His forehead drops to my neck when he hears his name on my lips and he groans. “That’s right, baby. I’m fucking you. You’re mine, now.” His mouth crushes mine in a carnal, brutal kiss. “This is where it starts. You and me.” His strokes are getting faster, deeper, harder. “You hear me? No more running.”
His hips move in a circle and I nearly shatter. I feel it building again inside me — I don’t know how much more I can take before I explode under his hands.
“Say it, Zoe.”
“No more running,” I manage to gasp as he pushes deeper.
“You and me,” he repeats. “Together.”
I nod and pull him closer, nails digging into his back so hard I’m afraid I’ll break the skin. “Together.”
“That’s right baby.”
He drives deep one last time, his shoulders shaking as he finds release, and I cry out his name as my world flips on its axis again.
It’s just sex, I think as I lay beneath him, trembling from the force of my attraction, from the things he made me feel, from the boundaries he pushed, both physical and emotional.
Just sex.
So… why is it suddenly so unimaginable to think about having another throwaway one-night-stand ever again? And why don’t I protest when he cradles me close to his chest, his lips in my hair and his hands splayed across my skin, like he can’t quite bring himself to let go?
I don’t know.
All I do know is…
Lying inside the span of his arms is the safest place I’ve spent a night since my parents were killed. And that’s not something you question.
It’s something you treasure.
* * *
I don’t wake him when I slide out of bed a few hours later and pad my way over to the bank of computers by the far wall, tugging his giant black sweater on over my head as I go. I’ve decided I’m not returning it; after a week in my possession, I’ve grown too fond of it to let him take it back.
Possession is nine-tenths of the law.
I make sure to toggle off the volume as the monitors power up, so as not to wake Parker. I can’t sleep. No matter how I’ve tried to quiet my mind, thoughts of Lancaster and the Lynn Factory keep haunting me, playing over and over until I have no choice but to confront them.
It’s late, so Luca’s probably asleep, but I send him a quick text anyway, reminding him to check out the factory pipes if he has a chance tomorrow. Then, I crack my neck, flex my wrists, and dive down the rabbit hole.
The Clover virus has spread completely through the LC network, by this point — I have access to almost all their files and servers. Which is great… but it’s also a lot more information than I thought it would be. It’ll take me several years to pour through all of it.
I feel like Sisyphus pushing a damn boulder up a mountainside as I attempt to read through emails and business contracts, ledgers and financial reports. Any headway I make feels imperceptible in the face of so much material.
An hour ticks by, then two. Legal jargon blurs before my bleary eyes as they fly over the screen. I’m practically asleep on my keyboard when I finally discover something — well, I think it’s something.
Deep in the archives of permits and safety inspections, there’s a bevy of deleted documents, left behind like invisible strands of DNA at the scene of a homicide. The average computer user will drag and drop a file into their desktop trash bin and assume it’s gone forever.
That’s rarely the case.
The file still exists until it’s been permanently scrubbed from the hard drive. If you’re looking for something suspicious on a computer… My advice? Search for the things they tried to delete from existence. That’s usually a good place to start.
And it’s exactly where I find the first clue in the LC case.
The single-page document looks like a hundred other documents I’ve scrolled past, tonight, but a short, four-letter word catches my eye.
PIPE
My eyes widen as they read. It’s a work order for new pipes to be installed at the Lynn Factory.
In itself, that’s not particularly earth-shattering.
The weird part is… it’s dated two days after the plant closed for business. Those shiny pipes I saw when I snuck in were brand new.
So, Lancaster replaced them after closing the place down.
But why?
The question nags at me like a paper cut on a knuckle, refusing to heal over no matter how long I stare at the screen. When Luca suggested we take down Lancaster, I was hesitant. Now that I’ve started digging, I’m too invested in the project to turn back. I have to know the answer, have to solve the mystery.
Before I fall asleep at my desk, I email a PDF of the work order to Luca and print out a copy for my own files. I’ve just popped the last Reese’s cup from my stash into my mouth when I feel two hands settle on my shoulders and a warm, wet set of lips hit my neck.
“Come back to bed,” Parker murmurs, his voice still husky from sleep.
“Can’t,” I say around a mouthful of chocolate. “I’m working.”
“It’s two in the morning.”
I shrug.
He sighs and crouches down beside me to peer at my screen. “This the Lancaster case?”
I dart a wary glance at him and nod.
Parker’s eyes are still on the screen. “What are you looking for?”