Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games Series Book 2) (16 page)

“What are you saying?” As my heart starts to beat faster, I move closer to her. “That Søren’s not only an extortionist, he’s a terrorist? You have proof of that? What do you know?”

Her prolonged silence infuriates me. My patience, worn to a shred, finally snaps.

I growl, “Tabby, whatever problem you have with me, you better spill your fucking guts before Harry decides you’re withholding evidence, because I
will not
stand here with my dick in my hand while you get hauled away to prison and interrogated by the FBI! Am I making myself clear?”

Faint color rises to her cheeks.

Ryan says, “Lady, start talking, because if he squares off against the feds, so do I, and that is one shit storm you definitely don’t wanna get in the middle of.”

“I’m going to pretend both of you idiots didn’t just threaten me,” says Harry between gritted teeth. “But if it happens again, you’re
all
going to prison. Miss West, you’re walking a very fine line here.
Talk
.”

She looks at the three of us, then at Chan, then at Miranda. Finally, she heaves a breath that sounds exhausted and flops into a nearby chair. She rests her elbows on her knees and puts her head in her hands. When she speaks, her voice is hollow.

“I don’t have proof of anything. All I know is…Søren. I know Søren. Whatever his interest is in this studio, it isn’t money. He doesn’t care about money. He’s an anarchist, not a capitalist. What he cares about is
chaos
. Instigating it, creating it, and then sitting back with a bowl of popcorn and enjoying the show. He likes to set things in motion. He likes to destroy things.” She pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice is shaking. “He just wants to watch the world burn.”

Her pain is so obvious, it seems like another person has suddenly appeared in the room, an invisible, heavy presence, indelibly dark. With a shock, I realize this is the thing she hides at her core. Beneath her smart mouth and rebel attitude and odd costumes, all the walls she’s built around herself, lies a lost soul, alone and in pain.

My sweet Tabby is in so much pain.

“Shut it down,” I instruct Chan, my voice thick.

Tabby raises her head. Our eyes lock. Her lashes are wet. It sends a flood of emotion coursing through me, fury and possessiveness and a need to protect her, stronger than everything else.

“Shut it down right now,” I repeat, turning to Harry. “Get that asshole off the screen.”

While looking at me, Harry says to Tabby, “Has it been long enough for your pro—”

“I don’t care about the
program
,” I snap, squaring off to face him. “Shut the fucking thing down!”

“You’re being
paid
to care about the program,” says Miranda stiffly, sending me an arctic stare.

Special Agent Chan says, “Too late. He’s out. He must’ve spotted the trace.”

When we all look at the screen, the monitor has gone dark. All the pictures of Søren have vanished. Only a blinking green cursor remains.

With quiet resignation, Tabby says, “It will take hours for the traceback to compile a report. Then more hours to comb through it to see if there’s anything useful. In the meantime, to appease him a little, we should give him some money. Make it look like we’re trying to comply with his demands.”

Miranda points out, “You said he doesn’t care about money.”

“He doesn’t. But it’s our only play if we want to stay in the game. It’ll buy us time to try to figure out what he’s really after, and maybe unruffle a few feathers so he doesn’t blow the whole thing to shit.” Her voice drops. “Obedience is always rewarded.”

That last part sends a rash of chills down my spine. I share a look with Ryan. I know our thoughts are aligned:
This freak Søren Killgaard needs to be put down
.

Tabby glances at Miranda. “His demand is now at twenty million, correct?”

Miranda nods. “But my assets are primarily real estate, stocks, equity in the studio. I don’t have that kind of cash just lying around.”

Tabby stands, pulls her shoulders back, takes a breath. She lets it out in a noisy rush.

“I do.”

T
he first thing
out of O’Doul’s mouth is a flat, “No.”

His tone suggests there’s no room for argument. Naturally, I do anyway.

“Miranda can pay me back—”

“
No
. As soon as he has the money, he’ll make good on all his threats. We never negotiate—”

“This isn’t negotiating,” I interrupt wearily. I’m so tired, my eyes are crossed. “This is stalling. It’s strategic—”

“Tabitha.”

Connor says my name so gently, it startles me. I look at him, standing next to the blond, tattooed bulk of Ryan T. McLean, who, though large and intimidating in his own right, is dwarfed by his boss. Between the two of them, there’s so much free-floating testosterone in the room that a girl could get pregnant through osmosis.

But the look in Connor’s eyes…oh God. My poor heart can’t take much more of this.

He murmurs, “Please. Listen to Harry.”

When I open my mouth, Connor holds up a hand. Even more gently than before, he says, “Please.”

You son of a bitch.
Please?
After you practically accuse me of setting this whole thing up, you have the nerve to say please? Nicely?

But I don’t say anything out loud, because his eyes are wrecking me. His voice is wrecking me. The memory of his face is wrecking me, how he looked when his body was moving inside mine, his expression of adoration, of reverence, as if what he felt wasn’t just physical pleasure, but something a little more…

Sacred.

Connor didn’t just fuck me. He made love to me. And no matter how much I might want to deny it, what happened between us was far more profound than a casual screw.

One night, he’d promised.

I don’t know which one of us is the bigger fool.

