Chapter 1
Present
All it takes isa stalker and some serial killers to make every resident of Stone Bay want a security system installed or a private investigator to spy on questionable loved ones.
Shit news for the town.
Great news for Tymber Woulf Security and Investigative Services.
Even better news for my bank account. Not that I need the money. But it is nice to know I have backup funds for the random occasions my father decides to throw a holier-than-thou tantrum and threaten my financial future. A future he technically has no control over.
Five years ago, when I was neck-deep in studying for sophomore finals at college, I met Tymber. In a coffee shop not far from campus, I sipped on caffeine, blocked the world out with noise-canceling headphones, and fixated on my notes. Tymber sat down at the table next to me, opened his laptop, and started futzing with a program he was writing.
When I came up for air and sat back in my seat, I glimpsed his frustration and the lines of code on his screen. Sliding off my headphones, I introduced myself, told him I was studying computer sciences, and asked if he needed help.
Though I’d learned more about computers prior to college, there were some ethical components to the technology that were new.
That day in the coffee shop changed my life. Other than Oliver, I’d never formed such a fast friendship.
Now Tymber is more my brother than my friend.
As for Oliver… our connection has always been stronger than friendship. Indescribable and far from familial. Constant. Intimate.
Shortly after Tymber’s cyber security program took off, he asked if I wanted to join the business. If I wanted to be a part of the next big thing. Fresh out of college and eager to get my hands dirty, I said yes without hesitation.
When he wanted to expand from cyber security to residential, I expressed my lack of enthusiasm. I didn’t want to live in the city—not that being near my father was a better choice. I also didn’t want to do what’s already been done. There was nothing new in home security.
Wanting me on his team and refusing to take no for an answer, Tymber pestered me every waking hour until I agreed. But I had stipulations. The biggest one… I would not deal with customers directly. I was in it for the tech, not the people.
Late last fall, Tymber Woulf Security boomed again.
Wanting a physical location for the ever-expanding business, Tymber mentioned buying land and erecting a brick-and-mortar space in Stone Bay. Though he loved the city, it’d become too noisy, too in your face. And after a long day, all he wanted was quiet.
To sweeten the deal, I told him I’d chip in if he added investigative services. He jumped at the chance.
Just after shit hit the fan in Stone Bay last year, we opened the doors to the new business. With me as a partner with Tymber, I assumed one of the founders would come to us to help investigate the murders.
Not a single one did.
Had they, they would’ve had answers much sooner. There would’ve been less death on their hands.
Live and learn, I suppose.
A knock on my closed office door steals my attention and I growl. Tymber never knocks. He always shoots a text or an IM if he needs something.
“What?” I bark out.
The door slowly opens and a newer employee pokes their head inside. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. West. It’s just…”
When they don’t continue, I peer up from my screens and take in their worried expression. “What?”
They cringe. “I think the server is broken.”
Not fucking possible.
My molars gnash together and I audibly exhale. “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
They are obviously unaware the servers we use are in the cloud. Yes, in some undisclosed remote location, there are physical machines running, processing, and storing all our data. In a server farm. In a controlled environment capable of handling our programs and networks.
And last I checked, we have more than enough storage and security to meet our needs.
I shove my chair back, rise from my seat, swipe up my phone, and head for the door. “Show me.”
They lead me to their desk and show me how the account they’re working on continues to crash.
Eyes scanning the screen, I find the problem before I reach the bottom. The crashes have nothing to do with servers. They have nothing to do with machines at all. No, the issue is one-hundred-percent user error.
Which irritates me more.
I point out the issue, tell them a resolution, and then remind them of the reference manuals we have readily available for all employees.
Sheepish expression in place, they thank me.
I don’t let it pass so easily. I don’t have the time, patience, or money to deal with incompetent people. Were this a basic job that didn’t require intelligence, I wouldn’t give a shit.
But it’s not.
We deal with private information and people’s safety. Blood, sweat, frustration, and several years of planning built this company. Pleading with and schmoozing high-end clients for years to gain trust was far from easy. But eventually, we won them over and rightfully earned their confidence.
After all the work Tymber and I have put into the business, the last thing this company needs is for shit to go haywire, information to leak, and to be hit with millions of dollars in lawsuits.
I’m not an asshole. But I refuse to put up with incompetence.
“I’m s-sorry, Mr. West. I’ll d-do better.”
Yeah, you will. Or I’ll fire your ass. That’s what I want to say.
Instead, I give a gentle dip of my chin. “See that you do.”
As I turn back for my office, I spot Tymber on the opposite side of the open floor plan. He lifts his chin in way of greeting, then tips his head toward the conference room.
I love what I do, I love running this business with my friend, but damn do I loathe the meetings and office politics. Just let me sit in front of my computer and do what I do best—research and code.
“Wanted to talk with you first.” Tymber closes the door as I pass.
“What’s up?”
Tymber pulls out a chair and sits. Folding my arms over my chest, I stand near the head of the table.
“I need to shift their tasks.” He tips his head toward the large glass wall separating us from the cluster of cubicles in the main room.
“Okay…” He doesn’t need my approval to change employee tasks or workload.
He reaches up, presses his thumb and finger to his brows, then strokes the length of them until he reaches his temples. On an audible breath, his hand falls away. The lines of tension near the corners of his eyes and between his brows steal my attention.
I want to ask what happened. What has him frustrated. But I bite the inside of my cheek and wait. In time and when he is ready, Tymber will share what’s eating at him.
“Got off the phone with a buddy of mine from the city.” He leans back and stares toward the ceiling, eyes unfocused.
