Code of Conduct (Cipher Security Book 1)

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Code of Conduct (Cipher Security Book 1) Page 26

by Smartypants Romance


  The dark-eyed woman went next. She smirked at Van. “You blow shit up, I shoot it.” She turned her attention to the rest of us. “Dallas Profeit, hunter, survivalist, wilderness guide. My graduate degrees are in environmental science and botany, and I was recruited by the Canadian Olympic biathlon team before I came to the States to do close protection work for Cipher Security.”

  My mouth fell open, and I wasn’t sure what surprised me more – that a wilderness guide would study engineering, or that the badass survivalist could stop her own heart to shoot a target 50 meters away.

  Then the tall, dark, and handsome Disney prince spoke next. He had a very slight accent, and if money had a sound, it was Darius’s voice. “Darius Masoud, architect and mechanical engineer. I design panic rooms and security systems for Cipher, though my primary qualification for this job is the 1954 Commander Express Cruiser on which I live.”

  Dan nodded and then looked directly at me. “Dan O’Malley. I used to be a street thug, now I’m a boardroom one. Skills include all the usual martial arts and self-defense training, plus a misguided youth in Boston and a bad fucking attitude.”

  Then Gabriel spoke, also directing his comments to me. “Gabriel Eze, former British Military Police, former UN Peacekeeper,” he caught Fiona’s eye with a small smile, “and a newly minted Cipher agent. Extensive hand-to-hand combat and weapons training, considerable investigative experience, and fair with computers. I’m excellent back-up in a fight, and I won’t leave a partner behind.” His gaze held mine for a long moment.

  Jorge spoke before I could. “Jorge Gonzales, hacker, programmer, and reformed thief. If it’s digital, I can find it.”

  There was laughter from the open laptop on the table, and Jorge turned it so the screen faced the room. Alex was there, still in his living room, still sitting under the Stormtrooper Sugar Skull print. “He’s not wrong,” he said with a nod to Dan. “The kid could be me in the field.”

  Dan growled at Jorge. “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Shit.”

  I agreed with Dan, but Jorge was an adult, so I didn’t get a say. And since apparently Alex wasn’t introducing his skills, it was my turn now, and I refused to indulge in insecurity about my own relatively slim resume. “I’m Shane – licensed P.I. from California and a below-the-knee amputee. I’ve done two triathlons, climbed in the Himalayas, and I cycled across the U.S. just because they said I would never be able to walk without a limp. My superpowers are survival, the inability to hear the words ‘no’ and ‘can’t,’ and a kick-ass prosthetist who builds me superhero legs. Also, I hate cheaters, so this is personal to me.”

  I tried to meet the eyes of everyone in the room, which was about as easy as tearing my fingernails out with pliers, but I somehow brazened my way through the eye-contact portion of the evening.

  I saved Gabriel’s eyes for last, and he held my gaze for an extra moment as he spoke to the assembled team. “I’m sure O’Malley has briefed everyone on what we’ve discovered so far. The fact that Dane Quimby has been released from police custody after holding a gun on Shane and myself is the reason for the urgency.”

  “We know his partner in ADDATA, Alexander Karpov, has potentially damning information about Quimby. It’s enough to leash him, if not outright convict him of a crime.” I added, “We believe Karpov may be holding that information and potentially much more in some form of hard copy on a yacht off the coast of Ludington State Park in Michigan.”

  Gabriel and I laid out the evidence we’d collected on ADDATA, Quimby, and the Karpov/right-wing political connection. Quimby’s desperation, indicated by his attack on me, and Karpov’s connections with angry nationalist groups were the biggest concerns because they spoke of unpredictability and the likelihood of firearms possession.

  “Money troubles seem to be at the heart of Quimby’s dive off the deep end,” I said.

  “Do we know where he got the million he stashed in the private account?” asked Fiona.

  “It was a cash deposit. Essentially, the transfer of money from one account to another within the same bank.” Alex’s voice spoke through the speaker on Jorge’s computer.

  “Who owned the transferring account?” asked Darius.

