Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games Series Book 2) (15 page)

“No, ma’am,” says Ryan. “But he sure sounds fascinatin’. I’d love to hear all about him real soon.”

While I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end the way it does just before I pull the trigger on a kill, Tabby blinks at Ryan and looks him up and down.

“Who are you?”

“Ryan T. McLean, ma’am. At your service.” His gaze rakes over her. “And you are?”

Before I can snarl
Off limits!
Tabby says, “Tabitha West. But you can call me Tabby.”

Ryan grins. “I once saw a thoroughbred named Tabby win at Belmont Park. Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Obviously charmed, Tabby grins back at him. “What’s the ‘T’ stand for?”

“Tiberius.”

Her brows shoot up. “Like Captain Kirk or the Roman emperor?”

Impressed, Ryan blinks. “Like Captain Kirk. My parents are huge Trekkies.”

“Well,” Tabby says, looking him over, “it suits you. You have the look of a man who could captain a starship.”

“Why thank you, ma’am,” he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest so his big, tattooed biceps are on full display. “And may I say I really like that T-shirt. Does it, uh…have any special meanin’?”

Tabby’s T-shirt reads: “Pussy Riot.” She glances down at herself. “It’s a Russian feminist punk rock protest group.”

Ryan thoughtfully strokes his goatee. “Oh. And here I thought it might be somethin’ straight outta one of my wet dreams.”

Heat sweeps up my neck and into my face. Tabby looks at me…and smiles.

I think if I look anywhere but right at her, I might accidentally murder someone.

Harry clears his throat. “Miss West, your friend Søren is a little pissy about that antimalware program you ran that disabled his intrusion attacks. Having a bit of a meltdown. I’m worried what his next move might be.”

Tabby looks at the screen again. Her smile dies. “Well. Let’s give him what he wants then, shall we?” Then under her breath, “God forbid the son of a bitch is kept waiting.” She pulls the chair out from under the desk and sits down.

I blurt, “Don’t—”

Harry stops me short with a hand flat on my chest.

Looking into my eyes, he says quietly, “Rein it in, or I’ll throw you out. Decide now.”

Everyone’s looking at me, including Ryan, whose brows are arched in surprise. I take a deep breath, nod, and step back.

To Tabby, Harry says, “This isn’t your show, understood? I’m in charge here. I make the decisions about how to proceed. So before you put a finger on that keyboard, we’re gonna have a talk.”

Tabby slowly swivels around in the chair. She crosses her legs. She folds her hands in her lap, gazes up at Harry with a chastened look, and bats her long eyelashes. “Yes,
sir
,” she says demurely, and waits.

Harry scowls at her, but I sense it’s more to maintain the status quo than from actual irritation. In spite of any doubts and questions he still might have about her, I can tell he’s just as impressed by Tabby as everyone else is.

Except Rodriguez, who’s glaring at her with all the intimidation he can muster. Which isn’t much.

Harry says, “Tell me what you’re thinking. Are you just going to flat-out tell him who you are?”

“What fun would that be?”

“We’re not here to have
fun
.”

It’s Miranda, coming to stand near, her pacing abandoned. Though she’s still perfectly coiffed and there’s not a wrinkle on her expensive clothing, her face is pale and strained. It looks like her rest break didn’t take.

Tabby says, “
You’re
not. But he definitely is. And the only thing that can distract Søren from his game is another game. So I’m going to give him one.” She looks at Harry, and her voice loses some of its edge. “With your permission.”

In silence, he assesses her face. After an uncomfortably long pause, he says, “Go on.”

Tabby nods. “Okay. So in addition to having a malware blocker, the program I’ve uploaded to the network backbone automatically responds to any new attempted breaches with a counterstrike—”

“It
automatically
returns fire against a threat, without human direction?” interrupts Rodriguez incredulously. “Like the NSA’s MonsterMind program, which isn’t even supposed to be in existence yet?”

“Yes. Exactly like that.”

Under the weight of her simple admission, the room falls into stunned silence. Harry shoots me a stony glance, and I know with chilling certainty what he’s thinking.

Tabby hacked the National Security Administration and stole their software.

If that’s true, she’ll spend the next few decades in prison.

All the blood drains from my face.

Tabby rolls her eyes and sighs. “You guys, relax. It’s
my
program, okay? I can prove I developed it. And I’d never go near the NSA servers, anyway—even I’m not that crazy.”

After a moment, Harry asks, “And what does this program of yours do in terms of counterstrike? Specifically.”

A smile works its way over Tabby’s face. “Well, without getting overly technical, once the program detects an attempted breach, it follows it back to the source and launches malicious code in the originating system.”

Harry looks dubious. “Which then does what?”

