Vicarious

by Paula Stokes

  “Not up for negotiation?” I’m tired of being told what to do. If it isn’t Gideon or Rose, then it’s Jesse. I’ve been legally an adult for three months but no one seems to think I’m capable of making my own decisions about anything. “You’re not my father and I’m not a child,” I blurt out. “I don’t have to obey you.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jesse’s eyes widen.

  “I may not be your father, but I am still your boss. Which means you do have to obey me when it comes to work-related things. I already made the reservations and emailed them to both of you.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I can and I will. I promised your sister I would never let anything happen to you. I will honor her wish, even if it means that you hate me. Do you understand?”

  I sigh deeply. I can tell he’s not going to back down. “Fine. You win. I’ll go to Florida.”

  “Your plane leaves at seven a.m. tomorrow,” Gideon continues. “Take care of each other. I’ll see you both when you get back.” He pauses. “You can take me off speaker now.”

  I turn the speaker off and hold the phone to my ear. “You’re off.”

  “Thank you,” Gideon says.

  “For what?”

  “For leaving.”

  “Not like you gave me a choice,” I mumble. But then after a few seconds I tack on a grudging “You’re welcome.” I might not agree with everything Gideon does, but he is still my elder and the closest thing I have to family. I know that he means well.

  I duck out of the ViSE room and head for Escape’s exit. Jesse is right on my heels.

  He follows me through the main lobby and into the stairwell. I do my best to ignore him, but when he continues past the seventh floor, I stop on the landing and turn to face him. “How could you do that?” I ask. “I might have to go to Florida with you, but I don’t forgive you for that little stunt.”

  “Sorry. It was kind of a dick move.”

  “Especially going for the throat the day after some guy almost strangles me,” I remind him. I turn back to the stairs.

  “Again, I apologize,” he says. “I lose sight of that kind of stuff when I’m fighting. I just wanted it to be over quickly.” He coughs. “But you took kind of a cheap shot yourself.”

  As we head for the top floor, I think for a second about the little voice in my head that wanted me to do more than just elbow Jesse in the groin. I know what it’s like to have tunnel vision in a fight. “I guess I did. Sorry,” I mutter. “But sometimes I swear it’s like he has you brainwashed.” I wriggle out of my boots in the hallway outside the penthouse.

  “You don’t get it,” Jesse says. “He has all of us brainwashed, except for you. You’re his family. You’ll never get fired. I need this job, Winter. Gideon basically owns me. It kills me to say that, but recording pays a lot more than anything else I can do. And Gid’s not normally a bad boss. I’m sorry he made me jump you like that.”

  “So then how about you make it up to me?” The words fly out of my mouth, almost flirty sounding, before I can even think about what I’m saying.

  Jesse touches me on the arm. “How would I do that?”

  His touch combined with the cadence of his question sends a tremor through me and I quickly avert my eyes. “I have an idea.”

  Jesse follows me into the penthouse. As I close the door behind us and lock it, I try my best pleading look. “Can you find some other girl and go? Tell Gideon I’m with you?”

  “He already got us plane tickets. We can’t send someone else in our places because our IDs won’t match and there’s not enough time to get fakes made,” Jesse says. “And you know Gid. He’ll check up on us when we’re expected to arrive, or maybe even before then. He’ll pay someone to hack the passenger manifest to make sure we boarded the plane if he suspects we’re playing him.”

  “Damn it. You’re right.” Gideon doesn’t leave anything to chance. He trusts no one.

  Jesse flops down on the sofa. “What if we do the ViSE as quickly as we can and change our tickets so we can come home early? Gid won’t check every flight to make sure we’re not on it. We’ll just have to avoid him for a couple of days once we get back. You can crash with me if you want.”

  I slouch back against the wall separating the living room from the kitchen. Normally I would love to go to Florida. But not now. Not when I feel like each passing second means Rose’s killers are slipping farther away.

