by Leslie Jones
“Of course. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
To keep from dwelling too heavily on the night’s events, she took several deep breaths, calmed her mind, and began to mentally review the various hackers, crackers, and hactivists she’d gotten to know over the past nine years, groaning a little when she realized the number swelled quickly to well over a thousand.
Okay, let’s eat this elephant one bite at a time.
She could ignore the script kiddies. They were nuisances who used other people’s programs to cause mischief, like defacing websites or creating viruses. Sure, they could take advantage of security flaws to damage a company’s infrastructure, but they also left huge footprints in their wake, making them easy to track down and prosecute. None of them had the necessary chops to do what her nemesis had done. Assuming sixty percent of the community of computer enthusiasts never rose above the level of script kiddie, that left her with roughly four hundred names.
She could also cross off nation-state cyberthreats. China, Russia, North Korea, Iran. Their motivations ranged from cyber-espionage to theft of intellectual property to blind paranoia. To attacks against the US government, like the Office of Personnel Management and the Government Accountability Office. Economic espionage drove the destructive attacks against corporations like Westinghouse Electric Corporation and U.S. Steel. Both Germany and Turkey had been victims of cyberattacks that had caused massive damage to a steel mill and a gas pipeline.
She also dismissed those who launched denial of service attacks against business networks, which were designed to overwhelm and disrupt normal work operations. Further, she ruled out the hacktivists. They usually had political gripes or objections to commercial capitalism.
Okay, that left about three hundred and fifty.
She mentally eliminated those too young to be around when she was most heavily involved in the Darknet community. Ditto for those lacking the imagination and skills to diagnose not just the complexity of the tech but also the personality behind the code . . . her personality. That brought the number down to a hundred and seventy.
A honk outside sent her scrambling out the door. A dark red Ford Explorer idled in her driveway; Kaley leaned out the window and waved, then clicked the doors open. Lark climbed in, immediately noticing the butterfly bandages on Kaley’s cheek.
“Fuckers.”
“His ring cut me,” she said. “And I got some scrapes on my knees and hands. It could have been worse. We could have all been shot, like Mace was.”
“Mace was the only threat,” Lark said. “No offense.”
“No, you’re right,” her sister said. “So what exactly happened tonight? What happened to your face? Did one of those bastards hit you?”
Lark bit her lip. “Right now I barely know what’s happening. I need to figure some stuff out. Then I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”
Kaley frowned. “Mother’s worried.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Armed men took her daughter at gunpoint. Naturally she’s frantic.”
Had her sister met Isla Larkspur? Lark rolled her eyes and punched in her mother’s number. Mace would have to wait until her mother had been appeased.
“Hadley. Where on earth did you disappear to? The girls were babbling some nonsense about you being kidnapped. The police came.”
“Yes, mother, I know. It was a misunderstanding. A man wanted to meet with me, and his employees got a little overzealous. But everything’s fine.”
“What a relief. I’m disappointed in you, Hadley. Trust you to ruin Kaley’s wedding. Just like when you were six and gorged yourself on your sister’s birthday cake. You vomited all over her presents, if you recall.”
Lark gave an exaggerated sigh. “How can I not, when you remind me of it so often?”
“Don’t get fresh with me, young lady. Do you know how many hours I spent organizing the wedding of the year? All that’s wrecked now.”
“Sorry,” she muttered reflexively.
Her mother gave a disapproving sniff. “Peter’s father is announcing his candidacy for Senate next month. The entire family is under scrutiny. Please do your best to stay out of trouble.”
Familiar frustration bubbled up inside Lark. “I’ll let Kaley know how worried you’ve been.” She hit the end button with more force than necessary. The phone immediately vibrated, and the theme song to a video game started playing. She jammed the green button. “Trevor! Thank God!”
“What’s wrong?” His deep voice immediately calmed her.
“Oh, the usual. Embarrassing my parents. What’s that noise?” She could hear popping noises, and something that sounded like a car crash.
“Nothing important. Talk to me.”
She heard a rush of air and a grunt. A voice in the background shouted something she couldn’t understand. “Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick. Are you in a freaking firefight?” Her voice rose two octaves.
Humor flowed through the receiver. “Only a little one. I’m a tad pressed for time, though. What’s going on?”
“Um, it’s complicated.” How to condense the past ten hours into a few sentences? “When I called you, I was hoping for advice on how to interrogate a prisoner. Or come to London to hide out for a while. That’s all been, how do you always put it, overcome by events?”
Trevor paused long enough that Lark checked to make sure they were still connected. “Trev?”
“I take it this isn’t some big joke?”
“Wish it were. But my prisoner turned out to be a hero. He got shot trying to protect me, but he’s okay. He was wearing bulletproof clothes, if you can believe that.”
“Your prisoner. Saved you.”
“Well, sort of. I’m fine, though. But I’m really wondering how an Army soldier who works in logistics moonlights as a bodyguard? I mean, why else have bulletproof clothes?”
“Lark. What is this soldier’s name?” Trevor snapped off the words.
Lark’s shoulders hunched. She’d been stupid about this entire situation. “Staff Sergeant Thomas Beckett. Code named Mace.”
