Zero Hour

by Megan Erickson

  She regretted staying away for ten years. Maybe if she’d have come home sooner, they could have had the chance to be something. Instead of now, which was the worst timing ever. But she’d never had a reason to think he was interested. There’d never been an incentive to come home.

  After their phone conversation, she couldn’t say he was sending her mixed signals anymore. His signal was very clear, in an I want you but we can’t do this now or probably ever way. She knew that, in her heart. This was not a job that afforded them the luxury of a regular life, especially getting mixed up with the Saltners. Who knew how long their reach was?

  She wandered around her apartment for another ten minutes, straightening things that didn’t need to be straightened and wishing she had a cat, then being glad she didn’t have a cat because there would be fur on her dress. Then she spent several agonizing minutes despairing and wishing she could kiss Roarke. It was like she was in high school again.

  When the doorbell rang, she was fiddling with her necklace, making faces at it in the mirror so the crew in the van could see her. She imagined Roarke trying not to laugh while Erick made faces back at her. Dade would roll his eyes, Marisol would whistle, and Jock would just be annoyed at life. That thought made her smile.

  She walked toward the door, taking a moment to inhale and exhale and turn into Lacy—the woman that desired Darren. When she opened the door, Darren stood in the foyer. She noted he had no flowers, which was great, because she didn’t want to have to invite him in to put them in a vase. Although she wasn’t sure what was in vogue with dating in this, uh, decade. Were flowers on dates still a thing?

  While she mused on this, Darren proceeded to look her over like a piece of meat. He reached for her hand, and she tensed her muscles to resist recoiling at his touch. With their joined hands over her head, he made her twirl. She winced when she heard his inhale at getting a glimpse of her backless dress. When she faced him again, his lips were turned up into a filthy smirk. “I like a woman who dresses for her man.”

  Oh gag me. She managed a smile. “Well, good thing I like red, too.”

  He smiled knowingly, and it took everything in her not to twist his fingers until she broke them. Which she could totally do because Dade had taught her.

  He dropped her hand and gestured out into the hallway. “If you’re ready, the car is waiting.”

  With one last look into her apartment to lament that she wasn’t on the couch in her pajamas eating mac and cheese, she grabbed her purse and stepped into the hallway. After locking the door behind her, she turned to see Darren holding his arm out. Did they really have to touch this much? Well, it could be worse. He could walk with his hand at her lower back, touching her skin.

  Number one mistake of the night was this damn dress.

  So she took his proffered arm and forced herself to cut off the Wren who’d just been in that apartment with Roarke.

  This was Lacy, with the skills of Seocheon. She was playing a game now, a game she intended to win. So she held her head up and she walked confidently in her high heels toward the elevator. She wouldn’t let her crew down.

  * * *

  Out on the sidewalk, Darren led Wren to a black Lincoln Town Car. A driver waited nearby, and as they approached, he opened the door without a word. Darren helped her inside, and she slid on the leather seat, heart pounding. She’d never been claustrophobic, but as Darren settled into the seat beside her and slammed his door shut, panic clawed up her throat. She was at Darren’s mercy now. He could drive her out to the desert—her irrational fear didn’t comprehend there were no deserts in DC—and kill her and bury her body where no one would ever find her.

  The black leather interior was closing in on her, cutting off her air. Darren’s lips were moving as he talked to his driver, but she had no idea what he was saying. White noise roared in her ears, and a trickle of cold sweat dripped down her spine.

  This was it, the moment she lost it. She scrambled for something to soothe her, to bring her back to the present, and lifted her hand up to her ear. She fingered one of the teardrop earrings Roarke had given her and inhaled deeply. Her hand shook, and she lowered her fingers to graze the necklace. The camera was like having the crew right there with her. Roarke and Erick wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Dade, Jock, and Marisol would back them up.

  She willed herself to stay focused. She was loved, and she had people who cared about her watching out for her. She closed her eyes for a moment as the tightness in her chest eased, as the sound in her ears began to dull.

