Page 28 of Fated By Fire
I wish I felt the same way.
Chapter 11
Elena
I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut, then frown at my computer screen once more. The message I just received from Blackthorn is pretty clear. Find something bigger or I’m off the case. I read it once more, rubbing the knot in my shoulder.
RE: SURVEILLANCE ASSIGNMENT
Ms. Ross
While we appreciate the work done thus far, it falls far short of our expectations of your skills. We require a significant breakthrough by the end of the week, or your services will no longer be required.
However, should you provide what we are looking for, there will be a bonus of $100,000, payable immediately.
B.
I rub harder at the knot, glaring at the email. $100k… or nothing. I make a low sound in the base of my throat.
“Ugh!” I growl under my breath as I get up and prowl in front of my desk, the email replaying in my mind like a bad TV infomercial on repeat.
$100,000 or nothing. That would change my whole life—pay off my debts, finally upgrade my equipment, let me breathe for the first time in years. But not having it? That hits just as hard. No parachute. I was on the bones of my ass the day their email arrived. That $20k advance covered the two months of rent that was owed, along with next month’s. The rest covered car repayments and my credit cards, which have been maxed to the hilt. Which means I’m back on those butt-bones. They’re holding me over the fire, and I’m pretty sure they know it.
I glance at the clock on the far wall: 9:36 pm. Too late for any sane person to be planning what I’m planning. But I’m not sane, am I?
“This is impossible,” I mutter aloud, tugging at the hair tie barely holding my ponytail together at the nape of my neck. “Why can’t they at least tell me what they want from me?”
My eyes flit to the stack of files on the corner of my desk. All my efforts over the past couple of weeks to discreetly gather intel on Craven Industries—and Caleb Craven himself—have led to a frustrating dead end. But I’m sticking with my theory. The actual goldmine, the real secret they want, is in the vault. Ithasto be.
Craven Towers’ notoriously secure vault has been the focus of my investigation this week. Supposedly, only Caleb and Dorian can access it. Fingerprint scanners, retina scans, the works. It’s state-of-the-art. Catching even a glimpse of whatever’s inside could be exactly the major breakthrough Blackthorn is demanding of me.
I walk toward the neon glow of my window, then back to my desk, then repeat the trip twice more before the knot of frustration and desperation boiling inside me finally unravels into something sharper. Resolve.
Screw it. If my back’s against the wall, I might as well throw a punch.
I reach for my phone and dial Mara.
“Yo, bitch! You’d better have a good reason for calling this late. I’m in the middle of editing a kickass piece on the moon landing.”
I can’t help but smile at Mara’s greeting. “I need your tech wizardry. How fast can you get me building schematics and security specs for Craven Towers?”
“Hold up.” Keys clack in the background. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“What I’m thinking is not relevant information.”
“Elena Ross, you are not breaking into—”
“Mara. Please.”
She sighs dramatically. “Give me two minutes. But I swear to God, if you get caught—”
“I won’t.”
More typing. A muttered curse. “Okay, accessing their system now. Damn, they’ve got some serious firewalls… but nothing beats my beautiful brain.”
My email pings with incoming files. I open them, scanning through the detailed floor plans and security protocols before printing them out.
“Listen,” Mara’s voice turns serious. “At least let me come with you. I can run interference from my car, maybe disable some cameras—”