Minute-long seconds pass as I wait for him to add more. To clue me in on what has him so distressed.
Did someone pass away? Is he taking leave and putting me in charge of everything until he returns?
Before I agreed to partner with him, we talked about this shit. I don’t want to be the person people come to about petty bullshit.
Technical problems? All good.
Issues requiring sympathy? Not really my area of expertise.
Heartless, I am not. A hermit that speaks when he has something worth saying or is comfortable with the present company is a better description. I’m not not a people person. I’m just selective about who I choose as my people.
“He hired us for investigation work.”
If Tymber is this frazzled after the conversation, it isn’t because his buddy wants to spy on a romantic partner. Whatever this case is, it’s legit. Important. A big deal.
A shot of adrenaline hits my bloodstream and sends my pulse into overdrive. The voice in my head screams in victory as I give a mental high five to the powers that be. It’s about time a substantial job landed in our laps.
The corners of my mouth twitch as I fight the start of a smile. “That’s incredible, T.”
“It is.” He nods. “And it isn’t.”
My enthusiasm dies. “I don’t understand.”
Rolling back his chair, he rises and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m lightening your workload so you can focus on this.”
I nod. “Yeah. Sure, man.”
He levels me with a steady, unreadable gaze. “I’ll explain more after I reassign your work. But Levi…” Swiping a hand over his jaw, he adds, “No one can know what you’re working on.”
Most days, the only person familiar with the tasks on my docket is Tymber. My current workload isn’t classified or hidden from employees. I just don’t make it my business to share every facet of my life—professionally or personally.
“Not a problem.”
On an exhale, he jerks his head toward the door. “Let me deal with them.” Eyes unfocused, he nods. “Meet you in your office after.” And then he disappears from the room.
“There’s been an uptick in missing persons in the Northwest.” Tymber sits in a chair opposite me at the small table in my office. “My buddy in the Washington missing persons division says numbers have doubled in Washington and Oregon since last year.” He tips his head back and stares at the ceiling. “Government funding means limited resources and access.”
A soft growl fills the room.
“And since someone higher up deprioritized the recent missing persons for other tasks, the cases have been left to collect dust.”
My brows pinch in confusion. “So missing persons stopped searching for missing people?”
Exasperation and disbelief mar his forehead as he levels me with his gaze. “Seems to be the case.”
What the actual fuck?
I get that the unit may be overwhelmed. I get that they may have lost funding or staff. But what a piss-poor excuse to stop looking for missing citizens. Seek outside resources. Fundraise to help pay workers. Invite others to aid in research.
But never stop looking.
“What part do we play in this? If they’ve lost funding, are we doing this pro bono?”
“Our focus is one individual in particular. But finding them may lead to others.” Tymber sits taller in his chair and pulls his phone from his pocket. After a few taps on the screen, he sets the phone on the table and spins it to show me the screen. “Sydney Messer. Fourteen years old. Last seen two weeks ago outside a burger joint with friends in the city.”
I pick up his phone and study the photo as Tymber shares more details.
“Her friends got on a different bus, but no one thought anything of it. They’d done it countless times. And her bus was scheduled to arrive at the stop five minutes after the other.”
“She never made it on the bus, did she?”
Tymber shakes his head as his face turns a sickly gray. “No. Her father, James, checked her bus pass when they couldn’t get ahold of her. The last time it was used was on her way to meet her friends.”
I sit back in my seat and lace my fingers on top of my head. “The family is paying us?”
He nods. “I told him it wasn’t necessary. He’s a friend. I’d help without compensation.”
“Wouldn’t take no for an answer?”
He scoffs. “Rich bastard,” he teases then sobers. “I think he thinks if he doesn’t pay us, we’ll stop looking too.”
“Like hell.”
Tymber doesn’t say a word but nods in agreement.
Does the business need money to thrive? Of course. The same as every other business.
But when it comes to the people we call our own, it isn’t about the money. It’s about doing the right thing. And finding this man’s daughter is at the top of the list.
“Do we have more than the picture?” I point at his phone.
Tymber scoots his chair away from the table, rests his elbows on his knees, and drops his forehead to his hands. “On the way. James is emailing over everything they have as soon as he gets more from missing persons.”
“Forward me what you already have and I’ll get started.”
College taught me several legitimate ways to work with computers and software. I busted my ass for four years and made several professors proud to call me their student. I have a wall’s worth of accolades praising me for my accomplishments that sit in a box in my closet. Hell, I still get the occasional call from one professor in particular, asking if I’ll mentor a student for the semester.
College was the first place I truly felt accepted for who I was and what I had to offer. It was the first place I felt respected. Most people would show that off by hanging their degrees and certificates on the wall. I keep them stowed away and safe. Locked up tight. They’re worth more than a cheap frame that someone could damage.
In the past twelve years, much of what I’ve learned is from a shit ton of trial and error. Seeing what would happen if I tweaked programs. Digging deep into the development of websites and messing with code, fucking it up for a laugh.
My professors wouldn’t be proud of that.
But with how fast technology evolves, sometimes shortcuts and illegal methods are necessary to get the job done. And in this case, find a lost loved one.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
“Sent.” Tymber rises from his seat and shifts his gaze to mine, eyes solemn and lips in a flat line. “This case stays between you and me, L. I’ll exhaust my resources and let you know what I find. As far as updating the family, I am the only point of contact for James and Estrella Messer.”
I push up from my seat and head for my desk, ready to start my search.
“Understood.”
“Ultimate confidentiality.”
“T…” I scoff. “Don’t you know? I’m the master of keeping secrets.”