Shot in the Dark (Blackbridge Security Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Shot in the Dark

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Synopsis:

  Disclaimer:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Social Media Links

  OTHER BOOKS FROM MARIE JAMES

  Shot in the Dark

  A Blackbridge Security Novel

  Marie James

  Copyright

  Shot in the Dark: A Blackbridge Security Novel

  Copyright © 2020 Marie James

  Editing by Marie James Betas & Ms. K Edits

  EBooks are not transferrable. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Credit: Najla with Qamber Designs and Media

  Acknowledgments

  I LOVE this part!

  I have a SQUAD of people that help get each and every book ready to be published! Without them all of this would be impossible!

  Christine, you are AMAZING! You keep my on my toes when I know more often than not you want to throw something at my head! Thanks for sticking with me!

  Mary you’re the best! Thank you for edits and perspective and getting my books in tip-top shape!

  My amazing BETAs, you gals are my everything! Brenda, Laura, MaRanda, Michelle, Shannon, and Sarah, I couldn’t do this without your help!

  My husband…thank you for taking over virtual school so I can concentrate on getting my word counts in. You’re the real MVP!

  Shout out to Wildfire Marketing And RRR Promotions for helping with this release!

  To my ARC team, you ladies lift me up and give me the drive to keep writing! Thank you for your kind words and being the spot checkers for my final draft!

  If I missed anyone, blame it on the pandemic and my crazy writing schedule…my brain is fried!

  Until next time! Keep it safe, sane, and consensual!

  ~Marie James

  Synopsis:

  As an IT expert and hacker extraordinaire, Wren Nelson is no stranger to discovering all sorts of secrets online.

  He’s a warrior… when he’s behind his computer, that is.

  And awkward at best in social situations.

  His long hours with Blackbridge Security don’t really provide many opportunities to go out and meet people.

  So what is he supposed to do when a wrong delivery—a questionably large box of bedroom toys—ends up in his hands instead of its intended target?

  Online stalking has always been his go-to to accumulate information on people, but only seeing Whitney through digital displays isn’t enough. Approaching her doesn’t seem like the best plan either.

  What he doesn’t know is that this woman is possibly the only one in existence able to give him a run for his money.

  Disclaimer:

  Shot in the Dark overlaps with Hostile Territory: Blackbridge Security book 1 by about a month. Although each book is a different couple, the books are interconnected, which means you will get more of Deacon and Anna’s story as Wren is finding his happily ever after.

  Also, Wren is a computer guy, and like many of us who go digging into that super cute IG model’s pages trying to get the scoop on him, he does the same with Whitney in this book. He watches video footage of her in public areas, and he’s going to discover quite a few secrets by invading her IP address. Let’s call him an online detective (which he sort of is for work), but he takes things to the extreme when it comes to this woman he can’t seem to keep his mind off of.

  I mean, don’t you think it’s pertinent that he discovers her love for tacos? It’s his favorite food, after all. At any rate, he’s just trying to figure out if he’s compatible with her before he makes his move.

  Haven’t started the series yet? Grab book one Hostile Territory HERE! I promise you won’t be disappointed.

  Chapter 1

  Wren

  “Nana!” I sigh as I climb into my car juggling the box I just picked up from the front desk of my apartment complex along with the carrier Puff Daddy is in.

  Puff makes it safely to the passenger seat, but the box tumbles to the floorboard, the contents making so much noise, I’m left wondering if I’ve ruined it before I even have the chance to open it.

  “The entire situation is just so very sad,” my grandmother continues as if I haven’t been trying to get her attention for the last five minutes.

  She’s not hard of hearing, even in her old age. She suffers from selective hearing, meaning if she doesn’t want to listen to reasoning—something that happens more often than not—she pulls the I’m eighty-four, what did you say dear card. Only today, she isn’t even giving me the opportunity to reword my last statement.

  “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  I have an opening. She’s finally giving me the chance to voice my opinion on the matter, but like many times before, it feels like a trap. I could just agree and move on with my day, but after her heartfelt post earlier on social media and my position as the IT specialist—and talented hacker—for Blackbridge Security, I feel an innate responsibility to correct the issue, not that people on her “friends list” have any clue what I do for a living. According to Nana, I sit at a computer all day making it possible for Deacon Black, that gorgeous young man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, to stay organized.

  “He doesn’t need a heart transplant,” I inform her, not for the first time since I called her earlier.

  “It’s obvious he does, dear.” Now it’s her turn to sigh, as if I’m frustrating her. “I read it on the Internet.”

  “And everything online is real,” I mutter.

