* * *
“Satisfied?” Ryan gritted his teeth and refused to look at his webcam.
“She looked upset.”
“Really? You don’t say. Them’s some solid perceptive skills you got there, Gordon. Anything else you think I should take note of?”
Gordon’s mouth twisted. “Yeah, this section of code with the hologram initialization. There’s no explanation for it. What’s it for? Doesn’t look like our standard protocol.”
“It’s nothing.” Just a little piece of something Gordon didn’t need to stick his nose into. “Leave it alone.”
“Celia said—”
“Celia said to make sure I don’t screw up.” It was only so the DOD people felt there was sufficient oversight on what had been classified as a special project. No one expected Gordon to actually give any input. Except, Gordon didn’t know that. “The code works. I didn’t screw it up. Leave it alone and move on.”
Gordon rearranged his bulk in his ergonomic seat and looked right at the camera. Leave it to Sergeant Pissant to start a webcam staring contest. Pathetic. Ryan refused to budge on this. If he explained the real purpose for the code, Gordon would go squealing to Celia, and Celia would have to pull Ryan off the project.
It was just a little patch that linked the front door motion sensor to the hologram activation sequence. All it did was greet Victoria when she came home. That was all. No big deal.
Okay, so maybe he’d added in a unique facial expression and voice signature, and a handful of randomized greetings so it sounded more natural. So what? It didn’t mean Ryan was getting emotionally attached or anything.
He had to preserve what little personalization he could, with Gordon hacking it all away by the bushel. Victoria looked upset? Gee, he wondered why.
Ryan had finally worked the kinks out of the emotive part of the system that mimicked facial expressions to fit the proper mood, and then Gordon had come in and make him rework it to be less obvious. Because nuanced mimics took up too much memory. “Just take out everything but four or five,” he’d said. “Smile, frown, laugh, scowl…what else do you need?”
Half his code had gone bye-bye.
Then he’d started in on the vocal database, and culled the responses Ryan had spent three days recording.
Another fifth of his code gone.
Without it, Ryan was halfway back to where he’d started, and with his hands tied, there was very little he could do about it.
No wonder Victoria was acting weird. One day, holo-Ryan responded like he understood her, and the next, with Sergeant Pissant in charge, he was a dumb machine that sounded like an old GPS voice navigation system. Who wouldn’t go a little nuts?
The Marlow house smoke alarm went off, breaking their sorry little stand-off. In her hurry to get the hell out of Dodge, Victoria had left the stove on and her soup had boiled over.
Ryan clicked on an icon to bring up the command prompt and remotely turned off both stove and the smoke detector.
“Huh,” Gordon said. “I guess it’s PMS or something.” He laughed at his own joke and snorted like a pig.
Ryan cracked his knuckles one by one. Victoria had looked pretty shaken up. She shouldn’t be driving in that state, but her car’s GPS already put her miles away from home, going well above the speed limit. The smart house didn’t have a link to the car controls; he couldn’t regulate her speed so she wouldn’t hurt herself.
“Hey,” Gordon said, and frowned. “Why does the holo look like you again?”
“You don’t wanna go down that road,” Ryan warned quietly.
Pissant got the message. “Uh, fine. Whatever. Guess it’s easier with the facial ticks and all.”
Breathe. Don’t mangle the nerd. “Are we done now?”
“Umm…” Gordon typed on his keyboard, probably writing an IM just so it would look like he was doing something. “Yeah, I guess. I got a pretty good idea of how things work now, so I’ll just check in every once in a while to see how it’s going.” He looked left. Back at the screen. Left again and licked his lips. “Can you get me a patch into the video feeds?”
Ryan frowned. “Why?”
“Oh, just, you know. I need to monitor response time and all.”
They were sharing screens through the conferencing software. They could see what the other was doing, but couldn’t take over the controls.
A nasty suspicion made Ryan tense, and he clicked on Gordon’s screen to enlarge it. On the pissant’s end, the dashboard stretched over three monitors, so Ryan had to pan over to see what he was looking at.
He sucked in a sharp breath when he found it. There were screen caps of Victoria arranged in a mosaic on one of his monitors—dozens of them from the time they’d shared screens. Victoria stretching up to take something off the top shelf, her cropped top riding high and her sweatpants low. Another one of her, raising the front hem to wipe dust from her eyes. And another of her, wiping her wet hands on her hips because the dish towel was under the hot pot on the counter.
Mangle the nerd! Break his face in. Leave him squealing in a puddle of his own blood.
The largest image in the middle was of Victoria from behind, on her knees, bent over to vacuum under the writing desk.
Gordon was a dead man.
This went way beyond breaking protocol. It was criminal and sick. He took a screen cap for evidence, turned off screen share, and brought up the security protocols for Marlow house.
“What, you’re not gonna share anymore?”
