Lethal Design (The Omega Team Series Book 3) Read online

  Lethal Design

  The Omega Team Series

  Book 3

  By

  Desiree Holt

  Lethal Design

  Copyright 2015 by Desiree Holt

  Published by Desiree Holt

  Copyright 2015 Cover Art by Scott Carpenter

  Editing and Formatting Services by Wizards in Publishing

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  From Desiree

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  About the Author

  From Desiree

  People ask me all the time if I always wanted to be a writer. I don’t know if “always” is the word but certainly for all the years I can remember. I was a voracious reads, as were my mother and sister and books held a royal place in our home. The funny thing is I always thought I would write mysteries because that’s what we all read. I didn’t read my first romance until 2004, when I was sitting with the same three chapters of a mystery on my computer that had been there for three months. But then my eyes were opened and they never closed.

  Submitting that first book was scary, but after a lot of rejections you stop being scared and become determined I’m glad I never gave up, because I am having the most fun in my life I have ever had. (Well, maybe not ever! LOL!) So here I am, with all these titles under my belt.

  Writing a book is a solitary experience but it never comes to the bookshelves, virtual or other, alone. For me it starts my treasured friend and beta reader extraordinaire, Margie Hager, who has the best eagle eye in the world. Thank you, Margie my love, for all the hours you put in to help me bring my stories to life. And for your friendship, which is a highlight of my life.

  Thanks to the ladies of Belle Femme authors—Cerise Deland, Brenna Zinn, Dalton Diaz, Regina Carlysle and Samantha Cayto who are my BFFs. Guys, you make me smile on the very worst days.

  Then there is my family. Do they read my books? Absolutely not! But they are the best public relations team in the world. From my daughter Amy who tells all her clients about me to my son Steve who makes sure he lets everyone he knows when I have a book released to my younger daughter Suzanne who is my good right hand and my granddaughter Kayla who is my wonderful left hand. Guys, I could not do it without you. If you see me at a convention, Suzanne will not be far from my side.

  My cats, of course, keep me company while I write. And you all have seen pictures of Bast at the keyboard with me. She thinks she should get co-author credit!

  Thanks to all the people who let me pester them for information, on all the different topics I tackle, from SEALs to Force Recon Marines to Delta Force soldiers to the local sheriff to the people at Beretta and the folks at the San Antonio Stock Show and Rodeo. I’m sure I’ve forgotten someone and if I have, I am so sorry because the time you continue to give me is very special.

  Last but very far from least are all of you, my wonderful readers, who send me such great emails and posts and are so faithful. A special shoutout to Phuong Phen, Fedora Chen, Shirley Long and Patricia Sager who have been with me since my journey started and in frustrating times give me the inspiration to push ahead.

  I love you so much. You are my extended family and I send you all many hugs.

  There are a lot more stories to come. Please stay tuned.

  Desiree

  Lethal Design

  Shannon McRae never thought her life as a video game designer would land her in danger. But suddenly her files are corrupted, her laptop keeps going missing, little things are happening like unexpected flat tires in the dark of night. Someone is after her, but why? It’s just a stupid video game, she keeps telling herself. But when your friend is Athena Madero, who just happens to be a partner in The Omega Team, a super security and protection agency, help is just around the corner. Except this time help came in the form of ex-Delta Force Owen Cormier. He’s a great bodyguard but not much good in a relationship. Or so he thinks, until sparks ignite between him and Shannon and walking away just might not be possible.

  Chapter One

  Shannon McRae looked over her shoulder as she made her way through the parking lot at Maddux Video Designs. Well past eight o’clock, darkness already shrouded the night. She wished Maddux didn’t insist its employees park in the back lot, away from the lights and traffic on the busy street where they were located. It increased the feeling of vulnerability, one she’d dealt with a lot of late. She hadn’t meant to work so late, but she continued to be confounded by something in her latest project, and her stubbornness kept her from giving up. Finally, though, battling a headache and a stiff back, she shut down her computer, setting the security on it until the next day.

  Under normal circumstances working late didn’t bother her. She sometimes even worked until midnight. She’d been doing a lot of that with this project for Infinity because it had her baffled. On the face of it, this latest assignment looked simple enough. Craig Loeffler, president of a financial services firm, wanted a video game to use as a team-building exercise for his executives. As one of Maddux Videos top designers, the assignment had fallen to her, and she’d been riding along like she sat on greased rails.

  Then, boom!

  Out of nowhere, things seemed to go wrong. Too many things happened in a short space of time. Creepy things. Strange things. When she came back from lunch one day, her keyboard sat in a different place and some papers on her desk had been moved, even though, like all the designers, she locked her office whenever she left it. Anyone would need a swipe card to access her space. No one had one except for her, although, of course, Ray Maddux and the head of security both had masters. But they wouldn’t be doing this. Would they? For what reason?

