Derrick's Choice (Titan Security Book 1)

by Cynthia P. O'Neill

  Our team had completed the investigation of most of the employees and discovered little to nothing out of the ordinary, so we rerouted our efforts to include the managerial positions.

  The mystery man, who had kept us at length with his identity, had been quite thorough about not leaving any fingerprints or traces of DNA when meeting with Blaine and Amy. We’d been frustrated to no end, when we hit on a partial print found on the headboard in a hotel room. I’d put a rush on the order, running it through only one contact to ensure secrecy. My suspicions were confirmed, but I couldn’t divulge anything to anyone until I examined every angle, starting with a talk with our mystery man and ending with Tennison, who was due back later that night.

  Things were starting to unravel at an alarming speed. I had to have a tight hold over everything; otherwise, this would all go wrong very quickly, and someone would end up hurt or dead.

  Tennison had agreed to meet with me in his office. I made sure no one in the company, except for security, was present. I had managed to set up scramblers so our conversation was private and ensured everyone who was being watched, including a few additional persons, was accounted for. I’d laid it all out on the table and called him on his bullshit, where he’d finally confessed he’d purposefully kept details hidden—items that were crucial to this operation. Now I just had to get him talking to find out if my suspicions were correct.

  I’d taken the time, while he was in Washington, to investigate the mission he and my father had been sent on in the small country of Dhranan. The mission had been declassified a few years earlier, when the attempts on his life started, but had increased as of late. The demands the Pentagon were placing on him for a “secret” file he’d been working on, and the observations of electrical fluctuations within the office, especially when he thought I wasn’t around…yeah, I knew he had something hidden within his office.

  It had come as no surprise to find two safes and a small vault hidden within the confines of Tennison’s office. One was placed as a deterrent and would surely be found and easily accessed. I admired him for putting in bogus plans to let someone think they’d gotten away with important things. Only if you were an expert would you realize the blueprints were useless, causing the items to explode if anyone even attempted to assemble them. But to a hired thief…

  The vault was the tricky one, hidden behind a false wall panel, which in turn was hidden behind a bookshelf. It was evident I hadn’t been the first one to discover it or try to gain access to it. Someone had attempted to drill into the lock mechanism, trying to disable it. The only problem is it triggered an alarm within the building and forced the vault to tighten the security measures. Only Tennison would be able to access the vault, since it was under a biometric lock, which required a fingerprint and iris scan, along with an authentication code.

  I was upfront and asked if what I’d imagined was actually in there, and he’d admitted things easily, saying he realized what he’d created was wrong and was in the process of destroying everything. The only problem: he was being blocked by a member in D.C. He’d threatened to throw Tennison and his family in jail if any part of the equipment or plans was terminated.

  I felt my heart rise into my throat, realizing we had a security issue of national importance on our hands, along with more lives in danger than just his, should this piece of equipment fall into the wrong set of hands—one of which I suspected was in the office, the other in D.C.

  I wanted to smack the guy for his selfishness—something that could’ve endangered the lives of everyone he loved, which included someone I was beginning to care for. I put aside my feelings and called in a select few of our Titan team, asking them to bring supplies to both the office and his home. We were going to kick this mission up a level.

  Calls were placed to some of our top hackers to try and gain access to personnel files—without raising suspicion in D.C.—regarding said member of the Pentagon. I’d noticed the increased frequency of calls and emails from the person in question to Pterodyne’s offices as of late. If Tennison refused to answer or acknowledge the person, I noticed they would try other measures like trying to sweet talk Tennison’s administrative assistant, Carla, and even trying to bribe the V.P., Winston Voleur. He hadn’t been on Tennison’s suspect list, but I wonder…Voleur seemed too willing to please everyone, from Tennison to the man in Washington. Even those we trust, those with distinct honors, can be corrupted by greed for the right price, and those we think are our enemies are the closest thing we have to salvation.

  I’d start laying the foundation for our contingency plan just in case we needed it, which I suspected we would. I’d given Tennison the particulars of the items he’d have in place to carry it out on my command. I hated telling him how it was going to be, or putting a few extra people at risk, but whoever was behind the attempts at murder, the money laundering, and any other items we’d yet to discover would definitely be flushed out if they thought they’d won. One thing I’d learned about the enemy over the years: they had a tendency to gloat with a win and panic like crazy when met with opposition—causing them to be careless. I just needed to figure out which way to play this to our advantage.

  My father had been pissing all over this operation, threatening to pull me at any moment. He hadn’t let up, which had caused a lot of stress for me and the team. He’d tried circumventing my authority and micromanaging everything to the point I’d had it. Tennison ended up calling him while I was present. Tennison’s directive to “stand down” and let me run the case like I wanted or else he’d hire another company to handle things had my father doing a complete turn around, even garnering an apology from the old man.

  He and my father had been through hell and back while in the Air Force, so they knew how to talk with one another and cut right to the chase. Tennison admitted to my father about withholding information that could’ve solved this case much earlier. My father had been pissed, but seemed to understand there were other factors at play preventing this from being a simple mission. I only hoped he wouldn’t threaten to disown me for the events that were about to transpire and the information I was suppressing to ensure each move was made to my liking.

