A laugh rumbled from his chest and he pulled me to him again. “Did you know they’re actually considering adding trainees to your detail, so young agents can understand the concept of needing to be prepared for all contingencies?”
I twisted my damp ponytail around my finger. “That’s really not fair. You have no freaking idea how stressful this maid of honor thing is. Do you have any idea what is involved in trying on a wedding dress? I had to toast a dress! Apparently this is just the start. Weddings are nightmares. I honestly found myself wishing the assassin would show up and put me out of my misery.”
He trailed his fingers across my cheek, pausing at one of the diamond earrings he’d given me for Christmas. “I’m sorry things didn’t go as planned at the fitting, but I’m confident it will all work out. Despite the trials, you seem to endure with ever-increasing frequency. Luck favors you.”
I stiffened.
Slash pulled back. “What’s wrong?”
I took a moment to compose myself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to have that reaction. Your words just triggered a memory.”
“What memory?”
I didn’t want to say it, but I didn’t want to keep sweeping it under the rug either. “Quon. He said the same thing to me when...well, when he was asking questions about you.”
Just hearing Quon’s name changed Slash’s mood instantly. He stepped away from me, a dark expression covering his face. Quon had said that phrase to me shortly before he’d started torturing me for information about Slash. That session was still a touchy subject with us. I hadn’t talked much about it because I knew Slash would freak out. Slash hesitated to ask because he worried about upsetting me. I hadn’t meant to bring it up, but it had caused a reaction I didn’t want to lie about.
I reached out and took his hand. “I’m sorry, Slash. I didn’t mean to upset you. It just jogged my memory. I don’t want to suppress those memories because then they stay buried and it hurts worse. Okay?”
“You don’t upset me. He does.” Slash closed his eyes. “He hurt you.”
“Yes, he did. But you didn’t kill him, and you could have.”
Slash cupped my face and looked into my eyes. “Don’t think I’m a good guy for that. Do you want to know why I didn’t kill him? Because I knew he’d endure much more pain and suffering if I kept him alive. That’s the only reason he’s still alive.”
I’m not sure I’d ever seen him this angry, as if the violence within him was barely restrained.
He seemed to sense my unease and his expression softened. He kissed my cheek. “Anyway, I do have some good news for you.”
Just like that the darkness vanished and I saw the warm, kind eyes of the man I loved.
“You do?”
“I do. We got a hit on the woman from the facial recognition software.
Chapter Seventeen
“That’s great news, Slash. Who is she?”
“Her name is Feng Mei. She came to the US three years ago on a special work visa. Guess who she’s working for?”
I thought back to what I knew about the Chinese, about the Red Guest. “Sinam Tech?”
“Exactly.”
It made sense. Sinam Tech was a Chinese technology company located in Silicon Valley that officially produced standard interfaces, communications and data architecture. Unofficially—thanks to certain unauthorized peeks into their network by Slash—they served as a front for cyberattacks, cyberintelligence and industrial espionage. Jiang Shi’s uncle owned Sinam Tech, so the connection wasn’t coincidental. The Red Guest was up to their freaking necks in this mess.
“Where is Feng Mei now?” I asked.
“Her official address is in Menlo Park, but she isn’t there. Looks like she hasn’t been there for a while. The executives at Sinam Tech claim Mei hasn’t shown up for work in two weeks.”
“But no one reported her missing.”
“Apparently not. Her coworkers say she had talked about going for an extended vacation. Her boss said he thought she’d turned in her vacation slip, but he couldn’t find it. An unfortunate oversight.”
“We’re supposed to buy that?”
“Not much we can do about it. We can’t find any records of her flying or taking a train to Washington. We’re running all train tickets paid for in cash, so it’s still possible she might have come that way under a bogus name. Her car, a white 2014 Ford Focus, is missing from her apartment parking lot, so it’s also a possibility she drove. We have an APB out on her and the car. But she rented a car to chase you down, so my guess is she ditched or parked her car somewhere and is paying with a bogus credit card and fake information for a rental. It’s smarter, safer and she’ll be almost impossible to find that way.”
“Any luck on the kid in the bar who gave me the money?”
“Not yet. I doubt he knows much anyway. We’re looking at nephews, kids, young male cousins of everyone remotely connected to Sinam Tech. He could have been a random pick, but for something this important, I doubt it. We’ll find him. We need to know how many more hacks were ordered.”
He sniffed the air, eyeing the coffeemaker. “That coffee smells good. You got enough in that pot for me?”
“Of course. I made it for you.” I turned and poured a cup for him, handing it to him black.
He took a sip. “Hmm. It’s strong, just how I like it. You made it just for me?”
“I did.” I was working hard at this girlfriend thing. According to the book Twelve Steps to Keep Your Relationship Alive and Healthy, it was important to do little things for your significant other to make him feel important and cherished.
“It’s a special Italian roast,” I explained. “I’m planning to add a drop of it to my full mug of milk so I can manage to swallow it.”
