by Box Set
I must have been deep in the code for hours, because when I look up, it’s evening. I just finished planting traps for the hacker, loads of interesting looking purchases from fake customers that sound like movie stars, politicians, and athletes. Now, all I have to do is wait for the hacker to step into the trap. When he or she opens the fake customer profiles and attempts to hijack the data, my tracker will log all their activity, including tracing them to their MAC address, the one that uniquely identifies their network interface card.
My apartment door thumps and the aroma of barbeque wafts toward me. It’s my pregnant sister who’s now in the food delivery business. Today’s haul, pulled pork sandwiches and steak fries.
“You still at this?” Lacy drawls as she places the greasy paper bags in front of me. “I’m lucky I’m eating for two, but what’s your excuse?”
“Have hackers to catch.”
“How about a hunky football player? Why aren’t you out catching him?”
“He knows where to find me. I’m not the one with misplaced priorities.”
“If you say so.”
The logs go across my screen. Is no one at work, or has the hacker given up? If so, I may never find him, and I’ll forever look like the guilty one.
“Eat, eat.” Lacy peels open a foil wrapped pulled pork sandwich, which has my mouth watering.
I can’t remember the last time I ate. I can’t even remember the date. As long as I keep my mind on catching the hacker, I won’t have to think of anyone else—least of all He Who Shall Not Be Mentioned. Except every time I try not to think of him, my mind floods with memories, images, scents, and tastes of him.
I bite into the sandwich and watch the screen.
“I’m getting tired of you ignoring me,” my sister says. “Look at you. Have you slept? Washed your hair? Gone outside? You’re going to get blood clots sitting here all day long.”
Her words flow over me like pieces of confetti. I need to not think about anything. Not care about my appearance. Not go out. Not feel my heartbeat. Not live. Because if I’m honest with myself, I’m hurt badly. I stopped counting the days, the hours, the minutes waiting for him to call me, text me, or visit. He knows where I live. He knows how to get ahold of me, but he chooses to pretend I don’t exist. How could I have been so wrong and thought he cared for me?
I touch the earrings to reassure myself they’re still dangling. Why’d he give them to me if I mean so little to him?
Suddenly, lines and lines scroll onto the screen. Someone is accessing the fake customer profiles, and it’s coming from within the company.
“Snagged!” I pump my fist at the flashing computer screen. “I got him. Look, Lacy, look. He’s opening the bomb I planted. I’ve got the socket, the port, the MAC address. Snagged by my bomb!”
“Snagged juicy bomb,” the cockatoo, Big Blizzard, cheers from the cage. “Hello!”
“Yes! Snagged! Woohoo!” I jump up from my chair and dance around the kitchen table.
“That’s great,” Lacy says. She goes to Big Blizzard’s cage and says, “Say, ‘Brittney loves Ben.’”
Is this all my sister can think about at a momentous time like this? “I got the hacker! Who cares about Ben?”
“You do.” She munches on a steak fry and feeds the rest of it to the bird. “Brittney loves Ben.”
“Bree-ney love Ben. Arck!” the dumb bird repeats.
“How about ‘Brittney is Santa’s Pet?’” Lacy suggests. “Santa’s Pet.”
My mood is too good to let my sister sabotage it. I rub my hands together as the seconds tick by. “They should be closing the hole any minute now.”
The FBI had promised to secure the network as soon as they snatched the culprits. I keep my eyes on the rolling log, waiting, waiting.
It stops moving, and the last message says, Good job, Brittney Reed. Congratulations from Marlena Morley.
“Marlena Morley!” both me and my sister exclaim.
I stare at Lacy and she stares back.
“Did you really catch the hacker or is she the hacker thumbing her nose in your face?” Lacy asks.
“I have no idea.” I call my FBI contact.
“We’re sending someone to your place to pick up your laptop and confirm the kill,” the agent says.
“Is Marlena the hacker?” I tell him about the cryptic message.
