He nodded, his throat suddenly thick. “I do.” What had she had to do all those years when he thought she was happy and safe as a freelance columnist? Had she used men the way they wanted to use her? “I told you that you break me open. My reaction to you is a hair trigger, when normally I’m on lock.”
“I get it. And that’s why this isn’t going to work. Not on this mission. We can’t be doing this the whole time.” She made a sound like a yawn. “So please go home now, Roarke.”
Nothing was resolved. He could still smell her on his fingers and feel her under his palms. She was inches away on the other side of the door, but it felt like hundreds of miles. “You won’t let me in.”
“No.”
Stubborn woman. He stared down at his boots. “Let me say this. If this mission kills me—”
“Roarke! Don’t say that!”
“Or if I have to vanish and live in fucking Siberia, now I can go without regretting never learning how you taste.”
“Roarke.” Her voice was a hoarse warning. “Don’t.”
“Good night, little bird,” he said, and walked away, running his hands over his lips as he jogged down the stairs. While he wanted to live in the moment—burst into her apartment and fall asleep with her in his arms—she was right. This was too much right now.
But if tomorrow brought Arden down on their heads, at least he had the memories.
* * *
Wren lay in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling paralyzed. She’d gone to bed last night with her stomach twisted in knots and woken up the same way.
Her life was a mess.
She should have walked away. Ignoring consequences and living in the moment with Roarke didn’t work when she wanted that moment over and over again. And couldn’t get it.
There was also Erick to think about. She suspected Erick had always wanted her to be with Roarke. But not like this, not when there was too much riding on the line and when their futures were so uncertain. All her life, no matter what happened, Erick and Roarke remained pristine and untouched in her mind. Her relationship with each of them was solid and understood. They were always there, and she knew that she could count on them if everything else crumbled around her.
Now lines were blurring.
She rolled onto her stomach and closed her eyes, her body heating at the memory of Roarke’s touch, at the filthy words that dripped from his tongue like hot wax. Back when she’d had a crush on Roarke as a teenager, all she’d wanted to do was kiss him, hold his hand. Now she imagined how that dark head would look between her thighs and lamented she hadn’t reached down to get a grip on what was in his pants.
Maybe she should have said fuck it and invited him inside—let him sleep beside her on this big bed. How she’d kill to see his tattooed hands gripping her pink sheets as he rolled over to press a kiss to her shoulder.
A knock at the door roused her, and she froze. Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at it to see a text from Erick. It’s me. She smiled and climbed out of bed, throwing on a fleece robe and padding to the door. She’d texted him last night that she’d made it to her apartment safely. She should have known he’d show up in the morning to make sure. After a quick peek in the peephole to confirm it was her brother, she threw open the door.
He held a brown paper bag in his hands and wasted no time gathering her in his arms. “Fuck, I’m so glad you’re okay.”
She closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest. “Of course I’m okay. I’ve got the best crew backing me up.”
Erick leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “We’re a pretty fucked-up crew, and you know it. I mean, we’re capable as shit, but we got Dade sneaking into women’s bathrooms without bothering to tell us, and Roarke putting a mic in random pieces of jewelry.” He walked into the kitchen and began to pull bagels out of his bag. “Right now, Marisol and Jock are back at HQ fighting.” He paused as he put a sliced bagel in her toaster oven. “Well, actually, Marisol is yelling at Jock, and he’s ignoring her.”
She tightened the belt of her robe. “Wait, what? Why are they fighting?”
“Because they are close to finishing the patch for the vulnerability, but they are disagreeing on how to launch it. Marisol wants to make a statement, and Jock wants to slip it in under the radar so whoever bought it won’t know until they actually try to steal data.” He placed a tub of strawberry cream cheese on the counter. “It’s amusing to me. I think Marisol enjoys going at Jock because he’s so stoic, but one of these days, he’s going to blow like a fucking geyser.”
Wren dipped her finger in the open tub of cream cheese. “I would pay to see that.”
“Me too.” He glanced at the toaster oven, then leaned on the counter. “So, you okay?”
She ate another scoop of cream cheese to avoid looking at Erick. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
He was studying her; she could feel those brown eyes all over her. Finally, she looked up to see him smiling. “We’re proud of you.”
Who was we? Was Roarke included in that? “Thanks. I’m proud of me.”
“I wish I’d known all these years…what you were getting into. Why’d you keep me in the dark?”
The toaster beeped and Erick slid the bagel onto a plate and handed it to her with a knife. She sat down at the breakfast bar and slathered it with cream cheese before taking a bite, needing the time to think through her words. She didn’t want to lie to her brother, but she hadn’t told him about what happened to her and Fiona. “Because I know you. And if I told you, then you would have tried to convince me to stop. Or blamed yourself for my interest. And sure, I wanted to learn some skills initially because I looked up to you and Roarke. But then when I started, I found I loved it. And I was good at it.”
“You’re good at playing a part, too,” he said.
“I am.” That had been Dade’s influence. “You don’t learn under Dade without some acting lessons.”
Erick nodded. “Well, eat up. Then we need to get going. Roarke’s got a slate of shit he wants to cover today.”
