22

ENSCONCED IN THE SAFETY OF HER HOME, BROOKE dropped everything on the foyer floor, kicked off her shoes, and noted the time with numb disinterest: 8:45 A.M.

She had spent an entire twenty minutes in the workforce that day. She trudged up the stairs and entered her studio. Morning sunlight sliced through the wooden blinds, casting a pattern across the desk. She looked at her own private workstation through Ethan’s eyes. After a careless slip from Roger about her background, Ethan had come here yesterday looking for answers.

On the verge of tears, she sat down in her chair, picked up the phone, and made a call she’d avoided for weeks now. Her father’s deep voice filled the line. Still upset with his choices, Brooke fought the now-familiar urge to call him Stanley and to control her tone. “Dad? It’s me.”

There was a moment of silence. “I was wondering when you’d call. There must be something wrong.”

Her face fell. “How can you tell something’s wrong?”

“I’ve been reading your moods since you were in diapers. Fess up.”

The natural authority he exuded almost made her want to smile. God, she missed him. “I was fired today.”

He cursed. “Why?”

She released a wobbly sigh. “I forgot that Monroe Graphics isn’t mine anymore.” Brooke put her face in her hand and fought to keep from thoroughly losing it. “And thanks to that non-compete clause, I can’t even look for another job.”

“Aw, hell. I was sure that after your initial disappointment, you’d settle in.”

“Is that why you tricked me into working for Ken?” she sniped.

“Sweetheart, it was either that or stay out of the business altogether. I figured you’d eventually realize that my way was the better way.”

Suffering from a sudden headache, Brooke undid the top buttons of her blouse and pulled the elastic band from her hair. “If it makes you feel any better, you were right.”

“You like Ken, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” she admitted with a grimace. “Despite the fact that he fired everyone.”

There was yet another pregnant pause on the line. “He only did that at my recommendation.”

The blood promptly drained from her face. Brooke stared at the phone in horror. “What? You advised him to let go of our entire staff?”

“Something I never wanted you to know.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Honey, Monroe Graphics was on the cusp of bankruptcy. It seemed that no matter what I did, we lost money.”

She shot up from her chair. “I know that. I wanted to try and fix it, but you wouldn’t give me the chance.”

“Frankly, sweetheart, I didn’t think you could.”

Her pain doubled with those five words uttered by the man she looked up to more than anyone. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She heard her mother’s voice in the background, pictured her asking who it was and the hope in her sea-green eyes when her father said her name. Then she heard a door shut in the background and knew he wanted a private moment. “The reason I advised Ken to start with new employees is because I strongly suspected we had a leak.”

Brooke went still. Her lashes slowly lifted. “A leak?”

“Our high-end projects kept getting outbid by other firms. When I looked into it, I discovered a pattern that went back way farther than it should have. I didn’t want to admit I’d let it go on that long, so when I sold to Ken Stevens, I told him about the problem.”

Brooke ran a hand through her hair, her mind running wild with the only equation that made sense. “Why did you recommend that he keep Roger?” she asked, knowing that their old systems administrator was the only common link besides her.

“Roger is the one who helped me find the pattern,” he answered. “I trusted him.”

Then again, her father had just admitted to a certain naïveté of his own. Brooke let her new suspicions marinate for a while and then came up with a plan. “Dad…I need to go.”

“But your mother wants to—”

“Tell her I’ll call back later.” She abruptly ended the call without even saying goodbye.

No wonder Ken suspected her. He knew about the leaks her father had just mentioned, so naturally he believed she’d used the same proven technique to compromise his takeover. And why wouldn’t he, considering how vocal she was about the whole thing?

But she wasn’t the only common link to Monroe’s troubled past. There was another person who was much savvier than she when it came to cyber stealth. With a determination born from betrayal, Brooke turned on her computer. She plugged in her external hard drive, selected a file, and opened it. There, she found exactly what she was looking for.

She picked up the phone again and, taking a gamble, dialed the corner office’s direct line without concern about how her call would be received.

“Ethan Wolf.”

