Love and Wargames: A Bad Boy Hacker Romance

by Kiss, Tabatha

  Chapter 5

  Boxcar

  Afghanistan

  Two Years Ago

  I jiggle my hands, listening to the metal clanging of handcuffs latched around my wrists. The chain is fastened to the floor beneath my chair, making it nearly impossible for me to stand up. I guess this is where they throw prisoners of war they need to question. It sure would be nice if they did that — or, at the very least, made some sort of contact with me. The walls are made of metal and I’ve officially sweat out all the water that soldier gave me.

  It’s been about an hour since they dropped me into this room. I could easily have picked the cuffs by now but I’d really rather not get shot today and it’s not like I could just sneak out of here without someone noticing.

  I’m fucked. No ifs, ands, or buts about that. I’m on the road to Fuckedville with a one-way ticket. No stops. No piss breaks. No way out — but can they really blame me for doing what I did? If they could, I’m sure they would have done the same. Stuck in the desert with no water, trapped in a collapsed room with nothing but a laptop and brains. Of course, I sent out that signal. I’d do it again if I had to.

  Finally, the door opens and that same tall, butch son-of-a-bitch that threw me in here steps inside. Sergeant Rhys, if I recall?

  “Excuse me,” I say, clearing my dry throat. “May I have some water, please?”

  He slams the door behind him and lingers over my chair. “You’re in some trouble, son.”

  “I’m also an American citizen,” I point out. “Last I checked, that warrants a sippy cup.”

  He smirks and crosses his arms over his chest, flexing his mighty biceps as if it would intimidate me. “How did you hack our equipment?”

  “I already told you,” I sigh. “Your equipment functions through satellites, which transmits waves—”

  “You’ve said that already.”

  I pause. “Well, sir, you asked twice—”

  “Where’d you learn to do that?” he asks.

  “I looked it up.”

  “Where?”

  “The internet.”

  He chuckles but he’s far from amused. “You looked up how to hack into highly sophisticated government equipment on the internet?”

  I scoff. “Your equipment is hardly sophisticated, Sergeant. In fact, I can list off about a half dozen more exploits that are just as easy to break into and don’t require nearly as much effort. Anyone with even the slightest knowledge of radio frequencies and mechanical engineering could figure it out.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.”

  He pauses and chews on his lip for a moment. “You’re in some trouble.”

  “You have a real problem with repeating yourself, man…”

  “But I can get you out of it.”

  I raise a brow. “How?”

  He turns and grabs the second chair from the corner and sets it down in front of me. “How old are you?”

  I straighten up a little taller as he sits down, listening to the familiar jingle of cuffs. “Twenty.”

  “As it stands right now, you’re looking at about twice that in prison,” he says.

  “Oh, please,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I sent out an S.O.S.”

  “And you put the lives of myself and four of my men at risk in the process.”

  “That’s not very P.C. of you, Serg,” I point out. “I believe one of the soldiers that dug me out was a woman—”

  “Kid...” He leans forward. “I’m serious. Now, I can ship you back to the United States today where you won’t see the outside of a cell until you’re sixty or… you can wise up and work for us.”

  I wait for his stare to break but he never flinches. “What?”

  He eases back in his chair. “You say our equipment is subpar.”

  “Your equipment blows, actually.”

  “Then fix it,” he says. “I’m sure you have a few ideas in that head of yours, right?”

  “I might.”

  He shrugs and stands up. “You work for us, tighten our security, keep me and my men safe, and you won’t see a day behind bars.”

  “For how long?”

  His chin juts to the side. “You got somewhere else to be?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Quite…” He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a key. “Let’s just say long enough for me to forget to ever ask you what the hell you’re doing out in the middle of the damn Afghani desert alone in the first place. Does that sound fair?”

  My eyes scrape the floor. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

  “Smart kid.” He gestures for my hands and I raise them as high as the chain will allow. The cuffs drop off my wrists and he lets them fall to the floor. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go meet my team.”

