Losing Lola (Mercy's Angels Book 5)

by Kirsty Dallas

  “Have a little decorum, Parker,” she chastised.

  “Hey, I’m not the one getting down and dirty in the workplace,” Parker argued with his hands raised.

  “Shit,” Sam murmured, his hands clutching his wild hair as he completely ignored everyone.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  Sam’s startled appearance had my gut churning, and I always listened to my gut. It had gotten me out of a few situations that should have ended in death . . . namely mine.

  “We’ve got a security breach.”

  Parker’s smug smile disappeared along with the twinkle in Alice’s eyes. I rose to my feet, my gun a familiar and soothing weight in my shoulder holster.

  “Where?” I asked, my gaze moving over Sam’s shoulder and into the hallway, searching for signs of an enemy.

  “I don’t know how they did it. The system should be impenetrable, and I’m the best at what I do. My software not only detects infiltration, but it should trace the attacker. It didn’t do either.”

  “Sam, we have no idea what you’re talking about, buddy,” Parker said.

  “We’ve been fucking hacked,” he spat out. “I’ve been hacked. I’ve never been hacked.”

  The panic in Sam’s eyes got me moving. Computers were a fucking enigma to me, I needed an enemy I could see and feel, but with Dillon out of the office someone needed to take charge.

  “Alice, call Dillon,” I called out as I followed Sam to his computer cave in the back of the office.

  “Already on it,” she called back.

  “Are they still in the system?” I asked, assuming if someone hacked our computer they were likely still there.

  Sam gave me an appalled looked. “Of course not!”

  “Okay, that’s good,” I murmured, running a hand over my head and down to clench the back of my neck.

  “Dillon wants to know what files they got into,” Parker asked from the doorway, a cordless phone pressed between his shoulder and ear.

  “Working on it,” Sam rattled off, clicking away at the keys on his keyboard. “Ahhhh, the employee files are safe, and the client data appears untouched . . . mostly.”

  “What does ‘mostly’ mean?” I growled.

  “One file was infiltrated . . . Fuck!” Sam’s spat out profanity saw the tension in my shoulders increase tenfold. He held out his hand, his eyes never leaving the computer screen as he signaled a ‘give me’ sign to Parker. The phone was placed in his outstretched hand. “Shit, boss, they were looking at the Bowman file.”

  I could hear Dillon’s curses through the cordless.

  Sam shook his head. “They weren’t in there long before my system began fighting back. It did what it was supposed to do, but they got a few minutes of sightseeing before they were forced out.”

  The quick, nervous glance Sam shot me before nodding and moving his attention back to the computer before him had the hair on the back of my neck prickling. The worry in Sam’s features made me want to hit something.

  “He’s here.” Another awkward look in my direction. “Okay, boss, see you in five.” Sam hung up the phone. “Dillon’s in the parking garage. He’ll be up in a minute.”

  “What’s going on, Sam? What’s the Bowman file?” I asked.

  Sam shook his head. “Boss will explain.”

  “Fuck, Sam, I’m not a patient man, and the fact that your pasty-white skin is even whiter tells me it’s something important.”

  “Yeah, it’s important,” he nodded in agreement, running a hand down his ashen face. “There are only a couple of people in the world who could hack me: one wouldn’t dare, and the other . . . she’s . . . complicated.”

  What the fuck did that mean?

  “Complicated how? A woman?”

  “Aren’t all women complicated,” he grumbled. “We met at a conference once, and she got the impression I did something pretty fucking huge and pretty fucking ugly, but I didn’t. She didn’t listen, though. She thinks I’m some lowlife shithead and has a personal vendetta against me. She’s good, and she likes a challenge. I’m a challenge. Hacking my system would be the equivalent of Parker adding another notch to his bed post.”

  “Are you implying I’m a man whore?” Parker asked.

  “She’s a white hat, though.”

  “A what?” I interrupted.

  “A white hat, a hacker that fights to improve security, she fights for the little man, even does pro bono work if she thinks the case is worthy,” Sam rattled on, ignoring Parker.

  “Then what is she doing in our client files? Doesn’t she realize she could be endangering innocent people?” I growled.

