Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts) (12 page)

“Good.” Reaching behind me, he opened my door, placing us in close proximity again. I was suddenly reminded of his fingers inside my bra, touching me. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

I could see him in the rearview mirror, watching me as I drove away.

Work was piled up when I got to Wyndemere, and I had to leave the gun in my glove box, knowing I’d never get it through security. So I worked, burying myself in a coding error that George had e-mailed about. There was a memory leak somewhere in his team’s segment and they were having trouble finding it.

While part of my mind was scanning through lines of code, the other part was turning over the big picture inside my head. There was a reason why Tom had wanted only one set of eyes to know all the pieces to the puzzle: it was missing a key part. I hadn’t realized until I’d started going through the modules that built the software, but it was glaringly obvious the deeper I dug. I hoped I was wrong because if I wasn’t, Jackson wasn’t going to be happy about it.

A knock at my door caused me to glance up. It was John. I motioned him in.

“You didn’t follow through on sending me the synopsis and status report I requested,” I said as he sat down opposite my desk. Might as well cut right to the chase. Pleasantries were so overrated.

“I haven’t had time to catch you up,” he said, an edge of disdain in his voice. “I’ll ask my secretary to get something over to you later today. Is that all you wanted?” He stood back up.

His insolence set my teeth on edge and I stood up, too. “No, that’s not all.” My voice was sharp and he paused on his way to the door to glance back around. “And I didn’t ask for you to have your secretary do it. I want
you
to do it. Concisely and immediately. Is that understood?”

We had a staring contest for a moment, then he smiled in an unfunny kind of way.

“Overcompensating because you’re a girl, right? You may work for Jackson Cooper but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see why.” He gave a scathing glance down and back up my body. “I’ll see what I can do. But stay out of my way. I’ve got a job to do and don’t have time to hold your hand and explain my work.” Then he was gone.

Shit.

I plopped back down in my chair. My blood pressure was raging, I was so mad, and I took a deep calming breath. Okay, I took
several
deep calming breaths.

Jerk.

This put me between a rock and a hard place. If I couldn’t manage the team, then Jackson would have to replace me, which would be a bad scenario all the way around. It would make me look incompetent and make Cysnet look unprofessional. Ditto if I asked anyone for backup on handling John. Plus, Jackson would be disappointed and, all in all, disappointing my boss was something I usually tried to avoid.

I’d have to figure out a way to outmaneuver John, that was all. Sure. Easy peasy.

Right.

Another knock at my door and I glanced up. It was Lana.

“Hey,” she said with a smile as she stepped inside. “I thought you might want to grab a late lunch?”

A glance at my phone told me I’d worked through lunchtime and hadn’t even noticed, though now my stomach was growling. Lunch with a near-stranger, though, where I’d have to make small talk and not only discuss work. I shied from that, but thought I should go anyway. She’d worked with John for several years—maybe she’d know why he was being such an ass.

“Sure, that sounds good. I haven’t eaten yet.”

I locked my computer and secured my office, grabbing my backpack before following Lana outside.

“I can drive,” she said, leading me toward her car. It was a recent model Lexus with lots of bells and whistles.

“Nice car,” I complimented her once we were inside. “So where are we going?”

“There’s a little lunch place nearby,” she said. “Soup, sandwiches, salads. Is that okay?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“How long have you been with Cysnet?” she asked.

“This is my fourth year.”

She glanced from the road to me, her eyes wide. “You must be really smart to have started there so young.”

Rhetorical statement, so I just gave a bland smile. “What about you?” I asked. “You’ve been at Wyndemere a long time.”

“Yes. I like it here, though it’s taken a while to get to the position I have.”

She pulled into a parking lot then, so conversation ceased as we went inside, found a table, and looked through the menu. Once the server had taken our order, I picked up where she’d left off.

“I did notice that,” I said. “John certainly rose through the ranks quickly, given his background.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get me started on sexism in the IT industry. I’m sure you get it all the time.”

We shared a look of mutual understanding. “It’s nice at conferences, though,” I said. “There’s never a line at the restroom.” Which was absolutely true. I’d enjoyed seeing the men’s room line piled up fifty deep.

Lana laughed. “Obviously I need to go to more conferences.”

“Two words: DEF CON. It’s insane and I love it, but still—ninety percent men.”

“I’ll have to check that one out then.”