She closed her eyes and pictured him standing by her desk and enjoying the corner view of the bay marina. Only now, the image didn’t hurt. It felt…right. “Ethan, it’s me. Don’t hang up, I’m about to do something completely out of character and admit I was wrong.”

“I thought you already did that.”

His tone was unforgiving still, but Brooke knew she’d reach him somehow. “I’m not talking about what went down in Ken’s office. I admitted to spying, not leaking information.”

He was silent for a moment. “I think it’s best that we end this phone call right now.”

“Wait!” she burst out in a rush. “I’m trying to help, and I think you know that.”

“Do I?”

With a hand to her heart, it was all she could do to keep from crying. “Remember when you said you didn’t want to win this way? It’s because, aside from all the bullshit things we’ve done to each other, you’re a painfully honest man whose loyalty runs incredibly deep. I’m not trying to score any points or get my job back. I accept that I am completely done with Monroe Graphics.” She took a steadying breath. “All I want is to settle a score with a certain hack.”

Her heart nearly stopped as she awaited his reply. When he finally spoke, there was hesitation in his voice. “You said something about being wrong?”

At least he was willing to listen. Shoulders sagging in relief, she twirled in her chair and faced the computer screen. “Yes. I’ve been focusing on the wrong person. I let my feelings for Shannon get in the way, and I completely overlooked the obvious.”

“Why call me?” he asked. “Why not Roger?”

Her lips drew into a tight smile. “Because, in order to catch this person, we need to bypass the systems department altogether.”

He let loose a muffled curse. “Not that I’m saying I’ll go along with anything, but…what exactly do you want from me?”

Her smile faded. She stared at the icon on the bottom of the email she’d just composed, knowing just how absurd it was to even ask. “First and foremost I need you to trust me.”

“God help me.”

“I’m going to send a file to your personal email,” she went on. “I want you to download it on your own machine, not an office one, and put it on a thumb drive. Then I want you to manually install it on Shannon’s hard drive.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

Panic brought her to her feet. “Just hear me out! Then I’ll leave it up to you to decide, and I’ll never bother you again.” When he refused to answer, she finally let go and did the unthinkable: She begged. “Please, Ethan. You don’t even have to respond, just listen.”

The continuing silence was killing her, but at least he hadn’t hung up yet, so she rambled on and hoped for the best. “A good hacker will use a stealth program to spy on a targeted computer without being detected and without leaving an easy trace for the IT guys to find. What I’m about to send you is also a stealth program, but it’s an anti-malware tool. The next time anyone establishes a connection with Shannon’s computer, she should get a pop-up warning highlighting any suspicious activity. I’ll need you to take a screen shot of that warning and email it to me so I can trace it.”

“You realize what you’re saying, right?” His voice nearly floored her with relief. He was there and he was listening. “You want me—a man you’ve despised from day one—to actually upload a stealth program to the computer of a woman you’ve also despised since the beginning?”

Brooke ran a hand down her face in abject misery. “That’s pretty much it.”

“You’re a real piece of work,” he accused her with bitterness.

“Like I said, it’s entirely up to you. If you decide not to do this…I don’t know, just keep in mind it’s not only for me. It’s for Ken. It’s another way to keep an eye out, that’s all.”

“Brooke, if you’re targeting a specific person, I’d like to know who it is.”

Though it was tempting to say, it was something she couldn’t bring herself to do. “No. I won’t make any more accusations without actual proof this time. Besides, if I’m right, everyone will know.” She was poised to hang up, but hesitated. “And Ethan?”

“What?”

“I don’t despise you. Not anymore.”

She placed the phone back in its cradle, preventing her from making an even bigger fool of herself. There was only so much humiliation she could take in one day. For now and for the sake of her sanity, it would be best to assume that Ethan wouldn’t go through with it. If she didn’t hear from him within a week, she would figure something else out. What that was, she didn’t know, but at least she was now looking in the right direction.

With no human interaction to keep her grounded, the daylight hours may as well have been night and vice-versa. It was her own fault, but wallowing in a sea of self-pity and betrayal, Brooke had failed to answer her landline as well as her cell phone the many times they had rung over the weekend. Unless the caller ID displayed the number she was waiting for, she would continue to ignore them. The few times the doorbell rang, she ignored it and the voices behind it, knowing that it was in everyone’s best interest not to answer. Though she kept careful watch for an email from Ethan, all others were ignored and trashed.

