Exploited (Zero Day #1)

by A. Meredith Walters

  Mason took pity on me and yanked the shirt up and over his head, dropping it on the green-patterned carpet.

  His lips and hands were everywhere.

  I was on fire.

  “Where did you go to college?” Mason asked, breaking his sensual assault long enough to pepper me with further questions.

  “Does it matter?” I breathed.

  Too much. Too fast.

  Too close…

  “Okay, tell me about your friends. Your family. What do you like to do in your free time?”

  He wouldn’t stop.

  I knew it was in his nature to look for information.

  But I was starting to chafe under the inquisition. Even if I really liked how he was making my body feel.

  “Hannah?” He made my name a question; his shaking fingers paused on the zipper of my skirt.

  He wanted to know me.

  I could never, ever give him that.

  He didn’t know he was trying to squeeze blood from a stone.

  For the first time, this felt anything but good.

  I pushed his hand away and sat up, trying to get my breathing under control.

  I had to be able to keep my thoughts in order. I had to check those pesky emotions.

  That was necessary if any of this was going to work.

  Mason sat up and ran his hand over his face, his breathing labored. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  What loaded questions.

  How could I answer that?

  Given who I was.

  Given who he was.

  I kissed him again.

  I couldn’t help it.

  God, I just couldn’t help it.

  “I’m great, Mason. I promise,” I told him. It was true.

  For reasons that kept changing like the wind.

  I pressed my palms to his naked chest. I could feel the thumping of his heart. Mine was pounding just as hard.

  I had to get it together. “I’m just thinking we should take it down a notch. Before you go expecting me to expose my soul. I think we need to go through all the steps before we get naked and start oversharing….” My words trailed off.

  Look contrite.

  Apologetic.

  But show him that you want him.

  But that you’re scared.

  I did want him. That wasn’t a lie. I was scared. That was true too.

  Mason kissed the tip of my nose. The corner of my mouth. His hand curled around the side of my neck. Holding me still. Proprietary. Territorial.

  Branding.

  His erection pressed into my thigh. “We have time, Hannah. I don’t want to rush anything.”

  Mouths pressing together. So tenderly.

  Strange given the heat and passion we had experienced.

  I felt odd. Disjointed.

  Torn apart.

  Down was up. Left was right.

  This was not how it was supposed to be.

  I wasn’t supposed to feel anything.

  “Maybe we could watch TV,” I suggested lamely.

  Mason adjusted the crotch of his pants and picked up his shirt from the floor, putting it back on. “Yeah. TV. Let’s do that.”

  He grabbed the remote and started flipping through the channels. “What do you want to watch?”

  “It doesn’t matter to me. Whatever, as long as it’s not football.”

  Mason made a horrified face. “No football? Yeah, this isn’t going to work.”

  I playfully punched him in the arm. He grabbed my arm and pulled me close again, kissing me. It would be so easy to sink back into him.

  To give him everything…

  I pulled away. Playing coy. “Oh, it’ll work. I think we’ve proven that.” I had to find my footing again. Being here like this with him was hard. Harder than I had imagined it would be.

  Mason’s answering look was unreadable. It was disconcerting. “I hope so” was all he said.

  We finally settled on an old episode of M*A*S*H. I wasn’t a big fan but Mason seemed to enjoy it. He put his arm around my shoulders and I snuggled into his side, pretending to watch the TV.

  All the while looking at the room around me. Looking for something.

  Anything to read him better.

  He wasn’t the only one who could find out about people by focusing on the details.

  “Can I use your bathroom?” I asked suddenly.

  “Yeah, sure. It’s just down the hallway, last door on the left. How about I make some popcorn? You like popcorn? If not popcorn, how about some chips and salsa? What do you like to eat?” He was still probing. It should have bugged me, but I found myself flattered.

  Damn it.

  “Popcorn sounds great.”

  I made my way to the bathroom, turned on the light, and closed the door without going inside. With a quick glance back toward the living room, I ducked into the only other room—the bedroom.

  I turned on the light to find the cat asleep on the bed. He lifted his head and yawned but otherwise paid me no mind.

  Listening for Mason, I quickly began to rummage through his belongings. Looking for—

  A battered briefcase sat on a chair in the corner.

  Could he really be that stupid? Could it be that easy?

  I hurried over and picked it up. Opening it, I found it full of case files.

  I was having a hard time breathing. Hyperventilation seemed a distinct possibility. Hannah and espionage didn’t go well together, apparently.

  I saw a name that immediately caught my attention.

  Freedom Overdrive.

  Shit.

  This was it.

  He had brought his files home. What self-respecting FBI agent did something so foolish?

  An overconfident one. A man who was sure he’d never be compromised.

  An idiot with no freaking clue.

  With shaking hands I started to open it.

  “Hannah?”

  I quickly shoved the file back into the briefcase and closed it.

  I hurried to the middle of the room, preparing what I was going to say once Mason found me standing in his bedroom like some crazy stalker.