We fell silent as the server delivered our lunches and I pondered if I should ask more about John as I picked the frisée out of my salad—I hated that stuff. Just like eating a weed. Maybe Lana would have some insight into how to handle him. But I didn’t have to say anything because she brought him up first.

“You might want to go easy around John,” she said. “He’s sometimes a bit . . . grumpy.”

“I have noticed he’s already taken a dislike to me,” I replied. “I’m not sure why.”

“John is really good at his job, but playing well with others isn’t his specialty. It’s caused problems with his management style and he’s had some complaints. Honestly, I don’t know why he hasn’t been fired. His sexism is quite obvious as well.”

“Have you had trouble with him?” I asked around a mouthful of romaine.

She nodded, swallowing before answering. “I was here before him, but he can still be an ass. Occasionally, I have to remind him of that. He doubts everyone’s abilities until you prove yourself.”

“I’m not going to be here long enough to ‘prove myself,’” I said dryly. “He’s going to have to just deal with thinking I’m incompetent because I have a vagina instead of a penis.”

Lana snorted iced tea, choking and laughing at the same time as she dabbed her face with a napkin.

My cell buzzed and I dug it from my pocket. Mia.

“Are you coming to take me to register?” she asked. “The guardianship papers came today, so we’re all set.”

Oslo’d had the guardianship papers drawn up and FedExed to me. I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I was now legally liable for another human’s welfare.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I just lost track of time,” I said. I still had time to get home, pick up Mia, and get to school before office hours ended. “I’m on my way.”

“I’m so sorry,” I explained to Lana. “My niece, Mia, is living with me and I need to register her for school today.”

“No problem. I’ll take you back to your car. I was finished anyway.” The server had dropped our check and I reached for it, but Lana beat me to it. “My treat.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I protested. “I should be buying
you
lunch.”

She just winked. “I’ll expense it and you can get the next one.”

I grinned back. “Sounds good. Thank you.”

She dropped me off by my car and I tossed my backpack in the backseat. I knew I’d need to come back tonight. Too much work still needed to be done. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be that late.

Unfortunately, it took longer than I thought it would to register Mia—the bureaucracy of the public school moved at a glacial pace. She loaded up on science and math courses, reluctantly adding a history and English course.

“You have room for a study hall,” the counselor suggested, eyeing her with misgiving.

“Can I take Advanced Calculus instead?” Mia asked.

The counselor hesitated, glancing at me. “Well, your grades are very good, but I’m hesitant to load your schedule up with such intensive classes.”

“I’m good for it,” Mia said, flipping through the course description book.

The counselor looked at me again, which I took to mean I should say something.

“She’s very advanced for her age,” I said. The counselor seemed unconvinced. “I’ll keep an eye on her, too, and if she’s overwhelmed, we’ll let you know.” Like that was going to happen. Mia may look like Teenage Barbie, but her IQ was well into triple digits.

We picked up tacos on the way home—because Friday night was also Mexican night—and I dropped Mia off with strict instructions to ignore Clark if he came to the door. Not that I was expecting that. After last night, I doubted I’d see him again. But just in case.

“Why can’t I talk to him? What happened last night?” she asked, avid curiosity in her eyes.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Just do what I say, okay?”

“Was he a jerk?”

I didn’t answer, which apparently was answer enough. Mia snorted.

“Figures. The pretty ones always are. Asshat. Don’t worry, Aunt Chi. If he comes by, I’ll tell him to go screw himself.”

“First, that’s anatomically impossible,” I said. “Second, I’d rather you just not answer. He’ll get the hint. Please.”

She reluctantly nodded and I sighed in relief. I just wanted to forget all about Clark and the disaster of last night. I should’ve known things wouldn’t end up like a romance novel. After all, who really got the man of their dreams and a happily ever after? Not me, that was for sure.

I was so distracted trying
not
to think of last night, that I was halfway back to Wyndemere before I realized I was being followed.

The black sedan stayed two cars behind me, no matter how many lanes I changed or how I sped up or slowed down. After the threat last night, I wasn’t about to ignore this as a coincidence.

The area I was in was unfamiliar to me and my first thought was to get to Wyndemere as fast as I could, but then I realized a vast, empty parking lot surrounded by woods probably wasn’t the best place to be. My second thought was to go to the police station. Unfortunately, I didn’t know where it was. After discarding both those ideas, a final idea struck me.

