Embrace Me Forever (Hartley Brothers #3)

4. Blake

4

BLAKE

I guide my guest to the reception area, and my arm extends behind her, maintaining a polite distance. I tell Emma, the receptionist, “Ms. Georgia-May Williams is here to see Mr. Hartleys.”

“Welcome to Hartley Marine, Ms. Williams,” Emma greets her and passes me a visitor lanyard, which I help her put on.

“Thanks,” she says.

Sweet smile, bright eyes, and oh-so young. Those twinkles and restrained lip movements. I’ve been around long enough to spot the telltale signs of a crush. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s sending plenty my way.

It’s flattering, no doubt. But I can’t forget that this woman, armed with what she calls a ‘do-or-die proposal’ for Rob and Clayton, isn’t just waving a few red flags. She’s a full-blown storm warning. On a personal note, I’ve uncovered that she’s also a mother, though the identity of her child’s father and the child’s whereabouts remain a mystery. I haven’t looked further into it, partly out of fear of what I might find and partly because it’s straying too far from what I should be concentrating on. My so-called friendly background checks have already gone well beyond mere diligence. Yet, I’m still unsure of the precise threat she poses to Hartley Marine.

“This way, please, Ms. Williams.” I usher her toward the conference room.

“Please, call me Georgia-May.”

“All right, Georgia-May.” Her name rolls off my tongue like a sweet treat, though I’m not here for a taste.

As we step into the core of Hartley Marine, her eyes widen in amazement, as if she can’t quite believe she’s inside a corporate headquarters.

Slowing the pace, I let her take her time to absorb her surroundings. Nobody is ever unimpressed with our HQ, but this guest? Her eyes spark with an innocence I haven’t seen in anyone else. She explores the space with curiosity and awe, her steps light and almost hesitant. It’s as if she has just landed on the moon, and every detail is a new discovery for her.

“It looks like an oasis,” she says, scanning the display of greenery, a variety of exotic plants and flowers catching her attention.

Like that, who could believe she harbors any malice?

For the first time, I wish I were wrong. That I had the wrong Georgia-May Williams in my investigation, or that she had a plausible explanation for her peculiar records and life story—or the lack of it.

Throughout my investigation, the only images I uncovered were her passport and driver’s license photos, both resembling mugshots more than anything else. She exists virtually nowhere online. Her visibility is limited to the scientific papers she authored as a math lecturer. It’s as if this person is one-dimensional, yet being around her, she feels anything but.

When her name first landed on my lap, I pictured someone older, maybe a bit geeky. It’s hard to reconcile the image of a brilliant programmer and mathematician with this young, stunning woman walking beside me. Oh, the biases we carry! It turns out I’m not immune to them either. But still, I’m certain about the accuracy of my work. And God, I hate it when I have to be the bearer of bad news to Rob and Clay.

Georgia-May’s eyes stop at the fishpond nestled at the center. “It’s unbelievable!”

“Mr. Hartley—Rob, the older one—he loves koi.”

“For good luck?” she asks.

“I guess so, and it works, doesn’t it?” I quip.

She chuckles, giving me a gaze that almost makes me blurt out, ‘Who the hell are you?’

This woman stands out in any crowd without even trying. Her brunette hair, styled into a high bun, frames her face with an effortless elegance. After having interacted with her, by now, I should have checked off the red flags I identified in my investigation. Cues in her body language, evasive maneuvers, a too-practiced calm, probing questions, and responses ripe for analysis.

Yet the malevolence I anticipated remains elusive. Her nervousness is unmistakable, and her efforts to suppress it are glaringly apparent. There is no pretense involved. In all other aspects, she appears to be merely herself. Could she be deceiving through her demeanor so effectively that even I am unable to perceive it?

