Chapter One

2 days prior

NORAH’S EYES POP OPEN breaking her from her dead sleep at half past two in the morning just as her skin breaks out in a cold sweat.

Something is wrong.

She reaches across her small twin bed in the college dormitory to grab her phone from the nightstand and she squints as the bright light glares at her from the device.

No missed calls. No messages. No . . . anything. But Norah can feel it deep in her bones like a wolf’s call in the night.

“Shit,” she bellows in the empty space as she sits up in bed and runs her hands through her long hair hoping to tame the mess.

There is only one explanation for the way she feels at this moment, a feeling that has become a more common occurrence in the past three weeks.

Norah jumps out of bed not caring that the oversized T-shirt that belonged to her best friend is twisted around her waist and rushes over to the desktop computer tucked in the corner of her room, the fan whirling making a wheezing sound amongst the silence.

Her fingers move along the keyboard out of memory and unlock the screen opening it to the program she keeps running in the background.  The numbers and letters flash across in a kaleidoscope of codes that only Norah and her partners in the tech lab can understand.

She takes a moment to read through the notations, recognizing a few critical errors that have her nerves spiking.

There has been a breach.

Blindly reaching across the floor, she snags a pair of jeans, a strapless bra, and her white converse shoes. As she shoves her feet into the shoes she presses a series of keys on the keyboard and then bounces up and down as it saves all of her data. Finally, the save is complete so she snags the thumb drive from the laptop and takes a heavy breath before she launches the crash controls on her brand new computer.

At least her best friend is a software engineer and can rebuild it if her hunch is nothing more than a bad hunch.

Thumb drive in hand she tucks it into her bra, grabs her oversized purse and shoves a few personal items and cash inside, and then hurriedly makes her way out of the room slamming her door loud enough that she is sure the other graduate students will complain in the morning.

She jogs across campus, her lack of air not stalling her in the slightest. They’ve talked about this. Her team had come up with a plan if they ever discovered a breach in the data. She lives the closest, so she was in charge of securing the lab. Glancing down at her smartwatch she notes the date and remembers that her partner and professor Dr. Lewis had planned on arriving at the lab around midnight to prepare their device for transfer.

She and her team had been commissioned to produce a secret device for the government and military. And as of Monday it was complete. They had packaged it up yesterday to be sent off with Dr. Lewis to Washington DC to present the project. Her other teammates were in charge of securing the device yesterday and until midnight when Dr. Lewis was going to arrive.

Now at almost three in the morning, Norah is worried.

What if the device malfunctioned causing the breach? Or what if something happened to Dr. Lewis?

Rushing up to the building Norah scans her identification badge in the reader by the door and as the lock disengages she pulls it open so quickly she almost smacks herself in the face.

Their lab sits in the basement of the building, so she jogs down the stairs but stops suddenly when she notices the lab door is open wide. Definitely not protocol.

Diving into her bag she reaches for the small taser she keeps tucked away in a zippered pocket and brings it close to her chest.

“Is anyone here?” she asks into the darkened hallway.

When there is no response, she flips the switch at the bottom of the stairwell and bathes the hallway in light.

“Hello? Dr. Lewis?” she tries once more and as the silence continues she breathes a sigh of relief.

Stepping forward she moves toward the lab and sticks her head inside. The room brightens as Norah turns on the light. A second switch is flicked on and power boots to all of the ventilation hoods.

Norah steps farther inside the space skirting around a computer chair sitting haphazardly in the middle of the room. She eyes the chemicals tucked away in cabinets and fridges and notices their heavy-duty locks still in place and breathes a sigh of relief.

Scanning the room, she doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary besides the chair, and then her eyes land on the steel case she knows is lined with velvet and padding. Her body grows in heaviness and her heart races as she approaches the container. It holds everything. All of their years of hard work and dedication encased by two locks and a biometric scanner. Sweat beads along her hairline as she closes in and places her thumb on the scanning pad knowing that it will only unlock for her or for Dr. Lewis.

