Prince Charming

by CD Reiss

  Cassie reaches one hand over me with her wallet stretched open with her fingertips. She’s closer. I can smell her. Vanilla and gunpowder. My God. She’s made of candy-coated bullets.

  Bernard takes one look at the FBI ID and opens the gate. Cassie leans back, but I caught a whiff of her already, and it’s enough.

  “You invented corporate espionage?” she says. “That was exculpatory.”

  “Not really. It’s a quote from Gizmodo.”

  I drive through the gate. The hulk of the factory grows larger as I approach. The windows on the first and third floors are lit with low-wattage LEDs. I pull into my spot and put the car in park.

  “Want to make a wager?” I say.

  “Again?”

  I look at her. She’s leaning forward, genuinely interested. I like her curiosity mirroring mine.

  “I bet you can surprise me.”

  “I’m really boring.”

  “That would surprise me indeed.”

  I get out of the car.

  13

  cassie

  Keaton opens the door for me. The parking lot is in crappy condition, and even though my shoes aren’t too high, my heel lands on half a rock and I lose my balance. He has me by the elbow before I even realize I’m falling. His hand is strong and gentle. He lets me go as soon as I’m on my feet.

  “Thank you.”

  We walk along the side of the building. Dim lights on the ground floor glow through the web of scaffolding, cross-hatching the ground in front of us.

  “We can take the lift,” he says.

  “I’m not afraid of a few stairs.”

  “Really?”

  “I can make four flights in under a minute and a half, carrying a firearm and spare cartridges.”

  He reaches into the darkness and clicks something. A light goes on to reveal an elevator car built inside the scaffolding. It’s for construction, with a wood plank floor and a big orange lever. We get in, and he slides the gate closed. With a tap of the lever, we move up.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he says.

  “I’m not.”

  He flicks a switch and the car goes dark.

  “Oh,” I gasp.

  The lights over Barrington are visible, and behind it, Doverton glows just in front of the curve of the earth against the navy sky. The stars are a pin-poked wrap over the earth. We stand in silence, our perspective changing as we rise ninety feet and stop with a jerk.

  Keaton slides open the gate on the factory side with a clatter and slap. He holds out his hand and I take it. Pause. His face is in shadow. His expression as we touch is hidden from me, but as his thumb brushes the tops of my fingers, I don’t need to see it to know the contact is intentional and sexual.

  I step onto the roof. He follows, laying his hand on my shoulder. Touching. Again. I’m conscious of how disproportionately carnal the pressure and placement feel against how tame they really are.

  “Here,” he says, leading me to a little café table with two folding chairs surrounded by outdoor heat lamps.

  The floodlights clack on when the motions sensors detect our bodies, making the roof both bright and black. The table is in a trapezoid of shadow. There’s a pitcher of water and glasses. I glance quickly into the glasses. Dry from what I can tell. Good.

  Keaton pulls out a chair and I sit, noticing a square yellow Post-It stuck to the center of the table. He sits across from me and pours water in my glass first.

  “Not trying to get me drunk, I see.”

  “If I had wine, would you drink it?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” He pulls his glass closer to him.

  I touch mine. I’m thirsty, but don’t pick it up. “It’s hard to hide drugs in water. Easier in alcohol.”

  “You think I’m the kind of man who needs to drug women?”

  “To get laid?” I go right for the point. “No.”

  “What then?”

  “You might drug an FBI agent.”

  He leans forward, into a patch of light. His brown hair’s brushed back, but a curve of it escapes and falls against his forehead. His left ear has a thin gold hoop tight around the lobe, hinting at a history I can only guess. Gorgeous, yes, but the promises of secrets, knowledge, depth are what make me throb between my crossed legs.

  He’s breathtaking.

  “There’s no need to drug you or any agent. If I want something from the part of you that carries a badge and a gun, I can take it without you even knowing it. I can own you. I can own your job. Your family and friends are safe because I choose it.”

