by Ali Parker
If someone had done well, instead of complimenting them, Jansen would admonish them, saying they could have done better if they’d only worked faster, tried harder, done more. Nothing was ever good enough, nothing met his impossible standards. Standards which he himself put no effort towards adhering to.
His office was a mess. Papers were strewn on every available surface, along with half-empty coffee cups and food refuse. Jansen must not even let people in his office to clean. It had a sickly smell, like overripe fruit, and I was surprised there were no flies buzzing around the piles of garbage.
After a lunch of takeout from a steakhouse downtown, he abandoned his dirty plate and returned to his desk to call one of his suppliers and chew him out over a shipment that was only a few hours late. After issuing demands for a price reduction, he finally accepted 15% off is next order, then hung up. Leaning back, he issued a loud burp that he followed with a hoarse laugh, then hauled himself out of his seat and headed to his executive washroom.
I was starting to get a feel for Jansen’s routine, and I knew he’d likely be in there for up to twenty minutes. He did his ‘business’ in the afternoon, and I was free from the incessant clamor of his never-ending phone calls for a brief and blessed interlude. But instead of leaning back in my seat and closing my eyes to enjoy the silence, I realized this was an opportunity I shouldn’t pass up.
As quietly as I could, I moved behind his desk. The desk was so disorganized, it was almost impossible to tell what each document was about. Giving up on the scattered papers, I decided to dig through the draws, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. With one eye on the washroom door, I cautiously picked my way through the endless junk in his drawers. Finally, I stumbled upon something of interest.
It was a manila envelope that had been slit open. Out of it spilled the corner of a photograph. I slide the photo out and some companions came with it, so I carefully removed the small stack of photos and began to examine them.
The first one contained a group of older men standing in an alley against a brick wall. None of them looked familiar, but it was still an oddity among the memos and invoices I'd found. Pulling out my phone, I snapped a picture of the photo. Setting them down on the desk, I fanned them out, trying to get an idea of what they contained. The remaining photos looked to be of some kind of ledger. There was a list of scrawled names and corresponding numbers. I managed to snap a picture of the top ledger photo, but then I heard the toilet flush.
Acting as quickly as possible, I shoved the photos back into the envelope and crammed them back among the debris of the desk drawer. Then I pushed it closed and crept away from the desk, resuming my position near the office door.
Jansen came out of the washroom and ambled over to his desk. I wondered idly if he’d washed his hands. He didn’t seem like the type to pride himself on his hygiene. I often wondered if he bothered to change the tailored shirts he wore, untucked, every day.
It wasn’t long before he was back on the phone, raising hell with the distributor he’d dealt with only a day earlier. I stopped listening to the conversation, knowing he’d just try to wheedle more favorable terms out of the company. Jansen seemed to think the rules didn’t apply to him.
Which made him an excellent candidate for blackmail. Jansen was the type to make mistakes and not take pains to cover them. He bragged about spending nights behind the velvet rope of the VIP section at exclusive nightclubs and dropping thousands of dollars on exotic dinners. He liked to be seen, liked people to know he had money. And that made him a target.
Still, for some reason I didn’t see Jansen as a victim. Sure, he had money and had probably done unsavory things, but there was something about his behavior that made me think he wasn’t a man being manipulated. No, if anyone was doing the manipulation, it was Jansen himself.
That meant the only other option was true: Jansen was blackmailing someone. Perhaps the photographs were a clue. The ledger pages were certainly intriguing. But without context, I had no idea where to start. None of the names I’d seen had meant anything. In fact, I didn’t even think they were real names. They’d been odd. Mr. Sparrow. Mr. Heron. Mr. Cormorant.
That evening, I paid close attention to make sure I wasn’t followed. It took longer to get back to the office than usual, but I made sure to double back on my trail a few times, and to take random turns to throw anyone off the scent.
That meant that, by the time I got to the office, everyone else was gone. Except for Emma, who was just locking the front door.
