Skin Tight

CHAPTER 5

The next week passed uneventfully enough.

Mia hadn’t made up her mind whether she really meant to leave Strong alone as promised. Her anger had mostly faded. Maybe she was being too trusting again, but she believed him when he said he’d been sure no harm would come to her. That didn’t mean she liked him for it, but she understood the need to be ruthless in dedication to completing a goal. She hadn’t built her business on sweetness and gumdrops.

As far as she could tell, he appeared to be doing a stellar impersonation of a human resources director. That didn’t mean he was harmless, of course. It wouldn’t surprise her if he meant to delay his plans until she completed her task and left the facility. He possessed that sort of unearthly patience.

Fortunately, she had other matters to occupy her mind. She made a list of the ten most likely suspects and then went about investigating them. Two she checked off almost at once. They’d been caught together in the copy room in flagrante delicto, an indiscretion so ridiculous that she refused to believe either of them was smart enough to pull off embezzlement on the scale Micor had reported: nearly four million dollars in the past two years.

The date stuck in her mind as she went over the data. Two years…

Thomas Strong had only been employed at the facility for three months. And Mia knew very well where he’d been a year prior. So, without a doubt, he wasn’t the thief, nor in all likelihood did he have anything to do with the missing money. She felt absurdly glad he’d been proven honest in this, at least.

However, if this case followed the precedent set by others she’d worked, the perpetrator had a set amount he wanted to reach and then he’d make a run for it. When an employee went missing without notice, that was all the evidence a company needed. At that point, resolution passed beyond Mia’s purview and went to bounty hunters. It could get ugly fast; she had no illusions about that. So she wasn’t just trying to catch a crooked employee; she was also trying to save a life.

“The labs are reporting a network issue,” Greg said, interrupting her reverie.

Her “boss” was proving to be a pain in the ass. He didn’t like it when he caught her going over paperwork, as if he suspected her of some petty espionage. More likely, he thought she was analyzing his Net usage logs. He spent more time looking at Busty Beauties than doing any real work, as far as Mia could see. Lucky for him, she hadn’t been brought in as an efficiency expert.

“I guess you’d like me to take the call?”

“You’re the low man on the roster.”

Mia forced a smile. “No problem. But I thought we weren’t allowed to go in the labs. All the classified research and all.”

“We’re the only department that can.” Greg managed to make it sound like a boast. “How else can we fix their computers if there’s a problem? Here’s the pass. It will get you in the security doors.”

Hm. She made a mental note of where he’d stashed it in his desk: top drawer, right side. Things couldn’t be all that hush-hush in the secure side if a guy like Greg controlled the access.

Of all the places she’d worked-and Mia had rotated through many companies in the course of her inquiries-this one most gave her the creeps. The halls were always silent, people clinging to their own departments as if they offered sanctuary from the wolves that roamed the corridors. She saw no one on the way to the east wing, which seemed odd, given the size of the complex.

She slid the pass through the card reader and then it demanded her ID. She scanned that and the door unlocked. The precaution made sense; if someone lifted the pass from Greg, the computer first confirmed that the user was a member of a department that would have business in the labs. She didn’t imagine that anyone outside of IT could pass the check.

As she stepped through the doors, she half expected ominous music or mysterious shadows, but it looked exactly the same on the other side. More interesting, there was another sealed door, down at the other end of the hall. On this side, they had set up what looked like a couple of computer labs, including servers.

But why would they separate their experiments from the equipment?

She supposed they might have more behind the wall that someone else maintained, someone in the labs. Otherwise, the workers would have to pass security checkpoints in order to log findings or use the computer stations for research. The first option made more sense, but she didn’t like what it portended. They’re doing something so secret, they don’t want to permit their IT people so much as a glimpse of it, even after contracts and NDAs?

Her unease grew.

There was one way to find out. She could ask Strong for a look at the personnel records of all the lab techs, including their résumés. If one of them had a background in computers, then they surely had a second network hidden behind those other doors. She was surprised nobody else in IT had asked about it. But maybe they liked getting paid too much for too little work and had all the natural inquisitiveness of dead clams.

With a shrug, she swung right into the first computer room. All the computers seemed to be networked fine. Internet access, check. Intranet, check. Intracompany e-mail let her send a test to Thomas Strong. She stifled a smile at what he would make of her cryptic text.

That left the lab on the left. In here, a woman sat, frowning at her terminal. She appeared to be in her midtwenties, brown hair, plain face. Her white coat said she worked past the second set of sealed doors. Mia repressed the urge to question her about what she saw over there.

“What’s going on?”

The other woman started, a testament to the eerie silence. When she saw Mia, she didn’t relax much. “I called in a complaint about the network,” she said, uncertain.