  She had a secure laptop she carried back and forth to work with her, copying her files to it at the end of each day. As a senior designer, she had permission to work on her project at home, a blessing when she had a thorny problem to solve. She’d been doing it with this particular game because it gave her so much trouble with it. When she brought it back to the office, each time she stashed it in a drawer. Not once but three times it turned up someplace other than where she’d put it. One time, the file had even disappeared altogether, and she wondered if she was losing her mind. If she brought it up, people would no doubt look at her like as if she’d lost her marbles. She could just hear them now.

  “You just forgot where you put it. Too much on your mind. Who would move your laptop?”

  Who indeed?

  Then, twice, when she pulled up the file at the office to begin her day’s work, she discovered it was corrupted, something that required an experienced programmer. How could that happen? Ray Maddux might insist all files be saved to a central location, but he made sure every programmer had double passwords he or she created. It prevented other designers from sticking their nose in coworkers’ files when without permission.

  Unless someone meant it to look as if she’d done it herself. But who at Maddux would do that and why? Sure, her boss fostered a strong spirit of competition among his designers. Sometimes, she thought a little too strong. But Ray himself was a competitor, and he encouraged
the environment. Shannon had learned just to keep her head down, work her ass off, and avoid anything but the most superficial relationships with the other designers.

  Had this backfired? Had someone gotten tired of her “sticking up her nose at them,” as Peter Maguire had once spat at her, and decided to teach her a lesson? Or could this be about something more sinister? She just had a hard time believing all of this was to get her fired.

  Meanwhile, the problem wouldn’t go away. It seemed the harder she worked to fix it, the worse it got. She did, however, buy storage space at a very secure online site. She knew Maddox expressly forbid it, but no one knew about it. That meant no one could search for her work there. Now, at the end of each day, after saving the file on the server, she bypassed the system at work and sent the current file to the special location. Then she began to have the feeling someone was following her around. Stupid, right? Who would it be? She didn’t design games for secret government programs or anything.

  Still, the feeling wouldn’t seem to go away. Wherever she went during the day, she made sure to be extra observant. Three times she was positive someone had followed her home when she worked late, so until tonight she’d taken to closing up shop at five. She could always access the files from her laptop at home.

  At the same time, strange phone calls were driving her crazy. Five calls came in with no one on the other end when she answered. To make matters worse, the receptionist had sworn nothing had come through her and insisted Shannon must have imagined them. No outside calls, no calls from another extension. She hadn’t imagined them, damn it. Either someone on staff could jack around the phone system—and with a staff of hot programmers, anything was possible—or the receptionist might be in on it. Shannon hated to even consider that option.

  At last, with great reluctance, she’d gone to Ray Maddux. The ultimate pragmatist, he’d just looked at her as if she’d weirded out, and, from his point of view, she probably had. Lost or corrupted files? Ghost phone calls? Someone following her? If she weren’t the sole programmer with all the digital keys to the game she worked on, he’d no doubt have sent her home. Maybe for good. If the goal was to make her quit or get her fired, that wouldn’t be too hard. Maddux was a no-nonsense man without a sense of humor and with a low level of tolerance for people he called whiners. She’d kept her mouth shut from then on, despite the fact spooky things kept happening.

  Now, disturbed by some errant and unidentifiable noise, she hurried to her car, high heels tapping loudly on the parking lot pavement. Were those footsteps behind her?

  Geez, Shannon. Dramatic much?

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached her car, which she had deliberately parked beneath one of the two parking lot lights in the back. But her relief was short-lived when she saw the flat left rear tire.

  Damn!

  It had to be an accident. A weird coincidence. Maybe she’d run over a nail or something. Of course. Because how would anyone damage her tire with a bright light shining on him? Or her?

  I will not panic. I will not freak.

  She did need to get her tire changed, however, but she had no desire to wait out here for the garage to show up. Trying to see if anyone happened to be hiding in the shadows or lurking in the shrubbery, she hurried to the building and used her swipe card to get in the rear door.

  “Back so soon, Miss McRae?” Andy, the night guard, looked up from the semicircular desk where he monitored all the security feeds. “Thought you’d left to go home and get some rest.”

  “Fate didn’t smile on me, Andy. A flat tire put a crimp in my plan.” She made a face. “I think I’ll wait in here for the mechanic to come change it.” She made the call, telling the garage to let the driver know she’d be waiting inside. Then she had nothing to do but pace and wonder what the hell was going on in her life.

  “Got a fresh pot of coffee on in my cubby,” Andy said. “You look like you could use a cup.”

  He referred to the tiny room off the lobby the guards used for coffee and to keep any personal belongings while they worked.

  “That sounds really good. Thanks.”

