Breaking the Honor Code

by Stanalei Fletcher

  A glance in her mirror showed Sloan pulling onto the road behind her. She wished he had turned back toward town, but hadn’t expected him to. There was no avoiding his presence, even in the throes of a blizzard.

  They crept passed the IHP vehicle and pushed through the storm. Wipers slapped at the freezing snow, barely keeping the windshield clear. She’d grown up in the stormy weather that pounded this area of Idaho throughout the long winter season and knew how to handle a car on slick roads. But after months of living in Washington, D.C., riding transit instead of driving, she was a little out of practice.

  If the car hit a patch of black ice and slid off the deserted road, there was a good chance Sloan’s car would follow. The patrolman had already warned them no more traffic would be allowed through. Her winter coat and boots wouldn’t ward off hypothermia on a walk home. Freezing to death wasn’t on today’s agenda. She just hoped Mitchell would be okay alone until she could get to him.

  Allison heaved a sigh of relief when she finally turned into the driveway next to her sister’s old, two-story house. The front-wheel drive on her sister’s car was nice, but it wasn’t the same as the four-wheel drive on Sloan’s SUV. He seemed to have had an easier time on the roads.

  The car’s bumper plowed a path from the main road and down the driveway to the back of the house where she pulled into the garage her brother-in-law had built. Too bad it wasn’t connected to the house, but with all the equipment he stored, it was safer to keep the two buildings separate.

  Looking in her rearview mirror, she saw Sloan follow her path, parking just outside the garage. When she turned off the engine, she heard Sloan’s car door slam. There would be no more driving today. They wouldn’t get out again until the crews cleared the roads.

  Allison stepped outside the garage where knee-deep drifts swallowed the lower half of her legs. Ignoring Sloan’s tense expression from the harrowing drive, she pointed toward the house. “This way.”

  Once inside, she kicked off her boots. “I’ll be right back.”

  She ran through the kitchen to the foot of the stairs, unable to curb her worry. “Mitchell! Are you home?”

  No answer.

  She started up the stairs, telling herself not to panic just because he didn’t reply. “Mitchell!”

  “Hey, where’s the fire?” Mitchell’s voice stopped her at the first landing.

  Allison spun around to see her nephew standing below her. With a quick thank you heavenward, she hurried down and wrapped him in a tight squeeze. “Thank goodness, you’re okay.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Mitchell asked. He wore baggy jeans and a sweater and was the image of his mother, except for the carrot-red hair. Thankfully, the hair appeared to be the only thing he’d inherited from the jerk who abandoned Caroline shortly after Mitchell was born.

  Allison relaxed her hold. “Haven’t you seen the roads?”

  He gave her a toothy grin. “Well, yeah. The school, like, sent the bus kids home early. I bet classes are cancelled tomorrow.” He tugged on his jeans’ belt loop to straighten his sagging pants. “Our bus driver said the snow’s supposed to fall all week.”

  “The highway patrol closed the roads for the night. We barely got through.” She walked toward the kitchen.

  Mitchell followed, but hesitated when he saw Sloan. “Oh. Somebody else is here. I thought I saw another car drive in.”

  Sloan stood in her sister’s cozy kitchen. The sight of the overnight bag clutched in his gloved hand conjured up unwelcome images of him spending the night.

  Sloan’s gaze flickered between her and Mitchell almost as if he could read her mind.

  Allison cleared her throat. “Mitchell, this is Mr. Cartland, one of the people I work with.”

  Mitchell reached out to shake Sloan’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Cartland.”

  Sloan took off his glove and smiled as they shook. “Same here.”

  “Do you work on computers like Aunt Allison?”

  “No.” Sloan shook his head slowly. “I’m an agent.”

  “Cool!” Mitchell grinned excitedly. “Can you do spy stuff like Jason Bourne?”

  “My work’s not quite like that.” Sloan sent Allison a what-does-he-think-I-am look.

  Allison almost smiled at Sloan’s discomfort. It could be a challenge going toe-to-toe with her nephew.

  “Whadda you do?” Mitchell cocked his head with the question.

  “I profile the bad guy. Learn what makes him tick.”

