Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts)

by Tiffany Snow

It was Friday night and I had a new schedule—dinner with my real bona fide boyfriend. Jackson was going to pick me up at eight, which was still two hours away, but I was ready to go. Since Mia had made plans with a group of friends, I’d asked her to do my hair and makeup before she left. So now I sat gingerly on the edge of my sofa, trying not to wrinkle the shirt she’d ironed for me.

  It was a fancy shirt with buttons and not even a T-shirt underneath. A deep scarlet color and soft to the touch, she’d said it looked fantastic on me with my dark hair and “ivory” complexion, which I took to be a pleasant euphemism for pale as death. The sleeves were long but she’d rolled them back and put a silver bracelet on my wrist. She’d even made me tuck my shirt in to my jeans, which were also new and much tighter than what I usually wore. I squirmed, trying to break them in more. Maybe I should do some squats?

  My doorbell rang and I got up, wondering who that could be. It wasn’t pizza night, so it wouldn’t be Reggie. Not the neighbor either, since no one had moved in since Clark had moved out. Was it Girl Scout Cookie time of year yet? I loved Thin Mints . . .

  But it wasn’t anyone I recognized. Two men stood on my porch, waiting for me to open the door. And they didn’t look friendly. I stepped back from the window, thinking fast as to what I should do. Should I call someone? Jackson? The police? But they hadn’t done anything to me, just rang my doorbell. Maybe I was overreacting?

  As I was thinking all this, one of them knocked. “We know you’re in there, miss. We’re with the Secret Service. Please open the door.”

  A word I never, ever uttered fell out of my mouth. I knew I had to open the door, but I would rather have opened every Star Trek: The Original Series action figure I had that was New In Box.

  “What do you want?” I said once I’d pulled open the door.

  “We’d like you to come with us,” one of them said.

  “Not without ID.”

  They both obliged, showing me badges and cards proclaiming them to indeed be members of the Secret Service. They looked authentic, though if that wasn’t convincing enough, the guns in holsters underneath their suit jackets looked very real indeed.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked, still standing in my doorway.

  “Someone needs to speak with you,” the one who’d spoken before said. “We’ll bring you back shortly.”

  They waited for me to decide, which was polite since I didn’t think saying no was really an option. I grabbed my keys and my phone, but the talker stopped me.

  “I’m sorry, but your phone will need to stay here.”

  Alrighty then.

  They escorted me to a waiting sedan, engine running, and all three of us got in the back. I thought for a moment they’d blindfold me, but they didn’t. Which was a good thing because I totally would’ve gotten carsick and thrown up on them.

  We drove down to Research Triangle, parking underneath a small, four-story building. The garage was deserted and the men flanked me as we followed the driver to an elevator in the corner.

  My nerves were raw by the time we exited the silent elevator. I hadn’t asked any more questions. I knew they wouldn’t answer anyway, so I saved my breath.

  The corridor was functional and not especially welcoming. It ended overlooking a large room that spanned ten feet below the fenced walkway. A sort of high-tech NASA design lay below, with screens on the wall in front and three rows of workstations facing it. They weren’t ascending though, instead all rows were on the same level.

  “What’s this?” I asked the men in confusion. But they’d already turned and headed back to the elevator.

  As far as I could tell, I was alone, so I walked down the metal steps to the floor for a closer look. All the workstations were on and displayed the same logo on their log-in screen. Stopping in front of the nearest one, I read aloud.

  “The Price of Freedom Is Eternal Vigilance.”

  “Exactly.”

  I squeaked and spun around, startled. A man was walking toward me who looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

  “Who are you?” I asked when he’d stopped in front of me.

  “I’m Stewart Gammin,” he replied, holding out a hand for me to shake. I did so automatically. “You may have heard of me.”

  My memory supplied the connection. “You’re the president’s chief of staff.” Which made something else click. Freyda’s phone contact—PCOS.

  He smiled, though it wasn’t the practiced, friendly smile of a politician. More that of a bureaucrat who’d been told that it was required to occasionally be nice. With dirty blond hair and brown eyes, he was a good-looking man. Maybe six feet tall and somewhere between the forty- to forty-five-year-old range. His suit was well-tailored and his shoes polished to a gleaming shine.

  “Yes, that’s correct. And you’re China Mack.”

  “How do you know me? Why am I here?”

  “We’ve been keeping tabs on you for some time,” he replied. “You’re one of the most intelligent people in the world. An incredible asset to our country. And now your country has need of you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about this.” He gestured to encompass the room. “I’m sure Jackson has told you that the president ordered Vigilance to be finished, despite the NSA’s public difficulties. The president has the ability and authority to make such things happen and keep it out of the papers.”

  Something clicked in my head. “Wait a minute . . . PCOS. You’re the one Freyda was talking to. You’re the one who killed her. Or had her killed.” Which was really bad news . . . for me. Especially since I’d just blurted it out like that. Subterfuge wasn’t my thing.

  “I did not kill her nor any other member of the team,” he said. “We believe that was NSA operatives, trying to get this project shut down.”

  “Why would the NSA want it shut down? Aren’t they all about spying?”

  “The president is afraid there are moles inside some of our most secret agencies, including the NSA, working against our national security. We don’t know who they are or who they’re working for. That’s why we need you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Jackson delivered the software to us. No one else. We’re the only ones with a copy of Vigilance up and running.” He nodded toward the wall with the screens. “But now we need someone to head the program.”

  He looked at me and I looked at him. It took me a minute.

