2 Executive Retention Page 8

  His chart showed the amount of money his group pulled in versus Jacques' group and three other groups in San Jose. "San Jose has a lot more customers because the company started there, but it turns out that my concentration is extremely profitable."

  I was dismayed that he had skipped quickly over the slide that named his specific customers, but he generously announced, "I've sent this presentation out before, but I'll send an update." He also told us where to find the write-ups and case files for his group. He took the time to name the engineers that had helped solve the problems, including Bill. The shaggy man beamed and took a bow, albeit with his hand only, since we were all sitting.

  When the meeting was over, I glimpsed my IT buddy again as I went back to my office. Maybe he had been around all along, and I hadn't noticed him, but it was doubtful. Despite what I had claimed about not taking note of a man in a darkened computer room, I tended to be watchful of who was around me. I would have remembered a slinking, long-haired scrappy individual peering around corners and over the tops of lab machines.

  When in doubt, go to the source to find your enemy. Since that failed because whenever I spotted him, he scurried away, I went to Becky. "Hi Becky."

  "Howdy missy!" She snapped her mirror shut. "How y'all doing? When are we doing lunch again?"

  "Uh…fine. Who is our IT guy?"

  "You having trouble with the damn boxes?" She smacked the stand of her computer screen. Something fizzed.

  I winced. "Well, I think so."

  "It's Art. You know, he used to be a hair stylist. Offered to do my hair, but can you imagine? I mean, I have my days and once, to be nice, I let him tease it back into place, but what if he butchered it with scissors right here in the office?" She fluffed her hair with bright red fingernails. "As if."

  I liked to think of myself as open-minded. I've worked with a lot of computer geeks over the years and happened to think of myself as one. I knew guys that looked like they slept in a subway station, but coded six ways to Sunday, spoke flawless French and collected fine wines. Even knowing that the range of geek hobbies had no boundaries, even knowing my best geek buddy Turbo was known in certain circles for his rare antique gun collection, I was having trouble tying Art-the-hairdresser to the IT guy I had run into.

  "Here, lemme call him for you," Becky volunteered, already mid-dial. "I gotta tell you though...this guy…I dunno if he can help you. Every time my computer locks up, it takes him two days to re-install the operating system."

  "What?" I reached over and hit the hang-up button. "No, no, that's okay. I…he does all the IT? By himself?" If his solution for every problem was re-installation, maybe that was where all the extra money was going that Huntington was looking for. It would certainly waste time, if not money.

  "If I really need help, I call Bill or Vi. This isn't a large office, you know? There's only about forty of us here even when we have contractors. Art does all the installs. He would be the one that did your computers, unless you did them yourself."

  I had done my own installs, so I hadn't met any IT person officially. "Does he run the servers? The mail servers that connect us to San Jose and stuff like that?"

  She looked blank. "I guess." Then a light went on and she snapped her fingers. "Oh wait, I know who you're talking about! There's some guy they sent from San Jose to handle an important data install. What is his name?" She thought pretty hard, but it didn't come to her. "Hang on. Lisa will know."

  The San Jose part matched what the guy had said to me at lunch, so when she picked up the phone again to call Lisa, I didn't protest.

  There was a long chat about a lot of things, but somewhere in there, she got another name. Without bothering to hang up, she put her hand over the mouthpiece. "Jonathan Taylor. She says he's a guru." Becky wiggled her eyebrows in a sign of respect and warning. Gurus were mystery people. They might prefer to work late into the night, or instead of regular holidays, they might take two weeks off for an internet gaming tournament. But they were guys that the company needed because it was their mysterious skills that kept the magic computers going.

  "Jonathan." The guru part sounded right, and so did San Jose. "Thanks."

  She nodded at me as I departed.

  At least next time I saw Mr. IT, I could yell out his name, and he could officially ignore me.

  When I got back to the lab, I had to perform the power supply testing on the Kronology case. There were two power cords that plugged into separate wall sockets. Only one cord was needed at any time. Thus if one were unplugged, tripped over or just stopped working, the other cord would still be plugged in and would keep electricity flowing. In theory.