The scan reads and the small light changes from red to green before the two locks disengage. Norah opens the case and sucks in a breath when she notices the little box with the technology is gone along with the scanner used to mark each code with its user.

“Oh, no,” Norah whispers as she steps away from the case and bumps into Dr. Lewis’ desk behind her.

She spins around and watches as the screen wakes up to a note flashing over and over before her.

RUN

Three letters that cause Norah’s stomach to clench and her heart to pound louder.

On a whim, she tugs open the side drawer of the professor’s desk and pries open the back to reveal a hidden compartment. She and Dr. Lewis agreed to keep the backbone of their technology separate so that if an event occurred you would need both setups to have it work properly. In the secret compartment resides a small server that feeds from his computer. She removes the cord and places the server in her purse before stepping away from the desk.

A noise sounds in the hall and Norah stands up straighter, more alert than before as the adrenaline courses through her veins.

They’ve come back.

She frantically looks around the space and eyes the small window beside one of their storage units and realizes that the tiny opening may be her only escape.

Moving fast she rushes over and twists the old knob with both hands until it budges enough to push the window open. The noise down the hall intensifies and Norah steps up onto the table under the window and wedges herself between the glass and frame. From her shoulder she tosses her bag onto the ground and as she looks back for just a second she notices a red laser aim into the room.

A gun!

With a new surge of energy, Norah hoists herself farther up on the window, regretting that extra piece of pizza and beer she had for dinner last night as her legs dangle like worms on a hook inside the room. Pushing her hands against the window frame with every ounce of strength she possesses Norah tumbles forward and lands with a thud onto the ground. She doesn’t have a moment to look back into the room or to take note of the bruising that is sure to form on her knees and back. Instead, she grips her bag in her hand and runs like hell toward the bus station.

Living at the University she doesn’t have a need for a car and at this moment she wishes she knew how to hotwire one, but that is a talent her friend retains, not her. The bus station is three blocks away and she huffs it by foot, her sneakers pounding away on the concrete pavement of the sidewalk. The fog covered street gives an eerie haze to the night but it keeps her hidden in the shadows as she skirts around each street light.

Finally, the buses rounded up for their early morning travels come into her line of sight and Norah feels like she can take a breath. She hastens her pace as she hears a car barreling down the street behind her, an uncommon occurrence during this hour in this part of town. Pebbles erupt across her skin and she darts behind the tree line beside the sidewalk, masking her from their view. As the car zooms past she takes note of the black Mercedes decked out in dark tinted windows and no headlights. If it wasn’t for the street light she would have missed the car altogether.

She hunkers down low for a few minutes, using the branches of the trees to cover her from view in case the car returns but after ten minutes she decides that the coast is clear and she runs toward the building.

As she storms into the room like a twirling hurricane, the few waiting passengers stare at her for a moment and then continue whatever it is they were doing before she arrived.

“Can I help you?” the woman calls out from behind the glass booth and it takes Norah a moment to realize that she is speaking to her.

“Oh, yes. Sorry.” The woman simply continues to stare at Norah impatiently.

“Where would you like to go?”

“How much is a ticket to Asheville?” Norah requests as she reaches for her wallet and fingers through the few bills she has and quickly realizing that she may not have enough to book the trip with cash.

“One hundred and fifty-three dollars.”

Shit, there definitely isn’t enough cash for that trip and a place to stay.

And then she remembers that her best friend’s sister is getting married in the Outer Banks of North Carolina this weekend.

“Actually, how much to the Outer Banks in North Carolina?”

The woman glances up from her computer screen and rolls her eyes.

“The closest we can get you is to Elizabeth City, North Carolina. You’ll need to find another ride from there.”

“Ok. How much?”

“About fifty-five dollars.”

Yes! I can do that and then call an Uber for the remainder.

“That sounds great. I’ll take it.”

As the woman prints off the ticket Norah glances around the room looking for a secure place to stay as she notices the board saying the bus doesn’t leave for another three hours. They would have time to come back and find her. She bounces on her toes anxious to discover a place to hide.

