“Okay, maybe this’ll jog your memory.” Phil’s finger hovered over the enter button, but he hesitated. Thick red eyebrows dipped into a frown. “I called, Brian. I called everywhere looking for you. Dammit, I was concerned.”
Theirs was a friendship that had nurtured over the past three years. Brian was considered hands-off when he arrived by means of his status, rank, and dark eyes that had a way of flashing don’t mess with me to anyone that stepped within their scope. But not Philip Pulkowski. He had lived in the catacombs of NMD for the past ten years, and prior to Brian, had executed the role of internal security alone. Rather than feel threatened by the enigma from Naval Intelligence, Phil saw him as someone to share this hell with. He didn’t seem to care how brooding Brian acted—he was hell bent on making him a friend.
Brian’s quick hike of the lip showed that he had succeeded.
“That admission almost brought a tear to my eye.” He smirked.
“Cut the crap, Morrison. Why didn’t you call?”
“Because I didn’t know I was missing. Christ, I thought this all happened over a weekend.” Defensive, only because he believed Phil was right. “Look, just show me the damn tape so I can figure out what the hell I was doing on an icy back road, going seventy miles an hour at midnight.”
“Well, all-righty then.” He pressed Enter. “Lettter rip.”
Brian crossed his arms and felt a twinge of pain from the motion. Focused on the screen, he tried to identify the room. It was in the production wing—an office occupied by two of the senior engineers, Barton Short and Will Giordano. Vincent Price and Bela Lugosi. They weren’t in the office now, but Brian could picture them, their gray complexions which had little to do with the black and white screen. Their shoulders permanently hunched from standing over sprawled blueprints—or more likely the pulsating neck of a victim.
10:00pm 01/11
That was the date and time stamp at the bottom of the screen. The office on the monitor was empty. Two and a half hours later Brian swerved out of control into a tree.
“Okay, here she comes.” Phil stepped back and lodged his hip against the counter.
“She?”
“Just watch.”
There were heavy shadows in the office, but a green glow pervaded from the NMD screensavers. A pie of light dissected the plane as the door gradually swung open and a lithe figure emerged in the far right corner of the screen.
Brian leaned forward.
It was definitely a woman. Sleek legs in dark slacks sprinted to the closest terminal and stooped over, blocking out the light of the screen saver. With male appreciation, Brian studied the rear view displayed for the camera.
“Nice, huh?”
He ignored Phil’s comment and watched fascinated as the woman typed anxiously on the keyboard. A series of architectural drawings flashed across the monitor, and for a moment the female shifted so that she eclipsed those images. By the slight cock of her head, Brian couldn’t tell if she had paused to read them, or was appreciating the intricate CAD designs.
In a sinuous move, the woman crouched down and used a key to open the desk drawer, rifling through the compartment with jerky movements. Secured in her hand was a small rectangular object. He didn’t need to zoom, it was a pen drive. The CPU was housed out of sight inside the desk panel, and it was from this computer that she extracted the external drive before slapping the door shut with her elbow as she rose to bend over the keyboard again.
“Now if that isn’t the nicest view I’ve seen in awhile on these boring monitors.” Phil growled.
Brian tensed as the woman’s arms grew taut. Long graceful limbs suddenly suspended above the keys. She was motionless—an animal sensing its predator. He inadvertently leaned forward.
In slow motion the woman’s head turned for a stealthy glimpse over her shoulder.
Brian groaned.
Mistaking his friend’s response, Phil goaded. “Yeah, she’s a looker alright.”
“Who is she?” Brian asked automatically.
Phil sensed that his friend was not amused, so he cleared his throat and recited, “Emily Brennan. Some token mechanical engineer. She works with robotics or something like that.”
“You were there. It’s all I remember.”
“I couldn’t just leave you.”
“Yes, you could have.”
As she rose from the computer with a hasty assessing glance, Brian felt the jolt of recognition right down to his groin. That sleek frame only forty-eight hours ago had leaned against his hospital bed, her fingers toying with the notion of touching him. He could remember the scent of that cinnamon hair, which even in black and white remained glossy. Coconut or something tropical.
