by Kim McMahill
With one last look around, she inserted her key into the sturdy lock of the scarred door. Once inside, she clicked the deadbolt, leaned against the back of the door, and let out a sigh. The apartment was warm, safe, brightly lit, and tastefully decorated, which didn’t mesh with its less than prestigious location or exterior facade. None of the personal items were hers, other than the clothes in the closet, but that didn’t bother her. This wasn’t home. The most important selling feature of this apartment, and why those like her chose to rent these units, was the landlord didn’t require a lease, nor did he run any background checks, and he allowed renters to pay by the week in cash.
Janice wadded the coat up and stowed it in her bag for tomorrow’s use, kicked off her heels, poured a glass of wine, and curled up at the end of the couch. Turning on the television, she watched the weather report without really hearing a word of it. Her mind wandered back to her exchange with Dr. Clark and the implications of his research project. The man was always a little skittish, as were most academics she came into contact with, but he’d seemed especially on edge. She knew she intimidated many men, but she couldn’t help but feel he was hiding something from her.
Pulling out her cell phone, Janice punched in a number very few knew. After three rings, a deep, intoxicating voice came over the line.
“I’ve negotiated another thirty days, so there’s no hurry. We can let things play out a bit longer and see what happens and if there is any need to take action. I feel confident I will be the first to know of any changes. Dr. Clark and I have come to an…understanding.”
Janice sat quietly, listening as her advice was completely ignored. She took several deep breaths before speaking, knowing insubordination generally wasn’t tolerated. She had more latitude than most, but didn’t want to press her luck. Even though she was technically an equal partner in a small group of individuals with a common mission, she was the newest member and the only woman.
The head of the group wielded a great deal of power and demanded unquestioned loyalty from those around him. Unfortunately for her, he also had an inexplicable hold on her. She had met him socially and was instantly enthralled by his charisma, charm, and the power he emanated. Soon, she found herself immersed in all aspects of his life. She doubted she could ever get away, even if she wanted to, and at the moment she was content to play along.
“I think we may be jumping the gun, and patience is essential. If and when we need to act, I prefer to work alone. As you know, I’m not comfortable with the asset you sent. He’s your man, not mine. I know you’ve used him for years, but I don’t trust him, and I think his abilities are vastly overestimated.”
She listened to the terse scolding coming over the line, admonishing her for questioning orders and giving her new tasks.
“Yes. I’m monitoring movements on both fronts and will contact you immediately if anything changes.”
Janice rolled her eyes as she listened to one final warning about “playing nice with the hired help,” and then the line went dead. If she was prone to rash behavior, she would have thrown her cell or her wine glass across the room, but she was always in total control of her emotions. Rash behavior was dangerous, but not as deadly as overconfidence. Just because they had operated in the shadows without suspicion for years, they weren’t infallible, and she had a feeling deep in her gut they were playing this hand all wrong.
She hated stupidity, so had spent her adult life surrounding herself with intelligent people whom she trusted and who shared the same goals, but now she was beginning to wonder if she had hitched her wagon to the wrong team. She had no intention of taking a fall for any cause, or allowing anyone, including this enigmatic man, to destroy the life she had built.
She just hoped she had the strength to deny him if she were forced to choose.
Chapter Six
When they reached her truck, Grace paused. She wasn’t comfortable with anyone touching her stuff, but alone she’d have at least a half a dozen trips to make in order to unload everything. Glancing toward the house, she assumed Logan must have shoveled the walkway leading to the house, but the path had already begun to refill with snow shin deep, making the idea of multiple trips unpleasant if not unfeasible.
Cold, exhausted, and resigned to accepting assistance, she handed him a heavy box of books and grabbed her computer case. Grace had nearly reached the front step leading onto the porch when her foot landed on a sheet of ice concealed beneath the snow, and her feet flew out from under her with comic speed. She clutched the computer to her breast and landed hard on her back, unable to break her fall while protecting the frighteningly expensive computer, which belonged to her employer. She contemplated what hurt worse, her tailbone or her pride, as she remained on the frozen ground staring up at the dark sky.
“You okay?”
She mumbled a response but didn’t bother to get up, certain she didn’t have enough strength left to hoist herself out of the snow.
“Keys?”
Grace pulled her glove off with her teeth and fished the key out of her pocket. Logan accepted it and removed the computer resting on her chest, leaving her lying in the snow on her back.
The porch light flickered to life, and after a few moments Logan returned. He stared down at her with concern in his eyes. She knew she should do or say something but just couldn’t summon the energy. He knelt down and scooped her out of the snow, lifting her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Wiping his feet on the doormat before walking over to the couch, he deposited her gently on the sofa.
“Don’t move.”
Grace nodded and fought to control the tears threatening to fall. She was physically and emotionally drained. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about all that needed to be done, but now, after the long, exhausting drive in white-out conditions and working for months under high stress, the magnitude of the tasks she faced were at the forefront of her thoughts, and the acknowledgment made her feel weak and weepy.