  “It was a business account owned by Galton Enterprises, and it was closed the same day,” Alex said.

  “What is Galton Enterprises?” Gabriel asked, but I already had my phone out and was searching.

  “They do those genetic testing kits,” I said, frowning. The name sounded disturbingly familiar.

  “Genetic testing?” Gabriel growled, “By a company with the same name as the father of eugenics?”

  “Sir Francis Galton.” Darius’s clipped tone was a sharp contrast to Gabriel’s deep voice. “Victorian era statistician, psychologist, and psychometrician.”

  “Otherwise known as racist piece of shit,” snorted Dan.

  “Wait – psychometrician? As in the practice of psychometry?” Gabriel stared at Dan.

  “Psychometry? Where the fuck did I hear that?” Dan retorted.

  “It’s what Karpov teaches at the University.” Gabriel got up to pace. “We need corporate info on Galton.”

  “Already on it,” Jorge said. “Galton Enterprises is registered in Connecticut and owned by Elena Karpova who is … a hundred and eight years old?”

  “She would be, if she hadn’t died fifteen years ago,” Alex said.

  “No death certificate,” Jorge argued.

  “He didn’t file it with the County Recorder’s office,” Alex countered, “but there’s an obituary.”

  “Who didn’t file a death certificate?” I asked. Those two seemed unaware they had an audience.

  “Elena’s grandson and sole heir, Alex Karpov.”

  42

  Gabriel

  “If it’s ugly, make sure it’s hot pink so everyone knows it’s on purpose.” – Billy “Sparky” Spracher.

  Shane wanted to make a stop at her prosthetist’s warehouse on our way out of the city. As I drove, she was quiet, but I recognized the signs of formulation rather than withdrawal, so I left her to it.

  “Do you mind if I come up with you?” I asked, when I’d parked outside the building. She seemed surprised at the question.

  “Of course not. I just need to borrow a leg.”

  I chuckled. “You just need to borrow a leg.”

  She smiled. “You know one of the things I really appreciate?”

  “What’s that?” We were in the freight elevator heading up to Sparky’s flat.

  “You don’t make my missing leg significant.”

  “It’s not. Your prosthetics, on the other hand, are brilliant, and the man who designed them is a god among engineers.” We had emerged from the elevator, and I was grinning at Sparky as I said the words. I knew how important he was to Shane, and in the absence of her family, he and Jorge might be it.

  He snorted. “A minor deity maybe. I’m more like Hephaestus with my robots, making precious jewels for a goddess. Oh look! Here she is.”

  Shane scoffed. “Goddess, my ass.”

  Sparky and I made an exaggerated point of looking at the part in question and silently agreeing. Shane laughed as she rolled her eyes at us.

  I reached out to shake his hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

  He took my grip. “Gabriel Eze, right? Was I right about your name being Igbo?”

  I was surprised. “Yes. My father was Nigerian.”

  Sparky shot Shane a smug look. “See?”

  “You are clearly the smartest pink-Croc-wearing man in the room, Spark,” she said.

  “I have to ask; why the pink shoes?” I looked down at the large, hot pink, injected-foam clog-type slippers he wore. If there were more horrible shoes in the world, I hadn’t seen them.

  “My niece picked them out for me so we could be twins,” he said with a shrug. “And they’re comfortable.”

  I gave him the raised eyebrows of respect, while Shane blin
ded him with her smile.

  “I don’t tell you often enough how cool you are.”

  “My coolness is so off the charts, you don’t need to,” he said with a grin. “Now, tell me what you need and get out, so I can be alone with my fantasies of goddesses who want me for more than my legs.” He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, and she laughed.

  “Can the diving leg you made be modified to fit me?”

  “I made it for you. Here, try it,” he said as he pulled a leg off a shelf. It was fitted with a swim fin that extended past a titanium peg that ended in a rubber stopper similar to the bit on the bottom of crutches.

  Shane sat on a stool and pulled up the leg of her jeans to take off the walking leg she most often wore.