Oh God. It was coming back now. Agonized, Brian sorted through the melee of that evening. He had not been fleeing—he had been chasing her.
He looked back at the screen in disbelief. His angel was a thief. A thief he had pursued that fateful night, and nearly gotten himself killed over. A thief that was beautiful and kind enough to make him feel he was redeemed before death.
“So—are you remembering it now?”
“Yeah,” He replied dryly. “But how come I don’t recognize her—I mean from before this tape? Let’s be honest, I think both you and I would have noticed a woman like this working at NMD.”
“Hell yeah. But that’s the thing about those engineers down in the Pit. They all wear white coats, and if you have long hair it has to be pinned up so it doesn’t get into any of the chips or whatever.” Phil leaned backwards and flipped the switch for the overhead light. He grimaced when he saw Brian’s eyes squint, blink, and finally close. Brian’s hand rose to massage his forehead.
“Sorry, man.”
“Aspirin. Just give me aspirin.”
A red paw with a gold wedding ring tapped flannel shirt pockets. “I’ve got some in my drawer.” He moved to pass Brian, but a firm grip on his arm locked him in place.
“Help me out here. It’s just coming back.” Brian released his friend, though his hand still sought balance and latched onto the monitor for support. “Do we know what she’s taking there?”
“Not a clue, but you weren’t going to stand around and wait to find out while she got away.”
But she did get away. He remembered that now. After catching her actions on the surveillance camera he had charged over to the elevator, cursing its slow ascent. The doors slid open, but the entryway of NMD was empty. Only the nighttime guard was there, sipping a cup of coffee inside his hutch.
“Did you just see a woman leave here?” Brian asked over his shoulder as he peered into the parking lot, noticing the blacktop had glazed over with ice.
“Miss Brennan checked out for the evening, but other than that it’s been a quiet night, Mr. Morrison.”
Brian felt the sting of sleet pelt his face as he charged out the door and stood rooted in the empty parking lot. Basked in the glow of the overhead light, he spun at the sound of a tire crunching against gravel. She had already pulled onto the main road, and only now did her car lights flick on.
He didn’t know who the scheming little wench was—or what she had gotten her trembling hands on—but she was not going to get away with it. Brian lunged towards his Blazer.
“Did anyone hear any more on her?” A painful throb behind his eye brought Brian back to the bleak surveillance room. Perhaps the ache came from the drone of the generators—unseen, but felt in a subtle vibration inside his bones. Sometimes he thought that constant hum would make him go mad.
“No one is talking. They were real disappointed you got in an accident and lost her.” Phil’s plump lips pursed. “Feel the love, huh?”
“Yeah, I’m warm all over. Well, I lost her, but caught up with her on 95. I got cut off for awhile, but I don’t think she knew she was being followed.”
It looked as if you were trying to pass me, only you hit a patch of ice—
Brian twisted his head to toss aside the siren’s voice. “She was heading west, that’s al
l I know.”
“Damn, you nearly got killed just doing your job.”
Danger was limited in the cocoon of NMD Headquarters. Phil’s post had never extended beyond these thick concrete walls, and in a very remote corner of his mind, Brian was jealous of that naiveté.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Brian muttered. “But now you’re telling me I have two employees to find. This kid who went AWOL, and our little thief.”
“The kid can wait. I’d focus on that.” Green eyes coveted the frozen profile of the woman.
“Oh, I’m going to focus on her alright.”
Already Brian’s mind was sharpening, honing in on the hunt. He had her cell phone number. Some smooth talking with Dr. McCarter provided that, but at the time the acquisition was with the intent to see her again. Never did he consider he would need the number to track her down as a criminal.
He didn’t like it one bit.
CHAPTER III
“Alright, let me have it.”
Emily rifled through the brochures and extracted the pen drive. She shuffled some more and handed over another disk void of its protective sleeve.
