Sticking to the Script: Cipher Office Book #2

by Romance, Smartypants

  A posse in a showdown with the enemy, Caleb Tyson.

  Ken arrived home after going to the gym and headed straight for the shower. I forgot to pick up my mail from Larry on my way up and decided to dash down and grab it to make sure there were no new greeting cards from King.

  When I approached the concierge desk, Lawrence handed me the mail.

  “Here you are, Mr.—” He cut his sentence short, glancing quickly at the entrance of the building. A flash of worry crossed his features, but he quickly masked it as he swept up the handset of the desk phone and dialed.

  I stiffened when I saw the large group coming through the glass doors.

  A man in a bespoke suit entered and was immediately flanked by two uniformed police officers. Behind them were ten identically dressed men, all muscled and watchful in a manner that was a dead giveaway they were security.

  Their presence was conspicuous and alarming. I had a bad, bad feeling about this.

  Before the group could reach the concierge desk, Damon intercepted the leader.

  “What can I do for you gentlemen this evening?”

  “You can start by getting out of my way,” the man said, glaring up at Damon. “We’re here on official police business, and I have to speak to someone who isn’t a mindless goon.”

  “Hey, asshole!” I took exception to his treatment of Damon. Whoever this person was, he wasn’t going to get far in here with that attitude. Fuck this guy.

  I heard Larry place the handset of the phone down on the receiver and clear his throat. “Officers, maybe I can be of service to you.” He flicked his eyes to Damon, and I saw him issue a subtle nod.

  Damon stepped back and allowed the group to proceed to the desk. I stayed rooted to the spot directly in front of Larry, unwilling to concede any space to the man. It was deliberately antagonistic, but he’d pissed me off.

  “I demand you release—” he started to say to Larry but stopped when he realized I wasn’t getting out of his way. He looked to me and snarled, “Move.”

  Instead of stepping out of his way, I leaned into the counter, draping my arm along it, making sure I was taking up as much room as I could. “So, this is police business, huh?” I asked. “Are you a detective?” I swept my eyes down his form, in an obvious perusal. “That looks like a suit a detective might wear.”

  Oh, and didn’t that just piss him off. I smirked, knowing he’d take offense. His suit was tailor-made and of the finest quality. There was no way a Chicago detective could ever afford what he was wearing. Insinuating that his suit looked cheap got him right in the ego.

  “I’m not a detective,” he replied stiffly. “I’m the CEO of—”

  “But I thought you said this was police business,” I interrupted. “If you’re not the police, who are you to make any demands?”

  He wasn’t a lawyer, wasn’t the head of a government agency. The way I figured it, cooperating with him wasn’t necessary. If these police officers wanted something, they were going to have to speak up.

  “I have a court order!” he snapped.

  “For what, exactly?”

  One of the officers side-stepped me and gestured for Larry to move down the counter.

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” the man said, deliberately pushing his cuffs back to look at his watch. It was a Rolex, and he made sure I saw it.

  Behind me, I heard the officer say Kathleen Caravel-Tyson.

  I whirled around, startled. The cop looked at me curiously, so I wiped my face of expression.

  Kat.

  They were here for Kat, and this slimy, entitled asshole was Caleb Tyson. I should have made the connection. Over the years I’d seen a few pictures of him, but, boy oh boy, those snapshots had no way of conveying the sheer and immediate repugnancy of his aura. He was Vile Level: Mr. Burns Meets Patrick Bateman.

  Kat’s ‘Uncle’ Eugene hadn’t been overstating this clusterfuck, obviously, because here her cousin stood, prepared with a court order, police backup, and his own hired muscle.

  Kat and Dan had their certificate—had irrefutable proof of their marriage—but I still didn’t want Kat to have to be a part of this or be afraid. The spectacle of security-overkill and police presence was meant to be intimidating. It would be for the best if Dan could handle Caleb alone. I knew he was back from Australia but had no idea if he was in the building.

  Please say Kat’s not here, Larry, I begged silently. Please, Please.

  “There is no one in the building by that name, officer,” the concierge replied smoothly.

