Chapter 2

2

QUILLON

H e was the spitting image of his brother, which had startled me. If Essex Coombe had made it to the age of forty, he probably would've looked like York. Alas, he would forever be young. Had he even been thirty yet? I wasn't sure how old he was when he'd gotten killed, but he must've been around that age. Such a waste.

Was that why York had reacted so negatively when I'd mentioned I was a Marine? Had it brought up the pain from losing his brother, who'd been killed in action? It sounded logical, yet something seemed to be missing. Underneath lurked a deeper layer, but I had no idea what it could be.

Since I didn't have the necessary security clearance yet, I was stationed outside York's office, which was fine by me. I didn't need to have my eyes on him at all times because his office had one entry and exit point. Yes, I had double-checked to make sure the windows couldn't be opened and that all the vents were screwed shut. One never knew, and York was clearly unhappy about my presence.

Not that I would've minded being in the same room as him. He was easy on the eyes with his lanky build, messy dark hair with silver streaks, and short beard. Plus, he wore those nerdy suspenders, which should've been ridiculously over the top but fitted him to a T.

He was a client, or in our lingo, the principal, so nothing could ever come of it, but that didn't mean I couldn't look. Besides, I was pretty sure York was straight. He wasn't sending out any signals otherwise. And if he was, I doubted I was his type, which was fair enough.

My phone rang. Remington. "Hey, boss."

"Everything okay so far?"

Like me, Remington wasn't one for chitchat. "Nothing to report."

"How's the principal?"

"Unenthusiastic and reluctantly cooperative."

"We can work with that. Can you ask him for the code to his security system? We want to run a security check on his apartment and install cameras and sensors."

"Will do. Though you could disable it."

Remington chuckled. "If he's already unhappy about your presence, that's not gonna make things better, is it? And I hate to admit it, but his system is one we're unfamiliar with and a few grades above the standard."

"I take it Julius already begged to have a go at it?"

Julius was our IT and gimmicks guy and also an experienced hacker. He relished a good challenge.

"He's champing at the bit," Remington said dryly.

"I'll get that code for you. Anything else?"

"The FBI called. They're prioritizing your background check."

I digested the implications of that information. "For them to recommend us and expedite my security clearance, it has to be a serious threat."

"Yeah. I'm trying to get clarity on the kind of threat, if we're talking possible kidnapping, accessing his files, taking him out, or something else. They're not divulging that yet."

"He works on top-secret defense weapons. So it could very well be that a foreign nation is involved, in which case the CIA would want a word."

"Which would explain the stonewalling. I had the same thought. We'll see. I'll keep pressuring them, and if we don't get more in forty-eight hours, I'll escalate."

"Sounds good."

"Keep your eyes open, Q. They suspect an inside leak at EDS, so until that's confirmed and neutralized or proven wrong, the threat could come from anywhere."

"Gotcha."

I ended the call, took a deep breath, and knocked on York's door. I'd promised him as few interruptions as possible, but I couldn't avoid this. We needed access to his apartment.

When nothing happened, I knocked again. No response. What the hell? Was he deliberately being rude?

I opened the door. York was bent over his desk, staring at the biggest computer screen I'd ever seen. Actually, he had two screens side by side as well as three different keyboards. He was writing on a tablet, and whatever he wrote appeared on the screen, and it was all math. I didn't recognize the majority of the symbols, but he kept writing equation after equation, mumbling as he erased a line and rewrote it.

He hadn't noticed I'd opened the door, completely in the zone of whatever he was doing. I didn't dare move, worried I'd break his concentration, so I stood motionless as I watched him work. His brows were furrowed, deep lines marred his forehead, and his cheeks sported bright-red splotches. Every now and then, his tongue peeped out between his pressed lips, an almost childlike habit that made him adorable.

It took him a good ten minutes to look up. He shook his head as if pulling himself out of a daze, turned his head to the right, held that position for a few seconds, and then turned left.

"Jesus Christ!" His hand flew to his mouth. "You scared the crap out of me. How long have you been standing there?"

I checked my watch. "Thirteen minutes."

"Thirteen minutes? And you didn't think it necessary to let me know you had come in?"

"Didn't want to break your concentration. You seemed in a daze."

"Flow." He took a deep breath and stretched his neck again. "It's called flow."

"Flow. Okay."

He extended his arms above his head and bent his torso to the right, wincing at the stretch. "It's a concept made popular by the psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi and describes a state of perfect concentration in which your creativity can flow freely, and you feel deeply connected to yourself and what you do. It's the optimum state for what Calvin Newport calls deep work."

Wow. I'd pegged him as a tech and math geek, but clearly, his interests extended beyond that. "Fascinating."

He blinked and turned toward the window. "Anyway, you couldn't be interested in all that. Was there something you needed?"

"The code for your alarm system."

"My alarm system?" He spun around.

"Our team needs access to do a security sweep and install extra safety measures, like cameras and sensors. But they need the code. Apparently, it's a system they've never encountered, or they'd be able to bypass it."

