Christ, Kynan’s offer was good timing. I’d been working for NASA at the Ames Research Center in Mountain View, California, one of ten NASA facilities. Ames concentrated its research and development in the fields of advanced supercomputing, human factors, and intelligent systems, what is often called artificial intelligence. I was recruited straight from my computer science PhD program at Stanford, where I worked mainly in their world-renowned AI lab.
I was doing important work, developing intelligent software to assist in several NASA Mission Directorates, including general aeronautics, the International Space Station, and Crewed Exploration Vehicles.
Kynan offered me triple what NASA was paying. His goal was to pair my brain with Bebe’s ingenuity to create our own technologies to push Jameson to become a world leader in security.
He definitely accomplished that mission, and I’ve never been happier in my work. It’s a bonus that it’s just a three-hour flight to Miami to see Jessica and Thea.
“There’s something else you’re not telling me,” Bebe says, and I’m pulled out of my memories.
“What do you mean?”
“Jessica’s not just a friend,” she asserts with a sharp nod.
I could lie to Bebe, but she’d see through it. Besides, I’m not ashamed of my feelings. I just don’t speak about them because what’s the point?
Griff enters the airport terminal, and I twist my neck to look back at Bebe. “She’s a friend, but… she’s always been the one for me. I’ve only ever loved her from afar, because I’m not it for her.”
Bebe’s eyebrows draw close. “What makes you think that?”
I shrug. “It’s just been friendship. That’s all it’s ever been.”
“Have you tried to make it more?” she demands.
Griff pulls into the parking lot for the private hangar where the Jameson plane waits.
“No,” I say, admonishment in my tone. “I don’t want to ruin the friendship.”
“Oh dear Lord,” Bebe grumbles as she glares at me. “You are an idiot.”
“It’s not like that, Bebe,” I snap as Griff stops in front of the glass doors.
“It’s not like that because you haven’t tried to make it like that,” she counters.
“Whatever,” I say and open the passenger door. Bebe scrambles from the back, and Griff stays behind the wheel, but he lowers the window so he can see us.
Bebe gives me a hug, and Griff wishes me luck.
I grab my gear and head toward the door.
“Dozer,” Bebe calls just as I reach it. “You should tell her how you feel. If anything, this should tell you that there are no guarantees for tomorrow.”
I don’t acknowledge her advice one way or the other, but merely give her a smile before entering the hangar.
Tell Jessica how I really feel?
Ridiculous.
CHAPTER 3
Jessica
It was a pleasant dream. One of those I didn’t want to wake from, but I can’t remember the specifics. There was a man involved—I couldn’t see his face—but we were walking on a beach together, and it just felt right.
Peaceful.
I struggle to hold on to that feeling, but a loud banging at my front door causes me to slowly open my eyes. It’s not daylight yet, but the bluish-gray light filtering in through my blinds tells me dawn is near.
Rolling over, I glance at the digital clock on my bedside table. The red numbers seem to angrily proclaim it’s a little after six a.m. and no one should be banging on anyone’s door at this hour.
Unless it’s an emergency.
I fly out of bed, almost falling on my face because the sheet is tangled around one leg. I kick it free, lurch for the door, and careen off the wood casing, jamming my shoulder hard.
“Fuck,” I snarl as I scramble down the short hallway, through the living room, and almost slam my face up against the peephole to see who’s out there.
Relief at not seeing a police uniform courses through me.
Then confusion.
Because on the other side of the door stands Dozer, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why he’d show up unplanned, this early in the morning.
Not that he’s not welcome.
He’s always welcome.
I unlock the door and quickly swing it open. Before I can even ask what he’s doing here, he’s pushing me backward and following me in. As he shuts the door, I start to turn on a lamp, but he utters a harsh, “Keep the lights off.”
“What in the hell, Doze?” I say, my first words punching out past the shock of him being here.
He turns to me after locking the door, and even though the light is dim, his eyes rake over me. My normal sleep attire in the Miami heat is usually a set of satin shorts and a camisole top. I’m even rocking a matching silk scarf over my hair. I’m only slightly self-conscious because Dozer is Dozer, and he doesn’t think of me as more than a friend, so he doesn’t care what I look like.