“Is your father around?” I asked, already guessing the answer.
Emma looked up at me with those gorgeous eyes, which were shining in the dim light of twilight. “Nope. He’s got that big community fundraiser tonight.”
“What about Matt?” I didn’t want to mention the pictures to Emma. She didn’t need to get further embroiled in the mess that was Dexter Jansen. Or the mess that was Jack Walsh.
“He’s got a hot date,” Emma said with a roll of her golden eyes. “Matt takes forever to get ready. I don’t know why. It’s not like a hot shower can wash off his kind of ugly.”
I cracked a smile. Her quirky sense of humor was one of the most attractive of her many appealing traits.
She turned, putting her back against the door and crossing her arms over her chest. The motion pushed her breasts together, creating a hint of cleavage that I wanted to run my tongue over. I had to force my eyes away, counting the cracks on the sidewalk while willing away my erection.
“I’m the only one around.” Emma gave me a searching look. “You’ve got something, don’t you? Something on Jansen?”
I hesitated, debating whether to tell her what I’d discovered in Jansen’s desk. If there was any real danger associated with the businessman, I wanted to keep Emma as far away from it as I could.
Before I could respond, she slapped my arm. “I knew it. Let’s go back inside.”
Chapter 8
Emma
I unlocked the office door and waved Jack in, then locked it again behind us. “What do you have?” I asked, excited to hear his reply. I’d been working for Shadow Security for three years now, and the most interesting thing I’d done was carry on a lukewarm flirtation with the package delivery guy.
Dad had kept me isolated from any hint of danger, and Matt, now that he was working here, was just as bad. Maybe Jack would let me help with something more exciting than reconciling payroll.
Jack stopped at my desk and turned to face me. I saw the tight look on his face and realized he wasn’t thrilled to be having this conversation. Shit. Just like Dad and Matt.
“Oh no,” I said, pointing my finger at the muscled chest I’d been obsessing about for most of the week. “You’re not shutting me out now. I know that Dad brushed aside your concerns, but I trust your instincts. Dexter Jansen is a grade-A asshole. Nothing you have to say will surprise me.”
“Emma,” he said, his heavy voice sending a wanton shiver down my spine. I love when he says my name. “I don’t think—.”
“Then leave the thinking to me,” I said. My finger pressed into his chest. “You’re going to tell me what you have on Jansen. Or I swear I’ll start losing your paperwork, serving you cold coffee, and accidentally deleting your paychecks.”
It was an indication of the sad state of affairs that I had to resort to threatening him. But since my Dad kept insisting I grow a backbone, I decided to start now. Hopefully, it would be reflected in my next performance review.
“Fine,” he said tightly, after a moment. “I went through Jansen’s desk while he was in the washroom.”
“You did?” My heart started beating faster. It must have been anxiety-inducing, never knowing when Jansen would walk back in. It made my paltry attempts at a backbone seem ridiculous in comparison.
“Yes,” he replied, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I found an envelope with some photos. I managed to get a few snaps before Jansen finished up.”
Jack tapped his phone then held up
the screen. It was filled with a group of men standing against a brick wall. They were in an alley somewhere, five older guys, none of them smiling. Then I recognized one of them.
“That’s Councilman Drake,” I said, pointing to the short, balding man in a brown suit. “He’s speaking at the fundraiser tonight.”
Jack swept his finger across the screen, revealing a page filled with handwritten script. “What’s this?” I asked.
“There were a few of these,” he said. “I only managed to get a shot of one of them, though.”
“It looks like some kind of list.” I squinted my eyes, trying to make out the words.
“A ledger, I think.” He started tapping on his phone. “I’m emailing it to you.”
I sat down behind my desk and pulled up my email. Opening the message, I pulled up the photo attachment. It did appear to be of some kind of ledger. There was a list of names next to columns of numbers.
The list of names was weird. Instead of normal first names or last name, every line started with ‘Mr.’ The names that followed were bird names, like ‘Raven’ and ‘Jay.’
