Hold Me in the Dark Read online

  Hold Me in the Dark

  Helena Newbury

  For S

  I will be there for the steps

  Contents

  1. Yolanda

  2. Calahan

  3. Yolanda

  4. Calahan

  5. Yolanda

  6. Calahan

  7. Yolanda

  8. Calahan

  9. Yolanda

  10. Calahan

  11. Yolanda

  12. Calahan

  13. Yolanda

  14. Yolanda

  15. Calahan

  16. Calahan

  17. Yolanda

  18. Calahan

  19. Yolanda

  20. Calahan

  21. Calahan

  22. Calahan

  23. Yolanda

  24. Yolanda

  25. Calahan

  26. Yolanda

  27. Calahan

  28. Yolanda

  29. Calahan

  30. Yolanda

  31. Calahan

  32. Yolanda

  33. Calahan

  34. Yolanda

  35. Yolanda

  36. Yolanda

  37. Yolanda

  38. Yolanda

  39. Yolanda

  40. Yolanda

  41. Calahan

  42. Yolanda

  43. Yolanda

  44. Yolanda

  45. Calahan

  46. Yolanda

  47. Yolanda

  48. Calahan

  49. Yolanda

  50. Calahan

  51. Yolanda

  52. Yolanda

  53. Yolanda

  54. Calahan

  55. Yolanda

  56. Yolanda

  57. Yolanda

  58. Yolanda

  59. Yolanda

  60. Calahan

  61. Yolanda

  62. Calahan

  63. Yolanda

  64. Calahan

  65. Yolanda

  66. Calahan

  67. Yolanda

  68. Calahan

  69. Yolanda

  70. Calahan

  71. Yolanda

  72. Calahan

  73. Yolanda

  74. Yolanda

  75. Calahan

  76. Yolanda

  Epilogue

  © Copyright Helena Newbury 2019

  The right of Helena Newbury to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. All characters, companies, organizations, products and events in this book, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead, events, companies, organizations or products is purely coincidental.

  This book contains adult scenes and is intended for readers 18+.

  Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Main cover model image licensed from (and copyright remains with) Wander Aguiar Photography

  Zero Day Edition

  1

  Yolanda

  WHEN Sam Calahan hammered on my door, I was deep.

  Deep is something my brother came up with to describe how we get when we’re thinking about math. Your mind sinks down into warm blackness, leaving your body far above. There’s no time, no space, and no difficult, complex people. You fly, gliding and swooping around equations that unfold like elegant origami.

  My brother and I used to spend hours like that, sitting facing each other with our eyes closed, muttering our progress as we raced to solve a problem. Deep is a comforting, peaceful place to be. But it’s like descending into a well with no bottom. Go deep enough for long enough, and there’s a danger you might not come back.

  Boom. I was so deep, it took a few seconds to recognize it as a knock on my door. It made no sense: I don’t get visitors.

  Boom. A confident, aggressive knock. An open the door knock. And I felt myself slipping upward, pulled back to the real world like a bug sucked by a vacuum cleaner. I clawed at the blackness, at the smooth, reassuring numbers. No! Please! I want to stay!

  Boom. And I was gasping and blinking in harsh daylight. Reality fell on me, crushing and smothering me like a blanket made of cold lead.

  My brother was dead.

  And I wasn’t flying, anymore. I was—

  I looked down at my useless legs.

  I screwed my eyes shut and tried to will myself deep again. When I’m deep, I can kid myself it never happened. I can pretend I’ve somehow turned back the clock and my brother’s still alive, and I can still walk.

  A voice from outside my door. Not just a yell, a full-lung bellow. “FBI! Open up!”

  My eyes snapped open and cold sweat prickled between my shoulder blades. All of us have a singular, gut-wrenching fear. For hackers like me, it’s being raided.

  I’d been sitting in front of my chalkboards. One quick spin and a hard shove on the wheels and I was shooting across my apartment, braking to a stop just as my wheelchair reached my desk. I flipped up a plastic cover and put my thumb on a big, red button.

  My computer system isn’t actually in my apartment, only the monitors, keyboard and mouse are. The computer itself hangs from a steel cable at the very top of the building’s lift shaft. If I pressed the button, the cable would release. By the time my computer hit the bottom of the shaft, forty stories below, it would be doing over fifty miles an hour. Good luck recovering any evidence from that.

  “I’m not here to arrest you!” yelled the man outside.

  Yeah, well, you would say that. My finger tensed, ready to press.

  “Lily sent me! She says: don’t hit your button!”

  I froze. Lily—Lilywhite, to give her her hacker name—is the closest thing I have to a friend. Together with another hacker, Gabriella, we’re a three-woman hacker group called The Sisters of Invidia. We hack the computers of human traffickers, getting evidence the authorities can use to bring them down. And... yes, okay, while we’re in their systems, we empty their bank accounts. It’s not like they’re going to need the money in jail.