She shrugs. “Anything from wiping out data, to gathering data, to making a little white cat dance on every network monitor that can never be bypassed, thereby rendering the system useless. That’s why Søren’s so mad right now. He’s getting a taste of his own medicine, and it tastes like shit.”

Rodriguez frowns. “A dancing white cat…” His gaze falls on Tabby’s Hello Kitty watch. His eyes widen. He sucks in a breath.

Harry asks irritably, “What now, Rodriguez?”

Rodriguez breathes, “She’s…
Polaroid
! She broke into NASA’s mainframe, Citibank’s, the Church of Scientology’s, the Department of Defense…you name it, Polaroid’s done it, and always left behind a dancing white cat, just like that one!” He points accusingly at her watch.

The sound of fifteen FBI agents gasping in unison is one I’ll never forget.

Undaunted, Tabby says calmly, “Oh keep your panties on, Rodriguez. I’ve never heard of this Polaroid, but I’m sure only a
guy
would be smart enough to do all that, right? Besides, lots of girls like Hello Kitty.” She smiles sweetly at Harry. “Including your daughter, as I recall.”

When Harry cuts his gaze to me, my blood freezes inside my veins.

This is highly dangerous. I have a millisecond to decide which side of the law I’m on, because if the FBI thinks Tabby is a threat to national security and I defend her, then I’m a threat too.

But as fast as I have the thought, I just as fast realize I don’t care. Somehow over the course of the past few days, protecting her has become my number one priority.

I’ll think about what that means later.

I’m standing in front of Tabby in full-on bristling battle mode before anyone can even blink an eye, my legs spread apart, my nostrils flared, every muscle in my body tensed to steel.

I snarl, “Anybody wants to try to get to her, they have to go through me!”

N
o one moves
.

After a long, silent moment, Ryan says drily, “Brother, you’ve got a
lot
to catch me up on.”

Harry sighs and looks at the ceiling. He mutters, “Lord, give me patience.” Then he looks at me. “No one’s trying to get to anyone, all right? Now stand down, we’ve got a job to do.”

Rodriguez protests, “But sir! She—”

“Shut the fuck up, Rodriguez!” thunders Harry, red-faced. “If I wanted your opinion I’d give it to you! Make yourself useful and go get me a cup of coffee!”

A livid Rodriguez glares at Tabby, and then spins on his heel and stalks out.

Harry irritably instructs the rest of the gathered agents, “Everyone else take a meal or rest break. Have your asses back here in an hour. Chan, you stay.”

Slowly the agents disperse, whispering among themselves, shooting Tabby curious glances over their shoulders as they leave the room. When the last of them are gone, Harry turns to Tabby.

“I think we need to have another talk, Miss West. But for right now, let’s get on with it. What were you saying about a game?”

With a hand on my shoulder, Ryan gently pulls me a few feet away so I’m no longer blocking Tabby.

“Hide and go seek,” she says, looking at me with even more curiosity than the agents looked at her.

My heart is throbbing wildly from all the adrenaline coursing through my body, and I’m having a hard time controlling my breathing. I have the vague thought that it might be useful for me to go find something elsewhere to break to relieve some of my tension. I haven’t felt this fucked up and pretzel brained in…

Ever.

“What does that mean?” asks Miranda. She’s been watching us all so quietly, I’d almost forgotten she was here.

Tabby replies mysteriously, “It was Søren’s favorite. He won’t be able to resist.”

Something about the way she says it makes my skin crawl. Ryan’s grip on my shoulder grows a little tighter. He murmurs, “Easy, brother. Take a breath.”

“And?” prompts Harry.

“And if I can distract him long enough, we might have a chance to gather some clue as to his whereabouts. I’ve started a traceback. The longer my program spends in his system, the better chance it has to gather data before he discovers it and shuts it down. But if I engage with him, it might stall him a bit.”

Harry narrows his eyes at her. “You said earlier you knew how to contact him.”

“I do, but it won’t give us his location.”

“How do you know? Have you tried to contact him before?”

“No. But I know it’s only an origination point, not direct access. He’ll have built in layer after layer of obfuscation. I can reach out, but that’s all. It’s like firing a flare into the night sky. He’ll see the flare, and then respond when he’s ready. But even then his location will be cloaked. He’d never be stupid enough to give me a direct line.”

“Hold on,” I say, understanding dawning. “You’re saying you have his
phone number
?”

Tabby stares at me for a while before she answers. I can feel how carefully she’s choosing her words.

“I’m saying I have
a
phone number. I don’t know whose it is, I’ve never called it. But if I reach out to him that way now, as all his systems are under attack, he’ll not only know it’s me, he’ll know it’s a trap.”

In a tight voice, I ask, “You don’t want him to know it’s you?”

Miranda says, “No enterprise is more likely to succeed than one concealed from the enemy until it is ripe for execution.”