As if sensing my analytical gaze, she turns her wide eyes toward me. Fuck! Is it a defensive reflex or an aggressive challenge? I cannot tell. I manage only a brief moment of contact with those perilous eyes. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, yet what I discern in hers unnerves me. Not because of any connection to Hartley Marine but because, alarmingly, I almost see myself in it, and I am reluctant to confront what else might be revealed.

Kylie, Rob’s assistant, greets us with her characteristic Irish charm, providing a timely diversion.

“Welcome, Ms. Williams! Mr. Hartley and Mr. Hartley will join us soon. A mouthful, I know. I still haven’t figured out how to tell our guests which brother is which when both are present.”

Georgia-May’s smile blooms effortlessly, the famed Kylie effect in full display. That same charm washes over me, offering a momentary reprieve from the intricate web my enigmatic assignment has spun around me.

“If you need anything, just holler,” Kylie offers with a turn. “Though Blake might assist. He’s the strong, silent type, after all.”

Georgia-May laughs, a genuine reaction rather than the forced politeness I expected. She turns back to me, searching for something more than reassurance.

I offer her a blink of confidence, finding myself inexplicably hoping for her success. I always seek the clarity of black and white, and the facts at hand are just that, but not in a way I’m accustomed to. My paperwork paints a grim picture, yet she casts a disarming white glow.

As Kylie and Georgia-May make their way into the conference room, I slip into the media room, a space where I can observe the upcoming meeting. From here, I have a clear view of the room via a camera. I watch as Georgia-May meets with Rob, Clayton, their engineer Rocky, and head of IT, Thomas.

Georgia-May begins her presentation with confidence, detailing the Quantum-Enhanced Oceanic Pathfinding Algorithm—or QEOPA, as she refers to it. To me, it sounds like the name of an exotic fish species from the depths of the Pacific. My role isn’t to grasp the technicalities. The experts in the room are well-equipped for that. But the more I try to unravel her intentions, the more I’m taken by her. She’s a vision that seems to pause time, as if embodying the symmetry of a mathematical equation beyond my grasp.

She continues, “QEOPA is a state-of-the-art system designed to revolutionize marine navigation. For luxury yachts, it offers specialized features that enhance comfort, safety, and overall experience.”

Clayton interrupts, “What makes QEOPA any different from the existing systems? We’ve seen dozens of supposed breakthroughs that didn’t deliver.” Looks like the younger Hartley is trying on the ‘bad cop’ hat in my absence.

But Georgia-May doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, unlike Pi, QEOPA won’t go on forever without getting to the point,” she quips, eliciting a round of laughter from the room. Even I find myself chuckling along.

She continues. “QEOPA leverages quantum computing to process navigational data at unprecedented speeds. This means more accurate predictions and adjustments in real-time, significantly reducing the risk of human error, and it’s stabler than the current, more common GPS version.”

They delve deeper into the codes and calculations, discussing aspects such as oceanic condition analysis and satellite imagery. She acknowledges that the system is still in its prototype phase.

“I’m developing a larger-scale version, customizable for different types and sizes of fleets,” she explains, “I’m sure I’ll be able to meet Hartley Marine’s requirements should you decide to proceed.”

Thomas chimes in, his tone curious. “What about software security? With such advanced technology, isn’t it a prime target for cyber-attacks?”

Admiring her beautiful face, I find myself silently cheering her on, hoping she delivers the perfect response.

She acknowledges the concern. “Absolutely. That’s why QEOPA is built with multiple layers of security, including quantum encryption, that makes it virtually impenetrable. I’ve also integrated continuous monitoring and adaptive defenses that learn and evolve with potential threats.”

Rocky fires another question about the system’s compatibility with the older fleet, and she responds calmly, her answer clearly enthralling the seasoned engineer.

Leaning back in my seat, I exhale deeply, relieved for her, yet overwhelmed by a sense of personal despair. Black and white—is that all there is to this life?

I gaze at Georgia-May, radiant as she concludes her presentation. Should I trust the hard evidence laid out on paper, or should I listen to my feelings?

