Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)

What he needed to do.

He was still thinking about Kelsey's words as he rode in the back of the Uber. So far he didn't have a firm plan, but he intended to come up with one by tomorrow. The entire weekend was spread out in front of him, and he didn't intend to waste it.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, then realized that he hadn't checked his emails in hours. And while it was a long shot, she might have sent him a note.

Urged on by a tiny flicker of hope, he pulled out his phone and op

ened his mail app. Nothing from Kiki, but third in line beneath two bullshit ads, was a message from Damien.

Been talking with our potential competitors--they've experienced breaches from both inside and outside. Considering we're walking the same path, be sure to use precautions. We'll talk Monday. I'll have C put it on your calendar.

It was cryptic, but Noah could instantly see why. The Israeli company they were racing to the finish line was the victim of corporate espionage. And not only did they not think that Stark was behind it, but they feared that SATA might be vulnerable, too.

Noah wasn't too worried. He'd overseen the online security himself. As for the human element, that was trickier. But the office was still small, and he'd familiarized himself with most of the staff. It was possible that an outsider was getting in--someone from building security or the janitorial staff, maybe--but they'd still have to breach the system.

It was a puzzle, and not one he was going to solve in his current state of semi-inebriation. He'd grab some time this weekend to go to the office, though, so he'd be prepped for his call with Damien on Monday.

He was still thinking about the possibility of a leak when the car dropped him at home. Noah got out, then paused at the door of his building as he fumbled for his after-hours security card. As he did, he noticed a dark green pickup truck parked in one of the metered slots on the other side of the street, clearly illuminated by the line of street lamps.

Nothing unusual about that, except that there was someone sitting in the truck--a guy, or possibly a woman, in a baseball cap--and the someone turned quickly away when Noah looked that direction. And, Noah was certain, he'd seen a similar truck earlier in the day, when he'd held Kiki close and kissed her hard.

With a frown, he entered his building. He'd considered going over to the truck, but what would be the point? For all he knew, it was someone waiting to give a ride to a resident. Or a college student who'd been kicked out of his apartment, and was spending the weekend in his truck. There was no reason to think it had anything to do with Noah.

"Hey, Joe," he said, seeing the rail-thin man with salt-and-pepper hair reading the paper behind the security desk. The building didn't have full-time security, but Joe was a retired cop who did weekend rotations, doing walkthroughs and checking the security feeds.

"Mr. Carter, good to see you. I was just about to email you a report about the woman. Figured it was too late to buzz your unit."

Kiki?

"What woman?"

"Came in about twenty minutes ago looking for you. Pretty thing. Not that you could get the full picture with her hair all shoved up in a cap."

Frowning, Noah turned back to the entrance, but the truck had pulled away. "Did she say what she wanted?"

"Said she knew you, and that she wanted to know if this was your building. Said she wanted to see you again." His smile widened. "I told her that it's above my pay grade to give away any resident information, but that your name didn't ring a bell. I hope that was right. I know you like to be discreet."

In addition to working at the condo, Joe pulled a few shifts at various downtown hotels, and he'd seen Noah on more than one occasion with a woman. And never the same woman twice.

Noah frowned. He didn't know why one of his one-night stands would be hunting him down, but he was glad Joe had put the brakes on. He was never circumspect--he always gave a woman his card in case she needed to contact him. But that was an email address, not his home.

"You did the right thing," Noah assured Joe. The last thing he needed was a one-night stand deciding getting back together with him was her new pet project.

Especially since he already had a project of his own--Kiki.

10

"I can't believe you're not freaking out," Celia says, her voice surprisingly clear through the speaker on my mobile phone. "Matthew Holt has our track. Matthew. Fucking. Holt. Seriously, Kiki, how can you be blase about that?"

"I'm not blase," I assure her, catching Ares' eye. He and I are both sitting at my tiny breakfast table, and my phone rests near my picked-over plate of chocolate chip pancakes. Celia--his cousin and my best friend--is about fifteen hundred miles away, having a not-so-quiet freak-out session in Culver City. "I just don't want to get my hopes up."

I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Dude, that's what hopes are for, you know? I mean, if Holt likes our track, who knows where it could lead? Actually, fuck that. It could lead to a Grammy. Worldwide tours. Licensed Pink Chameleon merchandise available in a department store near you."

"She's right," Ares says. "Soon, you too might be an action figure."

"You're such an ass," Celia tells him, and I start laughing.

"All right," I say. "You win. I'm super-duper excited about the fact that you had a friend of a friend slip Holt a CD that is even now probably sitting in a cardboard box filled with similar CDs that will very soon be transferred to his secure vault. Otherwise known as his trashcan."