Invaded

by Jennifer M. Eaton

  *Is this because I talked to her? She asked. It wasn’t like I…*

  “Shut up, Dak.” John stood, grabbing her arm. “Hey, are you all right? Because this wasn’t normal. Really.” He shook his head. “I don’t want Dak scaring you. Just because he’s an ass doesn’t mean your…” He glanced toward a couple of women who took a table close to them. John threw money on the table and gestured to the door. “Your new friend probably won’t be anything like him.”

  She wiped the damp edges of her lashes. “But that’s the thing. She already is. That’s probably why he likes her so much.” She rubbed her forehead. “God, this is crazy.”

  “I get it. Believe me, I totally get it.”

  “I think I need to digest this all. I’ll call you, okay?”

  She’ll call him. Great, just great.

  John held the door as she passed through. She got into her car and pulled out of the parking lot without looking back.

  He let the door go and stood on the sidewalk, staring at a crack that eddied toward the pavement. A deep pain welled in his chest. His teeth clenched so hard they creaked. Dak remained blessedly quiet as an ant dragged a hunk of bread ten times its size into the crack and disappeared.

  Gone. Like everything else that mattered to him.

  25

  Tracy drummed her fingers along the edge of her laptop, allowing the gentle cadence to drown out the voices of the men gathered around the office’s main conference room table. The first twenty minutes of every meeting innumerably equated to a complete waste of time. No, you idiots, your precious football team were not going all the way this year. Like every other season, they would fail miserably, leaving you moaning and groaning and rooting for someone else come Super Bowl Sunday.

  “What do you think, Seavers?” Scott McNulty jostled her from her thought. His eyes narrowed as everyone’s gaze fell on her.

  Tracy knew McNulty would be pissed about her taking her time approving his ad campaign. And now he was looking to publicly humiliate her, drawing her into a conversation she’d normally avoid. These idiots bonded over their stupid sports teams. She couldn’t say what she was really thinking.

  Why senseless knowledge of sports statistics gained you professional momentum, she didn’t know. But Olson Soup was no different than any other place she’d worked. Inevitably, jerks like him always seemed to climb the corporate ladder. Infuriating, but it also put her into the habit of listening to sports radio for a few minutes before any major corporate meetings.

  She sat back in her chair. “Well, I think the new quarterback looks pretty good. If the defense can protect that bad shoulder of his, I think we have a shot this year.”

  Her answer earned a few appreciative slaps on the table. McNulty simply turned in the other direction, ceding his ground. Ignorant bastard.

  “Good afternoon, Gentlemen.” Colonel Marshal Olson blasted into the room, followed by Executive VP of the World, Kyle Olson, a kid barely out of college, but nonetheless heir to the Olson’s Soup empire.

  The sales team jumped to shake Marshal’s hand. Their enthusiasm waned as each greeted Kyle. Idiots. It wasn’t like the boss was going to go out and get a new son.

  The room began to settle. Hands started to fold as all the good little soldiers faced the end of the table where Marshal shuffled papers from a black leather binder.

  Kyle dug his fingers through his hair, blinking red, puffy eyes.

  “The baby isn’t sleeping through the night, yet?” Tracy asked.

  Like a room of robotic soldiers, all eyes turned to her.

  Bite me, assholes. Women can play corporate politics, too.

  A light smile touched Kyle’s lips. “That obvious, huh? He actually gave us three hours in a row last night.”

  “Well, that’s a step in the right direction.”

  McNulty twitched. She could almost see the steam floating from his ears as he tried to think up useless statistics about babies.

  “I bet you’ll be getting five hours in no time, then six,” Tracy said.

  “That sounds like heaven.” Kyle rubbed his eyes. “And thanks for the tip on the zinc, by the way. It cleared Nancy’s cold overnight. I’d be dead if I had to take care of both of them without any sleep.”

  “Yeah,” McNulty nearly shouted. “Ya gotta keep that wife healthy so she can take care of the kid. You got no business changing diapers.”

