Finding Fate: An Intense, Fast-Paced Romantic Suspense Novel Read online

  Baby Sis: I know what you’ve done to get me here.

  Baby Sis: But don’t you ever want more?

  Me: You’re about to get more in college.

  Me: Well not GET more. I mean more experiences.

  Me: Not sex.

  Me: Don’t have sex. I’m not encouraging this extracurricular activity.

  Baby Sis: But you keep pushing me to get out more...

  Baby Sis: Kidding. Don’t have a heart attack.

  Baby Sis: Have you met anyone recently? Didn’t you start a new job? Anyone cute there?

  Me: I’ll worry about that later. You know me, I’m not that easy to get to know. In person, that is.

  Baby Sis: I wish you could meet someone. Someone who makes you want more. Maybe a life away from just supporting me and Mom.

  Me: Maybe. Haven’t met anyone yet, so I guess Prince Charming is still out there wandering the ancient woods in search of me.

  Baby Sis: You read way too many books.

  Me: They have happy endings. Sue me.

  Baby Sis: We’ll both find ours!

  Baby Sis: Teacher is glaring at me. Gotta go. Love you.

  Baby Sis: Like really love you.

  Me: I really love you too. Dinner soon?

  With a brown bag packed with a Lunchable, chips, and a questionable apple, I give Dobby one last pat and head out the door.

  THIS CAN'T BE GOOD.

  I ease into the lone unoccupied chair in the office and shove my anxious hands into the side pockets of my unicorn print hoodie to keep them still.

  "We need to talk," says a deep voice that echoes in the small, white-walled office. “Do you know why I called you in here?”

  A rogue pastel pink lock of hair brushes my cheek as I shake my head anxiously at my current boss. I say current because this is the second job I've had this year.

  It's March.

  "Um, no," I mumble, looking everywhere other than the man sitting behind the only decent desk this company owns. And that's not saying a whole lot. Start-ups like this one sound glamorous to everyone except for those who actually work in one. They're all the same—high dreams, low budgets.

  "You've been late twice this week," he states in a tone that suggests he's annoyed. But why is he making a big deal out of two days? Yesterday I had to help Mom, and today... well, I mean come on. I'm a programmer, which means I show up late, dressed in the same jeans and T-shirt from the day before. And, maybe too often, the day before that.

  “Okay....”

  Now clearly annoyed, he says, "Fate. It's Tuesday."

  Oh shit.

  Whoops.

  I glance down at my watch and cringe at the first number being a twelve. Warmth spreads from my chest, up my neck and creeps to my cheeks. He's going to fire me. I can't get fired. I can't.

  "But...." I shake my head, trying to come up with an excuse I haven’t used before, but none come to mind. "I'm getting everything done, aren't I?" A slight panic builds in my chest, making my pulse quicken. "I'm at least getting more done than the other two out there. Why does it matter when I show up?"

  With an exasperated sigh, he slouches back in his chair. Massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers, he says, "That's why we're having this conversation instead of me firing your ass. You can't show up when you want just because you know you’re the best programmer we have. The others look to you for standards, in both their coding and work ethic. If you do it, they do it. And I can't have everyone coming in at noon."

  "Eleven?" I say with a hopeful smile. I’m not a morning person.

  "Eight."

  "How about ten and a two-hour lunch?"

  "This isn't a negotiation, Fate. Eight o'clock is our start time. Be here, or this conversation will be very different the next time I call you into my office."

  "Fine, nine," I mumble and tuck my glitter-covered Converse under the uncomfortable plastic chair. This start-up is worse than the last one. At least the other company splurged for Ikea furniture instead of looking for anything on clearance at Walmart like this one.

  But it's a job, and a decent-paying one at that. The consulting gig for the FBI at night pays great, but I need more. Lots more. Who knew college was so damn expensive. And then there's helping Mom. We never talk about the cash-stuffed envelope I leave in her purse once a month, not that I want to. She never complained when we were growing up. She would be dog tired but still got up to work a second job just to put food on our plates.

