You often hear about places like this. Places where the clock ticks slower than anywhere else, and where the townspeople stay because they know deep in their soul there is no better place than where they are. Places where when the sun shines, be it summer or winter, the magic it reveals steals your breath and holds you captive. When I arrived at the only campground in Plentiful, Wisconsin, last night at nearly eleven, the deepest part of my soul told me it was one of those places. Even the sky told me so. The stars didn’t twinkle. They sang to each other in a melody of light. The breeze didn’t whiz past you in a hurry to reach its next destination. It caressed your face softly to welcome you to its home.
I travel this country for a living, and I know how rare it is to find a place that offers that kind of soul-deep peace. “What do you think of Plentiful, Mojo?” I asked my lumbering oaf of a dog as we hiked up the street. “It’s a quintessential small town, that’s for sure,” I answered since he didn’t. “What do you think? Should we stay here for a few weeks before we head to our next job?”
Honestly, Mojo couldn’t care less. As long as he was fed, had a place to sleep, and got an occasional hot dog, he was happy. Mojo is, well, a muttstiff. His mastiff lineage shows in his height and the shape of his back end, but it’s the rest of his lineage that earns him the mutt moniker. Mojo has the face of a collie, the ears of a Doberman, the feet of a sheepdog, and the hair of a schnauzer. Some would say he’s homelier than a mud fence, but I promise you, when he’s at my side, no one bothers me. Presently, he was staring me down, his eyebrows furrowed as if to ask, Are we there yet?
I rubbed his big head and checked the address on the sticky note stuck to my computer bag. I was searching for 100 Industrial Road, which meant nothing to me since the town consisted of a marina, a campground, a bar, a diner, and a small grocery store. Come to think of it, maybe this wouldn’t be such a great place to hang out for a few weeks. “Are we lost, Mojo?”
I spun in a circle, wondering how on earth I was supposed to find a place that didn’t exist. I’d done my homework and had indeed verified that a company called Butterfly Junction existed and was run by a Mr. Gulliver Winsome before I took the job. What the heck they did at Butterfly Junction, I had no clue, nor did I care as long as I got paid. Get paid to do what exactly? Some people like to call it hacking. I prefer to call it being a server patch technician. Sometimes it’s all about how you spin things.
While I did my homework on the man, I should have mapped the address on Google Maps before setting out. I grabbed my phone from my pocket while I searched the street signs for clues. I might have to ask Google about this one.
A woman was walking toward me and waved excitedly when she got closer. Mojo stood at attention in front of me, his protection mode activated.
“Hello!” she called from thirty feet away.
“Chill, Mojo,” I said before she reached us. He huffed and plopped his butt onto the sidewalk, bummed that I wouldn’t let him play guard dog.
“Hello,” I said to the woman when she stopped in front of me.
“You must be new here,” she said just as she noticed Mojo and took a step back. “Hello, doggy.”
I chuckled and motioned at him. “This is Mojo. He looks scary, but really he just wants to know if you have any hot dogs.”
The woman tossed her head back and laughed, the sound spreading out across the sky like a sparkle of happiness. “Not with me, but I do own the diner up the street. We have plenty of delicious treats there. Well, now I know the dog’s name. What’s yours?”
“Oh!” I said, laughing with her. “I’m Charity Puck,” I said, thrusting my hand out to shake hers.
“Nice to meet you, Charity. I’m Lucy Havens. My husband, Kevin, and I own the diner in town. You should stop in for the breakfast buffet. It’s to die for.”
“Now that’s something I can get behind,” I said, a smile on my face. “First, I have a job to do, and I can’t find the address. It’s 100 Industrial Road.”
Lucy’s brows went up. “Oh, that’s Butterfly Junction! It’s right there,” she said, her arm pointing out to her right. I followed her finger and spotted a brick building behind the marina that I hadn’t noticed before.
I put my hand to my heart with relief. “Well, I’m glad I ran into you, Lucy. I would never have found that without help. I thought that was part of the marina.”
She brushed her hand at me. “That’s a common mistake. Butterfly Junction is a hidden gem in more ways than one. I better let you get to work, but it was nice to meet you, Charity. You, too, Mojo,” she said, smiling at the dog. “Be sure to stop in for breakfast if you get a chance before you leave town.”
I promised to do just that and waved as she departed. Mojo and I trucked toward ours and discovered a beautiful piece of shoreline that swept to the right of the Butterfly Junction building.
“Lucy was delightful,” I said to Mojo as we trotted up to the door. “I bet she’d even give you a hot dog, big boy.”
