She dug through her briefcase for her cell phone.
Dead. She hadn’t had time to charge it this morning. Undaunted, she sat down at Marilyn’s desk and moved the mouse to bring up the screen. The administrator’s account blinked on. Marilyn was still logged on. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, but she was clueless as to what to do. She still needed help.
She pulled up the contacts on Marilyn’s computer and scrolled. What was Max’s company called?
There it was. Black Cat Computers. Of course, Max had a bunch of black cats. Nice guy and pretty nice cats, but it had been too weird making out with all of those cats watching her. Luckily, Max didn’t seem to click with her either, but they’d remained friends.
A polite electronic voice answered the phone when she called the number listed in the phone book. She followed the electronic prompts and pressed 3 for customer service. A smooth-voiced man named Jared came on the line.
“Jared, I’m a friend of Max’s and I need some advice on how to secure my system,” said Jackie, realizing how lame her request was.
“What is your account number, ma’am?” the silky-voiced stranger asked.
“I don’t have an account. I’m just a friend of Max’s. Is he there, by the way? Just tell him it’s Jackie. He’ll know who I am.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, Mr. Lauffer’s information is confidential. As you can imagine, quite a few people would like to speak with him personally.”
Jackie tried to remain calm through gritted teeth. “Jared, this is an emergency.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m in Toronto, Canada. Mr. Lauffer’s offices are located in Baltimore, Maryland.”
“I know that, Jared. I’m in Baltimore, Maryland, calling a Baltimore, Maryland number. Why are you in Canada?” Jackie took long, deep breaths.
“Outsourced, ma’am,” Jared explained without the slightest hint of annoyance.
“Jared, you have got to help me,” Jackie begged.
“Calm down, ma’am,” he began.
“Calm down? You want me to calm down? I’m not your mother either, Jared, so stop calling me ma’am. This is serious,” she shouted at the receiver, which she held about three inches from her face.
When she brought the receiver back to her face, a buzzing silence echoed through the line. “Jared?”
“I’m still here, but I do insist you calm down. Now, what exactly is your problem?”
After going through the system to the best of her abilities, being completely stumped by all but one of Jared’s questions, she burst out, “Am I screwed?”
A soft chuckle came through the phone. “No, but I’m afraid I cannot help you with how to disable the system from further intrusions. Might I suggest a hard reset?”
“What’s that?” Jackie replied impatiently.
“Turn everything off and unplug all of your connections. You won’t have access to your system but neither will the intruder.”
Unplug it all. Of course! Had she completely lost her sense?
“Thank you, Jared.”
Jackie threw the receiver back into its cradle, powered down Marilyn’s computer, and pulled the cord out of the surge protector. The office being so small, it took no time to disconnect any device that might be connected to the Internet. She also unplugged the lines to the box with the blinking lights. Was that the router?
“I love nontechie solutions,” she said aloud, hands on her hips, with a smile of satisfaction.
Back at her desk, she took inventory of the mess of papers and file folders. She needed to find that data, but how with every computer powered down? If she got into the system, she had no idea how to find the files.
Dusting off some of the small cases she’d taken would be a good distraction, not to mention a revenue generator. Plus, the motion was due. She’d do the stuff not requiring a computer first, then haul the remainder home where she could access the Internet without using the office’s system.
Time slowed. Jackie forced herself to slog through cases in order to prepare the motion in an employment dispute involving the firing of a fat dancer from a gentlemen’s club. The woman actually claimed cellulite was a disability. A gentlemen’s club wasn’t exactly a prime client, but they paid on time, and the owner was Marilyn’s cousin.
Marilyn.
Jackie put down her highlighter, leaned back in her chair, and covered her face with her hands. “What have I done?”
She couldn’t believe that Marilyn would betray her, but how else to explain the cyberintrusion? No one else knew about the evidence, except whoever had sent her that tip with the roses. Brandon? No, Brandon wouldn’t have betrayed her. There was no way he could have faked the emotions from last night unless he was an Academy Award-winning actor.
The sun’s rays cut through her window blinds and reflected off the glass protecting her diplomas. White spots danced before her eyes. She spun in her chair to take in the sunset, a rosy orange palette spread across her window. The blinds were broken in a permanently open position and three-quarters raised. There would be no relief from the glare for another half an hour. Might as well pack it up and head home.
