Eric (In the Company of Snipers Book 15)

by Irish Winters

  She nearly teared up at his faith in his faithless wife. How did a woman ever forgive herself for running from a man like him? Not now, she thought. Focus. Prove to him you can do this.

  Shea let her mind soar and her fingers fly.

  “I don’t know about this,” Eric growled, obviously doubting because he wasn’t in control of this breach.

  To keep him aboard, Shea explained, “Don’t worry. I’ll protect Moira’s system before I attack Ashford’s.” Her mind was already ten steps ahead, working the complexity of reaching into Ashford’s remote server and circumventing its system administrator, ICMP protocols, operating systems, and firewalls. To find a way inside their server, she’d need to deactivate the hotel’s OS detection, find their vulnerability. Maybe locate an open port that would provide access without detection. “Brute force will do it,” she theorized out loud.

  Eric leaned over, his cheek nearly against hers as he watched the screen. “Are you sure this won’t get you caught?”

  Just as she’d expected, her protective ex-husband had transformed into her willing cohort. Logic and honesty worked with Eric. She wished she’d remembered those simple techniques two years ago.

  “Positive.” She gulped, her fingertips on the keypad, but needing Murphy to understand what she had to do to his wife’s computer. “Do I have your permission to replicate your operating system? I won’t harm a single file, but I need everything of yours shut down and stored before I can maximize bash scripting.”

  Her heart thumped along with her tapping fingers. This was her chance to shine, to make up for the trouble she’d caused.

  A twinkle lit Murphy’s eyes. “You do know that I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, don’t you?”

  “It’s a security measure,” Eric cut in. “Shea needs all the operating space she can get.”

  “I’ll be extra careful,” she promised.

  Murphy dropped into the nearest overstuffed chair, his hands folded over his stomach. “Sure. Moira won’t mind. If she does, I’ll buy her a new computer. How long’s this gonna take?”

  “Only as long as it takes me to bypass the castle’s security protocol and insert my spiders. You won’t be sorry.” Shea drew in a deep breath. I hope.

  With Eric peering over her shoulder, her fingers danced through macros, assembly languages, and interpreters. She knew programming, and once she’d partitioned Murphy’s files, she ensured her programs remained virtual ghosts. Everything would be for naught if Carlson traced her dabbling back to Moira’s IP address.

  Shea set to work. She set up a virtual copy of her system that only she could delete, then installed firewalls to protect Moira’s simple operating system. Next, Ashford.

  Yes! Their system security was similar to the ones large departments stores used to ensure the confidentiality of customer financial data. Tap. Tap. Tap. Easy, peasy for a savvy hacker with nimble fingers.

  One to go. Next, locate Carlson. Target his name, voice, or face within Ashford’s enormous database. With one last tap of her index finger, she unleashed her elite spyware. Her spiders.

  “Come back to me with good news,” she breathed as a small window opened. Coding flashed too quickly for anyone to read, and—

  Bingo. Primary target acquired. Oh, look. Along with Carlson’s mug shot came a view of the three Frenchmen he employed. Ashford’s front lobby security cameras had caught their arrival when they’d checked in at the front desks like normal people.

  But she wanted more. A room number would be nice.

  Ashford Castle boasted its own private cellphone mast given its reputation for pandering to the exclusivity and privileged tastes of its wealthy clientele. Her army of virtual spiders could detect radio frequencies from that tower, both transmitting and receiving. All Carlson had to do was use his phone, and she’d know precisely which room he was in.

  “I love spiders,” she murmured to herself just as her fingertips tripped over themselves at the sensual shiver of Eric’s warm breath on her neck.

  “You never used to like bugs,” he whispered, the tease. Aishling prowled somewhere in Murphy’s quaint Irish cottage home, but Eric? He stayed fast at Shea’s side.

  She stifled the urge to bump lips with him once more. “I’m working here,” she replied, sure Murphy heard what she wasn’t saying, which had everything to do with sex on this desk if Eric didn’t stop—breathing. Sheesh! How was a love-starved woman supposed to keep her hands to herself with him around?

