Love and Wargames: A Bad Boy Hacker Romance

by Kiss, Tabatha

He shrugs.

  I sigh, gesturing softly with my hands to push him away. “You’re in my bubble…”

  He shifts back a little but maintains that schoolboy smirk across his mouth. “So, do they?”

  I slide closer to the right. “Do they what?”

  “Arm wrestle.”

  I look over at them, my eyes landing on Fox as he leans over the battle, playing referee. “Yeah.”

  “Do you?”

  I turn back down to the revolver parts now littered along my mattress. “No.”

  “Why not?” he asks. “You seem like you’d be good at it, even against these guys.”

  I catch him looking up and down tank top, admiring my toned arms.

  A hard slam finally hits the footlocker and Rogers launches up in victory as West growls in defeat.

  “That’s two out of three,” Fox counts. “Pay the man.”

  West spins around to his cot and fishes beneath his pillow for money.

  My eyes fall on Boxcar again and he smiles, still awaiting my answer. “I was banned from competing.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because she cheats!”

  I raise an eyebrow at Rogers. “I don’t cheat. You just suck.”

  He leans closer, rolling his freshly-won money into his pocket. “Cheater…”

  “Well, that doesn’t seem fair,” Boxcar argues.

  “You want to try her?” Rogers laughs, gesturing at me. “Go ahead, Fawn. Show him your moves.”

  “I’d really rather not…” I mumble.

  Boxcar stands up. “I’m in.”

  I roll my eyes, glancing up at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, come on,” he says. “I challenge you to an arm wrestle, Caleb Fawn.”

  “No.”

  “Caleb…” Fox says. “You know the rules. You can’t back down from a challenge.”

  “Yes, I can. Watch me.” I stay seated.

  Boxcar nudges my arm. “I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

  The guys wince and with good reason. Boxcar hardly even reacts, ignoring the obvious warning signs of rage prickling at me.

  “Fine,” I say, my eyes turning red. “What’s your wager?”

  “Well,” he says, smirking wide, “let’s keep it simple. If I win, I get a kiss.”

  Anger spikes in my cheeks. “A what?”

  “A kiss.”

  “Are you fourteen?”

  He gives a half shrug.

  I glance around the tent, suddenly realizing how silent it is. Fox stands back with his hand latched over his mouth, simply fucking amused by the whole thing while Rogers and West look terrified. “No,” I say.

  “What’s wrong, Caleb?” Boxcar asks. “You scared I’ll actually win?”

  I pick myself up off the cot, seething. “And if I win?”

  His smile makes gentle dimples in his cheeks. “What do you want me to give you?”

  My eye twitches. “How about you just owe me some money? That seems fair.”

  “Okay.” He moves around the cot and lowers himself to the floor beside the footlocker, firing off a sly wink at me while he waits for me to join him.

  I take one more glance at Fox’s grinning face before kneeling down and facing Boxcar. He’s already in position with his right arm forward, eagerly awaiting me to take his hand. His fingers wave at me and I hesitate briefly before laying my elbow down and placing my palm against his.

  I touch him and a bolt of warmth charges up to my shoulder blade.

  Fox clears his throat. “Okay… are we ready?”

  “Ready,” I say, wrapping my fingers around Boxcar’s. His knuckles quake with nervousness but he tries to hide it.

  “Ready,” he says.

  Fox takes a quick step back. “Three, two, — Boxcar, don’t look down — one. Go!”

  Boxcar flinches. “What—?”

  It’s too late for him to absorb the warning. I flex, bringing his attentions back to me and he gives my hand a hard shove in the other direction.

  I’ll admit — he’s not as weak as he seems. He definitely doesn’t have a bodybuilder’s physique but I can’t help but glance at his bicep as his shirt tightens around it.

  Boxcar lets out a struggled breath and my ears twitch. A grunt escapes his lips and it travels down my back, all the way to my kneecaps. I shake it off, ignoring the quiver between my thighs and tighten my grip on him. His eyes wander my face and for a brief moment, the struggle in his eyes fades into a look of lust. It twists at me, knocking me off balance enough that my strength almost slips completely.

