Broken Build: Silicon Valley Romantic Suspense

by Rachelle Ayala

The Walkers agreed and said farewell. As soon as Jen shut the door, Christy stomped her feet and pouted. “Why can’t I live with you? I’m sixteen and I can get a car and drive myself to school. I don’t need her hovering over me.”

  Jen swallowed the words that welled in her throat. As much as their mother had tried to care for them, she couldn’t do much during the last few years when her cancer worsened. They had subsisted on a diet of tuna fish with ketchup and peanut butter sandwiches.

  She crossed her arms. “Mrs. Walker cares about you.”

  “But she overreacts every time I’m a second late or forget to return her call.” Christy wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket.

  Jen paced to the window and back. Had Christy forgotten what just happened? Or was she trying to get into a fight so she wouldn’t have to deal with her feelings? She patted Christy on the shoulder. “Tell you what. If you get straight A’s and stay out of trouble, then we can petition the court to let you live with me. This underage drinking on your record is going to be another point in favor of the Walkers.”

  Christy kicked the coffee table. “They couldn’t even keep track of me. If I did all these things under her watch, she’s obviously not fit to be my foster mother.”

  “Better watch it. You’ll get busted and go straight to juvie.”

  “Mr. Walker only gave me a warning.”

  Jen wished she could slap some sense into her sister. “He can’t keep doing that or he’ll get fired. How many beers did you have? And what were you doing with Sammy and his friends? Aren’t they seniors?”

  At the mention of Sammy, Christy’s face reddened and she rubbed her eyes. “I keep seeing it over and over. Why did he have to get hurt?”

  A key turned in the lock. Max jumped up and scampered to the door, and Sherry stepped through. She swept a stray strand of blond hair from her face. “Got off early today. I heard what happened.”

  “Who told you?” Jen looked up in time to see Sherry’s features dissolve into blankness.

  “Nobody. Why, what happened?”

  “Nothing,” Jen replied and guided Christy to her room. “My sister had a bit too much to drink, and she’s going to stay with me tonight.”

  Sherry patted her dog and shrugged. “Your rent, your room.”

  Christy’s eyes widened before she stumbled into Jen’s room. “I’ve seen her before. What’s her name?”

  “Sherry Montoya. Where?”

  Christy swayed on her feet and shook her head. “Never mind. Must be someone else.”

  * * *

  The next morning dawned grey and chilly—a typical November day. Jen flipped her keys off the hook. “Christy, hurry up or you’ll be late for school.”

  “I can’t believe you’re making me go to school.” Christy pulled a hairbrush through her tangled hair. “Can we call the hospital and find out about Sammy?”

  “Later. Get your things and let’s go.” Jen wasn’t going to go easy on Christy either. Mrs. Walker was right. Sitting around and moping wouldn’t do any good.

  Christy picked up her backpack. “I need a memory stick for English. Can I borrow one?”

  “Sure, I have a few blank ones. Hurry, okay? Traffic gets worse the more you delay.”

  Christy grabbed one off Jen’s dresser and shoved it in her pocket. “Coming.”

  Jen patted Max and rushed down the stairs to the carport. At this rate, she’d be late to work. No one had clarified whether she was fired or not. Greta had set up a meeting with Lester to go over the bug permit script. As soon as they were in the car, Christy pulled out her cell phone and began texting.

  Jen rolled through three green lights before getting stuck behind a lineup of cars leading to the high school.

  “Uncle Boo says Sammy’s awake.” Christy looked up from her phone. “They won’t let him play football. And he won’t get a scholarship if he misses the playoffs.”

  “The important thing is he’ll recover.” Jen glanced at her sister’s ashen face. “And no matter what you believe, it’s not your fault.”

  “He was hurt because of me,” Christy whined. “Everyone will hate me.”

  Jen patted her shoulder. “You can’t go through life blaming yourself. At least he’s alive. I’ll take you by the hospital later.”

  The row of cars inched forward. Doors opened and teenagers scrambled out near the school entrance. Christy tugged Jen’s arm. “Can I stay with you again tonight?”

  “We’ll talk about it later.” Jen glanced at the clock display. Her heart pounded, and she wanted to punch the horn. A mother had gotten out of her car to help her son unload a science project.

