Free Broken Build by Rachelle Ayala Page B

pulled her toward the building.
    “I-I ah…” Jen gasped, but she followed him through the door.
    “Let’s get you some water.” He handed her the backpack and steered her through the lobby toward his office. “It’s only a little front end damage. I’m sure your insurance will take care of it.”
    He appeared calm, too calm to have blood on his car. Jen’s brain burst with silent screams. She forced herself to breathe evenly. A CEO wouldn’t be driving a Camry, would he?
    There had to be an innocent explanation, and she sure as hell didn’t want to get involved. She’d pretend nothing was wrong. Consciously relaxing, she disengaged from his hold and accepted the bottle of water. “Sure. I’ll be down in the server room. I hope Bruce unpacked the boxes and racked the filer. Is that his car parked next to mine?”
    Dave looked up from his Blackberry. “Huh? I have to go. I came to grab a file. Let me know if you need anything else.”
    He jingled his keys, one with a Toyota emblem, and he patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry about your car. I’ll pay for the damage. I should have had parking blocks installed, especially where the curb’s too high. Let’s go check it out. I know a body shop that’ll do you good.”
    Jen fought for her breath again. How could he be so light-hearted and casual? But wasn’t that the case with psychopaths? Especially charming, handsome, successful ones. The last one anyone suspected. He acted as if he didn’t remember meeting her last night at the pizza place. Oh, yes. Stupid. Of course. He was the boss, and this was work. Well, she’d pretend she never shared a video game with him, either.
    “No… no, I have to  go to the lab.”
    “Okay, I’ll take a look on the way out and call someone to fix it. You just worry about the filer. Promise me you won’t break anything?” He smiled and pantomimed tipping his nonexistent hat.
    Was he a loon on top of being a murderer? Jen shuddered and backed out of his office. When she saw him exit, she ran to a window near her cubicle.
    Dave squatted in front of her car. He traced the crack and pulled on the broken air dam. He glanced at the white car and froze. Slowly he eased himself to his feet and looked at the office building. Their gazes locked.
    Jen threw her backpack over her shoulders. She had to get away. He’d seen her staring. She tore down the stairs toward the back exit. Yes. It would set off the alarm. But she had no choice. She didn’t want to know about the blood nor be the one to tell the police.
    The motion sensors lit the lights over the cubicles. She dodged and wove through the maze of partitions, and rounded a corner. Her foot caught in the slots of a pallet, and her ankle turned with a jolt of pain. She fell, splattering empty boxes and Styrofoam packing material.
    “Whoa, Jen, are you all right?” Bruce bent over her, his bulky frame blocking out the overhead lights. Running footsteps approached them.
    “What happened?” Dave knelt in front of her.
    “She ran right into the pallet,” Bruce said. “I think she twisted her ankle.”
    Jen gritted her teeth when Dave pulled her up, her ankle too tender to put weight on. He helped her to a cot in the break room.
    “Bruce, get me an icepack.” Dave took off her shoe and probed her ankle.
    Jen stared at the top of his head while he examined her. He pushed the jean leg up to her knee with surprisingly gentle hands.
    Bruce rummaged in the freezer and handed Dave an icepack. “I’ll clean up the corridor. Should we call an ambulance?”
    Dave pressed the icepack over her right ankle. “No. I’ll drive her to the emergency room. Go back and rack the filer.”
    Bruce waddled out of the room. Jen swallowed and pulled away from Dave. She backed into the corner. He knew she knew. What would he do now?
    He leaned over the cot, his weight shifting the flimsy mattress. “It’s not what you think.”
    “I’m not thinking anything.” She hoped her jaw would stay