Control: Out of the Box (The Girl in the Box Book 38)

by Robert J. Crane

  But the headache. Ow. That wasn't happening now, while her head hurt, and kids were awake. Coffee first. Maybe later on the other.

  “We did,” he said. “But we didn't really get to the bottom of it. You were...kinda teary. Not fully coherent.” He sat down on the end of the bed. “There was no warning before it happened? Like, at all?”

  Julie shook her head, which was a mistake because owwwwww. “No. Betsy even called me into her office yesterday morning after I forwarded that Sienna Nealon video to her. She freaking commended me, Dom! I had no idea I was on the outs or whatever.” She closed her eyes against the brightness. “I mean, this came so completely out of nowhere, it might as well have teleported in from another dimension. She just called me into her office and – boom. I was jobless.”

  Dom seemed to take this under consideration slowly, his eyes moving around as he thought. That was a characteristic of his. Or at least she remembered it being, back when they saw each other regularly, before this job. “But instead of coming home and, I don't know...helping out or seeing the kids last night, your first instinct was to hit the bar and drink yourself into oblivion?”

  Julie pushed a lock of tangled hair out of her face, where it was threatening to droop into her coffee. “Uhmm...yeah, okay, not the greatest coping mechanism ever, but I was a little stressed, all right?” She held her head in her free hand. “Can we focus on what's important right now and maybe deal with my poor decisions later?”

  “But there was really no reason for this? None?” Dom's question was high and...well, questioning. And it didn't just irritate her because she was suffering a hangover, or because the kids were being...just, so loud in the background.

  It irritated her because it sounded like he was questioning her story. And piling doubt from her husband on top of the stress of the firing, Julie just snapped.

  “No, there was no reason for it.” Julie blew up. “I have no idea why it happened. No idea where it came from!”

  Dom made a motion with his hand to keep it down, sloshing a few drops of his own coffee onto the floor. “All right. Well...if that's the case,” and here he paused, like he really had to think about it, “maybe you should...you know. Fight it.”

  “Fight it?” Julie blinked tired eyes. “Like in court?”

  “Well...yeah. Wrongful termination.”

  “I'm not sure how the employment laws work for people in my position,” she said, lifting the coffee to her lips and pausing there, letting the strong aroma wash over her. “I guess I could talk to a lawyer.”

  Dom's eyes bored into her. “Well, if you were wrongly fired...why wouldn't you want to?”

  What exactly was he saying here? Now she wasn't sure she missed the sex with him after all. But it did push her to make a decision. “Okay, I will,” she said, feeling a warmth infuse her that had nothing to do with the coffee. “I'll call a lawyer right now.” She started to stand, then stopped herself, cringing. “But...maybe a couple ibuprofen, first?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sienna

  By this phase in my life I'd become well acquainted with the post-battle low of getting my ass kicked. It's the feeling that settles in after the adrenaline has flushed out of the bloodstream, a fatigue that leaves you bone-weary and drained. Piling that on top of the radically incomplete nights of sleep I'd suffered through of late was producing a potent cocktail of drowsiness, one that had taken over long before I'd even gotten to my brand new office in the Hoover Building. Which was really a repurposed conference room in which I was sitting across from Hilton, who looked almost as wiped out as I did.

  Which really irked me, since what the hell had she done other than partied too hearty while burning the candle at both ends? She hadn't been in a pitched battle with Chinese Special Ops on a freighter at sea, braved a White House press conference, been run over by a car, or had a shootout at the Baltimore docks. I was pretty sure I'd done all those things in the last 48 hours, and maybe more. It was all blurring together.

  Also, my stomach was rumbling, and I didn't know what delivery options – if any – were available in the Hoover Building. There was almost certainly a cafeteria, but I wasn't sure I even had the energy to seek it out at this point.

  “So...what's the move?” Hilton asked, face looking like it was melting over the side of her hand where she had it pressed against her cheek. It wasn't a great look for her, I thought, but was equally sure that she probably didn't care how it looked. Or maybe she would have, if I'd said something, but really, she shouldn't have. She really did embrace the worst stereotypes of our generation.

  I just stared at her as my weary brain translated that sentence. “Is that some kind of young people bullshit? Like some slang thing?”

  “Okay, Boomer.” Her mushed face formed instantly into an angry mien. “You're like three, four years older than me. Tops.”

  “Yet the maturity delta is off the charts,” I said, not putting a lot of mustard into my reply. “I don't know what 'the move' is. I called forensics, requesting they update me, and they had nothing. I called tech support regarding the missing pictures on my computer and phone. They're working on it but didn't sound hopeful.” I looked around the blank walls of the conference room. “I kinda want lunch, but I'm also bone tired and don't want to move. So there. That's my move: I choose not to, because screw moving. I want to sleep.”

  “Don't let me stop you, then,” Hilton said, frowning at the landline phone on the table between the two of us. “On the other hand, since my brand new phone is now evidence and no one has offered me a replacement yet, maybe you could clue me in on something: what did you do to entertain yourself in your house for all those years with no internet?”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Read. Watched TV. Trained. Talked to my mom.”

