Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter 27
DECLAN
HUNCHING IN MY OFFICE CHAIR, I rub my temples in a vain attempt to ease my tension headache. I’m running on two hours of sleep—all I’ve been able to get lately. When I have managed to rest, Sienna haunts my dreams.
Davis sits on the opposite side of my desk, the grooves in his tan forehead the deepest I’ve seen them. He’s staring at my computer screen, where another threatening email from the hacker is displayed. We’ve been dealing with these fucking emails for almost a month now with no concrete way to find the asshole.
“Forensic analysis, ISP collaboration, even a damn honeypot,” Davis says. “This person is good. If we find them, we should offer them a job.”
I frown. “Be serious.”
“I’m nothing but serious.”
“You think it’s a team?”
“That’s the best theory we have.” He flips through a folder that’s open in front of him on my desk—reports and correspondence. “The emails are coming from multiple locations, bouncing through servers all over the globe. A good amount trace back to Illinois.”
“Any city? County? I’d take a damn cardinal direction at this point.”
Davis shakes his head, scrubbing a hand over his short-cropped hair. “Not yet. Whoever’s behind this knows how to cover their tracks. Unless they slip up, or we get lucky, I’m not sure how we’ll pinpoint them.”
I blow out a breath, gripping a pen so tight I worry I might snap the plastic. My gaze falls on the words of the latest email. This one came with an attachment, a toxicology report that is completely fabricated.
It claims Tiffany had a lethal mix of drugs in her system, implying that what happened wasn’t a suicide, that I had a hand in her death. If this fucking asshole goes public with this bullshit, well, my attorneys didn’t have very encouraging words about the investigation it would open up. Then, if it went to trial, my bribe to the detective would only make me look guilty.
I read the email again, trying to keep a level head and not let rage blind me to something I might be missing: I’m watching you. Behave and maybe no one will know you’re a killer. But enjoy your other lawsuit.
Other lawsuit? Now the hacker is talking nonsense; I don’t have any lawsuits.
I feel the weight of Davis’ gaze on me, the unspoken question hanging in the air. But I have no answers for him. Still no clue about who could be behind this, or why.
“I don’t know what to say at this point except keep trying,” I finally tell him, my voice like sandpaper. “I know using our resources for this is hurting our business with clients, so hire as many extra people as you need to carry the workload. Pay for everything out of my personal funds. I don’t care at this point. I want this person found. We have to end this, if only for everyone’s sanity.”
He steeples his fingers, his forehead still a wrinkled mess. “Oh, I know. I want him found too. We’ll keep chugging along and maybe we’ll get a break.”
I grunt. “And fucking soon.”
Davis gathers his things and exits, leaving my office door ajar. I grab a different pen and start clicking the top with my thumb. My gaze wanders to the color study on the wall.
Jada was visibly terrified as she sat in my office a week ago—shaking as she spoke, wringing her hands, her voice cracking. She told me about a man who came to her house, assaulted her for a lock of her hair, and then threatened her unless she told him where Sienna was. He was wearing a mask, so the only thing she could tell me about him was his skin tone—his forearms were exposed—and that he was around six feet tall.
Then she showed me her last text exchange with Sienna.
Sienna sounded like a woman fleeing for her life.
Was the man in Jada’s home a vengeful ex? A stalker? Or did Sienna commit a crime and piss someone off? There are a lot of possibilities, and Jada didn’t have any clues; she said Sienna never wanted to talk about her past.
Whoever that man was, it’s clear Sienna was in some kind of trouble. She took my invitation as a way to escape to Hawaii, and once there, it’s possible her pursuer found her, since Jada gave the man my name. A few phone calls to my company would’ve revealed I was at a conference.
If that’s true and her pursuer suddenly appeared in Hawaii, that would explain Sienna’s sudden mood shift the day she stormed out.
Part of me wants to cling to that possibility, to feel relieved I did nothing wrong, that her departure was strategic. The other part of me remains cautious. Her pursuer and how she left could have nothing to do with each other; obviously not the option I’m hoping for.
Clicking my pen, I stare at the painting and the man at the top of the stairs. Sienna said she saw him as a protector, saw me as a protector.
Now that she’s gone, the question is: what am I going to do about it?
I toss the pen on my desk. Whether or not she destroyed me with her words, whether they were the truth or lies, I can’t shake my feelings for her. I just need to know Sienna is safe.
Unfortunately, the private investigator I hired has hit a wall, unable to uncover much about her life before San Francisco. It’s strange. There’s a birth record, but nothing else. No driving permit when she turned fifteen. No school records. It’s as if Sienna Bishop didn’t exist before her 21st birthday.
The investigator said his gut is telling him there’s been a cover-up, and I believe in trusting one’s instincts.
Just how deep does this go?
He’s currently trying to determine if the cover-up is legal, that she’s in witness protection, or illegal, something done through the black market.
I smooth a hand over the cool surface of my wooden desk. How the fuck did I slip into a CSI episode? Several seasons of that clearly didn’t prepare me enough for a real-life investigation.
I’ve hit a dead end. What am I supposed to do next? Where do I look?
I need to find my mystery woman. As much as I still feel the sting of her departure, there are too many open threads; my heart misses her too much. Each day that I don’t know where she is gets consumed with a growing darkness, a growing heaviness. If I keep going like this, my body is going to shut down from lack of rest.
Pills don’t work. Alcohol doesn’t work. Nothing gets me to sleep; it’s like my soul will remain restless until I find her.