Ryan leaned into his webcam. “Listen here, pervert. You better pack up your shit and start walking before I decide to go down there and do it for you.” Typing as he talked, he changed every last password and authentication. “You are now locked out of the system, and you’re not getting back in.”
“Wa—hey, you can’t do that! I’m your supervisor!”
Ryan ignored the outburst. “Not anymore. I’m writing an email to Celia and attaching a time-stamped screen cap from your computer.”
“Oh, come on! I was just having some fun. Like you never do shit with that number on your screen twenty-four seven? Gimme a break!”
Ryan stopped typing. “A break?” Jesus, Celia had better get the guard on Gordon, STAT. “Did you just say I should give you a break?”
Gordon leaned in toward his webcam and lowered his voice. “I peep one word about what you’re doing with that house, and you’ll be taking an extended holiday behind bars, so I’d think very hard before I sent that email.”
It was the only ace Gordon had. On any other day, any other project, he would have won with it. As the tech in charge, Ryan would have been on the hook for all sorts of charges where Victoria was concerned.
But Gordon had no idea what else was going on.
Let him talk, the little devil on his shoulder cajoled. Let’s see if the DOD is as good as their word. Let them handle this prick.
As tempting as it was to imagine Gordon getting waterboarded in Guantanamo Bay, if the little shit opened his mouth, it would only draw attention to Ryan and Victoria. Gordon would do it, too; he’d walk up to the first suit he saw and squeal on Ryan. Not only that, he’d enjoy it, and, shorthanded as she was, Celia would have no choice but to give him the Marlow account.
Not on Ryan’s watch.
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Ryan said, surprised at how calm his voice was. “You will erase any and all images of Miss Marlow from your hard drive. You will then call Celia and tell her you’re off this project. You will get yourself reassigned back to whatever rock you climbed out from under, and you will stay there.”
Gordon had the gall to giggle at him. “And why would I do that?”
“Because I know where you live,” Ryan said, not even bothering to hide his murderous rage. “If you say one word to anyone, if I see any attempt at hacking my firewall, your ass is mine first. Then maybe I’ll let Celia call the cops, so they can pick up the greasy shit stain that’s left after I’m done with
you.”
Gordon’s pudgy face went pasty pale, and his throat worked on a dry swallow as he fumbled with his equipment.
The screen went black.
Ryan swiped the printer off his desk and ground the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, praying to God Celia found some way to take care of Gordon quietly.
— Chapter 10 —
Lawyers were pack animals. They worked together, ate together, smiled and laughed, and it was all so civilized, the casual observer never noticed the subtle air of predatory savagery that always lingered around them. Your average attorney was small beans. But then there were trial lawyers, the five hundred-dollars-an-hour litigators lounging at the exclusive Law Club outside of town. They were amoral beasts, tethered behind human facades by the silken strands of social convention. When those intellectual claws came out, it was a sight to behold.
They didn’t pull punches. Nothing was too sacred. They observed no rules of engagement except one: win at any cost. You really didn’t want to get into an argument with a lawyer. They went straight for the weak spots, ripped out your dignity, tore it to shreds, and then metaphorically wiped their asses with it.
Last year at the Law Club’s Christmas party, Tori had watched four women work themselves up into a vicious cat fight over the dumbest of reasons: a man.
That man now sat across the table from Tori, smiling his cocky little smile while she took him up on his challenge to Google his name.
They’d been thrust together by a series of fateful events that began with Tori getting two speeding tickets from two different cops, and ended with her showing up at the Law Club, dressed in a dusty crop top and sweatpants, wielding her membership card to gain access to their fine stash of liquor despite their strict dress code policy.
At which point, Liam Masterson, attorney-at-law and man of mystery, had swept in to save the day and sweet talk the snooty gatekeeper into letting her in.
Not Tori’s proudest moment, she’d freely admit, but after a couple of mimosas, she no longer cared.
There he sat, all deep-tanned skin and sun-streaked hair, patiently waiting while she scrolled through pages of results on her smartphone.
“Impressive,” she said. “This is quite a resume.”
Liam humbly inclined his head.
“You seem to get around a lot.” He was a regular at the club and most formal functions her bosses made her attend. “I’d call you a court whore, but I don’t remember ever seeing you in court.”
His smile stretched, and his dreamy eyes entranced her with their exotic mystery. “You could say I like to hide in plain sight.”
Tori sighed. What a voice! “Where are you from?”
The question seemed to surprise him. “Pardon?”
“I have an ear for accents. Yours is very subtle, but I can still hear it. Greece? Morocco? No, somewhere more exotic.”
He grinned and shifted in his seat. “I must have picked it up from my grandmother. She emigrated from Palestine and raised me after my parents died.”
“That must have been tough.”
Liam shrugged. “It was…colorful. My grandfather was Irish.”
Tori laughed.
Wait, why was that funny?
Oh, who cared?
