Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts) (14 page)

The code had called the outside procedure and was returning data on GPS location. But what was it looking for? It was plenty fine to track whether someone was shopping for new cars and then pop up an ad on their smart phone, telling them the Toyota dealership nearby was having a cashback bonus sale. But the marketing data wasn’t there. Instead, all the pieces of the software pointed to it looking for something. A pattern. But what pattern? And who was doing the looking?

I was finishing up my chicken satay when there was a knock on the door. I froze midchew. There was literally no one I wanted to speak to this evening. Except maybe Mia, but she had a key and wouldn’t knock. Maybe if I pretended I wasn’t home, they’d go away.

I muted the television and waited. The knock came again, this time with more persistence. What if it was the security guys? What if something had happened to Mia?

Shit.

Setting aside my chicken, I climbed off the couch and hurried toward the door. I didn’t have a peephole, just window panels on the side, and what I saw when I looked through them made me wish I’d stayed on the couch.

“I know you’re home, China,” Clark called through the door. “I just want to talk to you for a few minutes.”

“Go away.”

“China, please. Let me in. Give me a chance to explain.”

Give him a chance to explain why he’d acted as though I had the plague when I told him I was a virgin?

“Why should I bother?”

“Because otherwise I’m just going to stand here shouting through your door all night. Do you want that kind of attention?”

Dammit. He had a point. I didn’t want attention period, much less the kind of attention that would result in the neighbors calling the cops. I pulled open the door, part of me wishing I looked like I had on our date night, instead of wearing jeans and my
It’s LeviOsa, not LeviosA
T-shirt with my hair in my usual ponytail.

“What?” I asked, not bothering with friendly preliminaries. I pushed my glasses up my nose.

“Can I come in?”

At this point, I didn’t think it mattered, so I shrugged and headed back to the couch. My chicken satay was getting cold. I didn’t bother looking at him, just returned my gaze to the television. It was fake, though. All my attention was on him.

Even my disillusionment wasn’t enough to make him look less gorgeous, I thought sourly as he sat next to me on the couch. Hair perfectly in place, a long-sleeved charcoal Henley fit like a second skin, and jeans that hugged the muscles in his thighs.

Asshat
, I thought sourly, resurrecting Mia’s new endearment for him.

“I don’t blame you for being upset,” he began. I took another bite of satay, chewing savagely as I gave him the side eye. “Really upset,” he amended. “It just took me by surprise. My reaction wasn’t a reflection on you.”

“Oh, really?” I snorted. “I asked if it was a problem and you said, let me quote, ‘Yeah.’ How am I not supposed to think that’s about me?” I shook my head, tearing off another bite of chicken.

“Your first time . . . it should be with somebody . . .” He trailed off.

“Special? Someone I love?” I finished for him. I was angry at him and embarrassed for myself. Like I wanted to talk about this at all, much less with him. “Whatever. I’m twenty-three years old, soon to be twenty-four. I’m not waiting around for Mr. Right, who may never appear. I’d just like a Mr. Knows-What-He’s-Doing.”

Which was the blunt truth. I didn’t sugarcoat—I’d had to do that all week—and after he’d hurt me the other night, I had to bite my tongue from following my comment up with an insult. The urge to hurt him back was a hard one to overcome, but I should want to be the bigger person. I didn’t really
want
to, but I could pretend.

Clark sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I can understand that,” he said. “Let’s try again.”

My eyebrows flew upward. “Excuse me? I’m supposed to
want
to have sex with you now?” He was crazy.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I mean, let’s start this over, go to dinner, hang out, get to know each other more.” He paused. “I really want to get to know you better, China.”

Hmmm. I chewed, forking another bite and showing it to him. “I’ve already eaten.” Message sent:
I don’t think so
. He’d had his shot, embarrassing and hurting me terribly. I didn’t see why I should give him a second chance.

“We can just hang out then, and talk,” he said, smiling carefully. One adorable dimple showed. Dammit. And his eyes were just so damn blue . . .

I shrugged. “I’m watching
Doctor Who
. You can stay for a while, if you want.”

“Where’s Mia?”