  I’m tricked by his looks. His promise. The timbre of his voice. I’ve been lulled. He is what he is and has always been. And here I am—alone on a rooftop with him.

  “So are you Alpha Wolf?”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny any digital persona is linked to me.”

  “You don’t scare me.”

  His smirk is devilish and comforting, as if mischief has a charm all its own. Then he leans back and drinks his water as if he knew I was waiting for him to go first. He puts down the empty glass. “Good.”

  I sip my water.

  “So,” he says. “You heard there are plans being made on an onion site.”

  “Third Psyche.”

  “The link’s written on the back of that Post-It.” He flicks his fingers at the yellow square stuck to the center of the table. I reach for it. With an efficient but languid gesture, he covers my hand as it’s over the paper. “Not so fast, Ms. Grinstead.”

  “Cassie’s fine.” There’s a snap in my voice. I don’t care if he knows I’m annoyed.

  “Cassie. First you tell me why you want the link.”

  “I told you.”

  “I believe you. But there’s more. No one wants a promotion for the sake of one.”

  He’s touching me. Skin on skin. He doesn’t move his fingers across mine, but if he does, I’m going to melt into the chair. I can stay like this all night, until he tightens his palm and puts downward pressure on his fingers. It’s encouraging. A barely perceptible invitation to speak what’s in my heart.

  It’s all I need at a time when I would have denied needing anything.

  “Because I want to catch criminals. I can catch bigger and better from CID.”

  I don’t take my eyes off the way his hand covers mine. Not as I speak, nor during the long silence after I’m done.

  “Small-time crooks don’t cause enough trouble?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Or do you have too much empathy for them?”

  I snap my hand away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, the lady doth protest too much. You have to know law enforcement attracts a criminal element.”

  I will my lips shut, but my mind simmers, then boils. “You can go to hell then.” I wish I could get up and walk away, but that yellow Post-It is calling.

  “I will. I’m sure of it.”

  “Said the black hat who’s going straight.”

  “We have more in common than I thought.”

  “My record’s clean.” I lean back. “I don’t know what you think you saw or where you saw it, but it’s fake.”

  “I didn’t say you were guilty of anything. Your mother was obviously a petty reprobate by choice. You were dragged along for the ride. Yet I saw a little flicker in your eyes when you said your record was clean.” He points at each eye as if trying to recall the little glints. “You’re proud of not getting caught.”

  I have to divert this conversation before I get sucked into it. “You were the king of the dark web. You were making millions in hacked accounts.”

  “I was.”

  “Guns.”

  “Yes.”

  “Drugs.”

  “No. Never. No drugs, no people.”

  “Every thief has a code.” I know that all too well. “Why leave it?”

  “Taylor needed the money.”

  “Are we done here?” I ask.

  “As you wish.”r />
  I reach for the Post-It again, and again he puts his hand over mine. I let it stay. With everything that was said and revealed in the last five minutes, that pause before I shake him off is the moment I let myself like his touch.

  He slides his hand away, and I curl my fist around the paper, snapping the glue off the tabletop.

  “The link comes with a warning,” he says.

  I turn over the paper. The link is written in pencil. “A warning?” I fold the Post-It and put it in my pocket. “Are we enemies now?”

  “No, but I don’t want you to make any.” He looks at the sky, apparently thinking. “You’re not callous. If you have to believe you are, I understand. And working in law enforcement, you’ll get callous or die. But not you. Not yet. But…” He laces his fingers together across his belt. “When I went looking for something to put on this piece of paper, I might have been noticed.”

  “You?”

  He knows what I’m asking. Was Keaton Bridge noticed or was Alpha Wolf? I don’t go further because I know he’s not going to answer.

  “It’s not my intention to expose you to danger. If I had my way, you’d toss that paper in the rubbish and forget the whole thing. But you’re too far gone. So take it. Catch the bastards.” He leans forward now, putting his elbows on his knees. His head is only slightly lower than mine and he’s dead serious. “Do not speak to Keyser Kaos. Do not speak to anyone who knows him. If you’re wise, don’t speak to anyone whose identity isn’t known.”

