He caught her eyes in the reflection. “Stop.”
She gave him a fake quizzical look, her chin tilting defiantly. There was no doubt in his mind that Skye knew exactly what she was doing, but she’d never admit it.
“Aren’t you uptight, sugar.”
He stepped away from Skye, not overly concerned about his appearance. The tux was a fail-safe—in case he was caught, it would be better if he appeared to be a guest at the museum charity event and not a thief. But he wouldn’t be caught. This was something he was particularly good at.
Correction: He wouldn’t be caught if everyone on his team did their job right.
This was the third crime Sean had committed in as many weeks, all in preparation for the big job at Pham-Bonner Medical. Sean hoped he’d learn exactly what Colton had planned before Thursday night’s job; otherwise he’d be going in blind. He was already getting nervous. He’d known Skye, Colton, and Hunter Nash since college, but two were new to Colton’s group and Sean didn’t trust either one of them. He’d been quietly checking into their backgrounds, but so far nothing stood out.
What really bothered Sean was that Colton had far too much money to spend on this project. The overall plan sounded like Colton, but the execution required access to a gold card. Colton had never been one for having big bucks. U.S. Senator Jonathan Paxton was the gold card—yet Sean’s friend hadn’t said anything about his benefactor. This greatly worried Sean.
For now, he needed to focus on the job, because one mistake would cost him his life—or his freedom. Sean valued both.
Skye took a step toward him and stroked her long fingers down his back. “Sean, honey—”
He turned around and was face-to-face with his ex-girlfriend. She was still beautiful, blond hair tight with wild curls that tumbled down her back. She’d maintained the lithe dancer’s body she’d cherished, and ten years had turned her even more confident and sexy. She didn’t flinch when he crowded her. Her green eyes darkened as she smiled seductively and put her hands on his chest, her red fingernails shining in the light. She leaned up to kiss him.
He sidestepped her, avoiding her lips, and walked across the hotel room.
Skye was his past. His long-ago past. Proximity didn’t change the fact that they had been over for ten years and he had no urge for round two.
“Oh, Sean,” Skye sighed dramatically. She smiled at her reflection and smoothed out her already-perfect makeup.
They were in the hotel next door to the museum where their target was attending a private charity event, and this was their best shot at getting to CEO Joyce Bonner. They’d considered her house, while she slept, but she had state-of-the-art security and dogs. They also didn’t know where she kept her badge at home—could be in her bedroom while she slept. Plus, her two children lived with her—one an adult, one a minor. The presence of other people made things sticky. Colton wasn’t violent; in none of their jobs in college, and none since from what Sean could deduce, had anyone been physically hurt.
Going after Bonner’s badge at the charity event had been Skye’s idea, and it was just like her—big and bold. And smart.
“Sean, I hope you have your head in the game.”
“It’s always in the game,” he said. “I’m just not going to take your crap anymore.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, baby, you are so wrong about me.”
Hardly.
Skye’s phone vibrated on the dresser. She picked it up and responded to the text. “I’m on, babe. Don’t be late.”
He didn’t say anything but watched her swish out in her red beaded dress. He checked the time. He had twenty minutes before he had to be in place. The hotel had a museum access hall open during regular hours but closed during evening events. He’d determined that route was the easiest to breach.
He took out his cell phone and called Lucy.
“Hello,” he said when she answered.
“Sean, hold on.” He heard her excuse herself, the clink of dishes and utensils, the hum of voices in the background. Dinner at the FBI Academy’s cafeteria.
A moment later, Lucy said, “It’s good to hear your voice.”
“You stole my line. Sorry to interrupt dinner.”
“I’m done. Just chatting.”
“How’s everything?”
“Good. We’re past the mid-point. Nine more weeks. It feels surreal.”
“You’re going to graduate top of your class.”
She laughed, a deep and genuine tone that Sean loved to hear, especially when he was with her. He hadn’t seen her in three weeks, since the weekend before he moved to New York. He missed her more than he could say.
“I’m sorry I had to cancel our plans this weekend.” He’d hoped to get away to see her—he needed the connection to his real life, to the life he hoped to regain when this was over. But now that Colton had set the schedule for the week, Sean wouldn’t be able to leave.
“You’re busy, and it gives me more time to study. We have a PT test on Tuesday and the big legal test on Wednesday. That’s the one I’m worried about.”
“You’ll ace it.”
“I wish I had your confidence. What about you? Are you enjoying New York or just working?”
“Mostly working.”
“Have you seen Suzanne?”
He’d avoided FBI Special Agent Suzanne Madeaux for the three weeks he’d been in Manhattan. He and Lucy had met Suzanne last February when he was looking for his runaway niece and tracked her to New York. Since, he, Lucy, and Suzanne had become friends, and Lucy had told Suzanne that Sean had taken a job in New York. Twice Suzanne called him to meet for a beer. Sean had ignored the first call, then told her the second time he was swamped with work. She’d asked questions; he evaded and could tell she was irritated. As long as she was only irritated and not suspicious, Sean thought.
“We haven’t connected. My hours are erratic.”