  Looking up from a chipped blue nail I've now made worse by picking at the edges, I find him staring. "Okay, I get it. And I’m sorry, really. I’ll be here on time from now on, " I say, hoping to convince myself that my own words are true. I’m a hard worker, always have been, but being on time for anything has always been a struggle.

  Pale, hairy arms press against the edge of the desk as he leans forward with a smirk. "I took a chance on you. Don't make me regret it."

  Internally I roll my eyes. Of course he's bringing that up. Taking a chance on me, my ass. Just because I don't have a stupid piece of paper showing I graduated high school, people think they’re 'taking a chance' on the underprivileged girl. It was over ten years ago. Get. Over. It. I know I have. And I've done pretty well without it, so... moving on.

  With a sigh, I break his stare to look out the window into the dreary Fort Worth sky. I should alter the school system records, give myself the damn diploma just so this scarlet letter can be ripped from my chest, but it always seems to get pushed to the bottom of the to-do list.

  Destiny. Mom. Mac. Work. There isn't enough time in the day for all that and squeezing in anything for me. Things were a little easier when Mom took better care of herself, but now instead of just taking care of Destiny, I have to monitor her too.

  The boss clears his throat, bringing my wandering attention back to him. "On time from now on." He rakes a lingering gaze over me, starting at my loose pink buns, down to my lip ring before going lower and pausing, sending my stomach rolling at the new predatory gleam in his eyes. I fight the urge to zip up my hoodie. "If not, maybe we can work out other ways for you to make up lost time."

  The room heats, making the flush from earlier flare again. Damn my fair skin. Hopefully he doesn't take my blushing as a sign of attraction. If I were stronger, I’d tell him off right now, but like everything else, I’m not that great face-to-face. Online, I’d give him hell, but I’m not, so instead I ignore it.

  "I'll just be—" I push out of the stupid plastic chair with shaky arms but only get halfway before he speaks up again. Slowly I lower myself back down.

  "Do you have a boyfriend?"

  This time I don't stop my hands from gripping both zippered edges of my hoodie and tugging it tighter around my small chest to provide an extra layer against his leering.

  "Yeah... yes, I do." I lean forward to pull the cell phone from the back pocket of my jeans, scrolling through the pictures before turning the phone so he can see the screen. "This is him, my boyfriend." Which is a lie, but this picture of Mac’s strong, dark arms wrapped around my shoulders smiling at me while I smile at the camera will no doubt put an end to this conversation. "Cute, right? He's FBI," I toss in for good measure, which isn't a lie.

  This jackass doesn't need to know Mac is twenty years older than me, even though he doesn't look it, and more my mentor than boyfriend.

  I release the breath I was holding at the curl of my boss’s lip as he takes in the picture. Without another word, he angles his head to the door and motions with his hand for me to leave his presence.

  Finally.

  As soon as the door clicks closed, I take a deep, steady breath in and slump against the wall. Frustrated tears build, at him and myself, threatening to spill down my cheeks.

  No. Not here.

  Hell.

  Staring up to the ceiling, I attempt to rein in my emotions.

  Calm down. He didn't fire you. You’re good.

  Clearing my throat of the unshed tears, I shuffle down the empt
y rows of basic wooden desks toward my station.

  IT'S LATE EVENING WHEN I'm finally done with normal work and finishing dinner. Careful to get all the pizza grease off, I scrub each finger clean and toss the used wet wipe toward the overflowing trash can in the corner of my bedroom. As I stare at the two screens, the gentle hum of the tower and the heat pouring against my chilled bare legs have all the stress from the day, every drop of anxiety, dissolving. In here, online, is where I’m comfortable, where I belong and I'm in control.

  I'm queen.

  The confidence I lack socially is made up tenfold in here. If only things were as straightforward and simple as computers, maybe the world would be a better place.

  A quick crack of my neck, a long sip of milk through my strawberry Twizzler, and I text Mac to let him know I’m ready to begin.

  Me: Ready when you are.

  Mac: How was your day?

