Gods and Mortals: Fourteen Free Urban Fantasy & Paranormal Novels Featuring Thor, Loki, Greek Gods, Native American Spirits, Vampires, Werewolves, & More (57 page)

The only other personal things on the computer were a few abandoned to-do lists and my various Internet bookmarks, none of which could possibly be of much use. So why bother at all? Or had Danny been driven so distracted he was just reaching out blindly for anything that might explain my sudden defection?

I went a little cold then at the thought of my private blog, but it was locked down with a very long, very random password, one that wouldn’t be easy to hack. Even my online banking password wasn’t as complicated. I should be safe enough.

Still, it had been a complete invasion of my privacy, and one that might possibly get both Danny and Victor fired if I could prove they’d really been snooping. I picked up the phone and started to dial Jacqui’s extension — I figured I could at least verify whether the antivirus install was completely bogus or not — then slowly placed the handset back in the cradle. As irritated as I was, I really didn’t want to get Danny fired. He had enough to deal with already. Besides, as far as I could tell, they’d just found a dead end. Okay, ten points for original thinking, but five for actual execution.

All the same, from now on I was locking my office door when I left for lunch.

T
he rest
of the afternoon passed in a blur. We were approaching the final deadline for getting this issue out the door, so naturally that was when all our freelancers roused themselves and started to send in their material. I ended up working almost an hour over. Of course, I probably could have gotten out on time if I hadn’t told Jacqui the happy news about my breakup with Danny. I lost more than an hour of my life listening to her alternately congratulate me, talk about the uselessness of men in general, and try to worm more information out of me about Luke. Somehow I finally managed to extricate myself, but the delay put me behind the curve, especially considering that I still had to go to the gym and try to work off that cheeseburger.

It was past seven o’clock by the time I made it back to my apartment. I had a slight feeling of anticipation as I turned the corner onto my street, but tonight there was no Luke waiting for me on the bottom step. Not that I could blame him; a spattery half-hearted rain was falling, and it wouldn’t have been very comfortable.

When I opened my laptop, though, at least I had an email from him.
Business takes me away tonight
, it said.
I’ve left you something to pamper yourself with, though. Check the refrigerator.

Eyebrows lifting, I pushed myself away from the dining room table where my laptop sat and went on into the kitchen. Upon opening the refrigerator door, I found a takeout container filled with my favorite corn chowder, as well as an elegantly packaged salad. A little split of sauvignon blanc sat there as well.

Something warm and wonderful filled my chest. The only other time I’d really experienced anything similar was back in my sophomore year of college, when I fell hard for Brad McAllister, who’d been in my abnormal psych class. We had what felt like a perfect romance for most of that year — right up until the point when he decided to transfer to Stanford. Despite that, though, he’d really been a great boyfriend, always coming up with thoughtful little things to do for me, coping with my hormonal mood swings, even remembering to get me flowers for my birthday and Valentine’s Day. I’d been a wreck at the end of that year after we broke up, but he’d still become the unconscious yardstick against which I measured all my other love interests. So far, no one else had really come even close…until now.

It seemed petty to even wonder what “business” could have called Luke away. After all, it wasn’t as if he gave me the third degree over how I spent every single second of my day. Besides, it probably wasn’t healthy for me to expect to see him every night. I didn’t want him to think I was a complete clinging vine, after all.

So I emptied the container of soup into a bowl and put it in the microwave, then pulled out one of the glasses he’d left behind several nights ago and poured myself the wine. I was feeling a little crampy, but between the wine and the warm soup I thought I could manage without the help of any painkillers. From the top of the refrigerator I retrieved an old serving tray and then put my meal on it. I figured if I were really going to be decadent I’d put my feet up on the couch and eat while watching TV. That position would help the slight ache in my lower back as well.

Only about five minutes had gone by, though, before my phone rang. At least I’d left my cell out on the coffee table, but I still gave it an exasperated glance before deciding I’d better answer it.

The caller ID said it was Nina. Good thing, because otherwise I wasn’t sure I would have recognized the frantic voice on the other end of the line.