“Good. Happens I know him.” Trevor chuckled. “Our units have worked together in the past. He’s a good man. Quite the charmer with the ladies, though.”
Lark let out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “So he’s Delta Force?”
Something crashed in the background, and Trevor grunted. The line went silent for a few seconds. “Bollocks.”
“Trev? Are you . . . alive?”
He sounded out of breath. “Peachy. Anyroad, I can tell you Mace is well worth getting to know. Is it serious?”
Lark giggled. “I barely know him. Call me when you’re not getting shot at.”
“Will do. Cheers.” The line went dead.
She snickered, snorted, then threw back her head, hooting with laughter. Kaley glanced at her uneasily. She couldn’t stop, though. What rabbit hole had she fallen down? The entire evening took on a hazy, surreal air. Stolen millions, terrifying villains, threats of dismemberment, and her friend phoning her in the middle of combat.
“Lark, are you . . . okay?” her sister asked.
She hiccupped twice and sobered. “Not really, no. Somehow I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again.”
Chapter 19
Saturday, February 18. 7:30 p.m.
Extended Stay Hotel. Boston, Massachusetts.
More than an hour later, she parked her Jeep and trotted up to Mace’s hotel suite. He might still be at the hospital, but she needed to see for herself that he was all right. Maybe she could hang out in the hallway until he got back? Maybe one of his teammates would let her inside. Gathering her courage, she raised her fist and knocked.
The door flung open so abruptly it banged against the inner wall. Mace braced a hand on the frame, breathing shallowly, eyes wild. He focused in on her like a laser for half a heartbeat, then grabbed her and hauled her into his arms. He squeezed her so tightly she could barely breathe, but she wrapped her a
rms around his waist and held on just as strongly.
“You didn’t answer your phone,” he muttered into her hair. “I didn’t know . . . I thought . . . why didn’t you answer your phone?”
She pushed a wad of his T-shirt out of her mouth with her tongue. “I needed to see for myself that you were all right. I thought . . . I thought you were dead.”
“I thought you were,” he admitted. “God, you’re freezing.”
He pulled away from her abruptly. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her into his bedroom so quickly she barely registered the two other men in the living area.
“I’ve got her,” he tossed over his shoulder, kicking the door closed with a foot. He lifted her onto the bed, and dropped down beside her, scooping her into his arms again. She laid her head against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. He’d been worried. He wanted her here. His warmth surrounded her, unthawing her from the inside out.
“Was that your swim team?” She tried a chuckle, but it came out more of a soft whimper.
“Yeah. Want to tell me what—?”
“Wait.”
She pulled away and sat up, taking in the bandage on his head. Reaching out with a tentative hand, she touched it, running her fingers back and forth. “Take off your T-shirt.”
“I’m fine, Lark. I was worried about you.”
“I’m fine, too. So we’re both fine. Take off your T-shirt.”
Instead of doing as she bid, he tunneled both hands through her hair, probing gently. He stroked a finger across the cheek where Viktor Sokolov had slapped her, making a pained noise deep in his throat.
“Who hit you?” His low growl both alarmed and thrilled her.
“Later. I want to see your injuries.”
He moved his hands down her throat, hesitated at the tear on her dress, then continued down her shoulders and arms. He slid his palms around her waist, all with a touch so gentle she barely felt it. Her body reacted, though, skin tingling everywhere he’d brushed. When he dropped his eyes to her legs, she took the torn lace and tucked it out of sight.
“It looks worse than it is,” she said. “They didn’t hurt me. Not really. Now you. I want to see.”
He shook his head, capturing her gaze with his own. “I thought I’d lost you. Those men . . . how did you get away?”
She wasn’t ready yet to lay it all out. Instead, she gave in to the electric buzz being so close to him gave her. Her palm smoothed across his chest, following the ropes of muscle, then dropped to trace his six-pack abs with her fingers. The scrape of her nails against his heat sent shivers up her spine.
“I will. Tell you. Let me warm up first.”
She curled her palm around his ribs, reveling in the feel of steel under his skin. When she looked up, she saw the heat flaring in his eyes. He cupped her cheeks in his large hands, tilting her head toward him. He gave her every chance to stop him as he dipped his head. She met him halfway, fusing their lips together, feeling a rush of desire from her scalp to her toes. When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily.
Mace rested his forehead against hers, then raised it to press a kiss onto her forehead. “Now’s probably not the time. You’ve been through a trauma. Which you’ll tell me about right now.”
“Now’s the perfect time.” She twisted on his lap and flipped her leg over so she straddled him, balancing on her knees. “I’m a pretty tough cookie. Remind me to tell you later how I subdued a Mossad agent.”
His laugh sounded strained. “Are you sure?”
She answered the question by cupping his chin and kissing him, angling her head to touch her tongue to his. His breath hitched and he sucked it deeper into his mouth, tangling them together, arms coming up to stroke across her back. She moaned at the sensations, which burned hotter as he began to undo the tiny buttons at the back of her dress. Each fingertip became a match, each tiny lick of flame igniting her body. She arched slightly to press her aching breasts against his chest. He shuddered, arms tightening to lock them together.
