A_Father's Sacrifice

by Mallory Kane

  “You should take a break.”

  She took in his appearance. He leaned against the door in a supremely masculine slouch. He crossed his arms. A green T-shirt stretched across his shoulders and hung over snugly fitting wheat-colored jeans. His hair was tousled where he’d pushed his fingers through it. He hadn’t shaved, and the dark stubble contrasted sharply with his skin.

  She was suddenly struck by a memory of his stubble scraping her cheek when they’d kissed the other night. It took tremendous willpower not to touch her cheek. His kiss had been just like him—intense, focused. And she’d had the feeling he was holding back. What would he be like if he let go? If he kissed her with the same passion he brought to everything else he did?

  She realized she was staring at his lips. What had he said? Something about a break?

  “I’d say you’re the one who needs the break.”

  “I just spent a couple of hours with Ben.” His expression softened. “I was hoping he’d want a nap, but no such luck. We played ‘Daddy is a big bouncy cushion.’”

  Natasha smiled. “I learned that game this weekend, too.”

  “Thanks for helping watch him. He likes you. He said you were fun. Fun and ‘bootiful.’”

  “He said that?”

  Dylan smiled at the way her face lit up. Ben was right. She was “bootiful.” But he should be thinking about the interface—not how beautiful she was.

  He stepped around her desk until he could see the monitor. He leaned over and grasped the back of her chair. “What are you working on?”

  “I’m building an imposter program on your second server. It should keep the hacker’s accomplice from accessing the real server while you finish the interface.”

  “What good is that going to do?”

  He saw her stiffen. She’d heard the skepticism in his voice.

  “Like I said, it will divert users to a second server—the shell.”

  Her hair tickled his nose, sending her fresh strawberry scent rushing through him. Stirring his blood. He clamped his jaw.

  “I’m not sure I see the point of this. You’re setting it up so the hacker hits this program instead of the real code? If he’s good enough to get in, is your imposter going to fool him?”

  “No. It won’t fool him. He’d know right away if we switched programs on him.” She turned her head and suddenly he was too close. Close enough that he could almost taste her lips. So close he could imagine he felt the sweep of her gold-tipped lashes.

  He straightened and stepped backward. There was already a war going on between his heart and his brain as he struggled to balance his need to keep Ben safe with the urgency to finish the interface.

  Now the game was complicated by a third player—his libido. It shocked him that he could think about sex while time was running out for his son’s legs.

  Damn, he wished they’d sent him a male agent.

  Natasha said something. He forced his brain to concentrate.

  “It’s the house computers I’m concerned about. I want to move their hardwiring to the shell server.”

  “Why?”

  She swiveled her chair to face him. “We think someone on the inside is feeding information to the hacker, right? This bogus program is good enough to fool anyone other than an experienced programmer.”

  “What about e-mail? Ordering supplies?”

  “I’ve synched the e-mail and local databases. Everyone in the house will be working on the shell, not the real server. Each time a file is changed, incoming or outgoing, the change is automatically swept for viruses and worms. Suspicious files will be isolated for me to look at directly. The clean files are updated to the real server every two hours. And hopefully, if the hacker tries to sabotage the system through e-mail, he won’t realize he’s being screened by the imposter.”

  Dylan stared at her. “You did all that since Friday, and spent what—eight hours with Ben?”

  She shrugged. “Playing with Ben was relaxing.”

  He nodded. He knew what she meant. An hour spent with his son refreshed and rejuvenated him more than a nap.

  “So what about the interface?”

  “You and Campbell will still work on the real server. Your time is too valuable and there’s too much room for error if you have to go through the screening process for everything you do. The hacker will see that some programs have been moved, but that won’t surprise him. In fact, he’s expecting me to try and stop him. He’d be suspicious if I didn’t change some programs. But it would take him a couple of hours online to figure out just what I’ve done, and he can’t risk staying online that long.” She shrugged. “At least, that’s the theory.”

  “He knows you’re here, tracking him.”

  She sent him a sharp glance, then turned her attention back to the monitor. “He knows someone is. If there really is someone inside the house feeding him information, they’ve probably told him my name.”

  “What about you? Do you know who he is?”

  “There are thousands of hackers all over the world. Several thousand in the U.S. alone. Of those, probably no more than a hundred have the talent and intelligence to get as far as this guy has.”

  There was a note in her voice that Dylan didn’t like. She sounded guarded, even a little nervous. And her answer was glaringly evasive. He watched her carefully. “You’ve probably run into all one hundred of them.”

  “Not all.” She fiddled with the mouse.

  “But it’s likely that whoever this is, you’ve seen his work before.”

  “It’s possible. I don’t know how likely it is.” She glanced at her watch, then stood. “I need to get to work on the hardwiring.”

  He watched her narrowly as she pushed the computer chair neatly up to the desk. She was hiding something. Lying to him. Did she know more about the hacker than she was telling?

  “Okay,” he said. “So what’s next?”

  “I need to move the hardwiring to the shell server. How many computers are in the house?”

  “Wow, I’m not sure. Let’s see.” He mentally counted. “Maybe twenty. Alfred can tell you. He has a schematic for the connections.”

