by James, E L
“I can try and enhance the image,” Barney says, his enthusiasm bubbling over in his tone. He wants to nail this son of a bitch, too.
“Do.”
The image on my screen changes. It’s sharper.
Suddenly, my study door opens. I look up, surprised, about to rebuke the intruder. It’s Ana.
“So, you can’t enhance it further?” I ask Barney.
“Let me try something.” He’s silent as Ana walks toward me with a look of quiet determination, and before I can do or say anything she crawls into my lap.
“I think that’s as good as it’s going to get,” Barney says.
Ana puts her arms around my neck and snuggles beneath my chin, and I tighten my hold on her.
Is something wrong?
“Um, yes, Barney. Could you hold one moment?”
“Yes, sir.”
I lift one shoulder to trap and hold my phone.
“Ana, what’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, refusing to answer me. I grasp her chin and study her face, but her expression is unreadable. She frees her chin from my fingers and cuddles into me. I have no idea what’s wrong, and frankly, I’m too engrossed in what Barney has found. I drop a kiss on her head. “Okay, Barney, what were you saying?”
“I can enhance the picture a little more.”
I press play. The grainy black-and-white image of the arsonist appears on-screen. I press play once more, the arsonist moves closer to the camera, and I freeze the frame. “Okay, Barney, one more time.”
“Let me see what I can do.”
A dashed box appears around the head of the arsonist and suddenly zooms in.
Ana sits up and stares at the image. “Is Barney doing this?” she asks.
“Yes.” And I know I sound as awed as she looks by Barney’s technical prowess. “Can you sharpen the picture at all?” I ask him. The picture blurs, then refocuses moderately sharper on the asshole. He’s looking down at the floor. Ana tenses and squints at the screen.
“Christian,” she whispers. “That’s Jack Hyde.”
What!
“You think?” I squint at the image.
“It’s the line of his jaw.” Ana points at the screen following the monochromatic line of his chin. “And the earrings and the shape of his shoulders. He’s the right build, too. He must be wearing a wig, or he’s cut and dyed his hair.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. Hyde. Jack fucking Hyde!
“Barney, are you getting this?” I put the phone down and switch to hands-free, then whisper to Ana, “You seem to have studied your ex-boss in some detail, Mrs. Grey.”
Ana grimaces and shudders while anger surges like sulfuric acid through me.
“Yes, sir. I heard Mrs. Grey. I’m running facial-recognition software on all the digitized CCTV footage right now. See where else this asshole—I’m sorry, ma’am—this man has been within the organization.”
“Why would he do this?” Ana asks.
I shrug, trying to mask my rage.
Fucking Hyde.
I put a stop to his creepy shit. Fired him. Punched him and broke his nose.
“Revenge, perhaps,” I offer, darkly. “I don’t know. You can’t fathom why some people behave the way they do. I’m just angry that you ever worked so closely with him.”
We have to get this information to the police, the FBI, and Welch, though he has some explaining to do. Hyde is obviously not in Florida. Why the hell did Welch think he was? I need to talk to him. And maybe, given all this time, Hyde may have skulked back to his apartment, here in Seattle. Welch needs to find him sooner rather than later, and if he does, I hope I get to punch that fucker’s lights out again. One thing’s for sure, I need to keep him away from my wife, keep her safe. I curl my arm around her waist.
“We have the contents of his hard drive, too, sir,” Barney adds.
I interrupt Barney with the first thought that comes into my head. “Yes, I remember. Do you have an address for Mr. Hyde?” I don’t want to alarm Ana with the details of what was on Hyde’s old computer.
“Yes, sir, I do,” Barney says.
“Alert Welch.” Welch needs to make sure Hyde’s not back home.
“Sure will. I’m also going to scan the city CCTV and see if I can track his movements.”
“Check what vehicle he owns.”
“Sir.”
“Barney can do all this?” Ana whispers, clearly impressed.
I nod, feeling a little smug that he works for me.
“What was on his hard drive?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing much.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Was it about you, or me?”
She is not going to drop this.
“Me.” I sigh.
“What sort of things? About your lifestyle?”
No. I shake my head and place my index finger on her lips.
We are not alone, Ana.
She scowls at me but keeps quiet.
“It’s a 2006 Camaro,” Barney pipes up, excited. “I’ll send the license details to Welch, too.”
I’m sure he has them, but it doesn’t hurt to be sure. “Good. Let me know where else that fucker has been in my building. And check this image against the one from his SIP personnel file. I want to be sure we have a match.”
“Already done, sir, and Mrs. Grey is correct. This is Jack Hyde.”
Ana grins, practically preening, she’s so pleased with herself.
As she should be.
I run my hand down her back, proud of her. “Well done, Mrs. Grey.” To Barney, I add, “Let me know when you’ve tracked all his movements at HQ. Also check out any other GEH property he may have had access to, and let the security teams know so they can make another sweep of all those buildings.”