  He leads me outside and I immediately hold up a hand to shield the sun from melting the fucking eyes out of my skull. I don’t know how they do it. Here I am in a white shirt and its done nothing to keep me cool since I got here while these guys walk around in outfits made of who-knows-what. Looks thick, whatever it is. I can’t imagine what these guys must smell like after a single day…

  The camp is small, surrounded by nothing but desert on all sides. A large tent sits in the center with communications equipment stacked on tables and large generators to power them. There are three jeeps parked in a line on the far side next to a pair of very cringe-worthy porta-potties. On the opposite side, some soldiers sit around a long table with prepackaged food, enjoying a shade that I would very much like to get into.

  We finally walk into a small barracks with about a dozen cots — two rows of six with an aisle between them and a tent overhead that’s been torn in several places and crudely repaired with duct tape. It must be downtime as most of the cots have body-shaped lumps in them. I guess you catch whatever sleep you can out here.

  The air grows tense as we pass the occupied mattresses. Some soldiers stand to attention but the sergeant waves them down. All of them stare at me as I pass by them and their faces tell me all I need to know about their thoughts.

  Who’s this asshole?

  Rhys stops at the back of the tent and my eyes instantly fall on the girl that helped dig me out.

  She lies on her back with her neck propped up on a really uncomfortable-looking pillow with a very tempting bottle of water in her small hand.

  “Team, this is Carson,” Rhys announces, his eyes scanning the four cots at the back.

  I pull my eyes away from the girl and make eye contact with the other three — one I recognize as the soldier who gave me water. The others I also recognize but only because one kicked me to the ground while the other handcuffed me.

  Pricks.

  All four of them stand up and Rhys steps to the side. “This is Rogers,” he says, pointing to The Kicker, a muscular man with buck teeth and black hair. His hand moves down the line to The Cuffer, yet another muscular guy except he’s got red hair and a cleft chin. “This is West — Fitzpatrick — and Fawn.”

  Fawn. That’s cute.

  “Sup?” I greet.

  “Carson is going to be joining our unit from here on out,” Rhys explains.

  The girl blinks with confusion. I don’t notice if the others do the same as my eyes are pretty much locked on her. Her hair is trimmed short, auburn in color. The tent blocks plenty of light but I can easily see green irises shining out from behind her long eyelashes. Pointed cheekbones, concave cheeks. She’s fucking gorgeous and I can’t for the life of me figure out what the hell she’s doing out here.

  “In what capacity, sir?” she asks.

  Rhys shrugs. “I don’t know—” He looks back at me. “A civilian… intelligence freelancer. That sounds official enough. Basically, he broke our equipment and he’s gonna fix it for us.”

  “Well, it’s not really broken,” I say. “It’s just shitty…”

  “Either way, he’s part of our unit and we’ll treat him like it from here on out. Sound good?”

  “Yes, sir,” they all
say in unison. I flinch slightly at the sudden bark of voices. I guess I’ll just have to get used to that if I’m going to be hanging out with the cast of Platoon.

  “Fawn—” Rhys says. “I’m sticking him with you. Keep an eye on him.”

  Her posture sinks. “Sir—?”

  “Show him around. Teach him the rules. Keep him from getting shot at.”

  She steps forward, trying very hard to keep her cool. “Sir, I’m not—”

  “As you were, boys,” Rhys says, spinning around and darting down the aisle fast enough to dodge her questions.

  I turn back to the team, my eyes once again falling on her. “You can call me Boxcar,” I say. “No one calls me Carson.”

  Fitzpatrick steps forward as The Kicker and The Cuffer wander back to their cots again to ignore me. He holds out his hand. “Fox,” he says.

  “Rabbit,” I say, shaking his hand.

  He chuckles. “It’s my name.”

  “Cool. I figured, but then again, why give up the opportunity to list off cute, woodland creatures, am I right?”

  Fox’s hand drops to his side and he gestures to the girl. “This is Caleb.”

  Caleb.

