by Juno Rushdan
“You’ve hacked secure satellites,” Castle said. “Why not this?” There couldn’t be that much difference in degree of difficulty.
“We may or may not have hacked three satellites from three different countries.” Henry flashed a smug smile. “But even if we did, it wasn’t because we were asked to. Perhaps someone had a problem and left it up to us to decide how to handle it. No one got hurt, and those aircraft carriers were in friendly waters when they were disabled. Or so I’ve heard. Whoever is responsible”—he pursed his lips and batted his long lashes—“did the government a fucking favor by exposing that sad-ass vulnerability. Now they’ll have upgraded ships with HIRF shielding. Something that should’ve happened a decade ago.”
“You expect us to believe you hacked secure government satellites and targeted three aircraft carriers with high-intensity radio frequency weapons out of the goodness of your heart?” Castle asked.
“What can I say? With great power comes great responsibility.”
Did he just quote Uncle Ben from Spider-Man?
“Bottom line,” Henry added, “I don’t take clients who dictate. We work on our own terms. I wasn’t going to touch the bait Bravo dangled with a ten-foot pole.”
“Besides the Outliers,” Castle said, “can you think of any other hacker groups who might’ve been approached?”
“Shortly after we turned Bravo down, I heard the Goliath Coders became ghosts. Less than two weeks later, the Lair burned down with the Outliers inside. Now you’re here, bringing this shit full circle to my front door. That’s all I know. Time’s up. You both need to leave.”
“Thank you, Henry,” Kit said.
“The only thanks I need is the Pwnie and for you never to contact me again. Although I’m open to having a drink next year at Black Hat if you’re still breathing. On your way out, Nim will give you a PO box address to send my Pwnie to, insured. Toodles.”
36
Rosslyn, Virginia
9:50 p.m. EDT
“I want to see you,” Sanborn said. Watching Doc undress for him was more enjoyable than divesting her of clothing himself.
Her bra slipped to the floor, revealing those lovely ivory breasts. After she wiggled out of her skirt and peeled down her panties, leaving on her heels, she strode toward him, where he stood by the window. The top floor of his high-rise offered panoramic views of Washington and the Potomac River.
Slowly, she crossed the living room, giving him time to appreciate the long line of her body and her sensual curves. His groin filled with a sudden heat.
A blues–jazz mix played low from the surround sound system, “Ain’t No Sunshine” the perfect background noise. The only light in the room came from the twinkling cityscape and full moon. He treaded with care in matters of the heart—an occupational hazard not to—but in that moment, his mind veered off the rails away from mistakes and repercussions. Focused solely on her.
She glided up to him like she knew how arousing he found her and twined her arms around his neck. He held her close, his fingers threading through her hair, so soft, so fragrant.
He cupped her breast and kissed her full on the mouth, passionate and devouring. She tasted of chocolate from dessert and wine and a pure goodness he didn’t deserve. He indulged in the flavor, steeped himself in it.
This spectacular creature was his, a dream he feared he’d wake from.
As she unbuckled his pants, the rasp of her lowering his zipper a whisper in his ear, desire flooded him, hot and insistent. She stripped his shirt from him, her heated gaze traveling over his chest.
At fifty years old, he maintained the strong, wiry physique of a man half his age. Every morning began with a hundred push-ups, pull-ups, and hanging ab curls. Most days, he ran five miles, and twice a week, he squeezed in a mixed martial arts workout, keeping his combat skills sharp.
The appreciation gleaming in her eyes made his blood race, his head buzz. But he controlled himself, always. Showed her the utmost tenderness.
He swept her up into his arms, carried her to his bedroom, and laid her down gently.
“I’m not made of porcelain.” She jerked him down on top of her with rough zeal, and he settled between her spread thighs, pelvis to pelvis. “I won’t shatter, promise.”
She was far from fragile, but he also knew how easy it was to break something you loved with one careless touch.
