Chapter 17
Jake
The crickets hit a high-pitched screech and sweat stings my eyes, but I keep pounding.
Watch the time. Track the heart rate. I woke up this morning and considered waking the naked woman sleeping beside me.
The sheet thief had robbed all but the corner covering my feet, which I could blame as the reason for waking so hellishly early.
But that would be misdirected blame. Fifteen years of pre-dawn reveille rewired my circadian rhythm beyond civilian repair.
I slap at a sharp sting on my neck and power through. The heat’s building, promising a record July sauna as I cut through a trail of starving mosquitoes, winding to the street that leads back to the business district.
A flash of Daisy spread before me has me picking up the pace, blood rushing as the visuals replay frame by frame.
My pace falters as the memory hits—Daisy straddling me, her hands braced against my chest, that fierce look in her eyes.
I shake my head and push harder up the hill.
How the hell had I ever thought she wasn’t my type?
How did I not want her the very first day I saw her?
Everything about her is fire and chaos—and now that I’ve had a taste, I’m ruined.
God, when she straddled me last night—fuuuck.
I love her energy. Her zest. Man, everything about last night I loved…
I would’ve woken her this morning, but it was way too fucking early.
But if I time my return right…maybe we can shower together.
With that thought, I pick up the pace, flying through intersections, earning a honk from one zippy car. Back at the apartment, I double-time it up the stairwell to our floor. Outside, I pull the key from my shoelace, unlock the door, and fling it open.
Silence greets me. A quick scan of the counter—the counter from last night—and it hits me: there’s no note.
Should I have left a note?
Maybe she’s still here. I kick the door closed.
“Daze? You here?”
Silence.
I pound up the stairs and take in the open bedroom door and the bed with the comforter pulled back neatly up to the pillows. Residual water droplets run down the shower glass.
Just missed her.
I locate my phone to shoot her a text. I type and delete three messages before settling on something simple.
Want to meet for lunch?
I’d suggest she meet me for coffee, but by the time I shower, she’ll be on her way to her cozy little window office.
I check the kitchen counter twice, then the bathroom mirror. Nothing. I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over her contact before shoving it back in my pocket. She’s probably just aiming to get a jump on things.
It’s odd she didn’t leave a note or anything.
Then again, I didn’t leave a note. But it’s best she got out before I returned.
Space gets crowded when we’re both getting ready at the same time.
I’ll catch her at lunch. Touch base and make sure everything’s cool.
And it will be. After last night, I’m pretty positive we’ll be scratching that itch again, ’cause she wanted it as bad as me.
When I enter the building, coffee in hand, I’m still earlier than the lobby receptionist. In my office, I sit back at the desk, turn on the computer, and envision the wall opposite the desk filled with monitors. It’ll work.
There’s a knock and Jillian Weaver appears with a man in trousers that belong with a suit, but he’s not wearing the jacket, and his belt’s off center below a belly that protrudes his waist. His sandy brown hair is trimmed, and he’s got a pen tucked inside the pocket of his white button-down shirt.
“Jake, I see you’re here. That’s fantastic. I can introduce you to Russell Thompson. Today’s his first day on security staff.”
She mentioned she interviewed others but didn’t mention she’d offered a job to anyone.
I push up from the desk, hand extended, and Weaver says, “Do you mind taking him through everything, Jake? I’m late for a meeting with our health insurance rep.
” She glances at her watch, presumably to emphasize her lateness.
Thompson says, “Go on. We’re good. Ryder can take me through everything.”
She smiles—relieved, I assume—gives me a nod, and departs, leaving the door open behind her.
Thompson scans the room, then me. “Ryder,” he says with a quick nod. “She shared your resume with me. Top notch stuff you’ve done there. It’s an honor.”
Given she didn’t mention Thompson to me, I only nod. “We’ve got one computer. I can run up and ask if they’re sending someone down—”
He waves a hand dismissively, shutting me up. “One should be fine for the two of us.” He lifts the messenger bag strap over his head and lifts the flap. “My girlfriend made banana bread. Don’t know if you’ve had breakfast, but I brought it in for you.”
