Risky Business Page 3

  He guides me in in front of him, and I’m greeted by a spacious suite as well as the other two women on my secondary team — the ones who were selected to stay with me during overnight hours, should the need ever arise.

  The tall blonde woman excuses herself almost immediately, mentioning something to Desmond about monitoring radio frequencies.

  He nods, and she disappears through the doorway to the adjoining room. “Status?” Desmond asks, looking across the room to a petite, dark-haired woman.

  Madeline — if I’m remembering her name correctly — is standing at the window, two fingers drawing back the curtains as she surveys the street below. She lets go of the curtain and turns to us with a heavy sigh, concern etched across her features. “It’s not just the apartment building. They’re hitting Pentabyte as well.”

  My stomach lurches at her words, and all the air rushes out of my lungs. “Are the guys in danger?” I croak out.

  Madeline perches on the arm of the loveseat in the seating area of the suite and motions to a large flat-panel television on the wall. “Depends on what kind of danger you’re talking about.”

  My legs snap into motion, and I rush over to see what she’s talking about. The TV is streaming the news. The volume is off, but large captions are flashing on the screen. I process two simultaneous feeds of information at once — the terse headlines racing across the bottom of the screen and the closed-captioned text from the monologue of the newscaster’s report.

  Pentabyte stock continues to freefall. Sources say the Security and Exchange Commission has launched an investigation into the tech company. Warrants served at Pentabyte corporate headquarters this afternoon. Allegations of insider trading and tax evasion.

  My heart beats erratically in my chest, and the panic is evident in my voice as I turn to Desmond. “The phone. Where’s the phone?”

  Desmond exchanges a look with Suzanne. “It might not be a good time, Emma. They know you’re safe. They have a lot of shit to deal with right now.”

  I sink into the loveseat next to Madeline, covering my face with my hands. My whole body is shaking, and I don’t try to conceal it. I glance up at the television again in time to see a graphic on the screen, a big red arrow pointing down next to a chart showing Pentabyte’s falling stock price. Oh my God, forget a freefall, their stock is being shredded to pieces. And all that other stuff? Does BHC have the political clout to initiate those kind of investigations?

  I extend my hand and gesture to Desmond, reaching out in the air for the burner phone he hasn’t produced yet. “I need to talk to them, now. I know my guys; they’ll want to hear from me. The bluebird code thing isn’t enough.”

  Suzanne moves to the closet in the corner of the room and pulls out a duffel bag. She rifles through it for a minute then holds up a phone. “It’s clean, but the guys might not answer since they don’t know this number.”

  I stride across the room as fast as my legs will carry me and grab the phone. “Thank you.”

  Madeline gets up as well, approaching me as I turn the burner phone on. “Here, give me your phone. I’ll scan it to make sure it’s safe.”

  As the burner phone comes to life I dig my own phone out of my pocket and hand it off to her. She moves into the adjoining room, and I hear the snaps of what sounds like a briefcase being opened. It’s only once I’m staring at the dial screen of the new phone that I realize mine has all my contacts on it. A flush of embarrassment runs through me. I don’t have any of the guys’ numbers memorized. Hell, I can’t even remember my own number half the time.

  I look up at Desmond, and he reads the expression on my face instantly. “Which number you need?”

  “Uh, Jax. He sent me a bunch of texts, so I’ll try him first.”

  Desmond rattles off Jax’s phone number, and I furiously enter it into the phone and press Send.

  Madeline returns to the room, carrying some equipment that looks vaguely similar to things I’ve seen Daniel use. She sits at the small desk next to the television, hooking my phone up to various devices. The news has moved on to a new story, but Pentabyte still features in the scrolling headlines at the bottom of the screen.

  As I hold the phone to my ear, my stomach opens into a bottomless pit, and I become more and more anxious as I count down the rings on his end of the line. A feeling of dread settles into my chest as my call is directed to his voicemail. Jax’s voice prompts me to leave a message, and I barely get out a couple words, my voice is trembling so much. “Jax, call me. Please.”

  Desmond puts a hand on my shoulder as I pull the phone away from my ear, and I’m sure the gesture is meant to be reassuring, but I can see worry in his expression. Whether it’s concern for me or for the guys — or all of us — I’m not sure.