  His eyes flick downward and I shift my shoulders forward to deepen my cleavage.

  “Cheater!” Rogers shouts.

  I feel Boxcar’s strength waver for just a moment but that’s all I need to send his hand down to the footlocker.

  Boxcar shakes his head, jerking his eyes away from my breasts. “Wait— what?”

  Fox reaches for my hand and raises it high. “And we have a winner.”

  I stand up. “Sorry, Carson. You can pay me back later.”

  Boxcar stays on the floor, positively dumbstruck while his eyes blink away from my chest. “Damn…”

  “I told you not to look down, man,” Fox tells him, shrugging his wide shoulders.

  I walk back to my cot and Rogers and West shake their heads at me again. I ignore them, forcing my attentions back to my disassembled revolver, hoping this throbbing feeling beneath my skin goes away quickly.

  Manly grunts resume but they don’t affect me nearly as much as Boxcar’s did. I keep my head down, breathing steadily as the menial task takes hold of me and my pulse resumes its normal rhythm.

  “Fawn!”

  I look up to find Sergeant Rhys standing at the end of my cot. “Yes, sir?” I ask, jumping up.

  “Where’s Carson?”

  “Oh, he’s—” I pause mid-point, realizing that he’s not on his cot. A quick glance around tells me he’s nowhere around. It’s just Fox, Rogers, and West. “He was here a few minutes ago.”

  Rhys stares back at me with annoyance. “Well, go find him. We don’t need him wandering around alone, remember? Bring him to me. I need to see that radar footage from earlier.”

  “Yes, sir.” I bend over to find my boots, silently cursing his name. Dammit, Carson.

  Fox gestures to Rhys. “Sir, have you heard from command about the convoy?”

  Rhys’ face falls. “Yeah… they said to ignore it.”

  “Ignore it?”

  He nods. “Apparently, it’s not interesting enough to waste resources on. I’ll keep you guys updated if they say anything else, but in the meantime — ignore it.” He spins around to leave, firing a quick glance at me. “And find Carson.”

  I wait for the sergeant to disappear before heaving a hard sigh at Fox. “Did you see him leave?”

  He shakes his head. “I’ll go with you.”

  I slide my jacket on and wait for him to lace his boots before charging outside into the windy night.

  “This guy is really starting to piss me off,” I murmur, glancing around the nearly abandoned camp.

  Fox grins. “You should cut him some slack.”

  “Why?”

  “Caleb… come on. It’s obvious.”

  “I know it is and I don’t like it. This isn’t the place for his crush.”

  “It’s not just his.”

  I stop in my tracks. “Excuse me?”

  He smirks. “Caleb.”

  “What?”

  A spark of amusement crawls across his face. “Caleb.”

  My jaw sags. “You think I…? Him?”

  “Yup.”

  “That guy?”

  “Yup.”

  “The man named Boxcar?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  He laughs. “It’s not that crazy, Caleb.”

  “Did he put you up to this?” I ask. “I don’t need you trying to incept me, Fox. You’re supposed to be on my side.” />
  “Says who?” I glare at him and he laughs again. “Caleb, I’m not not on your side here. But I do think you’re jumping the gun a little bit with the suspicion that this guy is somehow a criminal mastermind sent to infiltrate the U.S. Army and kill us all.”

  “Then what is he doing out here?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I will.” I cross my arms. “As soon as I find him.”

  Fox points a finger over my shoulder and I turn around. Boxcar sits about twenty feet away, leaning nonchalantly against a crate with his laptop once again balanced on his thighs.

  I look at Fox. “You planned this,” I accuse.

  He shakes his head and spins around with a smile on his lips. “I’ll be inside.”

  “Really?”

  His eyebrows bounce as he leaves, jaunting back to our tent with a slight hop in his step.

  I sigh and walk over to the crates where Boxcar lounges. “Hey.”