“Are you okay? You sound down.”
Lucy was perceptive—Sean should have known better than to call her. He forced a smile into his voice. “I’m only depressed because I had to cancel on you, princess. I miss you.”
“Miss you, too. Since you’re busy, why don’t I fly up to New York next weekend and we’ll have dinner?”
“Sounds extravagant.”
“I planned on spending the night.”
He laughed, even though he realized he could never allow Lucy to visit him in the city while he was still working for Colton. It would jeopardize everything, and he couldn’t risk her finding out what he was doing.
“I’ll see if I can swing it,” he said. “But I should only be here for a couple more weeks.” He hoped it was shorter than that. It might be over after Thursday. Or that operation might be just another move in the game.
“Talk to you tomorrow?”
“Same bat time, same bat channel.”
She laughed. “I love you, Batman.”
“Love you, Batgirl.”
He hung up. His chest was tight and his eyes burned.
You didn’t lie to her.
Not lying didn’t mean he was telling the truth. He didn’t want to deceive Lucy, but he couldn’t avoid it. Not now, with so much at stake. He had to give Lucy a clean slate. He had to make amends for his past. All of it, the good and the bad.
He leaned over the dresser, his palms on the cool, glass top, and breathed deeply. Ten years ago deception had come easily for him. Even now, when he shouldn’t be committing a crime, the thrill was electric. The danger drew him in; bigger and harder challenges enticed him. He’d grown bored with RCK long before he quit. Even opening his own office in D.C. with his best friend, Lucy’s brother Patrick, had become predictable. Sean feared there was something wrong with him that he only felt he was valued when he did the impossible—when he hacked unbreakable systems, when he manipulated situations to obtain information that was unobtainable.
He had always lived larger than life because that’s what gave him his edge. But now? It might be his
downfall. He had thought he’d put this life behind him, that when he came back he’d be no good at any of it.
He was better than when he was twenty. Smarter. Sharper. More focused.
And there lay the biggest problem. He craved the adrenaline rush that came after a successful job. He didn’t hate living on the edge. And that terrified him. Because he loved Lucy more and didn’t want to jeopardize the amazing relationship they had.
But today he had no choice.
He pushed back from the dresser and avoided the mirrors in the room. He double-checked his equipment and secured the small cloning device in his pocket. Anyone would think it was a cell phone.
He left his doubts and fears in the hotel room and went to do the job. Calm and focused.
And no small bit excited.
He took the elevator down to the ballroom level and mingled with a wedding party through the foyer until he reached the tunnel-like hall. He glanced at his watch. Right on time. He dropped a jammer behind a potted plant, which would disrupt the nearby cameras so he could slip in and out without being detected.
Once in the tunnel, Sean used an employee badge Evan had swiped to access the private hall that led to the museum. Sean moved smoothly through the museum foyer toward the restrooms, where Evan palmed him the PBM badge as they passed and left without a word.
In a bathroom stall, it took Sean only four minutes to clone the badge and verify there was no hidden security code.
He pocketed the badge and walked back through the foyer. When two patrons smiled at him, he returned the smile and pretended to admire a horrendous metal sculpture. People paid good money for that?
When the couple moved on, so did Sean, heading toward the coatroom. The coatroom was between the main entrance and the tunnel access, but the employees could access it through the rear corridor. There were no cameras there, only security on individual doors.
When they’d had the final planning meeting for this operation, Evan had told Sean that the museum used a standard digital card-key system for their employees that worked on all private doors. So when Sean lifted the badge to the panel—the badge that had already opened the door from the tunnel to the museum—he expected the lock to pop open.
It didn’t. He scrutinized the panel and realized it was different from the panel he’d accessed earlier. It appeared to have been upgraded. He glanced at the other doors on this wing, and they all had the same security panel, which was different from the panels in the public parts of the museum. Why didn’t Evan know about the two layers of security?
Sean examined the panel and realized that the equipment was built by a small, elite company called Hawk Electronics, who worked almost exclusively for RCK. No doubt the security on this door was an RCK system and there was nothing “standard” about it except its appearance.
One of the key components of RCK security systems was that every access was logged—there was never a hidden back door. Even admins would be logged. Sean had an admin clearance; even if Duke had locked him out, he had his own backdoor admin account. His brother would get an email that indicated that an admin had bypassed security—when, where, and how.
There was only one way around it, and Sean hated to do it. But he had no choice—there was no other way into the secure coatroom without being caught on-camera. And they couldn’t risk Skye being caught putting the badge back in Joyce Bonner’s purse, since Skye had already pickpocketed her once.
Sean entered the nearby employee elevator, which had no cameras. He stopped the elevator as soon as the doors shut and took out his small palm computer. He logged in through the RCK back door that he’d created, maneuvered directly to the RCK server, and wrote a program that would manipulate the admin e-mail system. Instead of messages going to Duke and the RCK webmaster, all admin e-mails would go directly to Sean for the next ten minutes. The breach would only be found if someone sharp was specifically looking for it, and then they’d only see that the admin system had been compromised—they wouldn’t see Sean’s blind e-mail, because it would self-delete.