I felt the heat of him behind me and tried to keep my mind on the task at hand. He leaned over my shoulder. “It’s got to be a code.”
I nodded my head, swallowing hard when I caught a whiff of his masculine scent. Jack smelled like the outdoors. Like pine needles and sunlight, and it was driving me crazy. “We need a key,” I said, “or we’ll never know what these names and numbers mean.”
I pulled up the picture of the group of men. Although I’d easily spotted Drake, none of the other men looked familiar. Pulling up a search engine, I began cropping the photo, taking headshots of the unfamiliar men and running a reverse image search. Unfortunately, none of them came up.
That meant our only lead was Councilman Drake. I began running a search on the councilman, looking for any little breadcrumbs that could make any sense out of the photos. Was there a connection between the councilman and the ledger? Could it be related to the blackmail phone call Jack had mentioned? Just what was Jansen up to?
My stomach rumbled, but I ignored it. I could feel Jack straighten behind me. “You should eat,” he said, but I waved him away, too engrossed in the hunt. For once I was part of something exciting, something Dad and Matt didn’t know about and therefore couldn’t overprotect me from.
I didn’t know how much time had passed, but I was brought back to reality by the smell of something delicious. Jack was waving a slice of hot pizza under my nose. “Time to come up for air,” he said, his voice a low rumble that started an answering hum in my body. I watched as a slow smile spread across his handsome face. “And for pizza.”
He pulled the pizza slowly away and I followed, feeling like a cartoon character being lured into a trap by some savory morsel. The thing was, I was more than willing to be lured into any trap that Jack Walsh might set.
The pizza was laid out on the conference room table. There were napkins, paper plates, and a couple of bottles of soda. Jack set the piece of pizza he’d used to draw me here on a plate and handed it to me.
I smiled, grabbing a bottle of soda and then a seat. I was touched that Jack had ordered dinner and insisted on my eating it. It was a simple gesture, but one that showed he’d thought about my well-being.
Or maybe he was just hungry too.
Jack grabbed a slice and held it so that the pizza formed a U-shape. Biting off a chunk, he stared out the glass walls into the dim office. I leaned back in the office chair, letting myself stare at him. His rugged good looks were currently wreaking havoc on my fantasy life. Jack was too attractive for his own good.
“We need the key,” he said after he’d swallowed and taken a swig of soda. “The ledger won’t make sense without it.”
I nodded. “Do you think you can gets pictures of the rest of the photos?” There had to be more clues in that envelope in Jansen’s desk.
His brow furrowed. “I was lucky to get these.”
It was true. He’d taken a risk. If he’d gotten caught, the chances of explaining it away would have been slim, and Jack would have messed up his first assignment of his new job. Still, he was Special Forces. Didn’t that mean he had some ninja training?
I decided to tease him a little. “Yeah, I bet your heart was beating a mile a minute. Watching the door, wondering when Jansen would pop up. Were your hands shaking when you dug around in his desk?”
Jack’s brown eyes narrowed. He didn’t respond for a moment, then arched a dark brow. “I see what you’re doing, little girl.”
It was the name my father called me, but for some reason, coming out of Jack’s mouth, it took on a whole new dimension. “What?” I said innocently, batting my lashes at him.
“I’ll try to get more pics,” he said, and I saw the hint of a smile toying with his lips.
I ate another slice, delighted at his reaction. It was likely the height of foolishness on my part, but I’d fallen headlong back into my crush on my big brother’s best friend. Verbal sparring like this got my blood pumping.
Jack pulled his phone up and enlarged the ledger photo. “You think the numbers could be related to payouts?”
Wiping my hands on a napkin, I held one out for the phone. Jack passed it to me and I moved the screen close to my face. “Maybe,” I said. The numbers ranged from three to five digits. They could be monetary amounts.
Intending to return to the picture of the men in the alley, I swiped across his screen. I must have swiped the wrong direction, because a picture of Jack and Matt in matching fatigues appeared. I laughed, thinking my brother looked like a complete dork.
