Zero: A protective hero romantic suspense, page 9
A sour sensation blooms in the center of my chest like the gunshot to Cary. I can’t remember that call. Not one single moment of it. Isn’t it funny how vivid one memory can be of a tragic event and another is a blur or lost forever?
The barrel of a gun.
His finger sliding onto the trigger.
Click.
Cary spasms and his back slams into my front before I hear the shot.
Crack.
He falls to the floor.
Boom.
Streams of scarlet. So much blood.
Numb.
Zero’s voice, hardening, drags me from the vast darkness. “But they didn’t catch Randy. Then when my business was winding down—”
“What?” I rattle my head, shaking loose the shadows of the past. “You’re no longer doing what you do?”
“Well, yes and no. I’m no longer working for myself. You might remember I mentioned having a partner.” He waits for me to nod. “Well, he took another job. In New York, working for a private security firm. I was also offered a position there and at the same time, the FBI extended me a position on their team.”
“FBI?”
Suddenly hearing a government agency offered him a job somehow shifts my perspective and legitimizes everything he’s said up to this point. It’s silly really; I mean, he could be lying, though he hasn’t lied to me so far.
In fact, the opposite. He’s brutally honest.
So honest that a part of me can’t help but feel his blunt intrusion like a bitter, festering infection. He read the police files, likely knows way more than I do about Cary’s death. Randy. That night.
I don’t give him a chance to respond. “So what? Let me guess.” I lean forward wearing what I hope is a sneer. “You think you can find Randy? The big-shot hacker can save the day. Who do you think you are, Captain America?”
“Actually, I prefer Doctor Strange.”
Teeth clenching and nostrils flaring, I glower. “This isn’t funny. You had no right to do what you did. It’s a violation.”
He springs to his feet. “Morgan, I mean no—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you mean. No one asked for your help.” On my feet, I jab my finger into my breastbone to emphasize my point. “I sure as shit didn’t. You’re such an asshole.”
“I know.” He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his board shorts.
His honest response stuns me when it shouldn’t. “Grrr.” My fingers ball into fists. “I hate when you do that.”
“What?”
“Tell it like it is. Agree with me that you’re an asshole. It doesn’t make it all right. It doesn’t absolve you of the jerk things you do and say.”
Maybe he can help me but I’m too wrapped up in the moment to say as much.
“Never said it did. You’re right; I tell the truth, no sugarcoating. And if I get angry, I’ll warn you right now, I say whatever comes into my head.” He shrugs. “Usually I don’t mean it and it’s stupid.”
“Asshole.” I deliver the insult with a smile, hoping he understands I’m over it and joking…well, kind of.
“Yeah. Asshole. I think we already covered that.”
“So you think you can find Randy? That’s how you think you can help, isn’t it?”
My heart rockets as I half expect him to tell me he’s already found him.
“Yeah. I haven’t done anything yet as hard as it is to sit still, but I wanted to talk to you first because I knew I was crossing a line.” He pauses and rubs a hand over his trimmed beard. “I’ll respect your wishes if you tell me to back off.”
“You would?”
“Yeah. You aren’t the first person I’ve veered off course to help.”
“Really?” It shouldn’t matter, but I feel a sharp prick in the center of my chest.
Zero’s a stranger and even with what he’s shared, I don’t know him and yet, knowing he’s done this before, helped other people… I’m not special.
Damn, it’s stupid but the sting morphs into a dark heaviness that invades my heart and lungs. Sluggish, I force a smile, encouraging him to go on.
“Yes, and only once did it go sideways, but that was more because it was fraud.” He smirks and shakes his head as if signaling he isn’t willing to talk about it.
“So where do we start?”
“I’ve done some prelim work on known associates and some tangential acquaintances who Randy might have contacted. He’s gotta be desperate and running scared.”
My shoulders deflate like air slowly seeping out of a tire. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, at all, but this isn’t new. The cops did all this.”
