Edge of Honor: An EDGE Security Novel

by Loye, Trish

  Her face flushed with heat, but she refused to drop her gaze. “I’m just thinking that clothing would be useful when we go looking for this man.”

  As he stood, the bare skin of his chest flashed by her gaze. She blinked and found herself staring at the place where his skin met towel. Jeez, the man had an eight-pack. Her fingers itched to trace the ridges of muscle on his stomach.

  “Whatever you say, Sherlock.”

  His words made her drag her gaze up to his, past that broad expanse of hard chest. “Pardon?”

  He smirked. “I need to go to my room to get proper clothes,” he said.

  The bug on the desk lifted slightly.

  Cold reality swept over her, cooling any desire. “Looks like I’m coming with you,” she said.

  He put on his running clothes for the trek to his room. She waited while he packed his things and they went back to her room, all the while the electronic bug on her shoulder making her skin crawl. She chucked it onto the desk with a shudder as soon as they entered the room.

  While Jack changed in the bathroom, she put together a basic profile on Anderson. Dr. Peter Anderson was an American who worked for a large tech company in Silicon Valley. He wasn’t married and had just been promoted to head of his department.

  She read about his main research for the company and swore.

  “What?” Jack said, coming and reading over her shoulder. “His expertise is in non-nuclear electromagnetic pulse devices. What the fuck are those?”

  “Shit. Shit. Shit,” she said. How had this man not been on their list? She opened her file and read. “He’s at the conference for superconductor resistors.” That’s why he hadn’t been on their list. “But those resistors would be very useful in a bomb like this.” She knew she was acting crazy, speaking half her thoughts out loud, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Bomb? Okay, Sherlock. Take a breath and tell me what this is.”

  “We are in serious trouble.”

  “Why? What are these pulses? Are they like a nuclear bomb?”

  She nodded. “A bit. EMP bombs were first discovered as a byproduct of setting off a nuclear bomb. It’s an electromagnetic pulse that fries all circuitry in its path.”

  “So this isn’t a nuclear weapon he’s creating.”

  “No, it’s non-nuclear. Which means no radiation and it won’t kill people outright, but everything electronic will be dead.”

  He frowned. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  She shook her head, panic rising inside her. She paced. “It’s bad. It says he’s made small handheld EMP bombs. Ones that can be fired from a rocket launcher into the atmosphere. Their effect could cover hundreds of square miles.” She thought for a moment. “He just needs it to be a certain height above a city.”

  “He?”

  “Spider. A certain height will allow the whole city to be blanketed by the pulse.”

  “Give me more info, Charlie. Tell me what has you so freaked.”

  Was she freaked? She ran a hand over her head and then tugged on her ponytail. Okay. She was freaked.

  “If what I read is correct, this guy has the ability to make an EMP bomb that could take out a city.”

  “Then what happens,” he said slowly. “A blackout?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “But way worse. Anything with any electrical circuit will be fried. All electrical power, computers, lights, generators, appliances, planes in the air, cars in the street, traffic lights, hospitals. The initial death count will be high.”

  Jack stared at her, as if trying to comprehend. “And they won’t be able to get the power back on, will they? It still doesn’t sound that bad.”

  “No. Everything with circuits will need to be replaced. No heat, lights, refrigeration, water pumping…no anything. Any cars with electronics will die. Getting out will be next to impossible. The city will be in the Dark Ages in less than a second. It could take weeks for people to get into the city to put it to rights. Until then starvation, disease, and chaos rule.”

  A muscle leapt in Jake’s jaw. “And what if he does more than one city at a time?”

  She lifted her eyes to Jake. “It’s not just that. This isn’t just an EMP bomb, it’s an EMP amplifier. What happens if you attach it to a low-grade nuclear weapon? Something that already has a decent EMP, like the ones the North Koreans have been testing? Set it to detonate at the right height in the atmosphere and it could take out a whole country at once.”

