Bleeding Edge: Elliot Security (Elliot Security Series Book 2)

by Evie Mitchell

  “Let’s map this.” Jack stood, walking to the giant whiteboard, which took up a whole wall and began to write names and places.

  I looked around the table, men and women who were ignoring the danger.

  “Em?” Addie wrapped soft fingers around my arm, squeezing reassuringly.

  “I don’t… I don’t understand…” I shook my head. Watching as Pax stood, talking to Jack, before taking another marker and writing some information on the board.

  “They love you, Em. Can’t you see that?”

  I shook my head again. “But why?”

  She looked at me a long time. People moved around us, conversations loud and animated as they brainstormed my problem.

  “If you don’t know, then we haven’t done our job properly.” With that she pulled me in for a hug.

  I clutched at her.

  “Emmie?” Pax stared intently at the whiteboard, tapping a marker against the palm of one hand.

  “Boss?” I moved beside him.

  “We need your father’s name. Don’t care if it’s an alias. He had a history before this cult, chances are he’s got information we can dig up. Associates. We can see if any of that gives us an entry.”

  I nodded, taking the offered whiteboard marker.

  “Siblings as well. Who knows? One of them may have gotten out, they could be looking for you, have left breadcrumbs somewhere along the way.”

  I hesitated. “Right.” I doubted any had managed after me.

  “We need the names of anyone who was around, the school you went to, the cars you drove, the place you bought fuel, etcetera. Anything we can use to track back to them.”

  Pax rubbed his chin. “We need the IT guys down here. Someone get me…” He paused, “Someone get me Sawyer and Max. I want them in on this.” His gaze whipped around the room. “Everything we discuss stays in here. This is not on a computer, this is not mentioned in an email, this is kept in this room. Clear?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Good.” His gaze came to me. “You get a choice. You can move in with Jetta and me, or with Luc. Your choice.”

  I blinked. “Um, neither?”

  “You’re the one who emphasised the danger. You need protection. I can’t guarantee your apartment. Luc and I have gated, high-fenced properties. We’ve got the best security systems. We can have eyes on the property 24/7. Further, both properties have their own generators. They try to fuck with us, they’re going to find it difficult. Those are your choices.”

  I hesitated, feeling Luc approach from behind. “I don’t want to put you and Jetta out.”

  “Good. It’s settled.” Luc clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You’re staying with me.”

  “I didn’t–”

  “Get her stuff this afternoon, take one of the company trucks if necessary. I want her out today.” With that Pax turned his back on me, moving to where Brean and Kel were huddled, discussing their options in Western Australia.

  I looked over at Luc. “I’m not moving in.”

  “I’m not having this argument.” He shook his head. “This is happening, Em. Either accept that we’re now part of it, or we’ll drag you along for the ride.” He dropped his hand and turned on his heel, heading for the door.

  I sunk into a nearby chair, nervously tapping the marker against my leg. I watched as the men and women around me drew lines, discussed links, and did what they did best − look for solutions.

  With a tired sigh, I pushed up from the chair and turned to the whiteboard. I pulled the lid off with my teeth and began to write.

  Father - John Gwynn - Deacon

  Mother - Helen Gwynn, nee Pye - Whereabouts unknown

  And so it went. Line after line I drew my family tree. Abel, my eldest brother. Cain my second. Moses my third. Me. Esther, Charity, Mary and Beth, my younger sisters.

  My father’s second wife. My half-siblings.

  My husband. His brother, the Prophet Edward.

  Their wives.

  Their children.

  The elders of the church.

  Their families.

  And so on and so on and so on. All of it, line after line, as much information as I could remember in the ten years it had been since I’d escaped.

  A hand touched the small of my back. “Em?”

  I jumped, shying away, turning. “What?” I blinked at Luc, realising we were alone.

  “Where is everyone?”

  He frowned. “Working upstairs. They need to clear their cases to make this their priority.”