Unable to resist, I kept swiping. Matt was posed in front of a camel. It had markings on its tan face, like someone had shaved patterns into the hair there. Jack and Matt on a tank. Jack and Matt and a few other guys posed with a group of locals.
I swiped again, and the photo that appeared gave me pause. It was of a smallish wooden coffin, dark against the dust around it. I wondered who the coffin belonged to.
His arm reached over my shoulder and Jack removed the phone from my hands. I realized suddenly how rude I’d been.
“I’m sorry,” I stuttered. “I was looking for the group pic, and I swiped the wrong way and saw those pictures of you and my brother. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Jack stared at her without saying a word. Then he turned on his heel, leaving the conference room. I watched as he grabbed his jacket and put it on. He was leaving.
“Hey,” I called after him, but he ignored me. Unlocking the door, he let himself out. I watched as he stalked under the streetlamp.
Fuck.
Chapter 9
Jack
It was another long day in Dexter Jansen’s office. I was forced to practice the mindfulness techniques I’d learn in Delta Force. Otherwise, I’d end up going off on this rich motherfucker.
The topic of conversation today was Christmas bonuses. Apparently, Jansen had promised his engineers a substantial end of the year bonus if they completed the requested designs on time. As I watched, Jansen dressed down the chief engineer when the poor man had reminded him of the promise.
“Do you have it in writing?” Jansen snarled.
The engineer shook his head. “We had an oral agreement.”
The rich man shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t remember that.”
The other man stood, and my senses went on alert. The man’s fists were balled, his posture that of an animal about to strike. “I’m sick of this shit,” the engineer said. “You live up to your promise, or my entire team walks.”
“Walk then,” Jansen said, leaning back, lifting his legs to place them on the desktop and crossing his ankles. “Your team is replaceable.”
“We’ll badmouth you to ever professional we know.”
Jansen shrugged. “I’ll hire foreigners and pay them less than your guys.”
“You’re an asshole,” the man snarled, then pushed his way past Jack and out of the door.
> Jansen laughed. “He won’t quit. None of the techie guys ever quit. They’re all marshmallows on the inside.”
I gritted my teeth, biting back a retort about him being a marshmallow on the outside.
When he finally ducked into the bathroom for his afternoon constitutional, I breathed a sigh of relief, just to have a door between us. Still, I couldn’t waste the opportunity. I ducked back behind his desk, pulling open the drawer that had held the envelope of photos.
The envelope was gone. It wasn’t anywhere in the desk.
I spied his leather messenger bag sitting on the floor, leaned up against the desk. I squatted beside it and carefully opened the thing. But the envelope wasn’t there either.
The sound of the toilet flushing caught my attention and I darted back across the room. It was only a few minutes later when I felt the vibration of my phone in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw Emma’s number on the notification screen. I had to stop a smile from spreading across my face.
She was a spunky girl who made him laugh. And she was smoking hot. Jack knew he wasn’t in any sort of shape to carry on a relationship, but if he was, he’d be making a beeline for Emma.
Well, if she wasn’t the boss’s daughter.
And his best friend’s sister.
Damn.
Emma’s text was to the point. “Did you get them?”
My fingers tapped the screen. “Negative. Must be back in his hotel room.”
A frustrated face emoji popped up, followed by a gif of a cartoon mermaid blowing her bangs off her forehead. This time I did crack a smile, which I quickly hid behind my hand.
At the end of the day, I drove Jansen back to his hotel. The man was bitching again, this time upset about not being able to leave his room in the evening. The suite was luxurious, the hotel restaurant award-winning. But Jansen missed hanging out behind the velvet rope in the town’s trendiest hotspots. Several days of being cooped up inside was making him cranky.
I escorted him to his room, then did my customary sweep for bugs or signs of intrusion. Since I’d started the job, I’d found none. But all that changed today.