  14

  “We can’t turn this over to Spider,” Charlie whispered to Jack. “We can’t. It’s too powerful.”

  The room phone rang.

  She jumped. It rang once more before she picked it up. “Yes?”

  “Do you need another demonstration of what will happen to your aunt if you disobey me?” the many voices of Spider said.

  “No,” she said shortly. “Don’t touch her.”

  “Then do exactly as I ask. You have until nine tonight.”

  The line went dead.

  “Did the bastard say anything new?” Jack asked, his face grim.

  “No.” She sat back at her laptop. “Let’s figure out how we’re going to get this guy’s blueprints.”

  “Why don’t I go run surveillance on him, while you do your computer sleuthing? As long as you promise not to leave this room.”

  The phone rang.

  Jack cursed, strode to it, and picked it up. “What?”

  He listened with a scowl on his face. “Fine.” He slammed the phone back down.

  She didn’t say anything because she knew who it’d been on the phone and what the bastard had said. She packed up her laptop and shoved it into her messenger bag. “Let’s go,” she said. “Surveillance first, then research, and after we decide on a plan. It’s lunchtime. There’s a keynote on. He’ll be in the ballroom with everyone else.”

  As they moved to the door, a slight movement out of the corner of her eye stopped her. The micro-bug hovered in the air. Fuck.

  She carefully plucked it out of the air and stuck it on the collar of her long-sleeved T-shirt. “Does it look like I have a surveillance bug on my shirt?”

  Jack shrugged. “Could be a geeky brooch. It works.”

  They left the hotel room and Jack reached down out of sight of the bug and squeezed her hand. He didn’t look at her while he did it. It tugged at her heart when she squeezed back.

  He dropped her hand and strode ahead of her to the elevator. On the first floor they entered the ballroom and stood by the door, searching the room for Dr. Anderson.

  Round tables seating about ten people each and covered with white tablecloths packed the room. Some people had to turn sideways to thread their way between chairs. Along one side were two long tables with sliver trays heated by small flames in metal burners below them. Lines formed on either side of both tables.

  The smell of food filled the air. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten any breakfast. She’d been too nervous this morning to even take a bite of the breakfast sandwich she’d ordered.

  “There he is,” Jack said gruffly, using his chin to nod to the side of the room with the buffet. “I recognize him. He was in the group talking to Dr. Douchebag at the meet-and-greet that first day.” He paused. “He seemed like not a bad guy.”

  Their target stood in the lunch buffet line, spooning something onto his plate. He wore a plaid shirt and khaki pants, with a leather satchel slung across his chest. “The bag probably has his laptop,” she said.

  “You hungry?” Jack asked her.

  “Starving,” she said. They strode to the line, grabbed plates, and put some food on them. Dr. Anderson stood by the dessert table filling a second smaller plate with pastries and small slices of cheesecake. He paused only once to encourage a woman to go ahead of him. Once he’d filled his second plate, he hailed an older Asian man in a suit jacket and sat at a table with him.

  She and Jack followed at a discreet distance. Jack took a place at a table just behind their target,
one where they were close enough to overhear any conversation. Dr. Anderson placed his bag on the floor.

  Charlie eyed the distressed brown leather satchel as she ate. Too unique to do a quick snatch and walk away with it. They’d have to steal the laptop that she was almost one hundred percent positive was inside.

  Jack leaned close. “Hey, master spy. A word of advice, you might not want to stare at him the whole time.”

  She snapped her gaze to his, his hazel eyes close and sparking with amusement. “I was thinking.”

  “Yes,” he whispered, then looked around. “And everyone who saw you knew you wanted that bag.”

  “Maybe I think it’s fashionable.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Just tell me your thoughts.”

  She glanced down at her pin as it moved on her shoulder. Obviously for the micro-camera inside to get a better look at her face.

  “Stop that,” she said, and glared right at it. “If someone notices this moving on me, it’ll attract attention.” She looked back at Jack. “I am so glad I didn’t add a voice transmitter to the prototype.”