  “There’s no other way,” Jesse says. “If we try to get out of the job, we’ll spend all our time avoiding Gideon and not learn anything. Besides, we can play the rest of Rose’s recordings on the plane or while we’re stuck in Miami and maybe find some fresh clues to follow once we get back here.”

  “Good idea,” I admit. “At least it’s using our time wisely.”

  “So what now?” Jesse asks. “More ViSEs?”

  “Plenty of time for that. Let’s try to do something we can’t do in Florida.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like check out Phantasm.” I think about how Andy mistook me for my sister at the gym. “Maybe Rose got grabbed on accident. Maybe they wanted me. What if the guy I stabbed wasn’t looking for a recording my sister made? What if he was looking for ours?”

  CHAPTER 24

  “You want to skulk around Phantasm in the middle of the day?” Jesse asks. “How are we going to get in?”

  “I’m still working on that part.”

  He rubs at his scar. “Actually, I have an idea. Have you been to Miguelito’s?”

  “The Mexican restaurant? I’ve never eaten there, but I seem to remember running past it the other night. It’s not too far from Phantasm, right?”

  “About a half mile.”

  “And this gets us into the building how?” I ask.

  “Trust me.” Jesse picks up his phone and starts dialing.

  * * *

  We pull into the parking lot of Miguelito’s twenty minutes later. In the daylight, the squared-off brick building looks more like a bomb shelter than a restaurant.

  “We’re going to make a special delivery to Phantasm,” Jesse explains. “No one can resist free food, right?”

  I wrinkle up my nose. “You think an international software company is going to welcome us in if we show up bearing burritos?”

  “Oh, yes.” Jesse puts the car in park and turns off the ignition. “These aren’t just any burritos.”

  I slide out of the car and slam the door shut behind me. “It’s worth a try, I guess.”

  Two guys in baggy chef pants and black T-shirts are sitting on milk crates, smoking cigarettes, outside the loading dock door. Jesse bumps fists with one of them as we pass by. The back room is full of trash cans and empty boxes. The scent of old grease and chili peppers makes my eyes water. A set of silver shelves in the back hallway sags under the weight of cartons of paper products. Turning the corner, we pass the cooks’ line, where two guys and a girl are working to rap music blaring from a flour-caked transistor radio.

  Jesse ducks into a little room that seems to be doubling as a manager’s office and a pantry. A dark-haired guy with the beginnings of a beard is hunched over a computer screen. He drums his fingernails on the desk as he scrolls through what looks like price lists.

  “Miguel.” Jesse says it with a Spanish accent, which for some reason makes me smile. I stand back, browsing the large cans of pinto beans and boxes of brown sugar like I’m at the grocery store.

  “Jesse. My man. It’s been too long.” Miguel turns away from the computer, stands, and claps Jesse on the back. “What brings you here?”

  “Well, it sure isn’t the cooking,” Jesse jokes.

  Miguel’s eyes widen. “Shh. You crazy? My mama will hear you and come with her shotgun.”

  “We need to make a delivery,” Jesse says. “Only it’s a place that hasn’t technically ordered anything. Do you still have the fishbowl full of business cards?”

  “Yeah. We got it.” Miguel stands and peeks his head out into the hallway. H
e flags down a passing waitress and has her fetch the fishbowl from the dining room. She returns a couple minutes later and hands the bowl to Miguel.

  “Can we borrow the catering truck too? We need to look legit.”

  “As long as you bring it back in one piece,” Miguel says.

  I take the bowl from Miguel and dump all of the business cards out onto his desk. I start going through them individually, crossing my fingers for the Phantasm logo.

  A plump woman with a long black braid pokes her head inside the office door, her chocolate eyes melting at the sight of Jesse. “Mijo,” she says. “I thought I heard your voice.” She pinches one cheek like she’s known him since he was a baby and then wraps him in an embrace. “You should call your father. He asks about you every week, and every week I have to tell him I haven’t seen you.”

  “Sorry,” Jesse mumbles. “I’ll call him soon.”

  “They worry about you. Your poor mama.” Releasing him, the woman turns to me, her eyes hardening with judgment. “And who is this?”

