Dark Rules (The DARK Files Book 3)

by Vaughan,Susan

  Pulse thrumming in anticipation, he looked for Janna on the deck. When she waved from the flying bridge, his soul sang. Keeping his mind and hands off her for the next few days might kill him. When he tied up at the yacht’s stern, he congratulated himself on bringing the dinghy in smoothly. Especially in his delicate condition.

  The first things he saw were their swimsuits from last night. Seeming to mock him, they hung on the stern rail to dry. Janna must’ve done some diving to retrieve what he’d racked up as lost. He wouldn’t consider what else that meant.

  “That went well.” Janna met him on the afterdeck. She wore a swimsuit that covered up most of the eye-popping parts and her sleeveless white shirt, which hid the burn scars.

  He coughed, aiming for cool. “Not bad. Room to maneuver on both sides. Roszca’s not going to commit until he talks to all the contenders.”

  “He seemed closer to taking the bait on a race too.”

  “Wary son of a bitch. Circling the proposition to check all the angles. He didn’t reach the top of his game acting on impulse.”

  She sighed. “Too bad your tour didn’t take you into private quarters and the offices. I wish our electronics were picking up more juicy info than what’s on the dinner menu. I thought I heard a woman’s voice, but I wasn’t sure.”

  “I haven’t seen any females. The cook is male, but maybe the maids are women. Roszca’s musclemen ferry over a cleaning crew once a week from Montego Bay.”

  “Maybe.” She leaned a hip against the rail. The breeze lifted her hair. Strands caught in her mouth, but she didn’t seem to notice. “You arranged for more discussions in the next couple of days. That should give me enough time to find what we need in his computer system before we have to scram.”

  “How’s that going?”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off the corner of her mouth, where wheat-colored strands were caught. As if on its own, his hand reached out to tug the hair loose. His finger trailed across her cheek before he withdrew. Hands off, remember?

  She smiled and lowered her sunglasses. Her gaze held him. “Slow but sure. He has more firewalls than the NSA, but I’m getting there. Firewalls are just packet filters and can be bypassed using techniques like fragmented packets. Then once I break the password, I’ll send in a sniffer and—”

  His mind fogged. “Whoa, Q. That’s more techspeak than this boy’s brain can wrap itself around. Just go for it. Find the location of his nuclear material before he moves it.”

  She laughed, a husky refrain that curled around inside his chest. “I’ll get back to it now. Let’s go below. Jack Thorne’s waiting for you to check in.” She turned and ambled toward the companionway.

  Simon pulled his gaze from her swaying behind and stared at the deck. Why was she so damned cheerful? As if he hadn’t pushed her away after the best sex ever, after more than sex. As if his rejection bothered her less than a mosquito bite. His brow crimped.

  “What’s the matter?”

  He jerked to attention. “Oh, nothing, just planning my report.”

  She turned again, but waited at the companionway.

  He’d have to squeeze past her if she didn’t move, feel that tautly curved body against him, inhale her scent. “Ladies first.”

  She rolled her eyes, but started forward. When she stumbled at the lip of the opening, he put out a hand to steady her.

  “Thanks.” She beamed a smile over her shoulder.

  She seemed okay, but he kept a hand on the small of her back until she started down the short set of steps.

  Didn’t count as touching. He was just being a gentleman.

  Chapter 17

  AT THE HELM, Janna sent stealth UDP scans as part of her probe into their quarry’s household network. Concentrating was tough. Her pulse wouldn’t settle. She couldn’t help her constant awareness of Simon, beside her, as he reported to the CO. And she knew from his sideways glances that he was just as aware of her.

  A good reason not to give up on reaching him.

  Their lovemaking last night had given her more pleasure than she’d ever felt in Gabe’s arms. Simon’s uptight reaction convinced her he was trapped in the same kind of emotional prison as she was. He needed her, even if he didn’t know it. Their being together could be no more distracting from the mission than the magnetic field arcing between them already.

  They would walk away when their fling ended, that was a given. Normal for him. The prospect wrenched at her, but there was no other choice. She’d at least have good memories to replace the bad. And she’d have to keep reminding him of what he was missing.