  Me: Meh. Filled with interactions I wish I didn't have to endure. I wish I could wear a shirt that says ‘Careful: Introvert Enclosed.’ Maybe then people would understand I don’t hate them.

  Mac: I'm so glad you got a dog.

  Mac: Instead of a cat.

  Mac: Or I'd worry you were turning into an old cat lady at twenty-seven.

  Me: Hit me. Come on, I need a challenge after this basic day.

  Mac: Okay. Added a new layer of security with a few trapdoors. Get through them and find the file with your name on it. Open it and see if you can break the encryption. You have ten minutes.

  A thrill shoots through my veins as my fingers fly across the keyboard. Every night, when I'm not working for him, we go through these various training exercises to hone my hacking skills. It's been going on for years now. He says it’s for him, since I consult on his team when needed, but I know he's doing it for me. That's the kind of guy he is. From that first day he barged into my life, I knew my well-being, my growth, were the only things he wanted from me.

  Done.

  I smirk at the clock. Seven minutes.

  Me: Make it challenging next time.

  Mac: Well done, grasshopper.

  Me: Learned from the best.

  Mac: Learning. Lots more to learn.

  Me: What's next?

  Mac: Your toughest challenge yet.

  Me: Just tell me! Dying over here. Plenty of caffeine handy to get me through the night. But I can't be up too late, need to be at work by eight. The creepy boss said so.

  Mac: What do you mean creepy?

  Me: Ogling creepy, not touchy creepy. Well, he did mention we could come up with a way for me to make up lost hours for coming in late.

  Mac: Fate, please tell me this is something you read recently and not real life.

  Me: It does sound like a book, right? The start of some kind of romantic suspense where the boyfriend—which would be you, I guess, in this case—would swoop in and protect the pretty damsel in distress.

  Mac: Who do I need to do the swooping on?

  Me: Can it. This isn’t a book, and I don’t need saving. It’ll be fine. And if things go any further, I’ll blackmail him. It’s cool.

  Mac: What the hell? Blackmail him with what?

  Me: IDK. I’m sure someone like him is doing something seedy. You know me, I can find anything online. Anyway, get back to the next task. You said it was challenging.

  Mac: Okay, go to Google.

  Me: Seriously? Google? Like basic people's search engine? No dark web searching, no digging, no breaking into Amtrak to help them stay on schedule?

  Mac: Google.

  Me: Fine. Hey, it's pretty here.

  Mac: Type in...

  Mac: GED

  Me: Seriously.

  Mac: Hey! Did you just shut my lights off?

  My smile hurts my cheeks it’s so big.

  Me: That's what you get for pissing me off and having a smart house.

  Mac: Well done. But seriously, you need to get it, Fate. Then start working on your bachelor’s. I want to bring you on full time here, but you have to get that first.

  Me: I will. Once Destiny is out of school. Right now I'm focused on her graduating and getting into a good school. She deserves it. Deserves a chance.

  Mac: So. Do. You.

  Mac: Are you ever going to put what’s best for you before them?

  He might be right, but Destiny is my little sister. She comes first. I want more for her than I want for myself. She's my best friend and might be the only one who understands and accepts the real me. With Mom working two jobs most our lives, it left just us two most days. We would go days without seeing Mom so, with me being eight years older, I stepped in to fill the parenting gap. Which was a learning curve for sure.

  Though I never minded. Maybe because it gave me an excuse to not hang out after school or be forced to participate in anything outside normal school hours.

  Unfortunately, Destiny’s followed in my introvert footsteps, being more of a homebody than getting out and enjoying life. I don't really press it since I understand the preference of being alone and reading over going out.

  But sometimes I wonder if it's really her, or if she does it for me.

  Mac: No more training tonight. I need your help. My guys are busy with another case, and something urgent just landed on my desk. Do you have time?

  Me: Of course, you know I'll always help you.

  Mac: I know, but I hate you seeing it all. Knowing what people are capable of. If it ever gets to be too much, let me know, okay? I can move you out of this division of the cyber group.