  “Right.” I nodded, lifting a shaky hand to my hair. “Of course.” I tucked a strand behind my ear, catching Luc’s eye.

  “What?”

  He hesitated, then shook his head, taking a step back and moving to face the whiteboard. I looked at my progress.

  It was horrifying. Details I’d suppressed for years filled on the board. Dates, times, places, my aliases.

  He whistled. “If nothing else, we know you’ve got a good memory.”

  We both stood silent for a long moment, my eyes reading over the family trees, trying to remember if I’d missed anything.

  “What was your real name?”

  “Hmm?” I looked over at Luc. He pointed to where I’d written Emmie Franklin into the hierarchy. “You need to put your name in.”

  “Uh. No.”

  “Uh. Yes.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Luc–”

  “Emmie.”

  I glared at him. “I said no.”

  His hands went to cross over his chest, legs hip width apart. I knew that pose. It was his I’m-a-stubborn-jackarse pose. “I said yes, Em. This is need-to-know time.”

  I knew that. I did. I just didn’t want it to be that time.

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Maybe today. Maybe now.”

  I sighed. “Please…” I kept my voice soft, pleading.

  “We have to do this.”

  I pulled a face, huffing softly. “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “I’ll do it.” My hand shook as I lifted the marker to the board. I added a slash at the end of Emmie Franklin and began to write. I dropped my hand, stepping back.

  We were both silent for a long moment.

  “Abishag? Am I saying that right? A-bi-shag?”

  I nodded.

  “I… Is it a Bible thing?

  I nodded again.

  “Am I meant to know it?”

  I quoted from memory. “When King David was very old, he could not keep warm even when they put covers over him. So his attendants said to him, ‘Let us look for a young virgin to service the king and take care of him. She can lie beside him so that our lord the king may keep warm.’ Then they searched through Israel for a beautiful young woman and found Abishag, a Shunammite, and brought her to the king. The woman was very beautiful; she took care of the king and waited on him, but the king had no sexual relations with her. 1 Kings 1-4.” I sucked in a shaky breath. “David used to say I was his Abishag. I would keep him warm in his old age. He used the quote at the wedding. In the weeks before, he’d whisper that, unlike the story, I would not remain a virgin.”

  Luc’s hands turned me, one pulling me into him, wrapping around my back. The other lifted to my face, wiping away tears I hadn’t realised were falling.

  “I’m sorry.” I whispered the words, my voice unsteady. “I don’t mean to be a wuss.”

  “You’re fine.” He offered a comforting squeeze. “This is good. You should talk this out.”

  I laugh-sobbed. “No, I really think I shouldn’t.”

  “Have you ever told anyone?”

  I shook my head. “Not till now.”

  He pulled me in, crushing me against his chest.

  “Em…” He trailed off.

  “I’m okay, Luc.”

  “You’re not. But we’ll get you there.”

  I pushed against his chest, forcing him to move back and let go. “I won’t break.”

>   “But maybe I will.”

  I stopped, looking at his face. Blank but for his furious eyes. I read in them rage.

  Pure and utter rage.

  I blinked.

  “Why are you…?”

  “You were raped, Emmie. You were fifteen. A child. Your first time should be with someone you lust-love. Someone you trust. Someone who makes it awkward, but you both enjoy it anyway. Hell, it may be in the back of a car during a drive-in, or while your parents are at work, or maybe it’s after you get married. Maybe you’re seventeen, or twenty-three, or maybe it’s when you’re forty. Maybe it’s none of them. Who knows? But it should be your choice. Yours. No one had the right to take that from you.”

  “You’re angry.”

  “Angry is a weak word for what I’m feeling.” He stepped away, letting me go, as he began to pace.

