Second Sight: An Away From Keyboard Romantic Suspense Standalone

by Patricia D. Eddy

  With one touch of the screen, he activates the recorder.

  “Mom? I’m…I’m sorry. I…didn’t…don’t…want to leave you, but I can’t…I don’t have a choice. I did something. Bad.”

  Noah gestures for me to get on with it, and I glare at him through my tears. “I love you, Mom. So much. I…don’t know how to say goodbye, but I…I love you.”

  Tucking my phone back into the bag on the floor, Noah smiles. “So touching. But now…please finish the note so we can get on with this. I need to be seen by my doorman in an hour.”

  “Please, Noah. I won’t tell…anyone. I’ll just disappear. You don’t have to kill me.”

  “This will be the largest data breach in the world, Evianna. Big names. Business men and women, government officials, billionaires, foreign and domestic alike. Alfie records everything. Credit card numbers. Bank access codes. Over a few days, it’ll track patterns, passwords… I’ll have enough information stored to blackmail the rich and powerful for years. There’s nowhere you could hide.” Sadness wells in his hazel eyes. “I really didn’t want it to be you. But…it makes so much more sense than pinning the whole thing on Kyle. Now write.”

  He unscrews the top on the pill bottle and pours a handful of pills out on the table. I can’t tear my gaze away, and my hand shakes as I pick up the pen.

  What I did was wrong. I know that now. I can’t keep pretending it wasn’t.

  I look up, pleading with Noah one last time, but he arches a brow and gestures for me to continue.

  The crash as the door slams open makes us both jump, and I feel the last bit of the tape under my arm give way. Louie rushes in and whispers something to Noah. Something that makes him very angry.

  “Go. Now. I don’t care what you have to do, but make it hurt,” he growls.

  Oh God. Dax.

  As soon as Louie shuts the door, I shift my grip on the pen and lunge for Noah. The tip of the pen drives through his cheek—shit, I was aiming for his eye—and he roars in pain as blood spurts over my fingers. He rears back, and I lose my grip on the pen.

  “You bitch!” Noah yells, though the words are a little muffled as he’s clutching his cheek and trying to pull the pen free. Ripping at the tape, I manage to tear it off my left arm and chest, but then Noah springs for me, and I fall—still in the chair—my head slamming against the ground.

  Stars fill my field of vision, and Noah presses his entire forearm against my throat. I can’t breathe, and I buck my body, trying to get him off of me. My right knee is all I can really move, and I slam it into his balls. With a yelp, he curls in on himself, but he’s still half on top of me.

  Something crashes to my left, followed by a low grunt. I can just make out his black shirt and pants. “Dax! He’s…on…me!” In my panic, I can’t figure out the clock time. “Go…a little right!”

  “Get the fuck away from her,” he growls and springs for me. Noah turns just in time and tackles him, and both men land on the floor a foot away.

  Fighting to free myself from the last of the tape, I stagger to my feet, grab the chair, and swing it—hard—catching Noah in the back.

  Dax lands a sharp punch to Noah’s jaw, and shoves him to the side. “Is he unconscious?” he rasps. “Quickly, darlin’. I need to know.”

  “Y-yes.” Dropping the chair, I’m in Dax’s arms in three steps. “You came.”

  “I promised.” He kisses me hard, then pulls back to skim a hand over my hair. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so. But…we have to get out of here.”

  “Any idea where here is?”

  “No. Just that we’re underground. Far enough there’s no cell signal. But—oh!” Extricating myself from Dax’s embrace, I reach for the black bag next to the table. “Vest, glasses, phones, your cane…they’re all here. No comms, but everything else.”

  “Give me the vest and the glasses.” As he zips up the vest, he offers me a wry smile. “You know…I was coming in here to rescue you. But, you were doing a pretty good job all on your own.”

  “Never been much of a damsel in distress.” I cup his cheek, brushing away a smear of blood. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Stay right next to me,” Dax says, touching his forehead to mine. “Tell me everything you see, as quietly as possible, and if I tell you to run—at any time—you run. Don’t look back. Just go.”

  I won’t argue with him. Not now. We don’t have time. But I’m not leaving his side. No matter what.

