by Nancy Radke
He seemed to come to some decision, for he nodded to himself, put down her things, walked into the back room, then returned to where she sat.
She watched him come, uncertain of what he might be up to until she saw the long gauze wrap in his hand. He removed the ice, then did a professional job of wrapping her ankle— figure eight, each layer lapped over the former.
His skillful movements reminded her of her first coach. He had also wrapped her ankle for her— and comforted her.
Not knowing Ryan’s plans was agonizing. Might as well ask, rather than spend any more time worrying.
"What... what’re you going to do?" A question she had wanted to ask all night, but which had sounded too guilty.
4
In the stillness, the grandfather's clock struck— eight chimes, while Angie held her breath. Ryan waited to speak until the last reverberations had ceased.
"I plan to give you a job."
"What?" His voice had been so quiet, so matter of fact, Angie didn't believe she'd heard right. It was the time of night— a trick of hearing, perhaps?
"You asked. I'm offering you a job with me— with the company." His eyes gleamed with sudden humor. The offering ranked as the last thing she had expected to hear and her reaction must’ve looked comical.
"You aren't kidding?" She searched his face for any hint of deceit and found none.
"Never about work."
"Then yes. Oh, yes, please." Her emotions soared. Her instinct hadn’t failed her.
Work. The most welcome word in the English language to anyone without it. Sweet work. To be able to earn her own way, pay her bills without worry. And to work for Ryan Duvall— that was an extra special bonus.
Then doubt— born of countless rejections during the past months— asserted itself. She'd have a job almost within her grasp and then discover she didn't qualify in some area. Training for the Olympics five days a week had left little time to learn job skills. “But my computer skills are inadequate for most companies, although I am accurate— ” She stopped. "What kind of work do you mean?"
"As my assistant. I’ve needed one for years."
"Why haven't you hired someone?"
"I need an honest person, one I can trust implicitly. One who can't be bribed or tricked into giving information. Most of my jobs involve millions of dollars. I wasn't about to hire someone off the street." His eyebrows flicked upward at the irony. If he hired her he’d be doing just that. Or at least, off a rug.
"But you can't know me that well. How honest I am, I mean. After all, I did imply that I had a place to stay tonight."
He laughed softly. "Trying to talk yourself out of a job?"
"No." Her denial came swift. "But I’m curious. Why me?"
He ticked off the reasons on his fingers. "I need someone organized, patient, and who takes meticulous notes.”
“How do you know— ?”
“You worked for us. I noticed. Your day-planner cinches it. I also need someone who will work straight through the night."
Cocking her head to one side, she frowned at him. Did he think her response to his kiss made her available for extra-curricular activities? "All night? Doing what?"
"Catching computer hackers turned criminal. We call them ‘crackers.’ They don’t keep regular hours, so we don’t. We work till the job's done. Okay?"
"Okay. I'd like that."
"You meet my requirements exactly." A satisfied nod completed his assessment.
"Are you sure we're talking about the same person?"
He smiled. "Don't you recognize yourself?"
"Not really. Would you like to write my résumé for me?" This man was fun.
"You won't need another. I almost hired you last summer, but there's no sure test for honesty, except the one you just took. And that's hard to arrange."
"Agreed."
"Do you have family nearby?"
"No. My parents both remarried with new families." She wouldn’t ask them for help. Ever. Their bitter divorce had culminated in neither wanting to take their teen-aged daughter. After four years, the rejection still hurt. Out of her own independence she answered him. "I'm twenty-two. I can stand on my own."
"Right. But staying in an office is dangerous. You don't know who you'll run into." There was no laughter in his voice now, his brown eyes grave. "Don't do it again. For any reason."
"But I— "
"Promise."
"Very well." Her gymnastic coaches had been concerned for Angie’s arm or leg or shoulder, since it lowered the team’s chances when she got hurt. Ryan felt concern for her— Angie. Her welfare. There was a difference. A big difference.
"I'll pay you a salary. We'd go nuts keeping an hourly record."
Realizing he was serious about the job offer, she blinked back tears of relief. "Thank you," she said. "I still can't believe you'd trust me enough to hire me."
"Those men could've ruined my business by destroying the name I've built. I should be paying you a reward instead of putting you to work."
"Thanks, but I'll take the job any day. Rewards tend not to last very long. I didn't think you believed me, about the thieves."
“I never trusted Patti. Actually, I don't trust anyone— not in my work. But if you'd been involved, you would’ve taken the CDs, not moved them to safety."
She nodded. They looked at each other in silent communication. "Yet you didn't say so to Mr. Sunderstrom."
"That's because one CD’s missing."
The full impact of Ryan’s announcement took a moment to hit Angie. Her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, no. I thought... I mustn’t have...."
Her hands flew to her face as the bottom dropped out from under her. Had he hired her to keep an eye on her, just in case she had taken it?
Angie felt positive she had saved all of them. As soon as Patti left, she had taken the CDs into Patti’s room and copied the titles over onto blanks, putting them in a separate pile as she did so. Clasping her hands together, she raised her eyes in mute appeal to Ryan. "I made the switch as quickly as I could, but I didn't think I missed any."