  “Huh? Oh.” Christy texted and giggled. “I can’t believe it. Couple guys at the body shop say they have hacked Shopahol code. I’m gonna bid on the Urban Decay Ammo Makeup Palette free.”

  Jen’s throat tightened. “How’d they get it?”

  Christy shrugged. “Sammy’s brother got it from some friend. Gotta go.”

  “Wait, that’s illegal. Who’d he get it from?”

  Christy stepped out and slammed the door.

  Jen stared after her. What the heck? Had they made the code work? Crap! Cars honked behind her, so she put on her signal and pulled away from the school, her stomach squeezing on catatonic butterflies. How could she have been so stupid? Rey was probably working for someone else. Class project, my foot.

  The clock readout showed she was late already. She cut through a vacant lot and bypassed the freeway by winding through a frontage road. Her phone buzzed. What now? Jen hit the button on her earpiece.

  Owen’s voice crackled. “I followed up on the rumors about the iPhone code. You’re in a lot of trouble if you gave Rey the code. So far, no one has put the two of you together. The police are tightlipped and your company hasn’t issued a statement yet. You better level with me or I’m off this case.”

  A flash of grey careened in the lane next to Jen’s car. She slammed her brakes and jerked her wheel back from the merge, narrowly missing an SUV who pulled into the Shopahol lot ahead of her.

  Sweat beaded on her forehead. She eased into the lot and parked as far as she could from the SUV. She gasped and struggled to catch her breath.

  “What’s the matter?” Owen asked, “Why are you breathing so hard?”

  “Nuh-nothing.” Jen cut the engine. “I almost sideswiped some asshole.”

  “You better stop drawing attention to yourself.” Owen’s voice sharpened. “If I were the detective, I would have arrested you already. Did you know Rey’s cell phone triangulates to your apartment complex? Either you’re cleverly calling yourself from his phone, or the murderer is stalking you.”

  Jen’s fingernails dug into her palms. “What do you mean stalking me? And how can you accuse me of placing the calls myself? Are you my friend or what? And where did you find this out?”

  Her phone beeped twice, indicating the battery needed recharging.

  “Owen, you still there?”

  Owen’s voice was garbled, breaking up. Hearing nothing, she tried to redial, but the phone dropped to the car mat. She bumped her head on the steering wheel while retrieving it and blasted the car horn.

  Whoever had Rey’s phone could be following her. What if it were that SUV? Not daring to look, he stuffed her phone into her pocket and yanked her keys from the ignition. She was late already. Greta would be steamed.

  Jen swung the car door open—right into the lower half of a male body. Crap. It’s Jewell.

  He grabbed the side of the door. and glared at her over the window frame. “I wanted to see who almost ran me off the road.”

  “Sorry. That was you?” Ugh. Totally dumb thing to say. Jen gripped the steering wheel, trying to not burst into tears.

  “Red car, it figures. Ms. Jones, you’re on thin ice.” He opened the door further and tapped her shoulder with an iPad. “You uh… left this in my office.”

  “Oh, thanks.” She took it.

  His lips twitched with a smirk, and he
glanced at his wrist, as if he wore a watch. “Better get to work, my friend, or I’ll be forced to fire you. I’m keeping a close eye on you.”

  * * *

  Dave stuffed a twenty dollar bill into the token machine at the pizza arcade. Friday evening and his company account was overdrawn. God forbid he’d have to lay anyone off before Thanksgiving. He massaged the sharp ache under his ribs where the ulcer pains radiated.

  Alex, the ten-year-old boy he mentored through the Big Brothers program, bounced at his side. “I want to drive the race cars first. Please, please, please.”

  Dave scooped the tokens into his pocket and walked to the food pickup line. “Your mother said to make sure you eat first.”

  “Ah…” Alex rolled his eyes. “Why do you have to listen to her?”

  “Because.” Dave balanced the pizza with the sodas. “Your mother signed you up so you can learn to be a man. And the first thing a man needs to know is to mind his woman.”

  He led Alex between two birthday parties and found a corner table near the arcade.

  Alex turned away from the plate Dave set in front of him. “My mom says you’re the biggest boss in your company and can do whatever you want.”