  She tried to ignore the bug and focus on the task. “We can’t just grab his bag and walk out,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  She blinked. “While I’m pretty sure his laptop is in it, it’s quite a distinct bag. I can’t imagine anyone not noticing you taking off with it.”

  He chuckled. “You have a lot to learn. Come with me.”

  * * *

  Jack knew Charlie wanted to protest leaving their target, but he had a simple idea that he was pretty sure would work. He pulled her outside the ballroom, grabbed her hand, and pulled her down an empty hall away from the open area in front of the ballroom.

  He faced her and almost smiled at her scowl. Then he studied her. “It would be better if you were wearing a skirt,” he said. “You’ve got great legs.”

  She blinked, and he could tell he’d flustered her. “Take your hair out of the ponytail.”

  She hesitantly reached a hand up to her hair. “What?”

  “We’re going to make you look sexy so you can distract Dr. Anderson.” He eyed her clothes. A long-sleeved T-shirt that had a few buttons near the top. Nothing overtly sexy, but…

  “I have an idea,” he said, pointing at her shirt. “Do you mind?”

  “Mind?” She stood before him with her hands in her hair while she took her ponytail out.

  “You seem to be losing your ability to speak, Sherlock,” he whispered. He pulled up the end of her shirt and she squeaked.

  He chuckled. “Relax.” He tied a knot on one end, so a bare strip of her midriff showed. Her skin called to him and he wanted to run his fingers over it, to test the softness, but he clenched his jaw and stepped back. “Undo a few buttons,” he ordered. God, this was getting hard. He was getting hard.

  Focus on the job.

  Her eyes widened. Maybe at his gruff command, maybe in surprise. So he stepped toward her. “He could leave at any moment.”

  She jerked away and undid the buttons. His throat constricted as more bronzed skin showed. Ah, fuck. What was he doing to himself? He coughed. “Okay. Now mess up your hair.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Mess my hair?”

  This time she had nowhere to go when he stepped forward. He knew she could do this part herself, but he wanted to put his hands into that dark mass. He threaded his fingers through the midnight tresses and almost groaned as images of her with her hair trailing down over her breasts popped into his head.

  Fuck, there was nothing sexier than a woman with hair mussed up, as if she’d just come from bed. And she hadn’t been sleeping.

  He spread the silky strands over her shoulders and then threaded his hands through again, this time pressing his fingertips to her scalp in a caress as he lifted and arranged her hair.

  Her eyes closed briefly as he stroked her hair, like a cat being petted. He smiled in satisfaction. “You’re not immune to me, Sherlock,” he whispered quietly, hoping the damn bug didn’t pick up on his words.

  Her eyes popped open. “Every woman likes when someone plays with her hair.”

  He nodded and continued touching her. He knew they didn’t have time, but he just wanted a few seconds more. Her eyes drifted shut again and he longed to kiss her, but that was crossing the line.

  It was time to stop.

  He stepped back and pretended to survey the results of his efforts, but really just drank in the sight of her.

  “So do I look sexy?” she asked in a low voice that had his blood surging.

  He’d always preferred a woman in simple jeans and a T-shirt to fancy designer clothes or dresses. And this was why. Her hair fell in messy waves over her shoulders and a hint of cleavage showed with the unbuttoned shirt. Her jeans showcased an ass that demanded his touch, while the tantalizing glimpse of her taut stomach left his mouth dry.

  “You’ll do,” he said. His voice came out low and rough. Her lips quirked in a small smile like she knew what she did to him. Maybe he’d loosed a monster. “Now go distract those men.”

  Her smile disappeared. “How do I do that?”

  He laughed. “Stand in front of them, Sherlock. They’re not going to be able to notice anything else. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  It was nice that Jack thought she could just stand in front of Dr. Anderson and he’d just forget everything around him, but she knew better. She’d never been the type of woman who affected men that way. She had to have a plan. She bit her lip as she followed Jack to the ballroom.