“So what are we supposed to do now?” Miranda starts up her pacing again, back and forth over a few feet of carpet, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Just wait and see what happens?”

“Go home,” answers Harry. “Get some sleep. There’s nothing more you can do here. If anything happens, we’ll call you.” He glances at me, and then at Connor. “The same goes for you—”

“I already slept,” I say dully, dragging a hand through my hair.

Harry looks at me, his lips in a wry twist. “Forty-five minutes curled up in an armchair doesn’t count as sleep, Miss West.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” says Connor, still with that soft voice. He must see my anger at his contradiction, because he adds, “I know you need to be clear-headed, and I also know you need
sleep
to be clearheaded. Let your program do its work. Harry’s right. There’s nothing more we can do for now.”

Waiting. I’m no good at it. I’m even worse at taking directions. But judging by the expression on Harry’s face, it looks like I’m going to be doing both of those things whether I like it or not.

Slowly, I stand. Miranda stops pacing long enough to send me a cool glance. “You said you know him, this Maelstr0m.”

I nod, feeling Ryan’s eyes on me. For such sweet baby blues, they’re downright scary.

“And that he likes to create chaos.”

I nod again.

Miranda says, “What if—to unruffle his feathers, as you put it—what if we give him the
appearance
of chaos?”

Harry asks, “How?” but I’m already on the same page with Miranda.

“A press conference,” I say, staring at her. “But you’d have to act really—”

“Devastated,” she murmurs, warming to the idea. She moves closer, her eyes brightening. “Tears?”

“Gallons. If you can pull it off realistically, faint.”

Her smile is savage. “I’ve spent the last twenty years around actors. I can pull it off.”

With narrowed eyes, Connor looks back and forth between the two of us. “I thought you didn’t want publicity, Miranda. If you give a press conference—and
cry
—it’ll be a media circus. You’ll be all over the news, here and abroad.”

At the same time, Miranda and I say, “Exactly.”

Harry says flatly, “No press conferences.”

Miranda looks at him. “You’ll speak too,” she says in a tone reserved for royalty addressing peasants. “What should he say, Tabitha?”

My lips curve into a smile, just as savage as the one Miranda wore. “That the studio has experienced a major breach in its network and you’re coming forward with it because Miranda thinks it’s important to be transparent with the public and her shareholders. That the business and government communities can only catch these cyber criminals by working together. That the hacker responsible is the Hannibal Lecter of computer crime, the head of a highly sophisticated, vertically integrated global network of hackers, and his capture could have even more far-reaching effects than the capture of Bin Laden.”

I pause. “Make sure you use both those names. He’ll love that shit.”

Harry erupts in anger. “Are you crazy?” he shouts. “I can’t go on national television and compare a hacker to
Bin Laden
!”

“Leak it anonymously, then,” responds Miranda calmly. “Or compare him to Hitler.” Her eyes meet mine. “I know a thing or two about men with gargantuan egos. One thing they all have in common is they want to be recognized as the best. Even if being the best means being the worst.”

“Absolutely not!” barks Harry, but Miranda isn’t having any of his attitude.

“Would you like me to call your superior?” she asks, one blonde eyebrow arched.

Harry has to take several deep breaths before he managers to answer. Veins are popping out all over his neck. “My superior,” he says between clenched teeth, “is the
President of the United States
.”

Miranda’s expression is serene. “I know. We’ve met on more than one occasion. He’s a big movie buff. I gave him a personal tour of the lot.” She smiles lazily. “He invited me to spend the night in the Lincoln bedroom at the White House.”

The subtext is clear. The leader of the free world has the hots for Miranda.

You have to admire a woman who can render four grown men speechless. I cover my mouth with my hand to hide my smile.

Connor clears his throat. “Well. We’ll leave you to figure out the details. Harry, you know how to reach me. Tabby…” He sears me with a look. “Let’s go.”

I snort. “You’re funny, jarhead.”

“I’m not joking. We’re leaving. Together.”

Now everyone is looking at us. Heat sweeps up my neck. I say quietly, “No.”

Harry intervenes. “You can have two federal agents assigned to you, Miss West, or you can have Metrix. Your choice. But until this investigation is over, someone is keeping eyes on you twenty-four-seven.”

Livid, I glare at him. “I know my rights—”

“Use that big brain of yours to think of all the perfectly legal scenarios where you end up a lot worse than simply followed, Miss West. I’ve got fifteen agents who’ll swear under oath they saw you hack into the FBI’s database like you’d been doing it for years.”

It takes almost all my self-control not to execute a spinning axe kick on this turncoat and knock his head off his shoulders. “You gave me immunity for that!”

His brows lift. “Really? Because as I recall, those words never left my mouth. And we still haven’t addressed the issue Agent Rodriguez brought up—Polaroid, in case you’ve forgotten—or the fact that you were once intimately acquainted with our new friend Mr. Søren Killgaard, hacker and extortionist, and, by your own admission, possible terrorist. I’ve got so much probable cause to lock you up, I could make a very convincing case for Guantanamo.”

When I take a step forward, my hands curled to fists, Connor is there to stop me.

“Easy, tiger.”