Shifting forward, I rub my face in frustration. I fucking hate myself right now. Feelings? They should be anathema to any seasoned PI. Yet here I am, perhaps proving I’m still human. Whether that’s a virtue or a vice, I can’t say. Right now, it feels like my gut is dissolving, like a chocolate bar left under the sun.

While my focus has been on finding flaws in this woman, now I find myself captivated by her curves, accentuated by her tightly fitted skirt. Her blazer is casually open, revealing a hint of silk blouse beneath, with two buttons undone. After years of discipline, detachment, and dispassion, forgotten sensations are beginning to resurface, stirring something within me that feels both ancient and dangerous.

God, this is all fucked up!

I straighten in my seat, pressing my thighs together, trying to banish thoughts that are anything but professional. I told myself she might be a challenge I badly needed, sending my mind buzzing like a sniffer dog at a luggage carousel. She is a challenge, all right, but I never imagined it would be this kind. The kind that tests the very core of my morals.

The presentation wraps up, and from their expressions, it’s clear that Rob and Clayton are impressed. Kylie leads Georgia-May back to the lobby where I’m waiting.

“Thanks for coming, Ms. Williams,” Kylie says. “Blake will take care of you now.” She casts a glance at me, then gives Georgia-May an appraising look. “Between you and me, he’s got the heart of a lion. Even if he drinks tea like a kitten.”

Georgia-May’s laughter rings out, carefree and light, as if she’s shedding the last traces of nerves from her presentation. I’m not privy to what the two ladies discussed between the conference room and the lobby, but they seem to have bonded almost instantly, like long-lost friends.

And here I am, still spinning my yin-yang, deciding where I should draw the line. “Let me take you back to the airport,” I offer, striving to sound detached.

Georgia-May shakes her head. “Thank you, but I think I’ll take a cab.”

I keep my expression polite, though her decision unsettles me for two reasons. She might be hiding what’s next on her agenda, and I’m not quite ready to let her walk away. But I don’t press further. “I’ll call one for you. It’s Hartley’s usual company, so there won’t be any charge,”

Despite her relief, it’s clear the meeting has taken a lot out of her. The exhaustion is evident in the subtle droop of her shoulders and the sagging of her eyelids.

The cab pulls up, and I exchange a quick tap on the doorframe with the driver as I open the door for her. “Play some country, will you?” I quip.

“Anything for passenger comfort,” the driver replies with a familiar grin.

Out of the blue, as if releasing the burden on her shoulders one last time, Georgia-May leans into me and wraps her arms around me in a loose embrace. But I feel her—my God, don’t I feel her.

A rush of tingling energy takes over my chest as I return the hug.

“Thank you, Mr. Blake,” she murmurs. It’s a different kind of thank you, filled with the depth of affection only a woman can give.

Eyes can lie, smiles can deceive, but genuine appreciation is almost impossible to fake. With years of PI experience under my belt, I’m accustomed to slicing through dilemmas. Yet, the more I try to analyze her, the more I struggle to regain the skeptical edge that has defined me all these years.

“Take care, Ms. Williams,” I finally manage as she releases her hug and hops into the cab.

Back in Rob’s office, I manage to shake off the unease from the encounter. This time, it’s not about Georgia-May’s cover, but my own heart wrestling with the ‘what ifs.’

The brothers, along with Rocky and Thomas, start discussing their findings.

“Damn, that was one of the best presentations I’ve seen in a while,” Rocky says. “She cut right to the chase. Where the hell has she been hiding? We could’ve used this when we launched the next-gen Pentela collection.”

Clayton raises his brows, clearly agreeing with Rocky’s point.

The engineer then turns to Thomas. “The details are more in your wheelhouse, my friend. As long as her program doesn’t sink a boat, I’m on board.”

“There’s a lot to unpack in the code, but she knows her stuff,” Thomas says. The head of IT is barely in his mid-twenties. It’s astonishing just how sharp these young people are.