On the way home, the lounge at the W Hotel called her name. Why the hell not? It’d been months since she’d seen the bartender, Harry. While she had gin at home and an excellent assortment of olives too, nothing beat someone else making the perfect martini. She veered left and headed toward the water to the hotel. A drink at the W had been a weekly ritual for several years, until times got lean.
Opening the chrome-and-smoked-glass door was like coming home, though. Sleek white-and-black leather club chairs sat in empty groups around chrome-and-glass tables. Red Lucite swivel chairs stood at attention at the bar.
Although the bar’s decor was ultramodern, Harry tended bar in the old-school fashion. Wearing his typical white tuxedo jacket, his once-black hair now dusted heavily with gray, Harry waited for the night’s first customer.
“Well, look what the cat drug in! Miss Jackie North, missing-in-action attorney-at-law, where have you been, little lady?”
“I’ve missed you too,” said Jackie, taking a seat at the middle of the bar. “Hope you’ll excuse the casual attire, but it’s been a long day, and I really could use a drink.”
“You came to the right place. Not like those other places you’ve been frequenting.” He wagged a finger at her.
Jackie inwardly cringed. “What places?” She knew the answer. She’d recently turned to the lower-end hotel lounges, like the Ramada and Holiday Inn. She’d even stooped so low once as to crash the manager’s reception at the Drury Inn after a particularly bad day in court.
“I have my sources, who shall remain confidential, but I know what you’ve been up to. My only question is why? You, a hotshot trial lawyer, slinking around the Ramada. What were they mixing for you, Jack and Coke?” Although his voice was smug, his smile was embracing and his weathered, old hands warm as he held Jackie’s.
“Oh, Harry,” she sighed, “I’m broke.”
“Now there,” he cooed in his Southern drawl. “Don’t you worry, honey. This one’s on old Harry.”
Years of practice told him exactly how much to pour for any drink a patron could imagine. He poured the gin into a silver shaker filled with ice, added a few drops of dry vermouth, and shook.
The frost on the outside of the shaker was white and hard, as cold as only a pro like Harry could take. He strained the icy white concoction into a chilled martini glass. Topped with a cucumber spear and green olive, the drink was heavenly. With grace, he set it on a white napkin in front of Jackie.
“Cheers.” She lifted her glass to Harry and took a sip. “Ah, now that’s a martini. You are the mix master, Harry. I’ll give up my movie rentals and music downloads for one of these every week.”
The drink melted her troubles away with each sip. By the time she finished and started her second, she’d updated Harry on every piece of courthouse gossip she knew, except her own, of course.
“And what about you, young lady? When is Prince Charming going to sweep you off your feet? You know I’d take charge of that duty myself, but my little lady would cut my balls off and feed ’em to the cat.”
Jackie sprayed a stream of gin across the bar and choked through a laugh. “And you’d deserve it. That woman is a saint. How long have you been married, by the way?”
“Fifty-two years this past July. Fifty-two beautiful years with the lady of my dreams. But, enough of me, what about you? Any prospects on the horizon? I bet you run into some good-looking and rich young men in your line of work, eh?”
Heat flooded from her neck to the top of her head like a thermometer’s mercury rising in a roasting pig.
“So there is someone, isn’t there?” Harry slapped his leg with his bar cloth. “Who’s the lucky man?”
“Oh boy, is this ever a long story. I better hit the ladies’ room first, or I’ll never make it through.”
Jackie sidled off the bar stool and made a beeline for the restroom. A janitor’s cart blocked her way.
“Oh shit,” she said. She turned and headed toward the lobby bathroom.
Her flats were quiet on the black granite floor, which sparkled like a night sky full of stars. She smiled. An inky sky full of twinkling stars canopied both that first night with Brandon and last night. She took a right toward the elevators.
A tall, statuesque platinum blonde with a flirtatious smile on her ruby-red lips whispered in a man’s ear.
Jackie froze.
Her breathing stopped.
Her heart ripped in two.
“Brandon?” she said, barely audible.