  “That’s because I don’t have a wife.” Dave sprinkled Parmesan cheese on his slice and wiggled the jar at Alex who scrunched his nose. “The faster you wolf down the pizza, the faster you can get to the video racer.”

  Alex picked the mushrooms and peppers off the pizza. “My mom thinks you’re cute. Do you think she’s cute?”

  Dave suppressed a smile. He’d never met Alex’s mom, only spoken to her on the phone and picked up Alex from his grandmother’s house. “I’m sure she’d prefer to be called beautiful than cute.” His cell phone buzzed. “Just a minute.”

  Melissa’s singing voice sailed through the line. “Oh, Dave, darling. Where are you? I dropped Pete off at the airport.”

  “I’m on a date.” Dave cupped the phone and handed four tokens to Alex.

  “How dare you? I suppose you’re lining up additional funding sources? What’s all that noise in the background?”

  “A candlelight dinner. Ah… caviar and fondue.” He paused for effect. “Let me know when you’ve filled the bath, honey.”

  “You tease. Sounds like a wild house of monkeys.” Melissa lowered her voice. “I’m calling in my rain check. Next time, tell your Director of Engineering to back off. Fireplug of a woman. How dare she corral you back into the building when I was promised a stimulating backrub?”

  Dave pushed his hair from his forehead. Greta had grabbed him right before he was to meet Melissa in the parking lot. “It was an important demo. I’m surprised you didn’t come with us. Don’t you want to know what you’re investing in?”

  “Da-ave…” Her voice slurred slow and syrupy. “The only investment I care about is your hot bod. Now, tell that date of yours you’re ditching her. I’m filling the spa right now.”

  Alex squealed in Dave’s ear. “I crashed just when I was about to level up. More tokens!”

  Dave doled out four more tokens while Melissa laughed in a breathless manner. “Hot date, huh?”

  “Hmm…. His mother’s pretty hot.” Dave tried not to bite his tongue. Making Melissa jealous was like sportfishing, fighting a hundred-fifty-pound marlin with a thirty-pound test line.

  “Yeah, right. She’s using you as a babysitter. Bet she’s out on a date herself.”

  “Not really. She works at the Hoot, Santa Clara’s only country western bar. It’s zydeco night with the Swamp Thugs. Wanna meet me there?”

  “Ugh… so uncivilized. More like swamp gas. About that two million? I’m going to a reading tomorrow. Madame Zonkers would like to put her hands on your forehead and feel your aura.”

  “I’m sure she would.” Dave tucked his tongue into his cheek. Maybe Greta would have another emergency for him tomorrow morning. “What time?”

  After agreeing to meet in the afternoon, he hung up. How long could he keep this charade going? Escort rich women for cash. Yep, bet Dad would be real proud of him, huh! His gaze drifted and he caught his breath. His employee, Ms. Jones, was staring at her iPad, working amidst the ruckus of hollering children, electronic beeps and whirls, and the ricocheting swish of an air hockey game. His lips moistened even as his heart rate accelerated. As an employee, she was off-limits. And there was his vow to Jocelyn. The lump in his throat grew. Any larger and he’d have to call an oncologist.

  “More tokens!” Alex tugged his arm. “Come on, that boy left. Hurry. I want you to race me.”

  * * *

  Jen ignored the screams and shrieks of children high on pizza and ice cream. She checked in the changes to the software packaging script and zapped an email to Lester. Next time, have me review this before committing.

  She pulled a lavender envelope from her iPad cover pocket and opened it again. A sympathy card. I’m sorry for your loss and apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable. Your friend, Dave. She turned it over. The scribble did not make an indentation in the card stock. A shiver stole its way through her heart. He had called her a friend.

  “How can you work with all this noise?” Christy interrupted. Across from them, Mrs. Walker’s five-year-old grandson pounded the table with a spoon while his mother cut the birthday cake.

  Jen laid her iPad down and surveyed the arcade room and general pandemonium. “Remember our strategy. Make the Walkers happy and they’ll give you more freedom. Isn’t Nate cute? Why don’t you play with him?”

  Christy made another sour face. “You’re the one who likes babies. Not me.”

