Flashbyte (Byte Series - Ellie Conway Book 4)

by Cat Connor

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Be a man on the edge. Throw caution to the wind.”

  Kurt’s eye brows rose. “Man on the edge, huh?”

  I shrugged. He went into the bedroom then came back wearing a gray suit jacket, a dark tee shirt, and light blue straight jeans.

  Kevin Costner all the way. A song filled my being. ‘Long Hot Night’. Oh man, that so isn’t fair. My mind made a frantic attempt to shut down Kevin Costner and Modern West before it really was a long hot night. I swallowed my coffee before it choked me.

  “That works.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Uh huh.”

  I couldn’t say anything else, I was afraid my voice would crumble. More important, I was afraid I would crumble. I crammed my mind full of images of Rowan to push the Kevin Costner thing away. Rowan Grange. Women hated me. Women hated me because I dated Rowan Grange.

  Rowan wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. I concentrated on Rowan and how women worldwide hated me. It felt good.

  I needed my phone. The internal jitteriness returned with a vengeance. I was still capable of doing math. Too much coffee, plus zero food since breakfast, plus stress equals I need to eat, and eat now. I cannot go out for drinks without eating. That was a recipe for disaster.

  “Any clue where my phone is? And we should eat before we go out.” I hoped that sounded as casual as it should. I didn’t want him going all freaky on me.

  He was still admiring himself in the mirror.

  “We’ll head down to the restaurant and have dinner. Your phone is on the nightstand, charging.”

  Wow.

  “Thank you for doing that.” I stood up, waited for the spinning to stop, then went to get my phone. I lay on the bed and called Rowan.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” He sounded happy. Upon reflection, I concluded that was how he almost always sounded unless he was dog tired.

  “It’s okay. We’re down in Lexington, about to go have dinner. Miss you.”

  “I miss you too.”

  “How’s Carla?”

  “She’s brilliant. Having a good time. Derek is teaching her to play drums.”

  That explained the noise. Great! That’s just what I needed, a drum-playing teenager.

  “You couldn’t teach her guitar?”

  Rowan laughed. “If she has her way, she’ll learn to play every instrument known to man.”

  “Make sure she knows she is not getting a drum kit!”

  “You sound better?”

  I looked around. No Kurt. He must still be in the living area, admiring himself.

  “Don’t jinx it. I’m not feeling wonderful – think I’ve picked up a bug.”

  “If you have, you’re in good hands. You’re with Doc right?”

  “Yep. I better get going, just wanted to check in with you guys.”

  “Check up on me and make sure I’m not being a bad influence on Super Girl?”

  “Not at all. You are great with her.” I meant every word.

  “Okay, darlin’, I’ll hear from you later?”

  “You will, not sure when, but you will.”

  I pressed the end call button and set the phone back on the charger. The coffee I’d drunk sloshed around my stomach as I stood up. It took some effort to ignore it but I managed. After a brief search I found tidier jeans and a nice long-sleeved button-down black shirt. I carted my essentials – makeup, deodorant, shampoo, and so forth – into the bathroom.

  “Doc, I’m having a shower,” I called as I turned the shower on. I noticed a damp towel hanging on the rack. It reminded me of how carefully I’d hung up the towels at home, right before the house exploded. A long sigh escaped. I erased the burning house images and concentrated on the present. Kurt must’ve had a shower already. That explained why he was looking so fresh and why he smelled so good.

  No ghosts emerged from the steam.

  The shower helped more than the nap. I felt almost alive by the time I was dressed, made-up, and blasting my hair with the hotel hair dryer. I didn’t smell like smoke anymore; going out to meet people smelling like a house fire wouldn’t make the best impression, and I don’t need the extra help to make a crappy first impression.

  Doc appeared in the open bathroom doorway.

  “You look nice,” he commented, leaning on the door frame.

  I unplugged the hair blower and put it back in the drawer. Tossed my hair about a little bit then ran my fingers through it, smoothing out the fly-away strands. Raking my bangs with my fingers covered the scar on my forehead. I fastened the buttons on my cuffs. Hiding scars was what I did best.

  “So do you.” I gave him a quick once over. “Step over here.”

