2 Executive Retention

by Maria E. Schneider

  I added the kitchen lights to the mix and set down my groceries. Huntington looked truly upset. His pacific-blues were flashing against a background of a black turtleneck and matching black pants. The business casual look was almost funeral attire, and I hoped that wasn't because he had gotten my message and been worried about whether or not I'd make it home safely.

  Mindlessly, I took the groceries from the single plastic bag and put a pot of water on the stove to boil pasta. "They followed me home yesterday," I told him. "Then they picked up the trail again this morning."

  "You mentioned that on the phone." With a muttered curse, he stood and began to pace. "I shouldn't have involved you. These guys appear a bit more determined than just a manager scooping a couple of odd jobs."

  "Yeah, I'll say. I saw that Mark put some cameras in the lab. What's that all about? What is he hoping to catch?"

  "Whatever we can."

  That kind of vague answer didn't sit well with me. I could tell that any guilt he felt over putting me in danger hadn't made him more inclined to discuss facts openly. I crossed my arms and waited.

  After pacing back and forth once, he noticed my silence and offered, "We want to find out if someone is using the machines to log on and get the customer lists. Mark put the cameras in there to see if we could catch someone that didn't belong."

  "They don't have to access the accounts from the machines in the locked room," I said. "All they have to have is the right permissions and they can access the information from any machine." And Radar had already told me that no one was looking at the customer files.

  He shrugged and paced away. "There are other cameras in other places. We want to know if someone is on campus who doesn't belong--sabotaging, stealing, whatever. Although watching people is probably how our two friends started following the Lexus. Mark was watching a few homes here and there."

  "He put cameras in people's homes?"

  "No, Mark put the cameras in various offices. The homes we're keeping an eye on in person. During one of those operations, someone must have started following him."

  "Oh." That wasn't much better news. I went back to my earlier point. "Using cameras to try and figure out what files people are accessing isn't really effective. There are a lot better ways to catch a mouse eating the cheese." Radar's way of monitoring a possible perpetrator was a lot more efficient. I told Huntington so without mentioning Radar. Huntington didn't know how much I did or didn't know about computing; let him think I was a good hacker.

  Predictably, Huntington defended his plan. The man really didn't like to be wrong. "The cameras can still show us suspicious activity. We need a better indication of who to watch because we can't keep watching everyone. Unfortunately it appears that someone is already onto us. That is going to hamper our progress even more." He shook his head. "Look, it might be best if you opt out of this one. I owe you for changing jobs. But it would be a good idea if you got out of the line of fire. Maybe you could go on an extended vacation until we clean this up."

  "I thought you deposited the money in my bank account already?" I think I was being fired. Twice in one month. That had to be some sort of record.

  "I deposited the money, but you can't keep working at Acetel. You've already been seen with me. That may have made you a target."

  "And you had to go and leave the Lexus in my driveway. Pretty big beacon there."

  "There is no way they should have seen that."

  "The question remains, why did you guys leave it there, and why did they happen by to see it?"

  He watched me through hooded eyes for a long moment before deciding to answer. "It's really pretty simple. You live very near Piney Oaks."

  "And?" My subdivision was actually split into three sections; my patio home was in the middle section. Sean lived over in the newest section, and I didn't know anyone in the oldest section. When the builders began building across Spittle Road, instead of it being a fourth part to the subdivision, it was all custom homes and larger lots. That subdivision was Piney Oaks.

  "Mark and I are keeping an eye on someone who lives there."

  "Who lives there?" I couldn't believe he had a suspect and was keeping it from me.

  "That isn't pertinent."

  "Are you crazy? It sounds to me like you've got the goods on the guy--you're watching him, and he doesn't like it so he's been sending people after you. Why not have him arrested for attempted…attempted something."

  "Those guys in the Lincoln haven't caught up with any of us so what are we going to charge them with?"

  I thought stalking me was a good place to start, but apparently Huntington didn't agree.

