Page 8 of Jonas

Seth reached out for the down button and mumbled, “Something like that.”

Okay, yeah, something was wrong. I mentally ran through everything I knew about Seth.

“How’s the new puppy?” I asked, remembering Seth’s wife had come home with an unexpected addition to the family a few weeks ago.

The man stared at me blankly for a moment before he shook out of his haze and answered, “Fine. The kids love him.”

“Are you okay?”

“Sure. Yeah. Why do you ask?”

The elevator door slid open and Seth motioned for me to precede him. I stepped out while saying, “You just seem…” Shit. Telling a man he seemed off was rude. “Unsettled.”

“Um. No. I just have a lot on my mind. You know, um, family stuff.”

That could be true.

Damn, I didn’t want to pry if the guy was going through something at home that was none of my business.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Seth rushed out. “See you tomorrow.”

With a wave he hightailed his behind out the front door. I watched him exit then damn near stumble to a stop. I looked beyond Seth to the black Mercedes parked at the curb. Slowly, he made his way to the car. Instead of walking through the lobby to the side door I followed Seth out front. A dark-haired man in an expensive suit stepped out of the car. Seth’s back was to me but I saw his shoulders stiffen. Mr. Suit lifted his gaze, dark eyes locked with mine.

Awareness tugged low in my belly. And not the good kind a woman gets when a hot guy is staring. This was the early warning sign that the hot guy in question was really a scumbag and you should steer clear. With a quick smile of acknowledgement, I averted my gaze to the parked cars in the lot and continued to walk to the sidewalk, veering to the right to stay away from the men. When I was far enough away, I pulled my phone out of my purse and pointed it at the sky in front of me. At the last second, I switched the camera to selfie mode and snapped a picture. If Mr. Suit was watching he’d think I was one of those people who took pictures of clouds to post on social media.

I didn’t look at the picture until I was safely in my car. It wasn’t great—Mr. Suit was in profile—but I did get the license plate. I’d run it when I got home. While I had my personal phone out, I checked the text. The number wasn’t saved in my contacts. The message was short and to the point: It’s Jonas. We’re here.

I tapped out my response: leaving work now. I’ll be there in 20.

Without waiting for a reply, I started my car and used the side exit to avoid Seth and The Suit.

I really hoped Seth hadn’t gotten himself caught up in whatever was going on at Delcon. I liked the guy, he was…normal. And by that I meant, he was boring. Wife. Kids. Dog. Friendly. Bland sense of humor. Hard worker. Minded his own business and didn’t participate in office gossip. Seth was the last person I’d peg as a traitor. But he was vulnerable. The guy had no backbone—if he was approached it wouldn’t take much to scare him into doing something that went against his ethics.

Like sharing Delcon’s weaknesses.

If someone wanted to take Delcon offline it would take an act of God or an insider with high-level knowledge. Delcon had redundancy after redundancy to ensure the data they housed was safe. As did all data storage campuses. The pandemonium that would follow if a cloud center went down would be insane.

A car in front of me slammed on its brakes pulling me from my thoughts. There wasn’t much I missed about the sleepy, rural town I grew up in—no traffic was one of those things. I checked my rearview mirror to make sure I wasn’t about to get rear-ended and noticed a black Mercedes three cars back. A few minutes later I fully merged onto Route 28. The Merc was now two cars behind me. I couldn’t make out the license plate number nor could I see if there was a passenger in the backseat. However, I’d long ago learned to assume the worst. It was better to plan than be caught off-guard. Not to mention, in my line of work coincidences were practically nonexistent.

While traffic was still at a snail’s pace, I reached for my phone, pulled up Jonas’s text, and called the number.

Two rings later a deeper than I remembered voice filled my car.

“Jonas?” I asked.

“What’s wrong?”

I was unprepared for how Jonas’s question swirled in my stomach before it made it flutter.

No one ever worried about me or what was wrong or if I had a problem.

“Why do you think something’s wrong?” I asked.

“Because you’re calling me when you texted not even ten minutes ago to tell me you were on your way.”

Right.