Second Sight: An Away From Keyboard Romantic Suspense Standalone

by Patricia D. Eddy

  In the end, I unplug her and stow her in my file cabinet. I wouldn’t put it past Barry to sneak into my office and take her—just so he can show me up and figure out what’s wrong with her before I can. Jerk.

  I don’t make it three steps out of the elevator before Dax is at my side. “Let’s get home,” he says.

  “Wait.” Glancing around at the empty lobby—it’s well after 7:00 p.m. And even the security guard’s gone for the day—I pull him over to the couches in the corner. “There’s no one here. Can we talk for a minute?”

  “Did you check the potential hiding places you told me about this afternoon?” He arches a brow, his slight drawl the only thing that keeps his words from sounding like he’s a complete ass.

  With a sigh, I shake my head. “No. Not all of them. Wait here?”

  “You did not just ask me to let you go off alone when you admit there might be danger.” Grabbing my hand, he pulls me to my feet. “Take me around the lobby and check everywhere.”

  “Fine,” I grumble. When I’ve checked the bathrooms, the stairwell, and behind the couches, I drop his hand. “Satisfied, Mr. Overprotective?”

  “Yes.” The corners of his lips twitch slightly, and God. He’s got that whole damaged, ruggedly handsome vibe going on, and I just want to go back to his place and tear his clothes off. If I weren’t still worried for my life.

  “I found something today.” Sitting, I pull one of the pages of Kyle’s notebook out of my bag. “Can you do the thing…with your glasses? So you can read this?”

  Dax taps the Bluetooth in his ear twice, then presses a tiny, black button on the upper right corner of his glasses before holding a hand out for the page.

  “What does P-R-O-C 2-8-t-2-9 mean?”

  “I have no idea. But this is Kyle’s. There’s a whole notebook full of random words, bits of code. It’s going to take me days to get through, but I couldn’t risk reading much of it in the office.”

  Dax scans the rest of the page, the letters and numbers, partial subroutines, rantings and nonsense. “Evianna, this could all be nothing.”

  “I know. But it could also be something. I want to go to Kyle’s apartment. You can…um…get us in there? Wren said he’d disappeared.” I can’t believe I’m asking this man—this former soldier—to commit a potential felony. But I know I’m right. There’s something Kyle knows, and if I can get into his place, maybe I can figure it out.

  “She found him.” Dax takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. Under the scars, dark smudges bruise his skin, and when he drops his hands, strain is etched in deep lines on his face. “He’s in prison.”

  “Oh shit. For what? Did he try to hurt someone else?” My heart hammers in my chest, and I clutch Dax’s forearm, my fingers digging into the corded muscle.

  He covers my hand with his, and the contact settles me. “No, darlin’. He…wanted to get arrested. He gave them a fake name, and when I went to see him, he refused to talk to me.”

  “You w-went there? And they let you talk to him?” I don’t understand any of this. Why would Kyle want to go to jail?

  “Well, they let Matthew Jones, Esquire talk to him.” A weak chuckle rasps over Dax’s throat.

  “You’re a lawyer?”

  “No, darlin’. But any PI worth his salt has a couple of fake IDs. Just in case. Plus, keeps my name off of any official paperwork. Dax Holloway has Top Secret security clearance, and some of the shit we have to do to help clients would get that taken away damn quick.”

  Oh. I’m not sure why I’m surprised. From the start, he and Ford offered to…threaten Kyle if he didn’t leave me alone. I should be upset, but instead, I’m thankful someone’s on my side.

  “He didn’t say anything? Kyle?” I fiddle with the strap of my briefcase, unable to take my eyes off the papers tucked in the side pocket.

  “He said one thing. And I don’t know what the fuck he was talking about. As they took him back to the holding cell, he said, ‘Tell Evianna I’m sorry for ruining her fancy sneakers.”

  “My what?”

  “That doesn’t mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  Dax shakes his head and curses under his breath. “The kid was scared. But he sounded lucid.”

  “So…can we go? To Kyle’s apartment?” I can’t help feeling like there’s something there.