She could handle the ranch chores on her own for a while. Butch had no family, so she had final arrangements to make. She needed to see her uncle as soon as the roads cleared enough to allow safe travel. She would call the insurance company first thing in the morning, since the barn needed to be replaced as soon as possible, and her work weighed heavily on her mind. The more she thought about all that must be done, the more difficult it became to fight the fatigue.
The door shut, and she looked up at the man, dusted with a fine layer of snow, looming in the doorway. Under normal circumstances, she imagined he’d look a bit intimidating, but as her eyes focused on his tall, broad shouldered frame, he looked like an angel…a very strong angel, but an angel nevertheless.
Despite his obvious willingness to help, she hated to take advantage of a stranger or anyone for that matter. She’d always relied only on herself or Moss, but at the moment she appreciated all he had done, more than she liked to admit.
“Please go home. You’ve already gone way beyond the line of duty, and I appreciate the help. I’ll just close my eyes for a moment and then get up and finish unloading the tr—” she said as she drifted off to sleep.
Grace woke two hours later to a warm glow in the stone fireplace and the weight of several heavy quilts piled on top of her. She sat up and looked around groggily. She saw no sign of Deputy Carlson, but spotted a stack of boxes, a pile of loose books, and her duffle bag next to the front door. Grace stood and stretched, feeling stronger though a little guilty for leaving him to unload her truck in a snowstorm while she napped.
Wandering over to the kitchen table, she picked up a slip of paper. “Soup’s on the stove, but will probably need to be reheated. Couldn’t find much more. Get some rest. I’ll be back in the morning.”
A million questions swirled through Grace’s mind, but she couldn’t blame him for leaving. She knew the place where the local deputy was housed by the sheriff’s department, and the location was a long and difficult snowmobile ride in the dark, especially with a storm
raging.
She wished he had left a phone number. She could call 911, but there really wasn’t any emergency, just an uncomfortable feeling of being alone and overwhelmed by all that had happened and a desire to make sure he arrived home okay. Law enforcement personnel in remote areas often worked solo, but she also knew it was never a good idea to snowmobile alone, especially at night. Pushing the thoughts aside, she shuffled to the stove, poured the soup into a cup, and cradled it to her lips as she leaned against the kitchen counter and sipped.
After savoring the warm broth, her strength returned sufficiently to carry her books, computer, and research equipment into her uncle’s office. She paused for a moment in the doorway, half expecting to see Moss’s gray-haired head bent over his leather-bound ledger. She had tried to computerize the ranch’s books a few years ago, but he wouldn’t hear of it, so they continued to do things his way. She smiled as she picked up the ledger and slid it into the top desk drawer to make room for her computer.
Leaving the office, she toted the rest of her bags to her room upstairs. Turning on the spigot, Grace quickly stripped down and eased her body into the deep claw-footed tub. She moaned with pleasure as the nearly scalding water poured over her, chasing away all remnants of the chill from outdoors, forcing her to relax. Grace closed her eyes and tried to erase the images of the skeletal barn from her mind.
If Charlotte had still been in the barn, two years’ worth of work and eight months of trials would have been lost, but far worse was that Butch had died, and Moss had come close while trying to save him.
What started the fire, and why couldn’t Butch get out or Moss get in?
The questions kept replaying over and over in her mind until the water had gone cold, and she was forced to get out.
Clad in her favorite pink flannel pajamas, fuzzy purple robe, and the bear paw slippers Butch had given her for Christmas the year before, Grace wandered back downstairs to check the locks and stoke the fire one last time before going to bed. Her eyes fell on the shotgun that was always propped up in the corner near the door. She lifted the gun and checked the load.
The urge to take the weapon upstairs for the night niggled at her, but she dismissed the idea, knowing the dogs wouldn’t let anyone near the house without sounding the alarm. Refusing to cave to unsubstantiated fears, she returned the weapon to its usual spot and wearily climbed the stairs to bed.
The ranch and this home had always given her a sense of security and belonging, but everything had changed overnight. Nothing felt right. Butch no longer lived a mere shouting distance away in the manager’s house. Moss still hadn’t regained consciousness.
And something about the fire is all wrong.
Grace pulled the curtain back and stared out the window at the falling snow. The storm still hadn’t let up, and the all-encompassing silence and complete darkness made her shudder. Depending on the time of day or season, the sounds from owls, song birds, roosters, coyotes, wolves, bugling elk, horses, barking dogs, or cows always serenaded the ranch, but tonight, nothing. Even the bright light, which usually flooded the area between the house and the barn, was dark. The thought of trying to get high enough to change the bulb was so overwhelming she just sighed and turned away.
Maybe in the light of morning things won’t look so hopeless, Grace thought as she crawled into bed. She buried herself under a pile of blankets and a down comforter and cried herself to sleep.
Chapter Seven
The clock on the wood paneled wall read well past nine p.m. when the dark haired man in the expensive suit walked into the windowless club in downtown Salt Lake City. The interior was dimly lit, but he had no problem spotting his contact who was sitting at a table in the far corner, fidgeting like a vandal with spray paint still on his hands. The man hated dealing with intellectuals. Maybe they could compute some worthless equation, but ask them to look normal and they stood out like a palm tree on a glacier.