  He stood next to me. We both looked in the mirror.

  “This works, we look like we belong,” he said, smiling. “Let’s do it, Conway.”

  “Just like that, huh?”

  “Bite me.”

  “Oh, the temptation.” I smiled. “You need to get used to calling me Ellie.”

  His eyes searched mine within the mirror.

  “Gabrielle,” he whispered.

  A chill ran up my spine.

  “Don’t …”

  Fourteen

  Superman Tonight

  Red meat seemed to be the best option as I gazed at the menu in my hand. I’d noticed the three people in the restaurant, who all took too much interest in us as we’d entered.

  Steak. Doc played the attentive new husband without fault. I opted for water over wine.

  His hand reached across the table, fingers seeking mine.

  “Can I call you by your middle name?” he said, his voice barely audible.

  “How did you introduce me to Grant, in conversation?” I matched his tone.

  “As Mrs. Henderson.” He smiled. “It’s an old joke. He used to say when I married I would have to call my wife ‘Mrs. Henderson’ because I wouldn’t be able to remember her name.”

  “Forgetful?”

  He grinned. “I had a lot of friends in college.”

  “Of the female persuasion?”

  His grin widened. I took that as a ‘yes.’

  “Rylee—”

  “Better than your first thought.” I smiled. “You do know that my phone will ring at some stage, and I can’t guarantee I won’t answer it with either Ellie or Conway.”

  “Hence the newlywed status. People expect names to get confused.”

  “Call me Rylee if you like. It’s not so much different from Ellie that I won’t know you mean me; I can fudge it and say anyone overhearing me say Ellie heard wrong.”

  Gabrielle Rylee Conway. Ellie Conway. Rylee Henderson. What a progression.

  The steak was good. I think I finished it in record time. Hungrier than I thought, and I thought I was plenty hungry. A waitress approached our table.

  “Would you like dessert, sweetheart?” Kurt leaned across the table and kissed me, his lips just brushing mine.

  I held in the urge to laugh check and replied, “No, I’m good, thank you.”

  He pulled my chair out for me. Smiling, I slipped my hand in his and we sauntered out of the restaurant toward the hotel car lot. Unless we were in our hotel room alone, we were a couple. A newlywed couple.

  Sometimes life is just meant to entertain. Sometimes you have to go with it.

  Kurt drove. I enjoyed seeing familiar stores and places I used to visit. I couldn’t help but cast a sidelong wary glance at the Interscape Café as we drove by. Kurt also looked over at the tree-lined parking lot, his face registering the resurgence of a memory.

  We looked at each other and gave miniscule shrugs. We’d survived.

  I remembered the day he told me in that parking lot that he didn’t ever want to eat at my house. Funny how life changes. Not always funny ha ha though.

  Kurt pulled the car into the driveway of a beautiful old house.

  “We’re here. You ready to do this?”

  “Sure, Doc. Let’s do it.”

 
; He leaned in and kissed me. Then paused to whisper in my ear. “The curtain moved, we’re being watched.”

  With my lips close to his ear I whispered back, “We’ve been under the magnifying glass since we hit the Rockbridge County line, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  “I hadn’t.”

  “The curtain twitched on the neighbor’s windows too.”

  Kurt pulled back as we heard a door open. A male voice called out, “Hello!”

  “We’re up, Rylee. Don’t forget to call me Kurt.” Kurt said, plastering a big grin across his face.

  “Here we go,” I replied, following suit. I wanted to tell him to stick close as another wave of clammy queasiness hit, but didn’t want him to think I was ill. So I said nothing and hoped I still looked okay.

  Many questions occupied my thoughts, none of them good. Where did the Silver Galant go? Why was Arbab heading into Rockbridge? Should I call Jonathon with the information? Should I call Noel and tell him I do know Arbab, and I even saw him today? Should I mention any of this to Kurt?

  All my thoughts lumped together and I shoved them, smoldering, under the car mat as my door opened and Kurt reached in for my hand. Ever the attentive husband.

  As I stepped out of the car he pulled me to him, his lips brushed my ear long enough to say, “Smile, you look like you’re trying to save the world.” He turned to Grant. “Rylee, this is Grant Neal.”