  Check, and mate.

  Tracy reclined as Kyle straightened—in one simple movement, transforming himself from daddy’s little boy, to Mr. Olson Jr.

  “Actually,” Kyle began, “I was thinking about what a trooper she is. She’s working from home, taking care of a newborn, getting less sleep than me, and she’s still doubling your sales numbers this quarter. How do you figure that?”

  Oh snap!

  McNulty nearly peed his pants last year when the boss’s son announced he was engaged to Nancy Treven, the only competition for top-performing salesperson on the Olson team. Little did we know there was already a miniature bun in the oven. Too bad Nancy wasn’t conferenced in for this meeting. She would have loved hearing her new husband rub McNulty’s nose in it.

  Invariably, the boredom of the Monday meeting set in. The sales guys gave their spiels, butting heads with marketing on how to increase sales in the next quarter. The same old boring, stale ideas bounced around the room.

  It was a waste of Tracy’s time to have to sit there through all of this bickering. She was the layout person. Once they made their decisions, they could call her in to bring their ideas to fruition, which basically meant doing the same exact thing she’d done for the last five campaigns. “Because you’re all a bunch of blithering idiots who couldn’t sell a can of soup if one hit you in the face in the middle of a football field filled with starving people.”

  Everyone was looking at her. She was standing.

  All by herself.

  In the middle of the conference room.

  Oh, shit. She’d said that out loud!

  Colonel Olson gazed at her over the tops of his glasses.

  “Sit down, Tracy,” Miles hissed under his breath.

  Stunned, she slumped into her chair. The gaze of each member of the sales team bored through her. Miles slouched as if he could avoid the boss’s stare by slipping under the table. Kyle Olson’s lips pressed together as if suppressing a grin.

  The colonel pushed up his glasses. “What exactly do you mean by that Ms, umm…”

  “Seavers,” Kyle completed his father’s query.

  How many meetings had she sat in this very chair wanting to tell all these blowhards off? But you don’t do that! What had gotten into her? It was like a sudden jolt of adrenalin had shocked her to her feet and ran off her tongue.

  Something swirled in her chest. Adonna. Oh shit.

  The CEO and his son still stared at her, awaiting her answer.

  She grabbed the arms of her chair, gathering her thoughts. The Ambient may have jolted her the first time, but Tracy had only said what she was thinking, and her thoughts were still sound. Maybe she’d been silent for too long.

  Taking a deep breath, she stood. “I look at it like this: sales have fallen steadily each quarter.”

  “It’s the economy,” McNulty said. “People aren’t buying soup.”

  “People still have to eat,” Tracy pointed out. “They’re buying soup. They just aren’t buying our soup.”

  “She’s right,” the Colonel said. “Campar’s soup division is up fifteen percent. Why is that, Mr. McNulty?”

  McNulty paled. “They-they’re dropping prices.”

  “Even their sales prices are higher than ours,” Kyle pointed out.

  Tracy nodded. “But that doesn’t keep them from leveraging sales and promotional space. Have you seen their displays in Ace Markets and FoodShop?” She pointed at the table. “Olson’s Soup, year after year, has failed to combat the competition at point of sale.”

  The Colonel set his glasses on the counter. “I’m not
getting into dirty advertising. My family founded this company on certain principles that I refuse to overlook.”

  Tracy settled herself under his gaze. “I’m not asking you to. But you should use those principles as leverage. Olson’s Soup is made from all-natural ingredients. More natural spices and less salt. It’s good for your family. Plain and simple.” She stiffened as Kyle’s right eyebrow shot up. “Clean, simple, and back to basics. Olson’s Soup. It’s good for you.”

  Kyle dropped his pen and looked at the ceiling.

  The Colonel’s nose flared. “You’re suggesting a complete change in marketing strategy.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  The Colonel’s hands fisted. “I’ve invested one-point-five million dollars on easy to open packaging for the Fast and Easy promotions. You do realize that.”