“She’s staying the night with a friend.”

“I love
Doctor Who
.”

I studied his oh-so-innocent expression, then snorted. “Liar. You’ve never even heard of it.”

“Okay . . . so maybe I haven’t watched it. But I
have
heard of it.” He smiled wider and now I couldn’t help the tiny answering smile curving my lips. Clark was just too damn good-looking and too charming for mere mortals.

“This is what you want to do?” I asked, still disbelieving his sincerity. “You want to spend your Saturday night here, with me, watching
Doctor Who
?”

“If you’ll let me. I have a bottle of wine at my place I can get, and we’ll just hang out, watch TV, talk, whatever you want.”

My mind flashed through all the possibilities and repercussions. Was it worth it?

“Okay,” I said at last. “But I don’t give third chances.”

Clark’s eyes were sincere as he looked into mine. “Understood.”

I gave a short nod. “I hope it’s white and not red. I’m not a huge fan of red wine. Though scientifically proven to be a healthier choice when choosing an alcoholic beverage, it gives me heartburn.” As I’d learned the other night when I’d had red wine with my pizza when Jackson had shown up. Which had been confirmed after the three glasses of merlot with Clark. I’d gone through six Tums that night.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a grin. “Be right back.”

True to his word, he reappeared with a bottle of chilled white wine and two glasses.

“I don’t know the correct pairing of wine to Thai food,” he said, settling again beside me. “So I took a guess. Chardonnay?” He handed one of the glasses to me.

“A Riesling or chenin blanc is generally considered to be the best pairing, but I’m not a stickler for propriety.” I took a sip. It was pretty good.

We watched for a few minutes. I waited, knowing it would come. I didn’t have to wait long.

“So . . . what’s the premise of this show?” he asked.

With a sigh, I paused the show and launched into an abbreviated version of the Newbie Guide to Doctor Who. It turned out to be a longer explanation than I thought because he kept asking questions and getting me sidetracked, especially when arguing the validity of traveling through time and whether or not it was feasible
or
advisable.

“I’ve read that whole Grandfather Paradox thing,” Clark said, refilling my glass. “It’s the plot of the Terminator movies, basically. If you murder your father or your grandfather before you were born, then you’ll never have been born. But if you were never born, how could you travel back in time to murder your father?”

“But the Terminator movies prove the Novikov Self-Consistency Principle,” I said, warming up to one of my favorite subjects. “That principle states that even if you did go back with the express purpose of killing your parent, the laws of physics remain intact so that your parent must have already survived the attempt on their life because you’ve already gone back in time and are part of history.”

“So you’re saying that Arnold never had a chance because he’d already been there and tried that and failed.”

“Yep.” I grinned.

He shook his head. “You’ve obviously put a lot of thought into this.”

I shrugged. “I’ve seen the movies several times. Two was the best.” That was how I’d spent my last birthday. I’d broken from routine long enough to watch a Terminator marathon.

Clark was looking at me in That Way—his eyes soft, his lips curved. He was sitting really close, his thigh pressing against mine. I felt warm and I didn’t know if it was the wine or just his proximity.

A knock on the door startled me. I glanced at my watch. It was nearing midnight.

“Who the heck could that be?” I muttered, climbing off the couch. Clark stopped me, his hand closing on my arm in a vise grip.

“Let me check,” he said, also on his feet. “You stay back.”

I couldn’t argue, because he was already on his way to the door, not that I was sure I would’ve. If he wanted to be cannon fodder for a possible serial killer, he could be my guest. Though I doubted serial killers knocked first.

Clark opened the door. I hung back a little, but peered around him anyway.

“Who the hell are you?”

I barreled forward because I knew that voice.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Clark said, easily blocking me from forcing my way in front of him. “It’s late.”

“Where’s China?” Jackson asked.

“I’m here,” I said, pushing my head underneath Clark’s arm where it was braced on the doorjamb. My shoulders couldn’t fit, but I could twist my head up to sort of see Jackson standing there.

“You know this guy?” Clark asked. “An ex?”

A giggle escaped before I could clamp my lips shut. Too much wine. I cleared my throat.