  “It’s fine,” he says. “Probably just didn’t recognize the number, like Suzanne said.”

  I shake my head. I won’t believe it’s fine until I hear their voices. “Jude. What’s Jude’s number?”

  Before Desmond can tell me, Madeline speaks up. “Here. It’s clean. You can use it,” she says, holding up my phone.

  Tossing the burner on the bed, I gratefully accept my phone from Madeline. I see that while the phone was off, I missed several more calls — but none of them are from the guys, and that makes my anxiety skyrocket. Wouldn’t they be trying to reach me? In fact, all six of the missed calls are from a single number that I don’t recognize.

  I’m going to just start going down the list, calling every one of the guys until someone answers. I navigate to my contacts, but just before I hit call on Jude’s name, my phone rings, the unexpected sound startling me. A screen pops up with the incoming call, showing the same number as the six missed calls. Maybe the guys are using a burner as well. Or it’s Zoey, calling from her brother’s landline — maybe she’s seen the news about Pentabyte. It has to be her or one of the guys; who else would call seven times in a row?

  “Wait!” Desmond says, holding up a hand, but he’s too late.

  I’ve already hit Accept to answer the call. I make eye contact with Desmond for a moment, and the look on his face gives me pause as I lift the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  A voice from the past chills my blood. “Hello, Emma, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  4

  Jax

  The fucking bumper clips my front tire with enough force to upset my balance. My Harley jerks underneath me, and it takes every core muscle I have to keep from spilling onto the concrete.

  Assholes.

  I don’t give a flying fuck that it’s a police cruiser with its lightbar lit up. It could be the fucking presidential motorcade, and I’d still be livid that they got in my goddamn way. The only thing I care about is that the car Jeremy Brandt dove into has turned the corner and is now out of my sight, which means Emma is being carried further away from me the longer I’m tangled up with these assholes.

  I set my shoulders and pull my bike back into an upright position just as a young office springs out of the car and barks, “Freeze! Off the bike.”

  Fucking idiot can’t even make up his mind what he wants me to do. Freeze, or get off the bike? Too bad, I’m not about to do either. I don’t even look at the guy as I rev the throttle and maneuver around the police car. The officer curses, and I can hear car doors slam as his partner jumps out and they take off behind me in pursuit.

  Pedestrians lurch out of my way as I cross the remaining few feet of pavement and jump the curb on the other side of the intersection, gunning the bike down the sidewalk again. I kick a foot out to catch the weight as I whip around the corner at the end of the block, every muscle in my torso straining to pull on the handlebars and coax the rear end of my Harley to take the sharp turn. There. I see Jeremy’s car ahead in the distance, and I hit the gas.

  There are sirens coming from all directions now, and it’s hard to triangulate exactly where the cop cars are, but at the moment, my sole focus is directly in front of me. Just one more block, and I’ll be on top
of that sedan. As I head into the next intersection, I see a cop car barreling down on me from the side street. I give the Harley more gas, and it roars forward.

  My front tire hits the sidewalk just as the cruiser collides with my back tire. The bike twists hard, and I can’t keep it upright this time. I barely get my leg out of the way before my hog slams to the pavement, and I hit the ground hard, tumbling chaotically. My jeans and leather jacket take most of the damage, but my right shoulder and elbow scream out in agony as I feel something pop. Fuck.

  I grit my teeth and shove the sharp pain into the same place as my rage, and it fuels my well of adrenaline. I roll onto my feet, ready to take off after the sedan on foot, but both officers are out of the squad car now.

  “Police! Stop!” The one closest to me has his hand moving to his side, reaching to unbuckle the latch of a weapon.

  Dammit. Not right fucking now.

  I lower my center of gravity and charge, driving my shoulder into the cop’s midsection before he’s able to draw. Pain shoots through my entire arm, but I don’t let up. I slam him up against the cruiser and drive the flat of my elbow into the side of his temple. He crumples to the asphalt like a sack of potatoes.