  When he ended the secure transmission, he said, “Thorne wants you to put a rush on the hacking. He has three techs on board ready to copy the entire hard drive once you get in. There’s a rumor the nuclear material will be moved in a day or two, ready for the sale. Losing it could be disastrous.”

  “The so-called summit starts Thursday. We need to be out of here by Wednesday — that’s only three days. And Roszca’s not close enough to agreeing to a race.” She leaned back in her swivel chair. “I’m getting there. If I could insert an open-sesame monitor directly into his hard drive from any one of the stations, that would do it. Tonight—”

  He shot to his feet. “No. Uh-uh, no way. Tonight you’re playing Janna the boat bunny, not the spy. Don’t even think about putting your hot little hands on his computer. You could get us both killed.”

  She held up her hands in surrender. “You’re probably right. Guess I’ve broken enough DARK rules.”

  He flopped into the captain’s chair again. “Sorry, Q, but wild chances are out of the question. If this doesn’t work, we’ll find another way.”

  “You mean Roszca and his enriched uranium sale, not what secrets Gabe might’ve spilled.”

  He regarded her oddly, silently, as if weighing her words. “Once you crack the network, the techs will find out what Gabe revealed later. Finding the nukes is priority.”

  Priority for DARK, but she needed to know the full story on her husband’s nefarious activities. Essential for closing that book. Then maybe she could sleep soundly again. Maybe she could hear his name without feeling a tight pain in her chest. Maybe she could move on. But until she hacked into Roszca’s system, what Gabe had done was a moot point. Hands on the keyboard, she asked, “How much damage can a small amount of enriched uranium do?”

  “You mean you haven’t researched it?” He sent her a teasing smile.

  “No time. Had to refine my hacking skills.”

  “You’re in luck because I have. Depends on how small the amount we’re talking about is. Intel says Roszca’s stash is four or five kilos, or eight or ten pounds. Even so, five kilos could net him up to a hundred million in his private black-market auction. And five kilos is plenty to make a small nuclear bomb or arm a shoulder-fired missile.”

  “Or a dirty bomb?”

  “Death and destruction almost anywhere. If terrorists get their hands on nuclear weapons, no telling what catastrophes they could dream up. DARK’s immediate problem is that because of its density, five kilos of uranium takes up less room than a can of beer, even in a secure canister.”

  “Easy to transport.”

  “And we don’t know if a buyer might already have a stash to add it to.”

  Every aspect of this mission seemed more urgent with each passing day. Her shoulders quivered with a shudder. “I’ll probe more after lunch. You up for a sandwich?”

  “My stomach is scraping my backbone. Last night’s chicken should make dynamite sandwiches. I’ll slice.”

  Simon watched as she made her way through the saloon to the galley. The boat’s gentle rocking seemed to require more hip action when she walked. Not that he was complaining.

  At the steps that led down to the tiny galley, she stopped so suddenly that he nearly crashed into her. She leaned against the rail. “It feels good to kid around again, to be friends. Maybe being more than that wouldn’t w
ork for us, but we’re not as different as you think.”

  “What do you mean?” In his view, they were as different as Arabians and Holsteins.

  “Your mom wasn’t there for you, but neither were my parents. They’d dress me up to show me off at parties, but otherwise left me alone with my studies. They were distant, indifferent. Almost … ashamed. As though my intelligence were a dirty secret to keep in the closet.”

  “They didn’t get you.” His grin slid into a wistful smile. “No dirty secret, your brain is your secret weapon. The hottest geek I know.”

  “I’ve struggled to be taken seriously. People stereotype me by my outside.”

  “Beauty but no brains? That your reason for the goggles and the nun outfits, even after Gabe’s death?”

  “Partly. I wore the glasses through college and grad school, but dropped them once I established myself in DARK. Wearing them interfered with close work.”

  He reached up to flick the hair over her ear. The feathery strands slipped through his fingers. Mentally slapping himself for forgetting his hands-off rule, he jerked his hand away. Realizing that she no longer flinched when he touched her gave him an idea. “Gabe had you wear the bland outfits to keep men away. Then you chose to wear that armor for protection.”

