All she’d done was go to a bar for a drink, she hadn’t asked for any of this. “Tim was involved, how?”
The stranger was great at staying completely still and at ignoring the obvious emotion in her words. He didn’t attempt to soothe her, he was aloof, here for a reason, and not interested in deviating from his mission. She might not be concerned for her life at this exact moment, but he would have a hard time winning her trust if he kept up the mysterious veil and refused to answer direct questions.
“You’ll figure it all out,” he said. “I had to show myself tonight to give you a piece of advice. Don’t tell Grant about what happened tonight. He’ll be out of town until Monday night and Kraft won’t be back in touch. You can keep this quiet if you keep your mouth shut.”
She didn’t know what she would do about this, but she wasn’t wild about him crossing off options from her list. “Why would I do that?”
“It’s the only way you’ll live through this.” It was an answer, a useful one, but she didn’t like it.
“How do you know Grant?” she asked.
“That one I can answer,” he said, rising to his feet and switching off the lamp. In the darkness, she could make out movement, but the ink of night concealed his features. The musky scent of intoxicating cologne came to her side and the heat of wet breath ruffled her hair. “I’m an old friend of the family.”
His form carried on out of the bedroom and she remained perfectly still. Listening to the silence that followed his departure from the bedroom, she strained to hear if he was still in her apartment. It was only when the front door closed that Zara exhaled her tension and ran through the apartment to pounce onto the window seat on her knees.
With her face and palms pressed to the glass, she sought the stranger out. But she didn’t see him exit the building, and the street below was empty. Giving up hope of seeing the intruder, she sank down to sit on her heels and reflect on her night.
This afternoon she had been a normal, boring executive assistant. Now she had witnessed a murder and been hijacked in her own bedroom. She could try to hope that she’d experienced all of the oddities she ever would, but after what her apparent guardian angel had said, she doubted the veracity of that.
Embracing the abandon of a flirtation with a stranger in a bar was an invigoration that she hadn’t experienced for a long time and after how the night had ended, Zara doubted she would be throwing caution to the wind again anytime soon.
Dedicating all of her hours to Cormack Industries had meant fast promotion and she was respected in the firm, but didn’t have any associates who could make sense of this night for her. The stranger in her bedroom had given her advice meant to save her life, and at least for now, she couldn’t risk defying it.
THREE
Zara didn’t need to worry about telling anyone what had happened on Friday because she didn’t see anyone for the rest of the weekend. This wasn’t unusual as her life was dedicated to doing a good job and that meant she spent more time with paperwork than with people. Immersing herself in work kept her from thinking too much about Tim or the stranger who’d intruded upon her private space.
Because she felt jumpy alone at home, she’d come into the office knowing she’d be protected in the towering black glass and steel building that was covered by twenty-four hour security. No one could get to her here. Every time she pressed her fingerprint to one of the glowing pads on each internal door, her paranoia lessened.
The cocoon of modern décor and strict operating procedures gave her a reprieve from watching the walls of her home, which no longer felt safe. So she’d spent her weekend at CI catching up and giving herself a head start for the following week.
Grant McCormack was supposed to return first thing on Monday. Mid-morning she got the call to say that he’d been delayed. When her bedroom stranger commented on Grant’s itinerary, she hadn’t given it much thought. But his words rushed back to her after Grant’s call. The stranger had known before her, and maybe before Grant, that her boss’ timetable would change.
That unsettled her further. Being Grant’s chief assistant, Zara knew everything there was to know about Grant’s professional life. She couldn’t figure out how an apparent stranger could’ve known that Grant would stay in New York later than originally planned. Either Grant had known it too and hadn’t clued her in, or the stranger had somehow sabotaged Grant’s itinerary to delay him. Neither possibility appealed to her.
But she couldn’t ask her boss too many questions, especially not ones that might be personal. They had an informal rapport, but their relationship had always remained professional. Grant McCormack was fair and direct, though he didn’t like to have too many people buzzing around him, so Zara—being the most senior—was the only assistant allowed in his office, which gave her sway. But even she wouldn’t test the limits of his patience.
Now that she was thinking about it, Grant’s behavior over the previous week had been odd. He usually took an assistant with him on business, this time he hadn’t. Grant made his own travel plans, which was another first. He reserved the hotel and requested his jet be prepared without any assistant support. She’d thought it was weird, but guessed the trip included some kind of romantic interest, and so didn’t ask questions.
While sitting at her desk throughout that Monday the stranger’s assertions pounded against the inside of her eardrums and she found herself wondering if Grant could be a part of this war the stranger had referenced. There was something sinister about the whole affair, which made her second-guess her and Grant’s inadvertent involvement.
By the time Grant walked onto the executive floor it was after six PM, and most of the rest of the building had gone home. Coming out of her own office, she greeted her boss with a smile and followed him into his office after he passed her. “I’ve got a long list of calls for you to return,” she said.