  “What was that, Wren?”

  Another chance to just leave it alone, but the embarrassment I felt this morning is still clinging to me. Since I’m stubborn to a fault, a trait I got from the very woman I’m talking to, I can’t just let it go. I’m not Elsa, and this isn’t a damn Disney movie.

  “Robert Downy, Jr., AKA Iron Man, doesn’t need a heart transplant. He’s an actor in a movie.”

  “With a bad heart,” she agrees, missing the point entirely.


  “The character in the movie has a bad heart. I’m certain Mr. Downy is fine.”

  “They’re raising money for his surgery.”

  “Iron Man is rich. He doesn’t need donations.”

  “Every share raises a dollar for his operation.”

  “Nana.” I’ve met my quota for sighs for the day, but it seems I’ll be dipping into tomorrow’s ration as well.

  “Don’t Nana me, young man. Surgeries are very expensive, and I’m just doing my part to help him out.”

  “You’re a generous woman.” Conceding at this point is all I can do.

  “You should share as well. That’s another dollar. Every penny counts.”

  I can’t agree to do it because the woman remembers everything. If I don’t repost the promotion she shared, which is in fact a promotion for the anniversary release of the original movie, she’ll call me before lunch to remind me to do so.

  “I’m not allowed to share fund-sourcing materials, Nana. It’s in my contract.” Even though it’s a little white lie, it still makes me feel like I’m going to hell for it.

  “That’s a shame. Should I call Deacon to discuss a re-evaluation of your contract?”

  And she would if I even hinted that I needed help. Craziest part is that Deacon would probably give this woman anything she asked for. If she thought it was in my best interest to work from a satellite office on the moon, he’d do his damnedest to get me on the next space shuttle. Like myself, he can’t seem to tell her no.

  “That won’t be necessary. As soon as I get to work, I’ll log on and donate ten dollars.”

  “Such a generous boy,” she praises.

  Puff Daddy huffs beside me. Even the bird is frustrated with her.

  “Make sure you—”

  “I’ll email the confirmation page,” I interrupt, knowing what’s coming next.

  If I make a promise, I have to back it up with proof. I hadn’t planned on spending time this morning making yet another fake Thank you for your support invoice, but this happens so much, I may be able to recycle one of the many I’ve had to do in the past.

  “Very good.” She’s become agreeable so quickly, I want to kick my own ass for not starting with agreeing to donate in the first place. “I expect you at Sunday brunch next week.”

  “I’ll be there,” I tell her enthusiastically, and I don’t even have to fake my excitement. Honestly, I’m a little disappointed that today is Sunday, and we aren’t having a meal.

  Not only did Odette Nelson put her life on hold to raise me after my parents died when I was young, she just so happens to be the most amazing woman I know. The fact that she can cook like a Michelin Star chef doesn’t hurt either.

  “Will you be bringing a friend?”

  So much for thinking I’d be able to avoid this conversation. I look around only to realize I’ve made it to work without even remembering pulling out of the parking garage at my apartment complex. Well, that’s not scary at all.

  She isn’t asking if Flynn or Brooks will be coming. She isn’t hinting that the stud with the amazing accent should visit again—her phrasing not mine. I’d never refer to Ignacio Torres as a stud, mainly because I don’t need his ego growing any bigger than it already is.

  “I’ll see if Finn is available.” My smile is so wide, my face hurts as I wait for her response.

  “Absolutely not. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, no warlocks in my house.”

  “He’s not a warlock,” I argue. “He’s a redhead.”

  “A warlock,” she repeats.

  God love this woman. She’s never had a problem with racism. Never batted an eye at non-heteronormative relationships. But redheads? They’re all the devil, evil incarnate, and only put on earth to take a person’s soul.

  “So, I’ll be coming alone then.”

  She sighs, and I know if I were standing in front of her, she’d be glaring in my direction for even mentioning my Irish colleague who also happens to have been born with red hair.

  “When I asked about a friend, I didn’t mean—”

  “Oh, so sorry, Nana. I just got to work, and I have to go. Love you. Give Princess kisses for me.”

  I hang up the phone before she can argue further. Explaining to my grandmother how hard dating is never goes very far. She can only focus on the fact that I’m twenty-six and still single, the equivalent of a death sentence as far as she’s concerned. At least I got off the phone before she suggested the granddaughter or grandson of one of her Parcheesi friends. I’ve been in those situations and let’s just say each time was more awkward than the story of how I lost my virginity six short years ago.

  “She needs—”

  “Don’t start,” I warn Puff Daddy.

  “They have excellent facilities—”

  “Puff!”