At the mention of Roarke, her appetite fled. Would Roarke be angry at her? Distant? Friendly? She wasn’t sure which reaction she wanted. Leaving her half-eaten bagel on her plate, she took a quick shower. After throwing on a pair of tight, ripped jeans, boots, and an off-the-shoulder black shirt, she walked out to the kitchen to find Erick cleaning her countertops. That was what he did when he was nervous. Clean.
She leaned against the wall and watched him. Her brother’s hair was long in the front, strands catching on his eyelashes as he scrubbed at a stain. His mouth was set in a grim line, which hurt her heart. He’d always been the joker, quick to make everyone laugh, and now, every once in a while, that Erick came out, but much less frequently since Flynn’s death. She knew they’d been close, but she suspected Erick was affected more than he was letting on.
“Bro,” she said gently, “I think it’s clean enough.”
Erick froze, his shoulders dropped, and his head sagged. He braced his hands on the counter and twisted his neck to face her. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to how much of a toll this was taking on him? She walked over and wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her head on his back. “You’re worrying me.”
“I’m worrying myself,” he whispered. “I’m terrified of what will happen to you. I’m scared about what this mission is doing to Roarke. I’ve never seen him this obsessed. And I’m spending so much energy on all of that, so I haven’t taken the time to deal with Flynn’s death. And it’s fucking me up inside, Wren.” His body shook, and she squeezed him tighter. “This feels like a mission that’ll change everything. And I don’t know if I want on this ride.”
Deep in her soul, she felt that none of them would end this mission the same. She’d been changed by numerous events in her life, but this one felt monumental, like she was balancing on the edge of a cliff and there was nowhere to go but over. She had no idea how or where she would land. Deep in her heart though, she knew she wanted to leap wh
ile holding Roarke’s hand.
Could she go five seconds without thinking about that man? Erick was confiding in her, and he deserved her full attention. She heaved a sigh. “Don’t worry about me, and don’t worry about Roarke. We’re grown-ups, okay? And when this is all over, you need to take some time for yourself. Go on a date or something.”
She thought he’d laugh, but instead his body tensed. “Maybe I just need to get away from this all for a little bit. Take a vacation.”
Sun, sand, and surf. That was her idea of a vacation. “We always wanted to go to St. Lucia. Maybe we can go there. Hide out in some hut with no Wi-Fi where no one can find us.”
“That sounds amazing.” There was a smile in his voice, and he reached up and squeezed her hands. She let go as he turned around and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks for listening to me. I think I’ve done enough soul-baring.”
“You know you can always talk to me, right?”
His tongue teased the corner of his mouth before he said quietly, “Yeah, yeah I know.”
As Erick drove to the warehouse, they sang along to the radio and forgot about the tension of the morning. She didn’t think about Roarke for a blessed fifteen minutes, until Erick parked and she remembered she had to see him again.
When she walked inside HQ, the room was fairly silent. The white van sat in the corner, a reminder of the shitshow that was last night. Marisol was nowhere to be seen. Dade and Jock sat side by side, each tapping away at keyboards while concentrating on double monitors.
“Hey.”
She and Erick turned around at the sound of Roarke’s voice. He stood with his hands shoved in his jeans pockets, shoulders hunched in his plain white T. His hair was smoothed back today, and she remembered the way it had felt in her fingers.
See? This was why she didn’t get involved during missions. Because it was a distraction. One hundred percent. She should have been focusing on the words coming out of Roarke’s mouth, but all she could do was stare at the flower on his neck, the same one she’d licked last night.
Roarke’s gaze took her in from head to toe. “You feeling all right?”
Anyone else would think he was referring to the date with Darren. But she knew he was asking about what came after that. “Sure, I’m okay. Didn’t sleep great, but I’ll live.”
Roarke’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “I slept like shit, too.”
A small bit of satisfaction settled into her. At least she knew he was as affected as she was.
“So,” Roarke said, his voice rising so the team could hear, “I wanted everyone together, because Jock cracked some shit overnight.”
“Overnight?” Wren’s brain engaged back into the mission. “Does the man sleep?”
“Yeah, Jock!” Marisol’s voice called out as she emerged from the bathroom. “Do you sleep or are you part cyborg?”
Jock didn’t even look up, just raised his middle finger.
Marisol smiled with glee, like his reaction pleased her. She walked over to Wren and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Hey princess, happy as hell to see you well.”
Wren squeezed her hand. “I’m good.”
“Great, because we got work to do.” Marisol raised her eyebrows at Roarke and sauntered over to perch herself beside Jock. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Was that a smile on Jock’s face? Wren did not comprehend their relationship, although it seemed very brother-and-sister antagonistic.
Roarke waved everyone over to where Jock and Dade sat at their computers. “Okay, so here’s the latest. We know the zero-day sold, although we don’t know who bought it. We’ve traced the sale back to its IP—which is Arden’s home”—his dark eyes flashed to Wren—“where this anniversary dinner is being held.”
Marisol made an explosion sound, and Dade rolled his eyes at her.