“Ch-christa?”

I asked, “Nina?”

“Thank God you’re home — I tried earlier, and you weren’t answering your cell — ”

“Sorry — I was really bogged down at work today, and I had to stay late.” Maneuvering myself into an upright position, I wedged the phone under my ear while I transferred the dinner tray to the coffee table. “What’s the matter?”

“She — she
dumped
me!”

“Who — what?”

“G-Gina! She said she could tell I wasn’t serious about ‘the lifestyle’ or I would have told my parents about her. She said she refused to be with someone who couldn’t get out of the closet!” The last word came out mostly as a strangled sob.

Damn. It must be something in the air. I said, “Oh, wow, Nina — I’m really sorry.”

“I mean, you’d think she’d be a little more understanding. This was the first time I’d ever, well, you know — ”

“Yes,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t go into graphic detail. Of course I’d support Nina in whatever choices she made, but that didn’t mean I wanted to hear all the inside info, so to speak.

“But no! That wasn’t good enough for Miss Lesbianation! She said I was a coward and a hypocrite and — ”

I broke in. “Well, you know that’s not true. I mean, you never told her you were a lesbian, right? You told me you were bi.”

A long silence on the other end of the line.

“Nina,” I began, in warning tones.

“Oh, don’t give me any crap, Christa! Like I knew what I was doing!”

Actually, I thought she did. Rather, she probably
thought
she knew what she was doing. Nina had always been a player. In that she had always seemed a lot more like a guy to me. Lots of different relationships, no deep emotional attachments. She’d always been in it for the thrill. And at that stage in our lives, her behavior hadn’t exactly been off-putting to men. I didn’t know a lot of guys who would say no to a gorgeous woman who just wanted to have some fun and who wasn’t looking for anything lasting.

So when Gina came along, and Nina thought it was time to try something new, she didn’t stop to think that of course Gina would react very differently from the men Nina had been with previously. Why not another fling? What was the harm?

Obviously Gina hadn’t seen it that way.

I’d known Nina for ten years. I loved her — she was fun and bright and outrageous. But I also knew she had a really difficult time whenever someone wanted to get serious. That was always the signal for her to move on. Whether she’d been hurt at some point before I met her and therefore kept things light so she couldn’t be wounded again, or whether she simply didn’t have it in her emotional makeup to form deep attachments, I still wasn’t sure. However, if Gina had been expecting Nina to confront her parents, proclaim herself to be gay, and go off to live in lesbian bliss forever, Gina had definitely picked the wrong gal. I guess she’d just discovered that for herself and broke it off before things could go any further.

Nina didn’t get dumped. Nina was always the dumper, not the dumpee. I had the uncharitable thought that a good deal of her current outrage was probably due to that fact, not because she’d been all that attached to Gina.

I also knew, however, that I didn’t dare point out what seemed pretty clear to me. Part of being friends with someone is knowing when to speak your mind and when to shut the hell up.

So instead of uttering some of the home truths that had bubbled up to the front of my brain, I made sympathetic noises and told her that was terrible and did she want me to come over so I could take her out for a drink or something?

I really didn’t want to. I’d just gotten comfortable, and all I wanted to do was keep my feet up, finish my wine, watch some mindless TV, and then go to bed, where I would (I hoped) dream of Luke. Being a friend means putting yourself out there when necessary, though, so I just waited to hear what Nina wanted.

“No,” she said at last. “I don’t need you to come tearing out here. I’ve made a date with a nice bottle of Jose Cuervo Reserve, and I think I’ll call in sick tomorrow.”

“Good plan,” I replied, trying to keep the relief out of my voice. “Go shopping and buy yourself something completely frivolous.”

“I plan on it,” she said. “I saw this amazing pair of Christian Laboutin shoes over at a shop on Montana. They’re fierce, and they will be mine.”

“Nothing like a little retail therapy,” I agreed. “I’d call in and go shopping with you, but we’re shipping the magazine starting tomorrow, and the only excuse for not coming in is death. Or maybe Ebola.”