  “No . . . really? Please say you don’t want me to do this. I hate that software, think it’s a huge overreach and dangerous—”

  “Which is precisely why you’re the best person to run the program,” he said. “The president requested you, specifically.”

  I snorted, pushing my glasses back up my nose. “Nice try. Like I’m going to buy that.”

  Stewart smiled blandly again and clasped his hands behind his back. “Regardless of whether you believe it, it’s true. But the most pressing concern is getting the right person to head this project. You talk about how dangerous Vigilance is . . . would you not want to make sure it wasn’t abused? You’d be in the best position to do so. And we could find those responsible for the deaths of your friends.”

  That was tempting, but . . . “Vigilance should be destroyed.”

  “A genie cannot be put back inside the bottle.”

  We stared at each other. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach told me what I was going to do. I couldn’t turn my back on something like this, not when I’d been one of the people who’d helped build it. And he was right. So many people would be awed at its capability and wouldn’t be able to resist abusing it . . . in the name of keeping the American people safe.

  “Does Jackson know?” I asked.

  Stewart shook his head. “He does not. We arranged for his delivery of the software and our relationship with him is at an end. He’ll be compensated for his time and the . . . issues he had to deal with.”

  “Yeah, being shot was one hell of an ‘issue,�
�” I said dryly.

  “That was unfortunate. We weren’t aware of Ms. Miller’s . . . ties,” he said, frowning slightly. “Which is another reason why we should use this software. If we’d been using it before, we would’ve found Ms. Miller before she killed John and Freyda. Vigilance will save lives . . . if it’s in the right hands.”

  Dammit. I could feel myself caving. I didn’t see what other choice I had. Knowing this was out there, being used by a secret department of the US government, would keep me up nights.

  Finally, I nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.” And it felt like I’d just signed the rest of my life away.

  Stewart smiled for real this time. “Excellent. You won’t regret it, I promise you. There is no greater honor than being of service to your country, I can assure you.”

  Until they stabbed you in the back, I thought.

  “Your position will be Division Head and you’ll be given an extensive list of possible recruits to vet. You’ll know better than we what technical skills are needed. As for the intelligence side, we thought it would work best if you had someone with extensive field ops experience and widespread contacts in the community.” Stewart glanced over my shoulder. “Ah, and here he is now.”

  I turned and my stomach dropped somewhere near my toes.

  Clark was striding toward me.

  “Let me introduce you to—”

  “We’ve met,” Clark interrupted, halting in front of me. “Good to see you again.”

  The smirk on his lips made me realize my jaw was hanging open. I closed it with a snap.

  “You knew about this,” I accused. My hands were clenched into fists.

  “First thing you should learn about spycraft is that just because you know something, doesn’t mean you’re allowed to tell anyone.” He glanced toward Stewart.

  “When are we set to go live?”

  “As soon as your staff is hired.”

  Clark’s gaze returned to me. “Then we’d best get to work, right, China?”

  “I’ll leave you to it then,” Stewart said. “China, paperwork will arrive via secure courier in the next few days. Please review it carefully.”

  He shook my hand and I got a good look into his eyes. They were calculating—as cold and impersonal as his handshake. I had little doubt I meant next to nothing in his version of The Grand Scheme of Things and that if I ceased being useful, I might be next to die under suspicious circumstances.

  “I’ll be sure to do that,” I said.

  He nodded, then headed toward the stairs. In another moment, he disappeared down the corridor.

  “Shall we?” Clark asked. “You have a lot to get caught up on.”

  I raised my chin. “Not tonight, I don’t. I haven’t signed anything yet. Besides, I have a date.” I spun on my heel and followed the path Stewart had taken. I’d just hit the top step when Clark called after me.

  “You’re going to have to quit your job at Cysnet,” he said. I glanced back at him. “And Jackson can’t know why.”

  My gut twisted. He was right. But just because I quit working for him didn’t mean we had to break up. It actually solved a problem—sleeping with the boss. There was that silver lining I was looking for. I actually smiled.

  “You’re right,” I said, resuming my path. “I’ll see you on Monday.” I waited until I was about to disappear behind the wall, then poked my head out. “And since I’m now technically your boss, be sure to arrive on time. Have a good weekend.”

  The look on his face made me smile wider and was the rainbow over my silver lining.

  Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Starting a new series is always fraught with doubt and uncertainty, so I’d like to thank the following people who believed in this new character and story:

  Kevan Lyon, my agent. I don’t think anyone was more excited about China than you.

  Maria Gomez, my editor. Working on each new series and each new book is always a true pleasure. I’m so very blessed to have you!

  Melody Guy, my developmental editor. I love to hate getting an e-mail from you! Your hard work makes my stories so much better and when I get the nod of approval from you, I know it’s For Reals.

  My amazing beta readers: Shannon Patel, Tiffany Kimble, and Nicole Duke. Your input as avid and critical readers is invaluable to me.

  My family, for being supportive and long-suffering as I made my way through another book.

  And you, the readers, for picking up yet another book of mine. Thank you for following my work and loving each new heroine—from Kathleen, to Clarissa, to Ivy, to Sage, and now . . . China. I hope you love her.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2014 Karen Lynn

  Tiffany Snow has been reading romance novels since she was too young to be reading romance novels. Born and raised in St. Louis, she attended the University of Missouri in Columbia, earning degrees in history and social studies. Later she worked as an information technology instructor and consultant. At last, she now has her dream job: writing novels full-time. Married with two wonderful daughters, Tiffany makes her home in Kansas City, Missouri. Visit her website, www.tiffany-snow.com, to keep up with her latest projects.