Opposing Forces

by Adrienne Giordano

  Cliff puffed out his cheeks and blew air. “I don’t have your fucking camera.”

  Ned stepped into the office carrying the first-aid kit and a wet cloth. “Watch your language.” He handed Jillian the wet cloth. “Put this against your cheek.”

  She took the cloth. Pressed it against her face, thankful for the shock of cold because—holy cow—her entire skull felt bashed in. “Thank you.”

  He cruised around the desk, sat in his chair and looked at Cliff. Maybe Ned was on her side? Considering the psychological warfare he’d put her through this past week, it would be a gift.

  Finally, he brought his attention to her. “What’s this about a camera?”

  “I had my camera with me in the warehouse. It’s gone. It’s worth two thousand dollars. One of them must have taken it.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ned said.

  Yes. Here we are. The warfare again. Making her think she’d imagined it. “Well, I do think so.”

  “And what exactly were you doing with a camera in the warehouse? After hours?”

  “I dropped my phone and was looking for it. I had the camera with me. It’s too expensive to leave laying around.” Jillian held the wet cloth to her cheek again. She wasn’t sure what hurt worse, the cheek or cracked skull. “I have a headache. I need to go.” She stood, wobbled a bit and steadied herself.

  “Jillian,” Ned said. “Have you been drinking?”

  “What?”

  “Your behavior. It’s odd.”

  She brought one hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. Don’t let him rattle you. “Of course it’s odd. I cracked my head open on a cement floor. I’m bleeding and you’re accusing me of being under the influence? Are you insane?”

  “I’m quite sane.”

  And didn’t this just push every one of her hot buttons? The daughter of an alcoholic, a woman who spent her life not overindulging so she could never be accused of being irresponsible, was now suspected of being loaded.

  The hot, slick ooze of outrage curled around her spine. This bunch had something funky going on with phantom shipments and locked databases and they were accusing her of wrongdoing? The entire place had gone crazy. No other explanation.

  She opened her eyes and met his direct stare. “I won’t let you do this to me.”

  Ned held his hands out, all Mr. Calm. “What am I doing?”

  “Harassing me. Making me think I blacked out when I didn’t. Making me think I didn’t have my camera when I did. I won’t let you do it.”

  “I think you need to relax.”

  She tossed the wet rag toward the desk and it landed on a stack of files. See how he liked that. She wouldn’t wait around to find out, but his brick face was enough of an indicator.

  “I think you need to go to hell. I’m leaving. If anyone lays a hand on me, I swear to God, I’ll call the cops.” She glanced at the two men by the window. “Got it?” They nodded. She shifted back to Ned. “Got it?”

  “You are free to leave anytime you’d like.”

  If only that were true.

  She left the warehouse, not really running, but not walking either. Just get out. On the way to her car in the neighboring lot, she looked behind her and didn’t bother to be subtle about it. After tonight, any faux pleasantries would be cast aside.

  In short, this was war.

  Her phone rang. She glanced down at her purse. How the hell did it get there after she’d thrown it? Cliff must have put it there. She dug it from her purse and quickly keyed in her unlock code. Jack calling. “Hi.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Hold on. Let me get into my car.” She fumbled the keys. Her vision blurred, but she managed to hit the button to unlock the doors. Once inside, she locked the door again, put the phone on speaker and tossed it on the seat so she could concentrate on driving. Not an easy task with the road bending and twisting in front of her. Driving with a head injury. She’d be lucky to survive it. “They caught me taking pictures.”

  “Dammit! What happened? I knew you shouldn’t have done that alone.”

  Now he’s going to lecture me?

  “Can you save the nagging? It’s been a trying night. Meet me at my house—nope, forget that, can’t talk at my house. Meet me at your house and I’ll fill you in.”

  * * *

  By the time Lynx abandoned his trip to Stennar Pharm, hooked a U-turn to drive Vic home and got to his building, Jillian was in front of the main entrance, probably freezing her ass off in the misty rain blanketing the city.

  The ride home enabled him to conjure all sorts of possibilities. None of which were good. Best to let her tell him what happened.

  She looked like hell. And something about the way her coat was buttoned up to her neck was off. Toss in the shadows under her eyes and—whoa—that had better not be a bruise on her cheek.

  A storm raged inside his mind. All those scenarios he’d conjured? One had her strapped to a chair being interrogated. Mr. Paranoid, that’s him. Now he wasn’t so sure it was paranoia. But before he lost his shit on someone, he’d get the details. “What happened to your face?”

  “I fell.” She pointed to the side of her head. “Feel that. Gently. Please.”

  A lump the size of a tennis ball met his fingers and his shit-losing meter ticked up another notch. “What the hell?”

  “Hit my head on the warehouse floor when some part-timer tackled me.”

  He folded his arms. “Tackled you?”

  “Save it, superhero. Not worth the energy and I don’t need you going all alpha on me. I’m tired, I’m cold and I’ve got the SD card from my camera stuck in my bra, so let’s get upstairs and you can give me ice while you download photos.”