  She snapped her eyes open as Darren fiddled with his phone. Most important, she was capable, and smart, and she just had to get her wits about her. She wasn’t some amateur. By the time Darren slid his phone inside his jacket and turned to face her, she had herself under control, her expression poised.

  She took some comfort in the fact that they had a driver. They weren’t alone. Hopefully this driver had morals and was against things like kidnapping and homicide.

  Darren’s hand, bejeweled with two large rings, held a glass out to her. “Champagne?”

  The bubbles rising to the surface in the crystal flute were oddly calming. She took the glass from him. “Sure, thank you.”

  She angled her body slightly so Darren would be in the frame of the camera. He poured himself a glass. Dom Pérignon. If only he knew she didn’t actually like champagne and preferred Miller Lite. Erick constantly mocked her for her taste in beer, and she told him that his hipster IPA–ass didn’t appreciate classics. The thought made her smile. So when Darren turned to her, he caught a glimpse of her showing real happiness.

  He beamed, probably thinking it was because of him. He rested a hand on her knee, and the heat of it burned through the fabric of her dress in seconds. The urge to shove his hand away and pour her champagne on his head was real.

  “So,” he said, “tell me what you do, Lacy.”

  If she talked, she’d have an excuse not to drink the champagne. “I’m between jobs right now. I used to be a nurse in Dallas.” Which was not true, but Erick had hacked into employee records so there she was—Lacy Kim, former ER LPN at Medical City Dallas Hospital. She even had a fancy degree from Baylor, courtesy of Erick’s fast fingers.

  Maybe Darren wouldn’t bother to fact check but if he did, their bases were covered. “Are you looking for a job now?”

  “I’m applying, yes.”

  “I know the head surgeon at George Washington. Would you like me to put in a word for you?”

  Jesus Christ. “Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m thinking of getting out of hospitals and maybe into private practice. No rush though. I have savings.”

  “I have contacts all over the city.” He squeezed her leg. “Let me know if you need access to them.”

  Right, she needed to get him talking about himself. “So, do you like owning Alpha? It’s got such a great reputation.”

  He was smug. “I enjoy it very much. It’s not all I do, of course.” He turned away to refill his glass and she took a minute to pour some of her champagne onto the carpeted floor behind the seat.

  She shifted closer and placed her elbow on the back of the seat, letting her hand drape over his shoulder. The posture of an interested woman. “Oh yeah? What else do you do?”

  “I’m the vice president of a cyber-security company.”

  She widened her eyes. “Oh, so what exactly does that mean?”

  “We test software to ensure there are no weak points where data can be stolen. And we suggest ways for companies to improve their security.”

  “Oh, so like, making sure credit card information isn’t stolen from the Target website or something?”

  He smiled at her indulgently. “Sure.”

  “Good, I spend a lot of money there. That red card gets you five percent off.” Okay, that was all true. She didn’t even have to lie about her love for Target. “What’s the name of the cyber-security company?”

  “Saltner Defense,” he said. “My father own
s it.”

  Bingo. “Ah, so success runs in the family.”

  “It does!” His cheeks were flushed, either from the champagne or from the excitement of talking about himself. “I come from a long line of entrepreneurs. My great-grandfather was involved in creating the first electronic digital computer in the forties.”

  This was a cute family story for Thanksgiving and all, but she wanted him back on track. “So what do you do as vice president? That must be nice, you get to work with your dad.”

  “Well, it’s a position that requires a lot of meetings. My father consults with me on any big changes that he plans to make within the company. Sometimes I visit the employees on the floor, make sure they know we appreciate them.” He puffed out his chest slightly. “Saltner Defense is a great place to work.”

  Anger, swift and hot, rocketed a fireball up her spine to explode behind her eyes. A great place to work? A place that killed whistleblowers. He was either clueless or putting on a front. She couldn’t be sure. He might not know a thing about what his father had done, but if she worked this right, he might be their ticket to more information. “That’s really great. I’m sure your employees are grateful to work there.” Had she kept the bitterness out of her voice? She sure hoped so.