  Wiping away the last of my tears, I stand up as straight as I can and lead him to the door. “I’m ready.”

  35

  Dax

  With Evianna’s warmth at my side, a part of me settles, even though we’re far from safe. Grasping the folding knife in my hand, I nod, and she cracks the door. I hate having her exposed. I want her behind me. But I need her eyes.

  “Empty,” she whispers.

  “Take us the opposite direction from the room we woke up in.”

  Her fingers tighten on the back of my vest, and she guides me to the right. Pressing ourselves against the wall, we creep forward. “Pipes along the ceiling,” she says.

  “Follow them.”

  Her bare feet make little noise, and I learned how to mask my footsteps years ago, so the sound of someone rushing towards us is deafening in the silence of the hallway. Evianna hears it too, and urges me forward at a run. “Left turn. Fifty feet,” she hisses.

  The shot is deafening, and her scream sends my heart into my throat. Grabbing her, I shove her in front of me, pushing us faster, until she yells, “Turn!”

  A second shot grazes my side as we skid around the corner, and I grunt at the impact. It doesn’t hurt yet, but it will. “Too far,” she says, and the hopelessness in her tone stops me in my tracks. “Stairs. But we’ll never make it.”

  “Stay behind me. Don’t run until I engage, and ignore the next thing I say.” Raising my voice, I shout, “Go! You can make it. I’m right behind you.”

  I feel her tense at my back, and then she’s fumbling with the bag slung over her shoulder. What the hell is she doing?

  The burly hitman’s footsteps are so loud, he sounds like a baboon, and he’s not slowing down. “Back up five feet. Now,” I tell her.

  She does, the sound of my cane unfolding barely audible over the stampede headed right for me. Crouching down, I brace myself for the hit, and when the asshole barrels around the corner, I ram my shoulder into his gut, jerk the knife upwards, and catch him under the arm.

  Roaring, he grabs my right wrist, yanking it behind me hard enough my shoulder strains to stay in the socket. The pain sends me to my knees, and he rolls away, then…I hear him cock the hammer.

  “You’re dead, blind man. Where is the girl?”

  What? Evianna was right behind me.

  The gun jams against my temple. This is it. I’m going to die. But if Evianna got out…got anywhere. Maybe…I can die if I know she’ll live. She’s all that matters.

  “Fuck you, asshole.” Dropping my head, I wait for the inevitable. Unable to see, I don’t have a chance at disarming him.

  “Did I teach you nothing, soldier? Listen. You see with more than just your eyes, brother.”

  Ryker. Again. I’m losing it. Fear, the blows to the head. Another one sends me sprawling, and then Louie grabs the collar of my shirt and shoves me against the wall, the barrel pressed to the back of my neck. “Where’s the girl?”

  I can hear him breathing. Feel where the warmth of his body ends. He’s behind me, but off to one side. My left side. My good, dominant side. I can do this.

  A feral, high-pitched scream, the likes of which I’ve never heard before, pierces the still, dank air, and Louie takes a step. Just one. But it’s enough. Spinning, I grab for the gun, finding his wrists and forcing them upward, then to the side, using his joints as the weak point.

  The gun clatters to the floor, and then there’s the sound of metal hitting something solid. Again and again. Louie falls, an
d metal hits the floor. “Come on!” Evianna cries and grabs my hand. “Your cane’s dead. Sorry about that. I’ll buy you a new one.”

  We sprint for the stairs, and she warns me about them just in time. Bursting through a door, I smell fresher air, but we’re still not safe. “Keep climbing,” she says, pulling me after her. Another door, another set of stairs, then another, and another, and then…we’re outside, the sounds of traffic not far away.

  “People. Find people. Somewhere we’ll be seen. Then call Clive.” My words escape strained and hoarse, and the graze on my side starts to burn like someone just lit a match and is holding it to my skin.

  With my arm around her shoulders, we keep going, and then Evianna slows, pushes against something, a door that makes a heavy whoosh sound. The sounds of conversation swirl around us, and she leads me another few steps, then takes my hand. “There’s a bench, right here. We’re out of the way, but in plain sight.”