“And I’m here to fix things.” In more ways than one.

“What’s the error?”

“I’m trying to copy some research to a flash drive, but it tells me ‘file not found.’ ”

Oh, great. One of those. Greg said the problem was networking.

“Did you accidentally delete the file? Have you checked the trash?” She leaned over to pop open the folder, but it was empty.

“I’m not stupid,” the woman, whose badge read “Kelly Clark,” snapped. “That was the first thing I tried.”

“You did a search?”

Mia spent ten minutes helping the woman configure an advanced search with all the specific data she could remember, but the hard drive still came up with nothing. Very, very strange. The file was just gone, and it would take more sophisticated equipment than Mia had with her to attempt data recovery.

“I don’t understand it,” Kelly finally muttered.

“Does anyone else use this workstation?”

“Sure, lots of people. But I’m the only one who logs in under my name and password. My work should be private.”

Which made Mia wonder why Kelly wanted to put something on a flash drive. Was she taking it past the double doors back to the secret computer lab or out of the facility in violation of her NDA? Micor was setting off all kinds of alarms, but she wasn’t being paid to investigate inconsistencies or possible corporate espionage. If they had someone stealing secrets as well as money, they could pay her a second time to find out about it.

“If you remember when you’ve logged in, I could print a list for you. That would at least tell us if someone has gotten ahold of your password and deleted your data.”

Kelly nodded, her brown eyes glinting with comprehension. “Yes, I keep a log. If you could get me that list, it would be exceedingly helpful.”

Mia complied; she ran a search for the username and then printed a log of all access periods for the last sixty days. The lab tech took the list and got out her personal record. It didn’t take her long to find the discrepancy.

“Here,” she said, tapping the printout. “I took a personal day last week. But it shows I was in the system. I bet that’s the day my work went missing, too.”

“How much trouble will you be in?” It was really none of her business, but she had a prying nature, which was part of what made her good at her job.

That same trait had earned her a friend for life in Kyra because she wouldn’t leave the other girl alone. They’d shared such a short time together as neighbors, but they were fast friends by the time Kyra’s dad took her away again. Mia had cherished the letters that came after, her little window into the world, since her view never changed.

“I’m not sure. Yet.”

“Is there anyone who would benefit from making you look bad?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kelly said abruptly, as if she’d realized she had told Mia more than she’d intended. “I’ll sort it out. There’s nothing more you can do.”

Thus dismissed, Mia went back to work with more questions than answers. That was going to cause no end of trouble, because she’d never been good at leaving things alone.

He read the e-mail twice.

It was rare anyone could perplex him, but Mia Sauter had succeeded again. In summer, the song sings itself. Not code, for it was comprehensible, unless there was another meaning in the letters. An anagram?

eel ensiform stings gunsmiths

eel ensigns misforms shutting

He wasted a good five minutes on them, each more nonsensical than the last. Next, he considered alternate languages, before deciding there was nothing to it. Then he tried to put it from his mind.

Failed.

Eventually he gave in to temptation and Googled the phrase, not expecting it to be so simple. But it was: a fragment of a poem by William Carlos Williams. He had no idea what he was meant to extrapolate from it, if anything.

He could hear Mia saying, Sometimes a poem is just a poem.

He knew he had a tendency to make things complicated, webs inside webs. It came from long years spent living in someone else’s skin. But when he looked at her, something inside him insisted it could be simple, elemental, just a man and a woman.

Before he could rethink the impulse, he replied: There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion. Though she would have no idea he meant it as a compliment, she’d find the source faster than he had. Her problem-solving techniques were more direct, but no less effective.

That done, he forced himself to focus. He’d convinced the head of security that he needed access to the logs that said who went where, how long they stayed there, and what time they swiped in and out of the building. He said it was to verify payroll on the hourly employees, but that was a cover for his real interest. Sooner or later, he’d find someone interesting going into the labs, and then-

Oh, it couldn’t be.

Mia’s name practically leapt off the list. On staff a week and she’d already gained access. Dammit, he should’ve gotten a job in IT instead. No point in self-recrimination-he’d simply have to alter his plans. If necessary, he could tell her a portion of the truth. She was the sort of woman who could be inflamed by talk of injustice and cruelty, so a small portion of the truth might suffice.

There was no getting around it. He’d have to make use of her. He just wished the words didn’t summon such a luscious mental picture.

Her e-mail came in a few seconds later. Sir Francis Bacon. Though I do confess I had to search. Admit it, I stumped you with WCW. And so here’s another: O for a life of sensations rather than thoughts.

More poetry, he thought. The Internet confirmed it. John Keats this time. He found the quotes she chose illuminating, more than she might realize. The last one came from a woman too often bound by her intellect; her cleverness left her on the outside, looking in. He’d often played the role of observer, but for different reasons.

