Opposing Forces

by Adrienne Giordano

  Vic whistled. “Crazy-assed few days.”

  “Now I’m gonna see if the company is on a watch list somewhere. Or being investigated by Oversight.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard for you, Boy Scout.”

  Years as an aide to the secretary of state came in handy at times. The idealist in Lynx had loved that job. Dealing with high-powered politicians, believing that, regardless of the political maneuvering and bullshit, on some level, he was contributing to making this great country better. That gave him a rush.

  Until the lines blurred and the job started to define him. Night and day he’d been on call. The stress was constant. And draining. The first four years he’d thrived on it. Everything was looking good. His successful, beautiful lobbyist girlfriend had moved in with him and together, they’d reach all their goals. Professionally and personally. A D.C. power couple.

  Then he’d ripped his knee apart in a pickup basketball game and his world went with it. The surgery sucked and rehab sucked and the pain in his knee sucked, so he’d pop another pill. Why not? When he took a pill, he stayed numb to the pain and Julia’s frustration over his mood swings. At work, if the stress ramped up, eh, he popped a pill.

  “If I find the right guy on Oversight, I can do this quietly. Could be nothing.” He scrolled past a name. There it is. “Watkins. He’s the one.”

  “You trust him?”

  “I don’t trust any politician. This guy, though, he always seemed straight up. I’ll keep it light. See if he knows anything about Stennar Pharm.”

  “What if he does?”

  “Then you can finally stop calling me King of the Paranoids, because my paranoia will have turned out to be warranted.” The phone in his hand rang and he checked the ID. Jillian. “I gotta take this. Beat it.”

  “You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

  “Yeah, I do. I’ve been trying to get you out of here for five minutes. Now leave.” He hit the button before it went to voice mail. “Hang on,” he said into the phone. When Vic didn’t budge, Lynx rose from his chair, walked to his much larger friend and shoved him out the door. “Nice talking to you.”

  Then he shut the door with Vic still standing in front of it. Just in case, he flipped the lock.

  “Hey. Sorry about that. Vic was being his usual self.”

  “Hi,” Jillian said in a rush. “Can you meet me for lunch?”

  Not when he needed a meeting because his horny self was contemplating breaking his celibacy. “Uh...”

  “If you’re busy, it’s okay.”

  But something in her tone—that tight, stressed-out resonance—told him differently. “Something wrong?”

  “Outside of the fact that I’m calling you from the ladies’ room because I’m afraid my boss is spying on me and I just moved into my new office? The office where not one other person will be joining me.”

  “Come again?”

  “Ned came by this morning and congratulated me because I was getting a bigger office. They’ve moved me to the second floor. Where there is nothing but storage. They’re freezing me out.”

  * * *

  Lynx strode through the door at the Seville Restaurant, one of those ancient diner-type places in Fuller Park with a twenty-page menu and portion sizes that would keep fad diet companies in business for decades.

  He surveyed the half-filled room until he found Jillian near the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the facade. She looked up from her menu and waved, but her face remained...frigid. This woman could never hide her moods. For months he’d watched her swing into yoga class with her glowing cheeks bunched into a smile. Today, she sat in that red vinyl booth with skin the color of ashes.

  In the five days since she’d come to him with her security issue, she’d been robbed of not only her sense of safety, but that energetic, happy quality that was so much a part of her.

  That alone pissed him off.

  He slid into the booth. “You okay?”

  “I had to get out for an hour. Suddenly you’ve become the voice of reason. Stinks for you and I’m sorry, but right now, I need every ounce of reason I can find.”

  A waitress came by, took their drink order and was off again.

  “What happened?”

  “Ned said the owner of the company will be working out of our building until they hire Greg’s—the guy who died—replacement. His secretary needs a desk and my office is next to Greg’s old one. They’ve moved me to an area of the building where I’ll be alone. Completely alone. As in, no other people. Anyone could march up there and I wouldn’t know it. If I screamed, they wouldn’t hear me. I keep thinking that. No one would hear me. It’s like some kind of corporate terrorism.”

  Lynx sat back in the booth and folded his arms. “That’s exactly what it is. You need to start keeping notes. Them wanting you to sign that agreement, the limited access—start writing it all down. “

  “Why?”

  “Because even if they’re not doing anything illegal, you might have grounds to sue their asses for constructive dismissal. They’re bent on making you miserable so you’ll resign.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to sue them. I just want to do my job. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Lynx studied her. Stalling and hoping he, by some miracle, developed an idea that might help. Nothing. Screw it. “Are there any entrances leading directly to the second floor?”

  “No. But the stairwell is just inside the warehouse door. And in that neighborhood? With all the drug dealers? Anyone could wander up there.”

  “Tell your boss you have concerns about the security. I’m curious what he’ll say. Don’t be surprised if you get a call from HR.”

  “If they think I’ll let them pick on me, they’re wrong. This is crap. I don’t know what they’re up to, but I’m gonna find out.”