  Withdrawing his hand, Dax’s relaxed posture turns rigid again. “No. I can’t protect you if anything happens. We’re not going. I can send Vasquez when his shift starts in a little over an hour.”

  “Can’t the three of us go? Vasquez won’t know what he’s looking for. I don’t know that I will either, but unless Vasquez has some secret tech skills you haven’t told me about… Have you eaten? We could grab dinner and wait for him.”

  When he doesn’t immediately agree, I slide a little closer. “Kyle may not be a danger to me, but whoever is…what if they’re looking for the same thing we are? Something that ties all of this together. I know this notebook means something. But the few pages I looked at in my office read like nothing more than crazy, fragmented ramblings. I know Kyle. Or…I knew him. He’s neither of those things.”

  “Do you expect me to just let you walk into a dangerous situation unprotected? You hired us to protect you, Evianna. You go to work, and you go back to my place. That’s it. And never alone.”

  “I expect you to treat me like an adult. Vasquez will be available in an hour. And we need to eat anyway. No one’s going to try to kill me in a restaurant. That would be insanely stupid. So call Vasquez and have him meet us somewhere, and then we can check out Kyle’s apartment afterwards.” I hope the strength I’ve forced into my tone convinces him. I don’t know why I feel like there’s something at Kyle’s, but…I know there is.

  “You’re not going to leave this alone. Are you?” Dax says with a sigh.

  “Nope.”

  He taps his Bluetooth. “VoiceAssist, text message to Vasquez. Message reads: Meet us at Nona Guiseppe’s at 8:00 p.m.” After a pause, he continues, “Send message.”

  “Nona Guiseppe’s?” I ask when he tucks his phone back into his pocket.

  “Italian place I know. Private and discreet. It’s only a couple of blocks from here. Let’s go so I can tell the driver I don’t need him any more tonight. If we can get the booth in the back, you can tell me more about what’s in this notebook.”

  19

  Dax

  I don’t know why I’m doing this. Taking Evianna to a restaurant? Is this…a date? Or a business dinner? I know what I want it to be. Her scent calms me. When I offer her my elbow—not for her to guide me, but just to have her close—something stirs inside me.

  “What…do you do?” Evianna asks as we turn down Washington Street. “I mean…Wren hacks into traffic cameras and runs facial recognition and stuff. Vasquez and Ronan are surveillance?”

  “They’re in training. Vasquez joined us four months ago. Ronan, two. In a year, they’ll be taking on their own cases. Protective details, investigations.”

  She’s going to ask me how I can contribute to a company that depends on being able to see your target. My head throbs, and I’m clenching my jaw so hard, I feel like someone’s driving a metal spike through my skull.

  “What about you?” Evianna gives my arm a squeeze and presses herself a little closer to me.

  “I…keep things running. Pay the bills.” I know she expects more, but I don’t feel like justifying my entire existence when all I want to do is get her back to my place and lock her in so she’ll be safe. Though, if I do, will I be safe? From her?

  We don’t speak again until we’re seated in a booth in the back, and the young-sounding server has brought us two glasses of Chianti.

  “You do more than pay the bills,” Evianna says quietly. “Why won’t you admit it?”

  “Because I stand out enough as it is. I don’t feel like explaining my skills to every potential client, then hearing the disbelief in their voices when they question me.” />
  “I’m…just like every other potential client?”

  I curse under my breath at the harsh edge to her tone. “Dammit. You know you’re not.”

  “Then talk to me.”

  After the server takes our order—two spinach lasagnas—I settle back against the vinyl booth. “What do you know about the Special Forces?”

  “Um…you’re highly trained? You do things no one else can or will? Like the SEALs or the Army Rangers?”

  I fight a smile. “Frogmen don’t have anything on us.”

  “Frogmen?” Her light laugh settles me.

  “That’s what we call the SEALs.” A sip of wine helps loosen my tongue, and I drape my right arm over the back of the booth. Evianna settles closer to me, and I touch my nose to her hair. I might never be able to get enough of her. “Special Forces training is…different. We’re not always the most capable. A SEAL sniper might beat one of us on the range every day of the week. But we’re the most adaptable. We blend in. We’re trained to assess a situation and diffuse it. To work with the locals. Most members of my—” my voice cracks, “—detachment spoke at least six languages. We study micro-expressions, local customs. We blend in.”