“I’m her boss,” Jackson said, his voice as sharp and cold as a blade.

“Jackson, this is my neighbor, Clark. Clark, meet my boss, Jackson.” I squirmed more until I finally escaped the prison of Clark’s body.

“
The
neighbor?” Jackson asked, his gaze sharp on Clark.

“What does he mean, ‘
the
neighbor’?” Clark asked me.

“Yeah,” I said to Jackson.

“You’re right,” Jackson said with a sneer. “He looks like a dick.”

My jaw fell open. “I didn’t—”

“Watch your mouth, asshole,” Clark shot back. “I’m not the one knocking on her door in the middle of the night.”

“I’m not the one getting her drunk,” Jackson snarled.

This time I got a word in edgewise. “Wait—stop, both of you. Jackson, why are you here?”

Jackson was staring daggers at Clark, who returned the look threefold, which gave me a slight pause. Clark, who usually appeared so Boy-Next-Door, looked downright dangerous. They were both of a comparable height though perhaps Jackson edged out Clark by a mere inch, but that still left them towering over me.

“Jackson,” I repeated. He finally dragged his gaze to mine.

“We need to talk. In private.” He looked pointedly at Clark.

I turned to Clark. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to chat with you tomorrow.”

He studied me, probably trying to see if I meant it. It took a moment, but finally he said, “Yeah, sure. I’ll come by tomorrow.”

Before I could say anything, Clark pressed a quick kiss to my lips. He gave Jackson a hard glare as he passed, which Jackson completely ignored, as though he didn’t even exist or wasn’t worthy of his notice.

“May I come in?” he asked.

I retreated into my foyer and he followed me, closing the door behind himself. I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room as Jackson surveyed everything, his gaze pausing briefly on the nearly empty bottle of wine and two glasses before moving on.

“One of your team was found dead tonight,” he said. “You didn’t answer your cell and given what’s happened the past few days, I got concerned. I would’ve sent the security team up, but I was afraid they’d scare you.”

It took me a moment to process that. My hands became cold and clammy and my knees felt weak.
Physical signs of shock and fear
, I thought. “What happened?” I finally asked.

“Terry was killed in a car wreck tonight.”

Terry. The older guy who’d been absolutely professional about everything. Who’d responded to my requests and inquiries with alacrity. We’d hit it off immediately and I’d known we would work well together. And we had.

“How?”

“Lost control. Hit a tree. Died before emergency personnel got to the scene.”

I turned away, closing my eyes and rubbing a hand over my forehead. That just really, really sucked.

“Did he have a family?” I don’t know why I was torturing myself. There wasn’t anything I could do about it now.

“A wife. Thirty-some years. Two kids, grown and moved away. Three grandkids.”

Tears stung my eyes. Grabbing my half-full glass of wine, I downed it.

“You don’t think it was an accident, do you.” It wasn’t a question and Jackson didn’t pretend.

“No, I don’t.”

We were both quiet for a moment.

“So what now?” I asked.

“Any idea why he was killed?”

I shook my head. “He was great. Very professional. Actually had his team’s work checked in for final review Friday evening. A week early. I commended him in an e-mail I sent out to the team leads this morning.” I’d hoped John would take a hint from his older and more experienced colleague.

“At least his work is done.”

I looked at Jackson, shocked into silence at his cold statement. “Really?” I finally managed. “That’s what you have to say? The man is dead, likely murdered though it looks like an accident. And you’re talking about the project?”

Jackson was suddenly right up in my space. “I want this project over because every day that passes, I regret putting you in charge of it,” he gritted out. “People are being killed. For all we know, you could be next. And I don’t want that on my conscience.”

His sentiment was both frightening and self-serving. He loomed over me, his eyes glittering in the low light from the television. He looked alarming, the muscles in his body tense, as though poised to strike.

“I can take care of myself, Jackson. And I’ll try not to get killed so you can still sleep at night.”

He broke away and shoved a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ, China. You’re what, twenty-two? Twenty-three years old? You have no idea what you’re dealing with. You’re too smart for your own damn good and if I had any sense at all, I’d kick you off this project.”