Jeanne Adams - Dark and Deadly

“Did you?” Paul spoke for the first time.

“Uh, I don’t know,” he waffled. “I don’t think so, but we were advised to do, um, damage control. Quickly.”

“Oh, so putting me on admin leave is damage control? What about saying you believe in me? In my innocence? What about supporting one of your longest-serving, most loyal employees by believing in her?”

“Torie,” Tris stuttered. “You’ve got to see our side.”

“No, actually, I don’t. You never hesitated to use the fact that I was a woman, and one of the best in my field, to your advantage. From contracts to PR, you made sure everyone knew you had a crack engineer who met the government requirements for gender equality. Nope, never missed an opportunity on that one, did you?”

“But—” Tristan began.

“Yeah. But when it came to trash-talking reporters with no real information sniffing for more, you caved. You gave them a story. Don’t you realize that? You made this far more of a story than it was originally by doing your little admin leave deal.”

“When you come back, we’ll do our best to make it up to you.”

“Uh huh. That’s going to take some doing.” Torie unlocked her desk, found the safety deposit box key, took several other items as well, then relocked the desk.

“D’you mind leaving that unlocked? We needed some files earlier today and couldn’t find them.”

“No. I won’t.” She turned to Paul. “I don’t have to do that, do I?”

“No, and you can press charges if they break the locks.”

“It’s our desk,” Tris protested, shocked.

“Yes, but unless you terminate her employment, in which case she would clean out the desk, the contents can be considered her intellectual property to which you have no right.”

Tristan looked at him in horror. “What are you, her lawyer?”

“Yes, actually, I am.”

Tris’s face went pasty at the rejoinder, and he almost staggered when Paul handed over his card.

“This is Pratt and Legend,” Tris said.

“Yes. We’re among the best in the city, I believe.” Paul smiled.

While the two men were facing off, Torie took a moment to check her files. So far, nothing had been disturbed. Paul’s words had reminded her that she had a stake in things. Given that, she selected several items from her file rack on her credenza. The folders contained ideas for breaking into new markets, ideas she was developing to present. They also included her personnel report on all her employees, and the review she’d been preparing on herself.

“Uh, Torie, I don’t think…”

“These are ideas in development. My ideas. I believe my attorney already indicated I was perfectly within my rights to take them with me.”

“Indeed you are, Ms. Hagen,” Paul said, nodding with a serious air. He turned a frowning gaze toward Tristan. “So, do you feel you need to be here, supervising what Ms. Hagen is doing? That feels a bit like harassment, don’t you think, ma’am?” He turned to her and raised an amused eyebrow when Tristan couldn’t see it.

“Uh, no. I guess not. Torie,” Tristan said, shrugging helplessly, “I’m really sorry about all this.”

She didn’t say anything. Part of her wanted to tell him it was okay, that she understood. Since she really didn’t understand, she kept silent. Paul’s presence helped her keep up the façade.

Tristan backed out of the office, and Paul shut the door behind him.

“Well,” he said and grinned. “That was fun.”

Torie sagged onto a corner of the desk. “You have an unusual sense of fun.”

He came over and put an arm around her shoulders, gave a squeeze. “No, it probably was nerve-wracking for you, but you put on a good show. I would never have known you weren’t cool as a cucumber. Except…”

“What?” She looked around, looking in vain for something he might be referring to.

“Except for when you nearly cried.”

“You’re a rat,” she said on a weak laugh, punching at his shoulder.

“Hey, don’t hit your lawyer. I might sue.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

“So, candidly,” Paul said, scooting onto the desk next to her, “you should take anything you don’t want someone looking at, or pawing through.”

“How about everything?”

Paul laughed. “I don’t think you have a briefcase big enough.” He pointed at the one sitting under the desk. “The nice thing is, you have one here, so you can take whatever files you want to protect.”

“Wow, I forgot. I didn’t take any work home that night.” She sighed. “Lord, it seems like a hundred years ago.”

“You usually take work home?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” They laughed at one another.

“Why didn’t you take work home that night?” Paul wondered.

Torie pushed off the desk and began filling her briefcase. Her mother had given it to her when she graduated with her master’s degree. “Well you know about the little, uh, escapade with Pam, of course.”

“Yeah, I guess that would preclude working.”

Torie laughed. “Actually, the snatch and grab didn’t take too long. Getting Bear’s chain undone from the fence where he’d been tied for the twenty-seventh night in a row took a lot more time.” She shoved a file in harder than she’d meant to and gave herself a paper cut. She shook the injured finger, then got back to packing the case. “I was going to call my mom, preempt her usual Thursday night call, and have a nice dinner.”

“Your mom calls you every Thursday?”

Torie smiled. “Yeah, since she went into assisted living, they have all this stuff they do. But Thursday nights are always open. She hates bingo. She’s lonely,” Torie offered, “sometimes she calls three or four times a week. She misses my dad. Still.”

Paul nodded. “My folks were close, too. With my mom gone, my dad fills up his time with hobbies.” Paul made air quotes around the word hobbies, telling Torie that the hobbies were fairly annoying. “My sister has to deal with it more than me, but motorcycle maintenance?”

“Really?” Torie stopped to stare. “You’re kidding, right? He’s not—”

“Oh, but he is. Never touched an engine in his life until sixty-seven, but now? Up to his elbows in it.”

“Wow. Wish my mom could find some sort of hobby other than calling me. She’s been calling every day. She wants Steven to fly back home. I keep telling her—” Torie suddenly realized how it all sounded, and tried to take it back. “I mean, not that I mind her calling, or anything. I’m glad she can, that she does. It’s just—” she broke off as Paul laughed.

“Oh, trust me, I know. My dad called virtually every night, right around bedtime, for about a year after my mom died. He was heading to bed, you know? Hated to go to sleep, knowing she wouldn’t be there. He’d call and talk for an hour or so, he’d get so sleepy, I’d have to yell at him sometimes.”

“Yell?”

“You know, he’d fall asleep talking to me and I’d be calling to him, ‘Dad, Dad? Wake up and go to bed.’”

“Well, at least I don’t put my mom to sleep.”

“Har, har. I’m guessing you said no to Steven and your mom, about coming, right?”

She knew they were both thinking about how easily her frail mother and her brother could be targets. “Absolutely.”

“Good. You about done there?” Paul reached for the briefcase handle as she did.

She jerked back. “Sorry. Thanks.”

“What is it?”

“I, um…” She looked around, anywhere but at him. “It’s my office. Seems weird to be in here. With you. Under these circumstances.” She hesitated, then continued, “I feel like we’re being watched. That’s weirder.”

Paul nodded. “Weirder. Yeah. Let’s go to dinner.”