On My Knees - J. Kenner Page 0,84

Butter? Cutter? No, Sutter! I do a little fist-pump, because I’m certain that I’m right.

Not that the name does me any good on its own, but if Jackson has Sutter’s contact info …

I head over to his desk and poke around for a Rolodex or address book. But like all the rest of us, Jackson is living very squarely in the twenty-first century. Which means his contacts are filed electronically. Which means they are on his computer.

Which means I can’t get to them unless I can figure out his password.

Which I am absolutely going to try to do, despite personal privacy and all those buzzwords. Because, frankly, I’m worried. And, yes, because I need to see him.

I try the basics first—his birthday, his social security number—which I get by calling the security team at Stark. The license plate number of his car. When those don’t work, I try the name of his projects. His company. His boat.

Nada.

Finally, I try my name, and am disappointed when that doesn’t work, either.

But it does give me an idea, and instead of using the Veronica, I simply try Ronnie.

And, voilà, the computer buzzes to life.

Since I’m really not trying to snoop, I go straight to his contacts and do a search for Sutter. I find him, Clay Sutter, easily enough, and scribble both his office and mobile numbers onto a scrap of paper. Then I log out, pull out my own phone, and dial.

There’s no answer at the office number, which doesn’t surprise me as it’s already past ten at night. I hang up when the answering machine clicks on, and try Sutter’s mobile number. Voice mail there, too.

Well, hell.

I hang up, because I’m not prepared to leave a message. Will he hear it tonight? More important, will he deliver it?

I’ve just decided that I don’t have a choice, and am about to call back, when it occurs to me to text him. After all, voice mails require logging in, opening the message, listening to it. Lots of people ignore voice mails, myself included, unless I absolutely recognize the number.

But a text will flash across his phone screen, and that’s what I want.

So I tap one out, then revise, then tap some more.

Finally, I send my message:

Looking for Jackson-911. This is Sylvia. Please, do you know where he is?

It will either work or it won’t, but I figure it’s my very best shot, and I hold my phone in both hands and say a silent prayer.

Less than a minute later it rings, and I practically drop the thing trying to get to the button to answer the call. “Hello? Sutter? Hello?”

“You’re Sylvia? His girl?”

I’d been standing, but now I collapse into Jackson’s desk chair, my knees suddenly weak. “Yes. That’s me. I’ve been looking everywhere for him. Do you know if he’s—”

“He’s at my place,” Sutter says. “Or he was when I left him an hour ago. My boy was a wreck. Needed to work off some energy. So I gave him the extra key and told him to lock up when he leaves.”

I run that through my addled brain. “So, he’s not in a fight? One of those underground rings?”

“Not tonight, he’s not. Hell, I don’t think anyone’s got a fight going on tonight.”

“I need to see him. Can I go? Will you tell me where to go?”

He hesitates.

“Please.” My voice cracks as I beg.

“There’s not another key,” he finally says, “and I doubt Jackson would hear you knocking. Park in the back and go in through my private office. There’s a keypad lock.”

He rattles off the lock code and the address, and I am so grateful that I would have kissed this man if I could.

I use my phone to map the address and end up in a run-down strip shopping center by the airport. Most of the signs for the businesses are broken and the windows covered with brown paper, but three still remain in business. A thrift store, a liquor store, and the gym.

That’s all the sign on the facade says—GYM—but that’s all I need to know I’m in the right place. That, and the sight of Jackson’s Porsche parked in front, looking vulnerable in this seedy neighborhood.

My car, a simple Nissan I’ve had since I started working for Damien five years ago, isn’t as sexy or fancy as the Porsche, but it looks vulnerable as well when I park it all by itself behind the gym. It has a car alarm that I rarely use. Tonight, I activate it.

Fortunately,