  No way would Lily give me up to the FBI. So just maybe this guy was telling the truth and he wasn’t here to arrest me.

  For the first time, I focused on his voice. Back when I’d had a regular job, I’d worked with a few feds and he didn’t sound like any of them. They’d all had sticks up their asses, their voices smarmy and smoothly clinical. This guy growled, a low, throaty rumble that vibrated right through me. A blue collar voice, rough as denim and fiery as whiskey. It wasn’t refined or polite. But it was a voice that would never, ever bullshit you.

  My thumb lifted slightly from the button and I switched on the security camera in the hallway outside. The guy looked like a dockworker someone had forced into a suit at gunpoint. He was tall: the camera was mounted level with the top of the door, but his head was scarily close to it and his frame seemed too big, too animal, for a suit. His white shirt was stretched tight across broad, curving pecs and his jacket hung from shoulders more suited to a quarterback. His tie was loose and askew, like he was halfway through tearing it off. And his dark hair was tousled, as if someone had been running her hands through it, or he’d been in a fight, or both. I’d never seen someone suit an outfit less.

  And yet...the shirt hugged those hard pecs in a way that made you want to run your palms over them. The cut of the suit showed off the glorious X-shape of him, wide shoulders, narrow waist and muscled quads. It had molded to him until it fit him like a favorite pair of jeans and the smartness of it set off his roughness perfectly. I’d never seen someone suit an outfit more.

  I tilted the camera for a better angle and he must have heard it move because his head snapped up and he
glared right into the lens, right at me.

  His stare was so strong, I actually jerked back from the screen. His eyes were the pale blue of the sky on a crisp, clear morning, when there’s not a hint of pollution or cloud and you can see for miles and miles. They caught me, held me, pinned me. They sought out every little secret, made me want to confess now because if he caught me in a lie it would be so much worse: they were half cop, half priest. I couldn’t look away from that gaze and when I did, when I managed to tear my eyes away for just a second, I slammed up against a brutally hard jaw, roughly stubbled. A jaw that took punches and stayed there, unswayed, demanding is that the best you got? Lips that curled and pressed tight as he scowled at me: so angry and yet so hard and perfect in their shape. Like he might just lunge forward and—

  I swallowed and flushed, my own lips suddenly tingling.

  “I’m Special Agent Samuel Calahan,” the man told me. “And I need your help.”

  He was gorgeous. Rough and rumpled and moodily gorgeous. I could feel the flush soaking down from my cheeks and all the way through my body. I wanted to mold myself to him and rub up against that roughness like a goddamn cat.

  And then I remembered. And glanced down at my legs.

  I wanted to have met him a year ago. Before. I wanted to run to the door and fling it wide. I wanted to tell my brother all about him.

  I took my thumb away from the red button and instead pressed the button for the intercom. “Go away,” I told him. “Leave me alone.”

  BOOM. This time, the door shook on its hinges. I stared at it in disbelief.

  “Now you listen to me, goddammit!” the man yelled. “There’s a woman in trouble. She’s with a guy who’s going to hurt her and the only shot I have at finding her in time is you. So whatever your problem is, get over it because I need you and I’m not leaving here until you help!”

  I tugged on the wheels, sending me coasting backwards across the room. I came to a stop next to my desk and stared at the monitor. The man—Calahan—was glaring back at me from the camera. But there was something in those pale blue eyes, something beneath the anger, and it was powerful enough to make me catch my breath. A sadness like I’d never seen, soul-deep, aching.

  The anger was just frustration. He couldn’t bear to let something bad happen to a woman.

  I looked towards the door. I wanted to keep him out there. As long as the world was safely out there, there were no stares, no questions. It was as if the accident never happened. But the second I opened the door, the illusion would be shattered. I didn’t want to see his reaction, that reaction all men have, that disappointment—

  My apartment is my sanctuary. That’s why I’ve only left it three times in the last eight months. Having a stranger walk in here was the worst thing I could imagine.

  But I wasn’t going to let some woman die just to protect my feelings. I took a deep breath... and pressed the button that opened the door.

  2

  Calahan

  THE DOOR unlocked and swung open. I took a step inside... and froze.

  Firstly, where was she? There was no one in sight.

  Secondly... there was something off about the apartment. The place was open-plan, huge and airy, with light streaming through massive windows and views out over the city. I couldn’t imagine what a penthouse like this, in the heart of Manhattan, must cost. And yet... somehow it felt small. I’m a big guy, but I felt taller than I should. I felt like I felt when I went back to my old elementary school so that the kids could meet an FBI agent.