I chuckled to myself at the image of Mojo sitting next to me inside the diner chowing down hot dogs while everyone looked on. Totally normal, folks. Carry on.
I adjusted my computer bag on my shoulder when I paused in front of the double glass doors etched with the words Butterfly Junction. “Time to work, buddy,” I said, patting his head.
I would do the job Mr. Winsome required of me and then stay in Plentiful for a few days to recharge. Maybe I’d take a boat ride on the lake, or a spin around town on one of the bikes I’d noticed at the campground today.
The job at Butterfly Junction might be my last as a freelance white hat hacker. Why? Well, two weeks ago my dream job landed unexpectedly in my lap. I was finishing a job in Florida when I got the call from the parent company of a hotel conglomerate. They were looking for a lead IT technician with white hat skills. I was more than curious. Since I’d already agreed to the job at Butterfly Junction, I stopped in Gary, Indiana, on my way here for an interview. What they were offering me was everything I’d been searching for over the last nine years. My home base would be in Gary, but I’d have the opportunity to travel around the country occasionally to do work on location at their hotels. I’d worked for myself for years because I could never find a position within a company that encompassed what I do, so this offer was intriguing.
What was holding me back? The part about my home base being in Gary, Indiana. Not because of the geographical location, but rather the home-base part. I wasn’t sure if I could stay in one place like a normal person. I’d been roaming around this country for so long, I wasn’t sure I could stop. I had three months before I was required to be there, but I didn’t have any other jobs lined up after this one. I had plenty of offers, but I hadn’t taken a break from the road in six years, and my body was tired.
When I woke up in Plentiful this morning and looked out my window to see the sun glinting off the waves of Lake Superior, I decided this was the place to stay for a few weeks while I considered the job offer. I wasn’t good at making important decisions about my life without weighing every aspect of the change first. Since I loved finding out-of-the-way places I could explore, Plentiful was a good place to hang out while I made the most important decision of my life.
I took a deep breath and let it out at the thought. I have time for that later. First, work. As stressful as driving around the country is, the work I do is often more stressful. As a white hat working for big-name companies and smaller no-name businesses, my skills were a race against the clock. I was always called in after someone’s business had been hacked or their data stolen, and it was my job to patch their security to keep it from happening again. As I said, stressful.
I checked out my reflection in the spotless glass doors to be sure I was presentable before I went inside. My curly, long blonde hair was covered with a child-sized straw fedora I’d picked up at a flea market in Nevada. It was probably worn once to church by a young boy before being discarded a year later as too small. It was perfect for me considering I would be small forever. This morning I’d dressed my four-foot frame in cargo shorts and a plain white tee complemented by a tie-dye scarf around my neck. I suppose most people would call the style hippie. I call it thrift-store chic. Considering I live in a motor home and love thrift stores, I guess I do have a little bit of hippie in me. I smoothed the shirt down and nodded at my reflection. Charity Puck, white hat extraordinaire, at your service.
I took a breath and tugged open the door, yanking Mojo in behind me. The front reception area of Butterfly Junction was open and airy when I stepped inside. It reminded me of the great room of someone’s home rather than an office building. There was beautiful artwork of butterflies and other nature scenes adorning the walls, which fit the feel of the building well. The walls were done in a soft green while the floors were carpeted in a beige tweed that met vanilla-flecked tile near the reception area. The address may say industrial, but there was nothing industrial about it.
To the left of the reception desk was a closed mahogany door with a keypad on the wall, and to the right a hallway that had four identical wood doors, all closed. I stood in front of a desk that held a desktop computer, phone, and a nameplate that said, HONEY. Sitting in front of the computer was a large butterfly made of cloth. All the parts of the butterfly were labeled, which immediately drew me in for a closer look. I had to admit it was oddly fascinating. Unfortunately, the receptionist was missing from her desk. “Hello? Is anyone here?” I called out.
The closed door at the end of the hallway opened, and a woman scurried toward me. Her curly chestnut-brown hair flew around her with every step, and her giant brown eyes were the focal point of her face. She was gorgeous in a girl-next-door kind of way. Understated but stunning.
“Can I help you?” She pointed at Mojo as soon as she saw him. “Your dog can’t be in here.”
I glanced down at the beast and back to her. “I’m here to see Mr. Winsome,” I said, ignoring her dig at Mojo.
Her eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh, you must be Charity Puck.”
“I am,” I agreed, a smile filling my face as the woman approached me and shook my hand. “I know you were expecting me two days ago, but the weather didn’t cooperate most of the way here from Tampa.”
She waved away the apology. “No worries. Mr. Winsome understood. I’m Honey, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Honey. You have a beautiful building, even if it is hard to find.”