She’d never been shy about sex. She knew what she liked, and how to get it. Sometimes a man would be put off by her confidence, but somehow she knew Mace would not be. She tilted her pelvis forward, gulping as she rubbed her core against the bulge stretching his jeans to the breaking point.
“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” he said, cupping her face and brushing his thumbs back and forth across her cheeks. “Like new leaves refracted through crystals. Gorgeous.”
A surprised giggle bubbled up her throat. “No one’s ever described them like that before. Huge, yeah. Cat’s eyes, yeah. And my lashes are so long people ask me if they’re fake every fucking day of my life.”
Mace traced a finger over her nose. “There’s nothing fake about you, belle nana.”
She rested her palms on his shoulders, rocking gently against his arousal. “Did you just call me a banana?”
He gave a wolfish grin, heated gaze dropping to her breasts. “More like hot chick.” He ran his palms up her ribs to either side of her breasts and cupped them, then leaned forward to pull a nipple into his mouth through her dress. A bolt of pleasure shot straight to her core. “A ver’ hot chick.”
“More,” she demanded, arching her breasts upward. She inhaled his clean male scent, running greedy fingers across his collarbone. They slid up the strong column of his neck of their own accord, delving into his hair. She ran her hands over the closely cropped sides and up into the longer blond hair atop his head. The strands felt unbelievably soft.
“God, that feels amazing,” he said.
She reached between them and stroked his erection through his jeans. “Now, Mace. I want you inside of me.”
“Not yet, belle.” He slid his huge hands under her hips and lifted, twisting them around to set her on the mattress, then slid between her legs to kneel on the floor. Looking up her body, he sent her a wicked grin. “I’ve been dying to do this since we danced.”
Her breath left her in a whoosh. “I’m all in favor . . .”
He pulled her bottom to the edge of the bed, opening her to him, and draped her legs over his shoulders.
“. . . of the idea,” she gasped.
Mace groaned. “Lawd have mercy. Red lace panties. You goan to kill me.”
“I might have maybe thought about you when I put them on. Maybe.” She hooked her fingers into the barely there lingerie and pushed. He helped her, pulling them down her legs and off. Settling her legs back onto his shoulders, she arched back, which thrust her breasts and her pelvis forward.
“I want to kiss you,” he said hoarsely. “Taste you. Touch you.”
She giggled. “All in favor, say aye. Aye.”
“Aye,” he whispered. He captured her gaze, holding eye contact right until the second his mouth met her warm, wet core. She shuddered as he kissed her, as he bestowed long, lingering licks and tiny nips that had her curling her ankles to pull him closer. Her breath came in uncontrolled pants as pleasure from his expert touch swirled and collided inside her. Her hands flailed and she finally gripped the comforter.
“Mace . . . Jesus . . .” she said, fighting for breath.
“Mmm-hmm?” He lifted his lids to watch her, not stopping, clearly enjoying himself.
“That’s . . . oh, sweet lord . . . don’t stop . . .”
“Not a chance, little bird.”
He found her sensitive nub, laving it with his tongue and teeth until she shivered and writhed, unable to stem the cries of pleasure bursting from her. His fingers delved into her folds, and he slipped one, and then two, into her slick channel. And just like that, she was in free fall, clamping down on him as her body shook with release. He kept stroking her, prolonging her orgasm, until she finally pulled away, laughing, and let her legs slide from his shoulders. She went limp, flopping her arms onto the mattress.
“Holy, holy hell. You’re like the world’s best male human at that.”
He laughed, rising up on his knees and placing his hands at
the tops of her thighs, stroking his thumbs along her sensitized skin.
“You’ve experienced the best female human?” he teased. “Or any female human?”
She narrowed her eyes, looking into the hot gleam in his. “Are you shitting me? You just got turned on by the thought of two women together.”
Without breaking eye contact, he brought his fingers up and sucked her juices from one, then the other. “Little bird, that is not why I’m turned on.”
Her lips parted on a satisfied sigh. “I can help with that.”
Chapter 20
Mace rose in one smooth move, cupping her buttocks in his large hands. Lark wrapped her legs around his waist as he reversed their position, sitting on the edge of the bed with her straddling him. He could barely move with his jeans trying to strangle his erection. It felt like an ice pick skewering him, but he was too much of a he-man to whimper.
The room lay covered in shadows under the faint moonlight. Shadows were good. The gloom would obscure the worst of his bruises. He wanted Lark’s full, undistracted attention. Her sweet scent surrounded him; he pressed his nose into the side of her neck and sucked her fragrance greedily into his lungs. She ran her tongue along the column of his throat and nipped at his chin as he unfastened the rest of those damned tiny buttons. Whoever designed those was a sadist.
“Just rip the whole thing off,” Lark said. “It’s not like I’m ever going to wear it again.”
“True, but I wan’ to take my time unwrapping my present.” He’d be damned if he’d rush this. He’d been walking around sporting wood ever since he met her.
Her eyes sparkled up at him. “Is it your birthday?”
“I’m saying it is.” He skimmed his hands up under her skirt, catching the fabric on his fingertips and tugging it upward. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the silky skin bared in tiny increments. “God, you’re gorgeous.”