Risky Business

by Bethany Jadin

  Despite the lack of sleep and the intensity of the work we’re doing, I kinda don’t want it to ever end. Maybe once we get BHC taken down and I’m working at Pentabyte, this can be a regular thing we do, like once a month we do a marathon coding session.

  Trying to ignore the heady scent of the shampoo Jax lathed his beard with during the shower this morning, I retrain my focus in on the lines of code we’re both studying with — mostly — undivided attention.

  “Right here.” Jax points at the screen. “We need to eliminate these lines. It’s just clutter now, and the program doesn’t know what to do with it.”

  My eyes run over the surrounding code. “You’re right. What we put in last night makes those lines redundant.”

  With a few keypresses, I delete the unnecessary script and execute the run command. Jax and I both sit back, taking a deep breath as the computer attempts to execute the program through the device emulation.

  Daniel’s been leaned back for the last hour, seemingly not paying attention to a single word or action, but I’ve learned over the last few days that he’s picking up on everything being said and done — he’s just storing it in a spare corner of his brain until he finishes running stuff through his own internal processor.

  Jax intertwines his fingers behind his head and rocks back in his chair “This shit is fucking brilliant. I can’t believe you did this all on your own.”

  I grin at him in appreciation, feeling validation that what I’ve been working on all this time is really as good as I hoped. My eyes slide from his face across his body, and I feel another burst of empowerment, because I’m being totally open about how attractive I find them all. After spending three days straight with the guys, all of us working in unison toward the same goal, knowing that they’re doing all of this for me, to keep us together — I’m not shying away anymore. So, I’m not even trying to hide the fact that I’m appreciating Jax’s broad chest and how his biceps bunch up his t-shirt when he strikes that pose with his hands behind his head. I openly ogle him, and he loves it, a mischievous grin taking over his lips.

  He shakes his head, leaning forward for a kiss. “You are a fucking horn dog, and I love it. Not quite as much as I love this.” He taps my temple with a forefinger. “You’re so goddamn smart, and that’s sexy as hell.”

  My fears of not fitting in with this close-knit group of men are washing away the more time I spend with them. They are each so different, and yet, we all fit together like a six-piece jigsaw. I’ve never shared this code with anyone before, and the validation I’m receiving from them — each of them brilliant in their own right — has been staggering. There is something happening with my confidence that I don’t quite understand, but I love it. I’m becoming more of the woman I’ve always wanted to be. Outspoken, decisive, confident. I feel the damage Jeremy did to me slowly melting away.

  My body heats up as Jax gives me a once over with that smoldering gaze of his. I’m thinking about taking some decisive action right about now, even though we really don’t have the time for a break, but I hear the front door of the penthouse open and close and then a second later, the rest of the guys appear in the dining room.

  “Who wants biscuits?” Trigg asks. “We got cheese and sausage, bacon and egg, and some kind of cordon blue biscuit that has ham and chicken.”

  My eyes dart to the clock displayed at the corner of the computer screen. It’s already morning? Christ. I turn to Trigg, Gunner, and Jude as they shuffle things around, making space to put things on the dining room table. “Where did you find a place that’s open at four in the morning?” I ask.

  “There’s a little bakery on Third Avenue that I love,” Trigg says. “They don’t open for a few more hours, but I know the employees go in at three to start making the biscuits from scratch, so I might have convinced them to do an early order for us.”

  It smells amazing. Melted cheese, hot sausage, crispy bacon, and the buttery scent of biscuits, fresh out of the oven. Jax and I take ours gladly, along with large coffees and cups of orange juice, but Daniel ignores his, still staring off into nowhere.

  Gunner and Jude are standing to the side of the table, fidgeting with something. “Damn, that’s thin,” Gunner says, a frown on his face.

  Jude shifts, and I can see that he’s holding up a full torso vest. “Yeah. If she takes a shot, it’ll break her ribs, for sure. But we can’t send her in there in something bulkier, they’d notice in a second.”