  “Tía María, this is my friend Winter,” Jesse says.

  I’m halfway through the cards, still looking for a Phantasm one. “Pleased to meet you,” I say.

  “You too.” She smiles again, lines forming at the outside corners of her eyes. She touches Jesse on the back of the neck and leans in close, murmuring something in Spanish I’m fairly certain is about me. He answers her in Spanish and they both smile.

  “I worked here for a few months,” Jesse tells me, “when I first got out of the army. Maria is my aunt and Miguel is my cousin.”

  “And you are a brave soldier and a good man,” Maria says. “Never forget that.” She floats out of the office and I finish going through the business cards. I get lucky with one of the very last ones: Darren Ritter. Technical support specialist. Phantasm.

  We order Mr. Ritter a nice variety of burritos and other food at a discount rate.

  “What did your aunt say about me?” I ask while we wait for the food.

  Jesse laughs under his breath. “She said, ‘Pretty, but too skinny.’” He winks. “I agree with the first part.”

  My face gets hot, as much from the touch as the compliment. “Thanks. I’ve never heard you speak Spanish before.”

  “I’ve never heard you speak Korean,” Jesse says.

  I speak to him in Korean, the corners of my lips tugging upward in a smile.

  “Whoa.” He blinks rapidly. “What did you say?”

  “I said that you’re pretty but too skinny.” I pat him on the stomach. His abdominal muscles tighten under my touch. I snicker. “Did you really just suck it in? You are the vainest guy I know.”

  “I’m not vain,” Jesse insists. “But I was kind of a big kid and there’s a lot of heart disease in my family. I’m just a little paranoid of waking up a hundred pounds overweight someday.”

  “I promise I’ll let you know before you’re a hundred pounds overweight,” I tell him. “If you’re nice, I’ll even introduce you to some healthy Korean food.”

  “Sweet. Are you offering to cook for me?”

  “No. But I’ll take you out to a really good restaurant and let you buy me dinner.” I grin.

  “Deal.” Jesse gives my ponytail a gentle tug. “She also asked about the bruises on your throat. Does it hurt?”

  “Not really, but I guess it looks horrible, doesn’t it?” I adjust the collar of my shirt to cover up more of my neck.

  “I just wish I had been there,” Jesse says. His expression is so earnest and sad, like he failed me by going home for a half an hour to shower and change clothes.

  “You can’t protect me from everything,” I say.

  * * *

  Once the food is ready, Miguel helps up pack up the catering truck. Jesse and I arrive at Phantasm just in time for lunch, our headsets concealed beneath matching Miguelito’s caps. I start recording as we approach the doors. There is one security guard patrolling the cavernous lobby and two more behind the counter.

  “Delivery for the tech support department,” Jesse says.

  One of the security guards directs us to the suite on the second floor. We step onto the escalator, each carrying a stack of three disposable catering pans in insulated bags. A trickle of employees heading down the opposite escalator turns around to look at us. I can hardly blame them. I haven’t eaten all day and my mouth is watering from the scents of salsa and seasoned meat.

  Normally I would look away—the less eye contact you make with other people, the more invisible you are. With invisibility comes safety. Today I make a point to focus on each person I see, capturing their faces on my recording.

  The main door to the suite is standing open and the secretary has her eyes trained on her computer screen. We glide in with our pans, and at first I think we might be able to just walk right past her.

  But then she looks up. It’s Natalie. She’s wearing a wig, but it’s definitely her. Recognition flashes in her eyes too, but she doesn’t say anything. I follow her gaze and see a video camera mounted in the far corner of the reception area. It’s trained directly on her desk.

  “Free corporate lunch.” Jesse balances the pans on one arm while he pretends to look at a voucher. “For Darren Ritter.”

  Natalie plays along. If I had known she worked here, we wouldn’t have had to go through the fishbowl of business cards. She must be how Gideon got the key to the Phantasm building. She clicks at her computer. “He’s actually working remotely today,” she says. “But I’m sure the rest of the staff will appreciate the food. I’ll show you back to the break room.”