  He's right. It's not ideal, but putting away the men and women who prey on underage kids is where I’m destined to be. No way in hell am I walking away from this. Yes, there’s some guilt mixed in due to past mistakes, but ultimately it’s about me making a difference.

  With Mac’s team, I change the world one life at a time. Here, as strange as it sounds, I'm happy.

  Me: Trying to get rid of me?

  Mac: Never. You and me, kid. We’re in this together.

  Me: Okay, old man.

  Mac: I'll send you the file over the secure network. Expect it within the hour.

  The phone slips to my lap as I reach for the half-full two-liter Coke bottle on the nightstand.

  Movement in the corner catches my eye as I guzzle the needed amount of caffeine to get through the next couple hours. Dobby twitches like he's chasing something in a dream. His little growls and snores the most adorable and comforting sounds ever. But tonight it’s not enough to relieve the feeling I’m missing something. With a sigh, I push off the edge of the desk. The room spins as I twirl in my chair, staring at the same spot on the ceiling.

  Something isn’t right. But the harder I try to pinpoint the cause, the more the unease in my stomach grows.

  Chapter 3

  Fate

  Before

  Me: Good morning, sunshine!

  Me: Haven't heard from you in a few days, just wanted to check in.

  Me: How's school going?

  Me: Only a few more months! EEP!

  Me: Hey. Stop being rude. Respond to your sister.

  I swipe the black liquid eyeliner across my lid, spreading the edges past my eye for the perfect winged look, and watch as seconds turn into minutes with no reply from Destiny. I move to my hair, my eyes never leaving the phone resting on the sink as I toss the two pink sections into messy buns.

  The tenth time I press the Home button, just to make sure I didn't accidentally miss a text, twenty minutes has passed and I'm pacing the room. With each turn through the small living room, Dobby hot on my heels, worry grows, causing a slight panic that sends my heart into palpitations.

  Something is wrong. She always responds, even when in class. She knows I worry like a mom.

  Me: Okay, I'm starting to freak out. Maybe I should come up to school.

  Me: Seriously, Destiny, write me back. Now.

  Me: I think I'm going to puke. Destiny. Answer me.

  Me: I'm going to track your phone if you don't w
rite back now.

  Me: What in the hell are you doing at home? Are you sick?

  Me: Answer me.

  Hands trembling, I flip to a new text string.

  Me: Is Destiny sick?

  Mom: Not sure, honey, I've been on back-to-back doubles. We've been missing each other the past couple of days. Is she sick?

  Me: That's what I'm asking you. She's not responding to my texts, and her phone says she's at home.

  Mom: That's odd. I didn't see her when I left a few minutes ago. I just assumed she'd already left for school.

  Me: Fuck, Mom. I’m trying here, but I’m not there all the time anymore. I need your help keeping track of her. You are her real mom, after all.

  Mom: Yes, I know.

  Not taking the time to overanalyze the angry, uncalled-for text I sent Mom, I shove the phone into my back pocket and rush out the door with barely enough time to get a new rawhide to Dobby before it slammed shut. My fingers tremble as I zip up my Strawberry Shortcake hoodie to protect me from the cold drizzle.

  The two miles to Mom’s seems like a hundred as my legs pedal faster and faster. Halfway there, the drizzle turns to sleet, the sharp ice pellets like needles pricking my numb cheeks. My fingers tingle and burn as they grip the handlebars in the elements.

  The bike never slows as I reach Mom's building; I simply hop off mid-pedal, allowing it to slam into the brick as I bound up the three flights of stairs to their apartment. Numb fingers and trembling hands make it challenging to slide the key into the lock, but a few curses later, the lock clicks open and I shoulder through the door.

  "Destiny," I shout through wheezing breaths. Cardio has never been a top priority. "Destiny, get your ass out here. I don't give a fuck if you're on your deathbed."

  Darkness swallows my shouts. Blinds down and curtains pulled tight, just the way Mom likes it when she needs to sleep after a graveyard shift. As I barrel toward Destiny's room, my hip nails a side table, sending a thrift store lamp crashing to the ground.