On Monday morning, Brooke rolled out of bed earlier than usual, determined to keep watch over her inbox now that the workweek had officially begun again. Any moment now, an email would arrive or her phone would ring and it would be Ethan sending her a screenshot of Shannon’s desktop computer. Feeling like a mad scientist with her wild hair, bloodshot eyes, and cracked lips, Brooke waited as the popsicle wrappers accumulated on the island around her laptop. By 1:30 P.M., her inbox was cleaned out with still no word from Ethan. If he’d decided to use her program at all, wouldn’t he at least have the decency to tell her? Was a hint or even a code word too much to ask for?

Still in her pajamas and more depressed than ever, she ate an afternoon breakfast of grapefruit and a buttered English muffin.

By Tuesday—the fourth day in a row with hardly any sleep—she was positive that Ethan hadn’t used her program, since her hack would have certainly tried something by now. She finished the day in a deep state of depression with lots of alcohol to dull her pain.

On Wednesday morning, Brooke woke to the sound of pounding. Determined to ignore it as usual, she rolled over and covered her ears, sensing that she had yet to achieve even a couple hours of sleep. The word “police” spoken in a very loud male voice forced her to reconsider.

What the hell was going on? Was it a crime to want your goddamned privacy? After a brief moment of confusion over the amount of daylight filtering through the curtains, she stumbled out of bed, shuffled through the living room, and—under the weight of a crushing hangover—leaned heavily against the door with eyes closed. “I am still alive and no one is holding me hostage,” she managed to croak out.

“Ms. Monroe, my name is Officer Warren and I’m going to need visual confirmation of that.”

She opened her eyes long enough to check out her reflection in the ornamental mirror beside the door. “Believe me, you don’t want a visual.”

“I insist that you open the door, or I’ll be forced to break it down.”

What? Grumbling over the fact this was still a free country, Brooke fumbled with the locks. Everything was out of focus since her glasses were still on the nightstand, but she was afraid to get them lest the cop went commando on her door. Oh, what the hell. It was probably better that she couldn’t get a clear view of his horrified reaction.

The last lock came undone. She opened up about five inches and stuck her face through the crack. “See? I’m still breathing.”

“Yes,” the blob in black said. “I can smell that. Your friends are concerned about you, Ms. Monroe.”

Another blob moved behind him. Brooke blinked and squinted.

“Honey, it’s me,” came a familiar voice.

“Miranda?”

“I’m sorry to do this, but if only you’d answer your phone or your door once in a while….”

Brooke forced out a half smile for her blurry visitors. “Consider it answered. I’m going back to bed now.”

“Wait a minute!” Miranda shoved her foot in the crack. “I went to a lot of trouble to check on you.”

“You probably got this guy’s phone number,” Brooke replied with a deadpan stare.

“That’s beside the point. You look and smell like something that fell out of a garbage truck. This is unhealthy behavior, Brooke.”

She peered over Miranda’s shoulder at the officer looming in the background. “Is it against the law to look and smell like a garbage truck?”

“Unless the neighbors start complaining about a strange odor, I’d say no,” he said.

Funny. Before she could argue further, Miranda muscled her way in and spun around with a smile. “Thank you, Officer Warren.”

His voice lowered to a seductive pitch. “Now, I told you to call me Shawn.”

“Mmmm, I’ll be calling alright.”

Brooke rolled her eyes and shuffled back toward the bedroom as the locks clicked into place behind her. “Nice tactic, Miranda. You could have just asked me if I was okay.”

The woman spun around again and kicked her way through the pile of belongings still littering the floor from last Friday. “How? You wouldn’t answer my calls!”

Brooke yawned. “You called?”

“Everyone’s called. Me, Amy, Roger, your parents….”

“Which is why I ignored it,” she declared hotly.

Miranda followed her into her bedroom with the persistence of a bulldog. “I get that you’re depressed, but you aren’t allowed to blow off the people who care about you the most.”