  “That’s impossible!” Caleb said, pushing by me to get in Larry’s face. “I have a witness! What about Kat Tanner?”

  Unperturbed, Larry repeated, “There’s no one in the building by that name.”

  Caleb pounded his fist. “Bullshit!”

  The officer raised his voice to interrupt whatever tantrum Tyson was about to unleash and asked, “Is there a lease or tenant registry you can search?”

  “Yes, sir, but I can tell you, you won’t find any Tanners or Caravels on the list. And the only Tyson is a seventy-year-old widower.”

  Damn, Larry was good. I wanted to reach over and give him a big kiss on his weathered cheek. Feeling cheered, I leaned close to Caleb and said, “Looks like you’re shit outta luck, Detective Douche.”

  “Steven,” Quinn said abruptly, approaching the desk.

  I straightened, took in his stony expression, and stepped away from Caleb.

  “A word.” The order was accompanied by a tilt of his head toward the seating area.

  We stood by the settee and Quinn’s eyes surveilled the room, taking in Caleb’s watchful security personnel. His jaw ticked, a telltale signal of his leashed anger. “Don’t try to help,” he said under his breath, making sure he wasn’t overheard. “You might do more harm than good, so don’t say anything.”

  Without waiting for a response, he walked back to the concierge desk.

  “Don’t say anything, he says,” I muttered to myself, peevishly. What made him think I would say anything? I was a motherfucking vault and he knew it. And, don’t try to help? What the hell was that about? I was the only one in this room who witnessed the marriage. I was selected precisely to be the designated helper. I had video recording—on my person—that would shut this shit down in no time flat.

  Whatever. Quinn was the boss. Stan was guarding Kat when Dan was gone, so that made this his concern. I agreed that the less said now, the better. We all had to have our stories straight and let Kat and Dan lead this show. Did I know what date Dan had finagled to have put on their official marriage license? No, I did not. Therefore, I wasn’t going to say jack shit.

  Quinn didn’t need to pull me aside and verbalize the importance of playing it close to the vest. It was a given. At least, I thought it was. If he was worried about my discretion, then there was trouble. Discretion, confidentiality—these were paramount when working for Cipher. Not for the first time, I doubted his trust in me.

  “I have a witness that says my cousin lives here, and I demand you produce her now, Mr. Sullivan.”

  Tyson’s raised voice broke through my ruminations. This situation was becoming volatile. The longer Quinn prevaricated the more frustrated Caleb became.

  I heard a voice come over a radio saying, “I have eyes on the target, over,” and Quinn’s posture went rigid. Caleb smirked.

  One of the officers spoke into his radio, “Secure target and hold position. We’ll be right out, over.”

  Kat was here. If luck was on our side, then Dan was too. If he wasn’t, then I was going to have to stand up and vouch for her marital status. I looked around the room to gauge the tension level. Damon was standing at his post near the elevator. His eyes were watchful, but other than his eerie stillness, he betrayed no hint of stress.

  A message came through that Kat was married, and Caleb’s smug face morphed into outrage. He reached over and yanked on the radio at the officer’s shoulder. “She’s not married,
she’s crazy. You can’t believe a word she says.”

  “Target doesn’t look crazy to me, sir,” the static-crackled voice replied. “Nor does her husband…”

  I relaxed my shoulders at this news. Dan was here. He’d no doubt have documentation to back up their story, and there was no way in hell he’d let her be taken into custody—not Caleb’s and not the Chicago PD’s.

  As Caleb yelled into the radio, arguing with another officer, Quinn shook his head, casting looks at the police and security as if to say, can you believe this guy?

  I smiled in spite of my earlier irritation with him. He let Caleb dig his own grave by thwarting and frustrating him until he let his emotions reveal himself to the police for what he was. It worked. The policemen were sighing and moving around like they were at the end of their patience with him too.

  Quinn was such a badass. A jerk, yeah, but still a badass.

  Finally, the officer whose radio had been commandeered by Caleb, wrested the handset from him and pulled him aside for what seemed to be a heated exchange. In the end, Kat’s cousin appeared to win the argument because he shouted, “Court order!” again, turned toward the door, and led his group outside.