  “The fin is on a hinge. Flip it up to walk on the peg,” Sparky said as she attached the leg to the sleeve.

  She did as he directed and stood easily on the peg. “I based it on the dimensions of the pirate peg leg you have.”

  “You have a pirate leg?” I said in awe.

  Shane gave me a look that fairly scoffed how can you even ask that, and I smirked at her. “Fashion show.”

  “Not a chance,” she said with a teasing smile.

  “Dude, have her show you the Inspector Gadget leg.” Sparky was adjusting a screw on the hinge as Shane tested her balance on the peg.

  “The one with the torch and screwdrivers?” I asked.

  “The flashlight is kinetically-powered, and it also has lock picks, tweezers, and a place to stash fishing line.” The pride in Sparky’s voice made Shane smile, and she met my eyes over his head.

  “The leg is great, Spark. Can I borrow it for a couple of days?” She sat down to remove the dive leg and re-attach her walking one.

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  He huffed a sigh. “I need you to model some legs for a promo video I want to do.”

  Shane looked warily at him. “I don’t know—”

  “I know you hate having your picture taken, but I made all my best legs for you, and you’re the only person I know who can make them look like proper superhero limbs.”

  “Who will see the video?” she asked.

  “Hopefully, everyone in the amputee community. C’mon, Shane, get over it already. You’re an amputee, so what? I bet you haven’t even worn the skirt leg I made you.”

  “You have a skirt leg?” I asked.

  Sparky turned his plea to me. “I matched the calf size and skin color to her other leg exactly. It even has a flex foot that can fit into high heels.”

  I looked at the woman who was almost exactly my height, and the mental image of her in a short skirt and heels was the only excuse I had for saying the words out loud. “Definitely calls for a fashion show.”

  She scowled at me, then turned it back on Sparky. “I’ll think about it.”

  He shrugged and suddenly looked bored. “I guess I’ll think about letting you borrow the dive leg then.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “You’re a chicken,” he shot back.

  “Child!” she spat.

  “Bawk bawk!”

  Shane glared ferociously, but Sparky just held her gaze with raised eyebrows. Finally, she sagged. “Fine.”

  He grinned brightly. “Good. Wear the leg in good health. I want to hear how it does in water.”

  “You haven’t tested it yet?”

  He scoffed. “No. That’s your job.”

  I picked up the dive leg and steered Shane out of Sparky’s warehouse before she could throw the punch that was building in her right arm.

  “Good to see you again,” I called to Sparky as we pulled the gate down on the freight elevator.

  “Send photos,” he called back.

  I stifled a laugh as Shane growled something that sounded distinctly like a threat to remove body parts from the pink-Croc-wearing super-genius engineer.

  43

  Shane

  “The most powerful person in the world is the one standing on a street corner conducting traffic to move in the direction it’s going.” – Shane, P.I.

  As we drove north, Gabriel and I sorted through all the pros and cons of the plan we’d designed with the rest of the group to find whatever Karpov had on Quimby. Our planning session that morning had been a true collaboration among remarkably creative people. Darius’s 1954 wooden pleasure craft, affectionately known as the party boat, was retrieved from its mooring and stocked with a full bar. A surfboard was borrowed from Fiona’s husband, wetsuits were rented, and Jorge turned my cell phone into some sort of super-spy device that only he knew how to properly utilize. The exchange of ideas flowed, and it was exhilarating to work with such fascinating people. I still had trouble believing I’d been invited into the room with them.

  The goal of the mission was stealth, or, barring that, no witnesses. Since none of us were currently in the murder business – I assumed, and wasn’t inclined to actually ask – leaving no witnesses was a bit more complicated than the piratical “throw them overboard!”

  Step one involved Gabriel and me getting out of town. We had GPS coordinates for Karpov’s yacht, which had been moored just offshore from Ludington State Park for the past week. Our immediate job was to get to the park and lay eyes on the yacht. Step two wouldn’t happen until after dark, which allowed for contingencies as needed, and meant we would likely have a couple of hours to ourselves before Fiona arrived. We turned off the highway into what must have been the biggest wilderness area in all of Michigan. We saw no other vehicles at all as we wound our way through the forest on a single lane road. Finally, we’d gone as far as we could go on a paved road and parked the car in a deserted lot at the beach.