“Sir.”
“Thanks, Barney.” I hang up the phone. “Well, Mrs. Grey, it seems that you are not only decorative, but useful, too,” I tease.
“Decorative?”
“Very.” I press a soft kiss to her lips.
“You’re much more decorative than I am, Mr. Grey.”
I wind her braid around my wrist and hold her, pouring my gratitude into a deep and tender kiss. She’s done so much today. And identified our perpetrator!
She pulls away.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“No.”
“I am,” I confess.
“What for?” She eyes me warily.
“Well—food, actually.”
She giggles. “I’ll make you something.”
“I love that sound.”
“Of me offering you food?”
“Your giggling.” I kiss her head, and she eases herself off my lap.
“So, what would you like to eat, Sir?” she asks with faux sweetness.
She’s making fun of me. Again.
I narrow my eyes. “Are you being cute, Mrs. Grey?”
“Always, Mr. Grey, Sir.”
I see how it is.
“I can still put you over my knee,” I whisper. Frankly, not much would give me greater pleasure.
“I know.” Ana grins and places her hands on the arms of my office chair. She bends down and kisses me. “That’s one of the things I love about you. But stow your twitching palm, you’re hungry.”
“Oh, Mrs. Grey, what am I going to do with you?”
“You’re going to answer my question. What would you like to eat?”
“Something light. Surprise me.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” She turns and struts out of my office, like she owns the place, which, of course, as my wife, she does.
I call Welch to interrogate him about what Barney and Ana have uncovered.
“Hyde?” While usua
lly gruff, his voice is high-pitched with incredulity.
“Yes. In my fucking server room.”
“We tracked his cell phone to Orlando. It’s been there ever since. We assumed he’d been staying with his mother, as the phone was tracked to her condominium in Orlando. There are no records of him traveling elsewhere.”
“Well. He’s here.” I take a deep breath, trying to keep a lid on my frustration.
He sighs, obviously annoyed. “So it would seem. I’ll put the team straight on this. I don’t know how he slipped through our fingers. I’ll make inquiries and find out how and where we messed up.”
“You do that. I want to know.”
“It’s a damned shame there are no prints from the server room,” he says.
“None?
“No.”
“Hell. He was probably wearing gloves, though it’s difficult to tell from the footage,” I speculate. “Perhaps Hyde’s prints are on file somewhere.”
“Interesting thought. In fact, the FBI recovered a partial print but has no match.”
“From Charlie Tango?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you let me know?”
“They didn’t have a match, and it’s only a partial print,” Welch explains.
“Could Hyde be behind the sabotage of my EC135?”
“In the absence of any other suspects, I think it’s a possibility,” Welch’s gravelly voice echoes over the phone.
“We had him on our list of suspects and he was right there this whole time.”
I can’t believe it.
“We dismissed him for three reasons,” Welch clarifies. “First, we thought he was in Florida. He’d not been in his apartment in Seattle for some time, but we’ll check on that now. Second, he’s not withdrawn any cash from an ATM in the Seattle area. And third, his misdeeds seemed limited to harassing female colleagues.”
“You should let the FBI know about all this,” I say.
“I’ll brief them,” he says, and then changes tack. “Sawyer’s informed me about the chase.”
“He thinks my parents’ house was being watched.”
“It’s a possibility. We’ll need to track this Dodge down to be sure.”
“The driver could have been Hyde.”
“Yes. In light of what you’ve uncovered, could be.”
“Given that he still poses a threat, I think we should provide security for all my family.”
“That’s a good idea. There were extensive details about all of them on Hyde’s computer. You should consider letting your parents know.”
I sigh. I don’t want to alarm my family.
“We’ll concentrate our efforts on locating Hyde.”
“Find him.”
“We’ll redouble our efforts.”
“You’d better,” I warn. “Barney will be in touch and you can submit the server room footage as evidence to the police. I’ll talk to my dad and get back to you.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll get on it.” He hangs up.
I call my parents’ landline, but it diverts to the answering machine. I try my dad’s cell, but that goes straight to voice mail, too. They must be at evening Mass. I leave a message asking Dad to call me in the morning.
I gather Gia Matteo’s plans and go in search of my wife and food.
Placing the plans on the kitchen island, I stroll over to Ana, who I have to say looks fetching even in sweatpants and her camisole. She’s preparing some food; the mashed avocado looks good. I fold my arms around her and kiss her neck. “Barefoot and in the kitchen,” I whisper into her fragrant skin.
“Shouldn’t that be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?”
Pregnant! I tense. Shit. No. Kids. Hell no. “Not yet,” I state, as I try to calm my suddenly spiked heart rate.
“No. Not yet!” Ana sounds as panicked as me.
I take a deep breath. “On that we can agree, Mrs. Grey.”
She stops mashing the avocado. “You do want kids, though, don’t you?”
“Sure, yes. Eventually. But I’m not ready to share you yet.” I kiss her neck.
