Code Name: Genesis (Jameson Force Security #1)(8)

Kynan navigates the traffic with ease, telling me he’s spent some time in this area. He has one hand resting casually on top of the wheel, the other on his left thigh where he taps his fingers to the beat of the music playing from the radio. He turned it on as soon as we pulled out of the airport, then turned the volume up enough to discourage conversation.

I don’t mind because I’ve found it difficult and awkward to talk to him anyway. He’s been cool and aloof today, spending this morning plotting with Rachel at the kitchen island while I went and took a shower.

An hour after that, we were at the private terminal at McCarran International Airport just outside of Vegas and Kynan was loading me onto a Lear jet bound for Pittsburgh. When I asked him why we weren’t flying commercial, he merely said, “I want to make it hard for your stalker to track you.”

That made me have a million other questions. Why does he think he might still be tracking me right now? How long will we be in Pittsburgh? Is Kynan going to stay mad at me forever?

None were asked because Kynan put on a pair of headphones when we settled into sumptuous leather captain’s chairs on board the plane and promptly went to sleep.

We move deeper into the city, crossing another bridge. Pittsburgh sits at the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers where they form the Ohio River. While the city was once known for its steel manufacturing, it’s a leader in banking and medicine these days.

As Kynan cuts across city blocks, I notice the buildings become a bit shabbier and the streets more littered. Business people walking the streets give way to the homeless and aimless. I watch a drug purchase go down on a street corner as we wait at a red light. The next block down, a prostitute waves at Kynan as we drive by. If Kynan weren’t the one sitting beside me, I’d be feeling decidedly unsafe to be in this part of the city by myself. I have to wonder where he’s taking me.

At the next intersection, Kynan turns right and then immediately signals another right-hand turn. He pulls up to what appears to be basement parking under an old warehouse that runs the length of the entire block. It’s four-stories high, not counting the parking level with graffiti sprayed over the red-brick surface. There are beautiful arched windows on every floor that must let in spectacular light if they weren’t coated in so much grime.

There’s a rolling metal gate closing off the entrance, but it rumbles open when Kynan taps something on his iPhone, presumably a security app. When he pulls in, I glance over my shoulder to see the gate rolling closed.

Kynan drives deep into the underground lot and parks the SUV near a stairwell, also covered in graffiti. I don’t wait for him to open my car door, preferring to step out on my own. I’m immediately feeling insecure as only half the lights seem to be working and no natural light from the entrance reaches this far back. Kynan moves to the stairwell door. I quickly move to catch up with him, finally voicing my fear-tinged curiosity.

“Where are we?” I ask as we move up the flight of stairs.

“Welcome to the Jameson Pittsburgh office,” he replies at the landing to the first floor. There’s an old dusty wall sconce that barely provides enough illumination to reveal a faded numeral one painted on the heavy steel door.

“A real fixer-upper,” I mutter as he punches a code in an alarm panel on the wall.

A panel that appears incredibly new and high tech, a sharp contrast to the overall dilapidation of the building. A short chime sounds, and I can hear a lever inside the steel door click.

Kynan pushes the handle down, pulls the door open, and motions for me to precede him inside. It’s what I’d imagine an abandoned warehouse would look like. Empty floor space of approximately ten thousand square feet. There’s a thick layer of dust on the cement floor and scattered trash all about, indicating this building has been sitting empty for quite some time. I wonder what it was used for.

We move across the space to the opposite side where I notice a freight elevator. It’s got a metal gate Kynan opens and I step inside. He follows and hits a button for the second floor, closing the metal gate behind him. We take off with a slight lurch and a groan of cables, slowly rising upward. I expect to see another similar floor, but as the second floor comes into view, my jaw drops wide at what I’m seeing. I think this is what Dorothy must have felt when she stepped foot into the full-blown color of Oz for the first time.

Before me is a completely finished and renovated office space. Kynan opens the gate and I step onto glossy, hardwood floors in a brown so deep it almost looks black. The perimeter walls are the same red brick as the outside of the building, but it’s been sand blasted and restored to its original glory. Above me are exposed iron pipes, steel beams, and black ductwork, lending an industrial vibe to the space but the furnishings are elegant and expensive. Black leather couches and chairs dot the area with silver aluminum tables holding uniquely different lamps. A bold steel gray rug sits under the furniture, lending a warm feel to the entire space, and a massive painting of galloping ghostly white horses on a black backdrop covers one wall.

In the middle of the room is a wide, floating staircase that ascends to the next level and to the levels beyond that from what I can see. It’s made of black iron and reclaimed wood with steel cables for support.

“Wow,” is all I can say as I look around in shock at the upscale space that stands in sharp contrast to the crappy exterior and first floor.

Past the staircase, the open space is punctuated with red brick support columns. In between those sit simple black desks with mesh office chairs. Each desk has a computer screen, phone, and printer. On the back wall sits a row of glassed-in offices with black metal frames, each one empty of any furnishings except the middle one. It’s larger than the others to either side. Inside sits a long oval conference table. I follow him in there, marveling at the artistry as the table sits on heavy twisted beams of rusted steel—perhaps a nod to Pittsburgh’s heritage and history—with a long rectangular slab of gray, speckled cement on top. It’s sturdy, masculine, and imposing, everything that describes Kynan and Jameson Force Security.