“Thanks for your time, guys,” Rob concludes the meeting. “Rocky, put together a case study for both our old and new fleets so Thomas can start testing the prototype. Clayton and I need to have a word with Blake.”

“On it, boss,” Thomas says. “I’ll set up an isolated test environment to check for viruses or malicious code.”

Rocky and Thomas head out without a fuss.

As the door clicks shut, Rob turns to me. “I gave her the check.”

“You did?” I gape, but there’s a spark of joy knowing she succeeded.

“No biases,” the oldest Hartley says lightly, but his gaze on me is intense. “But as Clay told me, you couldn’t resist playing Sherlock, could you?”

I give a half-shrug, acknowledging he’s right.

He then adds, “I can tell you, Blake. If it’s bad news, I’ll be in denial.”

Clayton nudges me, grinning. “Come on, spill it.”

I’ve been in this business long enough to spot a red flag, and Georgia-May is waving a whole parade of them. Yet, I want to give her the benefit of the doubt, searching for some kind of explanation that suggests she doesn’t have malevolent intentions.

But my loyalty rests unequivocally with Rob and Clayton. They are my family. My role is clear: to safeguard them without any ambiguity. Whatever conflicting emotions may be stirring within me, they must take a back seat. I have to present them with the facts.

“She’s not who she says she is,” I begin. “No social media, nothing about her on the net except for the address she gave us in her proposal and her part-time position at the University of Colorado. She lives alone, and she works remotely as a contractor for a gaming company.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Clay says.

“No, you’re right,” I reply.

“But?”

I exhale. “She doesn’t own a credit card, maintains a single checking account where her university salary is deposited, and only withdraws cash, never making direct transactions from her account. And here’s the first major red flag. There’s no evidence that Obsidian Moon has ever paid her.”

“But you spoke to her manager there, right?” Clayton says.

“Yes, a British chap named Christian Cartwright. He confirmed her work for the company.”

“Bitcoins at play here?” Clayton says.

“Dammit,” says Rob.

“She has a passport and a driver’s license, but I ran a background check using government and non-government databases. No other details. And take a look at who’s registered as her birth parents.” I display photos of Tony and Eva Williams. “Both deceased, and notably, they bear no resemblance to her.”

“Could she have been adopted then?” Clayton interjects.

“Possibly, but again, there are no records to confirm that,” I assert. “These are red flags number two, three, and four.”

“Damn. I’m in denial!” Rob slumps into the chair behind him. “Her work is amazing, and she seems down to Earth, easy to work with. I bet she’s pulled plenty of all-nighters to get this far.”

“Probably living off pizzas, just like we did building the Peregrine,” Clayton quips, mentioning the hyper-speed boat that got Rob the water speed world record. The two brothers worked on it relentlessly, like college students cramming for finals.

My head bows a little when I reveal, “She has a child, but the father is unknown, and what’s more concerning is that the child isn’t listed as living with her.”

Rob frowns, searching for an explanation. “She lives in an apartment. Some landlords aren’t keen on tenants with children. Maybe she’s keeping it quiet because of that.”

I appreciate his tendency to see the best in people, as he did with me. But something more sinister is going on. “I can look into it further, but let me tell you what else I found about the child. There’s a record of her giving birth to a baby girl in a Texas hospital. After that, there’s no trace of the child.”

Clayton shakes his head. “She’s been moving around, then.”

I continue, “Her history doesn’t go back more than six years. The only verifiable details are her connections with the University of Colorado, proven by her published academic papers, and her work with Obsidian Moon Interactive. At least, that’s what her manager, Christian Cartwright, told me.”

Rob asks, “What did you find about Obsidian Moon itself?”

“It’s all aboveboard. Legitimate operations, real clients.”

Clayton sinks into his chair. “This isn’t looking good.”

“A person with no history is a risky proposition,” I say. “But someone who doesn’t seem to have a life is more than an enigma. They’re a wild card you don’t want to play.”