  I jump back and ignore the yells from the second officer, turning away as I take off in the direction of the sedan. Three seconds later, I’ve cleared my tipped Harley, but that’s as far as I get before the muscles in my back seize and everything going rigid.

  The clicking of the taser gun fires rapidly as I watch the sedan turn a corner, moving out of sight once again, but there’s not a damn thing I can do. My forward momentum topples me, and I fall to the concrete without being able to brace myself. My right shoulder and the side of my head take the brunt of the collision with the sidewalk, and I feel the rough surface rip into my cheek as my face slams into it.

  “Don’t move,” the officer yells when the electrical pulses running through my body finally stop.

  I’ll be damned if I’m going to give up that easily.

  Summoning everything I have, I twist quickly, trying to dislodge the probes from my back. I’m up on my knees before the cop yells out, “Stay the fuck down!” and the taser triggers again.

  Pain rockets through every nerve in my body, and I hit the sidewalk again. There’s more of them now, and as soon as the jolts from the taser end, I have knees in my back and metal around my wrists.

  Two men are on top of me, but I have control of my muscles once again. I go slack as they lift me from the ground, but as soon as I’m on my feet, I swing into the man on my right, driving my shoulder into his chest and digging in with my feet as hard as I can. I run him back several feet, plowing him into the brick exterior of the nearest building, and the air leaves his body in a huff. I twist away from him and turn, coming face-to-face with no less than half a dozen officers.

  I stand my ground, trying to catch my breath as I assess the situation, my teeth clenched from the pain on the right side of my body. Two of the cops have guns drawn, and every one of them is shouting for me to get down and put my face to the concrete. There’s no way I’m going to be able to run fast enough in handcuffs to catch the sedan, if by some miracle I even make it two steps without getting shot, but I’ve got to do something. My mind races, trying to think of a plan.

  I don’t think fast enough. Before I can draw another breath, a heavyset guy on my left fires his taser, the probes hitting me in the neck and chest. My muscles seize again, and I’m on the ground in half a second.

  This cop doesn’t let up on the trigger. As soon as the pulse stops, he fires again, and after several rounds, I can feel my body give. When the flow of electricity finally stops, I feel like I’m coming to after a non-stop seven-day bender. I lie there, completely incapacitated and pissed as fuck at my current state — I’m fucking face down, drooling on the goddamn sidewalk in the middle of the day, for fuckssake — and for letting Jeremy get away. With Emma. The courts won’t think too kindly of me for assaulting two cops, but not catching that sedan — that’s truly unforgiveable.

  “Get him in the back of the goddamn cruiser. Now.”

  Two sets of hands wrap around my biceps, lifting me only far enough to drag me.

  “He’s tweaked out on something.”

  “Fucking meth heads.”

  The door opens in front of me, and a third set of hands grabs onto my belt to help shove me into the backseat of the cruiser.

  “High as a goddamn kite.”

  My senses slowly return, and energy seeps back into me as the door shuts and locks. I maneuver onto my ass so I’m sitting straight up in the backseat, and my muscles clench as I feel a vibration once again. But it isn’t tasers this time — it’s my phone. My hands behind me, I’m able to dig it out of my back pocket and toss it onto the seat next to me.

  The phone jiggles on the vinyl seat as the vibrations continue, signaling an incoming call. An unfamiliar number flashes onto the screen. Unfamiliar numbers do not call this phone. It’s either one of the guys — or Emma. Maybe she got free from Jeremy somehow? She’s a fighter, and I wouldn’t put it past her to have kicked his teeth in and leapt from the car while it was still rolling. I twist, turning sideways, trying to grab the phone so I can answer the call, but it stops vibrating just as my fingers close around it.

  Goddammit. It chimes once, and I know whoever it was left a voicemail. I twist my body, practically dislocating my shoulder in order to keep the phone in view out of the corner of my eye while I maneuver my fingers across the screen and play the message on speaker.

  Emma’s voice hits my ears like a lightning storm.

  “Jax, call me. Please.”

  The words come out choked, scared. Motherfucker. I’m going to take immense pleasure in hanging Jeremy from a rafter and skinning him alive, inch by fucking excruciating inch.