  He punched in his building entry code and held the lobby door open. “And you’ll tell me what happened.”

  “Yes. I’ll tell you what happened.”

  “Do we need to get you to a hospital?”

  She started to shake her head, but stopped. Better to not incite a dizzy spell. “No. It just hurts now.”

  On the elevator, he tried not to stare. Tried. She refused to look at him. Just as well. One thing he hadn’t expected—which was saying something for the King of the Paranoids—was Jillian getting physically assaulted. Whatever happened in that warehouse, she’d, as of this evening, thrown herself into the lion’s den.

  He stepped through his door, flipped on the hall light and gave the room a quick scan.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  She had her head mashed and she was concerned about him? He tossed his keys on the end table near the sofa.

  “I’m worried about you.” He pointed to the sofa. “Sit. I’ll get ice and you’ll tell me what happened.”

  Tell him, she did. He sat across from her listening and controlling his temper because—holy buckets—his nerve endings were in the red and boiling his skin from inside out. Total overheat. He wanted to goddamned strangle someone. Just wrap his fucking fingers around Cliff’s throat and squeeze.

  But he needed to stay calm. He’d known it was too much of a risk to let her snoop around that warehouse and—fucking imbecile that he was—he’d let her do it anyway. Dumbass.

  A few times, he stopped and questioned something in her story, but all in all she’d provided fairly expansive details. “So, they didn’t hit you? You got the bump when you fell?”

  “Yes. And Ned was careful to make sure I was taken care of.”

  “He’s not gonna risk a lawsuit.”

  “They took my camera.”

  “Of course they did. They don’t realize you took the SD card out.”

  To think she’d stayed dialed in enough to do that. Smart woman.

  She closed her eyes. “I love that camera. I worked so hard for it.”
/>
  He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I want it back. I’m gonna get it back.”

  He didn’t have the heart to tell her that camera was probably already at the bottom of the Chicago River. “I’ll download the pictures from the SD card and send them off to a few people. See if anything pops.”

  “Is that safe?”

  He sat back. “Compared to what? We don’t know what the hell is going on.”

  “Good point.”

  “I’ll take care of the pictures.”

  She held the ice pack to her head and closed her eyes again. He’d have liked to sit next to her and hold her, but she might think of it as babying and he was damned sure that wouldn’t fly.

  “Jack?”

  “Yes?”

  “Today is Friday. I have to go to work on Monday and face these people.”

  Screw it. He moved to the sofa and wedged himself next to her. “Give me that ice.” Without an argument, she handed it over and he held it against her head so she could rest her arms. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t go.”

  “I can’t do that. It’s not me.”

  “I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry this happened.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  For a second, she put her uninjured cheek against his chest and played with one of the buttons on his shirt. Not a bad thing. A very good thing, in fact. One that he’d sorely missed about having a woman in his life.

  But then she sat up, leaving him with the ice pack in midair. “Now I’m mad. They’ve invaded my life and taken every ounce of security I’d managed to build for myself. They stole my damned camera. I can’t get past that.”

  “I’ll get you the camera back.”

  Even if he had to buy her a new one.

  “How will you do that?”

  “I don’t know, but we’re not gonna let them do this to you. At least not again.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jillian unlocked her office at 8:27 Monday morning. Three minutes to spare before her official start time. The pounding in her head had ceased, but her face wouldn’t let go of the purplish bruise on the right side. At least she’d had the weekend to rest. She’d even enjoyed going to yoga with Jack. Perhaps she found it odd arriving with him while holding hands, like their rules of engagement when it came to yoga had suddenly changed, but there was comfort in this unchartered territory. A stability she’d never known was missing.

  Today, she’d hide in her office—not hard to do. What did it matter? The company had basically cut off her work flow. If she sat up here all day napping nobody would know the difference.

  But she’d come into work anyway. To save a job she was no longer doing.

  Find the logic.

  She sighed and started the morning email ritual. Not that there would be much, but she liked the simplicity of the routine.

  Debbie, her friend from HR, swung into her office and halted. Her eyebrows inched up at the sight of the blue-green bruise on Jillian’s upper cheekbone. “I just heard. Wow. Your cheek is a mess.”

  “Gee, thanks, Deb.”

  “Sorry. So sorry. I’m just...shocked. I can’t believe you’re here today.”

  She wasn’t the only one. “I have work to do.” Not really, but what else could she say?

  Deb finally stepped into the office, her stride quick and purposeful. “You don’t look good. You’re entitled to a sick day. Particularly after what happened. You should rest.”

  “I want to work.”

  “I don’t know that I’d be here after that ordeal.”

  Sister, you have no idea. “The whole thing was insane. I still don’t know where my camera is.”

  Debbie crossed her arms, the fingers of her right hand tapping against her bicep. “You think Cliff took it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Liar, liar. Simple fact: Cliff or his buddy had taken the camera. She had the memory card to prove it. Not wanting to risk that disappearing, she’d left it with Jack. Even with the alarm on her house, she wouldn’t chance leaving it at home. Bad enough her camera was gone, when Cliff, or whomever, realized the all-important memory card had been snatched out of it, they’d come looking.