Honey chuckled as if she’d heard that before. “That’s true, but I’m glad you found us.”
“I ran into Lucy on the sidewalk, and she pointed you out. I can’t take credit for the discovery.”
Honey put her hand to her chest. “I love Lucy. She and her husband own the diner, and they’re also my landlords. I live above the diner.”
“Wow,” I said, a grin on my lips. “I bet it’s a little like heaven and a little like hell living above a place like that.”
Her laughter filled the space, and with the vaulted ceilings, it traveled far and wide before it died off. “You’re not kidding, especially on broccoli day.” She waved her arm in front of her nose dramatically.
We laughed together before she motioned at the group of chairs in the corner by the window. “Have a seat, and I’ll see if Gulliver is finished with his conference call.”
“Thank you,” I said politely, leading Mojo to a small love seat in the corner. There were several long, rectangular windows facing the street that let in light. They were meticulously clean, as was the rest of the office, and the walls displayed framed photos of butterflies. There were butterflies of every shape and color that were taken by a talented, experienced photographer. Each butterfly had something about them that engaged you and drew you deeper into what the photographer was experiencing at the time of the shot. A blue butterfly caught in the middle of liftoff from a thistle. A monarch butterfly resting on the branch of a tree. A pink butterfly, its wings almost transparent, flitting amid a flower garden. I still didn’t know exactly what they did here at Butterfly Junction, but it definitely had something to do with butterflies. I chuckled to myself. You’re a seasoned detective, Charity. Keep up the hard work.
“Miss Puck, follow me,” Honey said.
“Just call me Charity, Honey,” I said, keeping Mojo tight to my leg. It was more like I held him tightly to my waist, considering our height discrepancies.
“Of course.” She smiled. “If you need anything, just let me know.”
Honey motioned me through the office door and silently closed it behind me. A man sat behind an executive’s desk that was covered in papers, folders, and computers. He wore a button-down plaid shirt covered by a sweater sporting—what were those? Bees? Beetles? Dragonflies?
The man glanced down at his sweater and back to my face. “Grasshoppers.”
Grasshoppers. Noted.
First impression of Gulliver Winsome? He was all about his business. If the sweater wasn’t enough to tell me that, the collections of bugs, butterflies, and moths in display boxes scattered around the room were. The man himself? Gulliver Winsome was more than a little easy on the eyes. My gaze traveled across his broad chest and shoulders. Both made the sweater of grasshoppers stretch prominently with the strength and power of his physique. When his arm shot forward to shake my hand, his bicep flexed and I begged myself not to whimper. He might wear weird sweaters, but this man was built.
“You must be Charity.” The awkward smile on his face was something I was used to. I was never what people expected when they pictured a white hat hacker.
I dropped Mojo’s leash to the ground, and he lowered his butt to the floor as I shook the man’s hand. “I am, and you must be Gulliver Winsome.”
He released my hand and motioned at himself dramatically. “Indeed I am. The lucky guy who was saddled with the worst name in the history of the world.”
I laughed, his relaxed manner putting me at ease immediately. “Well, you know what they say. You win some. You lose some.”
Gulliver’s eyes smiled when he laughed. “Never was that joke delivered more perfectly. Have a seat,” he said, indicating the chair in front of his desk. The chair was an awkward height for my short frame, and I had to half jump and half wiggle onto it. Gulliver pointed at my companion. “What’s the dog’s name?”
“Mojo,” I answered immediately.
His eyebrow tugged up toward his hairline, and his delectable hazel eyes hit me like a shot to the solar plexus. I’d never seen eyes that color before, but they were a pair I could get lost in for hours. The color swirled from brown to gold and then settled on green for a hairbreadth before swirling into a green flecked with sparkles of gold. I’d traveled all fifty states and met people of all nationalities and never had a pair of eyes held me captive for so long. They were smoky while he assessed me assessing him. Oh, I could get lost in that pair of eyes for the rest of my life if I wasn’t careful.
“You named a dog Mojo,” Gulliver said, more a statement than a question.
“I did. I’ve always wanted to say to someone, ‘I’ve lost my Mojo. Will you help me find him?’”
“I’m picturing it.” He shook with laughter. “That would be epic.”
I held out my hand as if to say, I know, right? “The problem is, he’s never run away in the six years I’ve owned him, so he’s kind of a disappointment.”
Gulliver laughed again, this time a tinge of discomfort creeping in at the end. “Honey said he’s your service dog. Are you disabled?”
He leaned back in his chair and waited for my answer. Since he wasn’t hiring me as an employee, he could ask me if I was disabled, but it was slightly rude all the same.