I sped up, the purr of the engine turning into a growl as the car leapt forward. I weaved in and out of traffic, leaving irate honks in my wake. At that point, the sedan gave up the pretense and sped up as well. Literally, I was now in a car chase. Surreal. Good thing I didn’t just own my Mustang for looks, but actually knew how to drive the thing.

The wheels ate up the pavement as my speedometer edged toward ninety, the sedan not far behind. I’d give anything to have a cop pull me over right now, but, of course, there was never a cop when you needed one. Go twelve miles an hour in a ten-limit parking garage and they came out of the shadows to give you a ticket. But ninety on the highway? Nothing.

Rubber squealed as I made a sharp left into a subdivision, my headlights bouncing crazily as they cut through the darkness. I’d never driven to this particular location before, but I knew the address and exactly how to get there, thanks to Google Street View and my penchant for occasional cyberstalking.

I was far enough ahead of the sedan that I couldn’t see if it had followed me or not, and I didn’t want to slow down to check. Taking another turn that made my tires squeal, I gunned it up the hill, then a hard right and down a long driveway. I didn’t slam on the brakes until the front door of the house was just yards away.

Grabbing my keys, I leapt out of the car and ran for the front door just as headlights turned up the street, going too fast in this neighborhood to be anyone other than my tail.

I banged on the door, which had to be twelve feet tall, and glanced around for a doorbell. My palms were sweaty as I clutched my keys in my hand. I didn’t know what would happen if they caught up to me, and I didn’t want to find out. But I was in plain sight here on the front porch . . .

I hit the door again with the side of my fist, desperate to get inside. Just when I was about to give up and make a dive for the bushes to hide, the door was yanked open.

“What the hell?” Jackson asked.

8

“Please let me in,” I blurted. “Someone’s following me.”

His gaze swung up behind me and I glanced over my shoulder, then gasped as Jackson’s hand closed on my arm and hauled me inside. He pushed the door shut and hit the light switch, dousing the foyer in darkness.

Letting me go, Jackson went to the window and moved aside the curtains a bare inch.

“Who’s following you?” he asked. “And where’s the gun I gave you?”

Shit. “I have no idea . . . and I kinda forgot about the gun. But they know where I live because I noticed them tailing me on my way to Wyndemere from home.” I chewed my lip, now worried about Mia.

Jackson pulled out his cell phone and hit a button. “There’s an unfamiliar car in the neighborhood, driving around,” he said. “Possible threat. Let’s get the plate and follow. Don’t detain though.” He listened for a moment. “Good. Keep me posted.” He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

“Security?” I asked. He nodded. Of course he had security. He was worth millions. It was a miracle I’d gotten to his door without being tackled to the ground.

I watched him while he watched out the window, both of us silent. The lights from outside cast his face in uneven shadows, making him appear menacing in his vigil. His dark eyes glinted slightly and his jaw was set in a sharp line. He was still dressed for work, in slacks and a button-down shirt, but he’d undone another button at the neck. I could see the curve of his Adam’s apple in the line of his throat.

It hit me then, now that my panic had passed, that I’d felt safe the moment I’d seen Jackson. An odd thing that was. Maybe because he was my boss? Or perhaps because he always seemed so capable and in control. Nothing fazed him and he was the smartest person I’d ever known. And not just book smart. He’d built his company from the ground up. He was street savvy as well—his success was proof of that. Watching how well he’d handled that gun this morning didn’t hurt either.

“I think they’re gone,” he said, dropping the curtain and turning toward me. “Are you okay?”

My fists were clenched and my heart was still pounding, but I didn’t particularly want to share either fact with Jackson. I wanted to appear as in control as he was, even if I had to fake it.

“I’m fine.”

Jackson studied me for a moment. “You look like you could use a drink,” he said. “Follow me. And you can explain to me how you ‘forgot’ about a semiautomatic in your possession.”

It didn’t sound as though I should argue with him, so I didn’t. He led me out of the foyer and down the hall, our footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor.

His house was massive and beautiful, but it had an empty feel to it, as though it wasn’t lived in very much. It was a lot of space for just one person.

He opened a set of double doors and stepped aside to let me precede him. I took two steps inside and stopped in my tracks.

“Wow.”

