by Jane Keeler
Gabe grinned as he looked at the beautiful Karlee beside him. “Cookies?” he asked.
“I make a mean omelet.” She smiled at him and posed with a spatula.
“That sounds delicious.” Gabe smiled down at her. He felt fantastic—complete. He was happier than he’d ever been in his life, and he was sure they could fix this men-in-black issue with no problem at all. His father had probably already gone to the police. They’d sort it out. It was their job, after all.
Karlee’s landline rang. She gave him a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth and went to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Karlee, this is your boss speaking, remember me? Maybe you don’t want to work for me anymore—you’re a freelance reporter now, hey?” Mr. Grossman’s voice was as loud as ever.
“Mr. Grossman.” Karlee spoke quietly in the futile hope that he’d follow suit. “Listen, I can’t really talk now, but I’ve got a great story, Pulitzer Prize material, even. I’ll call you soon.”
“Well, don’t wait too long.” He hung up.
Karlee went back into the kitchen, but the warm smile forming on her face died stillborn when she saw Gabe’s expression.
“You’re a reporter?” Gabe’s face was pale except for two spots of red high up on his cheekbones. His eyes were bright and his mouth was a thin hard line. He didn’t know it, but he looked a lot like his father just then.
He felt like an elephant had just kicked him the in guts. The sense of warmth and security he’d so recently enjoyed was ripped away, and in its place was an awful aching numbness. He was sure that, eventually, it was going to hurt.
“Gabe, I… I was going to tell you—”
“Oh yeah? When?”
“That first night. Except you hated reporters, and then we slept together and it was so wonderful… Oh, Gabe…” Tears were dripping down Karlee’s face.
He looked coldly at her. Somewhere inside him something was screaming, but he ignored it. He wanted to dry her tears and hold her close and tell her everything was going to be all right. He also never wanted to see her again. He turned on his heel and walked out of Karlee’s tiny apartment, closing the door gently behind him.
Karlee threw herself down on the bed and cried in earnest—great, wrenching, ugly sobs. When all her tears were gone she didn’t feel any less terrible. She lay on her bed until it got dark outside, then walked to a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of whiskey she saved for very special occasions. It was the Glenlivet 18 year-old, and didn’t deserve what she was about to do to it.
She lifted the bottle to her lips and took a solid slug, and then another one. They followed one after another until she was at least anaesthetized enough to sleep.
Chapter 17
“Ah, so finally you decided to turn up, I see,” Mr. Grossman said to Karlee when she walked in early the next morning. “This had better be good.”
“I’m sorry, boss. I didn’t mean to be away this long. Honestly. I’ll explain the whole thing, but I assure you, I intended to be in ages ago.” Karlee was wearing sunglasses because her eyes were red and puffed up to the size of eggs, and the slightest ray of light felt like icepicks stabbing her in the eyeballs.
Mr. Grossman sighed. “You better have an explanation, Karlee. Because it’s not fair that you get to run around free like this while everyone else comes into work on time every day and works their asses off.”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry. Really I am. I always do everything with the best intentions. You have to know that.”
“Well yes, I do know that, but intentions don’t pay the bills, Karlee. Now, tell me you at least have a story.”
“Do I have a story? Listen…” She leaned in closer and took him through the whole thing from start to finish.
Reginald Grossman whistled. “So they really did it.”
“Yes, they have the manufacturing process down pat and everything. This will revolutionize everything we know about energy production. Imagine driving cars powered with water!”
“And these ‘men in black’ were following the Braxton boy, you say? What happened with that? We can’t just leave our readers hanging like this. It sounds like you and Gabe got, uh, close during this year-long bus ride. Stick to him like glue until you get the rest of the story.”
“We aren’t really that close, but don’t worry. I’ll get the rest of the story.”
Chapter 18
Gabe almost ran down the streets of New York. He knew he should be hurting, but he just felt empty. All his happiness had been a lie. When Karlee betrayed him his insecurities had come rushing to the surface like sharks scenting blood in the water.
He’d been a fool to think she liked him for himself. She was just another woman on the make who wanted to use him. Maybe she didn’t want his money, but he was her cash cow all the same.
Gabe despised tabloid reporters with every fiber of his being. The recent mess with Angelica was only the most recent in a long line of violations from the yellow press. After his mother died they’d followed his father around whenever Westley tried to date again. When Gabe hit his teens they’d done the same to him.
He’d really thought Karlee was better than that. She seemed so smart, so kind, so funny. The knowledge that she made her living pandering to the lowest in human nature was a hard pill to swallow.
His defense against living in a fish bowl had been to live a shallow life. If he didn’t really care about the girl, it didn’t hurt so much when his relationship with her was held up to worldwide mockery.
That was how he’d lived until he met Karlee. She’d showed him that he really did have the capacity to feel deeply. It was like she let him experience the world through new senses—colors were brighter, food tasted better, and sex… Well, the sex was mind-blowing. He smiled in spite of himself, his cock stirring at the memories.
He’d reached the corporate offices of Braxton Industries. He squared his shoulders and marched in. He didn’t have time to mope over his lost ‘love’— he had work to do.