Nina laughed. “That’s all right. I’m just glad I was able to get hold of you.” She paused, then said, “Thanks, Christa.”

“I’m here if you need to talk more,” I replied. “I’ll probably be up until eleven if you need me.”

“Thanks,” she said again. “But I plan to get so drunk that I won’t be able to find my phone, let alone navigate my contacts list. ’Night.”

I heard the click of the phone hanging up. After a second, I pushed the button to send my cell back to its home screen and then set it back down on the coffee table.

My soup had gone cold, but I didn’t feel like getting up to reheat it. Instead I finished the last few spoonfuls, thinking of Luke, thinking about Nina and all the crazy things people did so they wouldn’t have to be alone.

Was falling for the Devil all that much different?

I
overslept the next morning
, and hurried into work in a foul mood. My disposition didn’t improve any when I realized that the last article I’d been waiting on still hadn’t been sent to me. Goddamn freelancers. You’d think they’d be a little more professional when their livelihood depended on turning in quality work on time. Most of them were, really, but we had a couple of bad apples we nevertheless kept hiring because they were good enough that we had to overlook their chronic lateness.

After I’d cleared off my desk, I started roaming around the Internet, visiting the Fug Girls site, checking to see if a couple of items I’d spotted on the Victoria’s Secret website had been put on sale yet. It had been a few days since I’d logged into my blog, so I figured adding another private entry might be a good way to kill some time until the next piece of work came along. That was the problem with getting a magazine out — it was definitely a case of hurry up and wait. The second the freelancer’s article came in, I’d have to massage it and then rush it over to the art department so it could get laid out, but until then I didn’t have much to do.

But after I’d logged in, I found myself staring at the blank field where I’d planned to write about the breakup with Danny, and maybe Gina’s breakup, and realized I didn’t feel like writing about that at all. I didn’t want to write about relationships ending, not with things just beginning with Luke, all shiny and fresh and new.

Because I was restless, and because I couldn’t think of anything better to do, I started noodling with the layout of my blog. I chose another theme, then changed the background color and the font. That didn’t take me very long, though, so I started roaming through the other menus to look at all the options I hadn’t really investigated previously. Usually I’m a cut-to-the-chase sort of person when it comes to that sort of thing — I just want to get the account set up as quickly as possible so I can get things moving. But since I was trying to waste time anyway, I went into the account settings and clicked on the “manage logins” option. I didn’t even know what it really was for.

Basically, it showed a list of my previous logins, along with the IP address and the time stamp. It took me a minute to figure things out, because it was set up for Greenwich Mean Time, not local time. However, I hadn’t accessed my blog since Monday night, and the list of logins showed that, according to the account manager at the site, I’d logged in just the day before. What the hell?

I was very careful with my passwords. I didn’t give them out to anybody, and I had a group of about six I rotated amongst my various online accounts. And because I used the blog as an online diary, I’d come up with something even more complex to guard that particular site. I hadn’t logged in to my account, though — I’d been out to lunch the last time the blog site thought I had entered my password.

Out to lunch —

The realization hit me, and I swore. Goddamn Victor sneaking around while Danny kept me busy at the restaurant. No wonder Danny had a minor freak attack when I tried to leave early. It hadn’t been the realization that I was really dumping him — it was the thought that I might come back and catch Victor doing…well, I didn’t know exactly
what
he’d been doing, but it sure as hell wasn’t installing an antivirus program.

Fuming, I got up from my chair and stalked down the hall to the art department. Jesus was actually pretty savvy on the technical stuff. If the magazine had had only Macs to maintain, we probably could have dispensed with IT Solutions’ services altogether. I wanted to see if he had any ideas about how Victor could have gotten my password when I knew I sure as hell hadn’t written it down anywhere.

Jesus was doing his own ’net surfing when I peered inside his office. He started a bit when I stuck my head in the door, and then minimized the window for his browser so I couldn’t see what he’d been doing.

“Really, I don’t care,” I said. “I’m waiting on Goldsmith just like everyone else.”