It was more like people she thought cared about her the most. “I’m going back to bed.” Brooke paused at the entrance to her bedroom. “If you insist on staying, the TV remote is in the couch somewhere and the garbage disposal is clogged.”

“Good to know,” Miranda said with a dry smile and then promptly took her by the shoulders and steered her in the direction of the bathroom. “You are not going back to bed. You’re getting in the shower where you will wash that disgusting hair and then you will brush those awful teeth. In the meantime, I’m stripping your bed sheets since I have a feeling those are the cause of my watery eyes.”

“You don’t have to take care of me,” Brooke grumbled, “I’m fine.”

Once in the bathroom, her pajama pants were yanked down to her ankles. Brooke yelped and covered her butt. “Jeez!”

“My God, these are one step away from compost.” Miranda spun her around and, with a curled lip of disgust, yanked the purple-stained top up and over her head. “Grape popsicles do not constitute a meal. You are skin and bones, and the bags under your eyes are hideous.”

“I can undress myself!” But Brooke was already naked and getting shoved into the shower stall. Miranda reached in and turned the knob. Frigid water blasted down from above. A choked scream echoed throughout the townhouse and probably across the Gulf of Mexico.

The shower door slammed shut. A towel and washcloth were flung over the panel of distorted glass. “If you even think of shutting this water off in under twenty minutes,” Miranda yelled over the noise, “I will personally drag you out to the back yard and hose you down. Got it?”

“It doesn’t take me twenty minutes—”

“Then soak! Stand under the stream and cry your eyes out like they do in the movies; just get over this damned funk already!”

And Brooke spent not twenty but thirty minutes following her friend’s orders. Hot steam rolled upward and along the ceiling. As she washed and thought about her troubles, the tears started to flow. Then they came down in torrents. Now unemployed and no longer caring if the hack was caught, she considered the possibility of joining her parents in Texas. The thought of being pampered and babied for a few months wasn’t such a bad one, though she was so damned mad at her father.

How could every single man in her life turn on her like that? Even Sid had lost his shine, since Brooke expected no less heartache from him. It was a given. The rebellious thought of becoming a lesbian briefly entered her mind. Girls were pretty, kind, and compassionate and weren’t prone to bouts of chauvinistic cruelty.

But then she’d eventually be expected to sleep with one, which held absolutely no appeal for her whatsoever.

By the time she left the shower, Brooke’s skin was pink and raw. Her eyes were the same, and her wet hair needed something industrial-strength to get the tangles out. Since all she had was a simple brush, she sat down at her vanity and spent another twenty minutes working at her hair until it was restored to its original, glossy shine. The humidity in there was stifling, and Brooke knew the moisture dripping from her body was as much sweat as it was water. But she wasn’t ready to leave the confines of her bathroom. Miranda would force her to do some other healthy task like eating.

Actually, the thought wasn’t as unappealing as before. Still wrapped in a towel, she got up and opened the bathroom door. Her stomach grumbled as the smell of butter and seared vegetables reached her nose.

Please, Lord, let that be an omelet.

“Get out here and eat some protein!” Miranda called from the kitchen. “Don’t bother fighting it. I can almost hear you salivating in there.”

Brooke emerged in a set of clean pajamas. “Nothing you say or do will get me in a pair of shoes today, so don’t even try.”

She ate her omelet alone at the kitchen’s island with her laptop and coffee while Miranda cleaned her house from top to bottom. The washing machine was churning, the dishwasher was humming, and the surfaces had been cleared of the cumulative debris that was a mockery of Brooke’s life. It was only 9:30 A.M., almost a respectable breakfast hour. She checked her emails with halfhearted interest. The first to be deleted were the handful from Roger with headings like “Call me” and “R U okay?” That and the fact that there was still no word from Ethan made her want to vomit the first real meal she’d eaten in days.

For the second time that morning, the doorbell rang. Brooke picked at her food and ignored it. It rang again. The stairs echoed with footsteps. “You and your closed-door policy are over,” Miranda said.

Brooke frowned as she looked up. She was pretty sure that Roger had come by at least twice before to check on her. “Don’t answer it! I don’t care who—”

But the door was opened anyway. Voices soon came from the entryway, one of them painfully familiar.