  He cranes his neck upward, pulling his eyes away from his laptop to look at me. “Hey — check this out.” His hand juts out and grabs mine before I can react and he pulls me down to sit beside him.

  “What?” I jerk my hand free.

  He adjusts the screen on his laptop to give me a better view. “So, while we were out earlier, I took some photos of the license plates on the vehicles of that convoy.”

  I look at the screen over his shoulder as he clicks through his photos. “Uh-huh.”

  “Then, I modified the Army’s facial recognition software to recognize numbers and letters instead of facial features—”

  “The Army gave you their facial recognition software?” I interrupt.

  “Well…” he pauses, glancing back at me with a slight grin. “No. I borrowed it. Anyway — the military has surveillance feeds all over Kabul, so I ran the software against the last forty-eight hours of footage, and…”

  I wait as his fingers rush across the keys. “And?”

  He stops and tilts the screen even more in my direction. “Do any of these faces look familiar to you?”

  The footage is blurry but the hairs quiver on my neck. I lean forward to get a better look. Three trucks sit on the side of the road near the center of town. A dozen men linger nearby, each one wearing black tactical gear, loading the back of each truck with large boxes. One in particular catches my eye. He’s tall, wide-set, pale-skinned, with a neck nearly as thick as his shaved head.

  I point at him. “He was at the building today.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.” I shift my finger to the next guy; shorter, bearded, but just as muscled. “This one, too.”

  Boxcar pauses the footage and stares at them both. Words gather on his tongue but he says nothing but a soft groan that gets stuck at the back of his throat.

  “Do you think the facial recognition software might… you know… recognize their faces?” I ask.

  He tilts his head and peeks up at me over the rims of his glasses. “Not bad, Fawn,” he smiles.

  I watch him work. His trained fingers click and tap away, never making a single mistake as he starts and stops the footage, snatching various screen shots of their faces. “Where did you learn to do this stuff?” I ask him.

  “Self-taught. Mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  He leans back against the crate and looks at me. “Why do you ask?”

  I pause, torn between smacking that smug look off his face and… well, not. The light of the laptop reflects off his glasses, casting a blue glow onto his face, tricking me into seeing the more handsome features of him. Prominent cheekbones. Thick — but not bushy — eyebrows. Sharp, playful lips.

  I lean back. “What are you really doing out here, Carson?”

  “Getting some fresh air.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He inhales a quick breath and his eyes drop from mine. “Does it matter?”

  “It matters to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s my job to keep people safe and I can’t do that unless I trust the ones around me.”

  “Ahh.” He closes the laptop and shifts on the crate to face me. “Is that all?”

  “Is that not enough?”

  “No, it is.”

  I wait, expecting him to continue, growing more and more frustrated with each silent moment. “You know what? Nevermind—” I move to stand and he reaches out to grab my arm.

  “Wait…” His grip softens and he sighs. “You can’t tell anybody.”

  I raise my brow. “Why not?”

  He hesitates. “Because… it’s not exactly legal.”

  I fucking knew it. “So, you are a criminal mastermind sent to kill us all in our sleep?”

  “Pfft! I wish.” He gives my arm a quick tug to pull me back down. I sit beside him again but I keep my attentions focused in case he makes any sudden moves. “I came to Europe for a vacation, figured I’d get a rail pass and wander around for a bit. See the world and whatnot,” he explains. “Some bastard pickpocketed me in London and I had to improvise. I didn’t have money to get home or stay in hotels so…” he pauses, searching my face, “I started breaking into houses and sleeping on couches while the owners were gone.”

  I smirk. “You’re a vagrant?”

  He laughs. “I’m a drifter.”

  “Same thing.”

  “I didn’t do anything super shady,” he says. “Just went in, got some food, and caught a few Z’s. I didn’t steal any valuables and I left no trace besides a few missing slices of bread and a beer or two.”

  I shake my head but I can’t hide my amusement. “How did you not get caught?”

