Page 5 of Relinquish

Cade opens the door but waits for Pete to answer rather than slamming the door back in my face and leaving me in the airlock. Brownie points for that.

Pete grins. “Lizzie’s team came in second in the tournament, and Bobby’s team won. It was a great weekend. I also found out my daughter is pregnant again, which will make three grandchildren for me to spoil.” He holds up three fingers.

“Lola, are you coming?” Cade shifts his weight as he holds the door open. “I need to get upstairs.”

“I’m coming.” Shit. My spirits plummet. He’s chomping at the bit to blab my mishap to Mr. Truman.

I wave at Pete, but my arm sags back down to my side. “Congratulations on the upcoming addition to your family.”

“Thanks. Have a good day,” Pete calls out. Yeah, that’s not likely.

The door slams shut, and Cade frowns. “You sure know how to butter people up to get them on your side. You’ve only been here a week and know Pete’s life story. How is that possible? I didn’t even know he has kids, let alone grandchildren.”

“It’s nothing. I was waiting the first day for Mr. Truman, and Pete was nice enough to keep me from bolting. I was anxious about the interview. New city. No job. Only one friend in the area. I was about to jump out of my skin, and he helped calm me down. By the time Mr. Truman’s assistant came and got me, I was laughing so hard that I was crying. Pete’s grandson, Bobby, had flushed a Matchbox car down the toilet, leaving the entire bathroom flooded. They couldn’t get it out. In the end, they had to cut into the plumbing line in the basement.” I wrinkle my nose. “You can imagine what happened next. Anyway, I kind of give him credit for me getting the job.” I inhale, and the scent of lemon cleaner floods my nose.

Wow. Did you need to tell him your life story?

“I see.”

‘I see?’ Look at me. I’m Chatty Kathy, and all he can contribute to the conversation is, ‘I see.’ I narrow my eyes and cock my head. “You never answered my question. Why did you get into this line of work if you don’t like helping people?”

He shrugs. “Truman needed a computer expert and knew my credentials. He agreed to my stipulation of no field work, so it seemed like a perfect fit. Besides, it’s damn good money.” He shakes his head. “But that doesn’t mean I’m out to save the world.”

Mr. Truman explained when I was hired that most of his employees are ex-military and law enforcement. How does Cade fit in? My gaze drifts over his tight black T-shirt, BDUs, and combat boots. The guy makes no sense. He looks like he’s ex-military–nothing about him screams computer geek.

“There are people out there worth saving. Maybe you’ll realize that …” ‘Again’ almost slips out of my mouth, but I hold it back. It’s clear he doesn’t want me psychoanalyzing him, and I don’t know him from Adam. Maybe he’s never given a shit. “Never mind.” I shake my head. “Forget I said anything.”

“That’s your opinion.” He heads toward the stairs. “Try not to jump into any burning buildings. I’m not going to make a habit of rescuing you.”

“I can take care of myself,” I mumble too low for him to hear. As I march to the first-floor ladies’ room, my feet pat on the floor. I fight the urge to beg him not to tell Mr. Truman about the incident. But I don’t. It’s pointless. He doesn’t like me, and showing weakness wouldn’t put me in any better light.

I’ve got to plead my own case. This whole move is about me doing things independently and proving I don’t need anyone’s help. But before I go find Mr. Truman, I must do something about my hair.

After the bathroom door shut, I stand in front of the mirror with my mouth gaped open–no wonder he didn’t want to rescue me. My hair sticks out in all directions as one bobby pin dangles from its edge, hanging on to a lock of hair for dear life. My stockings are ripped. And there’s a black smudge across my cheek. I look like I was the one in the car accident.

I lean across the sink and study the marking. Is that tar? After swiping at it, I smell my index finger. Road tar. Great. That’s not going to come off.

Chapter Four

Cade

I collapse into my oversized recliner and flip on the game. Tension eases out of my body, breath by breath. “Strike three,” the announcer says, and the batter stalks to the dugout. This was the longest day ever.

Even after one last glimpse of Lola trudging across the lobby with her head held high, I stalked to Truman’s office with one mission–convincing him to fire her.

Her recklessness is only one problem. Her father’s political and financial clout is another. It’s kind of a big deal to keep a low profile as a security company. Or at least it should be. Blasting one of us on the news or the front page of the tabloids would be stupid.

As I lean into the cushions, I drift back to the conversation.

I knocked on the doorframe and poked my head inside Truman’s door. “Got a sec?”

Truman pulled his glasses down toward the tip of his nose and glanced over the top of the frame. Piles of reports topped his desk with pens, sticky notes, and markers strewn in all directions. “Come on in and take a seat. How can I help you?”

As my eyes traveled over his desk, I winced. What a cluster. For a man who spent most of his adulthood in the military, he’s one of the least organized men I know–with paperwork. In the field, he could lead three ground assaults simultaneously while drinking coffee and walking backward.

I settled into the leather chair with both feet planted flat on the floor. “Lola ran into some trouble this morning.” Saying her name caused a shudder to ripple down my spine. Why did I call her Lola? She has a last name. Keep things professional. But if I correct myself now, I’ll look like an idiot. Heat crept up my neck as I steeled myself against a further response.

“Is she okay?”

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