Out of Reach (15 page)

Laughing, I lean down and give Megan a quick
hug.

“Are you here for your usual spinach
tortellini and lasagna?” she asks.

“Yes, please, and make it to-go. And add an
extra loaf of cheesy bread please.”

As she races off to the kitchen I pull out
my phone and sit down to kill a few minutes checking messages and
perusing my email. Not ten minutes later Megan is back with a large
to-go bag. Fast service is just one of the many perks of being on a
first name basis with the owners.

“Hey, are you home for the summer?” I ask
Megan while she’s printing out my receipt.

“Yes, but I won’t be working here much I’m
afraid.”

“That’s too bad! What will you being
doing?”

“I have an internship at the hospital.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah, it’s going to be a lot of work but
I’m really looking forward to it.”

Signing the receipt I grab the to-go bag
from Megan and wish her luck on her internship.

I drive like a bat out of hell and when I
finally arrive home, I gratefully drop two armloads of crap from
work along with my purse onto the counter. Looking at the large
stack, I roll my eyes. Keys in hand I make a quick dash back out to
my car to retrieve dinner. Upon reentering the house I hear ...
music? Still clutching the to-go bag I head down the hallway in the
direction of what is most definitely music. And it’s coming from
the bathroom.

Stealthily I enter the bedroom and crack the
door to the bathroom just wide enough to peek inside. My eyes and
ears are assaulted with the ultimate display of boy band gone
wrong. I quickly thrust my hand over my mouth to keep from blowing
my cover while inside Ben continues singing into my hairbrush and
working his way through a complicated dance routine. Well, let’s
just say the fact that he’s only wearing a towel complicates the
routine.

But hey
, I think to myself,
he’s on key and
the towel definitely enhances the choreography.

Despite my best efforts my laughter spills
forth long before Ben notices me watching him in the mirror. At
that point, he turns around to face me, and his dance moves become
even more suggestive. He’s halfway through a truly obscene body
roll when I hold up the to-go bag where he can see it.

“Great, I’m starved. But I’ll be saving a
little of this for later,” he says, winking at me as he completes
his last twist. Handing him the bag I head into the closet to
change into something comfortable, still smiling.

It’s the work of two seconds to strip out of
my top and jeans. After throwing them into the hamper, I start
rummaging around in the dresser for my favorite sweats. This is one
of those times where my single-minded focus is an undesirable
quality. If I were one of those people who are more in touch with
their senses and what’s going on around them, I might have noticed
the 230-pound, slightly wet man before he tackled me. But no,
thanks to the music and my lack of external awareness, I don’t
notice him until I am flat on my back against the closet floor. My
yelp of surprise and the giggles that follow are quickly lost as
moist lips caress my neck while Ben’s strong hands reach around me
to release the clasp of my bra. I sigh as he pulls the thing out
from between us, balls it up, and throws it into the hamper.

Distracted by his hot breath on my skin I
barely hear him when he whispers, “See I’m not always a slob,” into
my ear.

* * *

After donning a tank and sweats, I attempt
to pick the remaining carpet fuzzies out of my hair. Listening to
the sound of my stomach rumbling for the second time in the last
five minutes, I give up. I’m hungry and my hair is a lost cause
tonight. I grab a hair tie on my way out of the bathroom, and
efficiently pull it up as I amble into the kitchen. As I breathe in
the heavenly scent of garlic my stomach churns and gurgles
again.

“You need something to drink?” I holler at
Ben, who has dinner set up outside on the back patio. Shaking his
head at me he holds up a bottle of wine. Smiling, I reach for the
hooded sweatshirt hanging off the back of a kitchen chair. While
pulling it over my head, I step through the sliding glass door and
onto the back patio. Reaching for my glass of wine, I sit down and
sigh, totally relaxed. Between bites of lasagna, Ben hands me a
heaping plate of spinach tortellini.

