notes he wrote quickly, then later changed to be accurate. Perhaps it was even his way of brainstorming how he wanted the story to go with placeholder names.”
Kelli didn’t need to think about that possibility long. She shook her head.
“I think these were his backup notes. He always said he didn’t like keeping everything electronically. I just thought his written notes were also with us at the cabin.”
Dennis seemed to consider what she said but, by the same token, it felt as though he was putting on a show. What had been an off-balanced feeling of doubt started to turn dark in the pit of her stomach.
“I don’t know what to tell you. I personally verified the information—just to be safe—before the piece was published.” He shut the folder but didn’t slide it back. “The Bowman Foundation publically thanked the Scale—and Victor—for the story. Because of the spotlight, they’ve received a substantial amount of funding since the article debuted. If any of the facts were incorrect, I would have been made aware of it—retired or not.”
Kelli considered his words. Was she just overreacting? Was she looking for a reason to revisit the memory of Victor? Had finding his handwritten journal been too much of a shock to her system?
“Listen, Kelli.” Dennis’s expression softened. He took off his glasses and fixed her with a small smile. “I’m due to meet an old friend for lunch, but how about after that, I’ll recheck these.” He put his finger on the folder. “I’ll call if anything weird pops up.”
Despite herself, she smiled, too.
“Thanks. I’d really appreciate it.”
Dennis stood, ending the conversation. He moved around the desk and saw her to the front door.
As she turned to thank him again, he said, “I’m sorry about Victor. But, word of advice? Maybe you should start looking to the future and not the past.”
Kelli didn’t have a lot of memories of her mother, but she knew being polite had been high on her priority list. That thought alone pushed a smile to her lips, while the knot in her stomach tightened. Dennis shut the door, leaving her standing on his porch with a great sense of unease.
You’re reading way too into this, Kel, she thought as she turned on her heel. Calm down and just forget about it all.
“Hey, Kelli?” Dennis called when she was halfway down his sidewalk. She hadn’t heard him open the door. “Do you have the journal those copies were from?”
Her purse suddenly felt heavier at her side. Before she could think about it, she was shaking her head.
“No, I just found the copies.”
“Oh, okay, thanks.”
She waved bye and continued on her way.
“Because if you did have it, I’d really like to see it,” he called after her.
The feeling of unease expanded within her. Once again she turned to face him.
“Sorry. The copies I gave you were all I had.”
Dennis shrugged and retreated behind the door. It wasn’t until she was safely inside her car that she chanced another look at the house.
It might have been her imagination, but she could almost have sworn the blinds over the living room windows moved.
Mark cracked his knuckles and swigged a gulp of his beer. Sitting behind the bar of a local dive, he kept his eyes glued to the television screen above him. An old football game was running, but he wasn’t paying much attention.
He’d had one heck of a day, if he said so himself.
The construction manager had come in early with a mood that matched the unexpected storm that would mean no work for the next two days to a week. Then the concrete pourer—who had never driven in rain, it seemed—had backed up into Mark’s Jeep, breaking a taillight and denting his bumper. The cherry on top was that when he decided to de-stress from an unproductive, unprofitable workday with a drink or two, he’d picked the bar from his past.
“Sorry, I had to take that call.” Nikki Waters, founder of the Orion Security Group and his former boss, sat back on her bar stool and reclaimed her drink.
Mark smiled but felt no mirth. He didn’t dislike Nikki. In fact, he had once considered her a great friend. However, the past two years had put a weight on the friendship. One that hadn’t affected just their relationship but his entire life.
“It’s fine,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. He remembered meeting Nikki for the first time when she’d been a secretary at Redstone Solutions and he’d been a low-ranking security agent. She’d been quiet, unobtrusive, yet clever and kind. The latter two traits she had held on to, but the first two? Well, he knew from experience that if she was quiet, it was only because she was finding the right words to tell you exactly what was on her mind. And unobtrusive? If she thought people she cared about were making a mistake, she’d tell them.
She’d had that talk with Mark several times already in the past year.
“So, how are you, Nik? It’s been a while.”
The 33-year-old looked surprised he’d made the first conversational move, but she recovered quickly. She straightened her short, dark red ponytail before answering.
“Good. Busy, but good.” She motioned to the bar around them. “I would actually still be at the office, but the storm knocked out our power. Jonathan told me it was a sign we needed to ‘capitalize on Friday night.’” Mark mentally winced at the mention of Jonathan. Along with Nikki and Oliver Quinn, Jonathan Carmichael rounded out friends with whom he had all but severed ties since he left Orion. “I’d heard him talk about this place on more than one occasion, so I thought I’d give it a try.”
“The service isn’t great, but I can’t complain about the price.”
Nikki laughed. “I’ll drink to that.” And she did.
“What about you? How’ve you been?”
“Good,” he lied. “Not as busy, but okay. Working with a decent construction crew on a neighborhood south of the hospital. Keeps my muscles working,” he joked. Nikki laughed again, but it was laced with concern.
“Listen, Mark,” she started, but he cut her off.
“I don’t want to come back, Nikki. I told you then that I was done with being a bodyguard, and I still mean it now.”
“But, Mark, you have also told me before how much you love it,” she pointed out. “You can’t let one incident deter you.”
“Incident?” he repeated. “A man died, Nik.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I don’t know how many times everyone has to tell you that.”
“My one job was to keep him safe, and instead I let some punk kid burn him alive.” His voice rose as he said it, and the bartender shot him a look that clearly asked him to settle down. Nikki didn’t flinch. This fight was an old one by now. He couldn’t help it, though. Every time he thought about Darwin McGregor—the firebug—and his floundering admission to the cops that he had set fire to the cabin for fun, Mark’s mood instantly turned heated. The nineteen-year-old had said that blowing up the large propane tank had been nothing more than an accident. He’d thought the tank was empty. He’d thought no one would be hurt, just scared. It didn’t change the fact that Victor had died.
Or that Mark didn’t believe him.
Images of the dark figure running away from the house flashed through his mind. He had been too tall and too wide to be Darwin. Though the cops, Nikki and everyone else had blamed this accusation on Mark’s overwhelming guilt.
It