Code of Conduct (Cipher Security Book 1) Read online

  I studied her as she approached. To be fair, I felt studied as well. She had on a black linen t-shirt and black jeans and wore her hair in a single braid over one shoulder. Low, flat boots completed the ensemble, and her prosthetic was invisible even to one who looked for signs of it.

  “And now that I’m here, what are we going to do?” she said. She was playing her cards close to the chest, giving me nothing useful. She was very good at whatever it was she did.

  “There’s a condo for sale in this building.” I indicated the building in front of us. “I’d like your help deciding whether to buy it.”

  “In this building?” It might have been my imagination, but I thought she squeaked, and I studied her even more closely. Damn, this woman was fascinating, and I still didn’t even know her name.

  A slight flush rose on her cheeks, and an idea began to rise in my brain. “What can you tell me about the building?”

  Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Sadly, my question was answered by a woman I presumed was the realtor.

  “It was built in 1908 by Pridewater in the Tudor style. There are some who believe it was once the British embassy. You must be Mr. Eze.” The woman wore a yellow suit that clashed with her sallow skin, but apart from the unfortunate color choice, everything about her was pulled together to “professional attire” perfection. She had already assessed the cut and quality of my suit and was turning her attention to my companion. The realtor held out her hand to shake Darling’s, and I struggled to keep my expression blank.

  “I’m Trisha Blake,” she said brusquely.

  “Good to meet you, Trisha. What can you tell Gabriel about the neighborhood?” Darling said with a pleasant smile. Damn. Still no name.

  Trisha proceeded to describe the historical preservation of Edgewater and the gentrification of the area in general as she led us inside the courtyard and into the red brick building. I indicated that Darling should go ahead of me, and I found my hand naturally going to the small of her back as I held open the door.

  I could feel the heat from her skin through the thin linen of her t-shirt, and I let my hand linger beyond what was polite or appropriate. She looked into my eyes and said thank you, and a queer, giddy sensation washed over me.

  Trisha nattered on about architectural features, but my focus had somehow narrowed to the woman at my side. She was nearly my height, with eyes that changed color according to the light. At the moment they were green, and I very nearly tripped up the stairs as I studied them.

  She wore some indescribable fragrance – some combination of vanilla and amber that might have been soap, or skin crème, or essential oil. I caught rare hints of it when she turned, or when I was close enough to catch the color of her eyes, and I found myself leaning close, even when she was in front of me, just to inhale.

  We’d stopped outside a door, and I snapped back to myself in time to remember why I’d asked Trisha to come. “This,” she said with a dramatic flourish, “is the apartment.”

  She opened the door and stepped inside, presumably to turn on lights and make the place look welcoming. I’m sure it did, though I couldn’t say for sure. My focus was on the other woman with me. She’d lost the nervousness she’d worn when I first encountered her outside the building, and her expression had opened into something like peace, and maybe wonder.

  “Do you like it?” I murmured to her as she stopped to admire what was admittedly an intriguing view from the big windows in the tower room.

  “The light is beautiful,” she breathed, as she took in the view.

  The glow of sunlight on her skin showed the remnants of a tan, and tiny freckles dotted her nose and cheeks as her eyes, again green, took in the scene.

  “Beautiful,” I agreed, and she looked at me. I was too close, I knew, but I couldn’t make myself step back. She didn’t blink or look away, and I was drawn to her as though she was a magnet and I was iron.

  “There are two bedrooms through here if you’d like to take a look,” Trisha buzzed, somewhere near my ear like a fly. I blinked and realized that the realtor was on the other side of the room waiting for us to join her for the rest of the tour.

  I smiled slowly and answered Trisha, but spoke to the woman next to me. “Right. The bedrooms.”

  Darling flushed, and I wanted to touch her face, to feel the heat of her cheeks. Then her eyebrow quirked up and a gleam of mischievousness lit her eyes.

  “Wouldn’t want to miss … the bedrooms,” she said, dropping her voice dramatically.