One day. Sure.
“What are you making? Looks good.” I nuzzle her ear. She quivers and gives me a wicked grin.
“Subs.” She smirks.
God, I love this woman’s sense of humor.
I nip her earlobe. “My favorite,” I whisper in her ear, and am rewarded with a poke in my side from her elbow. “Mrs. Grey, you wound me.” I clutch my damaged side in a performance worthy of an Oscar winner.
“Wimp,” Ana teases.
“Wimp?” Playfully, I slap her behind. “Hurry up with my food, wench. And later I’ll show you how wimpy I can be.” I spank her again and head to the fridge. “Would you like a glass of wine?” I ask.
Ana flashes me a quick smile. “Please.”
Ana does good sub. What can I say?
Taking both our plates, I leave them in the sink for Gail. I top off both our wineglasses, then spread out Gia’s plans over the breakfast bar. We pore over her drawings; she’s worked hard and produced thorough and detailed elevations. Her designs are impressive. But what does my wife think?
Ana looks up at me. “I love her proposal to make the entire downstairs back wall glass, but…”
“But?” I prompt.
She sighs. “I don’t want to take all the character out of the house.”
“Character?”
“Yes. What Gia is proposing is quite radical, but, well, I fell in love with the house as it is, warts and all.”
Oh. I think this house is in need of a serious update.
“I kind of like it the way it is,” she says quietly, her expression serious.
In that moment, everything becomes clear to me. “I want this house to be the way you want. Whatever you want. It’s yours.”
She frowns. “I want you to like it, too. To be happy in it, too.”
“I’ll be happy wherever you are. It’s that simple, Ana.” I mean it. You are what will make the house a home, and I want you happy. Always.
“Well—” Her breath catches in her throat. “I like the glass wall. Maybe we could ask her to incorporate it into the house a little more sympathetically.”
“Sure. Whatever you want. What about the plans for upstairs and the basement?”
“I’m cool with those.”
“Good.”
She bites her lip. “Do you want to put in a playroom?” she blurts, and her question completely takes me by surprise. She flushes.
Ana, Ana, Ana, even after today, you’re still shy about what we do?
I hide my smile. “Do you?” I ask.
She raises one narrow shoulder, trying to look nonchalant. “Um, if you want.”
I think she does.
“Let’s leave our options open for the moment. After all, this will be a family home. Besides, we can improvise.”
“I like improvising,” she whispers.
Me, too, baby.
“There’s something I want to discuss.” I don’t want separate bathrooms. I like showering with Ana too much.
Fortunately, she agrees.
“Are you going back to work?” Ana asks as I roll up the plans.
“Not if you don’t want me to. What would you like to do?”
“We could watch TV.”
“Okay.” I deposit the plans on the dining table and we both head into the TV room.
On the couch, I pick up the remote and switch on the TV and start flicking through the channels, while Ana curls up beside me and rests her head on my shoulder.
This is nice.
“Any specific drivel you want to see?” I ask her.
“You don’t like TV much, do you?” Ana says.
I shake my head. “Waste o
f time. But I’ll watch something with you.”
“I thought we could make out.”
“Make out?” I stop flicking and stare at her.
“Yes.” Ana frowns.
“We could go to bed and make out.”
“We do that all the time. When was the last time you made out in front of the TV?” she asks with a shy smile.
Um… Never?
I shrug and shake my head, embarrassed to answer. I didn’t do the make-out thing. I would have liked to. I remember Elliot bringing home girl after girl and making out with them
I used to burn with envy.
But I couldn’t bear to be touched.
How can you kiss and cuddle someone when you can’t tolerate their hands on you?
Fuck. Those were tough years.
I flick through the channels, and an old episode of The X-Files pops up.
Ha! Scully, my first adolescent crush.
“Christian?” Ana asks, bringing me back from my fucked-up past.
“I’ve never done that,” I answer, quickly. Can we move on?
“Never?”
“No.”
“Not even with Mrs. Robinson?”
I laugh. “Baby, I did a lot of things with Mrs. Robinson. Making out was not one of them.” Ana looks horrified, and I want to kick myself for allowing Elena into our conversation. And then it occurs to me—maybe Ana has made out with countless boys. I narrow my eyes. “Have you?”
“Of course.” She’s scandalized that I would think otherwise.
“What! Who with?”
Ana clams up.
What the fuck? Does she have some first great love? I know nothing about her love life. I assumed, stupidly, that she didn’t have one, because she was a virgin. “Tell me,” I press her.
She gazes down at her hands, knotted in her lap. I place my hand over hers, and she glances up at me.
I’m just curious, Ana. “I want to know. So, I can beat whoever it was to a pulp.”
She giggles. “Well, the first time—”
“The first time! There’s more than one fucker?”
“Why so surprised, Mr. Grey?”
I run a hand through my hair. The thought of anyone touching Ana is…annoying. “I just am. I mean—given your lack of experience.”