  He glanced back and emitted a small groan. “Yes, do that.”

  “What?”

  “Bite your lip,” he almost growled. “It makes a man think about biting it for you.” He strode off again. “And doing other things.”

  Her lips? She looked down at herself. A few buttons undone and a bit of skin showing and this was supposed to distract the men at the table?

  They’d almost made it to the ballroom entrance when Cat came out. She stopped when she saw Charlie and her eyes went wide. She scowled. “Enjoying your time off?”

  Cat had the right to be angry with Charlie for ditching the op, but that didn’t justify Cat’s snide comment. Charlie had had enough of being judged.

  Her chin lifted. “Yes,” she said as haughtily as she could. “Excuse us, we need lunch to keep our strength up.”

  Jack snorted softly and followed her into the ballroom. “Nicely done, Sherlock.”

  But it didn’t feel well done. She’d seen the slash of hurt in Cat’s eyes at her words. She wanted to go back to her friend to confess everything and beg her to understand.

  But she couldn’t. She didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself. Her aunt needed her.

  Jack squeezed her hand, as if he knew what she was thinking. “It’ll be okay,” he said.

  God, she wanted to believe him. She exhaled slowly. Time to focus.

  “You ready?” he asked, his face serious. “I just need them distracted for a moment. You go by the front of the table and I’ll go by the back.”

  “Okay,” she said. Almost all the chairs in the ballroom had been filled by this point. A general din of conversation and the clinking of silverware covered their conversations. Charlie moved toward Anderson’s table and checked for the satchel. She couldn’t see it.

  Her stride faltered. How would Jack grab the bag if it was under the table? She changed course without looking back. Time to improvise.

  She moved close to Anderson, slowly scanning the area as if looking for someone. She bumped into his chair. He grunted in annoyance and looked up at her, his eyes widening before they slid down her chest to her stomach and then back up, lingering on her chest a second time. Maybe Jack had been right.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I was looking for my friend. She’d saved me a seat.” She stood on tiptoe looking forward and wobbled a bit closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually so clumsy. It must be the
tight quarters.”

  “That’s alright,” he said. He shoved his chair to the side and she spotted the satchel by his feet. “Please, take your time.”

  “Aren’t you sweet?” she said, and stood on her tiptoes near him again. She could almost feel him ogling her chest in the T-shirt drawn tight by the knot. She took the moment to hook the satchel with a foot and slide it to the side and toward her slightly. It should be visible now when he moved his chair back in.

  She hoped.

  “There’s an extra chair at our table,” he said. “Please sit. I’m sure you’ll find your friend after.”

  “Thank you,” she said. The chair was three people away on the opposite side of the bag, but maybe she could keep their attention long enough to let Jack slip in and out.

  But Anderson had other ideas. “David, be a gentleman and move over. Let the lady sit here.”

  David who’d been torn between eating his eggs and studying her midriff, frowned. “But—”

  “Now, David.”

  David harrumphed and picked up his plate, moving to the empty seat. Charlie settled herself into the chair beside Anderson. The satchel was on the other side, so she could no longer reach it with her foot to move it. Hopefully she’d moved it enough for Jack to snag, though how he was going to when the room was this packed she had no idea.

  A quick glance showed Jack leaning against the back wall and scowling. She barely refrained from scowling back. What was she supposed to do? Let the bag stay hidden under the table?

  She smiled at Anderson. Time to be a distraction. “I’m Charlotte,” she said. She didn’t use a fake name, because for all she knew, this man had come to her talk.

  “I know,” Anderson said, smiling. “You made an impressive presentation the other day.”

  “Thank you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack begin to move. She deliberately focused on the man in front of her.

  “I’m Peter,” he said, holding out his hand.

  She shook it, deliberately making her wrist limp and grip weak. Nothing to fear or suspect here.