Conversation is superficial
and borderline nonexistent between us tonight. I just don’t want to
sour the mood. I
so
don’t want to discuss work right now, and I’m always a tad
grumpy the night Ben has to return to work. Opting for as little
conversation as possible seems the safest course of action. Ben
politely gives me my space, like always, knowing I’m moody on the
best of days. So we eat and afterward I join him on his side of the
table.

Resting my head on his shoulder, we snuggle,
quietly watching the sun slip lower and lower on the horizon.

“So ... will you be stalking me at the bar
this week?”

Pulling away from him, I try my best to
appear aloof.

“Possibly.”

Chuckling to himself, Ben stands, kisses me
on the top of the head, and strides back into the house to finish
getting ready for work.

I pull my knees up to my chest and continue
to sit outside, aimlessly swirling my wine glass. Five swirls to
the left. Stop. Six swirls to the right. Stop. The mindless pattern
is soothing.

“Gwen!?”

Absorbed in the acrobatics of the burgundy
liquid I must not have heard Ben the first time he called. Just as
I begin my pattern of six swirls to the right, the glass is
snatched from my fingers.

“Hey!” I exclaim, looking up in time to see
Ben toss the last of my wine down his throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you going to finish
that?” he replies sarcastically. “Apparently you were too busy
doing nothing to hear me when I asked you politely if I could have
a sip. I am leaving you with the bottle, ya know.”

Never having been one to be the bigger
person, I desperately want to wipe that smug look off his face.

So I punch him in the leg.

He doesn't even flinch, but it makes me feel
instantly better.

“I love you too, Gwen.”

Staring up into those crystal blue eyes of
his I fumble and fail to make a response. I lack the emotional
depth or connection to return those three little words. Unwinding
myself from the chair, I wrap my arms around his waist, burying my
face in his shirt, hoping my lame display of affection will make up
for how completely tongue-tied I become when it comes to verbally
expressing my feelings. In preschool terms, I’m the one who hits
the boy she likes on the playground, not the one who writes him
letters professing her undying love.

Squatting down so we are closer to eye
level, Ben kisses me softly on the mouth.

“Sleep well, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Nodding, my eyes follow him as he steals
another slice of cheesy bread for the road. Popping the thing in
his mouth to free up his hands, he grabs the rest of his gear and
strolls out the front door. A few seconds later I hear the metallic
scrape of the dead bolt as it slides into place, locking out the
world. There is something so final about the sound. Not prone to
visceral reactions like some, who can sense cataclysmic events in
their bones, I have no idea if my gut is trying to telling me
something in this moment, but I just can’t shake the feeling that
things are about to change.

“Oh my God,” I blurt out loud.

An idea suddenly clicks into place in my
mind. Rushing to stand, I nearly knock a chair over in my haste.
Stabilizing the thing, I hurry back into the house and down the
hallway. Leaping over the pile of laundry cluttering the doorframe
to my bedroom, I race into the bathroom. I fling open the medicine
cabinet and scour the shelves. Not finding what I’m looking for I
continue my search in the cabinets under the sink.

Come on,
I know I have one somewhere around
here.

Then I see it way in the back. Grabbing the
box, I take a deep breath trying to calm myself down enough to read
the directions. I should pee on the stick and wait. Okay, got
it.

Any idiot can do that.

Setting the test to rest on the tank of the
toilet when I’m finished, I turn around to wait the designated
three minutes.

If Melanie could only see
me now
, I chuckle.

At my lingerie shower, instead of getting me
something racy to wear on my honeymoon, Melanie had given me a
stack of pregnancy tests. Not considering children at the time, I
about died of embarrassment when I had unwrapped her gift. Who knew
her present would turn out to be so practical.

Taking one last deep breath I turn back
around and look at the test cautiously: one pink line.
Double-checking the answer key and the expiration date on the box,
I breathe a sigh of relief. One crisis averted, but you can scratch
gut feelings and feminine intuition off my list of attributes.

