by Renee Rose
Something tightens in my solar plexus as the torment of that particular trauma tries to come out. I suck in deep breaths. No fucking way I’m going to start bawling in Jackson King’s car. Damn him for dragging this out of me.
“Hey.” He releases my hand and contorts his arm to push on my solar plexus, the way he did in the elevator. “You’re okay.” He starts to pull over, and I shake my head.
“No. Keep driving. It isn’t the car,” I choke.
“Tell me the rest,” he demands. His voice is hard, like he’s suddenly furious. At what, I can’t fathom.
I shake my head. “Drop it.”
“Not going to happen. Tell me, or I’ll pull over and help you, baby.”
I had no idea what help you meant, but I didn’t want this to be a big deal. “Something bad happened. Right before,” I blurt.
His hand tightens on the steering wheel.
“Not what you’re thinking.” I realize he might be going with some sex abuse or child molestation thing because his face turned absolutely murderous.
“Not sexual.” My throat works. “I saw a murder.”
Murder. The word has a jagged edge to it that charges the confined space of the vehicle with danger. The danger I’ve been in ever since that night. “I had to stay hidden. And then, afterward, I couldn’t find my way out. I guess shock confused me.”
Jackson curses. “How old were you?”
“Sixteen.” A year after I hacked SeCure and thought I was the smartest girl in the universe.
He eases the pressure off my sternum and slides his hand behind my head. “Thank you for telling me.”
I roll the window all the way down and let the rain pelt my face, hiding the rogue tear that slipped out. Actually, unbelievably, I feel lighter. Like speaking the words freed the lock on the darkness I trapped in my chest eight years ago. It lifts from me, still hanging in the car, still sobering and depressing but less intense. I imagine it getting sucked out the window, back to the ether. Whatever ether is.
“I’ve never told anyone,” I say finally, my voice slightly raspy from the withheld tears.
“Now you have.”
A deep sense of comfort settles over me like a blanket. For the first time in years—since my mom died—I don’t feel like I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. Alone. Someone shares my secret, and the world hasn’t imploded.
Not yet, anyway.
Maybe I’ll pay for this later. I lean my head back against the headrest, cooled by the splattering of rain, soothed by the shush of Jackson’s wipers.
He pulls up in front of my house. “See you tomorrow.”
For one moment, I consider running again. I’ve done the right thing by giving Jackson the thumb drive, but if things are going to get hot, if the blackmailers are going to call the FBI, it would be better for me to leave town.
Except the thought of not seeing Jackson tomorrow is too much. I push open the door and step out. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
~.~
Jackson
I’m stunned by my need to protect Kylie. I want to slay every dragon that ever showed its teeth to her. To fix the wrong she suffered. And I must be crazy because, as soon as I get home, I research her, checking law enforcement and social work databases with her name and social security number. Not surprisingly, I find nothing.
The name and social she used on her employment application was probably falsified. A girl like her, a hacker of her caliber, would have the ability to create believable false identities. She could access any Department of Motor Vehicle, the Bureau of Vital Statistics. The power she could wield is stunning. And yet she never stole anything from my clients when she’d hacked SeCure. It was a game. She was just a kid.
Whatever her story, her life hasn’t been easy. No teen walks away from witnessing murder without some scars.
I should know.
Not satisfied, I vow to keep digging until I find out exactly what happened to my little hacker. But, for now, I have something far more pressing to research. On a power-washed laptop I keep solely for testing code, I open the thumb drive and study the malware Kylie was supposed to infect SeCure with.
It doesn’t make sense to me, so I start brainstorming what angle they’re going for.
And wish I’d let Kylie stay so we could look at it together.
Tomorrow. In a public place where I’m less tempted to touch her. Tomorrow, we’ll work on it together.
I don’t question the rightness of the way that feels, because nothing about Kylie’s effect on me makes sense.
Only Kylie. Kylie alone makes sense to me.
~.~
Kylie
The lights are on in the little house we rented near the university. I chose that locale because it’s hip and there are plenty of restaurants and shops within walking distance. I always pick places where it’s easy to blend in.
“Mémé?” I push open the door and then stop. Something feels off. Hairs prickling on the back of my neck, I step in, trying to identify what’s different.
Nothing seems out of place.
“Mémé?” It comes out sharp, and I hope she’s not in bed already.
I look around the kitchen and see unpacked grocery bags on the floor. Alarm bells go off full force.
My phone rings. I dig it out of my pocket and stare at the words number blocked. Normally, I would never answer, but something’s not right, so I swipe the screen and put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“You did not follow our instructions.” The voice is computer generated. A surge of anger rips through me.
“Fuck your instructions.”
“We’re fucking your grandmother. You should have done what you were told.”
Ice floods my veins. I sway on my feet. “Mémé?” I scream, running through the house.
“Install the code, and you’ll see the old lady again.” The call ends before I can rip them a new one. I’m not sure what I would have said. Most likely, I’m going to kill you motherfuckers!
