The trip down the narrow staircase to my living room feels like it’s a mile long, but that’s probably because every muscle in my legs is shaking almost uncontrollably.
Clutching the knife so hard my fingers hurt, I step over the bag, approach the door, and give the knob a yank. The old wood creaks, but holds. Thank God.
Still spooked, my heartbeat roaring in my ears, I flip on every light downstairs before I approach the brown paper bag. “Ugh. Gross.” The odor turns my stomach, and I hurry back to my kitchen, grab my cleaning gloves and trash bags, and triple wrap the disgusting present before checking the back door camera.
The alley’s clear, so I open the door and drop the bag on the stoop.
The adrenaline thrumming through my veins won’t let me sit down, so I pace back and forth between the kitchen and my small office at the front of the house until I start to get chilled, then realize I’m only wearing a tank top and panties.
“Smart, Evianna. Walk around the house half-naked at 3:00 a.m.—holding a hunting knife. You probably look like a psycho.” The thought makes me laugh, and I can’t stop until I sink down onto my ass, the hardwood floor stealing more of my body heat. Wrapping my arms around my bent knees, I close my eyes, trying to center myself.
Breathe. Just breathe. In and out. Focus on your breath.
As I start the mantra for the second time, glass breaks, something crashes to the floor only a few feet away, and I scream as I scramble up and press my back against the staircase.
“Alfie, c-call 911!”
The device in my living room initiates the call, and I peer into my home office. “Oh, shit.” Amid the broken glass, a large, misshapen brick rests on the floor, and the cool night air steals the last of my sanity as it swirls around the room.
4
Dax
At seven in the morning, my walk to the office is quiet. Only the hum of the traffic and the occasional horn interrupt the sound of my cane sweeping across the sidewalk. So much easier than trying to navigate through the crowds at rush hour.
Despite the size of Boston, the South End is all old neighborhood. Lots of small, narrow streets, cobblestones, trees. Lucy and I owned a house halfway between my apartment and my office, and I still remember how to get there. I loved that house. Loved her too—at least the young, naive love that hasn’t been tested by fire.
She lives in Dover now. Remarried. Two kids. The life I thought I wanted. The life I’m too fucked up to have.
“Mr. Holloway,” the security guard greets me as I enter the six-story office building on Albany Street. “Nice walk today?”
“A quiet one, Chester,” I say as he calls the elevator for me. “Anyone else in yet?”
“Mr. Lawton, Mr. Moana, and Ms. Benew. You have a good day now, Mr. Holloway.”
As the elevator snicks shut, I search out the three dots that mark the button for the sixth floor. As the car rises, my phone’s mechanical voice announces a call as the device in my pocket starts to vibrate.
“Call from: Trevor.”
I tap the earbud with a sigh as the elevator dings. “I’m literally ten steps from the office, Trevor. I’ll talk to you in a minute.” He starts to say something as I disconnect the call, but I’m already at the outer door and push through.
Right into a plastic, sticky wall that wraps itself halfway around me.
“What the actual fuck?” I snap as I try to extricate myself from what feels like tape. My glasses, my hair, my Bluetooth…shit. Even my cane is stuck to the damn stuff.
“Oh, God. Boss. I’m sorry,” Trevor says from the other side of the tape.
“You do realize I’m fucking blind, right?” I let my briefcase slip from my hand as Trevor curses under his breath and starts pulling pieces of tape off of me, taking at least a couple dozen hairs with them. “Watch it, asshole.”
“That’s…uh…what I was calling to tell you,” he says.
“Oh, shit.” Ford’s at my side in another two seconds and gently peels the tape from my glasses. “Trev, what the hell were you thinking?”
“That Clive needed payback for putting lube on my desk chair last week. I called Dax to warn him…”
“Thirty seconds before I walked into…what is this? Packing tape? It’s not like I can see the damn stuff. No more pranks at the office. Period.”
It takes another few minutes for Trevor and Ford to remove the last of the tape, then Ford presses my cane and briefcase back into my hands. I stalk into my office and slam the door.
