by Misty Evans
“Ha! You don’t think the government does it any time they want? Besides, if he’s not up to anything illegal, the emails don’t come out. No harm no foul.”
For a second, Hope paused. What happened to this man that made him this way? That emotionally broke him down to such an extreme that he had an answer—and justification—for everything. Hope shook her head. “I don’t like it.”
“You’re the idealist. Not me. So, if you want to hang back and wait for probable cause to appear out of nowhere that’s fine. It’s your deadline. Not mine.”
Bastard. But good girls, perky, cheery girls, didn’t say things like that.
“Jerk!” she said.
The idiot gave her another of his infectious and highly irritating grins. “This is the world we live in, Hope. If it were different, I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing. I’d still be at ATF chasing down gunrunners.” He held his hands wide. “As they say, it is what it is. Now, am I calling Teeg and telling him to hack into Bigley’s emails or are we going to sit around with our thumbs up our asses?”
Cornered. If she said no, that deadline he’d given her might expire with them making no progress and Hawk would run a blog post asserting that the Chief Justice had been murdered. It would, no doubt, set off a wave of speculation and put every one of Turner’s opinions under scrutiny.
Or, she could agree to hack into Joel’s emails, possibly keep the story contained, and protect a good man’s body of work.
At least for a little while.
Ugh.
“Fine,” she said. “But I want copies of everything.”
Thirty minutes later, Hope sat on Hawk’s sofa mournfully scrolling through emails on her phone while he dealt with something on his computer. Her stomach howled and she checked the time. Twenty minutes until the food arrived. She could hold out for another twenty minutes. She simply needed a distraction.
Trivia Crack.
The world’s most accomplished distraction. That’s what she needed. Her mother had introduced her to the extremely addictive game and she’d just about burned through her phone playing. On the mornings she took public transportation it made the ride go so much faster. And even better, she got to play with other people. Some random, some not.
She tapped out of her emails and went to her apps. There’s my baby.
“Come on,” Hawk said, still staring at his computer screen, his voice a cross between this-is-unbelievable and don’t-mess-with-me.
He needed a break as much as she did. Yes indeed. Trivia Crack coming right up. A few taps later, she’d sent him an invite. Come on, fella, let’s play.
Being an obedient, lead-chasing guy, the minute the alert sounded he leaned sideways and tapped the screen.
“Hope,” he said, “are you fucking kidding me? A Chief Justice is dead and you want me to play a game? Focus here, woman.”
“That’s the problem. I’m starving, my sugar crashed and I can’t focus. Trivia Crack is therapy. If I play, it’ll distract me until the food arrives. Come on. We’ve been at it all day. One game won’t kill us. I can play alone, but it’s more fun with someone. Please.”
“No.”
She held her phone up, waggled it, then ran the tips of her fingers over the screen. “I think you’re afraid I’ll kick your butt.”
“Pfft. I was a History major. Honey, I’ll take you out in three seconds.”
“If you say so, Hawk. I doubt it though. I’m good, baby.”
Again she moved her fingers over the phone, up, down, up, down, up, down. Hormona let out a quiet whoop and as expected, Hawk’s gaze zoomed in on the motion of Hope’s hand.
Men.
So easy.
He laughed and swiveled to face her. “Two things here. One, I know what you’re doing and I won’t be manipulated. Two, you might be good, but I’m better. I have no doubt. If I agree to this half-assed challenge, it’s because I want to and not because you played me.”
Got him. Did the man honestly believe his own nonsense? She’d totally played him. Whether he wanted to admit it or not. Because, at his core, he was as red blooded as any man and with that, she assumed, came an inherent level of competitiveness no man could resist. Plus, men were horn dogs and she knew exactly where his mind had gone when he watched her fondle her phone. Easy. Peasy.
“Okay, Hawk. If you don’t want to, I’ll understand.”
For emphasis, she opened her eyes wide, blinked a couple of times and waited. Brice Brennan, a.k.a. Hawkeye, a.k.a. Hawk, was getting the full-on Hope Denby I’m-a-sweet-girl-and-am-totally-hornswoggling-you treatment.