“Here you are. The bus leaves at 6:30.” As she slides the ticket over she narrows her eyes at Norah’s shaking hand. “Are you alright? You ain’t doing drugs are you?”

“No, I’m sorry… it’s just… people are looking for me and I need to hide.”

“Ex?”

Norah huffs as if a mean ex is the least of her worries. “No, I… it’s work related and they’re trying to steal something I created. Something big.”

The woman’s eyes double in size and Norah has no idea why she’s so compelled to tell someone what’s going on. But she has the urge to make sure someone is there to try and keep her safe.

“Well, I don’t know if I’ll be breaking the rules but you look paler than a hooker in church. We have an office back behind me that you can go and lock yourself into. I’m the only one with a key. And this booth is bulletproof. Ain’t no one getting in without access.”

“Thank you so much!” Norah cries out causing more of the people in the room to grumble. “Oh, do you have an ATM here?”

She doesn’t know why she hasn’t thought of it before but she needs to remove as much cash from her account as possible before they freeze it. Norah knows that anyone with the knowledge that her device is even real has high-security clearance and can quickly shut down her entire existence; make it seem like she never even lived.

“Yes, it’s between the bathrooms down the hall. I’d hurry though. I see a few men shouting to our drivers out front.”

“Shit.”

Norah rushes over to the hallway having to grip the wall as she slips on a puddle of water – at least she prays that it’s water and not urine - and rushes toward the ATM nestled between the bathroom doors.

The small screen says that she can only pull out $400 at a time, so she does that to her savings, checking, and then three credit cards – just in case. $2000 should be enough to get her to safety and then a place to stay – at least until they find someone that is able to run the scanner before she’s able to render it inoperable, then she’ll never be out of danger.

Just as she turns from the hallway, she watches as the teller’s eyebrows raise and her eyes shoot to the door. Norah realizes that she better book it before the men come inside.

“Here, leave the lights off and hide under the desk. I will let you know when it’s time for you to catch your bus.”

“Thank you so much and I’m sorry if you get into any trouble.”

“It’ll be fine. I’m used to hiding abused women running. You’d be surprised how often this happens. And I always get them safely to their bus.”

As she steps through the door, she turns back to the room and eyes the people sitting in the metal chairs engrossed in their own world.

“They’re not going to say anything, are they?”

“They won’t say anything. You have my word.”

“Thank you…”

“Sheila.”

“Thank you, Sheila. I owe you.”

“Let’s just get you safely on that bus. That’s all you’ll owe me.”

Norah steps further into the dark room and uses the light on her phone to illuminate the space. Unlike the rest of the terminal, the place smells of vanilla and spice, and it actually calms her down. Norah sinks down onto her knees in front of the desk and tucks her body into the corner under the wooden top. Just before she flips her phone to airplane mode, she sends out a text to her best friend and the only person she knows who can help her – Jameson.

Me: SOS

 

*

 

HIS FINGERS BURN AS they strum the guitar strings, the calluses hurting more than usual as he works through a new melody in his mind. But the beat never flows, the words never come, and Ryker is once again feeling the pains of writer’s block.

As the lead singer and one of the songwriters for his band, Exoneration, Ryker feels the weight of the world on his shoulders to continue writing epic rock songs and ballads.

When he first joined the band the words came easily, the music effortless. It was something he had never considered, he only tinkered with his guitar when he was bored, and he wasn’t a master like his friend Harlan. But Ryker was blessed with a set of pipes that could scream out vocals that could leave your ears bleeding or sing out a perfect ballad to pull at your heartstrings.

Ryker had never let on to his family that he had any desire to pursue a musical career. Growing up he tended to live in the shadow of his genius twin brother Jameson. Not that he despised his brother for his achievements, he saw the kind of work Jameson put into developing his skills, but Ryker could never quite live up to his twin’s stature.