  With the latest intelligence information, my trust in almost everyone was slowly being whittled away, all except one, and I hoped that feeling was about to pay off. The old saying, “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer,” was about to be put to the test.

  Over the next couple of weeks, we continued on with business as usual. I had the Titan crew continue their investigations, narrowing down several of Pterodyne’s employees who vacationed during the time the culprit had gone to the Swiss bank. To our surprise, the list included Tennison’s stepchildren, an employee in Human Resources, one in my department, and even his vice president, Winston Voleur.

  We started cross-checking for commercial flights, when Tennison admitted loaning his private plane to Blaine and Cassidy. They’d wanted to go to Paris to meet up with some of their friends for a spring break fling. At first, I hadn’t thought much of it, until we were able to pull the manifest for the flight and discovered Voleur, along with his wife, had hitched a ride.

  I’d questioned Tennison on the need for Voleur to fly along. He just waved his hand in the air, dismissing things. “Voleur had requested time off to have a second honeymoon in Paris with his wife. He’d offered to fly over with my kids and keep an eye on them, since they had a tendency to get into trouble.” He shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal. “I figured it couldn’t hurt. At least that way I knew they’d be okay.”

  We’d initially dropped the questioning and turned our attention to the other individuals in the company. None of them panned out. They’d all stayed within the country for their vacation time, having verifiable alibis to where they’d been.

  But one thing came to light: while four people flew over to Paris, only three flew back. Voleur and his wife had stayed behind, so who was the mystery guest who’d hopped a ride?

&nb
sp; It took some doing, but my suspicions were confirmed when we talked to the pilot and flight attendant. They’d remembered a man, oddly fitting the same description of our mystery man, using the name Calleum Price—the kids’ father. But his prints were coming up as someone else entirely…a newly bought identity? I stuck one of our team members—one who was all too eager to try and get to the bottom of this—with the job of discovering where the identity came from, who the individual truly is, and all other pertinent details they could come up with. “Leave no stone unturned,” I’d requested of our man Jasper. I wouldn’t let on that I knew the mystery man’s true identity, not until I had the chance to talk to him.

  Part one of my plan was now in full swing. I’d already known the changes in place were forcing the next stage to happen sooner than I wanted, but we were too involved at this point to turn back now. I just hoped I could get to Tennison before it was too late.

  The knock on my door in the middle of the night had frightened me, until I’d peeked through the peephole to see Derrick; however, his appearance had me still feeling a bit uneasy. He looked haggard, his hair disheveled, and a grim look on his face. Opening the door I’d asked the words, “What’s wrong? Couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow at work?”

  Despite our apartments being down the hall from one another, he’d never knocked on my door—well, not since I’d put a halt to the possibility of us dating. He’d respected my wishes until tonight, until my worst nightmares came true.

  “Can I come in?” were the only words out of his mouth.

  I nodded and stepped aside, motioning toward the couch for him to come in and take a seat. “Can I get you anything?”

  He shook his head while remaining quiet, but something inside me knew the news wasn’t good.

  I’d kept a few feet away from him, still not trusting how I felt around Derrick and, therefore, not wanting to sit close to him. We might be boss/employee at the office, but I had feelings that I couldn’t explain, ones that lingered from our one date night—feelings that only he and one other brought out in me.

  “Did we lose the M-9I project? I know Washington was threatening to pull it.”

  He shook his head as he held out his hand. With reluctance, I placed mine in his and allowed him to pull me onto the couch next to him. He shifted toward me, his hands coming up and holding tightly to both of my shoulders as his voice broke. “He’s dead.”

  I didn’t know much about Derrick other than him having a half-brother named Rick. He’d mainly kept to himself and didn’t provide any further information about his private life. I’d heard him make mention of his dad being a jackass to Mr. Tennison at work once, leading me to believe he knew his dad on a more personal level.

  “Who’s dead?” I placed a hand to my heart, trying to calm my nerves. “Please tell me it’s not one of your family members.”

  He shook his head, his eyes filled with pain. “Mr. Tennison.”

  That was the last thing I’d remembered that night. I’d woken up several hours later laid out on the sofa, with my head in Derrick’s lap, a blanket draped over me, and my feet elevated. His hand ran up and down my arm while he whispered sweet words of encouragement to wake me. He’d kept watch over me to make sure I was okay.

  Derrick didn’t even have to tell me what happened: I’d gone into shock. Since both of my parents are psychiatrists, I know the symptoms. They’d had patients go into shock over bad news before. I’d even experienced it at their BDSM club when a submissive crashed too quickly from an adrenaline rush.

  In my mind, I knew that Tennison wasn’t family. I didn’t have any reason for the overpowering emotions I’d felt regarding his death, but he was special to me, a mentor. He’d made me, and everyone who worked for him, feel like a part of one big family. I’d asked him once why he paid such close attention to everyone, so he explained how his parents, brother, and extended family were all gone, leaving him by himself. He poured his heart and soul into founding his company, making it a success, but he felt alone, until he started thinking of everyone as an extended member of his family. It seemed to boost morale and inspire more creativity. Overall, the work coming out of Pterodyne had been more competitive than anything other similar companies had to offer. “Treat everyone like family, and you’ll feel like you’re king of the world.” That had been his motto, and I had to agree.