  I heard steps to my right and found eight more of our security personnel entering the lobby. The other guards, Damon included, moved forward toward Quinn, awaiting instruction. Voices came from the elevator and Alex emerged, making a beeline for Quinn. He was followed by his wife Sandra, Nico, Ashley Winston, and a giant of a man I knew, based on descriptive gossip, had to be Ashley’s mountain-man boyfriend, Drew.

  As soon as Alex stepped next to Quinn, Quinn looked to the dozen men and said, “Let’s go.”

  The rest of us let security proceed, but as soon as we were clear to exit, Sandra looked to me, pushed up her shirt sleeves and said, “I guess this ya-hoo didn’t get the memo that knitters have posses. Let’s go get our girl.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  *DKM*

  When I got out of the shower, Steven was nowhere to be found. I’d started cooking dinner, thinking wherever he’d gone to, he wouldn’t be gone long. When he hadn’t returned by the time I finished up and plated the food, I decided to text him.

  ME: Where did you go? Everything okay?

  STEVEN: I’m in the lobby. Be right back.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I read his message and rubbed the soreness in my chest.

  Anxiety.

  That’s what this was. I’d been living with a slightly paranoid feeling since we had the run-in with King last month. Given Steven’s information that the man had an arrest record, I thought I was justified in my worry. But I didn’t need to know about his arrest record to know he wasn’t harmless. His behavior here in this apartment was enough to worry me.

  I feared for his safety, mostly when we were apart, and it had begun to have subtle effects on my life.

  Over the weekend, right before I began the half-marathon, I kissed Steven and told him I’d see him in eighty minutes—because I was determined to keep pace at just over six minutes per mile the entire race. But after I’d started, I thought about him standing at the finish line, waiting by himself in the crowd of strangers, and how King could possibly approach him. Those worries unconsciously made me pick up my pace and I finished in 76.25. Even though it didn’t get me placed in the top ten, it was my personal best for a long run.

  Yeah, it was great that I made good time, but living with near-constant worry wasn’t.

  “Oh my God, Ken, you will not believe what just happened!” Steven said, walking through the door.

  I met him at the threshold of the living room

  “What?” I asked, alarmed. “Is King here?”

  He waved the hand holding his mail. “No, no. It’s my friend Kat. Remember the woman from the wedding video?”

  I nodded, thinking of the pretty, dark-haired woman who married the tattooed guard.

  When Steven showed me the video, I’d been surprised to learn that the Dan I’d heard so much about from Steven, was the same man assigned to Elizabeth when she’d been attacked. Seeing him brought up vivid memories and bitter feelings I was holding on to. Dan had left Elizabeth alone in the doctor’s lounge of Chicago General to go investigate a bogus stalker-sighting. That poor decision made Elizabeth vulnerable, and her stalker took advantage of the moment. If I hadn’t come into the lounge when I did—interrupted the woman holding Elizabeth at gunpoint—I doubt she’d be alive right now.

  Still feel bad for shooting Menayda, Ken?

  I asked myself this every time I was forced to think about King and the possible risks to Steven. More and more I found I was able to forgive myself for the shooting—and for the way I’d bungled the situation. The truth was, we were all alive. No one had to die that day, and I needed to realize that. Though I could have done several things differently to make the outcome better, in the moment—in the end—I stopped a woman from killing Elizabeth.

  And Dan, he no doubt had his own regrets for that day. I’d clearly seen the remorse stamped on his face in the aftermath. I heard the concern and gentleness in his voice when he comforted her.

  Initially, I hadn’t felt upset about it—only relieved Elizabeth and I hadn’t ended up full of bullets. But as the adrenaline wore off—as my own guilt surfaced, I felt bitter and blamed them. Blamed Nico for bringing this into her life. Blamed Elizabeth for making Nico’s problems my problem. Blamed the guard for not doing his sole duty.

  Now? Now I understood—truly understood—that Elizabeth, Nico, Dan and I were just doing the best we could in a situation that wasn’t our fault.

  And we were okay. Everyone was okay.