My eyebrows are still sticky. Fucking pranks. I pinch the bridge of my nose as a headache threatens. Some days, the damage to my eyes, combined with the repeated concussions and side effects from long term exposure to parasites leave me with migraines and cluster headaches. Today’s going to be one of those days.
Ford raps three times on my door. “Can I come in?”
“Do I have a choice?” I pull open my desk drawer and flip the lid on a plastic container of wet wipes. The damn things smell like baby powder, but that’s better than feeling my eyebrow hair stuck together all fucking day. “Tell Trevor to clean that shit up and send out a company-wide memo. Anyone else tries a prank in the office again, they’re fired.”
As Ford shuts the door, he sighs. “I thought you and Ryker used to be your unit’s pranksters.”
“We were. But there’s a big difference between lubing up a toilet seat so a new recruit sinks ass-deep in blue water and putting up a barrier into the office when your boss is blind. This is one of the only two places I ever feel completely safe, Ford. You know that. I will not let anyone take that away from me.”
“Trev and Clive wouldn’t do anything really dangerous. They’re just having fun.” The guest chair across from me creaks as he sits down. “You haven’t called him yet, have you?”
“This again? Don’t you have a job to do? The Aquarium’s Executive Director isn’t going to pay her bill if you can’t give her some assurances her ex-husband is going to jail for a very long time.” Crushing the wet wipe in my fist, I toss it into the trash next to me and boot up my computer. “I don’t want to talk about Ryker, Trevor, Clive, or what a shitty boss I am. I’d rather pay the bills and keep the damn lights on for all the rest of you.”
“I’ll send out the memo,” Ford mutters as he heads for my door. “Try not to be a total dick to Trevor when he briefs you on the embezzlement case he closed last night.”
The walls shake as the door slams again, and I drop my head into my hands. The scent of baby powder clogs my nose, and I suck in a breath through my teeth. Fuck. How did I become the boss who has to be warned not to be an asshole?
“Just wait till Hab tries to put on his boots,” Ryker whispers as he pulls me into a dark corner of the barracks. “Dude’s gonna lose his shit.”
I chuckle at the memory. Two quarts of lube—one in each boot—and it was half an hour before Hab could stand up without doing the splits. I used to be that guy. The joker. Now…
Shit. I don’t know who I am anymore.
My phone rings a little after noon. “Do you have time to speak to a potential new client, Dax? Ford isn’t back from lunch yet.” Marjorie, our receptionist, screens all incoming calls, and Ford normally handles the initial contact.
“Put it through.” Time I started acting like a boss again. “This is Dax Holloway. How can I help you?” I ask.
“Mr. Holloway? I was told to ask for Mr. Lawton.” The light, female voice on the other end of the line is hesitant, with an undercurrent of distrust.
Engaging my voice recorder, I lean back in my chair. “I’m the owner of Second Sight, Ms…?”
“Oh. I’m so sorry. Evianna Archer. I was told you…Second Sight…could help me when the police…can’t.”
Something in her tone raises the hairs on the back of my neck. “Are you in danger, Ms. Archer?”
“No. Um…maybe? I don’t think it’ll come to that. Not really. Kyle’s a kid. I always thought he was harmless. But…” She draws in a shaky
breath, then pauses for so long, I’m about to ask her if she’s okay. “I shouldn’t have called. This is silly. I mean…what are you going to do? Threaten the kid and tell him to stay away from me?”
“That can be effective. I take it you have a stalker?”
“Yes. One of my former employees. I fired him a few days ago, and he hasn’t handled it well.”
“Ms. Archer, stalking can range from mostly harmless to deadly. There’s every chance yours is one of the harmless ones, but come to our office and meet with me and Mr. Lawton—Ford. Bring your police reports and any evidence you’ve collected. Consultation is free. If we think you have cause to worry, we’ll tell you. If not, you’ve only lost an hour.” Something in this woman’s voice drives me to reassure her. To get her in here.
“Um, okay. Thank you for not…I don’t know. For not laughing at me.”