  “Thank you, Simon, for getting me.” She stretched up and pressed her lips to his.

  The kiss shot a raw bolt of lightning through him. His lips tingled and his body tightened, even as she was pulling away.

  She beamed him a sunny smile, apparently unaffected. “One thing I missed about being friends was your riddles.”

  Riddles? He could barely get a grip on reality. But geek humor had kept the relationship light, just what he needed. “Um, how many software engineers does it take to change a light bulb?” Same old joke, but she’d never answered it.

  Mischief glinted in her beautiful eyes. “You can’t come up with a geek joke that’ll stump me. We techs trade them on-line every day.”

  “Quit stalling, Q. So how many software engineers to change a light bulb?”

  Smiling, she let her gaze meander meaningfully down his body. Her sultry regard enveloped him like a steam bath. “It can’t be done,” she said, with enough heat to thaw the galley’s Sub-Zero fridge. “It’s a … hardware problem.”

  His pulse took a thrill ride. He watched her dance away as if nothing had happened. Sizzling kisses. Double entendre in the geek riddle’s answer. Not what he’d had in mind to lighten things up.

  Just what did she have in mind?

  ***

  “Welcome to my humble home.” Viktor Roszca was resplendent in pale-yellow crepe trousers and a paneled dress shirt to match. Janna had expected a sophisticated world traveler to be beyond outdated Cleatian fashion. But no. He looked like an underworld character from another era.

  The gracious welcome came from his lips only. His sharp blue eyes had the mien of a hunter — merciless, cold and probing for weakness. As his gaze undressed her, she felt sullied and cheap in her slip dress, cut up to here and down to there, except where the high back covered the burn scars.

  She must’ve hesitated because she felt Simon’s hand at the small of her back giving her a slight push, as though to remind her that cheap was her persona.

  “Your house is beautiful.” She forced herself to smile at the man’s welcome. Later she’d be sure to wash off his sweaty handshake. For now, she folded her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking.

  “A high compliment indeed coming from such a lovely lady.” He preened as he shook Simon’s hand. “Do come into the living room. My chef has prepared appetizers and a rum punch.”

  She and Simon sat on a snowy damask loveseat as they chatted with their host. In his own way, Simon had the underworld look, though a trendier one. Black silk mesh shirt and white pants, woven slip-ons without socks. And, of course, the earring. Baltimore street tough goes South Beach. She would’ve giggled if his nearness didn’t have her on edge.

  He was constantly touching her with one hand on her back or her arm or her knee. Meaningless, only a demonstration of possession, she reminded herself. But she welcomed the solid and secure feel he gave her.

  “And what do you do all day, Janna,” Roszca asked, “while we men talk business?” He passed her a tall, frosty glass garnished with a pick of fruit chunks.

  Small sips of the powerful rum drink were all she allowed herself. She needed all her wits tonight.

  Simon squeezed her knee in subtle reassurance.

  She gave a toss of her head, channeling Deena. Her neighbor knew just what moves would show off feminine assets. “Oh, I’m a bit of an amateur bird-watcher. I’ve done some sketches of the pelicans and gulls.”

  “Janna’s a great artist,” Simon said. “You expect her pelican to splash into the water.”

  “That’s so not true, Simon. But thanks.” Pure hyperbole. With a pencil she wasn’t much, but DARK had insisted on a plausible, non-technical pastime in case she was noticed.

  “Sketching?” Their host gazed upward as if pondering the possibility. “I believe Stepan mentioned seeing a sketchbook on the yacht.”

  Her lower lip jutted out in a pout. “He tore one of the pages. I’d love to get a look at an orangequit. Are there any on Isla Alta?”

  Roszca regarded her with a patronizing smile. “Alas, I regret I know little about the wildlife here. But Ivan tells me hummingbirds come to the flowers in the courtyard.”

  “Ooh, there are three different species in Cuba and Jamaica. If you have hummingbirds, you must have wonderful flowers in your courtyard.”

