by Nancy Radke
He didn’t have much to go on. Just the few facts. The cracker had entered the first two levels using the passwords.
That meant he had known them— or figured them out. Quickly too, for the program shut a person out after five tries. Strange. When Ryan had installed the program last month, he had had Jim Markum change all the passwords. Was the MXOIL chief doing it himself? Ryan didn’t know too much about Jim, except he was a Texan who had lost most of his southern drawl working in the 49th state.
It could be someone who knew Jim, who knew what kind of passwords he liked to use. Someone in the company.
He added those ideas to his notebook, then went to bed.
* * *
Angie woke to bright sunshine and dripping icicles. Except for her throbbing ankle protesting its overuse yesterday, she felt refreshed and ready to go. She dressed quickly in stretch jeans and tee shirt, then dropped into the splits, doing her morning stretches. She did a few walk-overs and decided the ankle felt strong enough to use as long as she kept it wrapped. Then she went downstairs to see if Ryan had heard anything from the hospital.
“I just called,” he said. “Mary is awake, but in a daze. Warren is still in a coma. I’ve notified Scott. He suggested setting up a fund to help Mary with the medical expenses, if needed. He’s going to call Warren’s climbing friends and get the word out.”
They breakfasted on hot cereal, canned milk, canned peaches, and coffee, then returned to the hospital, giving Robyn a two-hour break. They couldn’t really visit with Mary, so they sat near her and Warren, offering support.
On the way home they stopped for fresh fruit and milk, then returned to the houseboat where Ryan started Angie on some office work. She learned rapidly and was surprised when he called a halt for an early supper.
“You’re supposed to stop me,” he teased. “It won’t do if you forget the time, too.”
She considered that. Grandfather had been chiming in the background, but she had enjoyed it and hadn’t bothered counting the beats. “Why don’t we set an alarm clock?”
He nodded, and followed her as she worked her way down the stairs.
“Soup and sandwiches?”
“Fine,” she agreed. “I eat anything.”
“Stands to reason.” He motioned for her to sit down at the kitchen table while he opened up two cans of tomato soup, heating the soup quickly in the microwave while he grilled some cheese sandwiches. “I don’t keep too large a store of fresh things since I never know when I’ll have to leave. Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” She sat silently, enjoying watching him work. He knew what he was doing and did it with a minimum of effort— proficient and dexterous, as he did most things. He whistled as he worked, casually skipping from one tune to another.
They watched the news afterwards. The weatherman said the cold spell would last for two weeks. Angie shuddered, thinking of how hard things would have become once she had left Scott’s office that night. With Jack throwing out her belongings, she would have been in a really tight bind.
Staying here, in the upstairs bedroom, would be fine if she could count on Ryan— or herself— maintaining a strict employer/employee relationship. But that wasn’t possible. The attraction she had felt last summer was minuscule compared to her feelings now.
She needed to find another place to live. Hesitant, she broached the subject.
“I thought you could move in with Robyn and Alison,” he said. “But they’ll have their hands full with Mary. You need to be close by. Maybe an apartment around here. We’ll start searching tomorrow.”
“That would be fine.”
“Can you access your account online?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll pay you your first month’s salary now.”
Angie moved everywhere unassisted by now, although he still helped her up the circular stairway. This evening he pulled out two heavy coats and escorted her up to the roof deck to watch the sunset, spectacularly reflected off the snow and water. A slight breeze blew the dry snow around, covering up footprints and blurring edges.
The huge Aurora Bridge dominated the sky, overshadowing the smaller Fremont Bridge. The setting sun highlighted the snow-covered structures. Ryan’s home floated on the side of the ship canal, about three miles from the Government Locks. The frequent boat traffic kept the houseboat rocking gently.
“Have you ever been to the locks?” Ryan asked as one boat came in fairly close to Ryan’s dock, circled the area, then roared off.
“Yes, many times. It’s the best free entertainment in Seattle. I enjoy watching the big gates open and close, the ships enter and tie up— then either sink or rise according to which way they’re going.”
