Hit 'N' Run (Under Suspicion #1) (6 page)

Chapter Six

Aqua Oil’s ultra modern office in hues of greys and silver, interspersed with splashes of crude-oil-gold, suited the personality of the owner. As much as she appreciated the elegant lines, she was surprised he hadn’t pulled from his Oriental roots in some of the décor. Her heels clicked across the marble floor as she walked to the main reception to sign in.

A talent—secret—Lorna never revealed, even to Mariam, was her ability in computer hacking and hijacking—when required. Trained as a child criminal at the hands of her drug-dealing uncle’s questionable business associates, Lorna’s early-identified knack to “see” programmable mappings and read algorithms like other children the same age could read the alphabet became a lucrative asset to her guardian. While other kids watched
Sesame Street
, Lorna honed logical forms and computer translations to move money from one account to another, stealing people’s identities and their wealth. She could pick a pocket with a smile, and wave good-bye to the mark without their ever knowing the difference. Within an hour of stealing the wallet, she’d have gift and credit cards printed for distribution.

But when it tanked…
no, I won’t think of it
. She moved the memory back into its compartment and straightened her back, ignoring the reminder of the now painless scars which lay on her body.
That’s all behind me now.

With her skills, she could have easily attended MIT, but in her quest to shed her former life and any connection to it, she pursued a different direction entirely. However, she did draw on these early abilities to ‘research’ new and potential clients.

The simple surface background check didn’t pull up much of interest about the sole owner and CEO of Aqua Oil, and she refrained from delving deeper.
Was it really necessary to know everything about everyone?
She had enough for the sake of her pursuit of this account to know he had been raised in Hong Kong, educated at the Harvard School of Business, and made his home in Canada. Seems he saw an opportunity to make his mark in petroleum and went for it.
Blah, blah, blah. Nothing of interest there.
Her job now consisted of finding that something-of-interest about the business. Using said information to the company’s favor.

In the business of marketing and promotions, there was no room for knee-jerk reaction. Therein lay the thrill for Lorna. It was what kept her interested. She was the iron on the board with a job to smooth the wrinkles. At the moment, she was just waiting to see if
U
would be granted the contract before she sunk her teeth fully into the project.

“Here you are, Ms. Tymchuk,” the pretty blonde behind the tall reception desk said, handing her a visitor ID badge.

Lorna laid her bag gently at her feet, rising to hook the clip to her lapel. “Thank you.” She nodded.

“I’ve already notified June of your arrival. She said to head on up.”

Smiling politely at the security officer stationed at the bank of elevators, hearing the whirr of the approaching lift, she stepped on and the doors whispered closed behind her. She nodded and waited for the man to run his card over the panel. For the few times she had been to the building, Lorna always found the security more like mob dog than law enforcement. Perhaps it was their calculated stare rather than friendly observation?

Even after so many years, Lorna continued to be haunted by the faces that attack with purpose and without remorse. She saw enemies in strangers at every turn and struggled every day to control the urge to hide.
You’re not a vulnerable child anymore
, she chided to herself as she wiped a hand across her brow and smoothed her hair.

“She’s a warm afternoon.” He nodded his head without allowing his face to break the mask of stern stoniness. “What floor?”

“Penthouse,” she answered, lowering her hands to her side, her voice mirroring his lack of expression.

“Top floor?” The large gorilla of a man stopped in mid motion. “Right to the boss then?”

“Yes,” she said, positioning her back against but not touching the wall of glass.

His eyes swept her like an x-ray from her two-toned shoes to her neat chignon. “Well, you look like you can hold your own.” The big man suddenly broke his mask with a quick wink.

Strange
. She turned her attention to the view from the elevator while being whisked up thirty-six floors, her hand hanging onto the rail. The bell dinged, and she strode off the elevator exuding what she hoped was pure confidence.
I really need to land this one
.

Heels clacking, Lorna pasted her most professional smile to her face, bracing for whatever June might toss her way.

“Ah, Ms. Tymchuk,” the receptionist rose from her chair. “June asked me to show you straight into the boardroom.”

“Call me Lorna, Mary,” she replied, remembering the woman’s name from the last time she was there.

Compensating for her own insecurities she prayed never showed, Lorna had a strict rule of first names in business. Notwithstanding her assistant’s—Tia—demands for formality when referencing clients, Lorna held firm everyone needed to be on equal footing to get the job done. She didn’t stand on titles and wouldn’t work with clients who did. Fortunately, it hadn’t hampered her so far, and Tim, the president of Aqua Oil, responded well to her casual approach,
despite his probably being a gazillionaire
.

“Ah, yes. Lorna,” Mary’s words faltered only slightly. “Can I get you a coffee, tea, water?”

“Water would be great. Tall glass. No ice.” She stopped to make eye contact before adding. “Thank you.”

Lorna had barely taken her seat when June and Tim joined her in the glass-walled, ultra-chic room. Standing to shake hands, they congregated in seats at one end of a table large enough to seat thirty comfortably and complete with in-table computer monitors and plug-ins masked as part of the decorations.

“Lorna, thanks for getting us the outline so quickly last week.” Tim’s cultured tone held only a hint of an Asian inflection on some words. “An impressive turnaround after the mix-up of the e-mails, wasn’t it?” He turned his narrow eyes to glance at June.

“Yes, right,” June began, her long face never quite able to live up to a smile. “I sent the e-mail outlining the direction we were looking for, but
apparently
it was never received.”

Lorna didn’t miss the emphasis on
apparently
as she returned her attention to Tim, seated at the head of the long table.

