1 Chapter 1

He was running late.

Of course he was. On what was, absolutely and without a doubt, certain to be the single most stressful day of Blake Jones’s life, he couldn’t get his act together. The alarm failed to go off, and it was only the loud beep of the snowplow that pulled him from sleep. The hot water disappeared halfway through his shower, when he still had to rinse out the shampoo. He had to search high and low to find his missing glove. When he finally made it outside, the snow on the car was four inches deep, andthe plow had thoughtfully shoved snow right up against his bumper. He was sweating and shaking by the time he got himself shoveled out and the car brushed off.

A glance at the dashboard told him it was an hour after he should have been at the office, and he still had five miles to drive. In a snowstorm. On badly plowed and salted roads. It took him three times as long to make the trek than it normally did, and almost two hours late, he finally pulled into the vast parking lot at Requiem Inc.

Even then he still thought about calling in. Except he knew he couldn’t. Not today. Which was why he made the trek in the first place.

His boots crunched and squeaked as he walked as quickly as possible across the lot and to the front door. He slipped more than once, but the tread on his boots had good traction and he didn’t go down. Until he set foot on the cleared sidewalk, stepped directly onto a patch of ice, flailed a moment, and hit concrete.

Now he was late, in pain, and had wet pants.

Blake screamed a curse to the heavens, picked himself up, and trudged through the glass front doors.

The lobby was quiet. Though it was purposefully decorated in a warm and inviting style, no one lingered there. There was no need. Requiem Inc. didn’t get many visitors. The ten-story building that housed the Duncan Moor branch office wasn’t exactly open to the public. People who entered had a specific purpose—either a meeting or work—and there was no point hanging around downstairs.

Blake gave a gloved wave to the security guard behind the polished desk and bee-lined for the elevators, making sure to walk on the runners that had been laid down so his wet feet didn’t slip on the gleaming marble floor. He bypassed the metal detectors and headed for the far end, where a palm reader and a small gate were all he needed to gain entry to the upper floors. Blake had fairly high clearance, and while he appreciated the lengths Requiem went to in order to keep their employees safe, he was glad he didn’t have to go through the whole rigmarole. He tugged off his fleece-lined gloves, shoved them in his pocket, and laid his left palm on the sensor while he yanked off his thick hat with his right. A moment later the sensor flashed green, and a barely audible click let him know he could push through the gate.

“King is gonna kill you,” Greg called from the desk, sounding faintly amused.

Blake shot him a look, but he couldn’t quite make it as scathing as he wanted. Greg was a jovial and friendly man, and Blake didn’t have it in him to be rude, despite his morning thus far. “Ha-ha-ha.”

Greg offered him a belly laugh and waved him on. Blake shut the gate behind him and got on the closest elevator as soon as the doors swooshed open. It was a quick and silent ride to the sixth floor. Music was piped in during the holiday season, but since the New Year had come and gone, everything was once again blessedly silent. Blake didn’t mind the music—enjoyed it even—but he was glad he didn’t have to listen to it. It would have set his ragged nerves even more on edge.

The ding signaled his arrival, and a second later, the doors slid open. Blake unzipped his jacket, shrugged it off, and unwrapped his scarf. He found a smile for Julie, the receptionist at the desk in the middle of the sparse sixth-floor lobby. She grinned back.

“You’re late.” Her smoky voice was tinged with laughter, and her eyes twinkled as she studied him.

“I called.” It was a meager defense. Yes, circumstances had been beyond his control, but it still wasn’t much of an excuse. Today was not the day to be late.

“Mr. King is going to kill you.”

Blake managed a laugh, though he wasn’t feeling it. Julie was just too sweet and perky to take out his frustration and worries on. “Everybody’s a comedian.”

Julie gave a tiny chuckle and then shook her head and turned back to her work. “He’s down in the conference room. Good luck today, Blake.”

“Thanks,” he said, and he meant it. He’d take all the luck he could get. He was going to need it.