He laughed softly and kissed me on the head. “Ah, cara.” He glanced at the clock on the stove. “We have a couple of hours until dinner. Are you up for some gaming? We could do Magic Shorn or another role-playing game. Your choice.”
There it was. Now he was reciprocating and doing something nice for me. Maybe we were getting the hang of this relationship thing.
“Sounds great, Slash, but I thought you needed to work on the code.”
“I do.” He didn’t quite meet my gaze. This was still not a comfortable or resolved subject for either of us. “Tonight I intend to take a small break and spend time with my girl in order to stimulate my creativity.”
I poured a small amount of coffee into my mug already filled with milk. I stirred it with a spoon and took a sip, looking at him over the rim. “Okay, but after Shorn, I have another kind of role-playing game in mind.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And that would be?”
“You’ll have to beat me at Shorn before you can find out.” I thought of the black velvet blindfold I’d hidden in my drawer, then grinned.
He set his coffee on the table and backed me against the counter, placing a hand on either side of me. “Details.”
“Forget it. Intimidation won’t work. You don’t get a word until you prove to be a worthy opponent.”
He took my mug from my hand and backed me farther against the counter, pinning me between him and the cold marble at my back. “It’s not intimidation,” he growled. “I’m a trained interrogator. I can make you tell me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty talented at evasion tactics, if I do say so myself.”
“Shall we see?” Keeping me trapped with the weight of his body and his eyes never leaving mine, he slid his hands down my shoulders and arms. He rested one hand on my hip while the other slid across the flat of my stomach and stopped just at the lower part of my abdomen. I could feel the heat of his hand through my shirt.
My breath caught in my throat. Holy cow.
“I’m going to venture a g
uess I have successfully exercised sexual innuendo,” I said.
He leaned in and whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my cheek. “I think we need to play right now.”
Yep. All indications were that I’d been effective. Hooray!
He nibbled on the sensitive spot just below my ear before whispering, “And, just so we’re clear, cara, tease or not, I will beat you.”
“Don’t get cocky,” I warned. “If you lose focus, you won’t have a prayer.”
“Don’t make me crush you.” He pulled me hard against him. “Game. Now.”
Gripping my hand, he pulled me toward the couch where my laptop sat. “Open it.”
“You know, Slash, this teasing thing is kind of...empowering,” I said, dutifully retrieving my laptop. “And sexy. I may need to practice more.”
“All these epiphanies are putting me at a disadvantage,” he grumbled, but I could hear a hint of humor in his voice.
He sat down beside me, opening his briefcase and pulling out his laptop. He balanced it on his lap as he logged on. A few taps later, it was game time.
“Ready?” he asked, fingers poised over the keyboard.
“Ready.” I positioned my fingers, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
“No worries. I am sufficiently motivated. I intend to win.”
One hour and a fierce battle later, he did. Barely.
Later, lying in his arms, it didn’t feel at all like I’d lost.
Chapter Eighteen
It seemed like I’d just fallen asleep when my phone rang. I fumbled for it on the bedside table, but when I picked it up, there was no one there. At that point, I realized Slash was already talking to someone and I was holding my hairbrush.
I set the brush down and rolled over. I must have been sleeping like the dead. Slash had been coding. His laptop sat open and glowing on the bed. It was two twenty-seven in the morning. Who the heck called at two twenty-seven in the morning?
Slash snapped on the light and I blinked in the harsh glare.
“Give me the address. I’ll be there in twenty.” He snatched a pen and scribbled something on a scrap of paper.
Slash hung up and sat on the side of the bed, hanging his head and pushing his hand through his hair.
“Who was that?” I rolled over, shielding my eyes from the light.
He didn’t speak for a moment, and when he did, his voice was unusually serious and something else. Anguished. “We’ve got a problem.”
I snapped awake. Frowning, I sat up, clutching the blanket in my fingers against my chest. “What happened?”
He didn’t answer right away or turn in my direction, so I crawled across the bed and rested a hand on his bare shoulder. “What’s happened? Slash? Talk to me.”
The muscles in his shoulders were taut beneath my fingers. “I’m beginning to think this whole thing hasn’t been about a hack.”
I leaned closer, resting my chin on his shoulder. “I don’t understand. It’s not? Then what is it?”
“A hit.”
I blinked in shock. “A what?”
“A hit. An IAD employee has just been shot and killed.”
“Oh, God.” My mind tried to process his words, but it was having a hard time. “Who?”
“Grant Durham.”
“Grant Durham? As in, the Director of IAD I just met?”
“Si.” He stood, pulling on a pair of underwear and his jeans. His face was grim. “He was just murdered at his home. I’ve got to get over there.”
“I’m so sorry, Slash.” My throat tightened. I’d met Grant only once, but there seemed to have been affection and mutual respect between him and Slash. I scrambled out of bed, spying my T-shirt on the floor. I snatched it, pulling it over my head. “I’m going with you.”
He stopped, looked over his shoulder at me as he pulled his boots on. “Why?”
“Because I’m up to my neck in this, too. Please, I might be able to help.”
