Hydrogen

1. Leah

1

LEAH

Just a small favour, my boss had said. It would do me good to get out of the office.

Well, she’d lied.

It might have looked sunny in Belvedere Park, where I was currently freezing my sweet patootie off on surveillance duty, but the bitter wind had left my toes shivering inside my high-heeled pumps and my fingers frozen to the book I wasn’t reading. Since when had September been so cold?

This was why I’d become an executive assistant instead of applying to join the investigations team. Others preferred the challenge of working out in the field as a PI, the excitement, the glamour, but I loved my desk. I missed my desk. Twenty-three steps from the coffee machine, right next to a window where I could look at the great outdoors without having to wear a coat, and when I got bored with that view, I had all the hot guys in the office to ogle. Working for a security company did have its advantages. Everyone stayed in shape. What more could a girl want?

“Leah, any movement?” Dan asked in my ear.

“Nothing. And my ass has gone to sleep.”

Usually, I got excused from surveillance work, but a perfect storm of big cases and a nasty stomach bug had sucked Blackwood Security’s resources dry, and Dan was concerned that the suspected fraudster her team was watching might grow suspicious if he kept seeing the same faces. Hence the “favour.” Everyone at Blackwood was expected to be flexible, and I had been trained in surveillance, so the request wasn’t unreasonable, but that still didn’t make it fun. A sigh escaped. Suck it up, Leah. I owed Dan, after all.

Because a week ago, I’d gone out clubbing, and at three o’clock in the morning, I realised I’d lost my purse as well as my dignity. When I’d staggered to Dan’s apartment four blocks away, not only had she given me a bed for what was left of the night, but she’d also tracked my cell phone and retrieved my belongings from the thieving asshole who’d taken them.

This was her payback.

“Well, next time, don’t puke in my living room,” she told me over the radio.

“I’m never drinking again.”

Most of the time, Daniela di Grassi was a good person to work for. I looked after her and another member of the Blackwood management team, Nick Goldman, organising their schedules and arranging their travel. Nick had gone to California for the week, but Dan was still in Richmond, tormenting me from her fancy leather office chair.

One more hour until I could go home, or possibly to the hospital if I succumbed to hypothermia first. In the meantime, I slipped my phone inside the biology textbook I’d borrowed from the prop room in Blackwood’s basement and opened up DateMe.com, then began scrolling through the photos absent-mindedly in case anyone caught my eye. Such as that blond-haired guy in the shirt and tie.

I paused and opened up his profile, only to find he was six feet four. Well, six feet two—in my experience, men always exaggerated. But that was still a whole foot taller than me. No go. I’d have to spend my entire life in high heels and probably stand on a box too. My dream guy was more…compact, and ideally, he’d spend his days in a made-to-measure suit. Not that I didn’t like muscles, of course, but I saw plenty of those every day at work, and there was something sexy about a man who hid everything with pinstripes. As long as I was the one who got to unbutton his shirt at the end of the day, of course.

Older was okay, but not too old. I’d tried one of those sugar-daddy sites last year, and been forced to weigh up the pros and cons of box seats at a Washington Nationals game versus being on the arm of a sixty-year-old. Well, he’d claimed to be sixty. He’d looked more like seventy. All those little sideways glances I’d received… Then my date’s dentures had gotten stuck in a cheeseburger, and the decision was made: no more men over fifty.

I’d messaged one probable and two possibles by the time Dan said the magic words in my ear. Blackwood had supplied me with a tiny covert earpiece that was barely noticeable under my hair, so at least I wasn’t totally alone in this urban hellscape.

“Changeover time. Tanner’s on his way to the café opposite. Once he’s in place, leave the park via the south exit.”

“Thank goodness.”

But why did Tanner get to sit in the café?

“And you’re back in the park the day after tomorrow, so you might want to wear proper shoes.”

“Yes, Mom.”

I stretched out my icy limbs, and I’d just gotten stiffly to my feet when a blur of…of something hit me dead centre and knocked me on my ass. Something wet. Something hairy. Something smelly.

The dog slurped at my face as footsteps came running.

“Brian!” A guy grabbed the dog by the scruff of its neck and hauled the thing off me. “I’m so sorry. He slipped his collar and jumped in the duck pond, and that green stuff got all over him, and…”

The stranger looked me up and down, his lips twisted in an odd mix of fascination and disgust. For a moment, I thought he was going to vomit, but then I realised he was trying not to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” I snapped. “I’m filthy.”

Strands of slimy weed hung from my hair, my pants were covered in mud, and the beast had shaken water all over me. The stink of rotten eggs wafted past my nostrils. This was karma finally catching up, wasn’t it? I’d made a small miscalculation while trying to find my friend Sloane a date, she’d ended up being stalked by a weirdo—okay, weirdos—and this was my reward.

Dog Guy studied me, assessing. What was I, a damn science project? His gaze paused on my chest, and I was almost ready to slap him when his eyes snapped back up to my face. Not to my eyes, though. He avoided looking straight at me.

“Uh, your shirt’s gone…uh…”

I glanced down at myself. Mental note: Never wear a white top on surveillance. Ever.

“Ohmigosh! It’s freaking see-through.”

He started to peel off his T-shirt, and three ladies stopped to watch. Way to go, Leah. This was totally how to stay incognito on an undercover operation.

“Stop,” I hissed. “Just stop.”

Dog Guy dropped the hem and chewed the edge of his bottom lip. He did have rather nice lips, and it was a shame they were half-hidden by a scruffy beard. Somebody should teach him how to use a razor. And give him the number of a barber—his light brown hair was several months past needing a cut.

“My apartment’s nearby. I can give you a new shirt, then call you a cab.”

“I’m not sure—”

Dan’s voice interrupted me. “Go with him, sweetie. Tanner sent me a photo, and you look like a swamp monster.” Oh, great. That picture would be on the home page of the Blackwood intranet before I made it back to the office. “And the dog dude’s cute in a messy sort of way.” A pause, and she must have sensed my hesitation. “Don’t worry, I put a tracker in your purse. If he turns out to be an axe murderer, just scream and I’ll send someone.”

Oh, that was comforting. But Dan was right. I didn’t want to walk the twelve blocks home dripping slime onto the sidewalk, and no sane person would let me in their car looking or smelling like this. But my friend Johanna lived two blocks away, and I had a key to her apartment—she worked as a flight attendant, and I watered her plants sometimes when she was overseas. If I could make it to her place…

“I’m not cut out for this,” I finished, then realised my words made little sense to Dog Guy.

“Okay.” Dan finally relented. “Come back to the office.”

Which was even farther away. And what if I ran into someone I knew? Like Johanna’s sexy neighbour, the one I’d been flirting with for months? If he saw me channelling Solomon Grundy, I could kiss any chance of a date goodbye.

What should I do? Make a break for it, or borrow a shirt from the stranger?