  Despite her hatred of champagne, she took a sip, because she needed something to put out this fire in her blood.

  “We do very worthwhile work,” he said. “But we don’t have to talk about that boring stuff all night. I’d love to hear more about you.”

  “Oh, well, I’m rather boring.” She lamented she couldn’t get drunk.

  Darren’s smile was creepy. “I doubt that.” He glanced out the window. “Ah, we’re almost there, and I have something for you.”

  “For me?” She placed her champagne in the holder in the door.

  He held up a slim black box, and her heart thudded in her chest. If that was what she thought it was…

  He opened it, and sure enough, there sat a diamond choker with a massive ruby in the middle. “While there’s nothing wrong with your necklace now, I thought we could do an upgrade.”

  Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. She remained motionless, worried one movement would show her panic, as he reached behind her neck to unclasp her necklace. Her link to her crew. All that was protecting her tonight. She didn’t look at him, fear curdling her blood. She could say her safe word, just blurt it out, and get the hell out of this situation.

  Then she thought of Flynn and of Fiona. She thought of the reason she was risking it all and giving up a future with Roarke. And the fear receded because the tide of revenge and anger was back. She was Lacy now, not Wren, and she had a job to do. This was just a date, and she could get through it alone. As the clasp on the back of her necklace gave way, her brain clicked back on. Darren couldn’t see the back of her choker. She grabbed the front just in time before it fell into her lap.

  She clutched it in her fist as Darren picked up the new choker. He slid it around her neck and clipped it into place. The comforting weight of the choker she’d had on before was now replaced by a diamond-and-ruby-encrusted noose.

  She could do nothing but beat back the tears and slip her necklace into her purse.

  “Let me see,” Darren said, gazing at her with wonder. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her jaw. “Beautiful. This suits you much better.”

  She closed her eyes and counted to ten before she opened them and flashed him a smile. “Thank you, it’s lovely.”

  He made a contented grunt and laid his hand on her knee.

  She was on her own now.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Motherfucker!” Erick roared. He ripped his headset off and threw it against the back of the van where it cracked before crashing to the floor. He tore his hands through his hair so it stood up straight. “She’s alone with that fucking monster!”

  Other than Erick’s outburst, the van was unsettlingly silent. Roarke glanced around at his team. Dade’s face was red, Marisol was biting her nail, and Jock maintained a cold expression as he stared at the TV screens.

  This wasn’t ideal, Roarke admitted. But he had a backup plan. “Erick, sit down.”

  Erick’s eyes bugged out of his head. “How are you fucking calm?”

  “Sit. Down,” Roarke said through clenched teeth. “Your screaming ain’t doing shit but giving us all a headache.”

  Erick plopped down on his chair with a thud and a growl, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the dark screen like he could make it reappear with his mind.

  Roarke pointed at the TVs. “We can see almost the entire restaurant. Yes, there are blind spots, but it’s better than nothing.” He tapped away at his laptop, eyes on the now-black screen that had been the camera feed for Wren’s necklace. He changed the input, hoping this all worked because he hadn’t had time to test it. He unplugged his headphones and adjusted the volume. Within seconds, Darren’s voice filled the van. “Have you ever been here before?”

  “No,” Wren answered. “But I’ve heard about its reputation so I’m eager to try it.”

  “Good,” Darren said. “I know the chef, so we’ll be treated well.”

  Wren’s laugh was a little forced. “Of course you do.”

  Erick’s eyes were huge. “Wait, how is the mic that good that it’s picking up from inside her purse?”

  “It’s not the necklace,” Roarke said, continuing to adjust the settings to eliminate as much background noise as he could. “It’s—”

  “The earrings,” Dade said, his arms crossed over his chest. “You mic’d up those earrings you gave her.”