Chapter 19
Gabe walked into grand Italian marble foyer that was the entrance to Braxton Industries.
“Mr. Gabriel, sir.”
Gabe nodded to the security guard, then bypassed security and went straight up to his father’s office. There he found Westley sitting with an average-looking man in a blue suit. The man was of medium height with medium-brown hair; you had to look closely to see the intelligence in his medium-brown eyes.
“Gabe. There you are,” Westley said. “This is Special Agent Ben Chambers, the FBI’s counter-intelligence Strategic Partnership Coordinator in New York.”
“Call me Ben.” Agent Chambers stood up and shook Gabe’s hand. “Your father told me you saw the subjects—do you think you could identify them?”
“One of them looked kind of like Tommy Lee Jones.” Gabe said.
Ben walked to the table in the center of the room and picked up a binder. He turned to a page near the middle and handed it to Gabe. “Have a look at these pictures.”
“Here’s the guy. Uh… Roman Martin.”
“That explains a lot! He’s part of gang that coordinates economic espionage all over the world. In the U.S. alone, it costs the economy billions of dollars every year and puts our national security at risk. Please look through the rest of the file and see if you can identify his partner.”
Gabe sat down and did as he was told. After a half hour of looking through pictures, he had to give up. “I can’t find any pictures of the other guy. I didn’t really get a close look at him.”
“That’s alright. We’ll work with what we have… Mr. Braxton,” Ben looked at Westley. “I suggest you have this picture duplicated and distributed to all of your employees. It’s vitally important that we ascertain what access the subjects might have had to proprietary information. I understand the production line documents are missing?”
“Yes, they are not locked up in the vault where they should be—but if these men have already stolen the documen
ts then why were they following Gabriel?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out. We’ll be questioning your employees and doing background checks. In the meantime, I suggest everyone's passwords and the lock combinations on all the secure areas of the building be changed.”
Ben walked up to Westley’s desk and looked him in the eye. “Ensure that everyone who enters the building goes through security. Issue visitor badges, require visitor logs and escorted access at all times. Someone from my office will be holding a seminar on the subject this afternoon, and I suggest that all your employees attend.”
Gabe was nodding along when he noticed his father studying him. Maybe Westley knew him better than he thought.
Gabe sighed and looked around his New York apartment. It was much bigger than Karlee’s little shoebox, but somehow he didn’t really feel at home here.
It had been a long day. If the documents really had been stolen, Braxton Industries stood to lose a lot of money. If some factory in another country set up production of hydrogen fuel cells, the company would suffer from millions, or even billions, in lost revenue.
On the other hand, great precision and quality control were needed to get the process to work properly. Hydrogen and oxygen were highly volatile, even by themselves. Put them together and the results were hazardous, to say the least.
Gabe changed into sweats and went downstairs to the gym to work out. A real workout this time, not—dammit! He really had to stop thinking about her.
He set up the heavy bag and concentrated on making it pay for all his woes. He was fully focused on his combo drills—jab, right, hook, left, right, jab—when his father walked in.
“Gabriel! What are you doing?!” Westley rushed over to him and put a hand on his arm, stopping Gabe’s next punch.
“Huh? What’s your problem?”
“Why aren’t you wearing your gloves?”
“Oh. Yeah. Didn’t notice,” Gabe muttered. His hands looked like raw meat.
“Come, we’ll get some ice for your hands.”
Gabe followed his father back up to his apartment and stood passively while Westley gently palpated his hands.
“Nothing seems to be broken, thank God.” Westley emptied the ice cube tray into a bowl half-full of cold water. “Put them in here. It will hurt, but it’s the best way.”
Gabe obliged, hissing as the cold bit into his bones.
“Gabriel, you don’t seem yourself. Is something wrong? Something to do with this Karlee girl, perhaps?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
Westley continued to look at him, a small line forming between his eyebrows. Gabe hadn’t noticed how much his father had aged over the last few years. Somehow, when Gabe hadn’t been looking, his father had gotten old.
“Okay. Fine. Me and Karlee had a thing, but I found out she was a reporter only looking for a story.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that, son.”
“Well, that’s the way it goes, isn’t it?” Gabe snarled bitterly. He took his hands out of the ice bath and wiped his eyes, silently daring his father to say anything.
“Ben and his agents have been able to pinpoint the last time the production line documents were seen. It was eight days ago, just before you and Anthony left on Sea Queen. Are you sure you locked them away?”
“YES! I’m sure.”
“How about Anthony? Has anything happened in his life recently? Has he been in need of funds, or spending more extravagantly than usual?”
“Jeez, Dad, I don’t know.” Gabe’s heart felt even heavier, if that were possible. Tony was the closest thing he had to a friend. They’d spent a lot of time together getting Dr. Johnson on board, and it seemed like working alongside someone sixty hours a week for months would be a damn good way to get to know him.
Gabe wasn’t sure anymore, though. He’d thought he knew Karlee, and look where that had gotten him.
“You know the FBI will check his background very thoroughly.”
“I know.”
