Earth, Omaha, Nebraska

  Aubrey Hope, Heiress and Director of PR Strategy for Hope Pharmaceuticals

  Aubrey’s head throbbed in protest when her phone started buzzing on the nightstand at 5 AM. She silenced it and sat up to make sure she didn’t fall back asleep. Everything hurt.

  Mind over matter.

  She grabbed yesterday’s purse and trudged into the en suite. The heated ceramic tiles soothed her aching feet.

  She turned on the water in the shower, then pulled out her pill case and fished out several pills.

  She downed them in one gulp before stashing the pill case back in her bag.

  Most days, Aubrey showered at the gym after an early-bird spin class. But one day a week, she met her friend, Ace, at his favorite local breakfast spot before they headed to The Hole in the Wall for private shooting lessons. So, no workout this morning.

  It was more of a relief than she cared to admit. A glance in the mirror showed dark circles under her eyes, and her skin held a sickly pallor. She looked exhausted. Thank fuck for makeup and coffee.

  A weaker woman would have taken a week off, or at least a day or two, to rest and recover. But Aubrey was not—and would never be—weak.

  Stepping into the steamy glass-walled room, Aubrey sighed as the multiple showerheads soothed her aching muscles. She needed to hold it together for another week, maybe two, and then she would take a break. A couple of days off.

  She needed to slow down, eventually. Working herself ragged like she had been on this Wellify deal wasn’t sustainable. After months of research, networking, and legwork, it was finally all coming together.

  The Wellify merger would happen, they would pull off the world’s fastest data integration, and they would find a way to diagnose and treat Syndrome Q. Hope Pharma would be saved. Aubrey would make sure of it.

  It had to work. Failure wasn’t an option, because if this deal fell through, Aubrey didn’t have a Plan B. Her family’s legacy would just ... end. She refused to entertain the possibility. Headquarters was like home.

  She finished her shower, dried and straightened her hair into a svelte power bob, and made up her face.

  Flawless. Classy. Powerful.

  If only she didn’t feel like she was unraveling on the inside.

  Crossing to her walk-in dressing room, she selected one of many sleek skirt suits and a pair of designer pumps. She selected a bright red patent-leather Dolce and Gabbana bag and transferred everything from yesterday’s bag to it.

  Wallet, makeup, phone, keys, Hope ID badge. Emergency kit—tissues, hand sanitizer, mini sewing kit, bleach stick, tampons, fingernail clippers. Pill case.

  And finally, she opened the hidden zippered pouch on the back and pulled out her Springfield XDS.

  Out of habit, she checked the ammo, enjoying the heft of the sleek weapon in her hands.

  She would never admit it out loud, but holding the pistol made her feel more in control of her life. It was almost meditative, feeling the cold metal against her palms.

  She could handle this.

  She could handle anything.

  Sliding the gun into the zippered holster in today’s purse, Aubrey double-checked that yesterday’s bag was empty before returning it to the shelves.

  Since today was range day, she also grabbed her protective ear muffs and slung the purse strap over her head, cross-body.

  Ace insisted if she carried off-body in a purse, she wear it cross-body and never let it out of her sight. He was sort of anal about it. Had drilled it into her head so hard she had been tempted to call him ‘Sir.’

  Aubrey smiled at the memory. Ace always had her back.

  She grabbed the carry-on bag she’d packed last night for her overnight trip to Dallas, since her flight would leave this afternoon. All set. Everything under control.

  Derrick was still sleeping when she passed through the bedroom on her way out to meet up with Ace at Barb’s Diner. Her fiance could roll out of bed at 7:15 and show up at the office before eight, looking like he stepped straight out of GQ. She should text him later today to remind him about her trip.

  She parked her Mercedes in the lot at Barb’s Diner, then set the car alarm before heading in to meet Ace.

  Aubrey knew she looked out of place in the diner—which was a bit of a greasy spoon—but she and Ace had been coming here since high school. The decor hadn’t changed at all, and coming here each week was like walking into their past.

  If her dad had paid enough attention to notice, Ace was the friend he wouldn’t have wanted her to have. He wasn’t rich and had never been a model student. He also rode a motorcycle, had tattoos, and joined the Marines straight out of high school.

  They had kept in touch and reconnected when he left the Marines to start a PI firm and personal defense training business. Aubrey was a loyal customer of both. Once a week, they met up for breakfast and target practice.

  And reminiscing.

  “Aubs!” Ace stood when she entered, and he threw her a million-dollar smile.

  He wrapped her in a warm and friendly hug, something most people would never dare to try. Aubrey basked in the simple comfort of the embrace, a fleeting moment of safety in the war zone called life.

  “I already put in your order.”

  The place served giant stacks of pancakes and future heart attacks Barb called omelettes. However, she allowed Aubrey to order off-menu—avocado toast, scrambled egg whites, and sauteed spinach and mushrooms.