Clayton says, “I concur.” Then his fighter-jet pilot eyes hone in on me like he’s targeting a rogue cloud. “And like you, Blake, I want her to be real .”

I flatten my lips, feeling like a magician caught with a hidden card up his sleeve. The younger Hartley knows my thoughts are straying far from the professional realm. I want Georgia-May to be real beyond the boundaries that these brothers are debating. An apologetic look is all I can muster, trusting it conveys, ‘Sorry, the outcome isn’t what we’d hoped for.’

Rob decides, “Let’s assume a high-dollar player is backing her. One of our competitors, perhaps? Or a newcomer trying to get a piece of our pie?”

“I haven’t found anything on that, strangely. Maybe it’s an underground company operating under the radar or one based overseas using different channels to avoid detection,” I reply.

“Keep digging, Blake,” Rob says. “Clay and I will be in Europe for the next few weeks. We’ll snoop around and see if we can detect any bad blood, though we know you’re the real bloodhound here.” He winks.

I scoff, but I like their idea.

“In the meantime, I’ll continue touching base with Rocky and Thomas to unwrap exactly what we’ve bought for 30G,” Clayton says.

“I do want her to be legitimate, Blake. Believe me,” Rob says, looking into my eyes. “But let’s treat her like any other potential supplier. Or may I say, possible threat.”

“I’m on it, Rob,” I assure him. “And because I regard you as more than just my bosses, I’m going to address the elephant in the room.” I dart a look at Clayton. “You might think I’ve got a soft spot for Ms. Williams, but my loyalty is rock solid. Always.”

“We know, tough guy.” Clay taps my shoulder firmly, the trademark gesture saying he trusts me.

“We should invite her back when you return from your trip,” I propose.

Clay smiles. “Are you suggesting we do that regardless of Rocky’s and Thomas’ findings?”

“Yes. Let’s flush everything out of her,” I press. “I may find her puppet master, but there must be a reason why she’s in this position. Maybe she’s trying to protect someone, or perhaps she’s been coerced into this role. Understanding her true motive could reveal a lot about the bigger picture.”

My bosses give me the green light to run with the idea.

As I leave the office, I pull out my phone and call the cab driver who took Georgia-May.

“So, did she stop anywhere? Make any phone calls?” I ask, bracing myself for the answers.

“No. We went straight to the airport. She got on the flight to Denver without looking back.”

A good sign, albeit a small one in the scheme of things. “All right,” I say. “Did she say anything unusual during the ride?”

“No, sir. She was quiet all the way. Although, at one point, she was in tears.”

“Tears? Did she mention why?” I probe.

“She simply said she was all right when I asked, nothing more.”

“Have you got a clue why?”

“Well, I’m just a driver, Mr. Blake. That’s all I can tell.”

This guy usually has a theory for everything, especially when he suspects someone might be up to no good. Clearly not this time.

I swivel in my chair, imagining the possibilities. Could she have been releasing all the nerves she’d been carrying? Was she grateful it was all over and the money was hers? Or was it the pressure of facing what’s next?

“What was playing then?” I ask.

“Country, like you asked.”

“What song?”

“Uh, I think…” He pauses, caught between surprise and recollection, clearly not used to a mundane question coming from me. “It was one of Gabby Barrett’s. Something about growing up. Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s it.”

I was surprised when she told me she liked country music, a genre I’ve always linked to simplicity. Such a contrast to the intricate network of neurons that define her intellect. A quick search brings up the song, uncovering its meaning. A mother’s heartfelt message to her daughter.

The connection tugs at my empathy, adding another layer to the enigma that is her and another level of peril to my already fragile objectivity. Challenges are my specialty, yet for the first time, one is slowly crushing me. I’m torn between the professional and the personal, wrestling with emotions I didn’t realize still existed.

No matter the reason, I know one thing for sure. I’m heading to Denver, and I won’t stop until I uncover every last secret she’s hiding.