  Tracy nodded. “Yeah, well, everyone is using the new canning technology. It doesn’t set you apart anymore.”

  His eyes narrowed as he slowly stood. His gaze flicked from his son to Tracy’s boss. “Kremmer. My office. Now.” Colonel Olson slammed the door behind him as he left the room.

  Miles turned to her. “Your job is layout, not to piss off the owner of the company. What the hell is the matter with you?”

  Tracy shrugged. She refused to say she was sorry. This company was run by too many men stuck in the stone ages. If this alien inside her was going to help her stand up for herself, maybe this whole Ambient situation wasn’t such a bad thing. This was a long time in coming.

  But as Miles left the room, the reality of the daggers shooting her way set in. Kyle Olson rested his forehead on a shaking fist. His ears burned an angry red. McNulty sat back in his chair and folded his arms, a triumphant smirk leached to his lips.

  Sweat soaked through Tracy’s shirt as her small victory melted into spiraling defeat. She closed her laptop and bolted from the room.

  Where the hell was she going to find another job in this Godforsaken economy?

  26

  Art handed John a coffee as he passed through the war room door. “Happy Monday.”

  “Seriously?” John snatched the cup. His partner should know by now that happiness on the job equated to a killer behind bars. Until then, he’d better keep the coffee flowing.

  “You know, a day off wouldn’t hurt you once in a while. Might make you less cranky.”

  John whipped around, ready to show him how cranky he could be, especially since Dak had fallen into a sleep-like state after their argument yesterday afternoon, leaving John alone to brood over being taken control of; but Art’s wry smile eased some of the tension in his shoulders.

  “I’m not the bad guy, remember?” Art said.

  John drew in a calming breath. “I know.”

  Art tapped on his handheld computer. His lips thinned and his eyes narrowed as he stared at the screen, evoking deep lines around his puffy eyes. His partner hadn’t been himself the last few weeks, as if his age caught up with him all of a sudden.

  “Looks like you haven’t been getting much rest either.”

  Art shoved his handheld in his back pocket. “Yeah, well, I have this partner that doesn’t believe in weekends.” He opened his lips to continue but seemed to think better of it.

  “And?” John queried.

  Art held up his hands, then laughed. “Never could pass anything by you.”

  John waited, raising a brow.

  “My Dad’s been under the weather. Doctors say it’s his heart.”

  Shit. John knew what that was like, but Art had to be in his late-fifties. It seemed almost unfair that someone so much older than him still had their parents.

  John shook away the thought. It didn’t matter how old anyone was. Losing a parent was hard.

  It was six years and two months since the night his sister had called. John didn’t meet her at the hospital like she’d asked. He’d been on a big case—the kind that gets you promoted. He figured he’d visit his dad the next morning before work.

  He didn’t get the chance.

  There weren’t too many decisions he regretted in his life, but that was probably at the top of his list.

  “When was the last time you saw your dad?” John asked.

  “Last night.”

  John nodded. Art was always ten times smarter than John in certain areas. “If you need to go, just go. Leave me a message or something. Family comes first.”

  “But—”

  John’s pointer finger cut him off. “Promise me.”

  A half-hearted grin crept over Art’s lips. “You’ll have me believing you’re trying to get rid of me.”

  “Sure. As you’re so fond of pointing out, you’re all I’ve got. You think I want to have Biggs as a partner?”

  “Now that’d be fun.”

  John took a sip of his coffee and set the cup on the table. A thin tendril of steam rose from the hole in the lid. Like every other day, he gave his first few minutes to Diana, Melissa, and Alexandra—a few quiet moments where he stared into the eyes of the pictures tacked to the bulletin board.

  Come on, ladies. Give me a hint. What connects you? Where is this asshole? Where does he eat breakfast? Where does he fill his gas tank? Where does he buy his… “Wait a minute.”

  Art perked up. “What?”

  “Milk.”

  “Milk?”

  “Wasn’t there a Wawa receipt next to Diana Worth’s body?”