  I extended my hand and smiled. “Good to meet you, Grant. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Then you have me at a disadvantage because your husband kept very quiet about you,” Grant replied shaking my hand. “You look a little familiar.”

  I extracted my hand from his grasp. He didn’t look at all familiar, so I guessed he hadn’t been a doctor at Stonewall Jackson when I was admitted.

  Leon Kapowski’s face drifted across the blank slate behind my eyes. He was the doctor I remembered from Stonewall, a neurosurgeon who now worked at Inova Fairfax Hospital, and was still my neuro guy. Lucky man.

  Kurt whispered in my ear, “Lost you for a second there, all right?”

  I smiled, hooked my arm through his, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek to disguise my whispered answer, “Not even a little bit.”

  With a display fit for stage, Kurt twirled me into his arms and looked deep into my eyes.

  “I’ll stick close.”

  Grant laughed at Kurt’s exhibition. “Come on you two lovebirds – Kim’s waiting inside.”

  Kurt kept his arm around me as we followed Grant up the path, and into the delightful old house. Music was playing in the background. I listened and heard ‘Superman Tonight’ from The Circle, Bon Jovi’s latest album.

  Grant ushered us into a spacious living room where an attractive blonde-haired woman waited. The music was no louder in there. I wondered if only I could hear it, and if so, why that song?

  Kurt greeted Kim with warmth and introduced us. It was obvious he knew her. My eyes searched for the stereo or something that would explain the music.

  A stereo system sat idle. The television was off. There wasn’t even an iPod playing. Guess the song was for me and only me. No doubt the reason would become apparent.

  “Red or white or bubbles?” Grant asked, standing by an old oak sideboard.

  Not bubbles. Bourbon would have been my first choice, but as it wasn’t offered I went with the least of the three evils.

  “White, please,” I said before Kurt could answer for me.

  Grant handed me a glass of Chardonnay. “White for Rylee, how about you Kim?”

  “Bubbles for me.”

  Kurt did the sensible thing with a wave of his car keys. “Just juice for me, Grant.”

  Grant poured himself a glass of bubbly and sat next to his wife on one sofa. Kurt and I occupied the other sofa.

  Small talk ensued for about half a glass of wine. The song kept coming back. Over and over again. The lyrics flashing on a screen in my head. Jon Bon Jovi was singing about how he didn’t know a person but wanted to save her and how he didn’t know what that meant. I edged ever closer to screaming, “Stop! I don’t know you either and I don’t know what that means!”

  It was a fight to keep the smile on my face and stay up with the current conversation. I had the feeling I wasn’t sparkling as I should. Although mentally there were plenty of sparks. I could ignite if I didn’t watch out.

  It was small talk. Catch-up crap. It didn’t involve me. I wanted to get to the bit where people were dying but had an inkling that wasn’t the point of the evening. Grant wanted to catch up with his buddy. I made an effort to listen and appear interested.

  It transpired that Kim had once dated Kurt. Early on in their college days. But she’d married Grant by the time they graduated. I knew she was a nurse, but didn’t work at the hospital. She worked in a private fertility clinic. Guess there are people out there who are desperate for children. I found that notion foreign. I had Carla; we’d chosen each other when she was almost fourteen. I’d never wanted babies. Mac had wanted babies. When I was a teenager I opted out of parenthood by birth, because my mother was fuc’n insane and I didn’t want to be that woman. Mac’s mother was just as crazy. Any children would’ve had a double whammy of nuts.

  Everyone was looking at me.

  I missed something.

  “Sorry, daydreaming.” I tried to look apologetic.

  Kim laughed. “Grant was asking what it was like living with a hero.”

  A hero?

  I kept my mouth shut while I reassembled the missing conversational strands. Kurt’s bemused expression was no help.

  “He’s my superman,” I said. As the song’s decibel count sky-rocketed I couldn’t think anymore. Kurt’s arm snaked around my shoulders and gave me an affectionate squeeze.

  Grant seemed to like my answer. I needed to pay more attention to what was going on. The song blared. Without thinking my hands clapped over my ears, but that just locked it in, trapping the noise within my own head.