  Mitchell’s eyes grew round. “Wow. That’s intense stuff. Aunt Allison wants to be an agent, but she can’t.”

  “Mitchell!” All of Allison’s humor vanished. She didn’t need her nephew sharing her business with Sloan, even if it was true.

  “Well, you can’t.” He looked back at Sloan. “Are you staying for dinner? Maybe we can talk about guns and stuff.”

  Sloan gave Allison a roguish grin over Mitchell’s head. So he’d caught that agent remark, had he?

  “Does Aunt Allison cook?”

  “Yeah. She promised to make ramen noodles tonight.” Mitchell looked at her. “Mr. Cartland can have my onions.”

  Sloan cocked an eyebrow at the statement. “Call me Sloan. Can I call you Mitch?”

  “Sure!” Mitchell grinned. “Do you want to see my new game?”

  “Uh…” Sloan extended a hand still holding his bag. “Maybe a little later?”

  Mitchell grinned, again. “Deal.”

  Embarrassment warmed Allison’s cheeks. In her rush to find Mitchell, she’d left all her manners out in the snow. “Follow me.” She led Sloan back to the porch as she unzipped her coat.

  She took off her hat and hung it with her coat on the hook over her boots. “You can hang your jacket there.” She indicated an open hook.

  He dropped his bag and shrugged out of his coat, shaking it free of the snow before brushing melted flakes off his hair. He looked more like a surfer with his wet hair and tan, than a man stranded in the middle of a blizzard. She had no doubt she looked as sloppy as a bedraggled wet dog.

  “Where should I put this?” Sloan pointed at his bag.

  She toyed with the idea of making him sleep on the porch, if for no other reason than to keep her hormones in check. She had no idea why his presence was affecting her. But it would be wrong to leave him out in the cold, and she really did have better manners. She would be nice, even if it killed her. “I’ll get a room ready. For now, just put your things in the living room.”

  As they returned to the kitchen, she flipped on a switch above the sink. Recessed lighting created a welcoming glow over white, Shaker-style cupboards and tan granite countertops, accenting the country theme décor. The kitchen flowed gracefully into a great room where the couch faced a large fireplace. A flat screen TV sat in the corner. She breathed in the familiar, welcome smells. She loved this house and the happy memories of growing up here with her sister, Caroline.

  She pointed at a spot next to the couch. “You can put your bag over there.”

  “Thanks.” Sloan crossed to the couch and dropped his bag, then wandered back into the kitchen.

  Allison wondered if he regretted not returning to town. She’d heard he came from a wealthy family. He probably wasn’t used to such modest accommodations.

  Mitchell sat at the table. A computer tablet flashed a pale blue light on his face as his thumbs worked the controls. “Hey Sloan. You want to see my game now?”

  “Show me what you got, buddy.”

  Allison didn’t know what to make of Mitchell’s friendliness. He was usually reserved around adults until he knew them better. Sloan had been in her home less than five minutes and had already captured her shy nephew’s attention.

  She hoped Mitchell wouldn’t get too chatty and reveal all her secrets before the end of the day. At least Sloan hadn’t pumped her about Mitchell’s agent comment, though she suspected he would later.

  “What about your homework?” she asked Mitchell.

  “I don�
��t have to do it now. There won’t be any school tomorrow.” He gestured to the windows. “Look at the snow.”

  She glanced out the window overlooking the field behind the house. Although she couldn’t see the field, the storm had worsened. Waves of huge snowflakes rushed to the ground. Gusts blew flurries into the air, making a maelstrom of white against the growing darkness. A chill chased down her spine.

  She looked back at her nephew. “You may be right about school tomorrow, but that report is due on Friday.” Stepping over to the table, she put an arm on his shoulder and gave him a squeeze as she lifted the tablet out of his hand. “Start your homework while I take a shower.”

  Mitchell waved a hand in front of his face. “Yeah. You need one. You smell like a clunky old car.”

  Sloan barked out a laugh. “You don’t pull any punches, do you kid?” His speculative gaze roved over Allison as though he was thinking about washing her back.