  "Granted, someone fingered the Lexus as a problem, but the place in Piney Oaks isn't the only one we have under surveillance. The guys in the Lincoln could have followed us from any one of the locations we're watching." He grinned a little, almost a proud smirk. "Your place was a good exchange location. We can walk into Piney Oaks in a variety of, shall we say, disguises, and keep an eye on whatever we want. We only used your driveway the one time, but apparently that was enough to get your place pegged."

  "Who is it you are watching?" I demanded.

  He raised empty palms in a not-so-convincing display of innocence. "I just told you. He's only one guy we're tracking. If you knew who it was, you'd get complacent. You might not notice suspicious activity from someone else."

  "Riight. And if this guy happens to invite me to lunch, there I'll go like a lamb to slaughter, never suspecting he has been up to all this suspicious activity." Angrily, I drained the pasta, nearly burning myself when it splashed.

  "He isn't going to invite you to lunch. You don't get asked out to lunch much."

  That did not win him any points. "Huntington."

  "And you never go when you are asked. I had to practically beg to get you to go to dinner with me." He had the nerve to pout over a meal he hadn't even eaten and a date that wasn't a date. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the urge to smack him with one of my pans.

  He continued, "The best thing at this point is for you to leave town for a few weeks. Mark and I will get this straightened out and then you can come back. You should certainly leave Acetel. I don't want to try pulling strings to get you back on at Strandfrost, but you have enough money, as promised, to give you time to look for another job."

  "Sure, no problem. I'll tell my family I'm going to be gone for Thanksgiving and Christmas. That will go over big." Of course, my family would prefer me alive and somewhere else than dead in Denton. I sighed and finished throwing ingredients in a bowl for the noodle casserole I was making.

  Huntington came back into the kitchen and peered over my shoulder. I put it in the oven. It wouldn't take very long since the pasta was still warm from the boiling water. "I suppose I could show back up at Strandfrost and avoid you and Mark. If those goons catch me, I'll tell them I dumped you."

  "I can't get that job back for you, not for a while anyway. I'm sorry."

  Huntington was used to being able to manipulate events to his satisfaction, but this time I didn't need him. "I never quit. I went on vacation."

  There was a funny little pause before he grabbed the counter top as if he were trying to keep from falling over. "You what?"

  "Went on vacation. They were going to fire me anyway, right after they rehired Gary Marcus, you remember him?" Huntington was too startled to nod so I kept talking. "Since I didn't quit, I could show up at Strandfrost and give them a run for their money. It would get me out of the picture for a while." Of course, I did have the bonus Huntington gave me, and Hawaii would be nice and warm this time of year.

  Huntington started laughing. There might have even been tears in his eyes. "Sedona, you are priceless. Absolutely priceless. Do you even want the job at Strandfrost?"

  I shook my head. "No."

  He chuckled all the way back into the living room. He put on his leather jacket and at that moment, the back door opened wide. Huntington had either unlocked it for Mark, or
Mark was a very quiet lock pick.

  Mark's eyes gleamed wickedly when he saw me jump halfway across the kitchen. "Hi." He came in and shut the door. Like his brother, he was dressed all in black. His eyes narrowed when he smelled dinner. He raised an eyebrow at his brother. "Cozy, huh?"

  Huntington grinned and moved back into the kitchen, slapping his brother on the shoulders. "It's in the oven."

  I didn't even know for sure I was having a guest, and if so, I had assumed it would be Huntington since he conveniently met with me around dinnertime. I grabbed an extra plate from the cupboard.

  I turned back around in time to see Mark hand Huntington keys. Without another word Huntington was gone, out the back door the way his brother had entered. My first thought was, how was Mark going to leave without keys?

  Mark grinned at me, a very suggestive look in his eyes. He moved over and leaned on the edge of the dining room table. "How've you been?"

  "What exactly have you caught on those cameras in the server room?" I countered, checking the casserole. I grabbed a soda from the fridge and when he nodded, I handed it to him. His hand brushed the edges of my fingers. He let his grip linger.

  "Do you want ice?" I asked nervously.