* * *
While his mouth moved over hers, she ran her hand up his back and along his arms, enjoying the feel of his taut muscles rippling against her hands. His fingers traced her jaw, titillated lower across her stomach, playing over her hipbones. He cupped her in his hands. Massaged her bottom and thighs until he found the spot at her core aching for him.
“So wet.” He groaned the words into her neck. “I love how ready you always are for me.”
Her ex-husband had loved it too. And if she hadn’t been, he punished her. A slap. A fist to her gut. Sometimes, with his hand clenched in her hair, he had forced her to her knees, making her pleasure him with her mouth.
She’d learned to excuse herself to the bathroom, slip a finger slick with a water-based lubricant inside at least fifteen minutes beforehand. The best ones were meant to aid fertility and had a similar pH and consistency as cervical fluid, although the idea of conceiving repulsed her.
Men couldn’t tell it wasn’t natural excitement. The little step made everything easier.
With Sanborn, she didn’t need it, but habits born of self-preservation died hard. Once he let her stay at his place, she’d silently sworn that she would stop using the lubricant, let him feel how he aroused her.
Next time, she told herself, she’d forego her harmless secret. Next time.
She moaned as he slipped hot and hard into her. Rolling on top, straddling his hips, she kept him inside. The friction was delicious, his gentle affection and the endearments he muttered were better, and through it, she found a letting-go. A sweet surrender. She’d never been so at ease, the absence of fear a startling comfort as she rode him, rocking them both to the brink. On the heels of his release, she allowed her own.
She snuggled in his arms and a heavy sleep took her fast.
Later, Emily woke, a gradual stirring. Her eyes sought the red illuminated numbers on the clock in the darkness. 2:05.
Reaching out for Sanborn, she found cool sheets next to her instead of him. She sat up. The attached bathroom was empty. Was he a man or a cyborg that didn’t need rest?
Yawning, she climbed out of the bed. She threw on his shirt without bothering to button it, opened the bedroom door, and padded through the living room.
His condo was quiet, DC lights winking outside the window. Evidence he’d smoked a cigar after she’d fallen asleep was in the ashtray.
He loved that she didn’t mind the habit, unlike Penny. Rather than dredge up her ugly past, divulging why the smell didn’t bother her, Emily smiled and took the compliment that set her apart from his former wife. One day, she’d share all her secrets. Even the tragic ones.
His voice came from the other side of his closed office door, low, firm. Indecipherable.
She tiptoed closer. Who was he talking to at this hour?
Then again, there were always active missions. Black ops were working around the clock right now hunting a terrorist. Someone named Khan, who they suspected was linked with Z-1984.
The job came first, always. Ahead of sleep, candlelit dinners, sex. Her.
A partner had to yield. Or at least his did.
“Let me be clear,” Sanborn said. “I need you, Ashley.”
Emily’s heart tripped. Ashley?
Was he whispering to another woman on the phone in the middle of the night?
No, not Sanborn. There were men named Ashley, right? In the bygone days of Gone with the Wind. Rare for a man in the twenty-first century.
Her
gut tightened, but her feet kept moving forward. Straining to listen, to catch each hushed syllable, she inched closer to the door. Closer still.
“I’ll see you Wednesday and then—”
A floorboard creaked under her foot. His voice stopped.
Emily stopped too, her pulse pounding.
“I have to go,” he said.
Oh God. He’d heard her sneaking around outside his office.
Fear ran liquid through her veins. She blinked. Everything was a slow-motion blur.
Her first instinct was to run back to the bed. Hide under the covers, pretend to be asleep.
But this was Sanborn, not one of the monsters from her past. He was caring, warm, the best listener, treated her as if she were special. She didn’t need to hide from him.
Besides, the second he touched her, felt her pulse, heard her breathing, he’d know.
Hell, he already knew.
She stayed rooted in place.
The door swung open. He closed the phone in his hand, slipped it into the pocket of the athletic pants he wore.