  “I have several rare species,” the arms dealer said. “Cultivated, of course. Not wild, like your birds.”

  More compliments might win her a tour and access to computer terminals. With only three days left, she needed to get into that system, in spite of Simon’s dire warning. With all the rule breaking, she hardly recognized herself.

  As though he’d read her mind, he squeezed her knee. “Mr. Roszca is prouder of his small armada. His yacht’s horsepower rivals Horizon’s.”

  “Prowler is such a pretty boat.” She gave him a wide smile. “So big and sleek. I’ll bet she cuts through the water like a knife.” A careless wave of her hand jangled her clunky bracelet. One of the rectangular beads contained a miniature USB flash drive with her open-sesame monitor program. Undetectable in most cases. All she needed was a moment alone with one of the computer terminals.

  “What a coincidence,” said Roszca. “Simon and I have discussed the idea of—” He stopped suddenly and stood.

  She followed his gaze. A woman stood in the arched entry, a tentative smile on her delicate face. Dark-haired, she wore a hibiscus-pink strapless sarong-style dress that set off her vivid coloring and voluptuous curves.

  Was this woman Roszca’s wife? Research hadn’t mentioned a new wife since his third divorce. She looked in her early thirties, only a few years older than Janna, a couple of decades younger than Viktor Roszca. From the big man’s ardent reaction, not his daughter. A mistress then.

  Holding out both hands, he said, “Ah, my dear, I am so pleased you felt well enough to join us.”

  His profile was to Janna, but concern and something like warning flitted across his bold features.

  The woman took his hands and stepped into the room. “I want to meet our guests.” Her Cleatian-accented English was more hesitant than Roszca’s. “I so seldom see another woman.”

  “This is Yelena,” Roszca said. A minimal introduction, to Janna’s mind. “Simon is the man with whom I have been meeting this week. And Janna is his…”

  “Crew.” Simon stood and shook Yelena’s hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.” He stood aside for Janna to greet the woman.

  “How do you do?” she said. “Crew, yes. I do the navigation and some of the cooking. And … whatever else might be required.” She loaded the last words with innuendo and tucked her hand in the crook of Sim
on’s arm. He might’ve blushed.

  Roszca scooted a chair beside him for the newcomer. “Yelena has not been well, or you would have met her sooner. You will have her to thank for tonight’s excellent menu.”

  “You cooked for us?” Janna asked.

  Yelena held up a hand in denial. “Nich, I did not cook. Viktor’s chef is talented, but only at preparing the food, not the menu. How do you say—” She looked to Roszca.

  “Coordinating the dishes,” he finished for her.

  “Time is also a problem for him,” she said, her eyes downcast. “Dinner will not be ready for a little moment.” She twisted her hands together in her lap.

  Their host’s black brows drew together in displeasure. He rose. “I will go speak to him. Please excuse me.” A general’s set to his shoulders, he strode from the room.

  Yelena’s gaze followed him. She murmured a Cleatian idiom that Janna recognized as the equivalent of “Oh, dear.”

  She could only speculate about the reasons for the other woman’s concern. But with Roszca out of the room, she had her opportunity. “Yelena, would you mind directing me to the powder room?”

  At the woman’s confused expression, she wished she could speak in Cleatian. They might learn something key. “I need to freshen up. Use the toilet?”

  “Ah, I understand.” The young woman pushed slowly to her feet as if she were stiff. “Follow me.”

  Simon stood, but placed a hand on Janna’s arm. “You’ll come right back, won’t you.” His tone meant that it wasn’t a question or a request, but an order. No snooping allowed.

  She gave him an obsequious smile. “I’ll be back before you can miss me, honey.” As she turned her back, she could almost hear his teeth grind.

  Yelena led her down the hall. The two women’s heels clattered across the marble floor in staccato rhythm, echoing in the silence. True to Roszca’s word, none of the bodyguards was around. Janna fingered the flash drive on her bracelet.

  They passed a small sitting room. She recognized it as the game room where Simon and Roszca had played chess. A computer terminal sat on a Louis XIV-style table in the corner. The screensaver scrolled a field of stars.