  “Uh, hey,” I said once he appeared in the doorway.

  Mason frowned. “Did you get lost? I didn’t think the directions were that difficult.”

  I laughed nervously. Could he tell?

  I had to give him something. Maybe a little truth.

  “I’m not going to lie; I was being nosy.” I lifted my hands in the air in defeat, hoping they weren’t shaking too badly.

  Mason glanced around the room, his eyes taking in everything. Perhaps making sure I hadn’t lifted anything. I saw the doubt there.

  Fuck.

  I had to stop that before it created irreparable damage.

  “I like you, Mason. I want to know more about you too,” I said softly, ducking my head shyly.

  I curled my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms. My nerves would be my undoing. I had to calm down.

  “Then you could just ask, like I was trying to do earlier.” His voice was sharp, his words suspicious.

  I glanced up at him; his face was hard. “I wasn’t snooping through your drawers. I just—I don’t know—wanted to get a better sense of you. Get a vibe from your space. And I was wanting to rub on this cutie a bit more.” I sat down on the bed and scratched the cat’s head.

  Mason didn’t say anything for a while and I didn’t dare look at him. Instead I continued to rub his cat, hoping and praying that I hadn’t screwed everything up.

  And I sure as hell didn’t look at the briefcase on the chair.

  The bed dipped as Mason sat down beside me. “I didn’t mean to bite your head off, but my career makes me question everyone and everything. It’s a bad habit in personal relationships,” he explained.

  I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I had to be careful.

  “I shouldn’t have just come into your bedroom. That’s violating. I’m sorry,” I said, chancing a look, and was relieved at
the absence of anger.

  “Yeah, well, I get it. I was being a little snoopy at your place earlier too.”

  Which is why I never leave myself out in the open.

  Nothing for anyone to find…

  Unlike the briefcase.

  Mason put his hand on the back of my head and gave me a gentle tug toward him. “When you like someone, you want to know everything,” he murmured.

  I relaxed. Back on even ground.

  “Yeah, I guess so. I’m not the best at asking the questions,” I told him. Excusing my monumental fuckup in the best way I could.

  “Me either. But let’s try that before we start sifting through each other’s dirty laundry,” Mason suggested with a smile.

  “Deal.”

  Then we were kissing again.

  And I allowed myself, for the moment, to forget about the briefcase.

  And what it meant that I was making out with the man who hunted me.

  Chapter 9

  Hannah

  My legs were tangled in my sheets. They were new. Scratchy. I hated them. I’d have to throw them out.

  This was what happened when you did all your shopping online. You never quite knew what you’d end up with.

  The air was cool on my bare skin. My lips felt bruised. Tender. My body exposed. Alone in my bedroom, I imagined eyes on me. Watching me.

  My stomach was a convoluted mess of tangles and knots and I felt faintly sick.

  I stared up at the dark ceiling, momentarily hating myself.

  I thought about Mason.

  I wondered whether he was lying awake thinking of me.

  I hoped he was.

  But for reasons that worried me.

  Tonight had been perfect. Everything had fallen into place just as I had planned.

  I should be celebrating my success.

  I had played the part just right.

  So why did I want to scream?

  “You wanna get out of here?”

  He had given me the opening I needed.

  I was in.

  I had been within reach of what I was looking for.

  I had to know how close he was.

  What information he had.

  The sense of self-preservation was thick. It propelled me to do things I would never otherwise entertain.

  It made me deceive a stranger.

  A perfectly wonderful stranger…

  I couldn’t sleep. I was too wired to close my eyes and drift off into nothing. My mind raced and I knew that rest wouldn’t come.

  I grabbed the robe from the foot of my bed and got up, walking into the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light. Darkness was better suited for my purposes. I sat down at the table and fired up my laptop.

  My mind still too full of Mason, I brought up the search engine and typed his name.

  A few minutes later I was surfing through a pile of useless information. Nothing pertinent. Nothing that I wanted to know. I had already pored over all of the surface stuff. I had done my homework. I knew I was dealing with a celebrated FBI agent. Intelligent. Talented.

  Dangerous.

  I hesitated to violate him completely. The basics had gotten me to this point. But tonight we had entered a new phase. If this was going to work, I had to remember what I was doing.

  Getting close.

  And that meant it was time to dig deeper. To know more.

  Twenty minutes later I had access to his credit card statements, and I scrolled through pages and pages of purchases that revealed much about the man I had spent the evening with.

  He ate out a lot, spending very little money on groceries. I knew he didn’t know how to cook, given that he had burned the popcorn he made us.

  He frequented a bar on the other side of town at least twice a week. He typically spent between ten and twenty-five dollars. After looking at the bar’s menu online, I deduced he’d eat dinner and drink a beer. Only one. I had noticed that he ordered just the one at dinner as well. He was a controlled man. He knew his limits.

  My stomach clenched again.

  He was in control. Most of the time. But I had found the crack in his veneer tonight.