If her luck held, he’d be a goner—destroyed—and give her anything she wanted.
He rolled his eyes at her and snorted. “Okay. Since you’re working so hard at this, I’ll take pity on you. Just don’t pout when I pound you into the ground.”
She punched her hands in the air. “Ha! Hold onto to your buns, big boy. You are going down.”
At that, he burst out laughing and like every other time she’d made him smile or laugh, it came like a lightning strike. Fast and dangerous and one that gave her a sick sense of satisfaction because she’d made this man, the one who was so serious and brooding, chill out.
He scooped his phone off the desk and moved to the sofa where they squared off at opposite ends.
“I’m assuming you know how to play,” she said.
“I’m familiar.”
“Wonderful. No learning curve. You’re up first.”
He leaned back against the cushion, stretched his jean-clad legs—nice, long legs, whoop!—out in front of him on the sofa and swiped at his screen. Nice fingers too. Almost graceful for a man who’d been in law enforcement. Hawk had a vibe to him. Alpha but not chest bumpy and...well...yummy.
He glanced up and grinned, slowly, fully understanding she liked what she saw and the girls in her uterus purred.
“Hope?”
Locking eyes with her, he blew a kiss that sent Hormona wailing. “Yes?”
He held the phone up. “U.S. History. You’re about to get screwed, sweetheart.”
If that announcement didn’t kill the mood... Hope narrowed her eyes going for her best venomous look. “Seriously? You got U.S. History?”
Taking way too much enjoyment in it, he laughed. “I did. I’ll make quick work of this and then we can get back to it.”
Suddenly, there was no woohooing from the girls.
Dammit.
Still facing him, she collapsed back into the cushion to wait her turn. And wait she did. Wait, wait, wait. When her turn finally arrived, she blew it on the second question. But hey, she never said she was an expert on Greek mythology. From there, it only took five minutes for him to leave her bloody, pulverized carcass sprawled across the battlefield known as his sofa.
“Too bad,” he said. “I’d hoped you’d have been a better competitor.”
And, oh, no he didn’t.
Wham. She kicked his foot.
“Ow.”
“Please. That didn’t hurt.”
“Don’t be a sore loser, Mary Sunshine.”
Oh, no, he didn’t again. “Two out of three hotshot. Let’s go.”
“No. You said one game. It’s not my fault I dominated and the food isn’t here.”
Bastard. He was just so good at throwing her words back at her. Something to remember about him. Reaching behind her, she grabbed the worn throw pillow and whipped it at him.
He caught it and whipped it right back nailing her on the side of the head. Not only did he decimate her at Trivia Crack, he had better reflexes.
“Just give up, Hope.”
“Ha! Never.”
She leaned over, scooped up the pillow and spotted his arms already twitching to deflect it. He thinks he’s brilliant. She set the pillow against her chest, folded her arms over it and waited. One, two, three. As soon as his hands settled back to his sides—now—she launched herself at him and started swinging. Just battering him with that pillow. Over and
over, from the right, from the left, above him, she walloped him.
“I never give up,” she hollered. “Never. I’d sooner beat you unconscious with a shovel than give up.”
But, oh, boy. He clamped onto her wrists and—whoopsie—off balance her body started to bow backward and she couldn’t have that. If he managed to bend her completely back, her body weight would take her down and he’d have the power position. Nuh-uh.
Pushing back, she maneuvered her legs, wound up with one on each side of him, giving her a solid base. Even still, he was stronger and had the leverage, but...hello...something—rather large—bulged against her inner thigh.
“Shit,” he said.
But the grin on his face was anything but shit-worthy.
Men.
Pigs.
But, she’d play. Why not? She’d utilize any advantage. “Well, well, well.” She rocked her hips against him. “What do we have here?”
Keeping a straight face had suddenly become a challenge for him and he gritted his teeth. “Jeez, Hope, knock it off.”