  She settled down with the paper cup filled with hot liquid, prepared for a long wait, but luck must have been with her for a change. Less than twenty minutes passed before someone pressed the buzzer outside the locked doors. Through the soaring glass walls, she saw a man in jeans and a jacket standing out there, peering in.

  “That’s the mechanic,” she told Andy. “Thanks so much for the coffee.”

  “You be careful now,” he warned. “You never know who’s waiting out there.”

  Shannon stared at him for a moment, wondering if his words were some kind of sinister message. Then she gave herself a mental shake. Now she was seeing trouble everywhere.

  “I’ll get your tire changed real quick,” the mechanic told her. “You got a good spare, right?”

  “I do.” At least she thought she did. She had the last time she’d looked. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t be sure about anything. When she unlocked the trunk and the man pronounced the spare good to go, she let out a sigh of relief.

  “I’ll have this changed for you in a few minutes,” he promised. “If you’re just getting off work, you must be anxious to get home.”

  “I am.” Much more than he could know.

  He proved to be as good as his word. Ten minutes later, she had four good tires and the flat back in the trunk.

  “No damage to the tire,” the mechanic told her, wiping his hands on a rag.

  “No?” She frowned. “Then what made it go flat?”

  He scowled at her car. “Did you get air in the tire any time in the last few days? Maybe they forgot to replace the valve cap.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Well, then, I’d say someone swiped it. Caused a slow leak. Could be kids making mischief.” He stuffed the rag into a pocket of his jeans. “Anyway, the good news is, all you need to do is put air in it and get a new cap.”

  “Uh, okay, thanks.” She was stunned.

  “Do it soon, though. Never want to be without a good spare.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  She climbed into her car and locked the doors by hand, hesitant about putting the key in the ignition.

  You think there’s a bomb? Idiot! Now you’re really losing it.

  Whoever was doing this didn’t want to kill her. They could have done it already. She had the sense he—or she—just wanted to knock her off balance. Affect her work. Discredit her and get her fired. But why? A question she couldn’t seem to find an answer to. She had nothing in her life of any interest—sad to say—except this particular game that had her mind twisted in knots. Why on earth would anyone be interested in a game for executive team-building exercises?

  Sighing, she cranked the ignition, backed out of her space, and pulled out of the parking lot. Maddux Video Games, a two-story structure of glass and steel, perched on Dale Mabry, one of the busiest thoroughfares in Tampa. For Shannon, it was a straight shot down Dale Mabry to the South Tampa neighborhood where she lived. Even at almost nine o’clock at night, with a significant amount of traffic, it wouldn’t take her long to get home.

  She kept checking her rearview mirror, as if to spy someone on her tail. That sounded just plain ridiculous. Who would be following her? This whole thing made no sense whatsoever. Besides, how could she tell, with all the nighttime traffic on this street? And follow her? Was she nuts? Maybe she needed a shrink. She had to be imagining things, right? She forced herself to relax, doing her best not to go crazy.

  At last, she turned into the residential area where her bungalow sat. She’d lived for five years in a townhouse, but when disaster struck, she’d put it on the market as fast as she could. A friend of hers had flipped a very cute bungalow and offered it to her at a price she couldn’t refuse. She loved having her own home, her own property. But now, tonight, she wondered if she’d be too unprotected in a house. Her townhouse h
ad been in a gated community with all kinds of protections. It had—

  Her breath caught when she took the curve onto her street and saw headlights in her rearview mirror. A car had turned onto the street behind her, moving at the same slow speed she was.

  Stop it. It’s just someone else coming home.

  Should she go straight to her house? The bungalows didn’t have garages, just carports. She’d be out in the open and vulnerable until she got inside the house and locked the doors. Set her alarm. Should she call Emergency? And say what? I think someone I don’t know may be following me to…. To what?

  But she couldn’t make herself pull into her driveway. Instead, she kept going and followed the street back out to the main drag, turning into the shopping center on the next corner. She often went to a Starbucks there, being somewhat addicted to their skinny decaf mocha lattes. She’d be okay there until whoever this was—if indeed she’d been followed—decided to go away. If they decided to.

  The coffee steamed with heat. She wrapped her hands tight around the cup, willing its warmth to seep into her and dispel the cold now invading her system. She had no idea how long she sat there, checking out each person who came in. Wondering if it could be her stalker. Stalker? Well, yeah, why not? But she didn’t seem to be garnering any attention from anyone, casual or otherwise, the other customers leaving as soon as they picked up and paid for their orders. She ordered a second coffee at the counter, forcing herself to smile at the young barista who handed it to her.

  When she could see the staff getting ready to close for the night, she threw her empty cup in the trash with great reluctance, hitched her purse strap onto her shoulder, and made her way out to her car. No one seemed to pay special attention to her as she climbed in and turned the ignition. She couldn’t spot anyone on her tail as she pulled out to the street. Of course, would she know if they were with all this other traffic?