  Heat flooded her face and she looked away. She didn’t know what to make of Sloan’s interest. At the office, he seemed to only notice her when she was eyeballs deep in a project. That’s when he’d wander into the lab and interrupt just to see what she was working on. Despite her attraction to him, she didn’t really want him to notice her. He was so far out of her league she didn’t even have a seat in the ballpark.

  Mitchell laughed. “It’s fun to tease Aunt Allison.”

  She tugged one of Mitchell’s ears. “Brat. I’m greasy because I’m fixing your snowmobile.” Definitely out of Sloan’s league.

  Her nephew rubbed his ear. “Good thing, too. With all this new snow, I want to ride it this weekend.”

  “We’ll see. Hit the books.” She crossed to the counter and started a pot of coffee. To Sloan, she said, “Help yourself when the coffee’s ready. The cups are in that middle section above the counter. I’ll be down shortly.”

  “Can I have some hot cocoa?” Mitchell asked.

  “I’ll make him some.” Sloan stood, volunteering.

  Allison was surprised that Sloan felt at home enough to make the offer.

  “Thanks. When I come down, I’ll get started on the program.”

  “I want to give O’Neal an update.” Sloan held up his cell phone, then pointed toward the wall phone. “Looks like I’ve lost service, too. Can I use your phone to make sure the call goes through?”

  “Sure.” Allison had almost forgotten her conversation with the director.

  “You’re certain you can do what you need to from here?” Sloan scowled at his phone as if its failure to work would affect her ability to do her job.

  “Positive. I don’t need cellular service to do this work. And even if the Internet isn’t working, I can still start the trace.”

  “Okay.” His expression was somewhat uncertain. “I’ll tell O’Neal that’s the best we can do for now.”

  Allison didn’t press her point. She’d made it clear that she could do her job just as well here as in L.A. Without another word, she hurried from the kitchen and raced upstairs, grateful to escape Sloan’s presence. The man seemed to fill up any room.

  The threatening letter Sloan showed her had to be a hoax, designed to lure another agent away from Northstar. Now the firm was short two people. The sooner she found the hacker, the better for everyone. Her mind began working through possible solutions to this latest breach in the firm’s firewall. It was a brazen attack, and that’s what the note had really proven—that the hacker was getting bolder. Perhaps by sending a direct message, he’d finally made his first mistake.

  Three months ago, electronic communications between Northstar and field agents began to mysteriously misdirect to various news agencies. She’d scanned for programs that didn’t have her specific footprint, but never uncovered any unauthorized code. It seemed the hacker used her own conventions against her. What frustrated her most was that she’d never figured out how the malware breached the firewall. It was almost as if it had been planted inside the server’s firewall, which was virtually impossible—unless the hacker was inside Northstar. That was even less likely because of the firm’s selective hiring process.

  She’d spent weeks replacing routers and redesigning the firewall, unraveled every line of code, searching for syntax anomalies. Double and triple checked everything to prevent another confidential e-mail from landing on some news jockey’s desk.

  In spite of her efforts, she obviously hadn’t ferreted out the infected code. She kneaded taut muscles along her neck and tried to quash the frustration churning in her stomach.

  The new firewall had been secure for almost two weeks. According to Sloan, there’d been no more leaks until yesterday. Something she’d done had stopped the hacker, at least for a little while.

  She grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a Boise State Broncos sweatshirt and headed into the bathroom. The more she thought about the task ahead, the less guilty she felt about not being in Washington when the hacker struck. If her trap caught the right data, she was confident she’d have a solution by tonight.

  Tom was more than capable of installing a new program to track the hacker’s Internet Protocol Service address. Once he had the IP, he could get to work on obtaining any Media Access Control addresses. With the MAC address, the FBI could find a physical location. Arresting the hacker would then be a matter of getting the warrant and setting up a raid. Time consuming, yes, but the process was simple—nearly foolproof—once all the right pieces were in place.

  Except, she’d be here in Idaho when it went down. Could she live with herself if she wasn’t there when they finally put the cuffs on the guy who’d dogged her life for the last three months? With a raging blizzard outside, she had no choice. Besides, she’d promised to watch over Mitchell. Dragging him to L.A. would take him from the security of his home. Allison wasn’t willing to do that if she didn’t have to.