  Roarke whipped his head around to pin Dade with a stare. “How do you know I gave her earrings?”

  Dade shrugged and picked at a piece of lint on his jeans. “I know everything.”

  This fucker grated on his nerves, and if Wren’s well-being wasn’t on the line, Roarke might have punched his smug face. He pointed a finger at him. “I don’t have time for this now, but we’re coming back to it.”

  Dade grinned at Roarke. “Looking forward to it.”

  “So wait,” Erick said, drawing Roarke’s attention. “You gave her earrings and mic’d them?”

  “Yes, one of them. I was worried Darren would do this, or something would happen to the necklace, and I wanted backup.”

  “Does she know?”

  Roarke shook his head. “I didn’t tell her.”

  Marisol smacked him in the head. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell her? She’s probably freaking out right now.”

  “At the time, I didn’t want to make her nervous. That necklace gave her security, and I didn’t want her to think of how it could be taken away.”

  Marisol didn’t look impressed. “Okay, but now her only security has been taken away and she has no idea we’re still with her.”

  Doubt about his decision began to creep in. “I don’t need a Monday morning quarterback, Marisol.”

  “Then don’t treat her like a fragile woman, Roarke.” She bared her teeth at him, all traces of joking Marisol gone. This was Marisol in protection mode. Maybe Wren brought that out in everyone. “She doesn’t get to sit in this van with us tapping away at keys. What she’s doing is mind over matter, and knowing she had backup would be really fucking great.”

  He didn’t know how to answer her because she was right. So without a word, he turned away and slipped his headphones back on. He’d probably have some apologizing to do later. But for now, he couldn’t do anything but listen.

  “Sit, please,” Darren was saying. Roarke searched the monitors showing the security camera feeds until he spied them in the far corner. Wren was mostly out of the frame except for her hands, but he could see all of Darren—including his hands, which had better not touch her more than they had to or he’d fucking break them.

  A waiter arrived at their table to hand them menus, blocking them from view. Roarke tuned out Darren’s dithering over his wine choices and checked out the rest of the restaurant. It was at cap
acity, and most of the diners were politicians. He squinted his eyes at a table along the far wall. Yep, there was a senator’s daughter who was always in the tabloids now that her father was making a run for the Republican presidential nomination. He was a waste of space, and Roarke hoped he lost.

  Once the waiter left Wren’s table, Roarke focused on their conversation. Erick sat beside him, his headphones on and head down, ready to take meticulous notes.

  “So are you close with your father?” Wren’s voice sounded steady, and she’d even dropped it a note to sound sexier. Roarke shouldn’t have doubted her.

  “I am,” Darren said. “I mean, we weren’t always close. I had a little bit of wild oats to sow when I was a teenager.”

  Wren laughed. “Oh, I know that all too well.”

  Roarke smiled. Wren had been the perfect straight-A teenager. He wondered what she’d been like in college. All he knew about her were her good grades—data points. At the time, it’d been enough, but data didn’t show all the ways Wren had grown up, her friends, her favorite hangover cure, or her preferred dining hall food. He’d missed all that, and he had no one to blame but himself.

  Darren paused as the waiter delivered their wine. Roarke couldn’t see him because the employee was once again blocking his view, but Darren was probably sipping and swirling his wine like some snob. Who cared how long it was in an oak barrel? Or if it had cedar notes, or whatever the fuck. Just drink the damn wine.

  When the waiter departed again, two wineglasses full of dark liquid sat on the table near the candle centerpiece. “But we get along now,” Darren continued. “The whole family is close.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Wren’s hand lifted her glass out of the frame. She had informed the crew ahead of time that she wouldn’t drink, but she would pretend to.

  Darren launched into a spiel on the history of Saltner Defense, and Roarke wanted to smash everything. Darren’s voice was filled with pride in the company, and either he didn’t know or didn’t care that, beneath it all, Saltner was stealing from its clients and putting the greater population at risk. Oh, and committing homicide. There was that, too.