  He cackles as I reach for the strap on his soft carrier.

  Even at eighty-four, my grandmother is spry and capable of taking care of herself, but every time I talk to her in front of my African Grey parrot, he suggests I put her in a nursing home. The bird has jokes for days.

  The elevator ride up to the ninth floor is over before I know it, and Pam gives me a small wave from the reception desk as she continues her phone conversation. When I first started with Blackbridge Security, Deacon was still working on building his clientele and advertising for various PI services. In the last couple of years, however, the company has shifted to more prestigious jobs for some very rich and important people, and we work mostly on a referral basis only.

  Despite the inability for people to find us online unless they have our direct URL, we stay busy. So much so, that more often than not, we have to turn people away, offering them information on other companies that are well versed with helping with the smaller jobs. BBS may have started with small-time investigations for cheating spouses and security details, but we’ve branched out and are more prone to work domestic abductions and terrorism.

  As always, there are a couple of the guys hanging out in the breakroom when I walk in. We don’t really have set hours, but some of these guys never seem to go home. It’s not unusual for me to spend several nights a week locked in my office. Of course my time not working in there is spent playing online games and getting lost in online rabbit holes rather than sleeping.

  I wave to Ignacio, Gaige, and Brooks on the way to my office. Thankfully, the boss man isn’t around. I get along fine with the guy, but he’s been a surly bastard for the last month, and it’s best to keep my distance.

  “Women problems,” I mutter as I throw open the door. “Glad I don’t have to deal with that shit.”

  “Loser,” Puff snaps, never wasting the opportunity to irritate me.

  “Not a loser,” I argue. “I get girls.”

  “Twitter pussy!” he squawks as I unzip the carrier and let him crawl out.

  How sad is it that my damn bird is well aware of my preferences for getting laid?

  “Ridiculous,” I hiss as I try to ignore the verbal assault and fire up my systems.

  I’m not going to waste my breath explaining to an animal that I don’t have time to date. Setting the parameters for online hookups work for me, and there’s no sense in changing something that works.

  “You made me forget that damn box.” Puff Daddy heads to his food bowl rather than arguing with the blame I’m throwing his way.

  The trip back down to the parking garage is uneventful as always, and since my pet is in a weird mood this morning, I opt to open the damn thing on the table in the breakroom. I’ve been waiting for this package to arrive. The custom-dipped speakers are going to go great with my—

  “What the fuck?” I hiss when I fold back the tabs of the box.

  I should’ve clamped my mouth shut instead of reacting the way I did because I’ve drawn the attention of every guy in the room, which somehow now includes my boss. Finnegan Jenkins, BBS’s mechanical engineer, moves toward me first, but I don’t have the wherewithal to close the box
and carry it to a more private location.

  “Is it a fucking bomb?” the Irish warlock asks, but instead of being in fear for his life, he hangs his head over the box, and his cackling laughter echoes around the room, drawing even more attention.

  I’m starting to agree with my grandmother on his evilness.

  “What?” Brooks Morgan, the covert ops guy of the group asks as he inches closer.

  I can honestly say I’m more confused than I’ve ever been. Flipping the tab of the box over, I stare down at the address on the label.

  I haven’t ordered anything from Amazon, and I sure haven’t ordered this shit.

  “I just picked this up from the front desk of my apartment,” I say, needing to explain.

  “The suspense is fucking killing me,” Flynn, BBS’s second in command, says as he also approaches. “Holy shit! I knew you were into some weird shit, but this is eye-opening.”

  And as much as I could deny it right now, he’s right. I didn’t order a single thing in this box, but I do have experience with nearly everything I’m seeing. Thousands and thousands of hours spent online can lead you to some really weird places, forcing you to discover things about yourself you never could’ve imagined.

  “This isn’t mine,” I explain as Flynn grabs the box and turns the thing over.

  Every guy in the room watches as a waterfall of sex toys falls to the table in front of us.

  “Wow,” Deacon mutters, but instead of getting angry like I’d expect due to his shitty attitude lately, a smile spreads across his face. “Might as well be a bomb. If you can handle that, call me impressed.”

  Heat warms my cheeks as I reach for the item Brooks picked up.

  “Dios mio,” Ignacio, our language expert, hisses with a chuckle. “That thing is huge!”

  “Twelve inches,” Flynn says, holding the giant dildo to the side to read the label, “and ribbed for her pleasure.”

  “The things you learn about people even after all the years of working together,” Gaige tsk-tsks. He’s our acquisitions guy, but I’d put money on the fact that he’s never had to acquire a twelve-inch rubber cock before.