“What are you doing?” His face was fixed, expressionless, his voice soft and striking like the clap of far-off thunder.
There was a hiccup of silence as she tasted the accusation.
“I…I couldn’t sleep.” Her heart was in her throat, squeezing. “Who is Ashley?”
“I’m sorry?” The look of confusion on his face was so genuine, so intense, she doubted herself.
You stupid cunt. Her ex’s voice whispered in her ears, the echo of the words making her knees grow weak.
But she had heard him.
Emily took a deep breath, shoving the past back in her mental lockbox. “I know you were talking to someone named Ashley. If there’s someone else,” she said, finding her strength and standing her ground, “if you’re not happy with me, you can tell me.” Her rib cage tightened like a vise. “You have to tell me.” Her tone rose, taking a hysterical cadence. “I can handle the truth, whatever it is. Just don’t lie to me.”
“Shh, shh.” He stepped into the hall and rubbed her shoulders. “I was on the phone with a colleague from the CIA. Conrad Ashley. I need his support with something important.” He kissed her forehead with a soft brush of his lips and wrapped her in his arms, steering her to the bedroom. “There is no one else. On my life, I swear it was work. I’m a one-woman kind of guy.” Sitting her down on the bed, he held her gaze and lowered to one knee in front of her. “I will never cheat on you. Never hurt you. Never take you for granted. I’ll always protect you.”
Her muscles loosened in relief. She gave a sad smile at how ridiculous she’d been, jumping to conclusions using paranoia as a springboard. Sanborn had shown her, time and time again, she was safe with him. Even now, when he should be furious, he was patient and dignified. She prayed she hadn’t ruined things.
It had taken him so long to open up and let her spend the night, only for her to creep around outside his office, eavesdropping and violating his trust. What was next, rifling through his things, picking locked drawers, following him—inducing a self-fulfilling prophecy?
“I’m sorry.” The tremble in her body spilled over in her voice.
“It’s okay.” He kissed both her hands. “I know the hell you’ve been through and I only want to make you happy.”
This was her first bona fide healthy relationship. It was going so well, better than she’d hoped until—
Stupid cunt.
Emily silenced the devil’s voice in her mind. “I want to make you happy too.” She hung her head, sick with disappointment at her self-sabotage. She was doing exactly what her therapist had warned against. “I’m sorry.”
He nudged her chin up with a knuckle, meeting her eyes with the kindest, most compassionate look. “You never have to apologize with me.” Stroking her hair, he gave her lips a quick kiss. “But I do need you to understand me. If I’m in the office, it means I’m working. I need you to respect my privacy and my space.”
Shame burned her cheeks.
“It’s not easy for me to let people in,” he said. “The one thing I value above anything else, anything, is loyalty. Without that, we don’t have a future.”
He did want a future with her. This wasn’t a casual fling for him. Thank goodness he wasn’t gathering her things and shooing her out the door when he had every right to. What he asked for was more than reasonable. Practical even. She nodded.
“I need to hear you say it,” he said. “That you understand.” Something in his tone struck her, resonated in her chest as if a bell had rung, and she stiffened in hesitation.
He kissed her then, his lips warm, his hot tongue dancing over hers, chasing the prickle from her skin.
She had to stop expecting the other shoe to drop, for everything to go up in a puff of smoke. If she couldn’t make this work with a man as amazing as Bruce Sanborn, someone steadfast and principled, damn near a saint, she might as well join a convent because it meant she was too damaged and incapable of giving something good a chance to flourish.
He pressed a palm to her cheek, held her gaze, waiting.
She nodded, this time to herself, and said, “I understand.”
37
Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia
Tuesday, 1:00 p.m. EDT
“I’m confused about the plan,” Kit said, her gaze flickering to the Gray Box facility and back to Castle.
That ruggedly gorgeous action-star face, his light-brown skin set off with blue-green gemstone eyes, and the sexiest bald head. She wanted to run her palms over it again while he was nestled between her thighs, his mouth bringing her pleasure.