Actually, his entire family is filled with siblings that knew their place in life and were doing everything they could to reach their dreams. Each of them left humongous shoes to fill for Ryker and Jameson, the youngest of the Connelly children, but Jameson filled the shoes with extra to spare while Ryker always felt inadequate.

Until Harlan came into his life.

Ryker had been jamming out to a song at a gas station while taking a road trip and Harlan had pulled up beside him. When Harlan had spoken about starting a band and wanted Ryker to be the singer he thought the guy was crazy. But as Harlan continued and explained more Ryker had felt his calling. Music was his destiny.

Four years later the band is still as solid as they were the first night that they practiced. The only difference now is that Harlan is a married man. A married man to Ryker’s sister Cassidy, a world-famous fashion designer.

It took him a while to get over the fact that his best friend was hooking up with his sibling but after seeing them together he knew that they were meant to be. Of course, that didn’t stop Ryker from taking a swing at Harlan when he first discovered them together, but he is okay with it now.

Harlan steps into the living space of the bus as they travel back from one of their last shows during the summer tour and takes a seat beside a frustrated Ryker.

“Hey, man.”

Tossing his guitar to the side Ryker runs his hand through his hair as he stares down at the pad on his lap with words scratched out.

“Hey.”

Popping open a can of soda Harlan takes a sip and then asks, “Struggling?”

“Yeah. I may leave the songwriting up to you for this next record.”

“I know how that goes. And hey, I’m happy to help out when I can. Want to do a jam session? Just see what flows?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a beat in my head, but I just can’t get the words.”

“Okay, well, let me hear what you have for music. I may have something that will work.”

Ryker hands Harlan the notepad and reaches back over to grab his acoustic guitar, placing it on his lap, steadying the neck in his palm. Closing his eyes, Ryker begins to strum the fast tempo chords as the melody hums in his veins.

“Damn, I can’t wait to hear that on an electric guitar. It’s going to sound wicked,” Harlan claims as the song comes to an end.

“Thanks. So, do you think you can come up with some lyrics? I’m trying to go for something edgy but with meaning if that makes sense.”

“It does, I think I have something we can work with. Start playing again and I’ll write it down while I sing.”

Ryker starts up again and listens as Harlan pieces together lyrics into verses. Over and over they work together for hours it seems until the missing piece of the chorus comes to Ryker and he stops mid-pluck of the string.

“I have it. I know what’s missing from the chorus.” Grabbing the notepad from Harlan’s hands, Ryker takes the pen and starts jotting down the words that had been trying to claw their way free.”

Break free from the pain inside.

Break free from the life outside.

Break free from the dark you hide

that threatens to pull you in.

Be more than you know to be.

Be more than you’re meant to see.

Be more than the stepping stone and

be the savior inside of you.

“Damn,” Harlan says as he takes a look at the updated lyrics. “Here I’ll play and you sing. This is going to be kick ass.”

Nodding Ryker hands Harlan the guitar and watches as his fingers adjust to the strings before he starts the intro to the song.

An hour later Ryker’s voice is hoarse, but he and Harlan are able to knock out two more songs to add to the new record due by December. Wes and Jake stumble in from their bunks in the closed off hall and begin sifting through the kitchen cabinets.

“Hey, were y’all writing?” Wes asks as he reaches for a box of marshmallow cereal and then pours himself a bowl of the sugary goodness. “Anyone else want some?” he adds as he notices the shake of their heads and puts the box back.

“Yeah, we got a few songs down.”

“Awesome,” Wes declares as he finishes pouring his milk and then takes a hearty bite of the cereal. “I was digging that first song. It has an awesome beat to it.”

Piping in Jake requests, “I want to hear it again. Maybe I can work out the drum beat.” Snagging the drumsticks perpetually in his back pocket he begins tapping the table top.

Ryker eyes Harlan who nods his head and then they both turn their attention to Jake who counts out a beat of three with his sticks before Harlan begins to play.

Ryker’s voice scratches in his throat as he belts out the tune, but the raspiness gives the song a darker quality than before, and he doesn’t dislike it. It actually makes the song more powerful.

