Page 46 of Secondhand Secrets

The sting returned to the back of her eyes. This time, for an entirely different reason. “You and I, we were so close, yah know? Sure, I got on okay when you left, but I never did find someone to click with like I did with you. I don’t think Harlow ever felt more like home than these last few days with you back—”

Chip’s mouth crashed over hers, stealing her words, stealing her desire to care how this all looked to anyone passing by.

All she felt was his hungry need for her, an apt reply to the heat that still simmered within her since their reunion at the ball game. Now, his body pushed her hard against her car, her own desire embracing the pressure.

If she’d feared her persistent ache for him might swallow her whole, that fear now stepped aside to allow her to pull him closer, to grasp at the seemingly never-ending struggle to get her fill.

What with all the hot and heavy clawing, she must have crushed her keys in her purse and pressed the alarm button because just then, her car’s siren screeched to life.

The close horn-and-whoop combination struck like a drill to her brain, her heart jolting to an impossible clip and fit to pop. Chip laughed and untangled himself, giving her space for a frenzied search for her keys. He cupped his hands to his ears while she lacked the same luxury.

Just as she disabled the alarm, she peered up at him, the gold in his eyes a true glitter, his lips twisted in a poor attempt to hold back more laughter. But being the sympathetic sort—or maybe just experiencing the relief of escaping that sound—her own laugh broke free on a loud howl, and she pushed her hands to his chest in a jest for him to get away from her.

Every time she tried to gather her senses, her gaze met his, and she fell apart again. That he now joined her only meant that a solid minute passed before they won the struggle to regain control.

Her tummy ached, and she pressed her fingers to the inner corners of her eyes, stemming more tears. He reached out and put his hands on her hips, pulling her in for a kiss. A kiss that brought a sudden hush to her otherwise frantic soul.

“Get in the car and drive.” His voice hit her on a molten whisper, and he turned her to her still-open car door, dropping another scintillating kiss to the side of her neck. “It’s safe to say we never finished what we started yesterday.”

Twenty-One

Long before Mark’s chauffeur-driven car rolled to a stop in front of his new building, a group of eager-to-please suck-ups gathered at the curb ready to meet him. He shook his head behind the tinted glass and pulled his sunglasses from the beige console beside him in the backseat, quick to obscure his eyes.

Only a small handful of people knew his true identity or his plans here. Everyone else was meaningless. The quicker these blow-hards learned not to bother with groveling, the easier life would be for all.

He steeled his focus forward and away from the horde until his driver stepped out and held his door open, the man quick to push people back and leave room for him to cross the pavement.

What he did now was an act of pure theater, one where he set the tone for how others should treat him. As was customary, he’d already paid-off and fired this company’s board. And given the excess money he’d blown, they’d provided Mark early sway on certain projects and allowed him to place a few, choice calls.

The official change of power complete, the building’s giant tinted sliding doors welcomed him. His Italian leather shoes made first contact with the cavernous foyer’s glossy dark tile. Black and blue fixtures stared back at him. The classic colors of a tech company. A palette he’d always very much enjoyed.

Inside, more people stopped to stare, but he powered on toward the glass lifts, one of which designated for his use only. Yet another thing he’d negotiated in his plan to set the scene here.

And make no mistake. This was all part of a greater plan. A masterclass in revenge, so far beyond anything anyone at the Syndicate could hope to execute. No, they would have merely sought to kill Sarah and Dean, but Mark had more talent and brains than all of them.

He’d done his research. He’d found Chip Overton. Found Stonewall. Then set the wheels in motion to capture both. Now the clock ticked on what would be his magnum opus.

Nothing here would resemble the actions of a low-level street thug. He’d move beyond basic theft and violence. He’d co-ordinate the same perfect dance he’d performed time and time again, albeit on a smaller scale.

A dance called, Shared Liability.

He paused before the lift’s doors and ventured to turn his head. To lower his glasses and eye the bold and glowing sign above the entry’s big sliding doors. A sign that merely said Encode.

Chip Overton would return to Boston. He’d give his presentation and hand over access to his code, no threats or theft from Mark required, and he’d even go so far as to ensure all Mr. Overton’s dreams came true.

He’d win his coveted Graduate’s grant…

Then sign the rights to Stonewall away.

So easy. So above board. Overton would simply hand over Stonewall and his entire life. Because liability bought obedience.

Whatever Mark’s deplorable plans for Stonewall, Chip would be implicated. He’d incriminate himself in speaking out. He’d also die just trying. So being a quintessential spineless geek, he’d have no choice but to dedicate his life’s work to making Mark richer.

Twenty-Two

A week later, Ally sat amongst fifty other guests in her parent’s back garden. Her mom and sister sat on wooden deck chairs beside her, a fragrant barbecue sizzling clear across the yard, where Chip stood chatting to a few others.

What had started out as a small family party for him had turned into something much bigger since word of the event had gotten out, and Harlowans liked to take on the personal mission of inviting themselves and everyone they knew to these kinds of things.

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