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I saluted him. “Yes, sir, and I won’t accept packages from strangers, or drink or eat anything offered to me by anybody else, or go into any rooms alone, and I’ll avoid all dark spaces?—”
“This is not a joke,” he said, gripping my shoulder.
Once again, his touch seared me through the fabric.Down, girl.The way my body reacted to him was unreal.
“You need to take this seriously.” He moved closer and whispered in my ear. “Just because this isn’t a country road in the hills doesn’t mean there can’t be danger.”
I cringed at the memory of the crash earlier today. “I get it. Begin by suspecting everybody. Trust nobody.”
He nodded, backed away, and watched as I went inside and through the metal detectors and security.
Once in the elevator, I waved to him as the doors closed. When the doors opened upstairs, it was just my luck to have my boss walking by.
He checked his watch. “It’s about time.”
“Sorry, Dr. Powell. I got here as soon as I could.” The ostentatious snob insisted on being calleddoctor, which struck me as weird, given that his doctorate was in metaphysical philosophy.
Once, I’d overheard my coworker, Nick, forget the doctor part and call him Mr. Powell. That had not been a good day to be Nick Butcher. He’d gotten a dressing down like he’d missed a week of work.
“If you can’t drive without getting into an accident, perhaps we should reevaluate whether or not you’re suited to be an external auditor,” he clipped out. “I’m not issuing you another vehicle just yet.”
That steamed me, but like a good girl, I kept my mouth shut. Since he went left, I turned right, taking the long way to my new double-size cubicle. I’d been looking forward to having a car to drive to and from work. It was newer than my Camry.
Remy stopped in his tracks when I turned the corner. “My God, girl, what happened to you?”
I lifted a shoulder. “A deer ran in front of my car.”
Katelyn appeared. “A deer on the freeway?”
She was followed by Nick and several others.
“The freeway was backed up,” I explained. “So I got off and took the route through the hills.”
They bombarded me with questions about where, when, whether my car was okay, and if the deer had died.
“I barely clipped him,” I assured them. “He ran off into the bushes, so I guess he’s okay.”
Remy shook his head. “Remind me never to drive that road. Jacques would kill me if I hurt a deer.”
“Are we having a party?” Powell asked over the top of the cubicles.
The group scattered, and in a moment, it was just me and Katelyn. She had the cubicle across the aisle from mine. She turned away and started on her computer.
Explaining the crash without being able to vent about its true nature had triggered me. My leg bounced in a big way. The memories of what happened played over and over again in my head. I’d nearly died three times, first with the crash and rollover, second with the threat of being cooked alive, and then in the hospital, I’d almost become a surprising fatality. I had no doubt that Black Jacket Guy would’ve given me a fatal injection, no matter what I said or how I pleaded, if he’d had the chance. In the movies, the villain always cleaned up loose ends, and that’s exactly what I would’ve been.
After a long, deep breath, I pushed back from my desk and headed for the breakroom, with a dollar in my hand just in case. When I got there, the coffee machine looked a lot less appealing than it normally did, so I chose hot water to make peppermint tea instead. The tea basket on the counter didn’t contain any peppermint, and when I stretched to reach the shelf with the teabags, a sharp pain erupted in my side. Why didn’t I get the step ladder?
Finally, the first sip from my aromatic cup hit the spot. I then fed the candy machine my dollar and indulged in a bag of peanut M&Ms.
As I returned, I heard Katelyn whispering on the phone, “I don’t care what happened. You screw up a job, you have to do it over, you dumbshit. No more delaying. Get it done, or I’m finding somebody else… Since I’m paying, I’ll call you whatever I want.” Noticing me, she ended the call with, “Later in the week… Bye.”
When she looked up, I noticed tears in her eyes. “Problems?” It was a rhetorical question. I knew the woman had problems up to her eyeballs, ever since her fiancé, Leo Gambino, had died in an auto accident.
Leo had been a kind soul who’d debated EPA policy with me numerous times, slowly coming around to my views on some issues. But then he fell asleep at the wheel six months ago. I missed our debates.
Katelyn shook her head. “Don’t ever buy a historic fixer-upper. It means everything is way too old, and it all needs replacing or fixing. And, fixing old shit costs twice as much, and these contractors are rip-off artists. Nothing ever gets done right or on time.” The tears started. “With Leo gone, I don’t see how I can finish the remodel and keep up with the mortgage. But we did the demo work, so I can’t sell it in the current condition.”
“I’m sorry.” It was all I could think of to say. Today I could sympathize with her plight—not the money part, but the hopelessness. I’d always had enough money, but now I was faced with a danger money couldn’t solve.