“Well, alright. I’d best be going then. If you’re sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay… and, Dad? Thanks.”
Gabe saw his father to the door and poured himself a drink. He stood looking out over the city, considering the whole situation. Even if the thieves had managed to get away with the line production documents that detailed the process on paper, they didn’t have Dr. Johnson overseeing the production. One wasn’t much use without the other.
He was thankful for his father’s visit. It had been unexpected and a little awkward, but he was gratified at this evidence of his father’s caring. Westley hadn’t been around much when Gabe was growing up; they might never be as close as some fathers and sons, but maybe they could still be friends.
Gabe looked down at his hands and flexed the fingers. The swelling had gone down considerably. They looked almost normal now; the ice bath had really helped. Gabe smiled slightly. He finished his drink, took a shower, and went to bed, where his sleep was less troubled than he’d expected it to be.
Chapter 20
Karlee scanned through her list of contacts, trying to think of a source who could help her get the inside scoop on the Braxton Industries story. There was a name—Roosevelt Marsh. He worked in IT at their corporate offices, and had always had a little crush on Karlee. She took out her phone.
“Hey, Rosey, it’s Karlee. How have you been?” She invited him out for lunch at a restaurant near the Braxton building. It would be good to catch up on each other’s lives (and also pump him for information).
Rosey Marsh was a teddy bear of a man: he had a thick amber beard and a soft coating of hair. His warm smile brought out the resemblance to a cuddly stuffed animal even more. He was dressed in flannel against the seasonal chill. When he saw Karlee, he hugged her and pulled out a chair for her.
“Nice restaurant, Karlee. Come into money?”
“Expense account. To be honest with you, I’m tracking down a story.”
“Somehow I think I know what story that is. I can’t tell you much—they’ve got gag orders on all of us. But first, though, why don’t you tell me how you’ve been? You’ve lost weight. New diet?”
The waiter came and took their orders. They chatted pleasantly until their food arrived, and ate in companionable silence for a while. Then Karlee put down her fork and looked meaningfully at Rosey.
“I told you, gag order. My lips are sealed. Proprietary secrets, blah blah blah. I can tell you we’ve instituted a bunch of new security measures. USB drives disabled on all computers. Employees must wear their badges at all times. Even the trash is guarded, for Christ’s sake!”
“Okay, how about this. I’ll make three statements, and if I’m right you say nothing. If I’m wrong you can tell me I’m wrong, but you don’t have to give me any details.”
“That sounds alright. It’s not like I’m telling you anything.”
“Okay, statement one: Gabriel Braxton is deeply involved in all of this.”
Rosey picked up a French fry, coated it thoroughly in ketchup, and popped it into his mouth.
“Statement two: some kind of gang is doing their best to steal the secrets of the Johnson process. One of them resembles a certain famous actor, known for co-starring in a series of hilarious buddy-cop movies about aliens.”
Rosey took a bite of his burger and chewed silently.
“Statement three—” Karlee went for broke. “The documents on the Johnson process have been stolen.”
“Wrong!” He grinned at her. “So when are you and me going out on a date?”
“One of these days.” Karlee put him off while seriously considering it. Rosey was fun to be around and she needed friendly company right now. He was right, she had lost weight. Normally she’d be thrilled, but in this case she was losing weight because she could barely manage to choke down a couple mouthfuls of food. This was the best meal she’d had in days.
They said their goodbyes and Karlee left the restaurant, wracking her
brains for people she knew in the FBI field office.
“FBI, New York office, how may I direct your call?”
“SPC please.”
“Just a moment.”
“Hello, Special Agent Chambers speaking.”
“Hello, this is Karlee Gold at The Financial Times. We’re doing a feature story on economic espionage. I’m sure you’d like the opportunity to spread public awareness of this growing menace. When can I schedule an appointment?”
“That’s what our office is for. How does next Tuesday sound?”
“I was really hoping for something sooner. I’m working on a deadline—you know how it is.” Karlee smiled her most charming smile at the telephone, willing him to agree.
“I can fit you in for twenty minutes at three o’clock this afternoon, if that works for you.”
“Wonderful! I’ll see you then.”
Karlee had some time before the appointment, so she decided to walk around and check out the Braxton building. They certainly seemed to have hired a bunch of new security guards. One of them looked familiar. Karlee frowned, trying to work out where she’d seen him before. When the memory came to her, she grinned a predatory grin and dialed Reginald Grossman’s number.
“Hey, boss. I’ve spotted one of those industrial spies at the Braxton building. Looks like they’ve hired him as a new security guard, the chumps. I’ll keep an eye on him and get back to you.”
Chapter 21
Earlier that morning, Gabe had woken up with aching hands and an aching heart. He sighed. This seemed to be his new normal. He couldn’t really enjoy anything anymore. Even the coffee produced by his expensive espresso machine didn’t perk him up the way it used to. He shrugged and drank it anyway. He’d need it over the day to come.
His phone rang.
“Hey, Tony. What’s up?” Gabe said. He hoped his friend hadn’t called to confess to anything heinous, or, even worse, surreptitiously find out how the investigation was going.