I could see him weighing it. I figured he was concerned for my safety, but I also knew he didn’t want to leave me alone right now, even in the custody of the FBI. Finally he nodded. “Okay. Stay close to me.”
I didn’t say another word, worried he might change his mind. After we finished getting dressed, we drove in silence to Grant’s address, followed by our FBI tail.
It was a nice neighborhood and the houses were small mansions. The police had roped off the house at the base of a cul-de-sac. Slash pulled his SUV over to the curb and we made our way toward the tape. I saw a van, the coroner’s vehicle and no fewer than four black sedans.
As we passed them, Slash commented, “The FBI is already here.”
An officer standing near the tape saw us coming and held up a hand. Slash took out his ID and handed it to the policeman and then motioned that I should do the same. The guy shone a flashlight between our IDs and us before talking into his cell phone. After a moment he hung up. The two agents from our tail came up behind us.
“You’re authorized to go to the side lawn and meet with your contact there,” the officer said. “You’ll have to be escorted to go anywhere else. This is a crime scene.” He pointed to the two FBI agents. “You can wait here for them.”
We retrieved our IDs before crossing the lawn. It was ablaze with light. The red, white and blue of the flashing police lights bathed the side of the house in a rainbow of color. A few neighbors stood on their lawns watching the show.
Slash took my elbow and we walked across the grass toward a lone figure. A police officer stood there waiting, along with Shawn Moore, the FSO from Slash’s office. When he saw us, he asked the officer to give us a minute to speak privately. The front door to the house was open and spotlights had been set up, bathing the area in a blinding white light. Several people congregated in the doorway, while another group huddled around a black sedan in the driveway. All four doors and the trunk of the car were open.
Shawn held out a hand to Slash and the men shook. If Shawn was surprised to see me, he didn’t say anything. “Before we go any further, let me give you a quick rundown.”
Slash nodded. I hugged myself, trying to ward off a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. I glanced at Slash and saw the angry set of his jaw and the hard glint in his eyes. He was back in that zone. He wanted payback. Revenge. As of this moment, the hack had not only become deadly, but worse, personal.
“Grant was murdered about eight thirty this evening,” Shawn told us. “It was a professional hit. Staged and executed with precision.”
Slash’s fingers on my elbow tightened. “Where was Grant’s security?”
“All present. Three are dead, one injured badly.” Shawn swept his hand toward the front door. “Grant was headed to an event that was starting at nine. It was a...” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook. He flipped through it and found the page he was looking for, and continued, “...a charity gala. Grant’s driver arrived right on time at eight fifteen.”
“Grant has a driver?” I interrupted.
“Yes,” Shawn replied. “A driver he’s been with for twelve years. Grant was still upstairs, running late. One of his security detail opened the door and the driver shot him on the spot.” He motioned toward the front door. “The agent who was in the basement monitoring the house surveillance equipment saw what happened. She hit the alarm, drew her weapon and came after the driver who, by this time, was already in the house, presumably looking for Grant.”
“Grant would have heard the shots by then,” I said.
“Yes. Agent Moraites exchanged gunfire with the driver in the area of the foyer, was hit and went down. She’s in critical condition.”
“The driver didn’t take time to finish her off,” Slash mused.
“No, she wasn’t the target,” Shawn said. “Grant must have heard what was happening and took cover by barricading himself in the bathroom. He didn’t go down easy and got off several shots at his attacker. In the end, he went down, too. In this case, the killer made sure Grant was dead. Three shots to the head—execution style.”
My stomach heaved and I pressed my hand to my mouth. Slash glanced at me probably wishing I hadn’t come.
“Is there any evidence Grant or the agent hit or wounded the driver?” Slash asked.
Shawn shrugged. “I don’t know yet. The crime scene is still being analyzed.”
I swallowed hard. “You said there were three dead and one in critical condition. In addition to the two agents and Grant, who else was involved?”
Shawn tucked the notebook back in his pocket. “The driver. The real driver, Henry Chang. We found him in the trunk of the car.” He dipped his head toward the driveway at the black car.
I closed my eyes and Slash slid his arm around me. “How did security not recognize the driver?” he asked.
“The killer and the driver are a close physical match. Short and slight. It was dark and the killer wore a hat low across the brow, which should have raised a flag since apparently Henry never did.”
“Complacence,” Slash murmured.
I spoke. “You mentioned surveillance equipment. Do you have any of the killer?”
“We do. I haven’t seen it yet, but the crime team has already reviewed it. We’d like you all to review it, too.”
“Was anyone else in the house?” Slash asked.
“No.” Shawn shook his head. “Grant lived alone except when his kids were visiting, which thankfully they weren’t tonight. He’s divorced. Work was his life. No surprise there. As you know, our line of work doesn’t lend itself well to relationships.” He dipped his head meaningfully at Slash, who looked away.
Someone from the front porch approached. A man who identified himself as J.P. Walton, the FBI Agent in Charge, shook our hands. “I’m glad you’re here. The others have already arrived.”
No Strings Attached Page 9