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 felony 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.”
“And how did she find Kylie?”
Luis shrugs. “I’m sorry. I haven’t looked into it. It’s well known the hacker boards are tapped for these jobs. It makes sense to hire from the pool of those who truly understand what we deal with. We make special exceptions for candidates like Kylie. For example, the official job requirements demand twenty to twenty-five years in the field. But her demonstrated skills, based on the test Stu administered, are used in lieu of the years of experience.”
It all makes perfect sense and even sounds plausible. But, Kylie was right. It was too much of a coincidence that she was sent the blackmail note immediately after starting with SeCure. If the hackers were looking for an in, it would have taken them longer than a few days to identify and get the dirt on each employee.
This looked like a first-class frame to me.
“I’d like the name and number of the headhunter.”
“Is something wrong, sir? I thought you liked the girl, despite her cheekiness.”
“It doesn’t matter whether I like her or not. I want to know more about the headhunting practices used to fill the most sensitive positions at my company,” I snap, using my most authoritative voice.
Luis instantly puts on his calm, placating face. “Of course, sir. I understand. I will call HR right now and get you the information.” He picks up his phone.
“Never mind,” I say. “I’ll go there myself.” I need to see people’s eyes, be close enough to smell their fear when I interrogate them. I head out, striding purposefully to the elevator and ride down to the fourth floor to see the director of HR.
I get no further with her, other than receiving the name and number of the headhunter.
By this time, my wolf is scratching at the surface, telling me something about Kylie. I’m itchy to see her. Needy almost.
Damn. Is it possible for a shifter’s true mate to be human? Because there’s no other explanation for the way I feel.
Unless it’s just my instinct warning about her potential danger to me.
With that thought, I take the stairs two at a time back to my office, unwilling to stand quietly in an elevator. Her scent is everywhere, filling my nose as if she’s in the stairwell with me.
I get to my office and fling open the door.
My computer is open, and a program is scrolling quickly over the screen.
Oh shit.
My heart chokes me, stuck somewhere between my collarbone and my throat. My palms go clammy; my vision tunnels with rage.
Tell me it’s not what I think it is. Tell me—
Fuck!
With a roar, I pick up my laptop and throw it against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces.
“Mr. King!” Vanessa runs into the office.
“How long ago did she leave?” I’m surprised how calm I sound.
“Oh! Um… about ten minutes, sir. Why? What happened? Sir? Is something wrong?”
I ignore her and run past Vanessa.
The stairwell.
The fucking stairwell. No wonder I thought I smelled her in it. That’s how she got away.
~.~
Kylie
I make it to my car and peel out of the parking lot. I head in the direction of downtown, but I have no idea where to go.
The cops will look for me at home. It’s time to bail. I’ve done this at least twenty times. I know how to erase my existence and put up a new one in another city. Another country, even. But I’ll be damned if I’ll leave Tucson without Mémé.
So, I just need somewhere to lie low. To wait for the blackmailers’ phone call that I fear isn’t coming.
I drive to Bank of America, where I have a safety deposit box. Maybe I can get in before the FBI puts an alert on anything to do with my present social security number. I walk briskly into the bank, tugging the hem of my T-shirt down, wishing I’d worn the heels today.
I withdraw all my savings in cash, give them my ID, and ask to have my safety deposit box. They send me to an office to wait. Three minutes go by. Five.
Please let this one thing go right for me.
The overweight manager with a nineties hairstyle returns with the box.
Thank God.
I open it and take everything out. I have passports and IDs in there, along with more emergency cash. I put on my most businesslike demeanor and resist the urge to stuff everything into my purse and run. I keep my movements clean and crisp. Not a wasted gesture or moment, while maintaining the cool, calm, and collected exterior necessary to avoid suspicion.
“Thank you very much,” I say to the bank manager with a bright smile. As I head out, I nearly crumble.
If I run now, I will be utterly alone. No Mémé. No friends. No chance of maintaining the normal lifestyle I’d adopted.
But, if I stay, I’ll end up in federal prison. Instead of getting in my car, I start walking. Downtown Tucson is small, but there are people everywhere, and I fit in. I hoof it up Congress Street, not heading in any particular direction, just needing to move. To think.
My phone remains agonizingly quiet. Surely the blackmailers know by now the code has been installed.
So, yeah. They have no intention of setting Mémé free.
I find a cafe and pull out my laptop to work once more on tracing the phone call I received the night before. Just having something familiar to do lowers my stress level. I work the rest of the day without luck. By the time the windows darken and the barista is giving me dirty looks, I know there’s no hope.
They’re not going to call.
I’m somewhat surprised someone from SeCure or the FBI hasn’t at least tried to ring my phone, not that I’d answer it.
I leave the cafe and walk back to my car. It’s not surrounded by cop cars or impounded, but I walk by it, anyway. Not worth the risk. Instead, I call Uber and use a dummy account to take me to a cheap hotel off the I-10 frontage road. I book a room with my new identity and credit card.
In the hotel room, I kick off my shoes and sit on the bed with my best and only friend, my laptop.
Think, K-K, think.
What do I do now? Drive out of town? Get on a plane out of the country? What can be done about Mémé?
I’m a smart woman, but no answers come to me. I draw my knees up to my chest and rock back and forth.
~.~
Jackson
I squeeze my temples with one hand as the other moves over my keyboard. It’s four a.m.
Every employee in infosec and myself have been working all day and night to isolate the fucking malware, but it’s gone everywhere. I implemented emergency measures of transferring the financial data of millions of users to new secure servers, but I doubt we are quick enough. They probably already have enough to do major damage. I still don’t even know what they’re after. This seems bigger than getting at the credit card data. There would be easier hacks than SeCure if that’s all they wanted.
“Tell everyone in the department no one’s going home tonight until we have the transfer complete,” I snap at Luis. “And if anyone breathes a word of what we’re dealing with here, I’ll have their ass. Understand?”
“I’ve already told them,” Luis says with his infinite patience. “At what point are we getting the FBI involved?”
“Not until we have this entire situation managed. I don’t even want the rest of the executive team to hear about this until it’s contained.”
Luis looks doubtful, but nods. “Yes, sir.”
My directive makes perfect sense. We’re sitting on an emergency of epic proportions. If word of it gets out to the press, SeCure’s stock will plummet, and the nation’s populace will turn frantic about their money and information being stolen.
But I have another reason for refusing to involve law enforcement.
I want to deal with Kylie McDaniel personally. She betrayed me, and I need to look in her eyes and understand how I made such a mistake. I need to make sure it never happens again.
And, there’s something else. Something I don’t even want to admit is a motivator, but it is.
Kylie wouldn’t survive in jail.
She’s claustrophobic. It would kill her.
So I’d rather take wolf justice on this one. Find Kylie and make her pay the traditional way. Punishment and repayment.
She will fix this.
Even if I have to keep her my prisoner until she does.
“Do we know how they got through, yet, sir? Do you suspect the new hire? I heard she disappeared today.”
“I’ll deal with the people behind this. You stay focused on containing the disaster.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You stay here and supervise. I’m going to find who did this and make them pay.” The predator in me needs to hunt my prey. I have to find Kylie.
Luis must see the fierceness of my wolf because he pales and bobs his head. “Yes, sir.”