As he sings out the vocals he focuses on the drumbeat Jake adds, loving the way he pounds out against every surface of the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Wes pluck his fingers against the table and his spoon, mimicking the moves he’d make on his bass guitar.

By the time the group finishes the three-minute song they’re all grinning at each other like a bunch of kids getting ready to enter a candy store.

“Damn, that was epic. We need to get it down ASAP,” Wes says as he smiles and takes another spoonful of his cereal.

“That’s the plan,” Ryker implies as he takes his guitar from Harlan and stands from the couch to place it back in its case.

“Actually I’m glad that everyone is here. I wanted to talk to you all about something.”

“Sure, man.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s up,” the group chimes in unison.

Harlan runs his hands over his distressed black jeans and then flicks the loop pierced through his lip, his nervousness palpable in the room. He takes a deep breath, and Ryker’s chest constricts in anxiety.

Is this it? Are we done? Is he thinking of breaking us up or going solo?

By the time Harlan speaks Ryker’s heart is pounding in his chest almost as fast as the drum beats Jake was playing not long ago.

“I want to take a break.”

“Harlan,” Ryker says as he is unable to control his surprise. “We’re not a band without you.”

Shock registers on his friends face before he shakes his head with a small smile on his lips. “Shit, I’m sorry. That came out all wrong. I just meant a break from touring and maybe revising our schedules for the future. But the band isn’t going anywhere.”

“Yeah, I mean, I could use a break,” Wes says as he tosses his plastic bowl in the sink.

“Me too,” Jake mimics.

“Ryker?” Harlan asks as he pins his gaze to him eyeing Ryker wearily. As if his decision is based solely on Ryker’s.

I don’t know what to do if I don’t have music.

Pasting on a brave face, Ryker smiles his trademark smirk known to grace magazine covers and puts his hand on Harlan’s shoulder. “Hey, we’ve been doing his nonstop for four years. I think we’ve earned a break.”

His friend’s shoulders sag with relief, and he returns Ryker’s smile. “Thanks, man.”

“So what brought this on? You’re usually the first one itching to get out on the road.”

“Well, Cassidy and I… we’ve been… Shit.”

“What is it, man?” Ryker asks as Harlan strokes a hand through his cropped locks, seeming to forget he cut off his long hair over a year ago.

“Cassidy is pregnant. Fuck. You can’t tell anyone. She hasn’t even told your parents yet.”

Astonishment registers and Ryker reaches around and hugs Harlan who seems to be struggling with the idea of fatherhood.

“Damn, man. You’re going to be a dad. That’s awesome. Totally understand why you want to stay home. We’ve been going nonstop for years. At this point, I’m sure we can work with management to keep us from touring as often.”

The rest of the guys chime in their congratulations, and then they start talking about the wedding he and Harlan are playing at tomorrow for his sister Everleigh. The tour bus is going to drop them off in Carson then they’re hitching a ride over to Manteo North Carolina for the festivities. Thankfully Harlan and Ryker will be taking a private jet instead of driving. They’re both anxious to be with their family.

Once the bus arrives in Carson, Ryker says goodbye to his bandmates and hops into the SUV his father dropped off for him earlier in the day before he and Ryker’s mother made their way to the wedding.

He watches as Harlan slides into his own black SUV after piling his suitcases into the back. They roll down their windows simultaneously.

“Plane takes off in three hours,” Ryker shouts.

“Sounds good. I’ll pick you up in an hour so we can head to Asheville.”

“Alright.”

The two men part from the school parking lot where the bus dropped them off and head in different directions. Ryker heads toward the home he purchased about six months prior with his brother in a new development close to the highway. The property belonged to a farmer that had passed away with no children or spouse to take over the land. The town fought tooth and nail against a prominent developer coming in to build a department store. When his architect and construction mastermind brother, Austin, came forward with a plan, the town settled on a mid-sized gated subdivision.