“I never said he was my service dog. Honey was mistaken. Mojo is more like my protection detail. He comes with me to every job, regardless of how many times people tell me he can’t. I’m four-feet two-inches tall, a woman, live in a motor home, and work only at night. Mojo is all that stands between me and an early grave.”
Gulliver’s delectable eyes shuttered, but he nodded once. “I see. Well, you will be working here at night, but you won’t be alone. I’ll be here working with you. I don’t leave the business unattended with an independent contractor inside.”
“Perfectly acceptable. I never expect to be alone, but you wouldn’t believe how often I am. Also, I don’t have a car, so I hoof it in from Plentiful Campground, which means he’s my only protection.”
Gulliver tapped his pen on the desk as he eyed me longer than necessary. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to be walking around town in the dark alone, even if you have Mojo. There are too many wild animals, namely wolves, in this area. I’ll pick you up tonight at eight and drive you back to the campground when you’re finished.”
“Okay,” I answered agreeably. After all, it was his business. I didn’t care what he did as long as at the end of the night, I got paid.
His eyes flashed with an emotion I couldn’t decipher, and he sat forward again. “Okay? You mean you’re not going to give me a hard time? Most women give me a hard time when I order them around.”
“Gosh, I can’t imagine why,” I said, tongue in cheek. “If I wanted to, I could give you a hard time about my independence and not needing a man, blah, blah, but in this case, it took me thirty minutes to get here on foot. I’ll gladly take a ride.”
“Excellent. How about if I show you around Butterfly Junction? This is the first floor, and below us is the research department.”
Ahh, one more clue to what Butterfly Junction does. “Sounds great, since I don’t know what you do here other than it having something to do with butterflies. Mojo will stay here. His aura says big and bad, but mostly he’s just lazy.”
Gulliver chuckled and tipped his head to the left. “Not an untold story when it comes to dogs.” His gaze settled on me, and it was warm but intense. The longer his eyes traveled up and down my body, the more I felt like he could see all the secrets in my soul. Finally, his gaze lifted to mine and held it before he spoke. “I’m sure you know why I called you in, Miss Puck.”
“Charity,” I said. “I prefer Charity.”
“Okay, Charity it is,” he said on a nod. “As I was saying, I’m concerned that my server has been hacked. I cannot afford to let someone get the research we’re working on.”
“As you mentioned,” I agreed. “You’re talking about the research you’re doing downstairs?”
“Correct. I followed your suggestion from our first conversation and changed the password. Since I did that, it seems to have solved the problem.”
“You didn’t solve the problem. You patched a leak that won’t hold for long.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he agreed. “I’m worried that eventually they’ll get to the research we have stored there. I have to make sure the server is secure before we put any more information on it.”
“Say no more. I’m your gal. This doesn’t sound like it will take me too long. I should be able to knock it out in one night. Two at most.”
I groaned internally. Way to jinx yourself, Charity. Whenever I got too cocky, it always backfired on me.
“That would be great,” Gulliver said as he bent over. “We are at a point in our research that would spell disaster if the information fell into the wrong hands.” He straightened again and had a pair of crutches on each forearm. He hoisted himself out of the chair and joined me at the end of the desk.
My mouth dropped open as I took in his six-foot frame before me. His left shoe had a black lift sole glued to it that was at least four inches thick. “Now I understand why you were upset about Mojo,” I said with a grimace, and he chuckled, his head shaking.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll admit it does irritate me when people pretend to have service dogs just to take them shopping or inside a restaurant.”
I grasped my hands behind my back and bit my lip. “That’s not something I would ever do. He’s with me most of the time, but he waits in the motor home or outside if I go into a store. It must be hard for you when you run into those situations, though.”
“Hey, you don’t grow up the way I did without developing a thick skin, which is good since I have thin bones,” he said, waiting to see if I would get the punch line. When I didn’t, he motioned at his legs. “Rickets cause weak and thin bones,” he explained. “But don’t worry, everything else below the waist developed perfectly fine.”
He crutched off toward the door and left me standing there with my jaw slightly ajar. Who was Gulliver Winsome, and was he for real? The bigger question was, why was I so interested in figuring out what made him tick? I shook off the questions and followed him out the door and into an elevator. The first question I needed an answer to was what this interesting guy did in this building. As we stepped onto the elevator car, something told me the answer wasn’t going to be simple. When my gaze swept his frame again, his muscles flexed as he braced the crutches on the floor, I wasn’t sure I cared if the answer was complicated. When those exquisite hazel eyes met mine with the same air of curiosity in them, I secretly hoped I’d jinxed myself after all.
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