I don’t know what I expected, and while this is only the beginning, I’d kind of hoped to hear him say he knew where Randy was hiding.
“Yes and no.” His features loosen, eyes sparkling as he settles in to explain his world and what he does. “I did start with the list the cops had, but they’ve got limited resources and have to do things by the book. I don’t.” He rubs his hands together and pauses, making sure I’m riveted. “I think we’ve got a solid lead with Randy’s ex-best friend’s ex-fiancée.”
My head aches and I rub at my temple, slowly playing back the labyrinth of a lead. “What?”
“Yeah, it’s convoluted but in situations like this, anyone could have him. And the reasons why aren’t always obvious.”
“And what makes you think this ex of an ex could know where he is?”
“Because she had a side thing going on with Randy while engaged to his buddy.”
This sounds promising, and the suddenly ardent tone of my voice says as much. “Really? And the cops, did they question her?”
“Nope. But in their defense…” He holds up his hands and his earnest expression warms the center of my chest. “This guy, Randy’s ex-friend—they haven’t talked in five years. The police would’ve had to do a lot of digging to find him.”
I smile. “Why do you care if I think the cops are incompetent?”
Does he think they are? I don’t think the police are useless. It’s more that I’m frustrated with them.
Every time I check in on the case, I sense their annoyance when I don’t back down from their usual, “We have no new leads, but we’re working the case. We will call you if we have new information.”
“It isn’t about caring; I’m just telling you like it is. If I was hampered by rules and laws, I might not be as good as I am.” A rare dimple pops from one cheek. “Though I doubt it. I’m the best.”
I snort and wheeze a bit, trying to hold back a full-on cackle. “All right. Whatever. So what’s next? What do we do with this?”
“We don’t do anything right now except maybe go snorkeling.” He pulls new gear out of a shopping bag close to his feet. “Or we could swim.”
Is he stonewalling me? Why? He said he wanted to help.
“What do you mean? We’ve got this new information; we should move on it.”
“And we will. I’ve got some recon underway and once I know the lay of the land, we’ll devise a plan.” He pitches his voice low and serious. “We need to do this right. We might only have one shot to get him. So trust me.”
Instinctively, I place my hand over my purse beside me on the couch. I want to trust him. I really do. Everything he’s said has given me hope, but it’s too soon to trust him blindly.
And even with that thought, I’m no longer anxious—haven’t been for most of my time on the boat. Surprising.
Anxious has become my normal state of being. And while I had a fleeting thought about taking a pill earlier, I didn’t need it. I haven’t truly craved a pill in…I don’t know how long. This realization also surprises me.
“You don’t need your gun.” He stands and pulls the navy-and-white rash guard up and over his head, revealing his washboard abs.
Holy shit.
My mouth dries as I shamelessly stare. I hadn’t missed that Zero’s in good shape. His defined physique was obvious in the T-shirt he wore when he picked me up and the rash guard, but it’s a whole new universe to see his chiseled flesh.
Before, when he left to get our food, he’d run downstairs to change, and boy, I missed out. My stomach weaves and bobs, and I can’t bring myself to look away. And when he catches me staring, my cheeks heat.
“Wow, do you ever get out into the sun?” My quip comes out more insulting than playful, how I’d intended.
He raises an eyebrow and the corner of his lips twitch though he manages to keep his demeanor blank. He stares, waiting for me to go on.
“I mean you’re pasty. Pale.” I don’t really care whether or not he has a tan, but I’m trying to steer us away from the fact that I brazenly ogled him.
A squirt of sunscreen falls onto his palm and he lathers his bare chest, arms, and shoulders. “I don’t get out much. Rarely in daylight hours.”
His hand slides along his lower abs, spreading the lotion over the light dusting of brown hair from his belly button down to where the treasure trail disappears below the waistband of his shorts. Mother of God, help me.