“No. Marlena is the agent hunting a gang of notorious and dangerous hackers. We now have the evidence and caught them red-handed. Good job, Miss Reed,” the contact says.
While I’m on the call with the FBI, Lacy receives a call from Brandon.
She taps me on the shoulder. “Brandon just called. He’s on his way over here. He’s happy we caught the hacker.”
“Does he know who it is?” I ask after hanging up with the FBI agent who refused to tell me more.
She puts her phone on speaker. “Did you know Marlena’s an FBI agent?”
“Of course I did,” Brandon says. “I stepped away to let her in so the hackers wouldn’t suspect anything. I was onto them, but let them believe they framed me and got Jewell’s wind up.”
“Who?” I can’t catch my breath. “Is it someone we know?”
“Actually, it is,” Brandon says. “I’m right outside your apartment. Is Lacy sitting?”
“Uh, yes, but what’s going on?” I march to my door and open it.
Brandon taps to hang up. He walks toward Lacy and hugs her, kissing her lightly on the lips.
She pushes him. “Who? Why should I be sitting down?”
“Sit. Both of you.”
I cast in my mind. “It can’t be Mom or Dad. They don’t know anything about computers. Samantha’s safe since she was at work when the hackers accessed the tunnel. Ben doesn’t know anything about computers. Grandpa Powers? I can’t think of anyone else we know who has a motive.”
Brandon presses Lacy onto the sofa and puts his arm around her. Okay, so, it might be someone Lacy knows. Could it be Jazzy, her friend with the escort service?
“Samantha’s being arrested right now,” Brandon says.
“Sammie? Our Sammie?” I stand, my hands flapping in panic. “That’s wrong. She was at work when the hacker used her username and tunneled into the code.”
“True, but she can’t prove she wasn’t in cahoots with them.”
“What about that guy she was sleeping with?”
“Which one?” Brandon nails me with narrowed eyes. “Are you saying you knew what was going on?”
“No, I was only at her apartment to set up the tunnel. His nickname was something like ‘Back Door.’”
“Doesn’t help to narrow them down that way. She slept with the entire gang,” Brandon says. “‘Big Dog,’ ‘Back Door,’ ‘Full Chat,’ ‘Nut Cracker,’ and ‘Fender Buff.’ ‘Handle Down’ was Dex Steele, who’s doing time in San Quentin. You remember him?”
“Uh yes.” Dex was the guy who tricked me last year by pretending to have a crush on me when all he wanted was to get into my encryption modules and frame me for attacking TrophyShots, another social media sharing site.
“So, Mitch Slack isn’t one of them?” Mitch is TrophyShot’s CEO and I had thought the guy with Samantha was him.
“Nope. Scrappers is not Mitch’s club,” Brandon clarifies.
“But why did Samantha do this? I gave her the job. Every opportunity.” I slam my fist onto the table. “She’s my cousin.”
“She’s pleading innocence,” Brandon says. “She’s a recent grad, and she did some stupid things, but she claims she had no knowledge.”
“Then she must have had help. Who are the rest of the guys? Who’s ‘Big Dog?’” I can’t believe Samantha did this on her own. Someone stupid enough to leave her router management password in plain view is stupid, but not devious, unless she left it there to make her seem innocent. Hmmm …
Brandon rubs his chin and averts his gaze. Somehow he’s not comfortable telling us. Could ‘Big Dog’ be ‘Big Ben?’ Or Grandpa Powers?
And if he is, does this mean he also slept with Samantha?
“Big Dog,” the cockatoo yells. “Big Blizzard. Big Dog.”
“Wait, who’s bird was he before he was put up for adoption?” I march to Big Blizzard’s cage. “Who’s your owner?”
“We can find out who gave him up,” Lacy says. “It can’t be Grandpa Powers. He’s computer illiterate. Where are the records for Ragamuffin’s Rescue?”
“I have them somewhere. I run their website.” I scramble to my laptop, but Brandon clamps his hand over my shoulder.
“No need. It’s your security chief, Sean Rodgers.”