  “Maybe someone fed her a line of bullshit. Obsessive people with single-minded objectives often don’t look at the larger playing field; they miss things . . . important things. She’s good with computers, not people. Someone might have misled her into breaking into our files. Fuck, she thinks I played a part in a human trafficking ring, which I did-fucking-not, but maybe she feels she’s saving someone from us or some bullshit. Hell, she may have no idea what she’s done. She’s probably busy celebrating hacking me. Fuck, she hacked me!”

  Dillon’s heavy boots echoed down the hallway, and we all turned to take him in as he stormed into the room. A fierce look of anger and worry radiated from him, and that churning, sinking feeling in my gut sunk even lower.

  “Whose files were leaked?” I asked.

  “Lindy Bowman,” Dillon said, and I shrugged, the name not ringing any bells. “Aka Lola Weston, aka Lily—”

  “Crane,” I finished for him, as my world came tumbling down. “Tell me they don’t know where you stashed her.”

  Dillon bent over Sam’s shoulder and watched as he continued to click away on that damn fucking keyboard.

  “It’s a possibility.” Dillon straightened and pinned me with a hard stare. “We hid the information in these files, but it’s there. If whoever was looking knew what to look for, they might have found it. We can’t take the chance that they didn’t. Gear-up, we need to move her.”

  While panic threatened to consume me, being put on a mission also gave me direction. It wasn’t my first retrieval mission. I knew my job and I did it well.

  “When do we leave?” Parker asked.

  “Drew leaves immediately. Parker, I need you in Turkey with Braiden.” Dillon ran a hand through his hair, frustration clearly evident in his taught features. “Drew can handle Lola’s situation on his own.”

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “She’s in Chiang Mai, Thailand.”

  “Ahhh shit, Thailand? Drew gets the tropics, and I get cranky pants Brai in Turkey? That kills,” Parker said sulkily.

  Dillon scribbled down something on a piece of paper and handed it to me. The name ‘General Norman Gillies’ and an address were scrawled on it. “I’ll give Norm a head’s up and let him know you’re en route. He’s a good man. Jaxon and I served under him for two tours in Afghanistan. He and his wife were kind enough to give Lola a room and a job. She works as a housekeeper in a small boutique guesthouse they own. Head home to pack and be at the air-strip in two hours.”

  I moved towards the door, operating on auto-pilot, my heart beating a desperate plea to get to Lola, like, yesterday, my brain telling me to keep calm and be smart. Slow down and move efficiently. Panic got people killed.

  “And, Drew?” Dillon’s commanding voice stopped me in my tracks.

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  “This is a quick in and out. Try not to make a mess, but Lola’s safety comes first.”

  Nodding, I headed to the weapons room to gear-up. My thirst for Ben Crane’s blood had never been sated, and a slow burning anger had turned me into a cranky fucker for the past twelve months. My girl was out there, and had been for a year without her friends . . . her family. It was time to bring her home.

  CHAPTER 6

  LOLA

  The smudge before me was driving me crazy. No matter how much elbow grease or product I ru
bbed into it, I couldn’t remove it. It shouldn’t have mattered because the rooms were old. Clean, but old. This smudge was defeating me, though, and it bothered me more than it should have. My OCD was somewhat contained these days, but my need for cleanliness and order was always prevalent. This smudge was like my own demons laughing at me, daring me to try harder when I was doomed to fail. I was being overly dramatic, but the depression that lingered over me like a heavy cloud made everything feel ten times worse than it actually was.

  Throwing the rag down I stood and arched my back, turning to take in the rest of the clean room that now had a hint of citrus to the air. All the rooms had their own small imperfections, but they were loved and comfortable for the guests who stayed at this small resort.

  General Norman Gillies and his wife, Pen-Chan, ran the Chiang Mai Village Guesthouse like a finely tuned instrument. It was small, comprising of just ten one-bedroom bungalows in a traditional Thai design being wooden structures with steepled roofs. The small resort also had a luxurious pool and beautiful tropical gardens.