"You must’ve. Somehow."
One CD missing. She shouldn’t have tried to hurry so much. "Was it very important?"
"Very."
“Oh, no.” Angie closed her eyes in despair. How could she’ve made such a mistake? She must’ve inadvertently put one of the originals back into the “finished” pile. She lifted her gaze to search his face, amazed at how calmly he took his loss. "Then how can you be sure of me?"
"At the office, you were positive you had foiled a robbery.”
“And proud of it,” she added, ruefully.
“You’ve a very expressive face." He smiled at her. "I never forgot it."
"Then you recognized me, right off?"
"Oh, yes.”
“But Patti said— ” She paused, remembering.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
“That all I can see is computers?”
Amazed, she looked at him. That was exactly what Patti had said, at the same time remarking that he didn’t usually come into the office so often.
“Patti would be surprised at what I see. Like the extra money she had all of a sudden. And your eyes...."
"They're too wide for my face."
"No. No. Just right. Gray flecked with browns. The color of a mountain stream." He spoke with conviction.
His poetic description came as a shock. Was that how he saw her? "Yet you said nothing to Scott."
"Oh, I told him I knew you— and also that one of the CDs was missing— while we were in the parking lot. After he calmed down."
"And now you’ve told me."
"I had to. You're my only witness. When you're rested, we'll go over every detail. Who you saw, what you heard, everything."
"Let's start now. I'm fine."
"Tomorrow. After breakfast. Your mind’ll be alert. I have a guest bedroom upstairs, you can stay there until we find an apartment for yo
u."
"I'll help all I can." She took a deep breath and added, as the thought came to her, "You didn't offer me a job just for that, I hope. I'd help anyway, without you having— "
"No wonder you've no money. Yes, I need you."
"What for?"
"When we’re gathering evidence on a cracker, I need someone to take notes and organize them so we can search for patterns. Then there's the regular office correspondence— sending and paying bills, and making sure I keep to a schedule. You'll run errands, do research, make lunch if we need it, whatever. There’ll be times when there’s a lull in the work, other times we’ll be flat-out racing. The most important thing is— you must be absolutely honest."
"I can handle that," she said confidently. This job sounded interesting and enjoyable.
He could’ve given her money, a hand out, a dole— all momentary help— but no, he had offered her a job.
A job meant security and self-worth. Those who had never been completely jobless had no way of knowing the feelings of doubt, the loss of self-worth, and the terrible depression that accompanied it.
"I'll teach you more about computers. It's not that hard. It's mainly logic, talking to a machine."
"Thanks, I'd like that."
“Also, you can match my socks.” Surprised, she looked at him and he added, “I’m color blind. I get weird combinations.”
Exhausted to the point that her mind began to drift, Angie fought to stay awake. The comfort of the couch didn’t help. Her head felt too heavy to hold upright.
She needed to walk around. She tossed the comforter back, and stood up. “I know it’s only nine-thirty, but I think I’ll turn in. I’ve been up since five, getting ready for a big interview today.”
She hopped to the bottom of the circular stairs and looked at the metal steps. Steep and narrow.
“I’ll give you a lift,” he said, and carried her up the spiral stairway as effortlessly as before. It continued on upward, and Angie stared into the dark tower overhead.
“It opens onto the roof,” Ryan said. “The section over the bedrooms is a flat deck.”
Whereas the lower floor felt snug and secure, a haven of warmth and golden light, the second floor opened up, with windows reaching to the ceiling, even in the hall. The stars glittered in the upper, non-curtained halves.
"The whole south side is fitted out as an office, looking over Lake Union. My bedroom's here on the left, guest is last. Bathroom's the second door," he said, pausing in the hall. "Want to stop there?"
"Yes. Please."
He set her inside and stepped out, closing the door behind him. "Call when you're ready. And be sure to leave the water running slightly so we don't freeze up."
The mirror over the sink reflected a pale bedraggled image, the bathroom lighting emphasizing rather than hiding the hollows in her cheeks. Even her hair looked tired.
So much for looking your best when being interviewed for a job.
The water dripped a little, and she carefully adjusted it again after she washed. Her ankle throbbed, letting her know she needed to get off it. It had been injured many times before.
At her call he returned and offered her a man's dark blue flannel shirt. "You can sleep in this if you wish," he said, and stepped outside when she took it.
She looked at it dubiously. At least he hadn't handed her some sheer wisp of a thing. With its long tails it would hang to her calves. She put it on and inspected herself in the mirror.
It was too large, like her eyes, and made her look even more an urchin. In spite of its bulk, it appeared seductive. It covered, yet didn’t cover. The blue flannel, like paper unsuccessfully wrapped around a gift, revealed the form of what it strove to conceal.
No protection at all.
And somehow, because it belonged to him, it made her feel even more readily "available.”
Ryan Duvall attracted her. Immensely. And she thought he felt the same, although she might be misreading things.
Yet as he set her down, his hand stroked slowly across an ear lobe before he lifted it away. It might’ve been a caress, but then again it might not.
With Ryan, she had felt an attraction from the first moment— as if someone had turned on an electromagnet. Each time they met, the force increased, growing into a power she didn’t want to resist.