Liam Masterson was a part-time public defender, part-time high roller attorney-at-law, and full-time come-hither tom cat. He wore his wicked we-both-know-you-want-me smile like an everyday accessory.
When it came to dating, the man played by his own set of rules, which should have turned her off, but Tori had come to the conclusion that the reason she was still alone was because she had set her standards too high. Maybe it was time to let loose a little, inch out of her comfort zone and see what happened. It certainly couldn’t hurt to give Liam a try for a little while. Besides, what other prospects did she have?
So Tori turned on the charm, and some mild-to-moderate flirting later, she was inviting Liam back to her place for coffee. She brewed two cups of her fancy hazelnut mix and took them to the living room where Liam was checking out her entertainment system. “Ryan,” she called. “Turn on the heater, please.”
“Ryan?” Liam repeated.
The hologram flickered into being by the TV, and somehow he looked like he was scowling.
“Ryan,” Tori said by way of explanation.
“You call it by a name?”
She chuckled. “What else would I call him?”
Liam shrugged, sipping his coffee while she arranged herself on the couch. “I just call it Admin; I don’t give it a name.”
“Oh, you have one of these, too? Aren’t they great? I don’t know how I ever lived without one.”
“Yes,” Liam agreed. “Although mine is a little different than yours.”
“Oh?”
He grinned. “Old British butler-looking guy.”
She laughed. “That’s what I thought I was getting! But I guess mine’s an upgrade or something.”
Tell the truth, woman. Ryan has grown on you.
Yes, he had. She’d gotten so used to his presence here, she missed him when he wasn’t around. When she was at work and something was going wrong again, all she wanted to do was call home to hear his voice.
Not that she would ever tell Liam any of that. Tori might be crazy, but she wasn’t crazy enough to admit it.
“Upgrade? How do you mean?”
“Well, he—”
Ryan flickered. “Good evening, Victoria. Welcome back. I received three missed calls and logged one unheard message in your absence. Would you like to play them now?”
Liam looked at the hologram thoughtfully. “Does it always do that?”
“I’m sorry,” Ryan said smoothly, “your voice signature was not recognized. Please identify yourself.”
“That is weird.”
“I’m sorry, your voice signature was not recognized. Please identify yourself.”
Tori shrugged. “You get used to it. Ryan, this is my guest, Liam Masterson.”
“Does it actually answer to—”
“Welcome, Liam Masterson. Your identity has been logged. You may now speak a command.”
“Go away,” Liam said, scowling.
“Command not recognized,” Ryan replied with a bland smile of willful ignorance, and Tori snorted coffee up her nose.
“Disappear. Shut down. Off.”
“Command not recognized. Please speak clearly at a natural volume. Is there something I can assist you with this evening?”
“I give up.”
“The house wins. Thank you for playing. Good night.” Ryan flickered and became motionless, but didn’t disappear.
Liam gaped. “That just happened, right?”
“Yeah,” Tori said with a wince. “That’s kind of my fault. I was playing chess with him the other day and thought it’d be fun if he sounded like a casino.”
Liam shook his head. “I have got to talk to my contractor.”
Tori wasn’t keen on spending the night talking about smart houses. “We should toast,” she said, raising her coffee cup and beckoning him away from Ryan. “Here’s to…a most fortunate chance meeting.”
“And to many more to come,” Liam added and clinked his cup to hers. “I must say I’ve never toasted with coffee before.”
“It’s an old Norwegian custom,” Tori replied with a sage nod.
Liam chuckled and bent closer. “Back home, we also have a custom. A toast is always sealed with a kiss.”
Tori giggled and playfully pushed at his chest. “Well we’re not in the Old Country now. In America, we just say cheers.” As she took a sip, Tori noticed Ryan off to the side. She could swear she saw him roll his eyes. The sip became bigger, and she coughed as hot coffee burned its way down her throat.
“Will there be anything else?” Ryan asked. She could practically hear teeth grinding. What was this, another unscheduled simulation?
Liam frowned at the hologram. “Why does it keep doing that?”
“N
o, Ryan, I think I have everything I need,” she told him. “Just make sure I’m not disturbed.”
Liam chuckled. “You can’t talk to it like a human,” he said with mild condescension that burrowed under her skin. “They don’t understand casual speech.”
“Security enabled,” Ryan said over Liam. He was looking right at her, as if Liam didn’t even exist. If she didn’t know better, she’d say the hologram didn’t like the guy. “Calls will be routed to voicemail. Would you like them transcribed to email?”
Liam stared.
“That won’t be necessary,” Tori said, puffing up a bit and keeping her proud smile to herself.
Ryan nodded. Something else he’d never done before. “Enjoy your evening.” And then he disappeared.
Liam stubbed his heel against the coffee table as he backed himself to the couch, gaping at the now-empty space. “That was not normal.”
“That,” she told him saucily, “was my house understanding me. Now where were we?”