He stands in front of me, gazing down at me with that annoying look from before, like he thinks I’m made of glass and it’s his job to make sure I don’t get broken.

The only thing in danger of breaking here is someone’s jaw.

“Fine.” My voice is cold as I look up into his eyes. “Metrix it is. Ryan?”

“Yes, ma’am?” Ryan answers over Connor’s shoulder.

Still looking into Connor’s eyes, I say, “Will you please accompany me to my hotel?”

Ryan drawls, “Be happy to, Tabby.”

Connor’s face darkens. There’s murder in his eyes.

Unintimidated, I stare up at him. “Move.”

“If you think you’re going anywhere without me,” he says, deadly soft, “you’re mistaken.”

Ryan ambles over, slings an arm around my shoulders, and grins down at me. “Looks like it’s a threesome, then.” He winks. “Lucky girl.”

I know Ryan notices the way Connor’s nostrils flare, the way his lips flatten, the way his body, invaded with a sudden tension, falls perfectly still. I know because as Ryan leads me away toward the door, he leans down and murmurs into my ear, “He didn’t tell me shit about what’s goin’ on between the two of you, Tabby, but I’ll tell you one thing. I’ve never seen him like this. Not over a woman, not over anything. The rest of the boys at Metrix call him ‘Teflon,’ because nothin’ ever sticks. So here’s somethin’ for you to think on. You fuck with my boy, you’re fuckin’ with me.”

When he pulls back, his smile is gone. His baby blues drill straight down into my soul. “And I’m no sexist. I’ll take you down even if you
are
a girl.”

Strangely, this little speech endears him to me. My spirits somewhat lightened, I nudge him in the ribs. “You could try, but big guys like you are always super slow.”

Unsure of what to make of my nonchalance, he cocks his head. “Is that a fact?”

I nod. “Glacially slow. On account of all that muscle mass. You’re too bulky. Now,
me
on the other hand—I’m ninja fast. Like lightning fast. Like”—I snap my fingers—“
Shazam!
”

Ryan’s trying hard to keep the stern look on his face, but I know that in spite of himself and the warning he just gave me, he’s inclined to like me.

What surprises me is that I’m inclined to like him too. And not because I dig his tattoos or his dimples or his disarming combination of sweet Southern drawl and gun-toting badassery.

I like him because he’s a good friend of Connor’s. Because he obviously has Connor’s back, and would do anything for him. Because somehow I’m living in an alternate universe where those things have become important benchmarks against which my opinion of people is measured.

Even if I despise him.

Which I do.

Which I keep telling myself as Ryan leads me out of the room while Connor follows behind us, burning holes in the back of my head with his eyes.

* * *

B
y the time
we pull up in front of my hotel, I can barely keep my eyes open. I’ve slept less than one hour in the last day. Everything is getting fuzzy around the edges.

When Connor opens my door—I’m in the back of Ryan’s rented Escalade because I refused to sit up front when Connor announced he was driving—I jump out and immediately stumble.

Connor catches me. His hands grip my arms for support.

“Do I need to carry you?”

I shake him off. “Try it and I’ll introduce you to a thousand new forms of pain,” I grumble.

Ryan rounds the front of the SUV. “You two lovebirds need a little privacy? I can make myself scarce—”

In unison, Connor and I snap, “We’re not lovebirds!”

Then we stare at each other in silence while Ryan whoops with laughter. “Roger that!
Not
lovebirds!” Grinning, he comes to stand beside us. He slaps Connor on the back. “So, notlovebirds, you need a little privacy or what?”

“Is he always like this?” I ask Connor.

“He hasn’t even gotten started,” he sourly replies.

“Aw, c’mon now!” Ryan gives Connor’s shoulder a friendly shake, which doesn’t budge his big frame. “I’m just providin’ a little relief from all the unresolved sexual tension, my friends! Thought I was gonna choke on it on the ride over!” Turning practical, he props his hands on his hips. “You two really should get it over with and bone so we can focus on work.”

Connor’s face turns red. Instead of being embarrassed, I’m amused. “What was it you said to me at the hotel, Connor? Oh yes—great minds think alike. I guess you two graduated from the same charm school?”

Ryan nods. “Oh yeah. We’re a couple of real charmin’ motherfuckers. Ask anyone.” He spots a woman walking through the sliding glass doors to the lobby who’s checking out him and Connor over her shoulder. His grin returns in full force. “You see? Proof’s in the puddin’.” He turns his grin on me and waggles his eyebrows. “Or should I say panties.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s like you’re twelve.”

Connor says drily, “That’s giving him a lot of credit.”

“Okay. Now that we’ve established my babysitters are the world’s worst driver and a randy twelve-year-old, can I please go to my room and get some sleep?”

Ryan’s brows pull together. “Randy? Is that one of them poo-poo British words for handsome?”

Connor’s eyes briefly close. “Horny, brother. It means horny.”

Ryan acts affronted. “Hey, don’t get all uppity with me, boss, at least I’m not the world’s worst driver.” When he winks at me, I think he might be becoming one of my favorite people.

It’s a short list.

“C’mon, then.” Connor holds out an arm. “After you, Tabby.”