  The place I’d worked at for my internship, which turned into my first job after graduating Embry-Riddle University, had treated me like a number. After three years of service to the company, no one knew my name, only my employee identification number. Sure living in Daytona Beach, having an option of swimming in the surf, dining on fresh seafood, and being within a short distance from my family were all great, but when you hated your job…

  I’d been inspired to move to Tampa and to persuade Tennison to hire me. I could still have everything that was important to me: my freedom, the clubs, the sand and surf. It had all that I wanted in life and more.

  Looking up at Derrick, with his watery eyes, I felt guilty for having stolen his initial job, but not for having had the chance to know Tennison and learn under his guidance how to be the aerospace engineer I was today. I owed him a great deal and would cherish those memories, keeping them close to my heart.

  My mind finally stopped wandering and returned to reality to listen to Derrick fill in the details of that night: After going to a fundraiser supporting wounded military veterans, Tennison had arrived home with his family. Needing some time alone, he’d gone into his study. I’d heard him state on numerous occasions that the wounded soldiers often got to him, bringing back painful memories, so he liked to drink a toast to their honor while he cleaned his guns—a stress reliever.

  “His gun misfired, hitting him in the leg. Natalie heard the shot, and her and Jacob ran in to find him bleeding. He’d asked them to call for an ambulance and have me meet them at the hospital.” Derrick swallowed hard, trying to get the next words out, “The bullet had hit his femoral artery; He’d bled out by the time they’d gotten him into surgery. They were unable to restart his heart.”

  Something didn’t add up to me. I’d seen gunshot wounds from volunteering in the hospital where my parents worked at times, donating their services for those needing help to resolve some mental hang-ups and issues. “Wouldn’t someone need to have perfect aim and hit the artery straight on for him to bleed out like that? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  He nodded. “I agree. You’d think that, but apparently his gun had been tampered with, and someone had replaced his regular bullets with hollow-point ones.” His face held all seriousness as he asked, “Do you know what those are?”

  Sadly, I did. My father had enjoyed hunting and had educated my sister and me on various forms of ammunition and types of guns. When my sister had joined the military, she loved sharing more information with me, given my thirst for weaponry knowledge and how I could apply things to aircrafts. I guess it didn’t hurt that she’d trained to be one of the few women snipers around. She often found it humorous that I worked with weaponry, but refused to carry or shoot a loaded gun.

  I knew a regular bullet could do some damage, but required spot-on precision to achieve its goal, usually resulting in an entrance and exit wound to the body or object. The hollow-point bullet was intended to kill. Once inside its target, it exploded causing maximum possible damage to the person or object it was directed at.

  I nodded. “Did he have any part of his leg left?”

  He shook his head. “Not much. The police have confiscated his body, his house, and his office until they do a preliminary search. For now, we will have a few days off. I don’t know what will happen to our jobs beyond that, though.”

  That was two weeks ago. Mrs. Tennison had her husband’s remains cremated and his ashes spread across the local airfield, per his request. All of his employees were invited to attend his service, and, to my surprise, only a few missed the proceedings for some reason or another.

 
; The company had shut down completely for the first week, and then Mr. Voleur, the Vice President and now acting CEO of Pterodyne, reopened the doors, insisting everyone get back to work. I was rather shocked by his insistence. He’d been Mr. Tennison’s right-hand man for the last two years, being supportive of anything his boss wanted to attempt. Now his attitude was cold and harsh. I didn’t know if he was mourning the loss of his friend, still in denial, or if he’d hidden his true self all along. Who knew? I kept to myself and made sure our paths didn’t cross; he seemed like a riled up bear with a nasty case of poison ivy and a very large burr up his ass.

  I’d seen Derrick in passing in the halls of our apartment building. We’d run into each other a few times at the gym and once at the grocery store. We both seemed to be walking around in a haze. I didn’t know how close he and Tennison were, other than his relationship with Derrick’s dad, but Derrick seemed to be hurting just as much as I was.

  My mind wasn’t in a good place, and Master had sent a note to me stating his displeasure that I’d missed a couple of our “meetings” as he put it. I’d sent word that I’d lost someone close to me and needed some time to recover. I was surprised when he’d sent an arrangement of flowers telling me to take as much time as I needed; he’d be there waiting for me. He’d also sent along a new toy—one to barely breach my center and rub up against my clit and backside—to provide triple stimulation to my system. His note stated to use the toy when I needed to get out of my head for a while, but I wasn’t to come until I was with him. He loved toying with my need to come, and he seemed to know what would drive me crazy. Just a few moments with the small piece of electrified ecstasy and I was ready to show up at the club and submit to whatever he wanted for permission to come. I didn’t know whether to be thankful for him helping get me out of my depression or to hate him for knowing I’d be a walking tremor of nerves and sensations, bordering on a full scale earthquake of need until I saw him again.