  His voice is so even that I shutter any thoughts of disobeying him.

  “Are you going to be all right? Are they going to come after you?”

  He starts to say something. Stops himself. Leans back.

  What have I done? I tuck my hands into my sleeves. The heat lamps only do so much to chase a chill.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” is his final answer. “I want you to have this. I want to do something for you.”

  The link could be a setup. He could be a beautiful trap. But he’s not. I can’t know the results of his gift, but when he says he wants to do something for me, I believe he’s telling me the entirety of his intentions.

  “Why did you decide to go straight?”

  His look is quizzical, as if he’s revving up to deflect.

  “Surprise me. I know you want me to surprise you, but you gotta meet me halfway here.”

  “How do I know you won’t use it against me?”

  “You don’t.”

  I figure it’s over after that. We’re at some kind of stalemate. This isn’t a guy who gives up a piece of information without a fight. He knows its worth too well. His eyes flick across my face as if he’s reading me, but that’s not what he’s doing. I know it as well as I know when a mark is just distracted enough to think she’s not. He’s calculating the value of his story.

  “I went straight, as you call it, because there are some things I can only do with a name, and a face, and a history in this world. I needed to do those things.”

  “You needed to invest in QI4? Why?”

  “Some things can’t be written and explained in a tight little fable. The short version is—I did it for friendship.”

  The alarm bells that bark when I’m around him shut down for a second. That wasn’t the answer I expected. The fact that he’d make a sacrifice for a friend clues me in to the existence of a complex, layered person, not just a sexy, secretive criminal.

  “I’d like to hear the long version some time.”

  “There won’t be a long version.”

  Won’t be?

  He says it as if the story is still being written and it’s about to be cut off.

  14

  keaton

  The yellow Post-It is folded between two fingers. She’s rubbing the paper against itself as she looks outward, at me, and inward, dissecting every word I’ve said.

  “You’re planning something,” she says.

  “Nothing that should concern you.” I lean forward. I want to smell her. Feel her warmth. “How do you feel, now that you have what you want?”

  She casts her eyes down. The lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. “Honestly?”

  “Of course.”

  “A little scared of what I’ll find.”

  She’s so proud and so honest. I admire the way she couples strength to vulnerability, beauty to humility.

  “You’re smart to be scared. But you know how to do it.”

  I mean, how to stay invisible in the forums. Set up a fake profile behind a data wall. They’ll find the FBI eventually, but they won’t tie the discovery to a particular agent.

  “I do know how to do it.”

  Her smile is confident, cocky even. I like that too.

  She stands and puts out her hand. She wants me to shake it. And what am I supposed to do? Shake it and let her go? I don’t know a thing about her. Sure, I’ve dug up plenty, but I want to hear her story from her mouth.

  Her hand hangs in the cold air while I decide how I’m going to keep her.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  I stand and take her hand. “My pleasure.”

  The word “pleasure” rolls out of my mouth on eighteen wheels with a payload of meaning behind it. Even if I want to keep the word clean, I don’t have a choice with her.

  She looks down at our clasped hands.

  “Let me walk you out,” I say.

  “You’re a real chivalrous guy.”

  “I’m British. It’s a default setting.”

  She lets go of my hand and turns away. “I like your default setting.”

  I turn off the heat lamp and catch up to her. She takes my arm when I offer it, letting me guide her into the lift.

  I get in and press the red button.

  The car jerks downward. I want to kiss her in this tight little space, but her hands are in her pockets. She won’t look at me. She’s not ready or she doesn’t want me to.

  The lift bounces at the ground floor. I slide open the gate with a clatter that shakes the silence. I step aside so she can go first.