  A fresh batch of adrenaline surges through me, and my ears roar as all my blood rushes to my head. I lost track of where Trigg was during the first scuffle, and for all I know the Feds are hauling the rest of the guys out of the office in handcuffs. It’s evident BHC has been planning this stunt for a while. And now Emma’s in their grasp.

  I let out a yell of rage, the force of my scream straining the veins at my neck. Of all the times I’ve ever needed to make a break from the cops, it’s now. I rock back in the seat so I can get my feet off the floorboards. I don’t give a shit what it takes, I need to get out of here. I ram my boots into the solid wire mesh dividing the back of the cruiser from the front.

  The cops outside pound on the windows, ordering me to calm the fuck down. But that’s not going to happen. All I need is one of them to make a mistake and open the door. Just give me one more opportunity to fight my way out of here.

  I pump my legs hard, denting the wire mesh. Several of the cops are on their radios, and another one leans down to the half-open driver’s side window, yelling warnings about what’s going to happen. I don’t give a fuck what they think is going to happen. The only thing I care about is that goddamn car disappearing around the corner. Emma disappearing. Emma’s voice, pleading for me, small and scared.

  Pain shoots through my shoulder as I push myself back against the seat and drive my legs into the mesh over and over. It’s gonna give; something’s gotta fucking give.

  5

  Emma

  “How did you get this number?”

  I can practically hear the smug smile as Jeremy replies, “My employer shared it with me weeks ago.”

  The dots had started connecting as soon as I heard his voice, knowing he alone wouldn’t have the capabilities to get this number, and his reply confirms it. Of course, he’s with them. It’s a marriage made in heaven — if heaven were a field of assholes neck deep in pig shit.

  Motioning to the team, I quietly mouth the letters B H C to Desmond. His lips move in silent exaggeration to instruct me to place the call on speakerphone. I hit the button before I spit out, “What the fuck do you want, Jeremy?”

  He can tell the
audio quality changed. “Who else is in the room with you?”

  “None of your fucking business. I asked what you want.”

  There’s laughter in his voice. “On the contrary, sweetheart. It’s very much my business. If it’s any of those pretty boys you’ve been fucking, I’d like to congratulate them on making the news today. Tell me, how are things over there at Pentabyte?”

  Everything about Jackass’s tone makes me want to reach through the phone and rip out his throat. “This needs to stop.”

  “Oh, we’re very much in agreement on that. It’s been ages since you and I have sat down to have a nice little chat. I think it’s long overdue, don’t you?”

  Desmond vehemently shakes his head, but it’s a wasted gesture, because he has nothing to worry about. There’s no chance in hell I’m meeting with Jeremy. “I have nothing to say to you, asshole.”

  “Emma, come on now. Don’t be like that.”

  “Listen, Jeremy,” I say, bile rising in my throat at the sound of his name coming out of my mouth. “You’re fucking delusional if you think I’ll ever give you the time of day again.”

  “Well…” Jeremy says, feigning a reluctant sigh. “That’s too bad. I figured you’d want a chance to make things right, you know, so those pretty little men of yours get out of this federal mess with at least the shirts on their backs.” After a second, he scoffs. “Ah, hell, we’ll take those, too. They won’t need them — federal penitentiaries issue jumpsuits to inmates, don’t they?”

  My spine goes rigid, and I flex my stomach to keep the anger inside. “What do you want?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  “We just want to meet,” Jackass says. “That’s all. A nice little civilized conversation to talk things over.”

  My eyes meet with Desmond’s, and he gives me another firm shake of the head. But I feel my resistance slipping as my mind starts running through possible scenarios. BHC has bragged about their reach, and now they’re demonstrating it by wrecking Pentabyte. I glance at Suzanne and then over to Madeline. Both of their faces are drawn, and I see the same advice in their expressions — don’t do it. But in my gut, I know the horror on the news today is not the worst BHC can do. Jeremy’s words echo through my head as I breathe unsteadily, trying to formulate a reply. They really could find a way to send the guys to prison. All they’d need to do was falsify some key documents and grease a few dirty hands with bribes. Just another day of business for BHC. The thought stabs into my chest with a bolt of terror.