He unlocked the elevator, checked the halls, and went back to the coatroom door. He used his admin code to get into the room and slipped to the side as the coat girl came in with two more jackets. She hung them up and left, not noticing Sean standing in the corner.
He didn’t dare breathe heavily. Skye had sent him Bonner’s coat-check number—81—and Sean found her long brown mink in the proper slot. Since Bonner was left-handed, he slipped the badge into the left pocket.
Sean was out in less than two minutes, but he’d exposed himself to the one person who might catch him—his brother.
Evan was going to pay for his screwup.
CHAPTER TWO
FBI Special Agent Deanna Brighton once had a career that was headed for the stars. She’d graduated from Quantico when she was twenty-six, after four years as a CPA. When she was twenty-eight, she’d developed a state-of-the-art tracking system to trace illegal financial transactions over the Internet, pooling her unit’s resources with the cybercrime unit to create what she’d billed as an impenetrable, foolproof net over child pornographers and terrorists, all in one tight, brilliant program.
“I had everything,” she muttered to herself. “Until you.”
She stared at the thick, worn, unofficial file that she’d been building for years. The official FBI record—the portion that wasn’t sealed—was thin.
The faded tab mocked her: ROGAN, SEAN TYLER.
Sean Rogan had hacked into her program and destroyed her life. The arrogance of his actions, that it was no big deal for him to destroy sixteen months of hard work in one day, should have been enough to put him in prison. But he had walked away after a couple of days in jail and a slap on the wrist. That she’d managed to get him expelled from Stanford was no real consolation for the damage he’d done to her career.
Deanna’s boss had been furious with her because he’d backed her claims that the system was ready to go wide. After Rogan hacked it, her boss had shut down her program and disbanded her task force. Her colleagues ostracized her because the failure had been public and embarrassing to their unit. She was lucky she hadn’t been fired.
That was twelve years ago, and she’d hated Sean Rogan ever since.
Deanna had no idea how thick Rogan’s sealed files were. That’s the benefit of having friends and family in high places—your crimes were erased. That he also had high security clearance unnerved her, because she’d never have approved him to empty the garbage at FBI headquarters. That his clearance was higher than hers hurt, a twisting hot pain in her gut that the agency she had dedicated her life to trusted a criminal more than her.
She’d spent the last twelve and a half years, since she’d crossed paths with him, building her own file on Rogan. It was largely conjecture and most of it had no legal meaning. But she was learning everything about him. She would catch him breaking the law and it would be so obvious that not even the director of the FBI himself could keep Sean Rogan out of prison.
And if she had to, she’d turn to the media.
She’d tracked Rogan from California to Boston and back to California, but getting the FBI to transfer her had proved difficult. She was always a year behind him. When he moved to D.C. last year she asked for a transfer; the closest she could get was New York City. She took it.
It was fate that Rogan was now in Manhattan. And good news for her that her informant told her something big was about to go down with Colton Thayer’s gang of cyberthieves. She’d been tracking Thayer because he was a connection to Rogan. This was no coincidence. Her gut told her Rogan was going to make his big play—and she planned on being there to slap the cuffs on him. She couldn’t wait to read him his rights—again. Because this time, he would face serious charges and she’d have cause to open an investigation into everything he’d done in the last twelve years.
Her partner, Steve Gannon, walked by her cubicle, briefcase in hand. “Go home,” he told her. “It’s late. It’s Saturday
.”
She smiled thinly and shook her head. “I want to get this done.”
“You’re not still going over that security tape?”
“Two days before Sean Rogan arrives in the city for an undetermined stay, my informant tells me he’s working with Colton Thayer again and something big is in the works. Then we catch him on tape during a routine surveillance? That’s no coincidence.” They’d caught Rogan entering the stock exchange even though he had no business there.
“Nothing went down at the exchange that day.”
“But there’s no record that he’s living here. No apartment, no utilities in his name or in the name of RCK East. He’s here, but he’s off the grid. What’s he doing? I guarantee it’s not legal.”
“We have no tangible proof that Colton Thayer is breaking the law, and no proof that Rogan is involved if he is.”
Steve was right, but just because there was no proof didn’t mean they weren’t guilty. They were guilty of something.
She had to keep Steve on her side. She and Steve had been working together on the white-collar squad since she’d been transferred earlier this year. Though she had four more years in the Bureau than he did, he was the lead agent. He was well liked among everyone in the division and others in the building, while she had continued to make enemies among her peers. She tried to be likable, but she was smart and tenacious and confrontational. And White-Collar generally attracted the type of agents who didn’t want to make waves, who didn’t want to go out into the field, but preferred to catch bad guys the old-fashioned way—through the paper trail.
She was different. Driven. Bureaucrats didn’t like “different.”
“Look at these.” She slid over a file of pictures she’d taken of Rogan over the last month. “Rogan has met with Colton and his team multiple times.” Colton’s house, a couple restaurants, walking in Central Park with the blond woman. “If I just had the resources for full surveillance—”
“You pitched your idea and lost. Can your informant get you more? Something tangible? A location or plan?”
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