  What do I want out of her? I want to fuck her, but that shouldn’t be surprising. She’s an attractive and intelligent woman. She’s also dangerous at this point. Not because of her job, but because of the way I react to her. I lock up the lift, letting her walk ahead.

  She’s a siren, pulling me toward this burdensome identity when all I want to do is get away. She’s halfway to the car, hands jammed in her coat pockets. I trot to her. I bridge the distance in six and a half steps. The last half-step to seven puts me between her and the car. I can’t read her expression, but I caption the picture anyway, telling the story of a woman who wants to go home and blow dry her hair or rearrange the jumpers in her wardrobe.

  Just as I catch up, her ankle bends when she steps on a rock. She tips. I catch her because I don’t want her to fall, and I feel in my gut that she’s my responsibility.

  I don’t know why I care, but I do. If I don’t connect now, there’s no future and I don’t know why it matters but it bloody fucking does and if I could just—

  So I kiss her.

  15

  cassie

  The deal is done. I can have the guard call me a cab and wait for an hour, or I can let Keaton drive me back to my car. Either way it should be fine, but his little café table setup on the roof was romantic. His trade gives him no weapon against me. He wanted to know why I needed the link, but the knowledge is useless. There are no rules against trying to get a promotion.

  He wants me as much as I want him, and that scares me. It means I have to make a decision, and either choice could have a terrible outcome.

  He’s just about admitted he’s Alpha Wolf.

  A criminal.

  What has he done? What evil has he fomented? What goes on in the dark web?

  Drug-trade-human-trafficking-hacking-whistleblowing-cheese-pizza-slavery-war-guns-murder-for-hire-revolution.

  I’m a few feet from the car when my heel catches a rock. I slide my
hands from my pockets to reweight my balance, but he’s got his hands under my arms, holding me up.

  Holding me still.

  The list of crimes that happen on the dark net bounces through my brain as he holds me. Is he going to kill me? Strangle me right here in the parking lot of his own factory? Maybe he wants to try. He’s well-built, but I’m pretty sure I can take a computer nerd in hand-to-hand combat. I just can’t let him get the jump.

  He goes for me.

  I’m surprised and prepared for it at the same time. I didn’t actually believe he’d try, but I’m reaching to block an attack while he’s leading with his head, which is weird, but I got this.

  When his lips smash against mine, my body is a split second ahead of my brain. It’s processed the list of dark net violence and thus completes a series of moves to bring down a frontal attack.

  Even as I’m using his weight against him by holding his arm still while I swing him, letting his high center of gravity do all the work of stripping him of his balance, my mind processes the kiss. Because it was a kiss. A real soft-lipped-slightly-open-mouthed-I want-her-to-like-it kind of kiss.

  By the time those nice thoughts register, I’m slamming him up against the car. I’m a little disappointed that I can’t take back my counterattack. I would have let him kiss me a few more seconds before taking him down.

  His eyes are open wide and the breath’s knocked out of him. The thump of his body against the car door fades into the night.

  “Why did you do that?” I ask.

  He looks at me as if I asked him why he pees standing up. Brows knotted. Arms out. Mouth half open as if he can’t contain the sheer number of answers he could give me right now.

  “What?” He says it like whot and it’s endearing and haughty at the same time. Damnit. I should have taken that kiss and not gotten all black belt on him.

  “Don’t sneak up on a girl like that.” I sound like a brat.

  He straightens himself out, pulling his cuffs down and realigning his jacket. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just do a very impressive judo throw and tell you, out front, that I’m going to kiss you. First, I’m going to put my hands on your face, because I would like to feel your mouth move when I do it. Then I’m going to tilt my head to the right, so please, you should also tilt your head to the right.” He waits for me to nod, and when I do, he comes close to me and lowers his voice. “I’m going to wait a second once our lips touch, just to make sure we’re both appreciating this first contact. When I open my mouth a little, I want you to do the same. You need to accept my tongue in your mouth.” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “Is that enough of a warning?”