It was a massive library. Like
Beauty and the Beast
kind of massive library. A circular room, there was even a winding staircase that went to a second level that lined the walls, leaving the center ceiling stretched high above us into a turret. Dark wood was everywhere, and leather, and the smell was deep and rich without being musty.

“Do you like it?” Jackson asked, startling me. He’d come up right behind me while I’d been staring in awe.

“It’s fantastic,” I said, which was still inadequate.

“It’s the reason I bought the house,” he said, heading to a table in the corner. There were several glasses and a crystal decanter half-filled with amber liquid sitting on the table. “It’s too much space for just me, but I couldn’t resist the library.”

“Don’t you have any staff? Like a housekeeper or something?”

“I have a man—Lance—who takes care of the house. He cooks and handles the day-to-day upkeep.” Jackson poured an inch of the whisky into two glasses.

So not a maid but like a male maid, I guessed. Butler? I could see that. Perhaps more comfortable for a bachelor than a woman would be.

“Where is he now?”

“He lives in quarters out back.” Stoppering the decanter, Jackson handed me one of the heavy glasses.

Separate “quarters” for the manservant and real crystal glasses in the two-story library. I felt like I’d stepped into an episode of
Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous
. Maybe Robin Leach was hiding behind the curtains.

“Cheers.” Jackson tapped his glass against mine, then took a sip. I mimicked him, taking a deep gulp.

Fire. Fire and burning acid down my throat. I coughed, choking. My eyes watered and my insides felt as though I’d swallowed molten lava.

“Whoa there,” Jackson said, hurriedly taking my glass and setting it and his aside. “Bet you’re not used to that, right?”

I wanted to say,
Ya think?
but couldn’t, because I was still trying to remember how to breathe.

It seemed like all I ever did around Jackson was embarrass myself. It was a wonder he still thought me competent enough for employment.

“I’m okay,” I finally managed to say, though my voice sounded half-strangled. “Sorry about that.”

“No, it was my fault. I should’ve offered you wine or something.”

Oh
now
he figures that out. “It’s okay. I’ll just sip it. Just took too large a drink, I think.” Yes, when one drinks battery acid, one doesn’t suck it down like a Coke from McDonald’s.

“Okay then, why don’t you sit down, take a breath, get your bearings back.” He handed me my drink again and took a seat on the cherry leather sofa. After a brief hesitation, I sat by him, again carefully putting what I thought was an appropriate amount of space between us, eighteen inches, per the cultural norm.

I took a deep breath and caught a whiff of his cologne that I’d gotten to smell up close and personal this morning. It was a deep musky scent that perfectly accented the room, having taken on more of the flavor of his skin during the day. Yum. I always thought Jackson looked most at home behind a computer monitor, but he looked so at ease here, maybe I’d been wrong. He looked very . . . male . . . in the best possible way.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” I said. “First last night, then this. If they’re trying to scare me to death, they’re doing a very good job.”

Jackson was silent, appearing deep in thought as he stared into the distance. I took a careful sip of my whisky. It didn’t burn quite as bad this time, now that I knew what to expect.

“You’ve been on the project a few days now,” he said at last. “Anything jump out at you as worthy of this kind of attention?”

I hesitated. This was where it could get dicey, especially if I were wrong. And it would be even worse if I were right. “Maybe.”

Jackson focused on me, his dark eyes intent, and nerves fluttered in my stomach. This could be a shot in the dark and I could be completely wrong. If I were, I’d look like a complete idiot. Something I tried to avoid if at all possible.

“The pieces of the software, the different teams,” I began, “none of them know what the others are doing. But when you put it all together, it creates a picture that has me worried.”

“Explain.”

“It’s tracking a user’s online movements through everything—social media, e-mail, their physical location, websites they visit, what they buy—in one piece. Yes, there’s already software out there that tracks websites and shopping. But this analyzes user-generated content and where they go in meatspace.”

“And that concerns you?”

“What concerns me is the part that’s
not
there.”

“Which is?”

I swallowed. This was the going-out-on-a-limb part. “If someone were to code the right kind of search algorithm, they could predict behavior, rather than just analyzing it.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that,” Jackson said, finishing his whisky.

“But it’s Big Brother taken to the extreme,” I persisted. “We don’t even know if it’s the DoD, Homeland Security, the NSA, or the FBI who ordered this kind of software. It’s the surveillance that Edward Snowden revealed . . . times ten.”