He nodded. “I walk down to relax or clear my mind, or just to watch the fish go up the ladder. The cutthroat trout should be running this month. When the snow’s gone we’ll go down and watch.”
“I’d like that.” The agreement seemed a promise that their friendship would grow. Their smiles met, sealing the possibility.
A loud knock— someone at his front door— interrupted them. Ryan hurried down and Angie followed. He opened the door to a pizza delivery boy.
“You lost?” Ryan asked.
“I don’t think so. Didn’t you order?”
“No. What address were you sent to?”
The delivery boy had Ryan’s address written down, along with his last name.
“Someone must be playing a bad joke on you,” Ryan told him. “If we hadn’t already eaten, I’d go ahead and buy it.”
“It’s happened before,” the boy told him. “Thanks anyway.” He left, shaking his head and Ryan closed the door, locking it behind him.
Two TV shows completed the evening, but Angie had a hard time focusing on them. Her mind kept traveling upstairs to where the flannel shirt waited, folded and tucked under the pillow on her bed. It was a practical item, yet if it had been a fluffy bit of lace, she wouldn’t have felt any differently. Its presence re-awakened the deep feelings of last night.
A small spark was all it took to start a forest fire.
She switched off the TV, made her way upstairs, and pulled out the shirt. Angie wasn’t dumb. Her emotions were like dry tinder. Putting on the shirt would be like lighting a match.
She laid it back down and walked over to the closet where she had placed the few items Shelly had salvaged. A large sweatshirt would do nicely and she pulled it off the shelf, looked at it, then put it back again. She wanted to wear the shirt.
Deliberately, she put it on over the khaki shorts before she changed her mind. It made her feel wanted, loved, warmed... cared for. All the things she had been without these past few years. All the things she needed.
She walked into the bathroom, prepared for bed and came back out. But Ryan kept busy downstairs, so didn’t meet her in the hallway. She didn’t know whether she felt relieved or disappointed.
Later Grandfather woke her, its cadence deep and regular, patiently counting out the midnight hour. Outside, the crystal snow reflected every point of light so her room stayed dimly lit, the chair and dresser nebulous objects.
As the last notes resounded through the house, Angie looked longingly toward the door. She felt thirsty, mouth dry, every cell demanding liquid. From experience she knew if she fell asleep again she’d wake even more thirsty in an hour or so.
There was nothing else for it. She absolutely had to have a drink of water.
Throwing back the covers, she moved quietly towards the bathroom. The carpet felt warm, but when she reached the cold tile in the hallway, Angie questioned the sanity of her mission. Leaving a cozy bed for a drink of water had sounded fine while she still lay under the covers.
A pinpoint of light flashed dimly in the office catching Angie’s eye. It skittered from object to object, blinking— a firefly, off and on.
Why didn’t he just turn on the light? “Ryan?” The question burst out before she realized the bundled-up figure holding the penlight couldn’
t be him.
The intruder spun around, uttering an oath, the light searching out and finding Angie. As he hurled himself across the office toward her, she screamed.
11
As soon as Angie screamed for Ryan, the masked intruder ran towards her in five leaping steps. The dull flash of a gun barrel spurred her to movement.
She threw herself sideways, feeling his hand brush her arm as she fell away. She rolled over and scrambled on her hands and knees down the short hall, screaming with all the volume she could manage.
“Ryan! Help!”
Ryan threw his door open, clicking on the bedroom light behind his pajama-clad figure just as the intruder hauled Angie to her feet. She caught the sharp odor of cigarette smoke as he yanked her backwards against his heavy coat, her breath knocked out, cutting short her scream.
The end of the gun pressed hard against her throat, bruising her skin. Ryan paused, his body tensed for action. Don’t do anything rash, she prayed silently. She didn’t want him injured, maybe killed, trying to save her.
“Stay back... and she don’t get hurt.” The stranger’s voice rumbled in her ear.
