His Alone (For Her 2)

I cast my eyes toward the door, and Jordan’s forehead crinkles. The scar that runs from his temple down his cheek pulls tight. I’ve always wondered how he got it. He isn’t like the rest of the men here in Security. Sure, he holds his own, but he’s normally behind a computer screen, so that scar and how he got it have always piqued my interest. I’d get it if it was McCoy, Grant or Sheppard. They all spent years in the services, and I know Sheppard even used to run a SWAT team. Scars on them add up, but not on Jordan. In fact, I don’t know much about Jordan at all. The others like to talk. Him, not so much.

Not waiting to see if he’ll follow, I stand up. Captain looks up at me, and I answer before he can even ask.

“Ladies’ room.”

“Maybe if you laid off all the Red Bull…” Grant says, and I ignore him. They’re always giving me shit about it, but they drink my weight in coffee.

“I could use a drink,” Jordan mutters, standing up.

“Grant, you don’t want to see me without my Red Bull,” I tease in return as I leave the room, Jordan not far behind. I don’t worry when I grab ahold of him and pull him into the ladies’ room. I’m the only woman on the security team, and Security takes up the whole floor. We don’t need the space, but only we are allowed on this floor, so I know Jordan and I won’t be interrupted. He comes easily and sports a bored look on his face. Almost like he wants to get this over with. Probably wants me to stop staring at him, thinking I’m looking at the scar he tries to hide behind his hair. He sometimes lets it hang over that side of his face on purpose.

“Jesus, Turner,” he mutters, shaking his head at me.

“I know, right? I bet this bathroom is way cleaner than yours.” I crack a smile, but he gives me nothing. God, this guy is a stone. Not even a smirk.

“I need your help,” I tell him, finally getting his attention. The bored look fades away and curiosity takes hold. I don’t often ask for help, even though I’m new. It’s hard for me. Even harder when I have to ask a man. He stands a little taller, like he’s gearing up to protect me. “I think this guy is stalking me and, well…” I trail off, like I’m so frazzled I can’t finish the rest of my sentence. I wring my hands to play up the effect.

“Okay, I’m sure the team can find out—”

“No.” I cut him off. “This is really embarrassing.” I shift from foot to foot. “You see, we kind of had this one-night stand and I think maybe he recorded us.” Jordan’s eyes go a little wide at that. “He’s threatening to send the video out if I don’t go out with him again.”

“Are you fucking shitting me?” Jordan squares his shoulders like he’s ready to fight.

“Thing is, I think he’s bluffing. I got really drunk and I’m pretty sure we didn’t, you know…” I let the words hang once again. “But I’m not totally sure.”

Jordan runs his hands through his shaggy hair. “Give me his name and some information. I’ll check him out and let you know.”

That’s not going to work. I have to watch him do it. “There’s a time crunch, and he could send this video at any time.” I let my eyes go wide, playing it up. These guys never see me as anything but tough, so I know this has to be freaking him out. Maybe even making him uncomfortable. But I’m banking on him helping me. I don’t believe that anyone who can hack a computer like Jordan can doesn’t have some experience in illegal activity.

“All right, all right. I’ll check now.”

I rattle off the information about a guy I’d met at a bar a week ago with Mal. I give Jordan all the details I think he’ll need to track him down easily enough.

“All right, follow my lead, and if I find anything I’ll destroy it.” He pulls open the bathroom door and we both walk back to the main office.

“I’ll show you a few shortcuts I use for the recognition software. It can cut down some time when you’re short some info,” Jordan says to me as we enter the office. Everyone looks up as we walk in and then goes back to what they were doing. Everyone but Captain. His eyes stay on me as I follow Jordan to his desk.

He has more computer screens than any of us. Most of us have dual screens, but he has five. I stand back as he sits down, and I pretend to fidget with one of my nails, not looking at his screens, but at his hand on his keyboard. I surreptitiously watch as he types in his passwords. Everyone has three sets of passwords to gain access to their own computer. Each password is five characters long. It’s set up that way so no one can ever keep up if you type it in front of them. But I can without a problem. My brain takes in each hit of the keys, and locks the memory away.