If I get answers, if I can know for certain that what she said about Tiffany came from a place of fear, that she felt panicked and didn’t know what else to do, I won’t hesitate to forgive.
I’ll fight to free her from whatever has her chained. I’ll free us both.
“Declan.”
Davis’ voice startles me from my thoughts and I glance up. He’s standing in the doorway, his face like an ashen stone mask. A man in a cheap navy suit stands behind him.
Davis moves out of the way, and the stranger approaches my desk. He extends a manila envelope. “Declan Conte?”
I nod, each one of my senses on high alert.
“You have been served.” He drops the envelope on my desk, turns on his heels, and leaves.
Davis and I share a wary look. With a sinking feeling in my gut, I reach for the envelope, tearing it open with more force than necessary.
As I scan the contents, my blood runs cold. Assault charges. Filed by none other than Halliwell, the hotel CEO whose partnership I turned down.
I suppose I should be angry, disgusted, all the above, but I’m simply not. I’m too focused on trying to move pieces around in my head and fit them together. The timing is too…calculated. How did the hacker know this was coming?
Davis is now in front of me, waiting for me to speak, so I just hand him the papers so he can see for himself.
“Assault charges?” he says with wide eyes. His voice raises, bouncing off the walls. “You didn’t assault him!”
“Technically…” I start, letting the rest fall into oblivion.
Davis frowns. “Well, you barely touched him.”
“It can still be seen as assault.” I tap my computer screen with a finger. “But how did the hacker predict this? Someone connected to Halliwell? Or did Halliwell hire him? I didn’t think he’d be so petty, but I’m not ruling it out.”
Davis falls into a chair, shaking his head and slapping the lawsuit papers on my desk. “Jesus, I feel like we’re on an episode of CSI.”
For the first time in too long, I smirk. “I had the same thought.”
“Well,” Davis says, “it’s accurate. I mean, what the fuck is happening?” His skull must be suddenly too heavy for his neck, because he sets his elbows on my desk and holds his head. His body folds in on itself. “This is all too much. I just want to go home and hug my wife and kids.”
“Then do it. Go home.”
“But—”
“Go home. Your family is important. It’s the most important thing.”
He stares at the papers for a moment before nodding.
As he stands, I say, “Tell everyone putting in extra hours to find the hacker that they can go home too. They’ll get paid for a full day, but they all need a break. Everyone can start their weekend early.”
Normally, Davis would jump on this opportunity to say something about my dating habits—some joke like I’m only trying to get to my harem sooner. But with everything that’s going on, his normal lightness and humor have dimmed. It gives me a hollow ache—I can see the toll this situation is taking on him. I hope some extra time with his family helps.
With a blank face, he says, “I’ll talk to HR and send out some emails.” Then he’s gone.
I snatch up my desk phone, my fingers jabbing the numbers. To my surprise, Halliwell answers on the first ring. But something is different. Gone is the arrogant attitude, the slimy bravado I remember.
Instead, he sounds scared.
“D-Declan,” he stammers, his voice thin and reedy. “I wasn’t expecting your call.”
“Really?” I grit out, feeling a bit of my temper finally flaring. “You file bullshit charges against me, and you don’t expect me to reach out?”
There’s a beat of silence, heavy and loaded. “Why didn’t you return my calls?” he finally asks. “Listen, I tried to contact you. Left you multiple voicemails. You ignored them. I didn’t want this to happen.”
My mind flashes back to the messages Davis relayed several weeks ago, the urgent requests that Halliwell wanted to talk. It happened while I was in Hawaii, so of course I brushed them off. I was focused on Sienna, and I thought Halliwell just wanted to schmooze me and get back in my good graces.
“I had other things on my mind,” I say. “And if you didn’t want this to happen, why file a lawsuit?”
“You should’ve taken my calls.”
“Why? What did I need to know?”
“It’s too late.”
“It’s not. We both know those charges are embellished, so I’m happy to settle the lawsuit out of court. Just name a price because I have more important things to deal with.”
Halliwell lets out a shaky breath. “It’s out of my hands now. I’m sorry. I can’t…I can’t stop it. I can’t settle out of court, no matter how much you offer. If you had just answered my damn messages…”
“I’m talking to you now, so tell me.”
“I’m sorry. This isn’t about money.” His voice drops. “My wife…It’s for her safety. I’m sorry.”
I hear the resignation in his voice, the fear. Like someone has him cornered. “What about your wife?”
He hangs up. When I dial him back several times, it keeps going to voicemail.
My mind is racing now, pieces of the puzzle changing shape but still not completely fitting together. Is someone threatening Halliwell’s wife? Forcing him to do this lawsuit?
I’m still left with one important question: Who?
Who is orchestrating all of this, and why are they targeting me? It sounds crazy, but I have no other explanation—I think the hacker is trying to get to me through Halliwell.
Why?
Grabbing a stress ball, I crush it in my fist, ready to throw it against the wall because the frustration is too great. I want to rip my hair out. I don’t have any enemies that would go to these insane lengths. Besides one bribe to cover up information about my son, I’ve done nothing else illegal. I’ve never taken money to throw a match, done drugs, embezzled, sexually harassed someone…I’m clean. So who, and why, and what the fuck is happening?
I’m a few seconds from throwing the stress ball when my personal phone vibrates in my pocket. I check the screen to find a message from Sean: Need to talk ASAP. Get home.
Jesus, what now?
Me: Be there in forty minutes.
I pack up, a numbness washing over me as I’m hit with an exhaustion that creeps into my bones. Davis was right: this is too much.