His short clipped hair and tailored suit betrayed the efficient executive that he was. He was only a few years older than she was, yet he was much more accomplished. He came from a privileged family and had the best education money could buy. His etiquette was polished and his manners impeccable. But with all she’d learned recently, she speculated there could be more to him than his genteel exterior suggested.
“Hold on to the business messages,” he said, pulling himself in at his desk and opening his laptop. “Did anything come through on the second line?”
That was a shock and a question he’d never asked her before. Already her mind was buzzing with the confusion of the last few days and he’d just thrown her a curve ball.
Taking her eyes off the stack of notes on her notepad, she paused and was speechless for a couple of seconds. “The…the second line?” she stuttered.
The second phone line was so top secret that she wasn’t sure anyone else knew it existed. Grant used the line to contact her, bypassing the gauntlet of hold music and neophyte assistants. Since telling her of its existence, he had never actually brought it up in conversation.
“Yes” he said, logging into the CI network. “You do keep it active?”
Quick to reassure, she nodded. “Always,” she said. “But there have been no calls.”
“Ok, don’t slip,” he said, opening up some programs on his computer. “This is important.”
She worked so hard for Grant and for CI because she believed he was a good man and that their work in medical and scientific technology was important. The products that CI built helped people and although she was only a small cog in a massive machine, she liked playing her part in a company that eased suffering and contributed to medical breakthroughs.
Crossing to stand opposite him at the desk, Zara tucked her notebook into her palm and attempted to broach the sensitive topic. “Sir, is there something going on that I should be aware of?”
Before the weekend, Zara wouldn’t have considered disrupting the status quo. Her normal behavior was to follow instructions, not to pry. But too many things had occurred in such a short
space of time for her to consider them coincidences.
“No,” he said, disregarding his computer to hunt through his desk drawers. “But if a man named Sutcliffe calls it’s important that you take his message carefully and get in touch with me right away. And don’t tell anyone about him or repeat anything he says.”
Sutcliffe. That was Tim’s name. For a second she forgot to breathe, another coincidence? It was unlikely. Grant had never mentioned that name before, yet here he was talking about Tim three days after she’d watched him die. Much as she didn’t like to admit it, it seemed that the stranger in her bedroom was telling the truth. But he’d told her not to tell Grant about what happened to Tim on Friday night and had claimed to be protecting her, so she clammed up.
She and Grant didn’t talk about personal matters. It wasn’t her natural state to gossip about her private life at work or with her boss. This revelation confirmed that Tim happening upon her in Purdy’s was not motivated by attraction and she would be embarrassed to admit she’d been so gullible as to drool over the seemingly perfect man. If she did try to bring up Tim it would no doubt be awkward for her and Grant.
Zara made the split-second decision not to tell Grant about her encounter with Tim in case the bedroom intruder was right about the war. She realized that Grant couldn’t know about Tim’s murder if he was expecting a phone call from the dead man.
Retreating from her feelings of confusion and shame, Zara chose to rely on their professionalism instead of revealing her own naivety. “We have confidentiality,” she said.
That was true. She’d signed a NDA when she started at CI and since that day she’d followed Grant McCormack with blind loyalty. Given his association with Tim and the bedroom stranger’s misgivings, she was beginning to question if her gullibility extended to her conclusions about Grant.
“His name is Albert Sutcliffe,” Grant said, shuffling papers in his drawer aside to look beneath them.
So Grant wasn’t expecting Tim to call, but an Albert who had to be related to Tim. The surname couldn’t be a coincidence. “Sir…” she started, curious about why he was late back from New York. “Was there a problem today?”
Just because she wasn’t going to offer information about what she’d gone through, didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try and extract some information from the CEO. If the trip had been motivated by CI business then there was no reason he should hide what happened from her.
Taking a stack of documents from his drawer, he squared them on the desk next to his laptop. “Nothing you have to concern yourself with, Zar,” he said, glancing over the top sheet.
Now she was on full alert and couldn’t deny the truth. Whether the bedroom stranger was right or not, something was definitely going on. Trying to peek at the document Grant was reading, she edged closer. “Was it…? Personal? Maybe family related?”
His distraction dissolved into an acute awareness that made him stop reading to glower up at her. She quickly stepped back to hide her attempts to read what was on the desk. “My parents died a long time ago, you know that. I don’t do family.”
Everyone knew Grant McCormack’s tragic backstory, about how his parents had been killed in a boating accident when he was just fifteen. With no other close family to take the reins, he had inherited the multi-billion dollar family company, Cormack Industries. Following that, Frank Mitchell, his father’s best friend and CFO, had raised him.
Over time, Grant grew into the perceptive professional he was today. He finished school and went to college, all while monitoring the company, under the guardianship of Frank, who had died just last year.
Feeling guilty about hitting a nerve, she knew Grant wasn’t going to offer any useful explanations. “Ok,” she said, spreading a non-threatening smile across her lips. “I just… if there are any situations going on, work or personal, I can help.”