My hand shakes with fury as I race through the house again. Of course, I know it’s fruitless. She’s gone. They have her. And I have no choice but to bring down Jackson King’s multi-billion dollar empire to get her back.
I want to retch. And scream. Mostly, I’d like to get my hands on whoever thought kidnapping an old lady was a good idea and ram a meat tenderizer down their throat.
5
Kylie
I’m sorry, Jackson.
My crush-induced idiotic decision to go straight to Jackson instead of getting the hell out of Dodge with Mémé last night has more than backfired.
I placed the one person I love, the only family member I have left, in terrible danger. I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to her. So, despite the compelling moments I’ve had with Jackson King, despite my desire to make a genuine connection with him, to trust he could bridge the giant gap I’d set up between myself and the rest of the world, his company will be going down by my hand. Mémé is more important.
I have to get the thumb drive back from him without arousing suspicion. I decide to go with direct.
It’s definitely a Chucks day. Wearing a short jean skirt, an anime T-shirt and my black sparkle Converse, I march into SeCure at 6:45 a.m. I figure it will be open, and I’m banking on Jackson being in early to stay on top of the threat. I take the stairs to the eighth floor.
The lights are off, doors locked. I plop down on the floor in front of Jackson’s office, lean my back against his door, and pull out my personal laptop. I’m out of things to research—I stayed up all night trying to trace the blocked phone number from the threatening call to an IP address, but haven’t locked it down yet.
How did they find me? I’ve been so careful, all these years.
The elevator dings. I look up from my screen, fingers still flying over the keyboard, seeking data strings.
Jackson stops when he sees me. “Couldn’t sleep?”
I scramble up to my feet. “
Nope. You?”
“Not at all.”
“What’d you find?” I’m going with the let’s pretend we’re allies and in this together tactic. He lifts a brow to let me know I’m out of line. He’s in charge, and we’re not a team. “Sorry. Am I supposed to kiss your ass and call you Mr. King at work?”
“I liked when you called me sir,” he says, unlocking his door and stepping past me.
“I’ll bet you did,” I mutter, the memory of his dominant handling of me last night flooding back. I trail in behind him, making myself at home in his ginormous office by plopping down in a chair and pulling my laptop back out. “I brought my personal computer to load the malware. I’d like a chance to study it, if you’re ready to let me take a look.” Fear and necessity have brought back the old Kylie, the one capable of lying to anyone, even Jackson King, my personal kryptonite.
He ignores me, his face unreadable as he pulls out his own laptop and drops it into the docking station.
Too fidgety to sit there and wait for him to deem me worthy of answering, I ask, “Should I make the coffee?” He must have his own personal refreshment station on this floor.
He stops moving, his eyes lighter in the sunlight that streams in through his wall-to-wall windows. There’s something predatory about the way he looks at me. Like my offer to make coffee turned him on. Well, maybe he has a master-slave fetish thing going. He gets off on being served. He definitely was bossy with Sam, his housemate.
“Cream, no sugar.”
“Where is it?”
“Around the corner to the right. You’ll find it.”
Funny, but I might have the flip side of the same fetish because it turns me on to fetch his coffee.
Grateful for the expenditure of the manic energy that’s ruling me, I slip out of his office and make the coffee. It’s freshly ground beans from Peet’s, and there’s real half and half in the fridge below. I make myself a cup, too, and head back, just as his secretary arrives.
If looks could kill, I’d be in twenty pieces on the floor.
“Don’t worry about his coffee,” I say breezily. “I already got it.”
She gives me the up-and-down sweep of the eyes, her lip curling when she sees my sneakers.
I flash my brightest smile as I head into Jackson’s office. “Your coffee, sir.” I walk around to his side of the desk and stand too close as I lean over like a sex kitten to deliver it.
His secretary gapes in the doorway.
“Watch it, kitten, or I’ll punish you here, too,” he growls in an undertone.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“Cancel all my appointments and close the door, Vanessa. We have a situation to deal with here,” he says to his secretary as he opens his desk and pulls out a wooden ruler. He lays it on the desk between us, shooting me a meaningful look.
Despite it all—despite the lack of sleep and worrying sick over Mémé, despite my daunting task of getting the thumb drive and hacking into SeCure’s system within the next twelve hours, a charge of pure sexual desire runs through me.
Hell, yes, he can spank me again.
He’s going to want to do far worse when he realizes what I’m going to do. And that thought sobers the lust right out of me.
I hold out my palm. “Thumb drive?”
I’m really not sure he’s going to hand it to me, but, after a moment, he pulls it out of his pocket and tosses it in the air.
I snatch it, and he smiles at my quick reflexes.
“You’ll stay in my office while you work on it.” He lifts his chin toward the chair across from him.
Shit. How in the hell am I supposed to hack into SeCure and load the damn malware while sitting in his office working on a computer that’s not linked into the system?
I settle into a chair and plug in the thumb drive. It’s a sophisticated program, and I’m not entirely sure how it works, but I can’t concentrate on figuring it out. Instead, I’m reviewing everything I learned about hacking SeCure eight years ago. Of course, I know nothing will be the same this time.