“None of us here are cyber wizards after all and who can tell what happens out there in that black wall of electronic space?” He smiled back at Lorna.
Quite a handsome man for his age. He’s likely in his early fifties. Fit and well dressed
. Lorna remained silent but open to the conversation waiting for when it would be appropriate to speak about business. “Well, nonetheless, it’s all water under the table now.”

He stopped to regard Lorna in a speculative manner, taking a drink from his china teacup, pinkie lifted just a bit as the liquid poured into his mouth. With deliberate purpose, he carefully set the delicate cup back on the saucer without clatter before continuing.

“I understand from June you had a bit of an adventure in Vancouver. An accident?” His thin lips quirked a little, and he raised his eyebrows at her.

Seeing the opportunity for participation had arrived, Lorna returned his smile and glanced between June and Tim trying to imagine these two holding a conversation on anything unrelated to their work.
Unlikely
. “A bit. A hit and run.”

He gestured a pianist hand. The long fingers fluttered in illustration down the length of her. “And you’re okay, I see,” he said, stating the obvious.

“Yes. It was really quite strange,” Lorna shook her head remembering. “I hit him and he ran.”

“Oh, that’s different,” June said laying her hands on the table on top of her covered iPad. “You hit him and he just took off?”

“Not my fault, but yes.” Lorna laughed a little at the memory, seeing absurdity. “Try explaining that to the local authorities. The man drove a hearse of all things. He ran a stop sign. I was driving one of those big pickup trucks, if you can imagine it.” Lorna indicated large with her hands.

“You, in a pickup.” Tim leaned his elbows on the table, moving forward, interested in the small talk.

“I know. What a day.” She huffed dramatically, enjoying relaying the fascination of a story. Small talk made for easier sales. Familiarity bred trust.

“The rental agency messed up my car reservation, and I end up with this enormous truck, so when I hit the hearse in the passenger door, well,” she paused, switching eye contact between both. “You can only imagine the dent.”

“I’ll bet you hardly felt a thing in the truck.”

“No. Hardly a jolt,” she agreed, taking a sip of her water, her tongue slipping out to retrieve a bubble of moisture left on her lip.

“So what happened?” Tim’s fingers lifted to hold his chin on his hands.

“Well, Mitch gets out…”

“Mitch?” June and Tim question together.

“Oh, yes. It turns out I actually knew the fellow. A long time ago. We went to university together,” she paused, picturing Mitch’s deep-blue eyes. “I never would have figured him for working for a funeral home. Go figure. Anyway, I didn’t recognize him straight off until he tossed me his license, telling me he had to fly to some emergency, which I presumed must be a funeral—and that was that.”

Tim stared at her a moment, a slight flush working it’s way up his neck. “Quite the adventure then,” he said, sitting back on his chair, tapping his fingers on his pant legs. “So, how about we get down to signing those contracts so we can get this project moving forward.”

***

Why is the music on the radio never able to match your mood?
Lorna switched between one station and another. She craved exhilaration music. Some hard pump-up-the-volume, pinch-your-lips-together, jut-your-chin-out-and-say-yeah, music.

“Finally!” She pumped her fist in the air and put the Lincoln in gear, pulling out of the parking garage. 

Song finished, Lorna scanned the stations, and paused, hearing a public service announcement sponsored by one of her clients—at her insistence—about how much money is returned to the communities through conscientious petroleum development. She had used this very ad as an example for Tim and June in her proposal.

“And it worked!” She gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Ahhh.”

Ohmigod, I have to call Tia to tell her the good news
. Lorna rooted in her bag for her phone, and plugged it into the adapter.

Stress she didn’t realize had been weighing her down fled from her shoulders with the prospect of a solid client on the books. She’d completed many projects for a host of great clients, but none were signed for any long-term contracts until today. A constant financial stream at long last would allow them to do some planning for the future. Some marketing and advertising for themselves.

A lightness of soul she hadn’t felt in a while cleared her mind. She plugged in her iPod, turning her music stream to solid rock and cranked the volume too loud. Just one song first before calling the office.

Out of the blue, a siren sounded behind her. “Shit,” she said, checking her speedometer. “I’m only doing sixty.”
Don’t tell me I blew through a pedestrian zone again
.

Lorna pulled over onto the wide shoulder of the road, slipped the Lincoln Navigator into park, and peered at the reflection from her rearview mirror. A black and white patrol car, blue and red lights flashing, pulled up directly behind her.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Huffing, she bent sideways across the passenger seat to retrieve the registration from the glove compartment.

“Do they have to leave the lights flashing like that?” she muttered, pulling her license from her wallet, adding it to the registration paperwork gripped in her hand. “Makes a person feel like a criminal for heaven’s sake.”

Eyes trained on her rearview mirror, she watched the door to the patrol car open, and one of two officers step out. “Oh, it’s a tag team event today, is it?”

Moving her hand to the arm of the door, she locked the door, always wary. A tall man in uniform drew near. She inched her fingers forward to lower her window halfway. The zip of wind from the rooftops of zooming vehicles, combined with the rubber tread of tires on asphalt, filled her ears. The hot and muggy air made her ache to turn the car back on just for the air conditioning.

A trickle of sweat laced its way down her spine as she watched the tall officer approach in her side mirror. Though his cap shadowed his face, he gave every indication of a man on a mission. He approached with the gait of a confident boxer sizing up an opponent. Stereotypical mirrored glasses shielded his eyes.

She couldn’t see him unless she turned completely in her seat as he stood just in her blind spot. His hand, palm raised, came forward. “License and registration.”