  The knot in my belly dissolved into a heat that spread outward at the memory of touching him. Of his touching me.

  It had taken everything in me to remember to not lose myself. Because it would be easy to do.

  Too easy.

  I pored over the tiny, seemingly insignificant details of his life. The breadcrumbs he left as he went about living.

  Mason Kohler was a man of contradictions.

  He paid for an annual subscription to a tech magazine. He spent money at the shooting range several times a month. He liked to shop at camping stores and his last Amazon shipment had included a trouser press and a crate of energy drinks.

  He was an alpha male in so many ways.

  Then there were the vet visits. Several of them. Purchases of specialty cat food. Even though he called his cat an asshole, it was obvious Mason loved him. Doted on him.

  He sent flowers to an address in northern Virginia for every major holiday. He also donated $200 a month to a cancer research fund with the memo “in memory of Dillon Kohler.”

  He had lost someone.

  Someone close to him.

  I remembered the man in the photographs. The boy in the basketball jersey.

  More digging revealed an obituary for a young man whose picture revealed him to be the same person in the pictures I had seen earlier.

  He looked a lot like Mason.

  Only with longer hair and a less burdened smile.

  Dillon Kohler was Mason’s younger brother. He had died last year from a brain tumor.

  My heart constricted and I thought of Charlotte. Of how close I had come to losing her. I remembered so clearly those weeks spent in ICU, wondering whether Char, like Dad, would slip away. Gone forever.

  It had been the most excruciating time of my life.

  Knowing Mason had experienced something like that, something worse, was a little unsettling.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt, knowing we shared that sort of grief.

  Was this why I had hesitated to look deeper into Mason’s life?

  Because then I’d see him as more than a means to an end?

  I sifted through pages of information, wanting to know everything.

  I needed to know everything.

  Now that we were getting somewhere.

  I thought of the briefcase.

  Of the file with my other name on it.

  I rationalized that it was important for me to understand Agent Kohler so I could stay one step ahead of him.

  After all, it wasn’t by chance that I had dumped the contents of my purse at his feet.

  It wasn’t my vanity that had made me take time with my appearance that morning several days ago.

  I was calculating. I had learned to be.

  I had known who Mason was before meeting him.

  He was chasing a phantom.

  I was the ghost who evaded him.

  Yet I couldn’t stop thinking of that moment.

  The one when lines became blurred.

  When motivations were called into question.

  And I was starting to rethink the wisdom of a plan that hinged on seduction.

  When the heart was in play, there were no limits.

  —

  I must have dozed off at my computer.

  I woke with a start, my face pressed into the keys. The room was still dark as I sat up, blinking sleepily, trying to remember what I had been doing before I passed out.

  Mason.

  I rubbed my eyes and stretched my back, feeling kinked from sleeping in an unnatural position. It wasn’t unusual for me to fall asleep at my computer. I spent most of my life behind the screen; sleeping there wasn’t unheard of.

  A beeping noise caught my attention. I clicked the mouse and the screen came to life. My email icon was blinking.

  I opened the new message.

  F
rom: 06050900oneforall@unitynet.com

  Subject: Bike return

  Date: March 4, 2016 00:24

  To: 12080512alwcaw@unitynet.com

  I’ve requested answers regarding the bike. I have yet to hear from you. I will have to proceed without the pertinent information if I don’t have a response within 24 hours.

  I frowned at the tone of the email. What the hell? We had left it that I would look into Virtuant. I hadn’t been aware that Toxicwrath had a deadline.

  What was going on?

  I fired up the IRC client and found the hidden chat room quickly.

  00:30 What’s with the time limit?

  I jumped right to the point. I was feeling touchy. I didn’t appreciate the demanding tone my anonymous assistant had adopted.

  00:30 Ready to get started. Did you have a look?

  I ran my hand down my face, sighing noisily to an empty room.

  00:31 No. I had other things to do tonight.

  00:31 More important than the mission?

  I could feel the sarcasm from here. Condescension raised my hackles.

  My fingers all but smashed into the keyboard in my irritation.

  00:32 It was part of the mission. An integral part. One that you suggested.

  I ground my teeth, watching the screen, waiting for the response. I didn’t like having to explain myself. I wasn’t used to it. Being solitary, it wasn’t something I had a lot of practice in.

  The problem with having a partnership.

  00:32 We are a team. I need the details.

  I clenched and unclenched my fingers.

  We were a team. But only so far.

  Mason was mine. He had nothing to do with Toxicwrath.

  I wouldn’t share him.

  I wouldn’t share us.

  00:33 Why the rush on Virtuant?

  I changed the subject, giving Toxicwrath nothing.

  00:34 There’s a program we want. No time like the present.

  I didn’t like the vagueness. Not when it came to an attack. I needed more details.

  00:35 I need more than this. Why Virtuant? What have they done?

  The response was immediate.

  00:35 I trusted you about Ryan. Trust me about Virtuant. We each have a cause. They coexist. I need your help with this. Just as I helped you with Ryan Law.