“I think not.” She met his challenging glare. “That’s quite the monster you got there, fella.”
“You are such a witch.”
His tone, though, was soft, playful, and he still hung on to her wrists and the whole episode brought another round of woohooing from the girls. And, God, she suddenly wanted sex. Fast, hard sex. Totally unusual for her, the good girl, who never rushed such things. No. The good girl wanted to make love to a man, this man, and feel something more than the physical act of it.
As usual, she wanted the fairy tale. Casual sex didn’t exist for her. It always had to mean something and just once, this one time, she wanted to not demand that of herself. Wanted to not crave the fairy tale. For once, she wanted a quickie for the sake of a quickie. Nothing more, nothing less.
But good girls didn’t do that.
She didn’t do that.
Finally, he let go and no… The connection was so fierce and...well...hot she didn’t want to lose it.
She kissed him. Just unleashed on him, stretching her body on top of his, letting her much smaller frame mold against the hard angles of his and devouring his mouth as his erection bulged against her lower belly and a good, swarming burn stormed her. He locked his arms around her, clamped his hand over her rear and pulled her tighter against him and...oh my...he felt...big.
Yikes. What a thought.
Woohoo!
Too long. It had been way too long since she’d felt this way. So, so, good. She shifted one leg, rubbed it along the inner curve of his thigh and—yes, indeed—they were a nice fit.
At least until the doorbell rang.
Say what?
“Son of a bitch,” Hawk muttered against her mouth.
She backed away. “Food.”
“Yep.”
The doorbell rang again, this time three successive chimes. Apparently the driver was in a hurry. He wasn’t the only one.
Dammit!
Hawk wiggled out from under her and pointed. “Don’t move. Stay right there. I’m gonna take care of this and we’ll get back to business. How hungry are you?”
“Starved! Seriously. I have to eat.”
He stalked to the door. “Okay. Okay. Fine. We eat and then…” he waggled his hand.
Ripping the door open, he threw some bills at the driver and snatched the bag. “Keep the change.”
The kid glanced down at the wad of cash in his hand. “Twenty dollar tip? Dude...thanks!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hawk said. “Merry Christmas.”
He shut the door on the kid still standing on the porch. Mr. Charming.
“Well, that was kind of rude,” Hope said.
With his free hand, Hawk pointed at his crotch. “And what? I’m gonna stand there and chat with this guy raging?”
Before Hope could answer, Hawk’s phone went off. The theme from Batman echoing in the room.
He shoved the bag at her then adjusted himself. “Can you deal with the food? This is Teeg. I can’t believe I need to talk to him in this condition. Kill me now.”
Chapter Nine
What a difference forty-eight hours could make.
Secrets could be exposed. Careers ruined. Leaders toppled. Sometimes killed.
Brice’s neat, orderly, safe world could turn upside down.
Not because the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court had been murdered on a bridge or the possible conspiracy behind it was looking more and more like the truth, but because of one short, scrawny, female who thought she could beat him at a trivia game.
And get him to lose control on his own goddamn couch in his own goddamn house.
Timing was everything. In the world of scandals and scoops but also in a world of Hope Denby on his couch, ready to do more than kiss.
Thanks a lot, Teeg, for ruining my night.
The food bag rattled behind him as Hope dropped it on table next to the couch, her starving stomach apparently forgotten in the face of new information.
Brice checked his watch. An hour and twenty since he’d put Teeg on Bigley’s case. Teeg was fast, but when hacking the Supreme Court’s internal communications, Brice had figured it would take the black hat a little longer. He clicked on and glanced back at Hope, putting Teeg on speaker phone. “What’cha got, man?”
Hope’s hair was disheveled, her cheeks flushed, her shirt slightly askew, giving him a wicked view of the sweet mound of her left breast.
“Grey wants to know if you even looked at the files I sent you,” Teeg said.
“Huh?” Brice snapped his attention back to the phone. “Been a little busy. Did you find anything interesting on Bigley?”
“Grey said I can’t give you any more info until you give him something.”