Chapter 22

With a small brown paper bag tucked under my
arm, I push my way through the front entrance of Preston-Ward. I
stealthily tread across the lobby and duck into the stairwell,
hoping to avoid attention. By taking the stairs two at a time, I
swiftly climb to the second floor and ensconce myself in my
office.

I lock the door behind me and slant the
blinds so they let in just enough light to see by while still
blocking out unwanted eyes. I turn out the lights and take a seat
behind my desk. Unfolding the take-out bag releases the glorious
smell of beef and broccoli into the room. Sighing I relax into my
seat and prepare to eat.

Halfway through an eggroll
I pop open a bottle of iced tea and savor a large gulp before
returning to my meal. When my appetite is sated I send Z a
text:
Working late, something smells
funny. I’ll keep you posted.
Dropping the
phone on my desk I run a hand through the black waves of my hair,
and then attempt to rub the knot out of my left shoulder. All of my
tension is carried in my neck and shoulders, which have developed
permanent tight spots over the years—a masseuse’s worst nightmare,
to be sure. The phone begins to vibrate silently on the desk top
and I look down, reading Z’s reply:
Ready
if you need me.

Good
, I think to myself,
I’ve no idea
what I’m in for tonight or what I might find. Backup may come in
handy.

I glance at the clock on my desktop
computer, which reads 5:05p.m., “Closing time,” I whisper aloud.
Shoving the empty Chinese food containers into the trash I tidy up
and sit back in my chair to wait. The buildings usually clear of
the daytime inhabitants by 6:30p.m., but I’ll need to hide out
until after 10p.m. at the earliest. The last of the workaholics
will be long gone by then and the custodians will be well into
their cleansing rituals. The personal staff offices are cleaned by
the dayshift so not a soul will be on my floor until morning,
making it the ideal place to stow away.

Tapping my fingers on the desktop, already
bored, I remind myself waiting is the best plan, given my list of
alternatives. By choosing to wait in my office, I minimize the
amount of magic needed to accomplish my goal. I also avoid having
to erase anyone’s memory. Honestly, if I get caught I still may
have to do that, but the chances of me running into anyone are a
whole lot slimmer.

The next five hours are a blur of
strategizing where to begin my investigation, trying to nap, and
playing solitaire on my computer. Too many pieces of the puzzle are
missing. At least one other person knows about the Sylph’s
existence: the master. As to whom that could be, I haven’t the
faintest clue at this point. Where the Sylph and his sphere could
be hiding is another good question. How Gwen and her team obtained
fragments of his essence for experimentation is the dilemma that
frightens me most. It opens the door to a world of dangers none of
us have ever foreseen. Rubbing my eyes I lay my head down on the
desk again and try not to dwell on the “what ifs.”

By the time 10p.m. rolls around, I’m grouchy
and stiff from sitting too long. Stretching up to my full height I
shake out my legs and roll my neck, pausing to knead the knot in my
left shoulder again. Feeling a bit more limber I channel a little
power and cast a cloud of concealment around my body. It’s not a
literal cloud per se, but it will conceal my presence from those
around me, including cameras.

As I move swiftly and silently down the
hallway, my keenly tuned senses are on high alert. The first phase
of my plan is to snoop through Gwen’s and Joe’s offices, garnering
as much information as I can about the compound they’ve been
working on. From there I plan to scour their lab. I’d really love
to visit the lower level and the custodian’s break room again, take
a second look for Mr. Johnson’s personal effects, check the
personnel files in Mike’s office, just give the entire floor a more
thorough inspection, but I can’t since it’s the one area guaranteed
to be teaming with people tonight; the custodial crew comprising
the bulk of the nightshift workforce.

I shake my head and refocus on the task at
hand. It’s highly unlikely I’ll run into anyone while still here on
the office floor, but being overly confident is a rookie mistake.
This isn’t my first intel mission; I keep my wits about me, my
movements slow and fluid as I stealthily traverse the corridors to
Joe’s office. Pausing outside the door I listen before thinking the
lock to open and stepping inside. Being careful not to make a
sound, I close the door behind me and make for the file
cabinet.