  “Good girl. Now we know for sure those guys work for him.” He might as well have licked the back of her neck. Her heart set to racing. The blood in her veins thrummed. Every last bone in her body was melting. She could so not concentrate.

  “What am I watching?” he asked, his voice in her ear, his lips a kiss away.

  Me melting under Murphy’s desk. Want to join me?

  Trembling with the sexual tension wiggling down her spine, Shea tapped out a new command for her spiders. “Right now, I’m inside Ashford’s wireless phone system.” But I want you inside me. She coughed to clear that husky tremor out of her voice. Blinking up into her ex-husband’s honest gaze, she told him breathlessly, “It might take a while to hone in on Carlson’s vocal patterns if he isn’t using his cellphone.” Do you want to make love to me while we wait?

  “What are you using as a reference?”

  “This recording.” Licking her bottom lip, she minimized the coding window, highlighted another icon, and tried to wrench her mind back from the erotic abyss it seemed to be swan diving into with utter abandon. “I recorded it when Carlson visited the lab. I could use the GPS chip in his phone to track him, but this is more accurate. It’ll all but put me, I mean us, inside his room.” Where he’s probably got a bed we could use while we wait…

  Shea hit the previously recorded clip she’d stored online. One tap and Carlson’s arrogant threat boomed as if he were there with her. “Do you think someone like you is strong enough to tell me no?”

  The rancid arrogance in his demeaning threat killed the teasing mood.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying, sir,” Gordie had replied, firmly and politely. “This discovery’s not for sale, not now or next week. We’ve just begun exploring the ramifications of bounce back energy. Think about it. It’s been around since the beginning of time, and we never knew it until now.”

  Intensity shuddered off Eric. His breath caught as Shea rubbed the goosebumps off her bare arms at the rowdy clip of Gordie’s New York accent. Hearing it almost made him seem alive.

  “Nonsense!” Carlson again, right before he’d shoved Gordie against the lab’s countertop. “This breakthrough is huge! Monumental! Too big for the likes of you sniveling lab rats. Only someone with limitless funding has the right to study it. Think about this, you little fraud. Five million! That’s what I’m offering you right now. Take it or leave it.”

  Shea was still proud of her friend. Most would’ve caved in the face of blatant corporate greed, but Gordie had stood his ground because he’d believed in her and Phoenix. He knew they could work together, if only because they already had. They were Professor Grover’s shining stars. “I’m sorry, but my answer is still no. There’s nothing you can do to convince me to sell. Phoenix and Finn have put too much of their hearts and souls into this discovery. You need to leave, Mr. Carlson.”

  “You recorded the whole thing?” Eric asked, his palm squeezing her shoulder.

  “Yes,” she breathed, so damned distracted. His mouth was less than an inch from hers. His tongue had just moistened his bottom lip with one languorous slide that looked like an invitation. Pure admiration glittered in his eyes. Maybe even pride. Or lust…

  She shrugged, struggling to stay focused, but man… This guy was making it—dare she think it—hard? “I… I was the fat man out, remember?” And right now, I’m falling for you. “P-people usually didn’t see me, so yes. C-Carlson was just like everyone else, and…” Her tongue seemed to have forgotten how to enun
ciate. “Ph-Phoenix wasn’t there, so I recorded everything. I knew Carlson was trouble.”

  “That’s not what your buddy said!” the man roared just as the clip ended.

  Shea froze. Say what?

  “What’d that mean?” Eric asked, his palm alongside her keyboard now, the sizzle between them gone.

  “I don’t remember him saying that, but I was nervous, and I…” God, Phoenix. What have you done? She replayed that last segment. Then she played it once more as if repetition would change what Carlson meant by those words. It can’t be. I can’t believe Phoenix would…

  Eric said it for her. “Is it possible Berglund was talking with Carlson behind your back?”

  Shea shook her head. “No. That can’t be.” But yes, that was precisely what it sounded like.

  “Jordan found a hole in the wall behind the refrigerator in your flat, did you know that? Is it possible Phoenix was hiding something there?”