  “Lame,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I don't remember a time when I didn't have a phone. I feel like someone cut off a piece of me.”

  I just stared at her. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  She perked up a little. “Really?”

  “Yes,” I said, “because I've had my arm cut off before, I've had my legs blown off, chopped off – I even had an eye ripped out one time–”

  “Ew gross! And not what I meant!” She waved a hand at me. “Take your damned nap, crabbypants!”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said, and lay my head against my chair back. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but I made do, closing my eyes and letting my thoughts drift away as I zoned out into sleep while I waited for something to happen.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Chapman

  “Hey, where are you?” Gwen's voice sounded muffled, the connection between them probably impaired by the fact he was flying. The Gulfstream was churning through the air at 30,000 feet and Jaime was blinking, bleary. He'd been sleeping until the phone rang. This was what happened when you shorted yourself on rest night after night trying to change the world.

  “On my way to Washington,” Jaime said, stirring to full wakefulness. “Gotta handle some biz-ness in the capital, y'know. Swing my big cod and make some things happen.”

  “You're so cute when you're talking about using your tech overlord powers to push people around,” she said, all full of faux impishness. Or real, maybe. Gwen was a very playful person, Jaime had noted. Which was something he found appealing about her after long days spent at the office with very serious people. “What are you really going to be doing there?”

  Jaime pulled his phone from his head and hit the home screen. Checking to make sure his VPN connection was working – yep – and that he was on a secure server – yep – and that this was a digital call, not one going through typical cell towers – also yep, and that it was secure all the way to Gwen's side of the conversation – all good, so he finally answered. “My, uh, group that we talked about?” In spite of the security he went with the veiled reference. “We had a couple setbacks. I need to manage them.”

  “Oooh,” Gwen said, sounding like she was really interes
ted. “Is this something to do with the China business? And that dude getting shot in Washington? The big cheese politico?”

  Smart girl. Of course she was, though, that's why he was dating her. “Maybe. Maybe not.” But he was smiling and would bet she could hear that reflected in his voice. “What are you doing calling me in the middle of the day?”

  “I took a little time off,” she said. “Been overworked and overstressed, y'know? I needed to just take a little me time and namaste. Figured I'd see what you were up to, but...you're on a plane.”

  “Jetting away from you, yes,” he said, feeling a swell of glumness. “Seems like the only time we see each other lately is after midnight.”

  “Well, you know how it is. We tech moguls keep vampire hours.”

  Jaime laughed. “We CEOs keep all the hours, all the time, every day of the year, more like. I'm hoping to be back tomorrow, though, at the latest. I mean, I'd rather jet back tonight, late, but...things I want don't always happen, in spite of my best efforts.”

  “You mean you really don't have complete mastery over the universe? Pfffft. What false advertising. I was promised a Master of the Universe, and I'm already disappointed I didn't get He-Man.”

  “Yeah,” Jaime said. “I don't feel like I'm master of much right now. But I'm trying to assert myself.”

  “Well, at least you're the master of Sienna Nealon's cell phone and computer. That's not nothing. Just...almost nothing.”

  “You're right,” he said, smiling at the thought of her in the dimness of the cabin lights. Someone must have turned them down when he conked out. “I'm master of that. And the largest tech company on the planet.”

  Gwen snickered on the other end. “Go save your secret sorority from being exposed. And maybe salvage that Chinese deal, too? Y'know, if you get around to it.”

  Jaime felt a slight burn in his chest just above his stomach. Was that heartburn? Or just butterflies? “I'm not sure I can with that second one, but I guess we'll see in time.”

  “Sir?” The airplane must have hit a pocket of turbulence, because Jaime jolted like he'd been struck. His phone was still in his hand, but the call was over. He blinked, considered calling Gwen back, but one of his underlings was just standing there, looking at him blankly.

  “Yeah, I'm fine, thanks,” he said, shaking his head. Whatever. He'd talk to Gwen later. He probably needed to figure out the rest of his Washington trip now anyway. He certainly had a few ideas.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sienna

  “Hey,” Hilton's voice woke me out of a dead-ass sleep, and I came out of it about as gracefully as one can when jarred awake while sitting back in a desk chair. I caught myself before pitching over ass backwards, and then looked around for the culprit before settling a furious gaze on my new “partner,” who was staring at me from across the conference table with a look like she'd stepped in her dog's work product while on a walk.

  “Whudizit?” I mumbled, still waking up. Trying to decipher the unpleasant look on Hilton's face while drowsing? Difficult. Talking? More problematic still.

  “Look at this,” she said, and slid a phone across the desk to me.

  I caught it by reflex, staring at it blankly. It was...black.

  “Just like I thought,” she huffed. “Can you believe it?”

  “Maybe,” I said, staring at the black phone in my hand before sliding it – gingerly – back to her. “What am I believing?”

  She caught it, and let it thump back onto the tabletop. “It's the X. They gave me the X, not an 11 like the one I lost.” She huffed, flaring her nostrils.

  I just blinked at her. “Yesterday I walked into a trap set for me by the Chinese government to make a medical experiment out of me so they could harvest my ovaries and grow a superarmy of my crossbred offspring, probably using human test subjects and prisoners to incubate them. I found that offensive, personally. So I have to ask – are you serious, waking me with this phone downgrade bullshit?”