  Chiang Mai was a beautiful village in Thailand, and the Guesthouse sat on the outskirts of the bustling city, right along the Ping River. Chiang Mai didn’t have the hustle and bustle of bigger cities, like Bangkok. Instead, people came here to disconnect from the world, to relax and just stop. It was perfect. I should have felt different . . . if not happy, at least content. I wasn’t. I felt like I was constantly swimming upstream and struggling to keep my head above water. Some days I just wanted to stop, let my head go under for a while and rest, maybe even stay under and drown. The constant bombardment of negative emotions was exhausting. Yet for some reason, I battled on. I kept to my routine and continued to put one foot in front of the other. I didn’t have it in me to give up. When the world says, “Give up," hope whispers, “Try one more time." I think it was the Little Mermaid who offered that pearly piece of wisdom, and I liked it. It seemed I was always willing to give it one more try.

  Housekeeping allowed me the isolation I preferred, while my generous host, Pen-Chan was a great listener with a penchant for natural healing and offered excellent advice that helped me keep my obsessive needs in check. She helped me work through some difficult times, and come out the other end if not completely intact, at least holding on. We often sat quietly together and meditated, and I’d lost count of the times Pen-Chan would hold me while I cried. Once my tears had dried, she would help me stand back up and we’d walk through the gardens. Her peaceful presence was soothing. Where Pen-Chan was my unlicensed therapist and natural healer, Norm was the strict head of house, with hard working ethics and a take-no-shit attitude which helped me stay focused on the task at hand, rather than losing my head to memories best left in the past. He created my routine which gave me the direction and ability to climb out of bed each day. On the days where life just felt too hard, he would drag Pen-Chan and me on a three-mile walk along the river to a secluded spot where I would follow him and his wife through a slow Tai Chi routine. It helped, they helped, and I had no idea how I would ever repay them for their kindness.

  Giving up on the stubborn stain on the bathroom vanity, I stood tall, arching my aching back. The reflection from the mirror caught my attention, and I paused. Twelve months had changed me, and I wasn’t sure it was for the better. Things were different. I was different. My black hair had mostly grown out and faded. My natural strawberry blonde was pulled into a high ponytail. Pale, amber eyes were makeup free, a stark contrast to the goth look I had adopted back in Claymont. Milky white skin had picked up a soft bronze hue from the hours I spent outdoors, but nothing could hide the dark shadows that hung below my eyes. Sleep evaded me now, not because of nightmares, though I did still have them from time to time, but a chronic case of insomnia that Pen-Chan was determined we would fight naturally, with meditation, exercise, and yoga rather than medication. I understood and appreciated her no meds approach, but I wanted to sleep so badly that pills didn’t sound like such a dirty word anymore. Just one entire night, from dusk to dawn, would be a dream come true right about now.

  Wiping a bead of sweat from my brow, I turned away from the broken woman who stared back at me and collected my basket of cleaning supplies. Locking the door of bungalow nine, I stepped down from the small porch and onto the pebbled path that crept though a thick, tropical garden. Taking a sharp turn off the main path, I took the less traveled route through the flora, spying the main house amongst the large trees. Made of teak wood, with an elegant peaked roof and large verandas, the main house was simply stunning.

  Taking the steps two at a time, missing the odd numbered stairs, I reached the veranda which overlooked the entire resort. Sitting down on the stair, I kicked off my flip-flops and drew in a deep breath of air. My gaze took in the green foliage and beautiful bright flowers that drew the eye in almost every direction. It was the first week of February, and the Chiang Mai annual flower festival had officially kicked off yesterday. The two-week long celebration brought many tourists to the village, and the guesthouse was at full capacity. Later today, the streets would be full as a parade wound its way through town. I’d been told it was a spectacular sight that I couldn’t miss, and although I wasn’t comfortable in large crowds, Pen-Chan had convinced me to go with her. Glancing at my watch, I realized I was running a little late, so I stood and reached for the basket of cleaning products before entering the house.