  The volume escalated. It was as if I was wearing ear buds and someone was pumping the volume on my iPod. Louder and louder. Noise so loud it hurt. My ear drums were going to burst. Nothing else existed. There was no off switch. I expected blood to pour from my ears as the level increased again.

  Then nothing.

  Silence. My hands fell away. Silence. For a few beats I thought I was deaf. The music had deafened me.

  I turned my head to find three people looking at me. There was no bemused expression on Kurt’s face now. No smile. His brow furrowed and eyes darkened. Kim’s face registered concern. Grant was leaning toward me.

  I picked up my glass and took a sip. Kurt took the glass from me and switched it for his juice.

  “Where were you?”

  “Right here,” I said.

  “You couldn’t hear me?”

  “Did you talk?”

  Grant and Kurt looked at each other. Kim kept her eyes on me.

  “What happened?” Kurt asked, fully focused on me. I could see how he pulled so many girls in college. It was that intense Kevin Costner thing that lightened instantly with a smile. There was nothing little boy about him. He was all hero. He could be the one. His eyes held mine and didn’t let up.

  I didn’t know what to say. How could I tell him the music in my head was so loud I couldn’t hear anything else? Confess to having Bon Jovi in my head? Nope. Admit to thinking he was Kevin Costner? He should just know.

  “Bit spacey. It’s been a long day,” I said, hoping he’d buy it. I couldn’t very well remind him, in front of his friends, that my house exploded. Or about the boxes of ass. Or mention the terrorist thing he didn’t know about. Or harp on about the shooters. I had a feeling it was some kind of weird-assed migraine or a stroke and was waiting for the pain to kick in.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your evening,” I said to Kim and Grant.

  “Don’t be silly,” Kim replied. “You should get a good night’s sleep. We can catch up tomorrow.”
/>
  “I think we will,” Kurt said. “I’ll come into the hospital and we can go over the files.”

  “We can use my office,” Grant said.

  “That’s settled then.” Kurt stood up, took my hand, and pulled me to my feet. His voice dipped until it was husky and laden with honeymoon intent, “Let’s you get you to bed.”

  Twenty minutes later I was undergoing the Kurt Henderson version of the Spanish Inquisition in our hotel room. I peeled off my clothes and pulled on pajamas in the bathroom, Kurt waited outside the door, which was ajar. He’d forbidden me to lock it or even shut it. It’d taken a lot of discussion to get the door anything less than wide open.

  Once in my pajamas he insisted I get into bed. I could see his black bag on the desk.

  I attempted to talk my way out of any impending medical exam. “I’m fine, tired. It was a shitty day. I’m a bit stressed and the wine hit me.”

  He looked like he might buy it then changed his mind.

  “And I think you experienced some kind of auditory episode.”

  Crap!

  “I’m okay, Doc.”

  “You can’t convince me, Conway.”

  “I don’t have to convince you, Doc. I’ll be fine, after a decent night’s sleep.” I picked up my charged phone. “Left it behind.” I checked for missed messages.

  Two I didn’t expect.

  I read them.

  One from Kevin – no, not Costner – a cop I knew from Mauryville. Someone had come in and asked for directions to my property. I still owned the land where my first home once stood. Never got around to selling it. I’d never got around to doing anything with it. What was left of the house was still there too. It hadn’t quite burned to the ground, but it was beyond repair and needed bulldozing. Doing something with the Mauryville property was on my five-year-plan.

  I called Kevin.

  Twenty seconds later I was making a call to Jonathon Tierney and I didn’t care that Kurt was sitting on the bed watching me as I went through the security process and talked of chickens. I just had to do it fast, before my brain froze up again.

  Jonathon’s tightly-wound voice almost echoed down the line, “Tierney.”

  “Habib Arbab is in the company of Abbudin Nader. Nader is driving a Silver Mitsubishi Galant, tag: Tango, Romeo, Alpha, five, five, five. The car was in Mauryville, Rockbridge County. This evening someone asked for directions to my old house. We’re way beyond guessing how he knows who I am. We need to stop him now before he finds me.”