Knowing there would be a record of it, he nevertheless sent the reply with no more than a second’s hesitation. Keats. I’ll give the next quote in person. Dinner at 7?

The rest of the list offered nothing particularly helpful. He had no contact with anyone else who came and went inside the labs, nor any reason to think they might be open to bribery or coercion. No, Mia was his best bet.

He did find a few people trying to fudge their payroll sheets, however. If it were up to him, he’d let such small crimes go unpunished, but he was playing the role of Thomas Strong, straight arrow. He’d often wondered how Strong had found himself in circumstances that led to him being blown up. Before his trip to Moscow, the man had never done anything remotely interesting, as far as he could tell. He chose his skins well in that regard-nothing of interest, nothing memorable. The few occasions where he’d run into someone who knew the person he was impersonating, their expectations had immediately aligned. Most people had disgustingly weak minds and would accept almost anything, as long as it was plausible and didn’t contravene their understanding of the world.

Though he told himself he wasn’t watching the inbox, he found himself doing precisely that in between tasks that couldn’t wait. It was incredibly annoying to work according to someone else’s requirements.

It took the rest of the afternoon for her to reply. Seven it is. She’d also attached a map to a local restaurant. He printed that off and tucked it in his briefcase. How he hated the trappings of this life. The monotony was worse than pretending to be the ruthless, efficient Addison Foster; he’d almost enjoyed that incarnation in comparison.

Just before the end of the day, Todd popped into the doorway of his office. “We’ve wrapped up the evaluations, but I wonder if you could spare Glenna a little longer. I have some special projects I’d like her to work on.”

“As long as she’s willing.”

“She is. She mentioned you were thinking about letting her fill in for Mary?”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” He was curious whether Todd would evaluate Glenna honestly or try to keep her trapped beneath him forever.

The bastard hedged. “I don’t know. I haven’t worked closely with her long enough to be sure. Maybe you’d like me to write up my thoughts at the end of next week? Our project should wrap up by then.”

Strong offered a false smile full of bonhomie. “Sounds great! I’ll expect it then. Anything else?”

“Nope. Have a good evening.” The ginger-haired slug slid out into the hallway, no doubt congratulating himself on snagging a personal assistant.

It was a day for visitors. Mary came in next, shy and tentative with a bulging belly. She was a good worker, but she kept to herself most days and put up with more crap from Todd than he thought wise. Officially, he didn’t know about any of it, and he wouldn’t interfere unless somebody forced his hand.

“Have a seat,” he said, propping his elbows on the desk in what he privately called his confide in me pose. “What can I do for you?”

“I was just wondering if I could split Todd’s time with Glenna,” she mumbled in a rush. “I have a lot to get finished in the next few weeks, and I could really use her help more-”

“Sure.”

“I don’t see-What?”

“I said it’s fine. Fill out the paperwork, and I’ll sign off on it. If Todd gives you any trouble, send him to me. It makes sense for you to work with her anyway, if she’s going to fill in for you while you’re out.”

This was just the kind of thing he enjoyed. He’d created a tiny pocket of tension, opposing factions, and the prize at the center. Glenna might even appreciate being considered such. Now he could sit back and watch to see who wanted her the most. It would also probably boost Glenna’s self-esteem. It meant answering his own phone for a little longer, but he was enjoying the respite from her relentless efficiency.

To his dismay, her eyes filled. “Thank you so much. I’m so tired lately, and even though my doctor said I should be over the nausea by now, I still can’t keep anything down.” She gulped audibly, making him think she might upchuck on his desk if she didn’t calm down.

He withdrew a handkerchief from his jacket and passed it to her. “Try saltines and ginger ale before you get out of bed in the morning.”

That had been the only thing that righted his wife’s persnickety digestive system. Too clearly, he remembered bringing them to her in bed. How her wan face lit up and she’d whisper, “Thank you, James.”

James, the man she thought she’d married. Time after time, it broke his heart, until the pieces became too small even to be called dust. He’d thought everything worthwhile, though, when she gave him Lexie.

When he held his daughter for the first time, or when she called him “Dada” and she knew who she was talking to, nothing had ever been so precious.

He listened to Mary’s distress with impassive kindness, because that was the sort of thing Thomas Strong would do. And then he offered to let her take tomorrow off, make it a long weekend, and come back refreshed on Monday.

“You’re the best,” she said, brightening. “This won’t happen again, I swear.”

By the time he got rid of Mary Thompson, his mood had dropped into the abyss, drowning in memories. Regardless, he couldn’t let it slow him down; he had a “date.”

He shook his head at the absurdity of it and went to make himself ready.