  “Good. What about outside?”

  “No outside computers are linked to the server. The guardhouse computers are self-contained. They operate the gates and run the security cameras. Nothing else.”

  “Nothing else? Ben’s play area?”

  “No. There’s one right inside the door to the kitchen, though.”

  “The tunnel?”

  He shook his head. “None out there. I think it’s wired, though. You’ll need to check Alfred’s schematic.”

  Natasha bit her lip and her gaze faltered. “We need to put one out there. It would be better to have it at the—” She paused. “The tunnel exit.”

  He frowned. He’d seen the same look on her face in the tunnel access room. In fact, he’d seen that look several times before. She was afraid, and he was beginning to figure out why. Either she was terrified of the dark or she was claustrophobic.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “No. Nothing.” She didn’t look at him. “We can’t leave any access to the house unguarded.”

  “You don’t have to worry about the tunnel. If an unauthorized person gets in, steel doors close and lock on both ends. They’ll be trapped.”

  Natasha’s shoulders tightened visibly.

  “It’s close spaces, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “You’re claustrophobic.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Being trapped by steel doors in a dark tunnel isn’t my idea of fun.”

  He chuckled, letting it go for the moment. “I can agree with that. So now what? Switch the wiring?”

  “Where’s Campbell?”

  “He took today off. Needed to check on his mother.”

  “Good. I don’t want anyone other than Mintz to know about the imposter program.”

  “Right. We still don’t know who’s feeding the hacker infor
mation.”

  “I can have the wires switched in a couple of hours,” Natasha went on. “Then I need to set up a computer at the tunnel’s exit. You said there’s a shack at the exit?”

  The strain in her voice was unmistakable. His heart went out to her. She could deny it all she wanted, but it was obvious that the tunnel bothered her.

  “Yeah. Been abandoned for years.”

  She nodded, chewing on her lower lip. “So, I’d better get to work.”

  “Let me know when you’re ready to head out through the tunnel. I’ll go with you.”

  She started to say no. He could tell. But then she looked past him, toward the tiny access room. Near panic froze her features and her face turned pale. She swallowed.

  He touched her shoulder. “Natasha?” he whispered.

  She closed her eyes briefly, then nodded. “Thanks.”

  DYLAN SPENT the next hour or so practicing on the virtual surgery model, attaching nerves to minuscule, nearly invisible prosthetic fibers, and timing himself. He had to attach over three thousand nerves, and he had to do it in less than twelve hours. He was afraid to leave Ben under anesthesia longer than that.

  He glanced at the computer clock, wondering how close Natasha was to finishing the rewiring of the computers. He stood and stretched, reaching toward the ceiling with his fingers, then flexing them. He walked down the hall to the server room and let himself in.

  She was bent over, reaching behind the backup server. Dylan had an excellent view of her curvy bottom in low-rise, faded jeans. Her little T-shirt had ridden up and exposed bare skin from the curve of her hips up to just below her bra strap.

  Stop ogling, he admonished himself. His inability to control his libido around her was becoming ridiculous. He usually had no trouble staying focused. And he’d never had a better incentive to dismiss any distractions. So why was she slipping more and more into his thoughts and dreams?

  She straightened with a quiet groan and noticed him. “Oh. I didn’t hear you come in.” She clutched a screwdriver in her right hand.

  “Not surprised, with the air conditioners and all the equipment humming.” He nodded toward her hand. “Are you done?”

  “Just finished. I haven’t tested any of the remote computers, but I can do that tonight.”

  “Are you ready to brave the tunnel?” He smiled.

  She didn’t. Her lips pressed together and a muscle in her jaw tensed. She took a deep breath and arched her back and neck, then caught her hair in both hands and twisted it up. The action lifted her top and revealed the curve of her waist and her delicately shaped navel. She secured her hair in place with something invisible.

  “Okay, yeah. I’m ready.” She gestured toward a table with several computers and monitors sitting on it. “That one on the end is ready to go. I’ve tested it with a short wire hookup to the shell server. You were right. Mintz confirms that the tunnel is already wired.”

  “Okay. Let’s get started.” Dylan pulled a large hand truck over and loaded the computer and monitor onto it. He rolled the truck out to the tunnel entrance. After opening the first door, he stepped back.

  “You go first. I’ll be right behind you with the truck.”

  Natasha stared at the steel door that led into the tunnel. Ridiculous, unreasoning fear rose like bile in her throat. Don’t let him know how afraid you are.

  Her hand trembled as she pressed her thumb on the fingerprint reader, then entered the current pass code. With a soft click, the heavy door swung open. She stepped into the dark tunnel.

  The cart’s wheels echoed through the cavernous space.

  “How—how long is the tunnel?”

  “About three-quarters of a mile.”

  “Can you turn on some lights?”

  Dylan laughed softly. “Take a couple of steps.”

  Panic flared, squeezing the air from her lungs. She fought to control her breathing. Was Dr. Shay right? Was she not ready to be back in the field? Why had Mitch let her take the assignment if she was this unstable?