Sugar, butter, chocolate. Bet it’s scrumptious, but it’s not exactly the breakfast of champions.
“Thanks, but I already had a breakfast sandwich.”
“Well, here you go.” He sets the saran-wrapped loaf on the corner of the desk.
“Oh. Well, thanks. I’ll eat it later.”
I set the package in my backpack. Daisy might like it. Could be dessert for tonight, after we… ah… A flashback hits of us leaving the office yesterday and I shift, discreetly adjusting my pants.
“Are you married? Dating anyone?”
It’s an odd question right out of the box, but I answer with a cordial, “Yeah. Girlfriend.” That’s the story, and after last night, it’s a step closer to the truth I suppose.
“Just asking ’cause my girlfriend’s bestie would’ve loved it if you were single. Would’ve been great too as she’s always around.”
He wheels a chair out from under the long table against the wall and sits, knees spread wide, assuming an extremely relaxed posture with his arms resting on the armrests.
“Well, I’m not married, but I’m taken.”
“Does your girlfriend cook?”
Another strange get to know you question.
“We tend to order in,” I answer, realizing that when it comes to cooking, I’ll probably be the one hitting that anvil. “What’d you do before?”
What’s your experience? That’s the real question. And are they gonna order you a monkey suit too?
“Security.” His gaze travels beyond my head. “Off and on. Temp work for a while.” He slaps a palm down on his thigh. “What’ve we got here? Jillian said we need to come up with a recommendation for the department.” His fingers tap against the armrest. “Some department, huh?”
“It’s true.” I lean over the computer and bring up the document I started with an outline of recommended security cameras. “Yesterday was my first day, but these are locations I’ve identified that would benefit from a bird’s-eye view. Figure we can mount monitors on the wall here and…”
I swing the monitor around and he leans forward, eyes narrowing on the screen. “Looks good to me. You’re the expert. I’ll go along with your recommendation.” His gaze drifts to the black and white wall clock. “Suppose one of us should go out to greet people, huh?”
“I’m not sure greet’s the right word,” I say.
“Yeah, you know what I mean. We can work on the recommendation for the security department later this morning, when it’s quiet.”
“Sounds good to me,” I say.
“How many on staff do you think we should recommend?”
“Weaver told me they budgeted three. I don’t see an issue with that.”
“Yeah. I honestly feel like the two of us is overkill.” Russell’s face morphs, lips scrunched, eyes bulging, as if to say, you-have-to-agree-with-me-dude.
I agree with him but focus on what I think is actually his real point. “We’re in for some slow days. But as boring as it might be, we’ve got to keep alert.”
“You really think some crazed loon is going to show up with an AK-47?”
That’s a specific weapon choice. “I’d say the risk here is about the same as at any other financial services firm.” Unless they’re doing some really shady shit like Daisy’s convinced is true. “Did you have anything in the stock market back in ‘08?”
He rolls his lips together and shakes his head in the negative.
“Me neither. I was too young. But I served with some guys who took a serious hit. Guys who’d been carefully socking it away.
It’s not a stretch to see how someone might go ballistic; seek revenge on someone.
Thing is, there’s a risk to any investment.
We’re talking about looking out for the irrational. ”
“You think we should wear vests?”
I squint an eye at him, thinking he has to be joking.
“My girlfriend suggested it.”
“Where’d you work security before this?” I ask with a smile to emphasize I’m jesting.
He gives me an exaggerated evil eye and I chuckle.
I’m staying positive and laughing it off, but the fact they hired someone else right after me?
That tells me everything I need to know about how serious they are about this security department.
Good thing this is a fake gig, because if this were my day-in, day-out future, my morale would be taking a nosedive right about now.
He digs out a stack of papers from his messenger bag. “I’m supposed to go through these.” I glance at the papers and see the Sterling Financial logo at the top.
“I’ll head out front, stand by reception. Why don’t you finish your paperwork, and when we’re done, we can take a loop together. I’ll show you around. We can discuss the best approach for us to divide and conquer. Sound good?”