Goddammit. Brice dropped into his office chair and quickly called up the first file. He’d already scanned through all three and made a few notes. It had taken him five minutes. “Case 901-A, check the ballistics report on the senator’s gun, cross match with his wife’s. Something doesn’t add up and I’m guessing either the reports were fudged or she swapped out the guns. Case 68-XT, the snitch has to be CIA or Homeland. Need to track him or her down. They’re throwing suspicion off themselves and onto the FBI. Again, something stinks in Denmark. And the third case is a non-case. There’s nothing there except a bunch of random facts that don’t add up to anything concrete. I can’t even make up a conspiracy on that one.” He paused. “For the record, I’m not helping with any more cases. Period. Now, tell me about Joel Bigley.”
Teeg chuckled, then got down to business. “Big shot with a silver spoon in his mouth, which you’ve already guessed, no doubt. Lawyers and politicians—my two least favorite forms of humanity, if you consider either group human—and he’s from both. Long line of politicians on his father’s side, lawyers on his mother’s. A few dabbled in both professions. Joel graduated from law school with all the accolades, although I did break into Harvard’s data bank and read through his profile. He had a sealed file that had to do with cheating on a term paper. Harvard slapped him on the wrist and buried the episode thanks to a large cash donation from the guy’s grandfather. Other than that, the kid is clean. I checked his emails like you wanted. His Supreme Court account email was pretty boring stuff, although I flagged one I thought you might look into. Seemed a bit suspicioso, if you know what I mean. I’m still working on all of his personal accounts. He has like ten of those.”
“Ten?” Hope was suddenly by Brice’s shoulder and munching on an eggroll.
A long pause from Teeg. “Do you have a cold? For a second, I thought you sounded like a woman.”
“Hope Denby,” she volunteered before Brice could answer. “I’m with the Public Information Office of the Supreme Court. I’m investigating Chief Justice Turner’s death with Hawk. Nice to meet you, Teeg.”
“Ho-kay, then.” Another seemingly confused pause. “Are you actually inside Brice’s house?”
“Yeah, I know. Crazy, ri
ght? Mr. Paranoid Conspiracy Theorist allowed another human to step into his cave.”
“Wow, forgive me. I have to wrap my brain around this. The earth is suddenly turning backward on its axis.”
“Ha, ha.” Brice cleared his throat. “Can we stop discussing me and get back to Bigley?”
“Right.” Keyboard clicking sounded from Teeg’s end. “Bigley likes the ladies. He belongs to at least eight hookup sites, some on the Deep Web, and he has a corresponding email for each site to keep them straight, I guess.”
“Dating sites?” Hope asked. “Like Match.com?”
“Not exactly…” Teeg’s voice trailed off as though he were reluctant to explain.
Brice came to his rescue. “Hookup sites, Hope. One-nighters. One hour, even.”
Her eyes widened and her brows shot up to her hairline. “He’s paying for sex? Eww!”
“Not paying,” Teeg said. “These are adult sites where people find a consenting sexual partner for an encounter. Most of his are straight, run-of-the-mill hookups. Others, like those on the Deep Web are…a little outside the box.”
Hope scrunched her brows. “Deep Web?”
The Deep Web or Dark Web is what lays under the surface web of what normal people call the Internet. It’s a vast network said to be up to five hundred times larger than the normally defined World Wide Web. Certain subgroups, like hackers and whistleblowers like Brice, used it for its enormous stores of information and its highly prized anonymity.
But certain other subgroups also loved the anonymity.
Child pornographers, drug dealers, human traffickers—the illegal activities are endless. A source for anything you want can be found in certain segments of this lawless, shady, and dangerous Wild, Wild West version of the Internet.
“I’ll explain later,” Brice said to her. To Teeg, he said, “So kinky stuff?”
Hope repeated her “eww!”
Teeg chuckled again, the sound a little strained as if covering for his uncomfortableness. “The worst I’ve seen so far is LARPing.”
“Role-play?” Hope asked.