  “Like what? Drugs? Money? They both smoked a little pot now and then, but I can’t believe he’d…” No, no, no. Phoenix loved Gordie. He did. He wouldn’t have gone to Carlson behind our backs. He wouldn’t.

  Yet someone had certainly leaked this important discovery. Else, how had Carlson known to come looking for it? Her heart thudded with a hard beat deep within her chest. Someone was still out there waiting for her. Shea just didn’t know who.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Eric’s palm on her shoulder brought them face-to-face. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, Shea. Carlson’s a sneaky SOB. He might’ve been casting doubt where there was none.”

  It was so like him to offer hope, but this was bad. Still, Shea tied a knot in the end of that lifeline he’d just tossed, and chose to believe in her friends. There had to be an explanation for what Phoenix had done.

  “What else did you record?” Eric asked, reassurance on his handsome face.

  “Things,” she replied, quietly evading the question as her fingers wavered over the keyboard. Her heart was torn.

  “So now we wait?” Murphy asked from his comfortable chair.

  “It shouldn’t take long,” she assured, working on catching her balance. “He’s an important guest.”

  Eric grunted. “At least he thinks so.”

  As if on cue, Carlson’s smug voice slithered through Murphy’s computer speakers. “Alex Stewart? Well, well, well. What can I do for you?”

  “My man will contact you tomorrow morning,” Alex informed their mark abruptly.

  My man? As in—Eric?

  Shea twisted around to Murphy, the guy sitting next to her with a cocky smile on his face, and his cellphone in his hand. “You told Alex to call Carlson?” She wished she’d thought of that.

  “’Course. I might be an old fart, but I know how to text.”

  Straightening, Eric grinned as he rubbed his hands. “Good thinking. I’m ready for some payback. How far to Ashford?”

  Murphy leaned forward, his elbows to his knees. “That depends. It’s a good two hundred kilometers northwest of here if you plan on driving. Less if you want to fly. What’s the plan, Eric?”

  “You heard the boss. The plan is I go in and get Jordan and the others out.”

  “Shhhhh,” Shea whispered, her index finger to her lips while Alex and Carlson continued sparring. Her heart was stuck in her throat at this unexpectedly quick resolution. Why did Eric have to be the one to confront Carlson?

  Shea brought up a map of the interior of the castle and pinpointed Carlson’s location. Her spiders had served her well. His room was located at ground level. West side. Oldest part of the castle.

  She double-checked the spider’s findings against the hotel registry. My, my. Carlson occupied the two adjacent suites as well. That gave him sole access to that entire wing, including a private side entrance. He could come and go as he pleased.

  “Expect Agent Reynolds at daybreak,” Alex snapped, “and trust me, he will be taking Hannigan with him when he goes. The others, too. They’d better be there.”

  Shea nodded at Alex’s bold order. You tell him.

  “Hold that thought,” Carlson’s gravelly tone pitched a note deeper. “I said I was willing to negotiate, but I’m not giving up my ace in the hole.”

  “I don’t negotiate with terrorists, rich or not,” Alex hissed.

  “You do now. You want your man? I want Finn Powers. Deal?”

  “You’ll ensure Reynolds and Hannigan are safely out of Ashford by zero eight hundred hours tomorrow or—”

  “Are you threatening me, Stewart? You? An American has-been?”

  Silence. Click. Typical. Alex didn’t waste time negotiating. He’d hung up.

  “Arrogant prick!” Carlson hissed as his line went dead.

  Murphy chuckled. “How much do you want to bet Alex’ll be on the next plane to Shannon Airport to knock Carlson on his billionaire ass?”

  Shea bit her lip while Eric and Murphy discussed their boss’s temper. Carlson had been every bit as hostile with Alex as he had with Gordie. Maybe it was time he got a taste of his own medicine. Her fingers wandered the world wide web until—

  Oh look, the mighty Hugh Carlson’s website. With links.

  She let her fingers do the walking all the way into his FAQs, his very pristine About Me page, his sizeable financial holdings…

  Oh, look. I wonder how this happened. I’m inside his bank account. Make that, his bank.