  “What’s it made of?” I ask, pointing at the vest.

  “Spiderweb.” Jude holds the fabric up for my inspection. “It’s thin, but it’s bulletproof. The upside is that it won’t puncture, and it’s lightweight enough to easily hide under normal clothes. The downside is that it won’t absorb much of the impact, so you could end up with serious bruising or broken bones.”

  “I can deal with that,” I tell him. He approaches, and I run the fabric between my fingers. “Feels silky.”

  “They’ll never know you’re wearing a bulletproof vest.”

  “So.” I take a slow sip of strong coffee. “That means you’re getting more comfortable with the idea of me going in there?”

  “I never said I was comfortable with it,” Jude responds. “But it’s our job to minimize the risks.”

  “I thought you said it would break her ribs,” Gunner counters, still frowning.

  Jude purses his lips and gives him an exasperated stare. “It’s better than being dead, isn’t it?”

  “You really think someone is going to pull out a gun?” I ask before chomping into a bacon and egg biscuit. My stomach is growling, and it just smells so damn good, but the topic at hand is making my stomach clench.

  Jax sits forward, his tone serious. “This only works if we actually get the information we’re after. Until then, what happens inside that building is going to be their word against yours. So, if they figure out what you’re up to, then... well, you not being able to speak out against them goes a long way in solving that problem, doesn’t it?”

  “We’re not taking the chance, in other words,” Jude says. “And we’re going to be there, too. I don’t give a fuck what the FBI is planning. We’re going to be in that building.”

  I speak around a big mouthful of biscuit. “How do you plan on getting in? I’ll be the only one with an invitation. Plus, I think the FBI is planning on having their own tactical team on standby, not you guys.”

  “Too fucking bad,” Gunner says. “We don’t need their goddamn permission to watch over our foxy lady.”

  “Exactly my sentiment,” Jude agrees.

  Trigg lifts the box of biscuits and grabs the folder underneath it. “We brought this in to show you.” He takes out a thick, folded-up paper and waves it at me before he clears a space at the edge of the table and smooths out what looks like floor plans. I wheel my chair over, and Jude points.

  “This is the level with all the board members’ offices.” He moves his finger to another spot on the blueprints. “Jax and I can enter via the service elevator from the parking garage here, and Gunner and Daniel can come down from the roof here.”

  Staring at the blueprints, I try to make sense of them. I skim through lines of code faster than cheetah on the hunt, but all the diagrams on the papers in front of me are just a mess of lines and symbols. “How are they going to get on the roof?”

  “Next building over.” Jude says it as though it’s matter of fact.

  I snap my eyes up to him. “They’re just going to jump?”

  “Rope,” Gunner says. He rifles through the contents of the folder and pulls out an image that appears to have been taken by satellite, looking straight down on the roofs of city buildings. He points to a mark on the top of one. “A grappling hook on this antenna.”

  I squint at the photo. “How can you tell that’s an antenna? Or that it’s strong enough to hold your weight?”

  “We scouted the area visually via helicopter.”

  I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Where’d you
get a helicopter?”

  Daniel, still staring at the wall, raises his hand silently.

  Of course, it was him. I lower my voice as though now, of all things, I’ll pull him out of his coding trance. “Daniel has a helicopter?”

  “No,” Trigg says. “We rented one, but Daniel has the license to fly one.”

  “And this spot, right here.” Jude pulls a photograph from the bottom of the folder. “That’s where Trigg will be.”

  More squinting from me. “What am I looking at?”

  “A great spot for a sniper’s nest,” Trigg says. “The guys won’t be able to have eyes on you, but I will. According to Theo, the executive offices are along this side of the building.” He draws a line across the photo. “All the board members have a sweeping view of the city, which is good for us. Makes it easy to track you, no matter what office they take you to. So I will be here,” he says, pointing at a building directly across, “with my gear, including a high-powered sniper’s rifle.”