York's mouth curled into a grin. "It's a unique system that can't be easily bypassed."

"So they discovered. My coworker, Julius, our friendly neighborhood hacker, was rather impressed from what I understand. He would've loved to try and crack it, but the boss wouldn't let him."

York's smile widened. "If I refuse to give the code, he'll have to try it, right?"

"Yeah, but why not… Ah, you want him to try. Why?"

"I designed it myself. It would be interesting to see if he can break it and, if so, how long it would take him."

He'd designed it himself? I should've figured that out. The man did make military-grade defense systems, after all. "I'm sure he'd appreciate the challenge, but I doubt my boss can wait that long."

"I can give them the code to let them in, then rearm it from the outside and let Julius have a go at it."

"Brilliant. You just made a friend in Julius, let me tell you."

His smile faded. "I doubt that, but tell him good luck from me. The access code is 8291, press the red button, then 2916, and press the green one."

I repeated the numbers in my head twice to make sure I'd memorized them. "Got it."

"But I'll remotely disable it now so they can enter. Let me know when to turn it back on. I'll reactivate the front door so Julius can have some fun."

He had designed a system he could operate remotely with multiple sectors that could be armed or disarmed separately? Damn. "I'll keep you posted on his results."

"Cool."

York studiously avoided looking at me. I couldn't quite figure him out yet, but I would. Like Julius, I loved a good challenge, even if mine usually differed from his. "I'll step back out, seeing as I'm not allowed to see what you're doing."

"I'm not working on anything secret right now."

"No? Then what's that on your screen? That seems pretty serious to me."

He looked at his screen as if seeing the symbols for the first time. "Oh, that? That's just… I like to do math when I'm trying to solve a problem. It helps me relax and focus on something else."

That helped him relax? Jesus, how smart was he? "It appears complicated."

"It's a stochastic partial differential equation, basically advanced calculus."

"Very advanced, I would say. Not like anything I ever did in high school."

Finally, he met my eyes with a somewhat puzzled expression, as if he were trying to determine whether I was serious. "I suppose so."

"What's your degree in?"

"Which one?"

Of course he had more than one degree. "All of them?"

"Erm, I have a bachelor's in electrical engineering, a master's in mechanical engineering, and my PhD is in controls."

"Controls?"

"Control systems are closed-loop systems that measure something and automatically adapt their reactions based on a set outcome for the desired measurement. The easiest example is a thermostat. You set it to seventy degrees. When it measures the temperature below that, the heating will turn on and stay on until it reaches the desired temperature, and then it shuts off. Most modern technology contains some form of control engineering, like the cruise control in cars or the autopilot of a plane."

"Gotcha. And that involves math like that?" I pointed at the screen.

"It can, but this isn't an actual problem I'm working on. It's practice, a way for me to relax my brain."

"I go for a run when I want to relax."

"I only run when I'm being chased."

"You still seem in pretty good shape."

He shrugged. "Genetics. I take after my father."

Father. Not dad. Interesting. "You don't work out at all?"

"Not if I can help it. I was never into sports. That was always more my brother's thing."

Should I tell him? Or would that be stepping into a minefield? Something was off, but if I didn't, it might come back to bite me in the ass. Besides, I'd always been a straight shooter. "Would that be Essex Coombe?"

His eyes widened. "Yeah. How did you…? Oh, you knew him."

"I did. We served together."

"Small world."

"Within the Marines, yes. It's a tight-knit group."

His face tightened, and he clenched his fists as if fighting an inner battle. "Did you know him well?" he finally asked.

"We were in the same class as boots, but our roads separated when he became a sniper while I focused on combat leadership. But we ran into each other a few times while deployed."

He blew out a long breath, his shoulders up to his ears. "If you have any pics of him or with him, my parents would appreciate them. They collect everything about Essex."

Still? It had been over twenty years since he'd been killed. "I would have to check, but if I find anything, I'll let you know."

"They'll appreciate it."

"No problem."

He turned his back toward me. "I have to get back to work."

"Sure thing. I'll step outside."

He said nothing as I walked out and closed the door softly behind me. What was his deal? Had he hated his brother? They hadn't been close, considering his reaction. Either that or York had been traumatized by his brother's death and had emotionally distanced himself afterward, but I doubted it. The way he spoke about his parents was also revealing.

I had so many questions, but I was in no hurry to force the answers out of him. We'd be spending a lot of time together, and I was looking forward to it. York was different, fascinating. Smarter than any man I'd ever met, antisocial by his admission and that of his boss—even though I had doubts about that—and had I mentioned seriously hot?

It had been a long time since a man had pushed my buttons, but York had. He shouldn't be attractive with his too-big ears, but they only reinforced his whole wounded, tortured look, though I didn't think he did it on purpose. But man, those eyes…

He looked like this cute, sad little puppy in a cage in a shelter, staring at you, unsure whether to come to you and ask to be picked up and hugged or stay in its safe space because it knew you were gonna choose a different dog anyway, so why bother if it meant more rejection? And damn, I did want to hug him…and take him home.

Shit, this was getting complicated.