“Are you going to tell me what happened now?” Swinging the drive with the tips of his fingers, Colin propped his rear on the back of the sofa and waited expectantly.
Brian. The word pierced her and sent a tremor down her legs. Colin saw the physical jolt and hefted an eyebrow.
“Did anyone see you?”
“No.”
“Okay, so the hospital visit was because—”
“I witnessed an accident.” It sounded so feeble.
“An accident?” He frowned. “You weren’t involved?”
“No.”
“Then, you were at the hospital because—” He waved his hand, waiting for her to fill in the details.
Emily crossed her arms. “Because I had to be.”
The finality of the statement managed to keep Colin’s eyebrow elevated.
“You have something to say?” She challenged. “Look, maybe the accident was a godsend. If anyone was following me they would have surely cornered me in the hospital, but it looks like I’m in the clear.”
Colin shook his head. Hair a shade darker than hers skimmed across the collar of his UCONN sweatshirt. Cerulean eyes gazed at a point beyond her shoulder.
“In the clear.” He recited. “Did you hear that? She says she’s in the clear.” Still staring beyond her, he continued, “Oh, I forget, you’ve grown deaf in your old age. Listen, Silence Dogwood,” Colin a finger up in condemnation and cocked his head, listening. He turned back towards his sister and said matter-of-factly. “None of us are in the clear, right?”
Emily almost caved in to the urge to glance behind her. “Don’t listen to him, Ben. I did the best I could. It’s not as if I’m a seasoned criminal. Given the circumstances I think I handled it very well.”
Colin snorted. “We’re screwed.”
As ludicrous as it was, Emily spun about and admonished the open space behind her. “We are not screwed!”
Uggg. She ran a hand through her hair and took a breath to stabilize. Benjamin Franklin was not standing in the dining room of their Lake George retreat. He was locked in the mind of a brilliant, but eccentric young man who had issues dealing with people, and instead used this 18th century interpreter.
“You see him?” It was a small voice, and when she turned around she caught the hopeful glint in her brother’s eye.
“No,” Emily’s shoulders sagged. “But I know he’s there.”
This declaration mollified Colin, even though he had asked the same question a thousand times. “He thinks you did a good job.”
Why the approval of a philanthropist that had been dead for over two hundred years appeased her—perhaps she had lived too long in Colin’s world.
“Do I have to tell you how scared I am?”
“No,” He fished in the back pocket of his jeans and extracted a packet of red licorice. Stripping a vine off, he let it dangle from his lips.
Colin would never eat it. It was a crutch. Like Ben Franklin.
“Look, they came after me, I’m telling you. First it was my cubicle. I knew they had been there. I knew they were on my computer. Then they’d gone through my notes. Granted, I’d wiped everything off the hard-drive, but I still had the backup drive in my drawer. What, aww come on, you don’t think anyone ever lifted any of your electrical theories?” Colin admonished the dining room chair.
“Colin, listen to me.” She stood up to block his view. “Don’t think everything is just peachy right now. We’re in big trouble. I mean BIG trouble. This is a government operation. You don’t steal from the government.”
“How is it stealing when it’s my design?”
“You work for them. That makes it their property.”
Deflated, Emily sank onto the dining room chair and ignored Colin’s look of alarm. Ah, let Ben get a quick thrill. “If it ever went to trial to determine whether you designed that submersible at home or at work—they would find a way to make you lose, Colin. You know it. I know it.”
“Emster, if they build it—like it is—people will die.”
And there lie her moral debate. That, and the fact that someone had physically threatened Colin. Oh, one could make the argument that the Volkswagen was a relic—that the brakes needed repair. One could argue that the fire in the laundry room beneath their condominium was a faulty electrical wire.
Her cynicism was bred from an instant thrust into adulthood. Her brother was in trouble. She had seen the design and understood the structural flaws, but NMD saw only a means for a machine that would draw nearly a billion dollars on the open market. One abnormal engineer would not be an obstacle.