Sputtering for something to say and not willing to let the apparent opening be wasted, I ask, “What are you, a vampire?”
“Maybe.” This time his tone is playful.
“This is Florida. The Sunshine State. I don’t think I’ve seen someone so pale. You don’t live in Florida, do you? “
He shakes his head. “I spend way too many hours of the day at a computer.”
“Clearly not all hours.” I eye his hard stomach, and catching my drift, his hand drops to his abs.
“I do make time for the gym.”
Boldly, I get up and near him. “How much time? Those look like a lot of hours.”
My hands itch to touch him, to feel just how solid his muscles are.
“Enough. As much as I love what I do, I can’t sit around all day.” He grabs two towels from the cupboard and eyes me from head to toe. “Are you coming in?”
“Only if you let me see just how hard you work out.” I don’t intend to sound suggestive but that’s how it comes out.
Somewhere along the way, I’ve become emboldened by his story, the hope that we might actually find Randy and justice will be served. And I can’t deny, even when I thought he was someone to be feared, I was drawn to Zero.
I reach out to touch him—not his abs, even if that’s what I want, only his arm—but he stops me.
His fingers grip my wrist and force my arm down to my side. “Don’t.”
11
ZERO
The window of the Lamborghini glides down whisper quiet, and I stick out a hand to wave over Elvis. I already have his attention along with many others in the Harbor parking lot thanks to the luxury vehicle. It’s a neon sign, begging anyone and everyone to look at me.
“Hey, kid.” I rest my forearm on the door.
“Mr. Z, everything all right?” His forehead bunches, barely busting a wrinkle on his youthful brow.
Morgan and I left the parking lot not too long ago, and at the time, I’d paid him for a job well done. Not even a smudge on the car.
“Yeah. Great.” I grab the burner phone from the passenger seat and hand it to him. “Don’t know if you have a phone or need one, but here. It’s got a fair amount of minutes on it, and my number’s programmed in there. I might need you for more work.”
Eyes bigger than an exploding star, he gapes at me. “Mr. Z, I-I don’t know what to say. I don’t have a phone, and I…”
“Elvis.” My tone, rough like sandpaper, does what I intend and it gets him to focus. “You interested in more work?”
His head bobs up and down so furiously it might pop off his neck. “Hell, yeah.”
“Cool. Talk later.”
The window slides closed and I reverse. On the drive to my place, I try not to dwell on Elvis or Morgan, but it’s hard not to.
Why did I help out Elvis the way I did? The simplest explanation is he needs a chance. Sure, I’ve got work for him, but nothing I couldn’t do myself or outsource to one of the many other people I usually tap.
Elvis doesn’t have to say anything; it’s plain to see he doesn’t have a home. He jumps from one friend’s couch or floor to another, and if that doesn’t pan out, he crashes on the beach. I’ve done my research.
And I’m also a good judge of character. He’s a good kid. I almost caved tonight and invited him back to my place to play Halo, Call of Duty, or Fortnite. But not yet, in time.
The kid only needs a chance, and I want to be that chance.
As for Morgan…
When she reached for me on the Andiamo, I freaked out. Froze and threw my walls up so tight. An exaggerated reaction, but the damage was done.
I never got a chance to explain.
Her phone rang right after I harshly told her not to touch me. She was so freaked out, she jumped and yelped at the shrill ring.
The call was from her boss, Shug. He was down two servers, both out sick, and he needed her to come into work. She didn’t hesitate and promised to be there within minutes. While it was possible, she was cutting it close since I still had to draw up the anchor and get us to the Harbor.
“Take me back. I want to leave.” That’s all she said and then disappeared to the lower deck, only to surface once the yacht was moored.
The ride to the Emerald Lounge was too short, and I didn’t know what to say, how to make it right or explain.
I park the car in the secured lot and make the short walk to my building. My building? What am I thinking? None of this is mine or permanent. Even helping Morgan, hanging out with her is temporary.
