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Right.
What was wrong with me that I hadn’t realized that myself?
I felt like my brain was in this thick, toxic fog, like nothing could break through.
I hated not being on my game.
I hated feeling like I was behind, frantically trying to catch up.
That wasn’t the image I wanted to project.
I worked so hard never to come off as someone unprepared or low to pick things up.
It had been a long day.
And it was barely the afternoon.
I was just drained – physically, emotionally, and, let’s face it… financially.
I would feel better once we had some answers, once I knew the situation wasn’t completely hopeless.
“How are you going to get in then?” I heard myself ask, watching as what could only be called a sly smile pulled at his lips, a look that said Come on now, Jules. “Oh, right,” I said, nodding.
So, this was how I would become a felon.
What a wild day.
If you had told me twenty-four hours ago that everything I knew myself to be – careful, safe, smart, and law-abiding, would be completely ripped away from me, I would have had a good laugh. Likely a much-needed one. But also a completely disbelieving one.
But there I was, following Kai to a side entrance, watching him jimmy open a lock, leading us easily up a stairwell to the floor I told him Gary worked on.
“What about the cameras?” I heard my worried voice ask when we got to the door to the floor.
“This isn’t some big operation. They would likely only watch them if there was something wrong. Since we won’t be triggering anything or taking anything, there would be no reason to check them.”
I suddenly felt foolish for the idea in my head of some guy sitting in the basement surrounded by half a dozen security cameras, one hand poised over the phone, ready to call the cops, and have us hauled in for breaking and entering.
That was a situation even Quin might not be able to fix.
I guess – as much as I did know – there was still a lot to learn.
Hopefully, though, not firsthand.
I was a lot of things.
A adrenaline junkie was not one of them.
And, I was convinced, there had to be a part of you that was drawn to that to be able to live the lifestyle Quin and his team did. Even people like Finn and Kai who you would never normally think that of. They were drawn to this not only because Finn had a skill for cleaning and Kai had a innate ability to talk his way into and out of any situation.
They lived their lives constantly flirting with danger, with threats from bad people and the ‘good guys’ in equal turns.
A hand closed around my wrist, gentle but insistent, tugging me forward, yet again making me realize how in my own little world I was as he pulled me into a hallway, holding up a hand to me, silently asking me where we were going.
I had no idea what was happening until my hand moved on its own, until it slid up, finding his palm, his fingers, curling in on instinct, on impulse. Under mine, his hand twitched, almost like he was going to pull away before his hand curled into mine, fingers lacing between, gripping tighter.
And there it was again.
The chest thing.
I took a deep breath, trying to move past it, as I turned away, pulling him with me down the hall toward Gary’s office, dropping his hand as soon as we stepped inside, feeling the odd need to shake off the sensation there, like a tingling, a current of electrical shocks over the surface of my palm.
Kai moved past me, head ducked, hand opening and closing a few times as he went around Gary’s desk, immediately getting to work on his computer.
Left feeling useless – one of the most hated sensations I was familiar with – I walked around his space, mildly annoyed when it smelled like him, looking for things maybe I had missed before, so caught up in my own dreams and ambitions for us as a couple that I was blind to warning signs.
There were no pictures.
But, for me, that wasn’t unusual.
No one at the office had personal pictures on their desks or walls.
There was a suit jacket on a hook behind the door. I went to it, feeling around in the pockets as Kai clicked around on the keyboard.
I found a receipt for gas, another for the coffee he had brought me one afternoon. Without the caramel he knew I wanted. There were a couple of quarters. And a lighter.
Lighter.
My Gary hadn’t smoked.
It would have been a deal-breaker for me.
But just like Computer Gary wore glasses, I guess Office Gary smoked.
Just one more falsehood, one more reason to beat myself down a bit.
I mean, how could I have believed him when he said he smelled like cigarettes because he took his break outside with people in the office who smoked? How naive could I be?