  Based on the wedding video Steven was talking about, Dan seemed pretty okay in life too.

  “Well, Kat’s evil-ass cousin showed up in the lobby tonight with police and security demanding he take her into custody.”

  “What?!” I could feel my face scrunch up, betraying the surprise and incredulity I felt.

  “Right?!” His eyes were wide behind his glasses. He seemed edgy and excitable, gesturing with his hands and swinging the mail around. “Dan and Kat showed up outside and this ghoul took his hired guys and the police and went outside thinking he’s going to take her away. Quinn gathered all the security in the building and marched out, so the rest of us, we all went outside to stand behind Dan and shield Kat in a show of support.”

  He took a deep breath, finding his momentum again. “Anyway,” he gave another swipe of the mail. “All of us went out there to support them and Dan and Kat give enough proof to the police that they’re married, and that Caleb had no legal right to take her. Then—and this is funny—Nico starts shaking hands and giving autographs and telling jokes. The police and even Caleb’s own security are all like, Ooh, Nico Moretti,” Steven said this in falsetto and pretended to swoon.

  Freaking Nico. I didn’t understand what the big deal was. He wasn’t that funny.

  “We were all getting a big kick out of it, because, fuck this guy, right? Then he dropped the bombshell that Kat’s dad has had a major stroke.” He shook his head, disgusted. “Her cousin is straight-up evil. Man, I’m so glad I didn’t marry her. Dan’s got a heap of shit on his plate now that her dad’s fail—"

  “What do mean, glad you didn’t marry her?” I interrupted sharply. This story was already making no sense, but the idea that Steven would marry Kat was baffling. “Were you together?”

  “Uh…” Steven’s body had gone still, arms dropping to his side. By the smoothness in his expression, I could tell he’d said something he hadn’t meant to say. This couldn’t be good.

  “Steven…” I raised my eyebrows expectantly, waiting.

  His eyes blinked rapidly, and he sputtered for a moment. “I…No…We…” He seemed to get frustrated with himself and growled. “No. It’s nothing. Not even a blip, okay. She needed to get married, and she asked me. But Dan stepped up because they have a thing. No big deal.”

  “She asked you,” I
said robotically. “And you said what?”

  “I told her to ask Dan!” His voice raised in annoyance. He was getting angry, like he resented having to answer my questions. I could have dropped it then. Kat asked, Steven said to ask Dan, she married Dan. Resolved. Except his whole attitude reeked of guilt. Of secrecy.

  Steven always has secrets.

  Secrets kept from friends. I’m a secret.

  From bosses. King’s a secret.

  From me. Kat’s a secret.

  “That’s not a ‘no’ though, is it? Were you going to marry her? If Dan didn’t?” I demanded.

  “But he did!” He scrubbed his free hand through his hair. “I knew he would. She knew he would.”

  Intellectually, I knew marriage to his friend was not something he would have wanted—it would have been something he felt he needed to do to be helpful. But my heart didn’t see it that way.

  Thinking of all the times he’d check the hall before we left, and all the times I’d said I love you without hearing it in return—I didn’t feel like he was as invested in this relationship as I was.

  And it hurt.

  To know he’d considered marrying someone without discussing it with me—just made something snap in my heart.

  “Please don’t look at me like that,” he begged, his body sagging. “You don’t understand, she needed—”

  “I don’t want to know what she needed!” I cut in. “Not only do I not care about your friend, I suspect a lot about this situation isn’t exactly legal, so spare me.” My pain was bleeding into anger now, all my built-up frustration and hurt needing to vent.

  “Why are you so mad?” he asked, in surprise. He shook his head like I was unreasonable. Just that simple, affected bewilderment enraged me. He was going to act like this was nothing? That was how he was going to play this?

  Not with me, he wasn’t.

  This could not stand.

  “Why am I here tonight, Steven?” He wrinkled his brow, opened his mouth to respond, but I plowed ahead. “It’s because I all but begged you to let me come over during the week. You were fine with weekends. Why haven’t I met Kat? Or Dan? Or the couple across the hall? Why did you want to keep me from meeting Ernesto and Paulie?”