His scowl was uncharacteristic, and she worried he might be angry. “You concentrate on answering the phones, Zara, and leave my business to me. You don’t need to think about my life.”
Grant wasn’t usually brusque and he didn’t condescend her position in the firm either. Known as a serious man, he was stern and private, but she’d always believed he was honest with her. After five years at his side, she could read his moods and nuances, and could tell he was hiding something from her.
Tim hadn’t been honest about his interest and Grant was being cagey. So far, the only person being straight with her was the stranger in her bedroom and even he wasn’t disclosing everything. If she was in the middle of something as he’d said, then she already wanted out of it.
The rest of the week passed and when Friday night arrived, Zara made herself go into Purdy’s for a glass of wine. For fear of repeating last Friday’s events, she avoided anyone who made eye contact with her and downed her drink in a quick succession of sips that meant she was out of the bar within thirty minutes.
Having a date drop dead wasn’t something anyone would get over in a week. She was still shaken up by the memory of Tim’s body falling to the asphalt. His attraction to her might not have been real, but his death was and she didn’t want to repeat the experience by associating with new people who might try to wheedle their way into her life, especially when those new people might have a dishonest agenda.
Unsure if she was being paranoid or vigilant, Zara logged incidences when Grant had been distant at work. He’d been secretive about a couple of particular meetings. With her interest piqued, she took special notice of a lunch meeting he’d gone to alone that she found out was taking place in a private hotel suite.
Without the interference of the stranger in her bedroom, she might have assumed Grant was in the midst of a fling, except Grant showed no other indications of being in the throes of early love. The stark truth was that the stranger knew more about her life than she did. He had known these oddities would arise before she had discerned that anything unusual was going on.
Waiting in the doorway of Purdy’s until a cab pulled into the taxi stand opposite the bar, Zara ran into the first vehicle that arrived and recited her apartment address. Closing her eyes, she rested her head back against the seat.
The car started moving and as it lurched around the first corner, the cab driver spoke. “Rough night?”
Sapped of energy, she was ready for this week to be over and didn’t really want to engage in small talk. She wanted to numb out, to get home and get to bed where she could sleep and all of these inconsistencies in her life would cease to bother her.
“No, completely uneventful,” she said, feeling her body relax into the cradle of her seat. “Thank God.”
She was too polite not to reply. Having worked beside so many well-educated people, she always did her best to mind her manners and elocution, so it had become habit. At all costs, she wanted to avoid admitting her farm girl heritage. Once people found out she came from lowly roots they often got this look in their eye like she was either charity or had slept her way up through the ranks to reach Grant’s side.
The cab driver didn’t take the hint that with her eyes closed and her words heavy, she didn’t want to talk, because he carried right on. “You look tired. You ran in here like you were trying to escape something.”
Letting the rocking motion of the car console her, she anticipated getting home and switching off. “Escaping nothing,” she said. “I am just avoiding trouble.”
“When trouble wants you, it finds you.”
Zara wasn’t worried about trouble finding her. She just didn’t want it finding anymore of her dates. If the person who killed Tim wanted her dead, they could’ve shot her on the street. Logic didn’t always win the day and sometimes she was twitchy about who could be watching her. But she’d had a long week and had learned that worrying about something often didn’t affect the outcome.
The swaying of the car was soothing, and after a few minutes, she began to feel herself drift toward slumber. To prevent herself from falling asleep, she sat up straight to lo
ok out the window. Except the view she got wasn’t the one she was expecting. Picking out the landmarks, she realized they’d driven north out of the city limits.
Concern and disbelief made her curl her fingers around her purse in her lap. Was this person a criminal with evil intentions or an opportunistic cab driver looking to earn a few extra bucks? “Where are we going?” she asked.
“I’m gonna show you something.”
“Show me something?” she gaped, pissed that she’d gotten a cab driver who wanted to overcharge her for a ride. It seemed that she just couldn’t catch a break these days. “Are you kidding me? Is this the scenic route? I’m a local and I want you to take me home. Straight home.”
Unaffected by her irritation, his words were slow. “Did anything odd happen this week?”
Perplexed, she didn’t understand how he could be so aloof when she was so angry. “Odd? What do you care about my—”
“Are you wearing those stockings again?” he asked. “Are they a Friday special?”
The question and that husky tone stole her breath. The revelation of his identity slapped her with shock and Zara remained dumbfounded for a good thirty seconds. This was the man from her bedroom. Instead of breaking into her apartment, he’d apparently decided to kidnap her instead.
With an increased heart rate, she tightened her grip on her purse that was slung over her body and resting in her lap. “How…?” she asked. “I… It’s you?”
“Yes.”
He had to have been waiting for her to exit Purdy’s in order to pick her up when he did. “But how did you…?”
“I told you, I know everything about you.”
At least she didn’t have new bad luck. This was just the old bad luck coming around for a second pass at screwing her up, except she still couldn’t figure out what this stranger wanted. “You…you…”
Raven (Kindred #1) Page 3