  “I’m fucking furious. I want to kill him. I want to fly over today−now. I want to call some friends who owe me favours and have certain skills and get on a plane and go and raid their property. I want to force him to eat dirt for days, no, months. I want him to die from a million cuts. I want to wash his filth from the face of the earth, knowing he’ll never so much as set eyes on you again. Knowing that once he’s finally dead, you can live the life you want. Not one controlled by a maggot who doesn’t deserve even a thought from you.”

  I reached out, fingers wrapping around his forearm. “Luc?”

  He immediately stopped, turning back to me, his free arm coming up to cover my hand with his.

  “We’ll get him, Em. I promise.”

  I looked at him. This man who felt so much.

  “We need to work on our other cases.” The words were soft. I was asking him to let it go for now. We’re both too raw, too angry. The emotions were pouring out, and I feared I could never rebuild the walls he was so determined to break.

  “Right.” His mouth quirked a little, the flames in his eyes calming.

  “You good?”

  He nodded. “We’ll talk more tonight.”

  We left the room, our hands clasped. I didn’t let go.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Emmie

  Moving my things took an embarrassingly short amount of time. Most of my furniture was deemed, by Addie, as being ready for the junk pile. As such, that is where it ended up. My protests were met with a furious dismissal from Addie.

  “When this is over,” Jarrett told me, as he and Luc tossed my couch in the donations pile. “You’re getting a new apartment and that Scandi three-seater I know you’ve been eyeing off for months.”

  The rest was boxed efficiently by a team of friends who’d rapidly assembled. Pax brought Jetta, who’d brought pizza. Within two hours bare walls and clean floors were all that remained in my once packed apartment.

  At Luc’s, they took my stuff to the room across the hall from the master. A guest room with its own ensuite, my furniture, the items I’d been allowed to keep, were unpacked and quickly assembled. My bed and mattress sat in the middle of the room, one bedside table and a lamp at the ready. My clothes were picked over by a clucking, judgmental Jarrett, and hung in the wardrobe or folded into a spare set of drawers.

  My comics were placed in the built-in bookshelves in Luc’s study, my herbs on his kitchen windowsill.

  A reverent Luc and Pax carefully positioned my TV in the living room, his smaller one moved to the downstairs basement/rumpus room.

  The move was of little inconvenience to myself. My main job appeared to be vetoing any decisions Addie made regarding my junk pile and trying to not feel like a too-stupid-to-live heroine in a B-grade horror film. I had little success with either option.

  Things I’d learnt in the last two hours? Luc was a pig. His house overflowed with clothes, instruments, and papers. Addie had tasked herself with cleaning, wrinkling her nose and making comments every time she found another dirty sock in a strange place.

  How did socks end up on top of the fridge?

  Kel and Jetta had gone grocery shopping. They’d emptied my fridge and cupboards and still felt I wasn’t equipped to be moving in with a hungry, hungry male. As such, Luc’s house now overflowed with food and beer.

  I had a headache building when the team finally decided to call it a night. Hugs, backslaps, and handshakes were dished out, as we walked them to the door for a send-off.

  Kel pulled me in tight, the last to exit. “I’ve put sanitary items in all three bathrooms. And condoms. Just in case.” With that parting gem, she quickly let me go, winked, and closed the door.

  Death by kindness.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Emmie

  Morning saw me in the kitchen pouring coffee for Jack, Luc, and Sawyer. It appeared that, despite my best efforts, Luc had decided to inconvenience people. Unbeknownst to me, Jack had pulled the first shift last night, patrolling the streets and Luc’s yard. His tired face grinned at me over a bowl of cereal.

  “Don’t look so glum, I do my best work at night.” He winked. I rolled my eyes in response as Sawyer sat tapping on the laptop next to me.

  I didn’t own anything that could be considered smart technology. My mobile was analogue, able to receive only text messages and phone calls− no photos or emojis to be seen. My TV had zero connectivity, and I didn’t own a laptop. Netflix was a foreign entity.

  Fear had led me to separate private and business. I was good at my job. I knew it, they knew it. But my private life needed to stay private and to achieve that I required complete freedom from the possibility technology could be used to find me.