  Whoa. The significance of what they’re offering isn’t lost on me. “Are you guys sure about this?”

  “We’ll still work with the FBI,” Gunner assures me. “This is just an addendum to their plan. And we’re doing it, whether they like it or not. It’s our job to have your back.”

  A lump catches in my throat, and I get up, making my way around the table to Gunner, Jude, and Trigg. I throw my arms around each of them for a quick hug, fighting back the tears in my eyes. Luckily, Daniel saves me from becoming a blubbering mess in front of the guys.

  He snaps to life in a sudden flurry of energy. “It’s not the Gamma segment.”

  Jax and I turn toward him. “One of the ancillary programs?” I ask, moving back to his side of the table.

  He shakes his head and rolls over to the cluster of monitors he set up at the corner of the room. “What you’ve put together here is incredibly complex, Emma, but it’s solid. There’s not a problem with the code at all.” Daniel is flying over the keyboard as he turns in his chair, checking one monitor then the next.

  Gunner approaches from behind, curious. “What’s going on?”

  “Her code is perfectly fine.” Daniel is in a frenzy now, coasting from the equipment on the dining room table, back to the temporary work station he set up along the wall, and then to the bank of monitors. “It’s everything else. We’ve been trying to change the code. What we need to do is change everything else.”

  “You’re talking about a patch for each OS?” Jax asks. “That’ll slow everything down and create loopholes, compromising the security. It defeats the entire purpose of the program.”

  “Sure,” Daniel says. “If you have a different patch for each OS.”

  “I’m lost,” Gunner admits. “Are you talking like a video game patch to fix bugs?”

  Daniel has become stationary, besides his fingers, which are racing over his keyboard, his eyes fixed with determination on the screen in front of him. Jax and I both lean in, and by God, I can’t believe what he’s going for.

  “Holy shit, Daniel,” I exclaim. “That’s fucking genius.”

  Beside me, Gunner just blinks. “What is happening?”

  I grab a seat and start feeding Daniel lines of code.

  Jax lets out a fuck, yeah and pulls up, taking notes as Daniel works. “He’s building a catalytic converter, Gunner.”

  Gunner perks up. “Okay, that’s language I can understand. So, he’s turning toxic gas into exhaust?”

  “Kinda.” Jax jots down a note and points at the screen.

  “Good catch,” Daniel says with a quick nod.

  “He’s creating a converter of sorts to…” Jax pauses, getting flustered with his analogy, “to make the exhaust acceptable to the environment it’s being introduced to. Does that make sense?”

  “Uh... I think so.”

  My tongue is between my teeth, my attention riveted to the screens in front of me. I barely register Jude’s words behind me when he says, “Come on, guys, let’s leave the geniuses to it. We have our own plans to polish.”

  27

  Daniel

  Jax, Emma, and I have had our moment of triumph; now it’s time for the Jarheads to shine.

  Jude has been in his element, working Gunner and Trigg, coordinating everything and going over the plan until they all had it memorized. We’re back at the abandoned airstrip for our last meeting with the FBI before the sting operation goes down, hanging out in the same dimly lit hangar as our previous pow-wow. The rest of us hang back, letting the Marine veterans take center stage. Emma is standing between Jax and I, obviously nervous about the upcoming sting operation, but also because a battle is currently going down right here in the hangar.

  Jude stands firmly planted, arms crossed over his chest, Trigg and Gunner flanking him. Agent Roth is looking more like a corporal being chewed out by his commanding officer than what he really is — the guy who’s supposed to be in charge.

  He holds up placating hands. “I get it, Jude, I really do. But you guys aren’t part of the FBI, and you aren’t employed by the military anymore. We can’t just involve you in the sting like this.”

  Gunner butts in. “Then deputize us.”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” Roth says.

  “Then figure out how to make it happen.” Jude isn’t budging.