The homes sit on five acres of land each and offer amenities like a neighborhood clubhouse. Ryker bought the property for the security. His fans were known to be a bit ruthless, and after one had found her way onto their tour bus last summer and snuck a ride for three days, hiding in his bed the last night, Ryker had decided that he needed to find a place he felt safe in.

He and Jameson purchased two lots giving them a collective ten acres in the farthest point of the neighborhood. Their property also butts up against a national forest, so they won’t ever have anyone build behind them. And after explaining their situation to the homeowner’s association, they were able to put in an additional security gate at their property.

As Ryker pulls his SUV into the garage, he sighs as he turns off the ignition. Even just sitting in the garage he feels relief at being in his own home. Just being in a place that’s his and isn’t moving on wheels gives him a sense of peace.

He opens the back and grabs his bags, tossing them into the laundry room as he moves through the mudroom. He’d have to call the Stantons, a local cleaning service, to see if they had room in their schedule to do his laundry while he’s away this weekend. He can tell Jameson had them come by recently because a vase full fresh of flowers rests on the coffee table in the middle of the living room – a touch Mrs. Stanton is known for.

Stepping into his bedroom Ryker launches himself onto his bed, missing the feel of the duvet his mom picked out for the room with his sisters. He moans into the room as he stretches out against the fabric feeling himself falling into a sense of tranquility.

A buzzing sounds in his back pocket, and he blindly reaches for his phone.

“Hello?” he moans.

“Hey, have you headed our way?” his mother asks on the other end of the call.

“Hey, Mom. Harlan and I take off in about two hours or so.”

“Well good, I’ve missed you, sweetie.”

“I’ve missed you too, Mom. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Love you, Ryker. Travel safe.”

“Love you too.”

He tosses his phone back onto the bed and then groans as he pushes himself up and off of the bed. The shower beckons him even though he’d rather catch a few hours of shut-eye.

Twisting the knob the multiple shower heads kick on and a cascade of water travels across the vast space. Ryker removes his clothes and chucks them into the corner of the bathroom before stepping into the spray and letting the water engulf him.

He presses his hands against the cold tile letting the jets pound against his back. The lives of everyone around him seem to be changing, progressing, and he feels as if he’s standing still. As if he is stuck in time. Ryker isn’t sure if it’s the marriages, the career changes, or just time passing in general but he feels incomplete as if he’s missing something critical in his life.

Tonight he’s heading to the wedding of his sister, and he doesn’t even have a date lined up. His brother plans on taking one of the many women that frequent their beds, the twins not opposed to sharing, but Ryker had little desire to give a woman a false hope of nailing a rock star or a Connelly brother. So the event left Ryker alone with a slew of single women at his beck and call, yet the thrill he would typically have is nonexistent.

“Fuck,” Ryker yells in the shower, the shout echoing off the tiled walls.

He doesn’t know why this is bothering him so much. Maybe it’s because his best friend and sister are expanding their family and it triggers something inside him. A yearning he’s been ignoring for a while.

Ryker hasn’t had a steady girlfriend, ever. He has never had the chance to explore that option, but as the thought sinks in it definitely holds some appeal. Ryker washes his body clean with a bar of soap, wiping away the grime of being on the road. His mind continues to drift to the thoughts of using his time away to meet a girl and try his luck at having a girlfriend. Being a perpetual playboy was never something that appealed to him, the rest of his bandmates, sure, but Ryker never liked the idea of someone using him or spreading lies to hang over his head.

I could be a good boyfriend. But fuck, I wouldn’t even know how to tell if someone is interested. I just want someone I can treat like the princess she is.

He shuts off the water just as his phone rings in the other room, and Ryker realizes that Harlan will be arriving for him soon. He must have relaxed on the bed a bit longer than he thought.

He tugs on a pair of shorts and a fitted T-shirt then tosses some extra clothing into another duffel bag he grabs from the upper shelf of his closet. Ryker’s phone chimes again and he glances down at the message to see that Harlan is on his way.

Well, if he is going to start dating, then a wedding seems like the perfect place to start.