  “This is a major problem!” Hilton raised her voice because, clearly, to her, this really was a serious issue. To me, she seemed like someone who desperately needed a mother who at least gave her a spanking every now and again. Locking her in a box might have been extreme, but some adversity, some perspective in her life might have served her well. Or at least given her enough other shit to worry about so as not to wake her beleaguered, overtired, sleeping partner.

  “Where did this even come from?” I asked. There was a matching phone right in front of me. With a touch, it flared to life, the surface already filled with notifications from apps I didn't even have.

  “Tech dropped them by while you were sleeping.” She was totally fixed on hers, staring at it so hard I thought it might spontaneously combust.

  I stared at the alerts and the first caught my eye: President Gondry delivers fiery speech on China and possible political assassination live from Ohio. Watch live!

  Well, shit. I had nothing else cooking, and it sure didn't seem like my partner was going to let me enjoy my beauty rest, so I clicked the phone open to find a) it responded to my passcode and b) it appeared to be already synced to my cloud, in spite of the extraneous apps. Whoever had possessed it before had installed Flashforce (ugh), NNC's news app, and Instaphoto, none of which were Sienna Nealon essentials.

  Still, I clicked through out of morbid curiosity and a vague desire to see what President Gondry was saying about China and Bilson's death, since I had a stake in...well, all of these things.

  It took the video a moment or two to start streaming, but it dropped me into the middle of a pretty harsh opening. Gondry was standing in front of a blue curtain, clutching his podium with a death grip, his wrinkled face twisted up as he spoke to...I dunno, a $3,000 plate per person fundraiser, maybe? It looked like a ballroom.

  “–that operating on our soil and kidnapping our people will not be tolerated,” Gondry said, keeping his hands anchored. “These sanctions will allow us to send an unequivocal message to China: no more!”

  There was applause. It wasn't tepid, but neither was it ferocious. Whoever he was delivering this message to, it wasn't the target audience, but they were receiving it about as warmly as could be expected, given they were probably a Rotary Club or something, expecting a talk about civic responsibility and getting fire and brimstone about China and their dirty dealings instead.

  Also, I wasn't the deepest political operator in the US – quite the opposite, in fact – but I had to believe Gondry's usual audience and base probably didn't feel a great warmth in their heart for going against China. He'd taken donations from a lot of big companies that did a lot of business there. Yet here he was upping the ante over where he'd already upped it yesterday.

  Not my circus, though, and Gondry was not my monkey. He was, however, my problem, if he chose to make things difficult for me, which was one of the reasons I kept watching.

  “In addition...and I'm sure some of you have heard...” Gondry's eyeglasses glinted in the light of the teleprompter. “...the man I appointed to the National Security Advisor post yesterday...was murdered last night.” That got a sympathetic gasp. “My deepest condolences are with his family.”

  I frowned. Bilson had a family? I guess I hadn't checked to see about next of kin.

  “Can you turn that down?” Hilton asked, staring at me across the table, as though I were putting some great imposition on her. Her phone was firmly in hand again, and she had her head cocked at me in a very teenage way.

  “I definitely could,” I said, and made no move to adjust the volume. Because I'm me, and because she didn't actually ask me to, and because I'm an asshole when annoyed.

  She got it after a minute, and just before the applause died down enough for Gondry to go on. “Will you?”

  I made a great show of considering it. “No.”

  “...assured that if this was an act by China...we will find out,” Gondry was saying after I got done listening to Hilton huff about how rude I was. “Our best invest
igator is on the case...I'm sure you know her: Sienna Nealon.”

  Well, that didn't exactly get a standing ovation. More like another smattering of polite applause.

  “And she's already turning up results!” Gondry said, his delivery a lot more like a college professor teaching a class than a typical president. Made sense, given that was his background, though. “Last night, mere hours after the murder, she had already collected evidence suggesting the involvement of a highly secretive group that calls themselves...'The Network.'”

  I raised an eyebrow at this. The FBI did not generally comment on cases in progress. Especially not to divulge the existence of a key group of persons of interest.

  “Oh, shit,” Hilton said. She had put aside her own phone and was listening along with mine. “Did he just...?”

  “Yeah,” I said tightly.

  “Whoever this Network is,” Gondry said, and you could almost hear the whispers in the crowd around him – or at least I could, because meta hearing, “we will find them. We will root out their hidden purpose, expose their faces to the world, and see them punished for their role in this crime.”

  I buried my face in my hands. “Tell me he did not just...” I couldn't even finish.

  “Yeah, he just mixed all your evidence up and blamed this group that Bilson was part of for his death,” Hilton said. “On live TV. That was a thing that just happened.”

  “Shiiiiiiiit,” I whispered, but I had no more time to adjust to this information, because a DC number interrupted the broadcast, lighting up the phone's screen for its primary purpose. “What?” I snapped as I answered.

  “Please hold for the Vice President of the United States,” a surprisingly polite female voice intoned. You know, given I'd just snapped at her when answering on my end.

  Only one thing I could say to that:

  “Aw, shit.”