  Barb served it alongside strong opinions about Aubrey’s boring taste in food.

  She and Ace slid into their old-school diner booth, and Aubrey poured herself a coffee.

  “How’s life?” Aubrey asked, adding two French Vanilla creamers to her mug. She thought about adding another, but decided she shouldn’t.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Drinking shitty diner coffee, sitting here with Ace, it was almost like they were back in high school.

  Any minute, they’d hop on the back of his bike and go looking for trouble, or fun. Or both.

  “Same old. The world may be fucked, but people still pay me to spy on their spouses. Some things never change,” Ace replied, lifting his mug.

  “To cheating spouses.” She threw Ace a smirk, and they clinked mugs.

  “Oh, hey—we should review that intel you asked for before she brings our food,” Ace said as he reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a manilla envelope. He un-looped the string and pulled out several paper-clipped dossiers.

  Each one had a photo and name at the top and a summary of online activity below. He allowed her to look them over while she drank her first cup of coffee.

  Violet Davis-Kobayashi, Hayley Jo, Katherine Miller—all three were lynchpins in her Wellify plan.

  Violet was the CTO and architect of the Wellify app. Hayley Jo, America’s newest pop starlet, was essential to their PR and marketing efforts. And Katherine Miller—well, she was a beautiful bit of serendipity.

  Last week, Aubrey met with Javier, the man in charge of hiring for the Wellify Integration team, to find out if he needed her to start a discreet search for specific skill sets.

  His answer: as long as the deal brought Violet with her entire team, their only gap was someone with experience modeling medical data for analysis.

  His ideal hire: someone loyal, with years of experience using patient-reported and lab-confirmed data to run bioinformatics experiments. An expert with Python, a pro at HIPAA guidelines, and familiar with the data structures they would need to build.

  Some higher power must have had Aubrey’s back, because an hour later, her friend Claire had pinged her with Katherine Miller’s resume. Apparently, the woman had been studying fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome, and migraine disorder to see if they were related.

  And then—poof! Microbe X hit—no more patients, no more research, no more postdoc.

  The woman must be desperate, because Claire had offered box seats to Hamilton if Aubrey agreed to meet.

  It hadn’t been necessary—Katherine Miller’s resume was a gift, wrapped and delivered by the universe herself. Miss Miller had dedicated her life to studying unexplainable chronic illnesses—illnesses just like Syndrome Q.

  Katherine had the right experience and was local. Hope would get her for a steal rather than paying a fortune to a headhunter for a similar skill set if she was as desperate as Aubrey suspected.

  According to Ace’s background check, Katherine Miller was a Girl Scout. Played the clarinet in high school, mathlete, Salutatorian, graduated from Creighton University Magna Cum Laude, then Creighton Medical School with honors before completing a PhD in medical microbiology with a focus on Bioinformatics and in silico experimentation methodology.

  The only dirt Ace had dug up on Kat was an old teenage LiveJournal.

  “What was in the LiveJournal?”

  “Eh, a bunch of emo crap about how hard it was to have a sick sister. She probably forgot the thing existed.”

  So, not only was Katherine Miller a Girl Scout, but healing people was personal for her. They had a preliminary interview later this morning, and Katherine Miller was essentially a sure thing.

  “What’s your general impression of Katherine?”

  Ace shrugged and slipped into that semi-militaristic voice he used sometimes. Like he was delivering a briefing, and she was his superior. “Model employee. Idealistic, hard-working, will probably work herself half to death for a good cause. Just don’t ask her to do anything illegal or immoral, and you’re good.”

  Aubrey nodded. Yep, Kat Miller was perfect.

  Next was Hayley Jo’s file. It contained little that Aubrey hadn’t already found online.

  Hayley had been a small-time EDM artist with a small but loyal following before blowing up earlier this year with her hit single ‘The Hunger.’ Hayley Jo was queer, and loud and proud about it. These days, she was also the most high-profile sufferer of Syndrome Q.

  She held up the file. “Kinda thin ...?”

  Ace nodded. “Yeah, she’s got her own PR team, and they’re obviously managing her online image. Also, she’s on tour, so I couldn’t observe her in person.

  “But she still writes her own tweets, because the writing style is the same as it’s always been. She loves music, loves her fans, and uses her platform to try and change the world. Her tweets are open and authentic—always have been. Best guess? Don’t act corporate with her, and don’t try to bullshit her. And make sure to listen to her album, if you haven’t yet.”

  Aubrey nodded. “Good to know. That’s helpful.” She’d take that into account for tonight’s meeting with Hayley Jo. The album wasn’t a problem—she knew it by heart.

  Next, she pulled out the file for Violet Davis-Kobayashi, Wellify’s technical genius. Without Violet, the Wellify Integration project risked going over budget and taking years to complete.

  They didn’t have years. More like months.