“I’m not comfortable sending Wren in there alone with Darren. So Dade—”
Wren blinked at Roarke. This again? He still didn’t trust her. “Excuse me—”
“Nope, not Dade,” Marisol said, swinging her legs just enough to kick Jock’s chair. She smacked her gum and pointed to herself. “Me.”
Roarke paused. “What?”
“Me. I’m going in with Wren.” Marisol winked at her. “While Jock here did his job, I did mine. Meet the newest waiter for Jacie’s Catering, proud to serve at the Saltner home.”
Dade began to laugh while Roarke looked like he was going to blow a gasket. Wren was pretty damn pleased at this turn of events.
“Why didn’t you speak to me about this?” Roarke said. “A heads-up? That would have been nice.”
Marisol’s gaze shifted quickly to Wren before snapping back to Roarke. “You had a long day. Didn’t want to bug you. You needed your alone time and beauty rest, right?” Wren wasn’t sure how Marisol knew about them but she did. She knew, and was letting Roarke know she did.
Roarke glared at her, his face reddening, while Marisol remained unbothered. Finally, Roarke heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead. “Okay, fine, so you’re going in with Wren to assist her.”
“You bet,” Marisol said. “Bitches get stuff done.”
Dade laughed harder, and Wren had to press her lips together to prevent a giggle from escaping. Roarke was right—dealing with this crew was like herding cats.
Erick dropped his head into his hands. “I’m going to be sick.”
Wren lifted her chin. Did no one have faith in her? Although the plan sounded simple in theory, she wasn’t going to lie, she knew it would be anything but in action. “I can do it. Marisol and I will work on a plan. Right, Marisol?”
“You bet, princess. Multiple plans—A, B, C, D, E, and Fuck it.”
Wren did laugh this time. She turned to Roarke, but whatever words she’d been about to say leaked out of her mind. Their eyes locked, and goose bumps raced over her skin. There they stood in front of everyone, acting like everything was normal, when she had vivid memories of what they’d done last night. This morning in the shower, she’d pressed on the lingering bruises on her hips, watching the color change and hoping they never faded.
Roarke’s eyes softened a fraction. “This is going to be tough.”
“I know that,” she said. “But give Marisol and me some time, and we’ll handle it. What choice do we have? We’re not getting anywhere right now.”
“I want detailed plans,” Roarke said. “Last night can’t happen again, where we don’t have all the facts. Dade, I want you contacting everyone you know to find out who’s buying zero-days. Study the market.”
Dade’s grin was the one he got when the game was just getting good. “You bet, Brennan.”
“Erick and Jock, I want that patch deployed, rendering the zero-day useless as soon as you can. Anyone have any questions?”
“Yeah,” Dade said. “What’s your job, Roarke?”
Roarke speared him with a look that could kill. “I got Darren. By the time Wren goes into that house, I’ll know everything about him down to what his sick brain is thinking.”
His gaze shifted to Wren, and his hard stare was a vow that she felt on her body like a force field. “This time, I’m going to know absolutely everything there is to know about Arden and Darren Saltner. We’re going in prepared.” He broke her gaze and nodded at the team. “Get to fucking work.”
CHAPTER TEN
Wren tangled her fingers in her hair while Marisol chewed the end of her pen. They stared at Marisol’s laptop while it played video taken from the security camera in Arden’s office. They’d hacked into Arden’s home security company, so they knew the location of every security camera, every sensor, and every control pad. What they’d also found was that he had an air-gapped computer on his desk, so it wasn’t connected to the Internet. There was no way to gain access remotely—so the only way to see what was on that computer was to get into that office.
There was also no way to get into that computer without a password. So they’d been watching footage for hours, speeding it up when t
he room was empty and slowing it down when Arden was there. What they needed was for him to sit down at the computer so they could analyze which keys he typed to log in. The zoomed-in footage was grainy, but Marisol said she was sure she could figure out the password based on the location of his fingers.
Stretched out on the six-foot table in front of them were the blueprints to Arden’s house in intersecting black lines. The house was bigger than Wren had predicted, which was good and bad. Less chance of running into a guest when she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be, but traveling from point A to B to C would take more time. If she was caught, she’d need a damn good excuse for why she was in a different wing of the house.
Wing. This place was like the White House.
“There!” Marisol shouted and pointed at her screen. Arden hadn’t logged into his computer in days according to this footage, but he was finally sitting his ass down at his desk with his fingers on the keyboard.
He typed in his password, and Marisol’s mouth stretched into an evil grin. It didn’t end there though. She replayed the footage again and again, slowing the speed down and laying it over a program she’d designed years ago to detect passwords based on a person’s finger movements.
Wren was studying the blueprints when Marisol threw her pen on the table and stretched her arms over her head. “Bingo.”
“Got it?” Wren asked.
“Yep, it’s a whole string of nonsensical numbers, letters—some capitalized and some not—as well as some symbols, so it took a long time for me to figure out.” She cracked her knuckles. “Get me in front of that keyboard, and I’m in.”
They spent the next hour looking over the blueprints, even if Wren’s eyes were starting to protest.
“This rich bastard has a ballroom in his house.” Marisol pointed to a large square space on the map. “A ballroom!”
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