  “I had no idea.” Respect infuses her tone, and she shifts—I think to pick up her wine glass. “So…what do you do for Second Sight? Besides paying the bills?”

  “I listen.” After another sip of wine, I search for a way to explain how I do what I do. “I was trained to hear the truth in someone’s voice.” Turning towards her, I slide my hand up her arm to her shoulder, finding a thick lock of hair I let slip through my fingers. “When you’re overwhelmed, your voice gets this raspy tremble. When you’re aroused, the tremble turns…husky. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the two. I can.”

  “So, what am I feeling now, soldier?” Her breath ghosts over my cheek, and I’m about to answer when her stomach growls.

  “Hungry.”

  Evianna bumps her shoulder into mine. “Big mystery there. So this listening thing…”

  “That’s why I go to all the initial client meetings. We occasionally find people who want to hire us for illegal practices. I can tell. It’s in how they tell their story. The words they use. Someone who’s lying will use the same words over and over again. Their story won’t change. A person telling the truth naturally varies the language when recounting the same facts over and over again. It’s human nature.”

  The server delivers our lasagna, and I clench my hands under the table. After six years, I shouldn’t be so fucking embarrassed about asking for help. “Evianna, can you…um…describe my plate?”

  Her breath stutters for a moment—and even after a few days, I know this means she’s confused. “It’s…a rectangle of lasagna with two slices of bread and a small dish of olives.”

  “Pretend the plate’s a clock,” I manage through clenched teeth.

  “Oh. Um…the lasagna’s at nine. The olives are in a tiny bowl at two. And the bread is criss-crossed at…um…they’re diagonal from three to six. Is that…?”

  “Fine.” I find my fork without too much trouble and scoop up a piece of pasta so I don’t have to continue this conversation. It’s so hot it burns the roof of my mouth, but I don’t care. Anything to help me forget I’m going to need help for the rest of my life.

  “Dax?” Evianna asks softly. “I’m going to touch you, okay?”

  I don’t respond, instead fumbling for a piece of the bread, but my hands aren’t steady and the bread tumbles off the plate. Evianna’s fingers brush the top of my thigh. “Got it. I’m putting it at the top of the plate. Twelve o’clock.”

  I nod my thanks, but then she returns her hand to my leg. “Don’t, Evianna. This…this was a bad idea.”

  “Dinner? Dax, I know you can’t really see me, but you’ve had your arms around me. You know I’m not…a supermodel. And I haven’t eaten since this morning. Dinner is always a good idea.”

  Her self-deprecating laugh hints at her insecurities, and mine fade into the background. “You’re…perfect.”

  “Hardly.” With another laugh, this one decidedly sad, she links our fingers. “I’m carrying an extra thirty pounds. At least.”

  “Don’t put yourself down, Evianna. Not around me. Not ever.” Sliding my arm around her, I appreciate the generous curve of her hips. “You’re brilliant. And capable. But…that’s not all. You think about other people. About their needs. And you do it effortlessly.”

  “You’re a puzzle,” she says quietly. “One I want to solve.”

  I don’t want to let her go, but if this goes on much longer, I won’t be able to walk away from this woman. Easing back, I pick up my fork and manage to scoop up a halfway decent bite of lasagna. “A puzzle?”

  "Yes. You’re almost like…two different people. The Dax who’s protective, who makes jokes, who seems to actually like people, or at least…likes me. And then there’s the other Dax. The one who hates himself. Who thinks he’s damaged. Worthless. The one who’s ashamed to be who he is.” Evianna picks up her wine glass and her voice muffles slightly. “I wish I could convince that second guy he’s every bit as worthy as the first one.”

  “Boss?” Vasquez says as we exit the restaurant. “Ten o’clock. Got the Land Rover today.”

  I slide into the backseat after Evianna and turn to face her. “Are you sure about this? Vasquez can go on his own.”