  “Where…?”

  “The Kilted Scotsman. It’s a pub, and there’s a sports match on the big screen. Cricket or something.”

  “Can I help you?” a big, booming voice says. “Uh, lady, you need shoes if you want to stay.”

  “Please…” Evianna’s rummaging in the bag, then presses my wallet into my hand. “He’s hurt, and someone’s after us. Can we just…stay here for a few minutes? I’m calling someone…right now. Don’t make us go back out there—”

  “Whoa,” the man says as I hold up my PI license. “That shit real?”

  “Yes, this shit is real.” I push to my feet, wincing, as I hear Evianna say Clive’s name. “And we’re staying. Right here. Until my team can get to us. You have a problem with that, I should warn you, I’m fucking Special Forces and I’ve had a really bad night.”

  “Prove it.”

  “Excuse me?” I’m not in the mood for this shit, but I rip open the cuff on my left sleeve and yank the shirt halfway up my forearm. “De Oppresso Liber, motherfucker.”

  “Hooah, man. We cool. Rangers, 75th Regiment. Come into the back room. Ain’t no one getting to you there. They’d have to go through me.”

  “Where’d you train, soldier?” I can’t see the guy—for all I know he could be lying to me, but something in his voice tells me he’s not.

  “Fort Benning, Georgia, sir. Now you gonna trust me or not?”

  “Clive is twenty minutes away,” Evianna says, her voice barely audible over the music and the crowds and her own fear. “We’re…across town from Beacon Hill…”

  I hold out my hand to the Ranger. “Could use a little help, 75th. I’m blind. But lead the way.”

  “Demetrius Washington,” the man says as he pumps my hand. “But you can call me Tank. You were seriously gonna try to take me? Blind?”

  “Still might.” Pulling Evianna against me, I arch a brow in Tank’s direction. “Give me your arm. At the elbow. Get us out of sight.”

  Tank walks us down a short hallway, opens a door, and steps inside. “There’s a couch along the left wall. What you need? Water? Towels? Couple fingers of scotch?”

  “All of the above. You got a first aid kit?”

  “Top desk drawer. I’ll be right back.”

  When we’re alone, I turn to Evianna. “Darlin’, I’m pretty sure it’s just a scratch, but I need you to get the first aid kit and see if I’m still bleeding.”

  “Ok-kay.” She hisses out a breath after the first step, but as I sink down onto the couch, I hear the drawer opening, and then she’s at my side and pulling up my shirt. “Shit.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “About…half an inch deep. It’s…not bleeding…much.” She’s barely holding it together, and as she swipes an antiseptic pad over the wound, I grit my teeth and try to steady her hand.

  We stay like that, the alcohol burning, but her fingers under mine, for several seconds until I feel like I can speak. “Had a lot worse, darlin’. Every damn day for fifteen months. This is nothing. Just clean it up and slap a bandage on it and I’ll be good as new tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, right,” she scoffs, but her voice is stronger now, and she moves quickly. Two more cold, stinging pads, then a square of gauze, a couple of pieces of tape, and I start to relax.

  Tank returns a few minutes later. “Got water, scotch, clean bar towels, and a plate of fries. You two look like you’re about to pass out. You got people coming?”

  “Yes,” I say as Evianna wraps my fingers around the glass of water. “Three guys. They’ll identify themselves. Clive, Ronan, and Vasquez. Anyone else comes asking, don’t say a damn thing about us.”

  “Roger that. I gotta get back out there. You good?”

  “We good, darlin’?” Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I stifle my wince as the bullet wound protests. But all of my pain fades away in an instant when Evianna answers.

  “We’re good.”

  36

  Dax

  The commotion from the hall warns us Clive’s on his way a few seconds before Tank opens the door. “These your people, Special Forces?”

  “Yes,” Evianna answers as she burrows closer to me. We finished the fries—and the scotch—and she cried the whole time, even though she tried her best to hide it. But when her tears started soaking into my shirt, she gave up, apologizing three times for “losing it” when I was the one who got shot. We’re going to have a serious talk about her incessant need to apologize later.