  Jillian rubbed her forehead. “They said I blacked out when I hit my head. I don’t think I did, but I don’t remember my purse getting to the floor beside me either.”

  “So it could have happened?”

  She held Deb’s gaze. “I know I had the camera.”

  “How do you know?”

  Decision time. Did she admit she had the memory card? Debbie, although her closest work acquaintance, wasn’t necessarily what Jillian would call a friend to confide deep dark secrets to. In the end, Debbie was still an HR representative for a company trying to make Jillian look like a nutcase.

  She sat forward. “After last week, I’d never leave my camera lying around.”

  “But you forgot it last week.”

  “I just said I wouldn’t do that again.”

  Debbie held her hands up. “I just want you to have your story straight.”

  Okay, HR Debbie. “What does that mean?”

  Debbie reached behind her and shut the door. “They know we’re friends, so I’m not in the loop on this, but I overheard part of a conversation this morning between Ned and Mr. Ingrams. They want to investigate your erratic behavior. They’re sending you for a drug test.”

  Jillian smacked her palms on the desk. “Oh, come on!”

  The second the words left her mouth she checked herself. Dammit. A trench opened inside her and a rush of anger—water running over a dam—engulfed her. She sat back, held her breath against the rising flood and focused on the wall behind Debbie’s head.

  These freaking people. On one side of the trench sat the rational Jillian who had lived with emotional trauma her entire life. That Jillian knew not to get emotionally invested in any one person or thing. Emotional investments only brought heartbreak. On the other side of the trench sat the Jillian who feared unfair evaluations. The Jillian who made sure to do a good job because she’d had a childhood of living with a drunk who sometimes scolded her for the slightest infractions.

  Over the years she’d learned to balance the two sides of herself. They’d both served her well to a certain extent, but today? Right now?

  Both useless.

  She brought her gaze back to Debbie. “This is seriously messed up.”

  “I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now, but I consider you a friend and if you ask me, they’re trying to build a competency case against you. Look at what’s gone on around here. The office move, and now this thing Friday night? What did you do to piss them off?”

  Million-dollar question. “I don’t know.”

  Another lie. No choice. Debbie could be some kind of corporate spy sent to excavate information. The way things were going, Jillian didn’t trust anyone.

  “Well, be careful. For whatever reason, Ned has you in his sights.”

  * * *

  Lynx sat at his desk scrolling through the pictures from the SD card Jillian had given him. Over the weekend, he’d forwarded them to his buddy at State. He’d find someone who knew someone who could help.

  Sometimes Lynx missed politics.

  He’d also given the photos to Gavin in case one of his Bureau contacts knew anything. He finished studying the images, but really, he didn’t know what he was looking at. To him, they were photos of labels. Nothing special or out of the ordinary. Only, in this case, he didn’t know what ordinary was.

  Maybe he’d call Jillian and take her to dinner. If dinner led to something more—uh—intimate, maybe he wouldn’t fight it this time. Finally give in and allow himself to feel like a man
again. All this thinking and analyzing and planning wasn’t doing him much good.

  Yet the damned calendar hissed at him.

  He should rip the thing off the wall. Not that it would make a difference. The calendar flashing in his mind would assure him he’d failed at the one thing he swore he wouldn’t fail at. Great job, kid.

  Two more days. That’s all he had left.

  Someone knocked and Lynx glanced up to see Mike stepping in. He shut the door. Not an unusual occurrence, but his stride held urgency.

  Nothing good in that body language.

  Lynx sat back and waited for Mike to drop into one of the two chairs in front of the desk. “What’s up?”

  Mike propped one hand on the armrest and tapped his fingers. “I just got a call from our contact at State.”

  “Edwards?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lynx knew him. Weasel. “Problem?”

  “He wanted to remind me—like I’d forget—that our contract will need to be renegotiated this year.”

  Lynx grabbed his legal pad from the corner of the desk and jotted a note. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Maybe he’d even get them a better deal. Taylor Security provided elite operatives who guarded diplomats and ambassadors all over the world. The continued danger in the Middle East would require more diligence. Translation: more men.

  “Not why I’m here.” The hard tone in Mike’s voice stalled Lynx’s note jotting. He dropped the pen and waited for his boss to continue. “Edwards said the contract is in jeopardy.”

  Lynx’s stomach pitched. The current contract’s value was three hundred million dollars. Not chump change. Losing it would put hundreds of people at Taylor Security out of work. Most likely, Lynx would be included since his main responsibility was the government work. But all those employees and their families... Bad news.

  “What’s the issue? I’ll get on it.”

  “Someone from our office is making noise about a pharmaceutical distributor called Stennar Pharm.”

  Son of a bitch.

  “Mike—”

  “Stennar Pharm contributes heavily to a certain democrat on the foreign relations committee.”