But she had to wear something under this shirt. Keeping the door closed, she asked if he had any pants.
"Yes. Better, I've a pair of cut-offs I use for climbing." He left, returning to thrust the shorts inside. "Here."
They were khaki, baggy and looked like they had been hacked off with a dull knife. They had a drawstring waist and came to her knees. Not seductive. Just what she needed.
He shook his head when she opened the door, the swiftly banked desire in his eyes making her realize the wrapping didn't matter. One hand reached out to brush her hair as he silently studied her.
"Why did I hire you?" he exclaimed, dropping his hand to his side.
Angie's face fell. "You said— "
"I know what I said," he grumbled. "I need an assistant.”
“Then what’s— ”
“I hadn’t thought ahead.”
“I don’t see— ”
“Hiring you puts you off limits. It also puts us constantly together.”
“And?”
“I don't know if I can handle that combination."
"I'll help."
"Then stop standing there looking at me like that."
So he did feel attracted to her. Now wasn’t the time to tell him it was mutual. He had just gotten himself under control. Not knowing how to change the expression in her eyes, Angie ducked her head.
"Better."
She hopped over to the bedroom door. It held a double bed, with the blankets already turned invitingly back. She limped over to it and sat down. Nice and firm.
Without a word he placed two pillows at the foot of the bed, one on each side of where her injured foot would be, and arranged the blanket so it wouldn’t hang heavily on her ankle while she slept.
"Good night," he said. "You're overly trusting. With most men...." He shook his head again, as if in frustration. "Sleep well, call if you need me." A finger touched her lips as if in solemn promise, then he turned out the light and left.
Angie sat there for a moment, her thoughts and emotions in a turmoil of indecision, then snuggled down, pulling the blanket up to her ears.
To look at him— average size, average build, average good looks, Ryan didn't seem extra special. But beyond the carefree exterior lay a sensitive, caring man. It would be easy to fall in love with her new boss.
Hopefully, he wouldn't play games with his assistant. Once the snow melted, she'd have to move out. That would help bank the fires. For both of them.
* * *
Ryan closed Angie’s door behind him and walked into his office, pacing the floor for a few moments before relaxing in what he labeled as controlled chaos— eighteen functioning computers networked together and several in various stages of assembly. He had been doing repairs when he’d been notified of the MXOIL break-in.
It had been a particularly vicious entry, stopped by an alert chief security officer, who had immediately contacted Ryan. The intruder had used old passwords to get by Ryan’s first and second levels of security. But not the third.
Ryan shrugged his shoulders and pulled his CDs— the ones Angie had rescued— out of his briefcase. Was there a connection to MXOIL, he wondered as he set about to update them. He always kept a second copy just in case something happened to the first. His company’s protection included double back-ups for their clients.
How could Angie have missed one CD?
Answer. She didn’t. Either she had picked them all up and hidden them, or she hadn’t. Either the CD wasn’t there for her to pick up or she had handed it to the robbers.
Strange. Strange. He believed her— yet he couldn’t trust her completely, mainly because he had to protect those companies. Th
at’s what they paid him to do. Although he felt like he could trust Angie, he couldn’t trust his feelings. He would always have that tiny bit of reserve, until the facts erased all doubt.
Leaving his office, he walked down the stairs. He opened the safe hidden in the base of the grandfather’s clock and retrieved the master copies to update.
Once finished, he made a CD to replace the one stolen. He put them in his too-large-to-carry-away office safe and returned the masters to the clock safe.
Ryan had a hard time believing in coincidences. If he hadn’t had the second CD with him— the one needed to access the program— it might’ve been stolen too. Angie could’ve stayed behind in the hope of getting it.
But crackers didn’t get involved physically. They didn’t do break-ins. They did all their damage via the phone lines, making themselves almost impossible to trace. So the theft probably wasn’t linked to the hacking of MXOIL. It could really be a coincidence that the thieves got the MXOIL CD.
Returning to his office, he closed the door behind him, then dialed Jim Markum, the oil company’s chief security officer and told him to change the security passwords once more, especially for the third and fourth levels of security.
Only one of Ryan’s computers had access to the Internet. He had networked the rest of his office together, but kept them unconnected to the outside world. The Internet had too many holes. He stored his most vital information on CDs.
He opened his Internet computer and examined its files for evidence of intrusion. He checked carefully, noting times and file sizes, but couldn’t find any. Stranger and stranger. People going after passwords should’ve tried his office first. Not Scott’s. Well, once they discovered they only had blanks, they might try again.
With that possibility in mind, he pulled out the CDs and made a second set to put back in Scott’s office. Ryan altered them, erasing all the vital information and putting another Trojan horse in each. He added an “X” on the labels to warn himself not to use them, and stacked them next to the good copies.
One thing left to do. Ryan walked quietly to Angie’s room, made sure she slept, then picked up her purse and walked back. He took out her cell phone, which was similar to one he had. He plugged it in and checked her address book. Two numbers: “Shelly” and a temp agency. He wrote the numbers down, then opened up the phone and inserted a GPS tracking device, tiny, but powerful.