Emily gasped at the shrill ring of her cell phone even with it muffled in the confines of her purse. Resisting the urge to fling the leather bag across the room, she instead reached inside and jolted at her brother’s urgent voice.
“Jesus, Emmy, don’t answer it!”
Blood drained from her face and her hand shook as she listened to the last musical chord. “They could trace it?”
She knew the answer before he said anything.
Colin looked towards his right and said, “Of course they can. We can’t stay here too long.”
He tipped his head back and looked up at the wooden beams, drawing Emily’s attention to another painful memory. Her mother’s hand-painted roses framed the dining room walls and tapered into a floral blend at each corner. Her father thought it was tacky. Emily thought it brought a touch of femininity to an otherwise rugged house.
“Okay.” She slipped the burgundy strap off her shoulder and slung it around the base of the polished stair rail. “You’re right. Do you have a bag packed? I dumped one in the trunk before I—” Before I committed a felony. “We definitely have to move on. I thought this place would be good. It had always seemed safe before.”
“What?”
“What?”
“Him,” Colin nodded at her shoulder.
“Huh, oh? What did he say?”
“He says it is safe.”
He’s dead already. “Good. Well, tell Ben to man the front windows and keep watch for anyone pulling up the road.”
“Good idea, big sistahh.” Pointing his licorice stick for emphasis, Colin added. “You heard her—make yourself useful. What good are the bifocals if they’re on top of your head, Mr. brilliant scientist?”
Emily pressed trembling fingers to her forehead and massaged the tension. She needed air. This cabin had been closed for four years. It was thick with the smell of timber, charcoal, and the faraway hint of their past.
“I’m going to go move the car. Did you bring any food?”
It wasn’t that she was hungry. Her stomach rolled at the thought of food. But the consumption would be an act to keep Colin occupied for awhile. His constant chatter with Ben Franklin when she needed to concentrate would prove a battle.
“Yeah, I stopped at the s
tore. Got some essentials. Cream of mushroom soup.”
Emily gave him a tired smile. Her brother loved cream of mushroom soup. From the can, or with rice, or on top of chicken, or on top of mashed potatoes, or even mixed with corn. He would survive on cream of mushroom soup.
And she would learn to survive on it too.
Four o’clock, and already the path to the lake had been swallowed by shadows foreboding enough to necessitate a flashlight. Only the rose mist at the end of the pine tunnel directed Emily towards the beach. Hard-packed with ice, it was difficult to recall how soft this dirt could be under her bare feet as she charged across it into water that sparkled beneath the summer sun. Even more difficult to recall was a time in her life that she was happy and carefree enough to do so. It seemed like another person—another life.
At this time of year, the lake was frozen around the perimeter, and its center was a sinister black crater, hinting at depths greater than any ocean trench. Jeans, a sweatshirt, and a thick flannel shirt provided little warmth when the temperature plummeted. Still, the frigid air felt good. It reminded her that she was alive. It pierced her lungs, but it also cleansed.
Emily crossed her arms and leaned back against the trunk of a dead tree, the brittle bark not so severe with the buffer of her sweatshirt. She tipped her head back and fought tears of fear and frustration. She was in way over her head and had no idea what to do next. An instinct to protect her brother superseded any rational thought. But now in hindsight, smack in the middle a quandary, she wished she had taken a moment to consider her options.
The options were minimal, though. Colin had designed a vehicle fantastic enough to make the government salivate. The fact that the design was his idea of doodling at lunch would never be enough to convince NMD that the plans were not flawless. He was a genius. They hired him because he was a genius. The eccentricities were conveniently ignored when he supplied them with designs that defied conventional engineering.
A snap of a twig made her lurch into a tangle of branches for cover, but she was ready to lash out at her brother with a string of expletives. Silence ensued, however, and in the bitter stillness of winter, all she could hear was the savage beat of her heart. Breath held, Emily cocked her head, now searching for a hungry deer, or possibly even a wayward black bear.
Borrowed Time Page 3