  In this case, after I started everything and unplugged one cord, the whole contraption shut down. The other cord was still plugged in, but the computer died as though I had unplugged them both.

  I filled out the report. Jacques could submit the paperwork to Kronology, and we would act as liaison with the company to get it fixed. Then I'd have to test the fix and get it into the hands of the original customer who had reported the problem and asked us to help get it fixed. At least that is what was supposed to happen. Bill had already warned me not to expect much.

  I was finishing the write-up when a short guy walked briskly into the lab. He came straight toward my workbench. "I hear you are having trouble with your unit. I'm trained for the productivity units." He laced stubby fingers together, stretched his arms and flexed his hands backwards. "Someone has to keep this company up and running."

  I stared at him in amazement. His eyebrows were faded or plucked, I couldn't tell which. Black pants flared at the bottom, and his shirt-sleeves had extremely wide cuffs. He didn't look much older than my own twenty-six years, but his hair was silver at the temples and a very unnatural black everywhere else.

  "You must be Art." He could be no one else. His belt buckle was a square LED. The name "Art" flashed, followed by the words, "On Call."

  He nodded and stuck out his stubby hand. "Excellent. You've heard of me?" He gave new meaning to the word "preen."

  I tried for a smile and shook his hand. "I'm not really having problems with any units."

  "Oh? Are you sure? I can take a look anyway."

  "No, I'm sure."

  "I don't think I set your machine up. Maybe I should look just in case."

  Turning him down outright was probably rude, but I didn't see any other way out. "No, it's up and running fine." I decided to get out while the going was good so I stood, grabbed my paperwork and made my way around him.

  He followed. "These things are finicky. I happen to have some time now. I don't remember installing yours--I do so many. You wouldn't believe how many I do. And I'm the EMT--Emergency Medical Technician--for the building too. I like emergency work, always trying to keep computers running and trying to keep people going too."

  Me going in the stairwell instead of the elevator didn't stop him. I didn't have anything on my computer that he could damage in particular, but it did not need looking at.

  "I do search and rescue on the weekends too, but I try not to be on call when I'm at church. My church has hiking for singles during the summer and skiing for singles in the winter. I hate to miss those, but of course if it's an emergency," he sighed and kicked one of the steps, "I tell them to call only if they really need me." He almost knocked me over when we reached the second floor and he tried to hold the door open for me. "Hey, are you single? Baptist by any chance?"

  "Uh no."

  My left hand was conveniently hidden under the stack of papers I was carrying. That did not deter Elvis-look-a-like. He continued walking with me, but bent over and peered under the stack. "Ah-ha, not Baptist, but single!" He snorted loud enough to attract a rhinoceros from the local zoo. "Can't fool me! I'm an engineer so don't be trying to put anything over on me."

  My pinned-on smile faded to disbelief. I was going to demand a raise from Huntington.

  By this time, we had reached my office. The guy made a beeline for the guest
chair and plopped down. I stared at him without sitting.

  "Do you want me to take a look at your system now?"

  I continued to stare at him for a full thirty seconds. I borrowed this technique from Turbo. When you don't have anything nice to say, say nothing. Usually other people become uncomfortable enough that they leave. I moved away from the door and sat down, still without speaking.

  It worked, but it took a lot longer than I would have liked.

  "Well." He cleared his throat. "Well. You call me if you have any trouble." He got up, slicked back his longish black hair and meandered to the door. He stood there awkwardly. "Hey, I also do hair." He actually swung his own greasy mess in advertisement. "Do you need a cut? I'm not supposed to do it in the office." He leaned back in and took two steps forward in order to perch on the desk. "But I make exceptions. A lot of people don't have time to get a decent hair cut these days. And since I keep my license current it isn't really illegal. If you have, you know, an emergency."

  I was beginning to fear this guy, with or without a pair of scissors. As he leaned toward me, I thought fearing him with a pencil was probably wise. "I really don't think so."