  She spun to follow Trisha through the apartment, and I watched her walk away with extreme appreciation for the excellent view. Then she tossed a look over her shoulder that made me swallow tightly.

  The larger of the two bedrooms had a fireplace that may have been original to the building, and a big window that overlooked the peaceful courtyard. Despite my preoccupation with my lovely companion, I actually took a moment to notice the details of the apartment. 1908 was young by London standards, but the building had been renovated in the last ten years, and the attention to period details was done with a light but sure touch. The spaces had great natural light, the rooms were large enough for a person of my height to feel comfortable, and it was elegant and clean without fussiness.

  Darling was standing at the bedroom window pointedly avoiding my gaze, so I finally directed my attention to Trisha. “What can you tell me about the other tenants in the building?” I asked.

  Darling’s shoulders tensed so slightly I would have missed it if I hadn’t been looking for it.

  “Lots of young professional couples, a few with children, mostly owners. Some of the owners have leased their apartments, but those tend to be the smaller ones.”

  “Are dogs allowed in the building?” I asked.

  I definitely wasn’t imagining the catch in Darling’s breath.

  “Yes, but to my knowledge, there are only one or two. They’re well-behaved, and the owners are quite conscientious about making sure they’re quiet.”

  “Any big dogs?” I asked.

  “I believe so. A Bernese mountain dog. I’ve seen him in the courtyard with his owner …” Trisha trailed off and turned her attention to Darling. “Of course, you’re a tenant in the building. I’m so sorry, I thought you looked familiar, but I couldn’t place you.”

  Darling’s voice was tight, but she smiled convincingly. “It’s no problem. I didn’t expect you’d know me.”

  “Oh, but no one could forget your beautiful dog. Oscar, isn’t it? I’m friends with Jorge’s mother, and she said he just dotes on that dog.”

  Who the hell was Jorge, and why did he dote on Darling’s dog?

  “Well, speaking of my dog, I need to take him for a walk. It was nice to see you again, Trisha,” Darling said to the realtor with a brightness that sounded brittle to my ears. She turned to me, her smile tight in a way that made her eyes go stormy. “Gabriel, thank you for letting me see the apartment with you. I’d always wondered what these big places looked like.”

  She left the room before I could answer, and I trailed her to the door. “Let me walk you home.”

  She turned to face me. “No.”

  “It’ll take five minutes to find out which apartment you’re in,” I said inanely, as if that could make a difference.

  She reached out and I flinched, thinking I’d be slapped. Instead, she touched my cheek with a wry shake of her head. “Have a good day, Gabriel.”

  I exhaled in defeat. “You never said if I should take the apartment.”

  She looked surprised at that. “You’re actually considering it?”

  “It’s why I’m here.” She could believe me or not, but it was true.

  Darling crossed her arms in front of her and looked past me into the grand living space with its big windows and lovely light. She seemed to choose honesty rather than convenience. “If you can afford it, you won’t find anything nicer for the price.” She turned to head down the stairs. “I’ve heard the neighbors are pretty rough
, though,” she said, without looking back.

  11

  Shane

  “Fear and excitement produce the exact same physiological response. It’s what you do with all that adrenaline that makes things interesting.” – Shane, P.I.

  I took Oscar out for a run immediately. I didn’t want to take the chance that Gabriel would ask for my apartment number or wait for me outside the building, so my hound and I did ten easy miles along Lakefront Trail. About mile five I stopped being annoyed, and by mile eight I was smiling through the pain.

  I was smitten. More than smitten, actually. Probably something closer to besotted, with a side of lustful thoughts for added intrigue.

  Oh my.

  There was something about the way Gabriel looked at me, like I didn’t quite fit his world view, or maybe as though I were a fascinating new species of bird – something about the way his eyes found mine and held me … not captive, but safe.

  I didn’t know what to do with the thought that someone else could keep me safe. No one had done that in a long time, and honestly, the job hadn’t really been open for applicants.