  He raised his eyebrows and looked wicked again. He set the soda down. "I didn't come for dinner. I was just changing shifts with Steve on the stakeout." His arm snaked out and captured me against the counter before I could move back to the relative safety by the stove. "You have an interesting way of distracting a man."

  "Uh…does this mean you've cleared me with Huntington?" My voice squeaked. I was having trouble getting enough air into my lungs.

  He frowned. "Why? Haven't you?" He went from teasing to irritated in a hurry. For some reason it made me laugh.

  "I don't go around asking him for clearance for much of anything. I just never knew for sure what you were talking about."

  "Me either," he said. When he finally did kiss me, I was awfully glad he was holding me up. His left hand caressed the back of my neck, gluing me into place, moving me where he wanted to go. I was in no mood to resist. Ever since I had been plastered against him that night in the lab, just the thought of white t-shirts made me break into a sweat. After this, I could add black t-shirts and if we kept going, no t-shirts.

  Wow.

  "Do you still want to know about the cameras?" he asked while nuzzling nerve endings near the pulse at my throat.

  Speaking was out of the question. I was breathing hard and feeling weak in a very energized sort of way. "Listen, Mark," I managed faintly.

  He nibbled ever so slowly up my chin before pulling back. Seeing my dazed expression, he grinned one of those guy smiles. "How about we move this to another room?"

  That got my attention. What was I thinking? Mark was as dangerous as his brother--no, make that more so. I decided to put my legs to some use other than trying to turn into water. He let me get my balance, but one hand continued to span my ribs. He never stopped moving his fingers.

  "Maybe I should make some coffee," I suggested dimly.

  His beautiful brown eyes were like coffee, giant pools of mystical beverage, pulling me closer until I forgot about the coffee. Truthfully, I don't think he was as calm as he pretended. When he slid away from the counter and onto a kitchen chair, bringing me with him, I was positive.

  I sprawled across his lap in a very unladylike position, and his hands moved and oh, it felt good. I really needed to stop him, but my own hands were reveling in the feel of muscles rippling across his back. His fingers skimmed the lace edge of my bra. I stopped breathing. Before I could think, the back door made a sound like it had been hit by a cannon.

  We both froze. Time stopped. Without pulling away from me, Mark rolled, taking me with him to the floor. He continued the momentum until we were behind the bar-counter between the living room and kitchen.

  He crouched and hit the lights, stuffing me behind him. My legs weren't any better than they had been a few moments ago, but I managed to slither further back across the carpet.

  The back porch remained ominously quiet.

  "Where is your gun?" he asked.

  "Where's yours?" I thought I heard a groan from outside the back door. "Never mind." I scrambled on hands and knees toward the bedroom even though I had to make it across a stretch that included exposing myself to the back door. The gun was in the bedroom closet. That seemed like a safer place to be anyway.

  Before I got halfway there, Mark cursed and jerked the back door open.

  I froze and spun around, still on my knees. My mouth fell open.

  Mark dragged his brother in the door.

  Huntington was covered in blood.

  Chapter 16

  Mark got Huntington through the door and slammed it shut. Without looking up, he asked, "Did you get the gun?"

  I turned and ran.

  With the phone in one hand and the gun in the other, I started to dial 911. Mark grabbed the phone and shut it off. "No. No cops, no hospital. We're working on a case at the hospital. He isn't going there." He set the phone down on the table and stared at my semi-automatic twenty-two. "You call that thing a gun? Shit."

  He ignored the weapon and reached for Huntington. Using one of my kitchen knives, he cut away what was left of Huntington's leather jacket. I winced.

  "Is…what do you mean no hospital?" Frantically, I grabbed kitchen towels and stuffed them in Mark's direction. He didn't answer, but used the towels as a tourniquet. I ran to the bathroom for a couple more big towels and my entire basket of medicines.

  Most people have a medicine cabinet; I keep toothpaste in mine. The rest of my cures were stuffed into a basket with a lid.

  Mark ripped at Huntington's pant leg, trying to tear the cotton twill. Out of the basket came a pair of scissors that were actually for cutting my bangs. He grunted and started cutting the heavy twill pants.