  The waitress cruised by, set their drinks down, grabbed her notepad and pen out of her apron and took their order. Lynx waited for her to scamper off. “I’m working my contacts in Washington to see what I can dig up. I know a senator on the Oversight and Government Reform committee.”

  “You know a senator?”

  He smiled. “My years at State garnered a nice contact list.”

  “That cape of yours is something else.”

  “Not really. I know how D.C. works. I’m good at politics. People, a lot of them, owe me favors and I have no problem cashing in.”

  She grabbed his wrist and squeezed. “I knew I liked you.”

  That wrist squeeze? Not a bad thing. At least the horny bastard inside him didn’t think so. “It’s a long shot, but if Stennar Pharm is being investigated, it’s probably happening via Oversight.”

  She pulled her hand back and he was instantly crushed.

  “I haven’t heard about anything hinky,” she said. “Plus, I checked the company out before applying there. From what I’d heard, there have never been any infractions.”

  “Doesn’t mean anything. They might be on the government’s radar for price fixing or off-label marketing.”

  Jillian made a pffting noise. “Please. Off-label marketing is common practice. It’s just a matter of whether they get caught. And the drug companies would rather pay the fine than stop selling off-label. The fine is cheaper than giving up the revenue.”

  This, Lynx knew, was true. He’d experienced it right after his surgery when the doc prescribed him an antidepressant for his pain. The drug wasn’t FDA approved for treating pain, but doctors are free to prescribe it if, in their professional opinion, it’s a viable alternative. Where the manufacturers got into trouble was when they actually directed their sales team to market drugs for purposes that hadn’t been approved.

  He shrugged. “I’m looking into it.”

  In fact, he’d have Janet check with her
IRS sources about the company’s finances. If Stennar wanted to start a reign of terror, he’d give them his own special brand of it.

  Jillian stared down at the table and tapped three fingers against her glass. “I’ll be interested to hear what your friend says. I left a decent job to work for these people. I wanted to grow. To make the leap into management.”

  Beating herself up over it wouldn’t help. He knew that firsthand, but the do-gooder in him understood her penchant for it. “We’ll find out. Go back to work and talk to your boss. I’ll wait for the call from my guy and we’ll compare notes tonight.”

  Except, he needed a meeting. The one he wanted to attend at lunch. He pulled his phone, checked his calendar for all the local meeting times. There was one in the Loop at six. “Can we meet about eightish? My place. We can’t talk at yours.”

  “Sure. Will you have eaten?”

  “I’ll grab something.”

  “No. I’ll put something together. Least I can do.”

  He grinned. “You’re on. You keep feeding me homemade meals and you may never get rid of me.”

  * * *

  Jillian stared at her desk phone in a desperate telepathic attempt to make the blasted thing ring. Not only had she been banished to the second floor, the damned phone hadn’t rung all afternoon. Typically she needed to forward all calls to voice mail in order to get her work done. Today? Nothing.

  She lifted the handset and checked the dial tone. Still there. They hadn’t cut off her phone service. She checked the clock on the phone’s display. 2:15. Not one call since she’d returned from lunch.

  Time for an efficiency test. She snatched her cell phone from her purse in the bottom drawer and walked to the ladies’ room. She’d be damned if she’d speak freely in her office after finding listening devices in her home. The ladies’ room was probably safe. Probably.

  The no-nonsense secretary at Taylor Security answered and put her on hold. A minute later the hold music—a nice jazzy number—disappeared.

  “Hi,” Jack said.

  “I need you to do a test for me.”

  “O-kay.”

  “By the way, hi, how are you?”

  “Jillian, it’s okay. You’re obviously on a mission here. What do you need?”

  How she loved low-maintenance men. Made life so much easier. “Dial my office number. Please.”

  “Why?”

  “My phone has been oddly silent. Usually I get calls all day. I think they’re screwing with me again. And, in case you’re wondering, I’m aware of how delusional I sound.”

  “Vic calls me King of the Paranoids. You got nothing. I’ll call you.”

  “Thank you.”

  She charged back to her office and waited. Thirty seconds passed. Nothing. Maybe he’d gotten another call. She’d just wait. Jeopardy’s theme song floated in her brain. “An insanely paranoid distribution manager,” she muttered to herself. “Who is Jillian Murdoch?”

  Her cell phone rang. Jack calling back. “Hi.”

  “They’re routing your calls through Mary. She just gave me the third degree, then told me you were away from your desk and took a message.”

  Sneaky schmucks. Why were they doing this to her? She rested her head against her free hand and the weight of it equaled a cement block. So freaking exhausted. “I guess I’m not delusional.”

  “Not by a long shot. What do you wanna do?”

  Aside from taking my baseball bat to someone’s head? Part of her wanted to simply walk away and forget about Stennar Pharm. It might even be the smart thing. The safe thing.

  She couldn’t do that, though. Not if it meant running in fear from the fight. Fear, she’d learned long ago, could hold a person captive. Besides, she’d never been good caged.