  Middle school in Japan, high school in the US. Made good grades, studied Computer Science at MIT, and got a Master’s degree from MIT specializing in Data Management. Worked for one of the ‘big five’ tech companies for a few years post-graduation, then took a few years off before signing on with Wellify seven years ago.

  Ace had no info on her three-year employment gap—barely anything was listed under online activity.

  “This is all you have on Violet?”

  Ace grimaced and shook his head. “Yeah. Something’s off with her if you ask me.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s practically a ghost. Her only, and I mean only, online presence is LinkedIn. No Facebook, no Instagram, no Tweets, no defunct LiveJournal or MySpace page from her stupid teenage years. Nothing. It’s strange, especially for someone in her line of work.”

  Aubrey chuckled. “What, is she a spy or something?”

  “Nah, nothing like that. Spies curate their online image. Violet just doesn’t have one. She’s either paranoid, or she’s hiding something.”

  Just then, Barb marched over to their table with a tray of steaming food, so Ace tucked the files back into the envelope and handed it to Aubrey. She tucked it into her purse while Barb greeted Ace with a motherly smile, setting his insane meat lover’s griddle in front of him.

  “Eat up, put some meat on those bones.” She instructed him, just as she did every week.

  Then she set Aubrey’s plate in front of her with the same concerned scowl as always. “You need to eat more, missy, put some meat on those bones. Live a little, eat something that tastes good.”

  Aubrey didn’t argue, just thanked Barb for letting her order off-menu and told her it looked delicious. Sure, pancakes would be divine, but Aubrey didn’t let herself eat crap like that.

  Aubrey knew better than to argue with Barb about food, which was basically the woman’s religion.

  They put aside business while they ate, and Ace regaled her with stories of his latest shenanigans as a PI, his most ridiculous self-defense students. Aubrey drank another coffee, ate half of her food, and relaxed into the simple companionship.

  After they finished and she had paid the bill, she and Ace crossed the street to The Hole in the Wall, where Ace used his keycard to let them in. He had a deal with the owner to use the range during off-hours so he could train Aubrey.

  Ace insisted Aubrey practice each shot with the draw from her purse.

  So they did as they always did. Ace drilled her on gun maintenance, and then they started in on a box of hollow points, Ace adjusting her form on every draw.

  Grip. Rip. Slap. Press. Aim. Fire.

  Aubrey loved spending time at the range each week. It was her meditation. For a few blessed minutes, everything was pure. The thrill of firing a weapon, pulling her finger here and hitting the target way over there, was like magic.

  Ace had her put down the gun and take off her muffs. “Geez, Aubrey, your hands are shaking like crazy. You ok?”

  Her hands were shaking like crazy today. Was it sleep deprivation? A side effect of the meds? Too much coffee?

  “I’m fine. Probably just too much coffee,” Aubrey answered, not meeting his eyes.

  Ace wasn’t buying what she was selling. He grabbed her shoulders to face him.

  “Aubs, I’m serious. You can talk to me—you know that, right? You don’t have to be strong all the time.” He moved his head to catch her gaze. “You don’t have to be perfect.”

  And there it was. She could spill her guts right now, tell him she was exhausted. That she felt like the future of her family’s company was all on her shoulders, that she couldn’t lose Hope Pharma because it had been her mother’s dream before she died.

  Aubrey could confess that Syndrome Q was awful, and that she felt like she was coming apart at the seams.

  Instead, she forced her most winning smile. “Didn’t sleep well last night, and shouldn’t have had that third cup of coffee.”

  Ace gave her a look that made it clear he knew she was lying. But he didn’t press the issue.

  He jerked his head at the gun she had placed on the counter. “You’ll be shaking if you ever have to use that thing, too. Let’s finish our drills.”

  Once they finished, Aubrey pulled off her protective ear muffs, and they cleaned up, locked up, and made their way back to their vehicles.

  Her Merc next to his cruiser.

  She had an impulse to hop on the back, reach into the saddlebag, and pull out the helmet, which he almost certainly still kept there. But pencil skirts and motorcycles don’t mix, and her bad girl days were long over.

  They stood by his bike, hesitating, before Ace broke the silence. “You need anything else from me?”

  Take me away from here, she thought, before saying aloud, “Would you be able to follow Violet, see what she’s up to? If she’s going to be a problem, I need to know.”

  He threw a leg over his bike. “Sure, but I won’t find anything before the deal goes through.”

  “That’s fine—her staying on as the technical lead is part of the deal. So we’re stuck with her. But ...”

  “So you want dirt on her?” His voice wasn’t judgy, just matter of fact. He was looking for clarity.

  “I want information. If there are skeletons in Violet’s closet, I need to know they won’t bite us in the ass. And if those skeletons happen to provide me with leverage ...”

  He gave her another 10,000-megawatt smile and winked. “Consider it done. I’ve got you, Aubs.”