Tabby looks at her in surprise. “I see someone other than me
has
read Machiavelli.”

Miranda’s smile is pinched. “Yes. I’ve studied his writings extensively.”

I don’t know what to make of the expression on Tabby’s face. She says, “‘It’s double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.’ That was always my favorite of his lines. You?”

Miranda locks eyes with Tabby. “‘Nothing great was ever achieved without danger.’”

Some unspoken understanding passes between them. Tabby murmurs, “Indeed.”

Harry is irritated with the interruption. “If we’re done quoting a dead guy to each other, ladies, can we get back to the situation at hand?”

Tabby turns her attention back to Harry. She leans forward in her chair. “Give me a chance to engage him, distract him, play with him a little. He won’t let it last long, but once he’s shut down his servers, we can analyze whatever data my program has scoured from his system.”

“And if your program comes up with nothing useful?”

Tabby leans back in her chair and lifts a shoulder. “Then we can make a phone call. But once we do that…once he knows I’m involved in this…” Her voice darkens. “The game will change.”

“How?” I ask, my voice hard.

Tabby looks at her hands when she answers. “We’ll no longer have any control whatsoever.”

My throat is tight, crowded with every question I want to ask her about Søren, but won’t. Not here. Not now.

Harry, however, has no problem getting straight to the point. “Why not? What will he do?”

Tabby looks at me. She says softly, “He’ll end it.”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. “Miss West. Please. I don’t have the patience for puzzles.
What will he do?
”

It’s Miranda who answers, her voice strained. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? He’ll release all the data he stole from me to the press and my competition—including my proprietary software—cut the power to the entire studio, and destroy my business. Every production will be shut down. Every office and soundstage will go dark, possibly permanently, depending on how much control he has over the Department of Water and Power’s computers.”

“We’ve got agents working on that,” says Harry. “The DWP has been notified there’s been an intrusion into their network—they’re executing breach protocols as we speak.”

“If they block one hole, he’ll find another,” says Tabby. “There’s always a way in. Also, there’s the possibility he has people inside the DWP assisting him.”

Harry nods. “We’re working on that theory too.”

“The bottom line,” says Miranda in a shaking voice, “is that everything I’ve worked for and created over the last twenty years will be
gone
. So please—let her go to work!”

It’s so unusual for Miranda to show strong emotion that I’m momentarily distracted from Tabby. Next to me, Ryan watches everything with hawk-like focus, taking it all in. It’s one of the reasons I wanted him here. He can see whatever I might be missing because I’m too close.

Because I’m too emotionally involved, and can’t trust myself.

Harry says, “Chan, sit down at the desk. Miss West, you can tell him what to type.”

Tabby sends Harry a grim smile. “Don’t trust me, O’Doul?”

“Of course not. I don’t trust anybody, it’s bad for business. Now move.”

Agent Chan makes a
sorry
face at Tabby. When she rises from the chair, he takes her place. Fingers poised over the keyboard, he says, “Ready.”

Standing behind him, Tabby instructs, “Get rid of that shit on the screen. Take us down to the C prompt.”

Chan starts typing. The pictures of war flashing on the monitor vanish, replaced by a normal Windows desktop. A few more keystrokes and the screen goes black. A green cursor flashes at the top left.

Tabby says, “You know your stuff.”

“That’s why I’m the only
Special
Agent in this group, Miss West.”

As Tabby softly chuckles, Chan waits, eyes fixed on the screen.

“All right, then. Here we go. Type ‘What is divisible by zero?’”

Chan answers automatically, “No number is divisible by zero.”

“I didn’t say what
number
, did I? Now type.”

After a quick glance at Harry, who nods, Chan begins to type. He presses Enter, and waits.

And keeps waiting. The cursor flashes, but nothing comes back.

A minute passes. Then two. Harry says, “He’s not answering.”

Her gaze fixed on the screen, Tabby murmurs, “Wait for it.”

Then a message blinks up:
To whom am I speaking, please?

Ryan snorts. “Pretty polite for a bad guy.”

“Manners make the man,” says Tabby thoughtfully.

Is her tone
admiring
? I want to reach through the computer and strangle whoever is on the other end.

Tabby instructs Chan, “Now type ‘What is the meaning of life?’”

The instant the question is entered, an answer flashes back:
42.

On the next line:
I didn’t realize the FBI had a sense of whimsy. How refreshing. With whom do I have the pleasure of communicating, please?

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “Does he always talk like this?”

“Not everyone has a dirty mouth,” says Tabby. When she slides me a smoldering look, my heartbeat goes arrhythmic.

Our gazes hold. Still looking at me, she says to Chan, “Type, ‘If you can answer my first question, I’ll give you my name.’”