Brandon turned, his hand still on the woman’s arm. “Jackie? What are you doing here?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jackie ran as fast as she could out of the lobby onto the street. Her lungs constricted, soaking up the humidity like a sponge. The hot pavement burned her feet through the skimpy ballet flats. Her heart thrummed. Her mind whirled.
With what felt like lead-filled legs, she struggled to move through the gelatinous air. She concentrated on picking her foot up to take the next step and the next.
Cars, people, and pigeons moved in slow motion alternating with light-speed flickers. A panhandler popped into high definition, the pores of her pink sponge curlers visible. The sour reek of the Dumpster in the parking lot assaulted Jackie.
The scene shifted. Jackie’s breath caught sharply as if she’d stepped into a freezing shower. Never unaware, rarely lost, she stood stock-still in the middle of a vacant parking lot, clueless. How had she gotten here? Where exactly was
here
?
Weeds poked up through the asphalt’s cracks like veins in a piece of marble. Plywood boards covered half the windows. Most of the others were covered by bars, the rest exposed naked and broken to the ravages of the neighborhood.
Survival instinct took over. Jackie squared her shoulders, flexed her legs muscles, and set forth, eyes focused on the nearest street corner.
How did she get this far from the W? Needing to retrieve her briefcase from the bar, she headed east toward a more gentrified area, where she hailed a cab.
The cabbie let her borrow his cell phone to call Harry, who graciously agreed to meet her at the curb. She gave the cabbie his fare and jumped out to meet Harry. He handed her bag over and put his arms around her in an awkward hug.
“I’m worried about you, girl,” he said in his gravelly voice.
Another old person fussing over her. Her law school friends never worried about her. Why would they? She made sure she always exuded confidence. Did these old folks sense she’d lost it?
A sob caught in her throat. She willed herself to hold it together. “My loft is close by. I’m fine. Really.”
His soothing pats continued. “Aren’t you always. You know where to find me if you want to talk. I care about you, honey. I’m not the only one. You know that?”
Jackie gave him a quick nod and trudged down the street toward her loft. Her mind wandered back to the scene of that woman with Brandon. How could he? He’d begged her to trust him.
Trust.
She trusted herself. The lone wolf was back.
After dragging herself into her loft, she changed into a camisole and cotton drawstring pajama pants. A quick trip around the apartment ensured all locks were engaged and her alarm set. Her mind rewound to the scene in the lobby, now permanently seared in her brain. She went to the bathroom for a Benadryl, her only hope for sleep.
The bathroom mirror reflected her haggard visage complete with puffy, red-rimmed eyes. “Jesus, I look like a stoned raccoon.” She splashed cool water on her face, then gazed miserably at herself in the mirror. “Damn you, Brandon Marshfield. I hate you. And I hate myself for falling for you, getting suckered into your good looks and your tenderness and, and, and—”
Tears flowed. How was it possible for anyone to cry so much? She hadn’t cried like this when she’d broken up with Gary. She hadn’t cried at all then. She hadn’t cried like this when her dad left. Her mom had cried, though. Bawled.
Jackie picked up the phone to call her best friend from law school but hung up before anyone answered. Rehashing it all would not help. She needed a distraction. She pulled a dog-eared paperback romance from her bookshelf, curled up in her bed, and fell asleep before page five.
Morning dawned after a night of unusually dreamless sleep. Although her eyes still bore the remnants of raccoon circles, a little concealer went a long way, and she left for the office by eight thirty.
Making coffee depressed her. Marilyn’s absence hung weightily over the office. More than once, Jackie picked up the phone and began punching in Marilyn’s cell number. Perhaps she’d been too harsh with the one woman who knew her best. After all, she hadn’t been in the best of mental states at the time when she confronted Marilyn. Her pride sat like a concrete roadblock in her way.
Praise the Lord for caller ID. She’d avoided no fewer than five calls from Brandon Marshfield this morning. As much as she’d relish giving him a tongue-lashing, revisiting the emotions would only prolong her agony. A surgical amputation was in order.
Still offline at the office, Jackie focused on drafting a memo in the stripper’s employment discrimination case. Her laptop was in offline mode, so she felt safe from the cyberstalker. Lost in double-checking her legal citations, Jackie jerked in surprise at the rap on the outer office door. A deliveryman peeked around the corner.