  She stands still, ignoring the hand I extend out to her. Only her eyes move, darting to look past her little button nose at my dirt-covered fingers. “Excuse me.”

  As she darts past, I catch a quick whiff of her scent — one far more pleasant than I ever thought possible in this area of the world. I can’t imagine she has perfume stashed in her footlocker but I detect flowers in my nose for a brief, wonderful moment. I turn to watch her exit and my eyes fall to her perfect, toned ass as it sways back and forth with anger.

  I look at Fox. “Was it something I said?”

  “Rabbit, probably,” he nods.

  “Ahh…”

  Fox pats my shoulder and shifts around to plop back down onto his cot. “She’ll adapt… always does.” He gestures for me to sit down on the cot next to his — Caleb’s cot — and I’m not about to pass up the opportunity to smell her again, so I lower myself down.

  I gaze over my shoulder, meeting the suspicious eyes of the other soldiers scattered about the tent. I lean forward to whisper. “Am I gonna get a code red in here, or…?”

  He chuckles, running his hand over his buzzed, brown hair. “Nah… tensions are just a little high right now.”

  “Why?”

  “War.”

  I smile. “Of course. Silly me.”

  Fox’s attention draws behind me and I turn again to see Caleb rushing back into the tent. Her eyes are downcast and her cheeks are bright red with a subtle, controlled rage. As she reaches her cot, she spots me sitting on it and she halts in her tracks.

  “Caleb…” Fox clears his throat with playful eyes. “You okay?”

  She inhales a deep breath, one that obviously fills her lungs to the very top. “I’m fine.” Her voice quivers softly.

  “So—” I point around. “How long have you guys been out here?”

  Fox looks up, counting in his head. “We’ve been at this camp about six months,” he answers. “Before that, it was about a year in Iraq.”

  “Damn,” I say. I glance up at Caleb. “You, too?”

  She doesn’t even look at me. “Yeah.” Her hands rise to her hips and I see her fingertips dig into her sides.

  “Wow — I’ve only been here a few days and I already can’t stand it.”

  “What are you even doing out here?” Fox asks.

  “Just… stuff. Hey—” I look around. “I thought they didn’t allow lady soldiers this far into the combat zone, or am I wrong?”

  Fox starts laughing but cuts it off quickly as his eyes shoot up to Caleb. “They usually don’t…” he says, “but somebody assigned her without realizing her name was unisex. No one super important has noticed yet and she’s too good to trade anyway, so… we keep it quiet.”

  “Ohhh…” I look up at her and she throws me a side-ways glance. “Looks like we’re both outsiders around here.”

  “Excuse me.” She spins around and swishes those little hips away. Of course, I stare at those tight cheeks as she exits the tent again.

  “Does she do that a lot?” I ask Fox.

  He shrugs. “I guess you just bring that out in people.”

  “Story of my life.”

  Caleb Fawn. My reluctant protector.

  This should be fun.

  Chapter 6

  Caleb

  Afghanistan

  Two Years Ago

  “Sergeant!”

  He quickens his pace in a futile effort to avoid me. Does it piss me off? You’re damn right it does. It always has ever since the moment I was assigned to his unit. The lack of mutual respect between us is wearing thin.

  “Sergeant!”

  I watch him flinch as he turns around. He slides his hat off to rub the thick, prickly hairs on his round, sweaty head. “What is it, Fawn?”

  “Sir, I have a problem with this.”

  “With what?” He kicks a lump of sand with the heel of his boot.

  “With Carson, sir.”

  “Look— I don’t like it either, but he could prove useful—”

  “I don’t mean that,” I say. “I mean passing him off to me. I’m not a babysitter, sir.”

  His lips twitch. I can’t tell if he’s amused or pissed. Maybe both. “Well, what would you have me do with him?”

  “I… I don’t know but, sir, it’s not my job to look after civilian intelligence freelancers.”

  “Your job is to do whatever I tell you to do, Fawn.”

  “I ain’t arguing against that, sir,” I say, “I just think my skills could be put to better use than this.”