  She starts down the main corridor, but then the phone rings. “One second.” Sighing, she hurries back to the desk. Snatching the phone from its receiver she says, “IT and development. How may I direct your call?” She starts talking to someone in a different department.

  “We’ll find it,” Jesse says. He strolls back, past the rows of cubicles, right toward the server room. He ducks through the door.

  A couple of guys in khaki pants and T-shirts are at the stacks of equipment. They look up in confusion. “What are you doing back here?” one of them asks.

  Jesse gestures at the pans. “Sorry. Thought this was the lunch room.”

  “Nope. Go back to the end of the cubicles and it’s the first door on the left.”

  “It’s the door marked Staff Lounge,” the other guy adds, shaking his head.

  “Subtle,” I say as we head back down the row of cubicles.

  Jesse shrugs. “You never know what you might find out when you burst in on people unexpectedly.”

  We find the staff lounge and take our sweet time setting up the containers of food on one of the round lunch tables, rolling back the foil, arranging the sauces in front of each tray. Slowly, curious employees trickle back.

  “What’s this?” A middle-aged woman in a gray pantsuit looks over the pans with an expression of disdain.

  “Free lunch from Miguelito’s. Somebody won it for putting their card in the fishbowl,” I tell her.

  A man wearing a checked shirt with a striped tie wanders back, followed by a girl with thick glasses who seems to be his assistant. She starts rummaging around in a cabinet and returns with a stack of Styrofoam plates.

  “The secretary almost turned us away,” Jesse says. “It’s like she’s an extra security guard or something. You guys working on some top-secret stuff?”

  No one answers. No one’s expression even wavers. If they heard about the break-in, they’re not talking. I loiter behind the pans, labeling each of them on a napkin.

  Jesse tries again to engage the employees in conversation. “Any of you know Darren Ritter? He won this lunch, but I guess he’s out of the office today. Too bad.”

  “Darren. Right,” the woman in the pantsuit says. “He works from home sometimes.”

  Slowly the word spreads around the office and more employees arrive. Everyone grabs plates and starts loading up on chips and burritos. We loiter around for a few
more minutes, pretending to answer questions about the food so we can eavesdrop on conversations and record more employee faces, but there’s only so much to explain about the food we provided. I start wondering why we went through the trouble to get into the Phantasm suite for ten minutes. Did I really think someone was going to talk about the recent security breach in front of a couple of restaurant workers? Shaking my head in disgust, I gather up the cloth catering bags and tuck them under my arm. Jesse and I both head back to the lobby. I pause for a minute to watch the fish swimming lazily in their aquarium, twenty or so Asian men staring down at me from the framed photo on the wall.

  Natalie stands up when she sees us. “Let me walk you out.” We walk down the corridor. There’s another photo of corporate executives right inside the door to the suite. More disapproving dark eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” Natalie hisses.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “I’m temping. Gideon told me to get a job here. He needed a key to the building and the door codes for a ViSE.”

  And here I thought Jesse had cracked the code to the suite on his own. I guess that was another part of our recording that was pure theater.

  “Is that all?” Jesse asks. “Because if so, you can probably quit.”

  “I’m also supposed to be gathering intel,” she murmurs, glancing around furtively. “Eavesdropping on executive gossip. Recording as much as possible. Phantasm is pushing to buy Gideon’s tech. Gideon wants to know what they plan to do with it.”

  I nod. “We did the ViSE. He had us grab some financial information from the server. I wonder why he didn’t just have you do the whole thing.”

  “Those programmer guys sometimes work until eight p.m. and I’m not a break-in-after-hours kind of girl. Besides, computer stuff is not my area of expertise. I can barely work my phone.” Natalie shudders. “I can’t believe that was you two. The execs have been questioning people about it all morning.”

  “You can’t tell Gideon you saw us here, all right? I’m trying to figure out exactly what happened to my sister and I thought maybe it had to do with the break-in.” I look desperately at her.