“I’m sorry.”
Lara pushed aside her half glass of wine. “I should go. It’s been nice talking with you.” She pulled a ten from her wallet to pay for the wine and stood.
“Did I offend you?” Harper looked upset.
“Not at all. I have to prepare mentally and physically for tomorrow.”
“Let me pay the check and I’ll walk you to your room.”
Lara started to protest, then realized she wanted another five minutes with him.
They left the restaurant and crossed the hotel lobby in silence. Lara felt a little giddy from the wine, another pleasurable feeling she hadn’t experienced in a while. They stepped into the elevator. When the doors closed, Caden Harper turned to her. “Lara.”
She looked up, and he gently took her face in his hands and pressed warm soft lips to hers. Lara surrendered to the kiss.
Chapter 24
Three and a half months earlier: Fri., Jan. 27, 7:50 a.m.
Paul strode through the security station, smiling boldly at the guard. Go ahead and harass me, he thought. He was too happy to care. He had a girlfriend! Plain, nerdy Paul Madsen was dating a smart, gorgeous, sophisticated woman. Amazing what removing a little flesh from the nose could accomplish. The guard smiled back, seeming a little surprised by his exuberance.
Paul caught the elevator upstairs and thought about stopping in Camille’s office to say good morning. Would that be too much? He wanted to be careful and not scare her off by being too clingy too soon. Especially in their workspace. He instinctively understood that he needed to reel her in slowly, one date at a time, while he simultaneously transformed himself into someone more physically attractive. Paul patted his stomach. Down eighteen pounds.
At his desk, he dove right into a new task, checking every line of code and every entry as he went along. He’d vowed to never again give his bitchy boss a reason to criticize him. For now, he’d set aside the idea of trying to find a replacement for Stacia, because the mission was too close to home. He hadn’t given up, he just planned to take his time and find a foolproof way that couldn’t be traced to him.
At noon, he turned away from his NetCom, took a MetaboSlim, and retrieved his chicken salad sandwich from its thermal bag. The salty aroma reminded him of the tuna sandwiches Isabel used to make for him as a kid. The ache of her loss threatened to burst his happy bubble, so Paul pushed it aside.
He reached for his Dock and opened the novel he was reading, a sci-fi political thriller, but he couldn’t concentrate. He burned with the need to contact Camille, to reassure himself their relationship was real. He tapped open the message folder on the Dock and sent a text to Camille’s personal number. He kept it short and non-needy. I had a great time last night.-Paul.
A few minutes later, Camille stepped into his office and closed the door. Paul put down his lunchtime pleasures, concerned by her serious expression. “Hello, Camille.”
“I have to talk to you about this situation.”
He waited, heart quivering with the fear of rejection.
“We have to keep our relationship private and not let others at work know about it.”
Paul let out a tiny sigh. She’d called it a relationship. “I understand.”
“That means you shouldn’t text me at work, even on my private number.” She slunk into the guest chair and kept her voice low. “Nothing about our behavior in this building should change. No one can know about the time we spend together outside of work. We have to be professional.”
Paul went along, trying to sound levelheaded and sincere. “You’re right. We don’t want to risk our jobs.”
“I’m so glad you understand.” Her relief was palpable.
It pierced his heart. “I do hope we can see each other again.”
“We will. I enjoyed our time together too.” Camille clutched her purse and stood. “I have an errand to run on my lunch hour, so I’ve got to go.”
Paul started to suggest they see a movie sometime, then held back. “See you at the Monday meeting.”
After she left, Paul played back the conversation, trying to evaluate the subtleties. Camille had implied they would spend more time together, so she must like him a little, he thought. He knew she was right about keeping their relationship from co-workers, but he also worried she was embarrassed to be seen with him. He could change that, though. A chin implant would make a world of difference. He’d looked at before-and-after photos online. Even female actresses made themselves more beautiful by extending their chins. He would win Camille over-he just had to be patient.
By mid-afternoon, Paul’s right leg vibrated under the desk, his mind drifted from his task, and he felt irritable. The restless leg syndrome was new in the last few days, and he wondered if the symptom was related to his diet. He hated to think his jitteriness was connected to the pills because they were working well.
He took his afternoon break early and walked around the block. The cold wind was relentless, and he felt like he’d run a mile by the time he arrived back in his office. At five, he shifted out of his software maintenance task and opened the replacement database. Because of Olbert’s threat to report him, Paul had no choice but to abandon the beleaguered Robert Morales in the DOE. If Olbert had followed through, federal agents might be watching for anything suspicious that might happen to DOE employees. Paul decided to start over and look for a new position to target. He needed to make one more arrangement to pay for a chin implant, then he would stay out of the database.
But first, he had something personal to take care of. He keyed in employment commissioner and waited for the names to come up. He scanned the details of the three replacements and decided Lisa Hutchinson was the least qualified. She’d been president of a teacher’s union back when unions still existed, and now she was a freelance labor arbitrator. Paul worked up his nerve and deleted her files. Uploading Camille’s information took a little longer, but not much. Now his girlfriend was on a list to replace the commissioner should something unexpected happen to him. Paul couldn’t wait to tell Camille. Yet he knew he should wait. This was a gift she desperately wanted and the timing could be critical. He would save it for the next time she kissed him and it just might get him laid.
After forty irritating minutes of keying in search words and scanning personal information, Paul finally found a possibility. Allen Brentwood worked for the Department of Transportation, which had been consolidated into three small units that regulated trains, planes, and cars. Brentwood was the director of the vehicle and road safety administration. What first caught Paul’s attention was Brentwood’s performance reviews. The last one had unsatisfactory ratings in seven out of ten categories, and the one before it was only marginally better. The DOT secretary had to be looking for an excuse to fire him. The other interesting factor was that Brentwood belonged to the gym Paul had joined, so Paul had access to him.
Paul checked the replacement database. All three candidates were men and Paul had to rule out two. One already had a Level C position, and one was Brentwood’s assistant. Paul settled on Terrance Kettering, a man with degrees in engineering and business, who’d been unemployed for a while.
Paul left work at six, spent an hour in the cold looking for a street vendor who sold prepaid iComs, then finally took the bus to a shop in the mall. With his merchandise in his pocket, he caught a bus home. On the ride, he watched the snow and had second thoughts. What if Olbert had reported him? Had they launched an investigation? Was he being watched?
Paul shivered, then scolded himself for being paranoid. The possibility was remote. Law enforcement budgets were a fraction of what they used to be, and unless violence or major theft was the issue, most crimes were given cursory investigations, and prosecutors only went after suspects with evidence against them. His little missions were small-time and under the radar.