  "Uh, Mark, he sort of looks like he's been shot…"

  I tossed aside an ace bandage, a bottle of aspirin, an entire package of night-light bulbs I had been looking for last week and finally found the alcohol and peroxide. A lot of alcohol in an open wound might kill him if he wasn't already dead. The peroxide might clear the wound site, but I was fresh out of sutures. The band aides were looking mighty small. "Uh, Mark…"

  "We'll get him to the condo. One of the guys there is a doctor."

  I didn't live close to the condo. Since I had pretended to live there, I knew very well where it was. It was further than the hospital. "We could take him to Sean's house," I suggested very, very weakly.

  "Sean?"

  I nodded and gulped. Sean was going to kill me. "Brenda's a nurse. She works at the hospital. There's this one doctor she says walks on water…"

  Mark looked up at me for the first time, fire in his eyes. "Call Sean then."

  I had already reached for the phone, but then I changed my mind. Sean was very good with emergencies, unless they were mine. A phone call would result in nothing more than a marathon of questions. It would give him waaay too much time to think about all the people that could be sued.

  "Let's just go," I said. "Get Huntington--Steve, in the Mercedes." I cringed at the blood on my floor. Mark finished wrapping Huntington's leg and arm while I backed the Mercedes into the garage so we could put Huntington in the back without being seen. I added a blanket in the cargo area. By the time I was finished, Mark had him in the hallway leading to the garage.

  I ran back into the kitchen and grabbed the gun.

  Mark would have driven, but I was already in the driver's seat by the time he got his brother loaded. I handed him the gun when he jumped into the passenger seat.

  "What do you want me to do with this thing? Spit peas at them? Don't you have a real gun?"

  I pulled out. Sean's house was only a few blocks away. "You and Sean can go through his gun collection when we get there. In the meantime shoot anyone that looks like they are following us. I'm not endangering Sean and Brenda because of Huntington's shena
nigans. She's pregnant for God's sake!"

  "Shoot them with this thing?" He honestly looked as though he couldn't imagine it doing any real damage.

  "Think of it this way," I said through clenched teeth, "the twenty-two has longer range than a thirty-eight. You can shoot them before they get too close."

  I would have glared at him, but I was too busy checking the mirrors and wondering if Huntington was dying. What if he died? In the back of the Mercedes?

  Blocking all thought, I pulled into Sean's driveway. "I'll get Sean and have Brenda call the doctor."

  "You sure he's clean?"

  "Sean?"

  "No, not Sean!" He almost ripped the back door off the Mercedes getting to Huntington. "The doctor. He--"

  I had no idea what Mark was talking about. Deciding to ignore his ramblings in favor of trying to save Huntington, I ran inside and started explaining things to my disapproving brother and his calm wife. Gone were Brenda's unorganized, unfocused kitchen tendencies, replaced by training and several years of hospital work. She took charge as though we were in the ER instead of her living room.

  By the time we had Huntington inside and arranged on a blanket in the kitchen, Dr. Taylor had pulled in next to the Mercedes. He was less than happy when he saw the gunshot wounds. "I have to report this," he snapped, opening a large zippered bag.

  For some reason I thought he would have a black bag like in the Western movies. His was more like a giant gym bag and had enough stuff in it to take care of four or five head-on collisions.

  Brenda reported, "Two bullet wounds, one still lodged in his leg muscle. Didn't go all the way to the bone--I don't think. The arm injury looks like it went straight through."

  Dr. Taylor made his own assessments. "He should have surgery to remove that bullet even though its shallow. I'm not taking it out here."

  Mark shook his head once, sharply. "Do you work at the hospital?"

  "ER, why?"

  "Are you aware that some of the doctors there seem to be charging for services not rendered?"

  Dr. Taylor looked up. "What?"

  "Steve and I have been investigating a problem there. Patients get checked out, but there are discrepancies in the records. Some records show patients are admitted for longer than they were actually there, that type of thing."