  When her sister’s new husband suddenly won an all-expense-paid, weeklong cruise, Allison had been the logical choice to take care of Mitchell. Their parents lived in Utah now, and didn’t do well in the cold anymore. Besides, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. After the chaos of the last three months, she’d needed a break.

  In reality, the timing was far from perfect. It seemed the hacker deliberately waited for her to leave D.C. before striking again, and now Northstar was in deep trouble. They’d been able to keep the press exposure under control thus far; now, the damage might be irreparable.

  She adjusted the water and soaped a washcloth. Standing naked in the shower, knowing Sloan was just downstairs, unnerved her. She rushed through her routine, her mind wrestling with the fact that the hacker had reached out with a threatening note. What did he want? Why target Northstar through her?

  Fifteen minutes later, she still had no answers, but returned to the kitchen more than ready for a cup of hot coffee.

  Sloan sat beside Mitchell at the kitchen table. Schoolbooks were stacked to the side, while Mitchell pointed at something on his computer tablet.

  Sloan glanced up and then at his watch. “That was fast.”

  Allison didn’t reply. He was right. She hadn’t bothered to dry her hair. Instead, she’d toweled off, and pulled her hair into a wet ponytail. It would still be damp by morning, but she wasn’t trying to look presentable. What was the point? She couldn’t compare to the women Sloan dated, and told herself it didn’t matter what he thought.

  She tapped Mitchell’s books as she passed the table. “Homework, kiddo.”

  “I was just showing Sloan this cool app I downloaded for checking the weather.”

  “I’m sure Sloan can see outside for himself.” She grabbed a mug with a logo that said “I’m not anti-social: I’m just not user friendly” and filled it. “Put the tablet away.”

  Mitchell’s bottom lip drooped, but he turned the unit off.

  “Thank you.” The smile she gave her nephew slipped when she turned to Sloan. “What did O’Neal say when you told him we can’t fly out tonight?”

  Mitchell gla
nced up expectantly.

  Sloan gave her nephew a sidelong look, then cocked an eyebrow in her direction. The silent signal was clear. What he had to say wasn’t for nine-year-old ears.

  She appreciated that Sloan had the foresight to protect Mitchell from the unsavory details that ofttimes permeated their job. “Mitchell.”

  Her nephew glanced between her and Sloan. “Aw…you’re gonna send me out of the room, aren’t you? I won’t listen. Promise. I’ll sit here really quiet and do my homework.”

  She shook her head. “You can do your homework upstairs.”

  “Okay.” His tone was more like a whine, but he swept up his tablet, and headed for the great room.

  “Homework. No games.” She jerked her head toward the stairway. “In your room.”

  Mitchell pulled a face, but didn’t argue. He veered toward the stairs.

  She listened for the squeak on the top step, which signaled he was far enough out of earshot. Then she slid into a chair across from Sloan. “Is the news from Northstar that bad?”

  Sloan took a sip of his coffee. “O’Neal’s not happy. The courts tossed out another case this morning. That makes two in as many days.”

  “Two?” A knot tightened in her stomach. This was her fault. “Which ones?”

  “Lorraine Voras’, today. Yesterday, Jessop was released from prison. He killed Orin Coles last night.” Sloan’s face darkened. “Riley and I were there when Jessop pulled a gun on us. We were lucky.”

  “Jessop’s dead?”

  Sloan nodded.

  “Are you and Riley okay?” She’d been down that road and wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Even Sloan.

  “We’re fine. Jessop missed.”

  “I’m glad he’s off the streets, but I’m sorry it went down like that.” She took a sip of coffee. “And Ms. Voras…are they dropping all the charges?” They’d worked for months on that case, gathering evidence on all the parties who’d committed blackmail to keep a senate bill from passing.

  “Charges are dropped on Voras. But her boyfriend is still in custody.”

  Her teeth clenched. This was the final straw. No more leaks. She wouldn’t let this hacker ruin her work or the firm. She stood. “I’ll get to work on the program right away.”