  This had been my home for twelve months now. I’d arrived a shell of a woman, numb, stripped raw, and aching. They say time heals all wounds, but it doesn’t. It merely covers them in band-aids that hide and dull the pain, but it never goes away, and life threatens to tear open the wounds that never truly heal. Maybe I wasn’t as broken as I was that cloudy day I arrived on the Gillies’ doorstep, but I would never be whole again.

  The house was cool, considering how humid it was outside, and the hardwood floors felt good on my bare feet. Incense hung in the air, like a smoky scented candle, and the soft tinkle of wind chimes sounded like a constant lullaby, singing the sound of peace and tranquilly. I liked it here and I liked my job, but something was missing. It had taken me some time to figure it out. The sweet scent of blossoms from the garden reminded me of my job at Bouquets back in Claymont, which I missed, terribly. Pen-Chan and Norm were good for me, strong and gentle, the perfect combination, but I missed the friends I had made in that small town back in the U.S. And even though what we had was barely a friendship, I missed Drew. I missed his enormous, brooding form that would sit quietly with a newspaper and sip coffee, watching me like a silent sentry. His staring unnerved me to begin with, but after a time, I found peace in it. His eyes never looked upon me with anger or hate, but a gentleness that sometimes stole my breath. The way he cared for his terrier, Max, melted my heart. God, how I wanted that. A man who would protect and care for me, make me feel like I was their entire world. Such devotion would never be mine, though. I wasn’t sure I could ever stomach intimacy with a man.

  Slipping the basket of cleaning supplies into a small closet, I grabbed an apple from a bowl on the kitchen counter and pushed away the thoughts which would eventually lead to me wallowing in self-pity and locked in my room. I was determined that today would be a good day.

  “I’m home!” I called out.

  Pen-Chan would normally call back from her sewing room, but instead, I was greeted with silence. Poking my head into the giant room filled with different fabrics, sewing machines, and a rack of finished garments, I found it empty. A small smile tilted my lips when I noticed the long, flowing skirt Pen-Chan had been working on for me. The fabric was silk in a turquoise that matched the color of the ocean. I glanced down at my cutoff denim shorts that fell to mid-thigh and the baggy shirt that almost swallowed me whole. If only the people of Claymont could see me now. There I had worn nothing but black skinny jeans and fitted black t-shirts in an attempt to disappear into the shadows and hide. Color was now a part of my wardrobe, but I made sure all my clothes were dowdy and unimpre
ssive. Standing out in a crowd was not something I dressed to achieve, and yet Pen-Chan insisted on making me something that would cover me but at the same time look beautiful and feminine.

  “Pen-Chan?” I called out.

  She had told me she would be in the house all morning, and after the severe panic attacks I was struck with during my early days here, she never steered from her routine. I found a certain amount of comfort in knowing where she and Norm were at all times. Even though the panic attacks had subsided considerably, she always let me know where she was going to be, and if she wasn’t going to be around, she would call or leave a note.

  Biting into the apple, I padded down the long hallway, my gaze taking in the large rooms I passed. They were all empty. I ducked my head around my own doorway and smiled. The room was enormous, almost the same size as my entire apartment back in Claymont. The massive windows allowed a breeze to blow through and turn my long, white curtains into dancing threads of fabric. I continued on to Norm and Pen-Chan’s bedroom. Perhaps she was getting ready for the parade. I knocked gently on the door.

  “Pen-Chan, are you in there?” When there was no answer, I knocked again, harder. Maybe she was taking a shower. “I’m coming in, ready or not.” Waiting a moment to give her time to cover herself if she was in there and not decent, I gave the door a nudge. A breeze from their own wide open windows washed over my face, and I smiled at the fresh scent of vegetation and flowers. The door to the ensuite was wide open, and inside appeared empty.

  A niggling sense of worry made my stomach churn. Maybe she was needed up at the guesthouse office and had to leave in a hurry. Maybe she left me a note. Leaving the empty bedroom, I padded back down the long hallway and checked the kitchen counter for a note. Nothing.

  Turning for the front door, I decided to take a walk up to the front office. As I passed the small laundry room, something caught my eye. Pausing, I took a step back and tried to peer around the door that was partially closed. Taking a tentative step forward, I reached out and pushed it.