A burst of anger punches me in the solar plexus. This country’s stalking laws are shit, and the police, for all the good they want to do, have their hands tied. “That’s not what we do here. Ever. I’ll need to send you back to Marjorie for scheduling. She’s the only one who has access to everyone’s calendar. But before I transfer you, I need to ask you to do something.”
Evianna sucks in a shaky breath. “All right.”
“Even though the police can’t do much in these cases, if you feel in danger or threatened at any time before we meet, call 911. Can you do that?”
“I’m at work. We have excellent security. But…yes. If anything happens, I’ll call them. Thank you, Mr. Holloway.”
“Dax. You can call me Dax. I look forward to meeting you, Ms. Archer. Be safe.”
Evianna
My hand shakes as I hang up the phone. But I have an appointment at Second Sight in an hour. I can do this. With another cup of coffee. Snagging my mug from the corner of my desk, I head for the coffee machine in the office’s small kitchen.
“Hi, Barry,” I say as our newly promoted lead programmer shuts the fridge door and turns with a can of Mountain Dew in his hand. “What’s the mood out there today?”
He scowls. “You have to ask?”
My brows furrow and I take a step back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Advancing close enough so I have to crane my neck to stare up at him, he gestures to the bullpen—and the very empty desk where Kyle used to sit. “You fired our lead, Ms. Archer. A month before launch. Sonia stayed until midnight last night. Parvin didn’t go home at all.”
“We’re close, Barry. I know this was a hard blow, but—”
“A blow? You really don’t get it, do you? Kyle understood what it means to code. How our minds work.”
Bristling, I slam my cup down on the counter. “Watch your tone, Barry. I paid my dues in this industry. Alfie started from my code. You want to compare script success rates?”
“Bullshit. I’d win. Every time. You’re only here because Mr. Goset needed a pretty face who could speak the language.”
I swallow hard and school my face into a mask of calm. I can’t let him bait me like this. I’m the boss. I need to set an example. And if I lose my shit now, I’ll only confirm his prejudices. “You’re walking a dangerous line,” I lower my voice even more. “Noah may have hired you three months before me, but I’m still your boss. While firing you would put us behind, I won’t tolerate disrespect. From anyone or towards anyone. Get back to work. Now.”
Sinking back against the counter when he stalks back to the bullpen, I blow out a breath. A pretty face. My whole career, I’ve fought against that stereotype. Doing everything I can to hide my curves. Working harder and longer than all the men around me.
And yet, one comment can still send me back to my first job, where the lead developer backed me into a corner and threatened to fire me if I didn’t start…playing nice.
Coffee splashes onto the counter as I fill my mug, and I swallow the sob trying to escape. Get yourself together, Evianna. You’re the CIO for fuck’s sake. And once Alfie’s released, maybe it’ll be…enough. Maybe you’ll finally feel like…enough.
My hair’s a mess, dark brown tendrils escaping my french braid as I rush into the six-story office building only a few blocks from Beacon Hill Technologies and scan the directory for Second Sight.
Once I’m on the elevator, I force out a deep breath and take a moment to compose myself, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear, smoothing my pencil skirt, and stilling my trembling hands.
I can do this.
These guys are supposed to be the best. All former Special Forces, Rangers, and SEALs. One of my sorority sisters hired them a year ago to find her husband. He’d emptied her bank account and fled to Bali after the FBI hauled him in for questioning, suspecting him of selling government secrets to Russia. He was guilty as sin, but they managed to get her money back and collect enough evidence to prove she knew nothing about the spying.
At the reception desk, I offer my name, and a petite older woman with kind brown eyes shows me to a conference room and promises to return with coffee.
Oh wow. Two men rise as I approach, and my jaw drops open. The taller and older of the two wears a hint of gray at his temples and looks like he could bench press a car. The other man…black hair, glasses with reddish tinted lenses, and a strong jaw. A scar angles across his forehead, and his dress shirt molds to broad shoulders.
“Ms. Archer?” The older man extends his hand. “Ford Lawton. This is Dax Holloway, owner of Second Sight.”