  She took a step, her breath hitching. Then another. With a quiet thunk, dim lights appeared. They stretched down the seemingly endless tunnel as far as she could see. Her pulse hammered in her ears, so loud she was afraid Dylan heard it.

  She didn’t want to feel like this, didn’t want to be such a coward. But deep inside her she knew that only the sound of the cart’s wheels behind her and the thought of letting Dylan down kept her from turning and sprinting back to the door.

  She glanced back, her eyes craving more light than the dim bulbs put out. But not even a sliver shone around the edges of the steel door. She couldn’t glean any reassurance there.

  Dylan’s blue eyes narrowed. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “You can walk faster if you want. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “I’m fine,” she snapped. She never took her eyes off the dim can lights as she walked. After a few moments, she realized she was counting them, and there seemed to be as many in front of her as she’d already passed. She moaned under her breath.

  “Natasha, how certain are you that you’ll be able to ID the hacker? And how long is it going to take?”

  She grimaced in the darkness. Dylan suspected that she knew who was hacking into his system. She’d seen the sharp skepticism in his eyes. But she didn’t know—not for sure.

  She hadn’t told anyone—not even her boss—her suspicion that Dylan’s hacker was the same man who’d framed her for accessing the FBI’s terrorist database. It was ironic that instead of sending her to prison, Tom’s double cross had turned her life around.

  Would anyone believe that she hadn’t spoken to him since? That she had no idea where he was or what he’d been doing the past eight years?

  No. No one would believe her. She wouldn’t, if she were them. She didn’t want to say anything until she was sure. She wanted to be wrong.

  “I feel like I’m really close,” she said.

  “You said there were probably only a hundred hackers who could do what he’s done so far. But you never answered my question. How many of those hundred or so hackers do you know?” His voice took on a hard edge.

  “I’ve worked for the FBI for eight years. I have two major responsibilities. I spend about half of my time in the field. The rest of the time I chase down hackers, mostly irritating kids who like to release annoying, but harmless virus programs or worms just for fun.”

  “But sometimes you deal with malicious ones, right? The ones who are working for terrorists, who want to gain access to programs like the interface to sell to the highest bidder.”

  Natasha was having trouble concentrating on what Dylan was saying. He’d distracted her for a few seconds with his questions, but now the panic was growing again, clawing its way up her throat like a scream, and his voice was nothing more than a low buzz in her head. She sucked in a lungful of conditioned air and tried to push the panic down, but she heard her breath sawing in and out. She was sure he did, too.

  His hand touched her arm. “Look up ahead,” he said softly.

  “What? Where?” In the far distance, she saw a red glow that stood out among all its pale yellow companions. Wary hope fluttered in her chest. “What’s that?”

  “The end of the tunnel.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip as tears of relief filled her eyes. The end of the tunnel. Her panic faded, receded like the surf at low tide. She flexed her fingers, and winced when they cramped. She hadn’t realized she’d been clenching them.

  She’d made it. But she still had to go back. Could she do it again? She glanced over her shoulder.

  The narrow passageway stretched as far as she could see. Exactly the same—the same shadows, the same stale cold air—the same laughably dim lights.

  She shivered and vowed she’d do her best, because that’s what Dylan expected, and she didn’t want to let him down.

  Within a couple of minutes they were at the exit door. Just as Dylan had described
, the door had a panic bar on the inside. There was barely enough light to see it. She pushed on it with both hands, doing her best to stay calm. This was it. Her heart pounded. There was light on the other side of the door. You can’t break down now, she lectured herself silently.

  The tunnel door opened into a small closet as dark as the tunnel. No! Where was the light? She bit her lip and fought to control her rising panic. Just in front of them was another steel door. She paused, but Dylan didn’t say anything, so she pushed its panic bar. As the door swung open, bright sunlight poured in. She breathed in warmth and fresh air, gaining strength with each breath. The fresh air and sun fed her. Finally, she gained the courage to try her shaky legs, actually believing—sort of—that they wouldn’t give way on her.

  “Wow. This really is an old place, isn’t it? Who lived here?” she asked Dylan, wincing at the quaver in her voice.

  He pushed the hand truck through the doors. “Who knows? When I bought the property, it included this abandoned house. It sits on an overgrown dirt road. Nobody’s driven on that road for years. I was going to have the house torn down, but Alfred wanted to use it to hide the tunnel exit.”

  She nodded, keeping her back to him, blinking to get rid of the tears that threatened to fall. She cleared her throat. “More of his triple-redundancy.”

  “Natasha?” He put his hand on her shoulder and gently turned her to face him. “It’s okay if you were scared in the tunnel.”

  “Don’t—” She bowed her head. She did not want him to see her with tears in her eyes. What kind of FBI agent cried?

  But his fingers touched her chin, lifting it. “What happened to you?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  She stepped backward, but he didn’t let her step away from him. He moved with her, his fingers still brushing her chin. “Tell me.”

  His low voice rumbled next to her ear, sending waves of awareness through her, calming the panic.

  “You’re safe here. You can trust me. I’ll take care of you.”

  She pushed his hand away and took a step backward. “I wish you wouldn’t say that. Don’t you understand? I’m supposed to be the protector. I’m supposed to be taking care of you and Ben.”