All the air in my lungs leak from my mouth. Relief that it’s not Ben. Disgust at myself for thinking he’d sleep with Samantha and screw my network, and disappointment at myself for not suspecting Sean Rodgers.
“Sean? Stinky Sean?” I slap both sides of my head. “What’d he do, leave a trail?”
“Oh, my, he must have left some smelly footprints,” Lacy joins in and kicks her heels on the coffee table, holding her stomach with laughter.
“Talk about leaving bread crumbs, they must have been stale.” I can’t help but join in. It’s such a relief it’s not Ben or Grandpa Powers.
“Juicy Melons!” Big Blizzard yells. “Juicy Melons. Breast Ben fits.”
“Wait. That’s the password on the router,” I exclaim. “Juicy Melon Breasts.”
“So, Big Blizzard was Sean’s bird?” Lacy shrieks hysterically. “Why’d he give him away?”
“Big Blizzard talks!” the bird crows with his characteristic head bob. His feathers stand straight up and he flaps his wings, stirring up dirt. “Talk too much!”
“High five,” Lacy says. “You caught the hackers and got your company back.”
“That remains to be seen,” I say. “Dave and Jen might blame me for bringing Samantha in. I thought I could trust her. I can’t believe she slept with the entire motorcycle club, especially Stinky Sean.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better, that’s only what they said about her in their instant messages. You know how guys are.” Brandon levels an apologetic gaze at me.
Lacy elbows him. “Seriously? Not all guys. I bet neither you or Ben would drag some woman’s name in the mud by claiming she slept with the entire motorcycle gang.”
“It’s up to her attorney to sort it out,” Brandon says. “And thanks for your vote of confidence. You know I never sleep and talk.”
“No, you don’t talk in your sleep.” She snaps her fingers. “Shucks.”
“If I did, you’d only hear your name.” He slants his face into hers and before I can count to one, he and my sister are lip-locked, smooching and making all sorts of sickening cooing noises.
I walk to the birdcage and let Big Blizzard out. “Sorry Stinky Sean was so bad to you. At least I have you now.”
“Juicy Ben!” he squawks and sidesteps up my arm to perch on my shoulder. “Big juicy Ben fits.”
Chapter 72
~ Ben ~
“Come on, Treat.” Ben dangled a leash. “Get your lazy butt off the floor.”
Grandpa had stubbornly come home and driven away the home health aide. He insisted he could take care of himself, but he still needed help going in and out of the bathroom as well as taking a shower. The wound was healing well, but looked gruesome. They’d wired his breastbone back together and glued the skin. Nash was in charge of cooking healthy food, and Ben found himself with exercise duty.
“You, too, Grandpa. Gotta get your walk in.” Ben helped his grandfather from his recliner. “Up you go.”
Grandpa groaned and shuffled toward the parson’s bench to put on his shoes.
The basset hound also groaned and waddled toward the leash. Ben rubbed the dog’s loose skin and attached the leash to his collar.
“Let’s go,” Ben said to the lazy dog. “Let’s take you to do doggie things, like sniff, pee, and scratch.”
“And I gotta go do manly things like spit, pee, and scratch,” Grandpa said. “I’m not going to that assisted living center. No way, no how.”
“Then you’re going to have to exercise and take your medicine. Maybe get someone to move in with you after Nash and I leave.”
“I’m working on it,” Grandpa said, winking.
“Mystery woman?” Ben opened the screen door to the porch.
“Maybe.” Grandpa walked out and stretched. “You two don’t have to hover. Once the holidays are over, I’ll be better than new, now that they fixed my heart.”
“You’re not supposed to pick up anything heavier than ten pounds. Who’s going to get your groceries or pick up Treat when he gets tired?” Ben helped his grandfather down the steps of the porch as Treat followed.
“I’ll manage without your help.” Grandpa brushed Ben’s hand off his arm and trudged slowly down the path.
“Waarrruff.” Treat shook his jowls and plodded after them. It would be hard to get someone to adopt a lazy, old dog who probably wouldn’t play fetch or go running.