  He nodded and looked longingly back at the guest chair. My phone rang. He started to leave and then waited in the doorway.

  "Can you close it on your way out?" I asked through clenched teeth.

  "Oh. Uh, sure." Slowly, he did so. I wasn't sure he actually moved on down the corridor afterward, but at least he was gone.

  I answered the phone.

  "Is he still there?" Even though Becky didn't identify herself, her drawl was easy to place.

  "Who, Elvis?"

  "I didn't mean to sic him on you, but I had to get him out of my office so I accidentally mentioned your problem. I mean, my God, A.J. is here this week! Just because they didn't lay anyone off from the Denton office doesn't mean they aren't looking for candidates. I can't afford to have, what did you call him? Elvis? Ha! I can't have him hanging around right now making me look bad!"

  "Next time tell him I'm having a problem in Ohio and fly him there," I said.

  "Ha!" she shrieked.

  I jerked the phone away, but the damage was done. I had to switch ears.

  "Did he fix anything?" she asked.

  "No, but on the bright side, he didn't break anything either."

  She laughed again. "I promise not to do it again. But if you see him in my office, can you come by with something you need me to do desperately? Pete is here too, and he's upset about something. He's in yelling at the managers right now. You can't leave Elvis under my feet. He'll get me fired. You have to swear on sisterhood you'll help me."

  "Only if you do the same for me." If anyone got fired, it would probably be Elvis, not Becky, but you never could tell. There was no way of knowing the powers of Elvis and what trouble he might cause.

  Chapter 13

  I sent an email to Kronology describing the power supply problem, care of Craig Yumen. I could have stayed late again, but since I hadn't finished the survey Jacques had assigned me, I figured, what was one more day? Besides, at five-thirty in November in Colorado it is almost dark out. It felt late, even if it wasn't.

  I was grateful that Acetel had bothered to install the slanted tin-roofs for covered parking because a light snow had fallen during the day. Without the roof, I would have been stuck even later clearing my windows.

  From the mass of cars leaving the parking lot, no one else was dying to stay late either. I stopped to gawk at A.J. as he climbed into a sleek yellow 911 Turbo Porsche. I noticed the Porsche again thirty seconds later because a black Town Lincoln cut it off to wedge in behind my Honda as I pulled out of the lot.

  Very few computer geeks drive big, black Town Lincolns with windows tinted to hide guns.

  There was no way to know for certain if the Lincoln contained Huntington's friends from the restaurant, but who else would follow me? If they were random thugs, wouldn't they go after A.J. with his much more impressive car? I mean, if I were a thief, I would put aside whatever busywork I was supposed to be doing to steal that car.

  I couldn't go home. I couldn't even go to Huntington's condo because that would mark me even more clearly as someone to watch in order to find him. When being followed, all women know to go to the police station. But not all women had a lawyer brother who buddied with several policemen, including Sean's best friend, Derrick. I wondered if the fire station would work, but I couldn't quite see myself convincing a bunch of firemen to hose down the Lincoln to give me time to escape.

  Filled with frustration and not just a little anxiety, I drove by Derrick's house. The police station would tip these guys off and probably make them mad on top of everything else. If I went to the police, these goons might shoot me next time instead of trying to follow me home.

  Derrick's car was in the driveway. I pulled in next to it and for a wild moment considered stomping out to show my bravery. Instead, I scampered like a deranged idiot around the side of the house, hoping to make it through the gate before the Lincoln was close enough to get off a good shot. Luckily, Derrick didn't lock the gate. I wasn't even sure the back door was locked, but of course I knocked. I prayed he didn't shoot me after all the effort I had taken to escape the thugs.

  He must have been sitting at the kitchen table because he peered out the back door window within seconds. "Sedona! Hang on."

  He disappeared briefly, returned with keys and then took forever to unlock at least three deadbolts.

  When the door finally swung open, I saw that he was not dressed casually. "I'm sorry, were you on your way out?"

  "Me? No, not at all."