  “Fawn…” he sighs with impatience. “You should thank your lucky stars you’re even out here in the first place. I could have sent you back home but I didn’t.”

  “I know that, sir — and I really appreciate that, but—”

  “I like you, Fawn. I do.” He slides his hat back on to block out the harsh sun and I sense the tone of his voice harden. If I want to make an argument, I better do it now. “You’re one hell of a good soldier and you can hold your own against most everybody here—”

  “Sir—”

  “—but I can’t help it if I sleep better knowing you’re not first in line to get shot at or worse. Now — Carson has a job to do and it’s your job now to make sure he does it. Understood?”

  “I don’t trust him, sir.”

  “And neither do I. Let’s just say that’s another reason why I’m entrusting him with you.” He takes a quick step closer. His brow hangs over his eyes, casting a purposeful shadow along the bridge of his nose. “Understood, Fawn?”

  I force my argument beneath my tongue. There’s no changing Rhys’ mind on this. It’d be stupid for me to keep bashing my head into this wall and I’ve already got a big enough headache right now as it is. “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, go play nice and keep a close eye on him,” he says, spinning on his heel. “Find him a bed and some clean clothes.”

  “Yes, sir…” I mutter.

  “Like you mean it, Fawn.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Atta girl.”

  He wanders off, leaving me more pissed off than when I first walked out here.

  Goddammit.

  I head back to the barracks to get out of the sun and embrace the shade for a few moments until I reach my cot. Of course, Carson — or whatever the hell he calls himself — is sitting on it with his mud-covered slacks and filthy hands.

  “Caleb…” Fox looks up at me, obviously hinting at me to play nice just like Rhys told me to. “You okay?”

  I inhale a heavy breath. “I’m fine.”

  “So—” Boxcar makes a wide hand gesture. It’s obviously meant to grab my attention but I keep my eyes down. “How long have you guys been out here?”

  “About a year now,” Fox answers him. “We’ve been at this camp about six months. Before that, it was
about a year in Iraq.”

  “Damn. You, too?”

  I shift my hands up onto my hips, feeling his eyes on me. There’s a temptation in me to meet his gaze but I force it aside. I’ll admit, there’s something interesting about him but he can’t be trusted — that much is obvious. “Yeah.”

  “Wow — I’ve only been here a few days and I already can’t stand it.”

  “What are you even doing out here?” Fox asks him.

  I finally let my eyes fall on him.

  “Just… stuff.”

  Bingo. He won’t even answer the question. He doesn’t even have a rehearsed lie to answer with instead. He’s changing the subject and Fox the Trusting is falling for it. Whatever this Boxcar is doing out here, it’s not good.

  I study his face. Youthful but wise — he’d be almost charming if he knew how to use it right.

  Boxcar cranes his neck to look up at me and I almost flinch. “Looks like we’re both outsiders out here.”

  “Excuse me.” I turn around and exit the tent again, feeling his trained eyes on me the entire time.

  If I’m going to figure out what he’s really up to, then I’m going to have up my game here. It pains me to say it but my gender might be the most helpful thing in this scenario. I saw the way he looked at me and I can use that to my advantage.

  Win him over. Gain his trust. Figure out what he’s up to before it gets us all killed.

  “Caleb,” Fox says, bridging the short distance between us.

  I glance up from my hiding spot behind the crates stacked up near the jeeps. Nothing but desert as far as the eye can see. It’s about the only calming sight one can find out here and it’s exactly what I need right now. “Fox,” I greet him.

  “You want to talk about it?” he asks, smiling wide.

  “Not really, no.”

  “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

  “That’s easy for you to say…” I cross my arms. “You’re not the one that has to play bodyguard to some annoying tag-a-long.”

  He chuckles. “You have to admit — it could be worse.”

  “This isn’t funny, Fox.”

  “Boxcar doesn’t seem so bad.”

  I sigh. “Except for the part where he could easily be up to no good,” I point out. “You saw how he dodged your questions. What the hell is he even doing out here?”