  Referred to as the Internet of Things or IOT, it was the idea that smart devices— things like phones, computers, vehicles, buildings, and other items— could eventually be sensed and controlled remotely in a way that would result in improved efficiency, accuracy, and economic benefits. So imagine a doctor is an expert surgeon in America. IOT meant one day he may be able to log on to a computer or other system and perform surgery using a robot in the UK. Or, say I’m at work and suddenly realise I’ve left my bathroom light on. I could open my app and turn it off. Brilliant.

  The problem with this is it doesn’t take into account nefarious purposes and peoples’ general lack of security awareness. When you go online it’s like you’re inviting people into your lounge room. You enable geolocation, I can find you. You use online banking, I can see your bank in your browser history. Have a webcam? Why don’t I enable it with the help of your terrible 123ABC password so I can record you and your partner having intimate relations and use that to blackmail you?

  My paranoia was evidence-based. Every example was a technique I’d used either while in the God’s Patriots or in the years before I’d gone legit. In an interconnected world, I was an anomaly in my desire to be disconnected.

  Sawyer, on the other hand, let it all hang out. He believed privacy was no longer a guarantee and that to cut off interest, the best thing was to construct people’s understanding of who you were. He had multiple personas online, each more elaborate and creative than the last. A brief google search would turn up every personality from a transgender burlesque dancer to a conservative church-going anti-gay minister. And he used each to extract the information he needed. As abhorrent as we both found some of the personas, they worked because they were cultivated to be believable.

  His real persona sat under layers of lies. It was brilliant in its simplicity and execution. The only problem was the amount of effort taken to construct and maintain the rouse. But for that, Sawyer and I had written code designed to mimic and interact in such a way to appear human. It worked 86.3% of the time.

  Nothing was perfect.

  So, seeing Sawyer sitting at Luc’s kitchen bench, typing away, muttering to himself as he troubleshot, made me uneasy.

  “Could you do that elsewhere?”

  “Settle, petal. I’m routing this through eight countries, and I built the bloody thing without microphone, speakers, or camera. We’re safe.”

  I sipped my tea, st
ill uneasy.

  “Here.” He spun the laptop around, showing a birds-eye view of a bunch of buildings. I squinted for a moment, trying to work out what he was showing.

  “Shit,” I whispered as I stepped closer. “It’s The Front.”

  “The what?”

  “The Front. It’s our… the commune.” My hands flew across the key pad, moving in, zooming around. The outer living quarters were the same, basic weatherboard white, tin-roofed shacks, hot in summer, freezing in winter. The church took centre stage, a large limestone airconditioned three-storey building with its own basement servers and computer labs. The deacons had a higher standard of living. The houses were large, each wife and child honoured with their own room. It was part of their psychological hierarchy, a way to make people strive to be better. It worked. I’d witnessed newcomers do whatever was asked of them in a bid to move up the ranks.

  My family among them.

  “Emmie?”

  I lifted my eyes from the screen and looked at the three men watching me.

  “How?”

  “I have friends who owe me. Some of them still work in certain areas that are of use to me.”

  I looked at the perfect satellite images. “Must be one hell of a favour,” I murmured. There were new buildings, new areas that had been cleared for some kind of large outdoor field. Animal pens and barns occupied land that had previously been covered in thick brush.

  “Look at the solar farm. My God.” I ran a finger over the screen. “It’s massive.”

  “Yeah.” Sawyer kicked back, frowning. For a man who normally embodied a human Labrador, he looked distinctly less-than jovial.

  “It tells me they’re running more than they were when you were last there.”

  “Like what?”

  He lifted a hand, running it through his hair. “Canberra has a few solar farms that size. One can generate enough electricity to power over three thousand homes. There ain’t that many people living on the commune. Not based on the heat readings from the buildings.”

  “Why would they need it then?” This came from Jack, the coffee obviously kicking in.