So what if today ended on a flat note? I’m not sticking around. I’ll find Randy Poole, give her some peace—whatever that’s worth—and move on.
The instant I walk into my place, the hairs on the back of my neck tingle. Something is different.
Someone is here.
Quietly, I pull the gun from the underside of the small table by the door. Before I can get any farther into my apartment, Hazel saunters from the kitchen as if she belongs there.
“Finally. You’re home.” She smiles without a care for the gun in my hand or what I’m sure is a pissed expression on my face.
“How’d you get in?” I glance to the security pad on the wall by the front door.
It was already disarmed when I came in. Why wasn’t I alerted that the alarm was disabled?
She shrugs and inches closer. “I had a good teacher and know a few things about breaking and entering.”
My lips purse tight, and I pause for a beat or three so as not to say the wrong thing and send Hazel into a panic attack. No one’s to blame for this but me. She knows her way around a security panel, among other things, because of me. And why am I shocked? I taught her on this same self-made system.
Fuck, she cracked my alarm.
Her presence reminds me why I don’t bother with relationships, romantic or otherwise. People annoy me, cause tension, and bring turmoil. They’re a fucking headache, and managing Hazel Catherine Duncan…
She’s extra.
Her anxiety, tantrums, and sulkiness. She has reason to be the way she is and I do care about her, but I don’t have the time nor the patience right now.
From the moment I freed Hazel from our mutual hell, she latched onto me. I set her up with a home, and I helped her with some basic tech skills as well as got her a remote IT job.
Like all the others I’ve helped, that should have ended our involvement, but she was extra needy, and in no state to be on her own. While I wanted to move on, I felt guilty for abandoning her.
Sticking around was my first mistake and I didn’t see the problem, her dependency on me, until it was too late. In the beginning, I chalked it up to her struggle in adjusting to life on the outside and dealing with people.
But she quickly became obsessive. The incessant texts, daily and at all hours, then her countless questions about my life—where was I? And with whom?
That’s when I broke off all contact but not before getting her professional help. At that point, once she was in good hands, the plan was to walk away, but my guilt wouldn’t allow it.
While I’m an asshole, I couldn’t abandon her.
Slowly, we reconnected and instead of anger and resentment, she was grateful for my support. That’s when I set healthy boundaries.
“Hazel, what are you doing here?”
All smiles, she coos, “I didn’t like the way you sounded the other day, and I told you yesterday I was coming for a visit.”
She plays with a loose thread on the hem of her top, and my throat narrows under all the guilt.
Hazel. Always awkward. Always fidgeting.
This is also why I won’t turn my back on her. I ache for the young girl she was before being kidnapped and trafficked. Like I do for all captives.
I soften some of the abrasive edge to my voice. “Then you call before you come.”
She watches while I secure the gun to the underside of the table once more, neither of us saying anything. We both wade in the silence, and I use the time to bury any misgivings about her surprise visit.
Straightening, I look to her, and her eyes glisten with unshed tears. Fuck me. This is what I wanted to avoid.
She tugs on the ends of her shoulder-length brown hair and twists a lock around her finger. “Zero, I did call.”
“Yeah, and I figured you’d have told me when you’d be here instead of just showing up.” I grit my teeth and release a harsh breath, clearly unable to let it go. “Look, you’re here now. You can stay.”
“Thanks.” She wipes at the dampness on her cheeks. “I’ve been here for hours. Where have you been?”
“A date.” The word slips out, automatic and without thought.
Shit. Hazel will understand the significance—I don’t date—and pounce.
“What?” She slaps my shoulder, harder than is necessary. “Who is she? Or is it he? I can’t believe you were on a date.”
A prickly heat blazes up my spine, and I examine her more carefully. Cheeks tinged pink, a sheen to her gaze, and she’s smiling though it feels forced. There’s a wired tinge to her voice, an undercurrent of something other than disbelief. Confusion or disappointment?
