 1.3 BILLION fake accounts. That’s with a B, folks. It’s a constant purge. The software that I mention, that merges facial features from multiple people into one person—it’s real, but not yet widespread.

  Have you heard of that phenomenon where you decide you want a particular car, and then suddenly every car you see on the road is THAT kind of car? Well, when I started doing the research for First Light, I think that phenomenon occurred. Either that, or suddenly cybercrime began taking up every single news headline. When I started writing this, I felt like I was bordering sci-fi. Not so much. This is very much a contemporary work of fiction. Bottom line—be safe out there, kids.

  All those massive iterations I mentioned on First Light? Well, the first draft was ROUGH. My developmental editor, Amy Claire Majers, ripped it apart (it needed to be decimated). And then I spent months re-structuring and editing. The story changed. And a heartfelt thank-you goes out to Amy for her honest and direct fe
edback.

  My husband read this one too. He’s a programmer, and while he’s not a big gamer, technology is his world. And he provided sound insight. He’s my rock, and I know he’d love to tell me to stop this crazy, time-intensive, anxiety-provoking little endeavor of mine, but he never fails to support me, and for this, I am eternally grateful.

  My editor, Lori Whitwam, the keeper of all the words, refined, word-smithed, and fixed my grammar. Maybe one of these days she can stop correcting my comma usage and I’ll finally learn how to correctly type the em-dash, but I’m so grateful for her patience until we arrive at that day. Jessica Meigs went through proofread and caught commas and errant words, because I swear, no matter how many times I read through a manuscript, there always seems to be one more error. Thank you, Jessica!

  There were several Hidden Gems beta readers who read this before editing, and to them, thank you for overlooking the flaws, catching issues, and providing great insights.

  Last, but most definitely not least, I’d like to thank my ARC readers. You guys rock, and I so much appreciate your volunteering to be on the team and then going out and sharing your reviews. You make all the difference when it releases out in the world.

  Most of all, dear readers—THANK YOU! Thank you for picking up this book and giving it a chance. I love to hear from readers. You can contact me through my website at www.isabeljoliebooks.com and also sign up to find out when my next book will be available. Thanks again and again for your support!

  About the Author

  Isabel Jolie, aka Izzy, lives on a lake, loves dogs of all stripes, and if she’s not working, she can be found reading, often with a glass of wine in hand. In prior lives, Izzie worked in marketing and advertising, in a variety of industries, such as financial services, entertainment, and technology. In this life, she loves daydreaming and writing contemporary romances with real, flawed characters and inner strength.