Page 2 of Forbidden Access

A moment later, the guy behind her scanned his card, and the machine beeped again. The guard’s focus shifted back to the monitor.

She was in.

Thorn’s heels echoed across the bright lobby, with its towering glass ceiling, marble floors, and stark white walls. She barely glanced at the massive bronze phoenix, wings spread wide, rising from the ashes in triumph. Sunlight filtered through the tinted ceiling, making the statue almost seem alive, its burnished surface glowing as if it held some hidden power.

It had to mean something to Clayton—his building, his symbol. Maybe she’d ask him about it, if the opportunity arose.

Thorn scanned the lobby. Only one visible exit—the same way she’d come in. The reception desk to her left buzzed with activity, people getting visitor passes. Above it, a floor directory caught her eye. She quickly located Damian Clayton, CEO.

Well, that was simple.

As expected, his office was on the top floor. She turned and headed for the elevator.

During the ride up, Thorn stayed at the back, silently observing her fellow passengers. Always assessing, always alert. After all these years, she couldn’t turn it off if she tried. But this crowd didn’t offer much in the way of threats.

The three men were slim, under a hundred and fifty pounds, all wearing eyeglasses—likely from too many hours staring at screens. No muscle, smooth hands, faces etched with the kind of passivity that comes from sitting in a cubicle all day.

She couldn’t understand how anyone could find coding appealing—felt like an air-conditioned prison cell to her.

The men got off before she did, leaving her alone as the elevator continued to the fourth floor. When the doors slid open, she stepped into a stylish lobby. No reception desk, no one to greet her—just two plush leather sofas flanking a sleek coffee table. Against one wall, a state-of-the-art coffee machine gleamed on a polished counter.

Classy.

She scanned the room for surveillance cameras but didn’t spot any. Not that it mattered—she’d be gone before anyone realized she was a problem. Thorn noted the names on the doors. Clayton’s office was right off the lobby, along with the CFO, Michael Ambrose, and the Head of HR, Delia Smithson. Taking a steadying breath, she gripped the handle and pushed open Clayton’s door.

Instead of Damian Clayton behind a big wooden desk, she was greeted by a pretty blonde assistant in a sharp pantsuit, her fake breasts strategically highlighted by a white blouse.

Thorn resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

This was just the outer office. Besides the assistant, two hulking security guards flanked the CEO’s office door. She sized them up.

Ex-military, three hundred pounds each, definitely armed.

Threat level: high.

The guards gave her a once-over and then relaxed, assuming she wasn’t a threat.

BIG mistake.

“Can I help you?” the pretty assistant asked. She had a high-pitched voice like a barbie-doll. Thorn pasted a harassed smile on her face.

“Oh, yes. Thank you. I’m here to see Mr. Clayton.” She flashed the stolen ID, praying the woman wouldn’t look too closely at the photograph. “Sarah Flannagan from Finance.”

Sarah didn’t have red hair, but she was auburn, and at a push, the strawberry blonde could be a recent dye-job.

Barbie didn’t even glance at it. “You don’t have an appointment.” The sign of a good personal assistant—she knew her boss’s schedule without having to look it up.

“Damian asked me to bring him these figures.” She gave a dramatic sigh and held up the folder in her left hand. Her right she kept free in case she had to reach for the Glock holstered to her inner thigh. “You know how he is, wants everything yesterday.”

Barbie gave a reluctant nod. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

Thorn sat down, observing the guards. They wore earpieces and stared straight ahead, their eyes fixed on some imaginary spot on the far wall. She tapped out a message on her phone to Anna, the logistics manager at Blackthorn Security HQ, based in Washington D.C. Almost immediately, the phone on Barbie’s desk began to ring.

She hurried over. “Hello. Mr. Clayton’s office.”

Thorn waited.

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