Picked(16)

“Why don’t you answer my questions? I’m a paying customer. Who are you?”

“Maybe you should read the fine print.”

“The fine print of what?” I asked to myself. I saw the microphone blink, letting me know that he left.

Puzzled and feeling the exhaustion take over, I gave up. I’d find out later. I needed to sleep. My dad’s raised voice wasn’t the most pleasant sound first thing in the morning. I struggled enough trying to keep up without adding fatigue to the equation.

I tried to save and log off. It wouldn’t let me. A shiny silver mirror with a pink handle popped up with a warning. “Read the fine print?” I asked the empty room. Snowball had fallen asleep and stopped paying attention to me hours ago. What the hell? It wouldn’t even let me close it out. Not even when I tried ctrl, alt, delete. I could drop it down and get to my other programs, but it wouldn’t go away.

Spending another twenty minutes trying to get the stupid thing to go away, I failed. No matter what I did, I was stuck in the extravagant room, and it wouldn’t leave my computer. I shut it down, thinking I’d check after a couple hours of sleep. At least if my computer were hacked, no one could get into anything else.





Chapter 5





Shit. Shit. Shit. I bounced up and down, holding my big toe. I couldn’t oversleep. I hadn’t been one of the guys for a week yet. This was going to look great on my rookie badge. Trying to find something clean to wear in the mess I called my room, I tossed clothes, looking for something that smelled fresh. Pulling on a pair of khakis and a red button up shirt, I grabbed my laptop, not having the time to see if the game was still there or not. I’d be stuck in traffic, I could do my hair and makeup in the car, I decided, rushing out the door.

Making it a quarter mile from the office, my car slowed to a crawl, allowing me the needed time to make myself presentable. I wasn’t going to hide the puffiness and dark circles around my eyes, no matter how much makeup I used. Applying my makeup, I thought about the game and beer guy. Nothing made sense to me. I didn’t understand why he was able to follow me after I figured out the code. No one else could, or didn’t anyway.

Being a little late helped with the traffic and I was able to make it to the conference room halfway through the meeting. I stumbled when my father unexpectedly opened the door for me.

“Sorry,” I offered, walking to my cold metal chair with my head down.

He offered me his dirty look in exchange and continued to discuss Matt’s next move on his cheating spouse case.

“What do you have, Cass?” my father asked. I wished he’d sit down. I knew he was pissed when he stood and paced above me.

“I think Mr. Zimmer is really hurt. I got footage of him struggling to make it to his mailbox and back to his front door,” I explained, sure I’d just heard an exasperated sigh come from my dad.

He moved on, moving around the table. The whole crew knew when he was in a mood. It was all business. Each agent gave their results and told him what he wanted to hear until he dismissed them. I tried to get away, too, but received a straight finger back to my chair when I fell in line.

Jumping from the sound of a slamming door, I prepared myself for the tornado.

“You think this is all fun and games, Cass?” he began.

“No. I said I was sorry.”

“Where were you?”

“I got stuck in traffic,” I lied, bowing my head while trying to hide the evidence flushing my cheeks.

His hand came down hard on the table in front of me. Knowing it wouldn’t do a bit of good to blow my top, too, I kept it together, wondering why I let him control my life. I was twenty-two. I had my own house, my own car, and I could find my own job. I didn’t need his approval anymore. And yet, I sought after it, hoping to please him.

“We’re in the city. We were all stuck in traffic. Where were you?”

“I overslept. I was up late working on the Zimmer case.” I looked straight at him this time. My face was still crimson from the last lie. He wouldn’t be able to tell which one I was blushing from. Smiling on the inside, I pulled it off. My dad studied me, nodding.

“You’ve been working pretty hard on this case,” he suspected.

“Yes. I have,” I continued with my straight-faced glare.

“And you think this guy is really hurt, huh?”

“Yes. I can show you the footage. I am one hundred percent sure.”

Taking a deep breath, my father stood and slid three photos from a manila folder. I felt like the biggest failure on earth when I saw the photos of poor Mr. Zimmer. There was one of him shooting hoops in someone’s driveway with a couple of older men, and one of him diving off a diving board into a city pool. And then one with him working on a truck, laying underneath the engine on the ground. He didn’t look hurt at all.