“Works for me,” Thompson says.
I stand behind reception, tracking faces, wardrobes, conversations, and passing cars.
I catalog each face—a nervous accountant tugging at his collar, the admin who checks her phone twice before entering the building, the guy in a blue tie who rushes in with sweat spots in his pits, and a sports jacket over an arm.
Before I know it, ninety minutes have passed.
If you pay attention to the details, the time flies.
When I’m about done with standing, I open the door to the security room to find Thompson sitting back, phone in hand. Looks like he’s playing one of those candy games on his phone.
“You ready?”
With a low sigh, he pushes up and places his phone in the pocket beside his pen and says, “Sure.”
This guy does not have a military background. I don’t even need to see his resume to be certain.
We go for a loop around the building first. I track the parked cars and scan for any occupants. There are none.
Thompson pulls out his phone on the far side of the building and taps away, responding to a text.
We approach the side door that’s locked and I point at it. “This is one of the exits that we need to wire. Surveillance on the inside. Movement detector.”
He nods, and I use the master key to unlock the door. It opens into the stairwell.
“You taking the stairs?” he asks.
“Yeah.” Wasn’t planning on flying.
“I’m gonna go get those papers. I’ll meet you on the fourth.”
“No need. That’s pretty much the lay of the land. I’ll meet you back in the security room.”
“Sounds good.”
The door closes and it occurs to me that Thompson is the clock-in-and-out type, which is good, because after hours I should have free rein to review security footage.
It’s bad because he’ll probably always be around, and if I see a suspicious meeting, I’ll need to make a note to go back to the tape, or possibly text Quinn to check whatever it is out.
I take the stairs two at a time for the hell of it, exit on the executive floor, walk the corridors, then take the stairs down to the third floor. I’ll do a last sweep of the second floor before the lunch crew hits the space.
When I approach Daisy’s office, I slow in the doorway. She’s applying lip gloss, and I watch as she snaps open a little mirror and checks her work.
The morning light catches the gloss as she presses her lips together, and I find myself leaning against the door frame. She tilts her chin up, checking her reflection, and something low in my gut tightens.
Her straight, dark hair’s down today, and she tucks one side behind her ear. She stretches her neck, and it hits me. She’s checking for a hickey.
Her fingers trace along her collarbone, then higher, fingertips grazing the spot where I lost control last night. Heat crawls up my neck as I remember the sweet taste of her skin there.
Yeah, I spent quite a bit of time sucking and biting, but I didn’t do anything assholish like mark her up for the office. It’s hot as balls out there. It’s not exactly turtleneck weather.
I rap my knuckles against the door and she drops the gloss and mirror into a small black leather handbag.
“Hi. I was just getting ready for lunch.”
I check my watch. It’s early in the day.
“Are you ready?” The deep male voice crawls up the back of my neck and the sensation isn’t good. I turn to face the boss.
“Ryder. Hi there. How are things going?” Phillip smooths one of his suit lapels.
“Good.”
“Excellent.”
Daisy scoots past me with a small, bashful smile and heads out with Phillip Sterling.
Sure, I know she thinks he’s pond scum and she’s trying to catch him doing something illegal—but it doesn’t change the fact that watching the two of them step into that elevator makes my stomach knot.
My jaw clenches as the elevator doors close behind them and I flex my fingers, forcing them to relax.
Mission first, I remind myself, but the tension in my shoulders doesn’t ease.
I especially don’t like it when I catch his slimy-ass perusal of her as she steps to the side, and when I round the floor and peer out an empty office window down on the street and see him hold the door for her in a black sedan, eyeing her backside like she’s a piece of steak.
My hands curl into fists knowing he’s eyeing her with skeezy appreciation.
Every instinct I have screams that this bastard just moved Daisy to the top of his hunting list—the kind that ends with NDAs and hush money after the fact.
My hands press flat against the window. The glass fogs under my breath. Every muscle in my body coils tight, ready to move, but there’s nothing I can do except watch this predator circle closer.