Ford meets my gaze, and doubt darkens his hazel eyes as he notes my Rolex, Coach briefcase, and dusky pink manicured nails. “Evianna, please. Thank you for meeting me.”
Turning my attention to Dax, I try to cover my frown. Unlike Ford, he seems to look past me, but his grip is firm, and his voice holds a hint of a southern twang. “Have a seat, Evianna. Did you have any trouble getting here?”
“N-no. My office is only a few blocks from here. I work for Beacon Hill Technologies.” I unzip my briefcase as Dax cocks his head.
“I know that name. Some big home automation solution releasing soon?”
“We’ve barely started advertising, Mr. Holloway. I’m impressed.”
He huffs—part snort, part laugh. “I’ve been following the development rumors for six months. Looking forward to picking up one of your units when they’re available.”
I shift into sales mode. “We launch in ten days with mass availability in two weeks if all goes well. I can set you up with a pre-production unit if you’re interested. You’d still need to purchase the final product, but we’re in beta testing now, and looking for testimonials.”
The receptionist knocks and pokes her head in. “Coffee?”
As she sets cups of rich, black brew in front of each of us, I pull out copies of the police report and the dozen emails Kyle’s sent me over the past few days. Fortified after my first sip, I slide the entire folder across the table towards Dax, but Ford’s the one who pulls out the papers.
“Someone threw a brick at your window?” Ford lets out a low whistle. “And you were in the room?” As I nod, Ford lays the first paper in front of Dax. “Police report,” he says quietly.
Dax sits up a little straighter, fiddles with his ear, then his glasses, and scans the report while Ford looks through the rest of the documents.
“So, you fired this…Kyle Devlin six days ago. And since then, he’s been harassing you, both at the office and at home? That about summarize it?” Ford asks.
I nod, then find my voice. “Yes. He was in clear violation of company protocol. Our non-disclosure agreements are ironclad, and he knew long before he copied our code base that it was a fireable offense.” Rubbing my arm where the bruises have almost faded, I sigh. “The first time I talked to him, he was practically pickled in tequila. But last night…err, this morning…he didn’t look drunk.”
“I don’t suppose you have cameras outside your home?” Ford asks.
Dax arches a brow at his coworker. “I’d be shocked if she didn’
t. Knowing where she works.”
Setting a small USB thumb drive on the table, I smile at Dax, but his expression doesn’t change at all. He seemed so nice on the phone. Even when I walked in. But now, it’s like he doesn’t care at all. “Video from this morning.”
Ford tucks the small drive into his pocket. “We’ll take a look at this later, if that’s all right?”
“Uh, sure.” I take another sip of my coffee, unsure what else to say. “Until he threw the brick, I didn’t consider him…dangerous. I don’t know what I expect you to be able to do, but—”
“Evianna,” Ford says, “why don’t you tell me a little bit about your company. Dax might know all about it, but I don’t.”
Setting the delicate cup back on the saucer, I fold my hands in my lap. “Alfie—the female version of Alfred…like from Batman?—is the next evolution in home automation. She’s not just a digital assistant like the other devices out there. Alfie works with everything else in your home. Your thermostat, refrigerator, light switches, security system, digital calendar…everything.”
Ford chokes on a sip of his coffee. “Like…a robot?”
“You have to listen to Wren more,” Dax says. Resting his fingers on the top of the conference table, he slides them slowly toward one another until he clasps the mug. Odd ritual. But damn. His hands are twice the size of mine. Knuckles that look like they’ve been broken a time or two.
“Evianna?” he asks when I’m quiet for way too long.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night.” Swallowing hard, I hope the blush to my cheeks isn’t too obvious. At least Dax didn’t seem to notice me staring at him. “No, Mr. Lawton. Alfie isn’t a robot.” I pull out one of our spec sheets from my briefcase and show him her photo. “She’s designed to sit on your countertop or on a bookshelf. With a video screen, she’s eight inches in diameter. Without, she’s only five.”
Second Sight: An Away From Keyboard Romantic Suspense Standalone Page 4