After Chan complies, on the screen flashes an animated gif of a cartoon dog with its paws clasped, eyes closed, heart pumping wildly outside of its chest. Beneath the dog are the words
Be still my heart! A challenge!

Then a T-Rex bursts onto the screen and devours the dog in one giant bite. Blood spurts from its grinning jaws. The dinosaur runs off, trailing intestines.

“What the fuck is wrong with this guy?” I bark, making Miranda jump.

Tabby says softly, “Everything.” She’s still looking at me.

When she looks away, it feels as if something tears inside my chest.

She instructs Chan, “Type ‘Your paleontology is as weak as your hacks.”

Harry says drily, “I don’t think poking the bear is the best strategy here, Miss West.”

“We need the bear distracted, and so we poke it with as big a stick as we can. Type, Chan.”

Special Agent Chan looks at Harry. “Sir?”

After a moment of thought, Harry nods and waves his hand, resigned.

Chan’s fingers fly over the keys. The response arrives at light speed.

Explain yourself.

Tabby’s smile is savage. “Canids didn’t exist concurrently with tyrannosaurus in the Late Cretaceous period, dumbass.”

“Leave out the ‘dumbass,’” says Harry.

Chan types.

There follows an interval of screen silence. Then:
You are reckless. I enjoy that in an enemy. Toying with overconfident fools makes for excellent sport.

Tabby smiles. “You should know, having toyed with yourself so much. Tell me, how calloused are your palms?”

Before Harry can protest, Chan has typed it out and hit Enter.

If you are too much a coward to reveal your name, let me see your face
, comes the immediate reply,
so I may know what it looks like while still alive.

“Ooh,” says Tabby with bitter cheer. “Is someone miffed?”

I step forward. “That’s a threat on your life. Disconnect.”

“Back off, jarhead,” answers Tabby offhandedly. “The adults are handling this.”

Harry shoots me a warning look. Ryan clears his throat. Chan looks up at me sheepishly. And I turn away with my hands clenched in my hair so I don’t do anything stupid, like throw Tabby over my shoulder, bolt from the room, and find the nearest bed to tie her down to so I can fuck some sense into us both.

I hear Tabby’s voice from behind me. “Chan, type, ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’”

As Chan starts tapping away, Harry says wearily, “You don’t really think that will work. No criminal mastermind who’s gone to the trouble to erase every trace of his existence would ever…”

When Harry trails off into astonished silence, I turn around to find the computer monitor flooded with image after image. Windows pop up on top of each other, piling so fast the screen is a blur.

Tabby says softly, “Everyone has an Achilles’ heel. Søren’s is his ego. He could never let a challenge go unanswered.” She folds her arms over her chest and turns away. Her posture changes, becomes smaller somehow, as if she’s drawing into herself. Protecting herself from what’s on the screen.

Like a fairy-tale prince, Tabby had described him with the face of an angel. I’d thought it over the top at the time. A silly exaggeration. But now I see it was something far worse.

Accurate.

I don’t find men attractive. I’ve never considered another man beautiful in the physical sense, would never have thought it possible that I could. But now I’m forced to admit that the face splashed all over the monitor isn’t only beautiful. It’s
perfect
.

Miranda’s soft gasp indicates she concurs.

His features are fine and sculpted, like those of a Greek god. His hair is rich golden blonde. He’s got a pair of lips any woman would covet, full and berry red, offset by a cleft chin and strong, angular jaw.

But it’s his eyes that are most arresting. Pale, icy blue, heavily fringed with dark lashes, his eyes have an arrogance and cruelty that the rest of his elegant features can’t soften.

Taken from various angles, the pictures of his face are accompanied by dozens of pictures of the rest of him. Striding through an airport, crossing a busy intersection, waiting on a subway platform, always standing a head taller than anyone else. Always looking at the people around him like a king surveys his subjects. Always alone, regal, dressed in beautifully tailored suits.

I can’t help but glance down at myself, clothed in a black T-shirt and cargo pants.

Harry leans closer to the monitor, squinting at it. “These are all taken from surveillance cameras. Look at the angles. They’re all from above.”

“If that’s true,” says Chan slowly, “he’s hacked into the entire infrastructure. Transportation grids, law enforcement grids, traffic cams…you name it.”

“He’s already proven he’s in the power grid,” points out Miranda.

“If he had that much access, he’d have caused a lot more problems than what we’re dealing with here,” I counter.

Tabby asks quietly, “How do you know he hasn’t?” She glances at me over her shoulder. Her normally bright green eyes are troubled and dark.

“What do you mean?”

She looks at Harry. “How many terrorist acts go unclaimed?”

“Almost all of them,” he replies, watching her closely. “Only fourteen percent of the more than forty-five thousand terrorist acts that have occurred since ’ninety-eight have credible claims of responsibility.”