  I stepped inside and pushed the door closed, thinking maybe she was behind it. Nope. I turned a slow circle. Most of one wall was covered in huge green chalkboards, the kind you get in schools that you can scroll like giant roller towels. And the chalkboards were covered in equations. I couldn’t even take a guess at what they meant: my math only goes as far as high school, and I spent most of those lessons trying to get a look at Mrs. Russo’s legs.

  Still no sign of her. The whole place was utterly silent. But if you do this job long enough, you get a feeling, a sixth sense. I was being watched.

  “Yolanda?” I called out at last. I felt dumb using her hacker name, but it was the only name I had.

  A tiny noise, down at the other end of the huge room. There was a desk topped with a forest of computer monitors. At the edge of one, a wisp of black hair appeared. Then she slowly peeked out.

  Eyes that made me think of the forest. Not some sun-kissed summer scene, where everything’s crunchy and dry underfoot. They were the dark green of towering pines wrapped in mist and rain, so dark I could barely see where the pupil started. Skin that was creamy-white and so smoothly perfect, my fingertips twitched with the need to brush her jaw, her neck. The dark hair made her look even paler, almost ghostly.

  She was beautiful, but it was more than that. There was something otherworldly about her, like she’d just stepped through a magic door from some fairy kingdom, and didn’t know how to interact with us humans.

  I took a step to the side and her head tracked me, but she still didn’t speak. Now I could see a little more of her, down to her upper chest. She was wearing a gray tank top that set off those incredible eyes. Her arms were smoothly feminine, but firm and defined with muscle, like she worked out a lot. And then I glanced down and—

  Oh wow.

  The tank top had a scoop neck and I was gazing at the most amazing set of breasts I’d ever seen. I went utterly still, lost in milky-pale curves and a deep, shadowy valley. Stop staring. Stop staring, dammit. Stop—

  I finally managed to look up. If she’d caught me looking, she made no sign of it. She was still looking me right in the eye and she looked—

  When I was a teenager, I wandered off a hiking trail out in Rockland County, pushed back a branch and suddenly I was looking at a deer, not four feet away. I froze. It froze. We both just stood there staring for a full minute while it decided whether to stay put or bolt. That’s exactly what Yolanda looked like. What is she so afraid of?

  I had to say something, so I started telling her about the case. “Her name is Jennifer Schuller. She’s a dental nurse from New Jersey. She was on a date with a guy she met online, but when it ended, the guy started getting weird. Wouldn’t let her out of the car. She called her friend in a panic, said they were heading for the Catskills, then the call was cut off. Cops found her phone broken by the side of the road—he must have tossed it out the window. We figure he’s taking her somewhere in the mountains, but it’s too big an area.” I could feel my throat go tight with worry. “We’ll never find them in time.”

  I saw those amazing green eyes soften, her own fear forgotten for a second. “What can I do?” she asked.

  “The guy lives here in New York. That’s why the local cops called the FBI. An hour ago, we raided his apartment. We found…”—I closed my eyes for a second and sighed, trying not to remember—“There were photos of some bad shit. Bad enough that we’re really worried about Jennifer. It’s looking like the guy had all this planned. I’m betting he has a cabin somewhere up in the Catskills. And I’m hoping the location’s somewhere on this.” I showed her the laptop. “It’s encrypted. We can’t get in. I called Lily, but she said you’re the expert, when it comes to encryption.”

  She looked at the laptop, then back at me. She didn’t come out from behind the desk. I could see the battle all over her face. She wanted to help, but…. Is she scared of me? I know I’m a big guy and I nearly knocked her door down, but I wasn’t being intimidating now. Or at least, I wasn’t trying to be. I could feel my heart hammering, but I tried to make my voice gentle. “Yolanda... you’re the only chance we’ve got. And we’re running out of time.”

  She held my gaze for a second longer and then nodded to herself. She turned side-on to me but instead of standing up, she coasted forwards and I figured she must be pushing herself along on an office chair. I sidestepped around the desk to meet her as she came out and—

  Oh.

  I blin
ked stupidly at the wheelchair. That was the last thing I’d been expecting.

  I looked down into her eyes... and my stomach fell through the floor. She looked wounded. Wounded by the shock on my face. I tried to rearrange my expression, but it was too late. Those beautiful dark green eyes blinked, suddenly liquid. No! Wait! I didn’t mean—

  She looked away, lips tightening, and stuck her hand out for the laptop.

  I’ve never wanted to undo a moment so much. I extended my arm and she snatched the laptop and—

  I’m not the most sensitive guy. Most of the time I have no clue what a woman’s thinking. But even I could see she’d got shields around her a foot thick and thanks to me they’d just slammed shut. Someone—some man—had seen her like this, and his reaction had torn her damn heart out. And now she thought I was the same.

  But I wasn’t, I’d just been surprised. The wheelchair didn’t bother me. All I felt was anger, that something had hurt her. But now she was going to hate me forever—