  “I’m sure. Kyle was a good kid. I hired him. He was my top developer. But I looked at his stats today. For the past three weeks, his bug resolution rate fell to almost nothing. He started assigning his work to the other devs so he could spend all day, every day, combing through the code. But I don’t know what he was looking for.” Evianna slips her hand over mine. “We need to get inside his apartment, Dax. Please.”

  With a sigh, I tell Vasquez to head for Kyle’s, then link my fingers with hers. This is a bad idea. Going somewhere I’ve never been? With a woman I have…feelings for?

  But if we can’t find out who’s after her, it won’t be long before I’ll have to hand her protection over to someone else. And then…will she still want me?

  The fifteen minute drive to Kyle’s apartment passes in silence, and when Vasquez opens the back door, I climb out and hold out my hand for Evianna’s. I don’t want to let her go. Not now. Not when I don’t know how much longer I have to be close to her.

  Kyle lives on the third floor, and this building doesn’t have an elevator. Instead, the cast iron stair rails wind around the center of the building. Vasquez’s footsteps echo on the floors, and Evianna holds my free hand.

  A door opens behind me, then shuts a second later, but I swear I heard a muffled groan.

  “Shit. Boss…that was the guy. Louie,” Vasquez says. “He just shoved somebody into a stairwell down the hall and started for the street.”

  “Go! Get him!” I wrap my arm around Evianna and urge her up the stairs. “We’re getting into Kyle’s apartment right now.”

  Up another floor, and Evianna squeezes my hand. “His door’s right here. But…it’s locked.”

  From the pocket of my jacket, I withdraw a pair of black gloves, tug them on, then pull out my wallet.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Picking the lock.” The tiny kit fits in one of the credit card slots in my billfold, and I break it apart, holding up the thin metal pieces.

  After I find the key hole, it takes me less than a minute to open the door.

  “You’re…scary,” Evianna says.

  I lace our fingers together. “You’re my eyes, darlin’. And you have to see everything. Do not let go of my hand, no matter what. Anything out of the ordinary, you tell me immediately.”

  20

  Evianna

  Dax pushes the door open, and I stare. “Oh my God.”

  “What?” His fingers tighten on mine. “Evianna? You’re my eyes, remember?”

  His sharp tone pulls me out of my shock. “It’s been…uh…tossed. Be c
areful. The floor’s a mess.” I take two steps forward, then use my foot to shove the fallen coat rack over. “Stay right behind me and I’ll make sure there’s a path.”

  Transferring his hand to my waist, I shuffle forward a few steps.

  “Don’t touch anything. Fingerprints,” he warns.

  “Um, can I have one of your gloves?”

  After he’s passed me one of the thin black gloves, I reach down and pick up Kyle’s broken laptop. “They took the hard drive out of his laptop. And I think stomped on the screen.”

  “What do you see? Just stop and look around. Is there a pattern? Anywhere the damage is…concentrated?” He’s tense, the rigid muscles of his chest pressing against my back.

  Scanning the small living room and tiny kitchen, I try to figure out what might be important. “The couch cushions are ripped open. There’s a desk in the corner. The drawers are halfway across the room—and empty. One of them’s broken—again, like the guy slammed his foot down on the particle board.

  “So he was angry. Start there.”

  A few feet at a time, we make our way to the desk. A down jacket’s ripped open, and my steps kick up feathers. Dislodging his hand from my waist, I give his fingers a squeeze. “I need to move around a little bit to see what’s here. I won’t go more than arm’s length.”

  He blows out a breath, nodding. “I don’t like this, darlin’. Be quick.”

  Every time he calls me darlin’, I melt a little. The hint of the south, the tenderness…I could get used to hearing him call me darlin’ every day. With a shake of my head, I focus on the mess in front of me as I sink to my knees.

  “There’s another notebook here. From the office. Same brand. A bunch of pages are missing, but some have writing on them.”

  “Take it with you.”

  I tuck it under my arm. “The rest is mostly junk. Pens, paperclips, a checkbook. Normal stuff.”

  “Where’s the bedroom?” Dax holds out his hand, and I let him pull me up. “To the left?”