  Jen winced, but covered by gesturing toward the arcade. “Hey, you want to drive? That racing game’s free, let’s go.”

  Christy shrugged and slouched toward the game booth. “Sure, anything’s better than watching that snot nose slobber in his ice cream.”

  She was probably upset because they never had birthday parties. Mami always remembered to bake a cake, but it had been the three of them and cake mix with no frosting.

  Jen shoved her iPad into her backpack and followed, admiring a sleeping baby boy whose eyelids fluttered in his dreams. She had just plugged in her tokens, when a chubby boy of about ten bumped her.

  “What the beep?” the boy exclaimed. “I was here first.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought it was empty.” Jen clambered out of the seat and stumbled over her backpack.

  A man’s arm steadied her. She turned and faced his neck and tailored shirt. A whiff of magnetic danger, woodsy with a hint of spice, drew her gaze up. The corners of the CEO’s panther grey eyes wrinkled. A jolt of panicked adrenaline shot through Jen. What if he recognized her? She stumbled backward.

  “Whoa, there, do you need to put your head between your knees?” He lowered her to the spectator bench nearby.

  Her pulse drummed through her veins. “I’m fine. I stood too fast.”

  He released her arm and squatted in front of her. “It’s okay. Don’t mind the kid. The car’s yours.”

  He looked at her too intently, but his face was relaxed, not one of a man about to fire her or one who recognized an enemy from the past.

  Jen’s cheeks simmered. “I, uh, have work to do. My backpack…”

  She reached for it, but he grabbed it and held it behind his back. “You just checked a minute ago. It’s okay to have fun with your family. I’m not that much of a slave driver, am I?”

  “Not you, but—” She bit back the words. Not wise to argue with him while he was being friendly.

  He hefted her backpack over his shoulder and gestured with his head. “I’ll race you.”

  It was too late. The boy and Christy were in the game booth, screaming and shouting while they wrestled with the steering wheels, trying to bump each other off the road.

  Dave nudged Jen toward a pair of motorcycles, whispering close to her ear, “Prepare to be road kill.”

  His soft chuckle zapped currents of delight through her body, and her heart loope
d a three-sixty wheelie. Damn, he’s hot.

  Chapter 7

  Saturday morning, Jen checked her profile against the mirrored medicine cabinet. Her Roman nose was no longer as prominent as before the surgery. She touched the birthmark on her chin. She should have had it removed when she had the plastic done. Last night had been close, too close. Yet Jewell gave no hint he knew who she had been. She blew out a big breath, and her shoulders tingled. He’d been attracted to her, of all people, and almost kissed her. Too bad she’d have to stay away from him. Jen finished applying her makeup and stepped out of the bathroom.

  “All dolled up to go for a jog?” Sherry looked up from the television with a smirk. “By the way, where were you last Saturday night?”

  Jen refused to acknowledge her. She walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. With Rey dead, she didn’t need a roomie anymore—especially a nosy thirty-something waitress who ate her food. She slammed the fridge door. “I thought I told you to stop stealing my yogurt.”

  Sherry dropped the empty carton into the wastebasket. “Oops. I’ll leave a dollar on the table.”

  Max wagged his tail and sniffed at Jen, expecting a treat. She stroked his head and pulled a box of cereal from the cabinet.

  “I was just wondering…” Sherry clicked the remote. “You going out with Rey and he ends up dead?”

  Jen spilled cereal into the bowl. “I didn’t go out with him.”

  “Sure. I saw you guys leaving the apartment together.”

  “It wasn’t a date.”

  Sherry dragged herself from the couch and plucked a soda from the fridge. “Don’t you even feel freaky about it? Someone you know is dead, just like that.”

  “Yeah, I do. But I can’t dwell on it. He’s just some guy I met at the fitness center.”

  Sherry’s eyes twinkled. “He was kind of cute, I’ve gotta admit.”

  Jen lost her appetite, swept the rest of her cereal in the sink, and turned on the disposal to drown out Sherry’s grating voice. She was not about to discuss Rey or anybody with a woman she’d met a month ago. A lump swelled in her throat. Today would be his funeral. She couldn’t imagine how his mother and sister must feel. And if it were true he had a daughter…