  “Boss. Thank fuck. What happened?” Clive asks as Tank shuts the door. The wall of men in front of us is a black-clad blur, and I take off my glasses and rub my eyes. I need to sleep for a week, and so does Evianna.

  “Short version: Evianna’s boss is responsible for this whole damn thing.”

  She shudders, then sits up. “Longer version: Barry Nolan’s involved too. Kyle’s dead—I don’t know where his body is—and Noah was planning on killing me and making it look like a suicide. Complete with a note and a goodbye message to my Mom.” She stifles a sob, and I try to comfort her, but she straightens her shoulders and swipes at her cheeks. “Louie shot Dax when we were trying to escape, but it’s stopped bleeding now. Mostly. I checked the map on my phone a few minutes ago. He had us four floors underground in the building at 42 Harvest Street. When we escaped, we knocked them both out. But that was more than half an hour ago now.”

  I turn to her, wishing, yet again, that I could see her face. “I love you, Evianna. You’re…perfect. Perfect and strong and…mine.”

  The silence in the room against the low bass beat from the pub confuses me, until I realize what I just said, and I sigh, rolling my eyes at my men. “Yes. I love her. Can we get back to the part where one of you calls the police and the other two go see if either of those two shitstains are still where we left them?”

  “On it, boss,” Vasquez says, and he and Ronan double-time it out of the room. Clive crouches down in front of us. “You two have any liability here?”

  “Not unless we actually killed one of them,” I reply. “But call in Decker. We wait much longer, we won’t be able to explain the delay.”

  “Who’s Decker?” Evianna asks.

  “Our Boston PD contact. He works homicide, but he’s been on the job for a hundred years,” Clive explains. “He’s got seniority everywhere. We start with him, we get a fair shake.”

  “Make the call. Then wait outside the door.” I pull Evianna back against my side. “I need a few minutes with her before Decker gets here.”

  When we’re alone, I find her lips, infusing as much calm and reassurance as I can into our kiss. She melts against me, and fuck. If I could just pull her into my lap and never let go, I would.

  “Darlin’, I need to tell you what’s going to happen next. We’re going to be taken down to the local precinct, separated, and questioned. You tell them everything that happened. Everything. Even the break-in at my apartment. But you hold one thing back. Just one.”

  “What?” The tremble is back in her voice, and she clings to me like she doesn’t ever
want to let go.

  “Your mother’s location. Decker’s a good guy. Solid. Fucking incorruptible. But you know how easy it is to hack into a computer system. Do not, under any circumstances, mention the name of the facility. And tell them why.”

  My phone buzzes, then the calm, British voice says, “Call from: Wren.”

  She doesn’t even wait for me to say her name before she starts talking so rapidly, I can barely understand her. I’m not even sure if she’s speaking English.

  “Wait,” Evianna says. “You got a complete copy of Alfie’s code? And you isolated every single one of the differences between the earlier code and what we signed off on? Seriously? In…what…? Six hours?”

  “Five and a half,” Wren huffs. “What else was I supposed to do when I was worried out of my mind about the two of you? Well, besides run facial recognition on every traffic camera feed in the whole flippin’ city. So…you want the report or what?”

  “Hell, yes! Noah said he shut the server down. I thought…we’d lost any chance of proving he was involved.”

  “Puh-leeze. As if I’d write code that didn’t immediately propagate itself to every machine on the network. That’s amateur hour.”

  Evianna touches my cheek. “Dax, I’m sorry. I know what I said earlier, but I’m in love with Wren now.”

  “You’ll have to go through Ry,” I say with a weak smile.

  “What did I miss?” Wren asks. “Wait…never mind. I figured it out. I expect both of you to come out to visit us in Seattle by the end of the year. Now back to the evidence. Evianna, every single code change was logged from your workstation.”

  “Shit. So they could still blame this all on her?” Anger prickles along my spine. “Wren—”

  “Let me finish, boss. I got more than just the code change logs. I got a record of every single badge swipe in and out of Beacon Hill’s offices. And I can prove Evianna badged out for the day hours before any of these changes were made. And,” she continues, “that one Barry Nolan badged out less than half an hour after each one of these changes.”