  I rolled my eyes. Only Derrick would bother to wear pressed pants and a tucked in button down to lounge at home. He always looked professional; he walked like a cop, and he talked like a cop. Unfortunately for him, he looked like the kid next door who never grew up. It wasn't his fault, it was genetics. Cinnamon hair topped a thin five foot ten inch frame. The hair was boyish enough by itself, but worse, he had freckles. Yes, freckles.

  "Come on in!" he urged. "I just finished eating. Are you hungry?" His brow furrowed in concern, that avuncular look that drives any woman over the age of sixteen nuts. I was slightly winded, but it didn't really warrant the worried arm patting.

  "Uh no…actually a black Lincoln followed me as I left work and--"

  Derrick stopped fussing immediately. He swung around and went straight to the front window. He closed the shades tight and picked up his cell phone from the counter. Before I could protest, he called in for a patrol car.

  Gosh, it sure was good that I went to a lot of trouble to remain inconspicuous. Those guys wouldn't know I was wise to them now, no siree.

  "Do you want to call the fire department too?" I asked.

  He looked confused and waaay too concerned for my liking. "Did they threaten to start a fire? Did you get a license plate?" He went into his bedroom and came out with his gun. "Now, Sedona, I don't want you to be nervous. I know you don't like guns, but I need to have this out as a precaution."

  I wasn't particularly fond of guns, but I wasn't about to scream either. I knew how to use them, and I knew what they were for. "Where did you get the idea that I don't like guns?"

  He stood behind his front door and peered through the window shades without exposing his body. "Your brother explained it to me."

  My brother Sean had a lot of mistaken ideas about me so I dropped the subject and tucked myself into the hallway out of the way. "Is your front door reinforced?"

  "Of course. Back door too, steel inside of the wood. Windows have special locks."

  "So, why wasn't the gate locked?"

  "They could climb over that."

  "Oh." It didn't take long for Derrick's cop friends to start cruising the street in front of the house. The phone whistled some song or other, and he picked up.

  "No," he said. "Did you get a license plate?" he asked me again.

  I shook my head. It had been impo
ssible to see the plate because the Lincoln's lights had been shining in my rear view mirror.

  "No," he said into the phone. "Yeah, the Civic is hers. Probably best." He hung up. "The patrol car will follow you home after they check the neighborhood a few more times."

  I came out into the living room and sat down on his microfiber sofa. He had a matching blue chair with an ottoman. "When do you think I can leave?"

  It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't fed me. "Do you want to take a sandwich or something? I can warm up some soup." He made a move toward the kitchen, but I held up a hand.

  "No, I'm fine, really. I just want to go home."

  He glanced at his watch. "Probably good to go in about ten minutes. They'll make sure there isn't a Lincoln sitting at any of the intersections waiting for you to meander out." Now he looked stern. "Any particular reason this car would follow you? Having trouble at work? This doesn't," he paused and looked slightly ill, "have anything to do with that crowd you started hanging around with, does it?"

  It is wrong to lie to such a naive, open, helpful face. I didn't even flinch. "No. I don't work at Strandfrost anymore. I have a new job. Maybe it was just someone from work, but I'm not familiar with the cars that go my direction since I haven't been at Acetel long." Uncertainty leaked into my voice unintentionally. "But how many people drive black cars like that with tinted windows? He cut off two cars getting out of the parking lot, and he ran a red light to stay behind me."

  Derrick, for all his freckles, looked grave. "It can happen. They may have been waiting for any lone woman to walk out."

  That explanation didn't make me feel better at all. Whatever happened to, "oh you're being silly, buck up?"

  "Denton is pretty small, but serial crimes happen," Derrick said. "Did you get a look at the driver?"

  I tried to recall if I had mentioned that I thought there were two guys. I was pretty sure that had been an unspoken impression. "No. The windows were tinted, and it was getting dark out." I swallowed and stood up. I didn't feel like sitting around listening to Derrick drum up additional serial killer scenarios. "I'm very sorry to have troubled you. It won't happen again."