“So you’re an anarchist now?” he said with a wry smile. “People can’t expect privacy. Not anymore, and certainly not online.”

“I’m not saying it’s violating their privacy and I sort of agree with you, but this takes it one step further. Because right now the big picture is missing that piece. The purpose of the software. There’s been no marketing hook or anything like that for commercial development. It’s just tracking everything.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there,” he said. Getting up from the couch, he refilled his glass and mine. I hadn’t even realized I’d drunk it all.

“I think there is. I think someone is writing that code and they’re going to add that missing piece once everything else is done and it’ll be too late to uninvent the wheel.”

“Your job isn’t to worry about all the possible applications,” he said, handing me my glass. “Deliver the software. Fulfill the contract. Let me worry about who wants it and what they’re doing with it.”

He sat down again and this time I noticed he sat closer to me. Not touching close, but inches apart rather than a foot. That made it difficult to concentrate on what he’d just said, especially when I took a breath and the aroma of his cologne was stronger.

My glasses were slipping and I pushed them up my nose, arranging my chaotic thoughts into order. Important things first. Extraneous thoughts of
he’s so sexy
and
he smells so good
would have to wait.

“I’m worried. Not just about which government agency ordered this software, but for myself and my niece, too. Mia’s just a kid.”

“I don’t like this. Two incidents in as many days is too much, even for the damn government. I’ll send security to keep watch at your apartment. Will that make you feel better?”

That was a relief. My only recourse other than Jackson was the police, and we’d already had that discussion last night. They could do nothing and it was likely I’d be in even
more
danger if I tried to get them to help me, or that would put Mia in the crosshairs. I was sure Jackson’s security people were top-notch and expensive.

“Thank you,” I said. “That’s a load off my mind.”

“Another week and this will be done,” he said. “Wyndemere won’t be on the books anymore.”

“So you think we should still deliver?” I asked. “Despite what I just said?”

“We were hired to finish the software. It’s a little late at this point to pull out.”

He had a point there, but still . . . it was my neck on the line, not his.

“That’s why you just focus on the job,” he continued. “I’ll fill in Freyda on what happened and that they need to increase security in and around the building. I should’ve called her earlier.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Wyndemere likes their secrecy,” he said. “Pushing buttons about which government agency is paying the bills for their contracts makes them itchy.”

I nodded, glad that he was going to have that awkward conversation. Sometimes it paid to
not
be the boss. Tipping my glass back, I emptied it. Whisky was yummy once you got used to it. My belly was warm like a banked fire burned inside, but in a good way.

“Thanks for listening,” I said. “I’m not trying to be a nervous Nelly and I know sometimes software ends up being used for things that aren’t exactly altruistic, but this just has a bad smell to it.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” He rested a hand on my knee and squeezed lightly, then patted it.

I stared at his hand, still resting on my leg. Jackson didn’t seem to notice the intent attention I was paying to his appendage. He was sitting back in the couch, his posture one of easy relaxation as he took another swig of whisky.

The warmth of his palm seeped through the denim I wore until it felt like a brand. My mind was racing with possibilities, all of which I discarded as ridiculous romantic fantasies. I wasn’t so hard up for a boyfriend that I’d attack my boss in a fit of lust just because he touched my leg. Maybe. But it would be really nice to have someone. Not just for intimacy, but to be viewed as an attractive, sexual woman. Clark had made me realize even more acutely how much I was missing.

All my life, I’d been the smart one, the geek, the know-it-all. The only thing anyone had ever admired about me had been my intellect. And that was okay. I was proud of what I’d accomplished and thankful I’d been blessed with extensive brainpower.

But deep inside, I wanted to have a man look in my eyes and tell me I was beautiful and that he wanted me. It was an embarrassing admission, that I wanted this, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted what I wanted.

It would be a fantasy come to life, but a fantasy that was also never going to happen, especially with Jackson. Billionaire, genius, beat-off-women-with-a-stick entrepreneur. He was so far out of my nonexistent league, he’d laugh himself silly if he knew the fantasies I’d entertained over the past few years.

But his hand was still on my knee and he showed no inclination to move it. So I didn’t move either. Might as well enjoy the touch while it lasted. And my bruised ego from last night with Clark could use the TLC.