  “Hey!” Some guy yelled at me from the street. I was almost to the intersection of Bryn Mawr and Sheridan, my muscles ached, my lungs hurt, and I wanted to go home and soak in a bath. I ignored the guy, turned left, and tightened Oscar’s lead to adjust for traffic. I heard a horn honk behind me, and the squeal of tires, and the same guy called out, “Hey, Sophie!”

  Uh oh.

  I side-eyed a look at the car edging up next to me. It was a new, red Tesla Model S, and the passenger window rolled down so the driver could see me.

  Abruptly I turned right and sprinted down an alley across from the old Edgewater Beach Apartments. Dane Quimby swore and slammed on his brakes. Someone was going to hit him if he drove like a moron, but that would keep him busy enough for me to disappear. I turned onto a side street and pulled Oscar even closer. He sensed my urgency and picked up his pace, though we were both near the end of our reserves.

  The Tesla turned the corner, and I ducked down a different alley, changing directions so abruptly that I had to yank Oscar with me.

  “Sorry, baby. I’ll make it up to you,” I gasped to him as we darted back toward Edgewater.

  I could hear tires squealing on the next block, but it was a one-way street, and I thought we could make it to our building before he could turn another corner to spot us. It was a huge risk, because I really didn’t want Quimby to know where I lived. It was bad enough he knew where I ran and what my dog looked like. Somehow, having Gabriel discover those same things hadn’t felt nearly as dangerous to my well-being, though my freedom was potentially at stake with either man.

  I didn’t wait for the light, and I silently prayed to the traffic gods to keep my dog safe as we bolted across the avenue and into the service alley behind my building. I heard squealing tires from the street. I pressed myself into the service entry, punched the code, and pulled Oscar inside the vestibule just as the car nose slid past the alley entrance. My heart was pounding from much more than the ten miles we’d just run, but I didn’t wait for the elevator. Oscar and I raced up the stairs to the second floor, and we were both breathing hard when I finally unlocked my apartment door.

  I shot the deadbolt home behind me, unclipped Oscar’s leash and got him a giant bowl of fresh water. Finally, I collapsed on the couch in a sweaty, panting mess of shaking muscles.

  I held up my right leg and studied the cheetah leg/tights combo I wore. Dane hadn’t known I was an amputee, and I wondered if he did now. The tights were black, the leg was black. There was no shoe on the end, which might have caught his attention, but he’d been driving on my left side, and that was the side I kept Oscar on so I didn’t accidentally kick him with a leg I couldn’t feel.

  I decided that Dane had been studying my face to make sure I was actually the woman he knew as Sophie. And studying my face meant he hadn’t noticed my leg.

  I pulled up the bottom of the tights and peeled off the sleeve, socket, and liner. I was using the new ones Sparky had gotten from AMP’D Gear, and I’d just done ten miles without a hot spot on my stump. The politically correct term was residual limb, but that was too many syllables for the seven inches of lower leg that remained attached to my knee. I flexed the knee and was happy to feel nothing beyond the ache of hard use. There’d been so much pain the first year that I still anticipated agony every time I tried a new prosthetic.

  I wanted to call Gabriel. I wanted to feel safe. But that was just crazy – Gabriel Eze had as much reason to find me as Dane did – Dane’s company was Cipher’s client, and Dane’s bank account had been lightened on their watch. Gabriel knew I was responsible for that, but he had no legal proof, and I wasn’t about to hand him any.

  I peeled my tights the rest of the way off, then hopped down the hall to the bathroom. The tub was an old-fashioned clawfoot which the owner had re-enameled, and it was the best thing about the apartment – long and wide enough to lie down in, and with one leg folded in half, I could be fully covered in water.

  I pulled up the audio version of the newest Iron Druid book, turned my phone on speaker, and when the tub was full, I sank into the hot water with a sigh. Luke Daniels could read a shampoo bottle and I’d listen, but my mind kept drifting off of Atticus’ and Oberon’s adventures, and was instead hopping from rock to rock in the garden of ADDATA, the Quimbys, and Gabriel. I wasn’t even annoyed when the phone rang and interrupted the story, because I knew I’d have to go back to the beginning of the chapter anyway.