  Art pulled a digital image out of a folder and slid it across the table. “Yeah. Milk and bread. Paid in cash. We already checked security tapes at the time of the date stamp. What are you thinking?”

  “Melissa Harpoona had a piece of a receipt tucked into her cheek.”

  “Yeah, but it was only a few numbers. Price per gallon or something.” He slid out another image and handed it to John.

  John pointed to the photo. “Bingo.”

  Art’s brow rose. “You wanna tell me what’s his name-o?”

  “It’s the same ink. Wawa gas stations also have convenience stores.”

  “Shit,” Art whispered. “How the hell did we miss that?”

  “Wawa links at least two of them.”

  “Wawa links everyone. There’s a convenience store at half the intersections in the state. It’s a dead-end.”

  “Not necessarily.” He pointed to the full receipt. “I want to know the price of gas at this Wawa on the days surrounding Melissa Harpoona’s murder.”

  “You think both receipts came from the same Wawa?”

  John nodded. “I think our boy finally left us something to work with.”

  27

  Tracy had been in the middle of packing up her desk when she’d been called to Mr. Olson’s office. For all her bravado that morning, she now stood before the solid oak door with his name on it, afraid to step forward.

  Adonna spun through her stomach, boosting her confidence as she knocked.

  “In!” Was the only response.

  Such a charming man.

  She pushed the door open and squinted as the sunlight from huge windows on two sides of the corner office accosted her eyes. Two mallards flew past the glass and landed in the drain pond behind the building. Olson didn’t even look up from the paperwork fanned across his dark cherry wood desk.

  “Sit.”

  She gulped. “I prefer to stand.”

  He looked up, his gaze latching to hers. Tracy reminded herself to breathe.

  Colonel Olson had patsies to fire people. He never did it himself. He must be pretty pissed off at her. Part of her didn’t care anymore, but the other part, the part that liked to be employed, cared a lot. How long would Laini be able to float her if she couldn’t pay the rent?

  A chair squeaked to her left and Kyle Olson closed his laptop. He leaned on the edge of the large conference table that wouldn’t have fit in her living room, let alone in an office. A bemused expression crossed the younger Olson’s face as he looked at her. He’d never been an ass before, but maybe he was his father’s son after all.
>
  “Tracy Seavers.” The colonel leafed through a paper file. Why the man didn’t use the perfectly good computer sitting beside him, she didn’t know. “You’ve worked for me for four years.”

  “Four and a half.”

  That gaze froze her again. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut?

  His right hand formed a fist. “In four and a half years, I’ve never heard your voice, and today, out of the blue, you stand up and disavow a million-dollar ad campaign.”

  The twist in her stomach turned to a swirl. Her muscles relaxed, sparkled. She straightened her posture. “Well, I suppose someone had to do it.”

  His ears reddened. He stood slowly, trembling as if he might explode. “I am not dealing with this, this…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “One-point-five million dollars,” he grumbled, pushing past her and out of the room.

  Tracy stared at the door as it slammed shut.

  Kyle coughed, suppressing a chortle between pressed lips as he opened his laptop. “My father and I have been looking through your college transcripts. Pretty impressive stuff.”

  She stared at him. “You can do that?”

  He motioned to the chair opposite him. “Public record, these days. You can get pretty much anything with someone’s social security number.”

  Tracy glanced back to the door.

  “Don’t worry about him, he’s probably on his way to fire the HR director.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because the girl we have sitting in the corner doing layout is more qualified than every marketing executive we have, combined.” He tapped on his keyboard. “With your background, why did you take a position as a layout designer?”

  Tracy shrugged. “I got out of school and no one was hiring.”

  He scanned his laptop. “I see you worked five internships, one at Campar.”

  “Yeah, I could find plenty of people to hire me for free, but I kinda needed to eat. I got offered a job here, so I took it.”

  He nodded, his gaze centered on the screen. “Is there anyone else in this company that’s going to explode in a business meeting someday?”