  “It’s actually really easy to tell who’s on vacation or not. Newspapers pile up, mail doesn’t get taken inside, closed curtains, no lights… Once I was inside, I just tried to find out when they’d come back. Usually, there’d be a clue or two but if not… just hope for the best.”

  “And how did you go from drifting around Europe to trapped in a warehouse in Afghanistan?”

  “Oh, right. That…” He winces. “I got caught.”

  “Of course, you did.”

  “I was in Paris and I stumbled on this gorgeous house outside of the city. Best of all, the owner obviously traveled a lot. So I made myself at home for a little while… until…”

  “Busted,” I smile.

  “I woke up to find two very large men standing over me with two very large guns,” he continues, holding his hands up at least two feet apart to show their length. “I’m talking assault weaponry, the kind you don’t typically see on civilians in France.”

  “Yikes,” I react, hanging on every word. “What did you do?”

  “I said a damn prayer and hoped it’d be quick,” he laughs. “Then this woman walked up. Tall, blonde, older — probably in her fifties but I got kind of a cougar vibe from her—”

  “Carson.”

  “Right—” He shakes his head. “Obviously, she asked what the hell I was doing there and I explained everything. Just a poor boy with nothing on him but lint and a computer, looking for a way back home.”

  “And?”

  “And… she offered me a job.”

  I blink. “What?”

  He pats his computer. “She was really interested in knowing what I could do — seeing as how I managed to override her home security system and disable the alarms so I could get in. Which was not easy, by the way. By far the most advanced system I’ve ever stumbled upon. The conversation quickly turned kind of scary but I wasn’t about to piss off the woman with the two hired guns standing behind me, watching my every move.”

  “What kind of scary?”

  He takes a breath and his eyes shift around us for prying ears. “She started talking about United States military servers and whether or not I’d be able to crack into them to gather personnel files.”

  I furrow my brow. “What kind of personnel files?”

  “Mission debriefings, confirmed kills.
Pretty much anything I could find on active duty soldiers currently deployed,” he says, his voice low. “People like you guys.”

  I pause. “What did she want with that?”

  “Honestly, I was too scared to ask,” he admits, “but it seemed like they were recruiting soldiers for something.”

  “Any idea what for?” I ask. He shakes his head. “Why didn’t you say no?”

  “I got the feeling I didn’t have a choice.”

  Comply or die. Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same. “Did you catch her name?”

  “She never said it,” he answers. “The others just kept calling her boss. Anyway… the next morning, she put me on a helicopter and flew me down here with her two goons and two other hackers she hired to do the same thing. About a week went by and then…”

  His voice falls and I see the fear in his eyes. “What?” I ask.

  “I guess they got what they wanted out of us,” he says slowly. “They lined the three of us up and I watched as they shot the others dead.” He points to his eyes. “One bullet through each eye, like a damn execution.”

  A chill runs down my spine. “How did you escape?”

  “A bomb struck our building during the raid,” he says. “They got distracted for a moment and I ran like hell. I didn’t get very far, just hid out in another warehouse in the compound but then that one got hit, too. When I couldn’t get out, I sent that fake intel.”

  I nod. “And three days later…”

  “You and Fox showed up to dig me out.”

  I sit back, wheels spinning in my head. “That’s quite the story.”

  “It’s all true, Caleb,” he says. “Every word.”

  “It sounds crazy.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  I pause, studying his deep, green eyes, looking for any tell I can find that will show me if he’s lying but I come up short. “It’s not completely unbelievable.”

  “Then you’re gonna love this,” he says, opening his laptop again. He brings up the security footage and pushes play. “Meet the two goons that brought me down here.”

  I stare at the footage, watching as the bald man and the bearded man pass by the cameras. “They’re the ones that killed the other hackers?” He nods. “Are you sure?”

  “I wouldn’t forget those faces. They’re here… somewhere,” he murmurs and his eyes shift around again as if he’s being watched.

  “You’re safe here, Carson,” I tell him. “No one’s going to find you out here.”