  It was on its fourth ring when I finally dried off my hand and reached to answer it, so I hit the speaker button just as I looked at the screen.

  Gabriel’s name startled me so much I didn’t say anything – I just sat up in the tub and stared at the phone.

  “Please say you’re not in the bath.” Gabriel’s voice was quiet, deep, and had a note of pleading in it.

  “What do you want, Gabriel?” I moved again, and the water sloshed around me. I knew he could hear it because he groaned softly.

  “Where to begin.” It was almost a whisper, and the words sent a shiver through me. He cleared his throat and continued in his normal, beautiful voice. “We had a call from Quimby. He said he’d found you and wondered what we were going to do about it.” I didn’t say anything, and the silence lasted two long heartbeats. “Are you okay?” he finally asked, quietly.

  “He saw me turn from Bryn Mawr onto Sheridan. I lost him in the alleys.”

  Gabriel exhaled. “Good.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be finding his money? Or his wife? Or something else he misplaced?”

  “Do you have his money or his wife?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? What exactly do you want from me, Gabriel?” I sat forward and the water sloshed again. I traced the ripples with my fingers as I heard his sigh.

  “I don’t know. I just know that every time you move, I hear the water in your bath, and I imagine …” He exhaled sharply. “Be careful, darling. I don’t trust Quimby not to try to hurt you if he can. Don’t let him catch you.”

  “You haven’t caught me yet, and you’re far more resourceful than that little man.”

  He chuckled softly. “Yet.” He hung up the phone without saying goodbye, and Luke Daniels’ voice returned, continuing the story as I sank down in the water and let its heat lap over the chills on my skin.

  12

  Gabriel

  “Don’t shit on a plate and tell me it’s fudge.” – Dan O’Malley

  I put my phone down and sat back from the conference table. What did I want from her, this woman who had captured my imagination such that even the sound of her bathwater made my heart pound uncomfortably. Or perhaps especially the sound of her in the bath. That would be simpler, of course. Pure lust would be much simpler to take in hand …

  I winced at the bad pun and then chuckled at myself. Wanker.

  A hear
t emoji dinged on the screen of my phone. My sister, Kendra, checking in.

  How goes the American justice system? I typed.

  My con law prof is an originalist who ignores the social context of the framers, she wrote.

  Second Amendment?

  Indeed. I could practically hear the disgust behind the word.

  Can’t win that one in this country, I wrote.

  The kids might, she rejoined.

  I sent her a heart in return and signed off. My sister had found her passion in U.S. Constitutional law, which was the source for no end of jokes from her British friends. But I believed that at heart she was merely a humanist in the classic sense of the word, with an abiding belief in the responsibility and right of all people to lead meaningful, ethical lives capable of adding to the greater good of humanity. The original framers of the U.S. Constitution had been rare visionaries for their time who had managed to turn their ideas into ideals by which a nation formed. I think that appealed to her sense that anything was possible to one willing to put mind, body, and soul into it.

  It also made me wonder about some logistics as they concerned one Dane Quimby. I got up and went in search of O’Malley.

  I found him in the kitchen making himself a cup of tea. He looked up when I came in, and my eyebrows rose in surprise. “Tea? You strike me as a coffee man through and through.”

  He snorted. “I take my coffee black, and I wanted something sweet. The options were tea and hot chocolate, and the fake marshmallows in the packaged shit taste like freeze-dried ass pellets, so tea it is.”

  I bit back the bark of laughter at his tirade and managed to keep a straight face. “Now that you mention it, the powdered chocolate is a rather distressing shade of brown.”

  O’Malley smirked and added four lumps of brown sugar to his tea. I refrained from comment. “Do we have access to information on weapons license holders for the State of Illinois?”