“You two go ahead,” Grandpa said when they got to the road. “I’ll just make a few turns around the house.”
“You sure? We can follow you,” Ben said, not liking how independent his stubborn grandfather could be.
“Stop hovering!” Grandpa leveled him with a glare.
“Okay, okay.” Ben beat a hasty retreat and took Treat down the road behind the horse fence. He kept an eye out for Grandpa until he disappeared behind the woodshed.
“I don’t know what to do about you and Big Blizzard,” Ben said to Treat as they walked down the dirt road. “I’m going to be traveling all the time, and well, Grandpa loves you, but he can’t take care of you anymore.”
Treat only huffed and sniffed at the fence posts. He was such a soft and cuddly dog and would make a perfect companion or at worst, a footrest for someone who stayed home all day long. Or someone who sat in front of the computer—like Brittney.
Try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d been so sure that she was the one meant for him—his perfect partner. His body tingled at the memory of her soft skin, those sweet curves of hers pressed against him. Her eyes were both beautifully blue and intelligently focused, while her hair glowed silky like a hot summer moon.
How could he possibly forget the privilege of holding her in bed, kissing and caressing her? When she gave her consent, it was like getting the keys to a kingdom—even better. He’d taken his time and loved her—truly and thoroughly, before he turned stupid and threw it all away.
Ben picked up a rock and pitched it across the meadow. It smacked into the dirt, and it was like he’d tossed his heart into a pit. Love meant sacrifices and love was dangerous. So dangerous he could never get over losing it. Except, idiot that he was, he’d already lost it. Over and over again, he ran over the way he’d turned Brittney’s innocent and pure love into a load of nothing.
A woman as smart as Brittney would never allow him to hurt her again. At least she’d better not.
Heck, if she were his sister, he’d keep himself away from her. That applied to all the Powers boys, he thought wryly. His stepsister, Susanna, the psych major and budding therapist swore that because they’d lost their mother, they were all incapable of loving and staying with any one woman.
Rolling stones all of them, except Damon who did his rolling at home among the women of the surrounding counties.
Ben picked up another stone and drilled it at a tree, but missed by a wide margin. Brittney would have nailed it. Hadn’t she nailed him when she broke his window with a perfectly aimed rock to the heart?
“Woof.” Treat barked half-heartedly as they finished the loop around the meadow.
He brought the dog into the farmhouse and unlatched his leash. Grandpa was already sitting in his recli
ner flipping through TV channels. Treat ambled to the kitchen and inhaled half a bowl of water, then implored him with his big, sad eyes for a doggie treat.
Ben gave him a handful and watched as he crunched them with relish. After he was done, he sat on his haunches and bayed mournfully, “Waaarrroooo.”
Ben walked by the mirror in the dining room and glanced at his reflection. What the hell was he doing paying attention to a dog when he should be doing anything and everything to get Brittney to forgive him?
Nash had said he could recruit celebrities for the Anti-Slut-Shaming Benefit Concert, but he wanted to do more than Nash. He had to prove his sincerity. Waking up his tablet, he explored news about Brittney’s trouble with the hackers. Days had gone by and he hadn’t heard anything from her.
As he read article after article, his blood pressure rose and he became more and more alarmed. The hackers could be part of organized crime or even working for a foreign government. Some commentators warned individuals to refrain from taking on hackers by themselves, something Brittney had done the year before when she unleashed a worm attack from her honeypot. There was no update about whether the hackers had gotten caught, and both Shopahol and Mississippi.com refused to issue any statements about the investigation and Brittney’s whereabouts.
Ben didn’t know how to code a computer worth squat, but when he got to the article about Amy Suzuki, the actress who was suing Brittney for exposing her sex toy purchases, a light bulb shimmered in his brain.
He put the tablet down and called Dominique, his agent. He actually hadn’t fired her or signed with anyone else, although he’d put her under pressure by speaking to others. She’d better come through now.
“So, you finally came to your senses?” She answered on the first ring. “What can I do for you?”