Fuck, I’ve only been on the job a few days. How do they expect me to get this installed? I haven’t been given security access to anything yet. Unless…
What are the chances of getting on boss man’s computer? Here I am, sitting in his office. If he’s logged onto the system, I can grab his password, or maybe even load the code from his computer. The man will have to use the restroom at some point, right? Or leave for lunch?
My heart pounds as I contemplate the treachery, and Jackson looks up, like he hears the rampaging beat.
I keep my head down, as if I’m studying really hard.
I’ll have to make a run for it the moment I finish, or else I’ll be leaving in handcuffs. I consider the exits. Stairwell leads to the back of the building. I might make it to my car.
And then where do I go?
The asshole blackmailers didn’t even tell me how to get in touch. How will I get Mémé back?
A terrible, horrible fear strikes me like an electric shock to the spine. What if they don’t intend to give her back? What if she’s already dead, her body lying in the desert somewhere? I should’ve demanded to hear her voice. What in the hell is wrong with me?
Once I load the malware, I’ll have no leverage whatsoever. Mémé and I will both be expendable. I’ll take the fall for the attack, and Mémé dies.
“What?” Jackson’s voice cuts across the office.
I jerk my head up to find him staring a hole through me. His nostrils are flaring like he smells something distasteful.
My heart pounds harder. Did I say something out loud?
“I sense your agitation. What did you find in the code? Do you know who did it?”
Jesus, he senses my agitation? No wonder this man built a multi-billion dollar company out of nothing but a laptop. And I’d always thought he was socially stunted. Maybe he stays away from people because he can read them all too well, and they bore him.
My mind races for something to give him. “I-I think I was set up.”
His lip lifts with scorn. “I thought we knew that part.”
“I mean from the inside. How did I get this job? A headhunter called me out of the blue. I never saw it posted anywhere. Never applied to SeCure.”
Jackson pales, and I swear his eyes change to blue again. He stands up with a grim expression. “I’ll be right back.” He walks out the door, shutting it behind him.
I count to five, steadying my breath. Then I walk swiftly to Jackson’s desk and sit in his seat.
I learned in my heist days to disconnect fear when on a job. Time was always of the essence, and, if you lost your head, the job was as good as over. I learned to dive into a black hole of concentration. I focus on nothing but the task at hand. That’s the headspace I find now, my vision narrowing to the prompts on the screen as I sift through login screens to pull Jackson’s password. I find twenty, with no discernable pattern. He must have a different one for every login. Smart man.
I work to get through the firewall and into the infosec code. I do not allow myself to think of what will happen if Jackson comes back before I’ve succeeded. Or if I can’t get in. Or if they don’t let Mémé go.
I only see the characters on a screen. A puzzle to solve.
Sixteen minutes later, I’m in.
No time to celebrate. I grab the thumb drive and insert it into his port.
I’m sorry, Jackson. I’m so fucking sorry.
It auto-launches, code unfolding before my eyes with lightning speed.
I get up from his chair, pick up my things, and walk swiftly out. I don’t acknowledge his secretary. I travel down the hall, like I’m headed for the bathroom, and slip into the stairwell.
Eight stories. Then a parking lot, and I’ll be in my car.
Except I already know I’ve been had. They’re not letting Mémé go. How could they frame me if an old lady is telling a story about being kidnapped?
So I just committed another fel
ony act and destroyed the only company I’ve ever admired for nothing.
Worse—I’ve destroyed whatever I had going with Jackson King. And that...that almost hurts as much as the thought of Mémé being dead.
~.~
Jackson
The way I see it, this attack had to come from someone in my infosec department.
Unfortunately, that narrows it down to 517 people, located all over the world. Only 137 of them are in this building. But I can start with Luis, my CSO, and Human Resources, to get some answers about Kylie’s hire.
I head straight to Luis’ office and barge in without knocking. He’s on the phone, with his wife, probably, because I can hear the female voice on the line, telling some long, drawn-out story.
Luis sits up straight, giving me an attentive look as he tries to interrupt the monologue. “I’m sorry, honey. Mr. King just stepped into my office.”
“Oh! Okay, call me later,” she says quickly.
“Yep.” He hangs up and gives me a sheepish look. “My wife is all worked up about getting our kid into the school talent show.”
I have to hand it to Luis. After all these years of me stonewalling all personal discussion, he still makes the attempt. It’s like he wants me to remember he has a family and is human, so I don’t ask too much of him.
Not that it ever stops me.
“What did you find out about the new hire in infosec?” I ask.
Luis’ brow wrinkles. “Kylie McDaniel? What do you mean?”
“I asked you to look into where we found her. Who vetted her? How long was this position open?”
“We always have open positions. You asked me to double our infosec team three years ago, and I’ve been working on it. It’s hard to find new hires. It takes an average of three months to fill a position.”
“And this position was posted?”
“It’s not posted, no. We use a headhunter. It mitigates wasted time sifting through unqualified applicants. She’s been actively searching for candidates for the last year.”