“Let her go.” Ryan spoke the command softly as he stepped toward them, his movements deceptively slow.
The choke-hold on Angie tightened, making her gasp for air. The intruder stood much taller than she. Taller than Ryan. She could feel the bulk of him against her. He growled, low in his throat. “No. Stay away. I was warned about you.”
Ryan’s eyes focused with a piercing hardness. “You were? Then be smart. Turn her loose. I’ll let you leave, unharmed.”
The man’s voice became louder. “First the CDs.”
Why is he afraid? He’s the one with the gun, Angie thought. She used both hands to pull down on the intruder’s arm as she began to wheeze. Her hands, made strong by years of training, had enough strength in them to move his arm. Once she could get a decent breath, her desperation eased slightly.
“Which ones?” Ryan demanded.
“You know. For the MXOIL corporation.”
Ryan frowned as he answered. “You— or your gang— stole that the other night.”
“Funny, funny. You ruined my hard drive. I want both CDs.”
“They wouldn’t be here,” Ryan said. “We keep those in a vault.”
“Don’t give me that. They’re here. Open your safe.” His voice had a different cadence than either Ted or his raspy friend, yet Angie had a feeling she had heard it before. But where? When?
With a grunt, the intruder dragged her backward into the office while Ryan followed, barefoot— not pressing too close— a silent pantomime taking place among the three.
The stranger smelled of smoke, alcohol, and sweat— the last probably from fear. Intent only on his own safety, he handled her roughly.
If she could only trip him somehow, or knock his hand down. She kicked hard, but that just sent pain shooting through her ankle. Enraged, she pulled hard on his gun hand, moving it away from her neck.
Following them into the office, Ryan turned on the overhead lights. “Angie... no! Stop that!” he warned, concern creasing his face. “His finger’s on the trigger! Don’t fight him. I’ll give him what he wants.”
She dropped her hands as fear tempered her anger. She had been so mad, she hadn’t thought about the gun going off.
Ryan strode over to the large safe, spun the dial and opened it, revealing papers, file folders, and storage boxes filled with CDs. He flipped through them, checking the numbered labels, then opened one.
“Here they are.”
“Put one on the monitor. Then stand over by the door while I take a look.”
Ryan inserted a CD in the computer and typed in some commands. It hummed and groaned for a few seconds, then displayed its information.
“There.” He walked away and the other man peered at the monitor.
“Good. This is what I want. Where’s your other set?”
“My backups? These are the backups. You already stole the originals.”
“Huh?” The stranger grunted, appearing confused. “I’m supposed to get two sets.”
“Two sets? Or two CDs? I don’t have any more here. Do you want me to show— “ Ryan stepped away from the door and instantly the gun barrel was jammed into Angie’s throat. She gasped. He stopped.
“Back off. I’m not tangling with any black belt. I’ll blast her, then you, if you try anything.”
“You harm her and I’ll— “
“Stay far off.” As Ryan stepped backward into the hallway, Angie realized her presence was the only thing giving the thief the upper hand. A black belt. That explained how Ryan had handled Jack so easily.
The intruder pulled Angie to the open safe and scanned the numbers on the labels, having her move the boxes in front. When his search proved fruitless, he dropped the set he wanted into his coat pockets and addressed Ryan.
“Go into a bedroom and close the door.”
“No. You got what you came for. Turn her loose.”
“Give me more distance. I will then.”
“Ten feet. No more.”
“Twenty.”
Ryan’s gaze shifted from the intruder’s to Angie’s. She was shocked by the intense frustration raging in his eyes. “Twelve. You turn her loose, soon, or you’ll find out exactly why you were warned. You can have the CDs. But I’m not letting you take Angie, gun or no gun.”
His words stamped the air with heavy blows. Angie had never heard him so forceful. Was it out of concern for her as a human being, or did his feelings go deeper... as hers did for him?