The man settled into a chair with his back to the wall while facing the door and motioned to the barmaid. He waited until the woman returned with his order. He stared unblinkingly at the man sitting across from him. As intended, the silence intimidated and unnerved his tablemate, making the academic squirm. Taking a long drink, the man ignored the burning in his throat as his annoyance simmered at being called to this meeting, forcing him out of a rare moment of relaxation.
He was never to be contacted unless an issue arose that demanded his personal attention. The fact he was here verified something had gone wrong.
“Did you destroy the data?”
The younger man, who hadn’t spoken yet, wriggled around in his chair, trying to dispel his discomfort, and slowly lifted his head to meet the inquiring glare. “I accessed the data this morning and wiped the hard drives clean and crashed the backup server, but—”
“But, what?” the dark haired man demanded impatiently.
“I could tell the data had been copied late last night, Mr.—?”
“Just Frank. What do you mean, copied? You said if the test subjects and data were eliminated it would take years for the results to be duplicated, even if someone thought to try to replicate a seemingly failed experiment.”
“I don’t know what happened or why. I was stunned, since it is strictly against company policy to ever transfer files or data onto portable devices.”
“Who copied the data?”
“Um…” The young man swallowed hard. When he had accepted the money from an anonymous source to delete the files and crash the server, he’d suspected there might be some personal risk, but he didn’t see how his actions could possibly harm anyone else. Now he wasn’t so sure.
As far as his supervisor and colleagues believed, the data was useless. The task was simple. Destroy the data and make it look like an accident, one of those unfortunate technology malfunctions, and receive the equivalent of nearly a year’s worth of his current salary. But, by the look on Frank’s face, he knew he was in way over his head, and the research apparently wasn’t as worthless as everyone, including himself, had thought.
“I asked, ‘who has the data?’ and I’m not a very patient man.”
“It doesn’t really matter. The project was deemed unsuccessful, so I doubt anyone would attempt to duplicate the process, especially with the server crash I created to make the information loss look accidental when, and if, it’s ever discovered. The backup server is offline to prevent it from being hacked, so unless someone needs to access a backup copy of a data file, no one will even know it’s down. Besides, there are only a couple of researchers who would have any idea how to replicate the, uh, experiments.” He knew he had just put his own life and those around him in jeopardy the minute the words slipped out of his mouth, but he couldn’t take them back.
“See the large gentleman at the end of the bar?” asked the dark-haired man.
The younger man shifted his gaze until his focus landed on a guy with a shaved head, his muscles straining the sleeves of his suit jacket and his eyes concealed behind dark glasses despite the dim lighting in the club. He glanced back to Frank, wiping his sweating palms on his slacks, and nodded.
“This is the last time I’ll ask you—who made the copy and who can replicate the experiments? The next request will come from my friend, Victor, over there, and I can assure you, Victor is not nearly as polite as I am.”
The nervous man swallowed the lump in his throat. He spent his life avoiding violence and the sight of blood, especially his own, always made him sick and lightheaded, but he was already in too deep to turn back. Tamping down his conscience, he focused on all the times Grace had ignored his advances, treated his flirtations like a joke, and patted his head like a kid brother. Trying to pick up women had never been his strong suit, but she had to have recognized the signs, and she brushed him off. With one last glance at Victor, he raised his eyes to Frank and cleared his throat.
“Grace Talbot copied the data, and I have no doubt she could replicate everything from memory, even with
out the files.”
“And I assume you, the other woman in your lab assigned to the project, and Dr. Clark could also duplicate the experiment?”
He nodded slowly, wondering if he would even get to his car alive.
“Where is Ms. Talbot now?”
“I assume she is in Wyoming at her uncle’s ranch. Dr. Clark told us she had a family emergency, left early this morning, and would be working remotely until things settled down. The uncle in Wyoming is the only family I’m aware of.”
Frank knew all about the family emergency. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to confirm if his people had successfully met the objectives, and he hadn’t known, until now, that Grace Talbot had gone there. It didn’t really matter anymore. With Grace holding all the cards, the game had changed, and there were more loose ends to tie up than he had originally anticipated.
“Are…are…are we done?” the young man stuttered.
“For now, but don’t do anything else stupid or go on any shopping sprees. My employers won’t be happy you failed in such a simple task, and they may want a refund,” Frank stated as he drained his glass and left the club.
Chapter Eight
A deep rumble from approaching heavy equipment shook Grace out of a restless slumber. Grabbing her watch off the nightstand, she realized she had slept until eight, a luxury that didn’t exist at home and certainly not on a ranch, especially today. She craved information on her uncle’s status, praying his condition had improved overnight. More pressing though, she needed to make sure all the animals had survived the storm, yet she had slept like a woman without a care in the world.
Grace groaned as she crawled out of her warm nest of blankets and stumbled over to the window, rubbing her red and swollen eyes. The storm had quit, and a clear blue sky greeted her. Just outside the house, an unbroken expanse of glistening white covered the ground, and pine boughs bent under their heavy load of snow. The whole scene would have made her smile if it were Christmas morning and Uncle Moss and Butch were sitting around a blazing fire drinking coffee, waiting for her to wake up and open gifts.