  First thing she would do is log this episode in her diary of suspected corporate terrorism.

  She cracked her neck and stood. No cowering. Not today. “I’m going to poke the tiger.”

  “Jillian—”

  “It’s nothing crazy. I’ll play dumb and ask them to check my phone. I want them to know I’m suspicious.”

  Silence. The superhero didn’t like her idea. Too bad. “How will that help?”

  “They’ll know I’m not crawling into a corner whimpering.”

  “Wait. Please. I have a call in to Senator Watkins. I should have something by end of day. Then we can make a plan.”

  Sometimes plans were overrated. It would be good to know if the government was keeping an eye on Stennar Pharm. Still, she didn’t want to wait. She was done with not fighting back. “I’ll be careful.”

  Mostly.

  After hanging up with Jack, she made her way down the hall, her footsteps echoing in the tomb known as her new office space. She unplugged her phone from the wall and walked down to the first floor. She passed the loading dock. A truck was being unloaded. If she had access to the system, she’d know what shipment that was.

  Schmucks.

  She entered Ned’s outer office. Mary sat at her desk sorting the day’s mail. “Good afternoon, Jillian.” The secretary gestured to her hand. “Is that your phone?”

  Nothing like an imaginary broken phone to open a dialogue. She set the phone on Mary’s desk next to one of the mail piles. “I think there’s something wrong with it. It hasn’t rung all afternoon.”

  Mary didn’t flinch. Not even a blink. “I don’t understand.”

  “Me neither. It worked fine yesterday and I can make calls out, but I haven’t received one call all afternoon, which is highly unusual.”

  For a brief moment, Mary simply stared at her. Jillian knew the feeling well. Like standing on the edge of knowing something, but not really knowing anything at all. At least she wasn’t the only one.

  “I suppose I could put a help ticket in for you.”

  Yes, and I could steal the remainder of your password.

  Interesting what a difference one day could make. Yesterday, Jillian stood in this same office feeling guilt over peeking at Mary’s password. Now? Forget it. No guilt. These people had invaded her privacy and made her feel unwelcome after she’d done nothing but work her ass off to do a good job.

  They started it.

  Determined not to miss the password again, Jillian scooted around the desk. “That would be great. I can only imagine the calls I’m missing.”

  Mary cleared her throat. “This is certainly a bizarre problem. We’ll get you a new phone right away.”

  Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she typed in her username. Jillian focused without making it obvious, a challenge on a normal day, never mind when a girl found herself in the middle of corporate espionage. Mary smacked the tab key with her pinky and—here we go—A-g-5-z.

  A-g-5-z-a-Y.

  Got ’em.

  Jillian folded her arms and tapped each finger against her biceps as she silently repeated the password. Mary had more clearance than ninety-five percent of the employees, and Jillian now had her password. Access to the distribution system and employee files would be hers, but she’d have to avoid using the password in the office or even at her house. A library maybe. Or a coffee house.

  Someplace where she could snoop without getting caught.

  Chapter Seven

  Lynx strode into his apartment, his mind centered and the horny bastard living in his body relatively under control. Normally after an evening recovery meeting, he’d go right to the calendar on the kitchen wall and mark a red X for having completed another day.

  Except, this day wasn’t over. Not nearly. With Jillian showing up in the next fifteen minutes, this might be the hardest part of his day. Horny men should not be allowed to be alone with attractive women. The temptation was too great.

  Silently, he recited the Serenity Prayer. He needed to stay o
n track, to look at his calendar and take pride in the multitude of giant red X’s. Soon he’d reach that one-year mark. Goal attained. That’s all he wanted.

  That, and three days of nonstop sex.

  Why stop at three? Six days of nonstop sex. Ten days. Whatever. There’d better be a lot.

  He fiddled with the string attached to the red marker hanging from the wall. If he marked the day, maybe it would keep him from doing anything stupid. Can’t change it once it’s marked. No do-overs when a permanent marker was involved.

  That would be cheating, though.

  His conscience would know what he’d done. He’d have to get through the remainder of the evening and then mark it.

  His phone rang and he checked the ID. Watkins calling back. He punched the button. “Senator Watkins, how are you, sir?”

  The senator grunted. “Fuck the formality. I got no one at State anymore.”

  Poor baby. A native New Yorker, Watkins had a knack for pissing people off with his frank summations of everything from school lunches to the death penalty.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “My ass.”

  Lynx laughed. “Thanks for returning the call.”

  “Always, my friend. Always. How’ve you been? Everything good in Chicago?”

  He surveyed the barely furnished apartment. It wasn’t what he’d had in D.C., but he had no qualms about it. This was his home now. “Yeah. Everything is good.”

  And he meant it.

  “Excellent. Why are you bothering me?”

  “A drug distributor. Heard anything about Stennar Pharm?”

  Watkins stayed quiet for a minute. “Not ringing a bell. Why?”

  Lynx would have to be careful here. “A friend works there. Wants to make sure it’s a place she’d like to stay. Think you can quietly ask around?”