Slowly they worked their way down the hall, Ryan following, closing in as they half-fell down the circular stairs. Outside, the man struggled for balance as he walked backward on the ice-covered boards, dragging Angie with him. On the edge of the dock he hesitated, as if considering his next move.
As he shifted his grip, Angie had a forewarning of what he planned to do, but found herself unable to prevent it. Hurled sideways, she whirled into space, her scream cut short as she plunged into the freezing black water.
The cold took her breath away. Her heart stopped for a second in shock. Deep... deeper... her momentum carried her down into the dark depths, icy water filling her ears, her nostrils. She felt the brush of underwater plants, trying to wrap around her legs.
Upwards. She had to get up, out, back to air. She kicked free of the plants and churned her way to the surface.
Angie came up under the dock. There was air there, a small space to put her face and catch her breath. She fought down panic as she took a few seconds to orient herself. The light from the dock gleamed into the water making it lighter in that area. She worked her way to the edge, dove under and came up alongside.
A pipe hung over her head. Plastic. Ice covered. Her hands slid off. A second try succeeded only in creating more ice. The air felt colder than the water and she drew her hand back in.
She must find a ladder. If Ryan was fighting with the intruder, he wouldn’t be able to help.
“Angie! Here!” Ryan lay on the dock, his arms extend towards her. Ducking under the pipe, she swam over to where he could reach her, his grip strong enough to hurt as he pulled her upwards. He wasn’t about to let her slip back in.
“Did he get away?” she gasped as they regained their feet. His pajamas were covered with snow, but he didn’t seem to notice that or her question.
“Inside. Quick.”
Dripping water blurred her eyes and she wiped her face. The freezing night air chilled her more than the lake. It rapidly drained what strength she had left, but she was still furious about being used against Ryan. “If he hadn’t tossed me in, you could’ve— “
“He might’ve shot you. He wasn’t particular how he created a diversion. You shouldn’t have fought him.”
“Well, thanks.” Angie started to limp towards the houseboat on bare feet so numb she no longer noticed them. The blue shirt plastered itself tightly against her, soaked and heavy.<
br />
“Independent woman,” she heard him mutter. Still muttering under his breath, Ryan caught her up and bore her rapidly across the ramp and through the open door.
Banging it shut with his heel, he continued up to the bathroom. Both were shaking by the time they reached the shower and Ryan turned the water on. The stream hit her as he lowered her to her feet.
“Ow, that’s hot.”
“Barely warm,” he corrected.
Gradually he raised the temperature until it reached normal, supporting her with one arm while she regained strength. Recovery came fairly quick as the period of immersion had been short. The sharp tingling left her skin, to be replaced by comfortable warmth.
“I’m better now.” She grasped the soap holder, but found to her delight that he continued to hold her, his arm a strong and secure protection. “Where did he go?”
He leaned closer to adjust the water again; stayed close. “He had a speed boat next to the dock.” His tone sounded soft, tender, as if speaking words of love— his eyes shining as if he had won a prize. Angie’s heartbeat quickened in response as she tried to read the meaning in his gaze. Was he happy because the intruder had gone, or that she had come out unhurt?
“Shouldn’t you lock the front door?” she asked, turning her face up to his, inches away.
He considered her question reluctantly. “Later.”
“What if he comes back?” she worried aloud.
“No problem. He wouldn’t have you as a shield.” He moved his arm, stepping away, and she had to fight the desire to pull him back. With a liberal hand, he poured shampoo over her hair. “You smell like Lake Union.”
Laughing, she held one hand over her eyes as he massaged the shampoo in. She tipped her face upwards, eyes closed, sighing as his strong, gentle fingers slowly worked the suds through her hair. “That’s nice.”
She felt cherished by him, loved— a feeling of perfect harmony. Had the dangers of the past hour magnified his feelings, also, so that like and respect had turned to love... and desire?
Or was he just washing her hair because it stunk? She mulled it over all through the rinse, her heart skyrocketing when he finalized his actions with just a touch of a kiss near the bruise on her neck.