His expression was hard now, his brow furrowed. Tension bracketed his mouth and fatigue deepened the creases around his eyes.
She would’ve given anything to read his mind. “If you’re not letting Cutter protect me—”
“I’m not,” he snapped out, his demeanor steely with determination.
“Then what are we doing here?” She gestured to the building. “What’s the answer? All I still see is the problem.”
“Kobayashi Maru.”
“What?” He was making absolutely no sense. “How much sleep have you had in the last few days?”
He hadn’t gotten any during her first night at his place, not a wink on the ride up to Cambridge or on the way back since he’d insisted on driving. When they’d trudged into his town house, they’d showered together, made love under the water, and found themselves entangled in bed, kissing, going at it again. They’d squeezed every bittersweet drop out of those twenty-four hours.
She’d prepared herself for him to cast her aside and move on, despite what he had said. Only he was sticking by her, even though it wasn’t in his best interest, and now he was delirious from exhaustion.
“Kobayashi Maru,” he said, “is the no-win training exercise in Star Trek.”
“I know what it is.” What real Trekkie didn’t? “I’m just failing to see its relevance here.”
“Sanborn put me in a situation that I couldn’t win if I cared about you and played by the rules. The only way to win is for me to cheat. The same as Captain Kirk.”
Oh, she did not like the sound of that. Think outside the box, sure, but Sanborn struck her as the type who didn’t abide cheating. “What exactly do you mean?”
“If I tell you, you’ll worry.”
Too late. Anxiety had her stomach seesawing like a roller coaster ride. “I’m already worried.”
“I’m not leaving your safety up to Cutter, a guy who works a desk and hasn’t proven to me that he can handle someone like Bravo out in the field.” Castle shook his head. “Not going to happen. Trust me, that’s all you need to know right now.”
Her roiling insides protested, but Castle looked resigned to keep her breathing himself. It was pretty hard to argu
e against that, so she gave up trying.
They went into the building, passed through security, and once on the Operations floor, he took her to the Intelligence section.
“Wait here for me.” He gestured for her to sit in a chair. “Don’t go anywhere without an escort.”
She nodded, taking a seat at a table near Cutter’s workstation. There was another computer on nearby and Kit assumed it was Doc’s. There was medical information on the screen and a mini statue of Buddha on the desk. The only thing missing was a Ziploc bag of homemade granola.
“Hey, Castle,” Cutter said, standing. He had the charisma of a surfer, the look competing against his suit and the stodgy, government atmosphere of the office.
“It’s Kinkade to you.” Castle’s husky, commanding tone was diamond-hard and sexy as hell, sending a strange thrill through her.
She wanted him to talk dirty to her like that.
“Sure, okay. Kinkade.” Cutter nodded with an enthusiastic smile. “But that makes it somewhat awkward if I’m in a room with both you and your sister. How do you know who I’m talking to?” He gave a hollow chuckle.
“Big Kinkade, little Kinkade,” Castle bit out, “but I can’t guarantee my sister won’t hit you in the face if you call her little. Senior Kinkade, junior Kinkade. She might hit you if you call her junior too. I don’t think your problem is in how you address me but rather her.”
“Okay.” Cutter raised his palms. “I only wanted to say that Ms. Westcott will be in the best of hands with me.”
“Stop.” Castle shook his head once. “Sit.”
“Uh.” Cutter’s mouth jarred open. He glanced at Kit as if to ask what to do.
“Don’t look at her,” Castle said. “Sit and go back to work. She’s not your assignment.”
Cutter sat, looking baffled and peeved, and swiveled in his chair, facing his computer.
Castle turned and his amazing eyes met hers, sending her pulse into overdrive—the good kind. He mouthed, ten minutes.
Kit nodded, hoping whatever Castle had planned didn’t backfire, and then he was off.