  “Nothing’s open here until May, so we should have the place to ourselves,” Gabriel said as we stretched the long drive out of our legs.

  “The GPS coordinates for the yacht are just north of here. Should we walk up there first and make sure we can find it before we haul everything in?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Gabriel took my hand in his as we stepped onto a wide, sandy trail. The gesture startled me after the hours of conversation about details, contingencies, and emergency plans, but I didn’t pull away from him. His hand was warm and his grip was gentle, and walking beside him felt like the most natural thing in the world. Our shoulders bumped often enough that it wasn’t accidental, and I was aware of every point of contact between our bodies.

  We walked almost two miles along the deserted coastline on a path that skirted the edge of the woods. The tower of an old lighthouse came into view, and that became our destination. It sat on a rocky promontory at a spot that jutted into Lake Michigan, and there were no signs that anyone had been there in months.

  We discovered the yacht moored about a half-mile off the coast when we walked around the lighthouse to the north side. Benches had been conveniently placed for guests to enjoy the view, and a fire escape ladder had been left fully extended against the wall. I grabbed a rung to support myself on one leg as I studied the outline of the fifty-foot pleasure craft. “The dimensions are right,” I said to Gabriel, who had dropped his photojournalist’s bag on the bench and was rummaging through it. I flexed my leg carefully – walking on sand was tiring with two legs, and brutal with just one. The new sleeve fit much better than the old ones ever had, but just like my dad always said about our feet when we backpacked as kids, I had to be ever vigilant for hot spots that could turn into blisters or open sores, because my ability to walk myself out of the wilderness could be the thing that would keep me alive.

  Gabriel held up a pair of binoculars. “See if you can get an accurate ID while I take a look around and make sure the area is secure.” Then he lingered, too close, and settled the binoculars around my neck. His eyes searched mine for a long moment before he smiled. “Wanting to kiss you is almost as much fun as actually doing it.” Then he stepped back and was gone around the side of the building.

  I trained the binoculars on the yacht and ha
d to take a moment to calm my pounding heart before I found its name painted on the side in a vaguely Cyrillic font – Nachthexen. I couldn’t see anyone moving around on deck, but the Nachthexen was a fifty-foot Prestige 500 with three staterooms, so there could be as many as five people on it, depending on their levels of coziness.

  I heard Gabriel return but didn’t remove the binoculars from my face. I told my brain I wasn’t presenting myself as an open target for the arms that encircled my waist as he stepped up behind me, but I was a lying liar who lied, especially when I tried to pretend indifference.

  I was powerless to stop myself from melting into his embrace, however, just as I was helpless against the shiver of desire that flamed my skin when he whispered in my ear, “All clear.” I closed my eyes and leaned my head back on his shoulder while he held me.

  “I woke up wanting you, and I haven’t stopped,” he said quietly.

  My skin prickled with nerve endings everywhere his body touched mine. His desire rocked the control I’d been pretending to have since we’d left my bed, and I finally let myself feel everything. Strong arms encircled me, and breath warmed my neck. His heart beat against my shoulder blade, and his erection pressed against my backside.

  I removed the binocular strap from around my neck and deliberately set it down on the bench that stood next to us. I ran down a mental list of supporting facts: the yacht was moored, we were out of casual sight, and it was still two hours until our plan kicked off. I was wildly attracted to Gabriel Eze, and I was so tired of dwelling on all the reasons it was a bad idea to be with him. That was enough to shut down the mental list-making at least, and I turned to face him and pressed my body against his.

  “Me too,” I breathed, as I touched his face.

  He groaned and held me tightly to him as he kissed me. I savored his kiss, the sensation of his tongue, the taste of him, and the low hum in the back of his throat. I ran my hands down his shoulders and then slipped them around his back where I gripped his shirt to pull him closer.

 

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