  The poor FBI agent licks his lips, and I have to hide my smirk. I’m familiar with that nervous tick he’s got going on right now. I’ve seen it before when people have stood in Jude’s way and he wouldn’t back down. The guys have him on his heels, and Roth probably knows from his time serving with Jude that when the man wants something, he gets it.

  “Look, even if I could convince my superiors to let you guys in on this, you’re out of the loop. You’ve been out of the game for, what? How many years? I don’t mean any disrespect, but you’ve been desk jockeys for a long time now.”

  Oh no. He didn’t go there. I have to stifle a laugh of surprise. Jude and Trigg keep their cool, but Gunner spouts off a string of colorful profanity. Jude wasn’t just fantastic at mission control because his men respected him. He thought of every possible scenario. He demanded the absolute best from his men and accepted nothing less.

  Jude raises one hand to Gunner, cutting off the stream of cursing that’s making Roth shift nervously and turn slightly pink. “Desk jockeys? That’s cute.”

  He turns to Trigg then to Gunner, and a knowing look passes between them all. Gunner lifts the large rucksack that’s been sitting at his feet, and he drops it on the table. Trigg unzips the bag and begins unpacking it.

  Roth gestures at the items Trigg is laying out on the table. “What the hell? You aren’t supposed to have that stuff.”

  “What stuff?” Jude asks, his tone calm and even. “Pretty sure you never saw any of this.”

  The FBI agent glances at Jude then back at the table, his lips pursed. “Right, but possession of some military firearms doesn’t prove anything, Jude.”

  “No,” Jude agrees. “It sure doesn’t. But we didn’t come here to just wave our dicks in the wind, did we? Would you say that exit sign needs a dot over the i?”

  Roth looks confused. “What exit sign?”

  Jude points out the hangar door to the far end of the airfield, and the agent leans forward, squinting at a white blur visible in the distance, near the road leading out. I can only assume it’s a sign with the word ‘exit’ stenciled on it. “That one,” Jude says. “Give the i a dot, boys.”

  Gunner takes out a bandana out of his back pocket, rolls it up, and wraps it around his head, blindfolding himself. Then he springs into action, his hands moving so fast that I can’t catch all of his movements. I’ve seen him disassemble and reassemble firearms before, and his rapidity always amazes me. He’s had to slow it down for me while explaining so I can see what he’s doing, and that’s the only reason I know that his first step is inserting the buffer and spring. More noticeably, he joins the upper and lower receivers, engages the receiver
pivot pin, and puts on the handguards. Extractor, bolt, carrier, cam pin. The small pieces are engulfed by his big hands, but they all slide into place effortlessly. In less than twenty seconds, the man is pushing in the take down pin and slamming the magazine home with the palm of his hand.

  The FBI agent’s eyes are wide, and his mouth falls open as Gunner gives a two-handed toss of the rifle across the table to Trigg, who rapidly seats the stock on his shoulder, crouches to a stable position, and takes aim downrange, all in one fluid motion. The trigger is pulled half a second later, and everything goes quiet.

  Roth startles as Jude tosses a set of field binoculars at his chest. He may have to use them to check Trigg’s shot, but I don’t. That man has spent hours at the range every single week ever since he was discharged from the Marines. It’s in his blood. And Gunner has been there with him doing a little shooting, himself, but mainly fulfilling his duties as gunnery sergeant.

  “Shit.” Roth lowers the binoculars. “That’s a damn good shot.”

  Trigg looks over his shoulder at Roth before aiming and firing again. “I decided it needed two dots,” he says, standing up. “If you look, you should see a second hole in that sign, exactly an inch north of the first one.”

  He tosses the rifle back to a still-blindfolded Gunner, who catches it expertly and immediately begins disassembling it just as rapidly as he put it together.

  The agent peers through the binoculars again, and both eyebrows go up. “Okay, I get it,” he says. “You guys have stayed fresh.”

  “Fresh?” Gunner scoffs as he sets the last piece of the rifle down and rips off the bandana. “We’re at the top of our game. Want me to go head to head with any of your guys on a PT test?”