  Leaning into the monitor, Shea counted all those digits to the left of the decimal point in one of his many accounts. This guy could feed a few starving nations all by himself, and he could do it out of his petty cash—like never. Hugh Carlson wasn’t about helping others. But lookee here…

  “Don’t do it.” Eric’s deep voice rumbled.

  Busted. She swallowed hard. “I’m just looking, but see this?” She pointed at the screen and all those digits. “I could bring him down to our level…” She snapped her trembling fingers because they were tapping all over the screen. “…just like that.”

  “We don’t want his money.”

  “True, but others could use it.” As in other countries.

  Eric placed a quick kiss to the side of her head. “One mission at a time. No.”

  Shea leaned into the warmth of Eric’s male body to reassure him she wouldn’t defy his wishes, but the instant she did, her body revved up like that Harley she’d just had between her legs. Every last ounce in her body sang at his touch. A shimmering flame pooled between her legs, scorching her until she had to cross her ankles to ease the ache.

  “But I could. If you ever want me to wreck him, just say the word.” Because I really want to humble this jerk, and damn it. I need sex. With you!

  “Can you monitor his cellphone to track him at all times?” Murphy asked.

  Shea nodded. She could monitor just about anything she wanted, and she could, umm, dabble at the same time. Easily, she skimmed Ashford’s event schedule. Dinner in the George V Dining Room was served promptly at five pm. An acclaimed chef prepared only the finest dishes. Slow roasted Rib of Beef. Nyangbo frozen Choco-latte Mousse. Blah. Blah. Blah… What have we here? A masquerade ball? Tomorrow?

  “So strategize,” Eric declared. “All I know is I’ve got marching orders to be at Ashford at zero dark thirty.”

  She straightened in her seat, startled that she’d missed part of the conversation.

  “And if Carlson refuses to hand over Jordan and the others?” Murphy rubbed a clenched fist over his chin. “We’ll have to go dark, and that’ll be a two-man job, Eric. We’ll need to leave Shea here alone. Are you prepared to do that? Or do we take her with us?”

  She shot Eric one of her looks. Despite the tension in the air, the corners of his mouth curled. Lust was simmering in the depths of those handsome eyes. She never got tired of looking at him. He was her worst addiction. Her crack. Her meth. All rolled into one, glorious hit. Stealing her breath like a sucker punch to her solar plexus with his sexy bod, and yes. They could both spell. S. E. X.


  “I have an idea,” she said, not sure how to approach him, but she was going to try. “What about going to a masquerade ball?”

  The smile dropped off his face. “A what?”

  Murphy leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Let’s hear what she’s got to say.”

  Her heart climbed up her throat. This idea might be more dangerous than she wanted to handle, but it might also be the perfect solution. “Well, umm, a masquerade party’s scheduled for tomorrow at Ashford. It’s for lords and ladies. Invitation only. Royal attire. Masks. Pomp and circumstance. The whole nine yards.”

  “Why do we care?” Eric asked, his head canted as if he knew where she was going with this. He always could read her like a book.

  “I was thinking you guys could dress as lords to my lady and—”

  “No.” He took a full step back from her, his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “I’m not putting you into play, Shea. Not with this crowd. No way.”

  Murphy leaned into his comfortable chair, watching.

  Shea didn’t offer another word. If Eric said no, then she wouldn’t argue. Not anymore. She wasn’t a covert operator, although she had fooled Phoenix and Gordie for over a year, and she’d fooled Eric until Finn had lain down in a bog. Come to think of it, she’d fooled Jordan, too. At first. Still, Eric was her first priority. Whatever he said would go.

  “Now hold on,” Murphy muttered. “Your little woman might have a good idea. No one would suspect us if we’re in costume. Where will this shindig be held? Any chance it’ll be near Carlson’s suite?”

  “Yes. The reception area is also in the older portion of the castle, only it’s in the lower level. It holds one hundred and twenty people, so it sounds like they’re planning on a large party. There will be musicians and heavy hors d’oeuvers. An open bar.” Palpitations set her heart hammering. There’ll also be danger. Too many eyes. Maybe a scimitar hidden in the sleeve of a billowing, black robe that wasn’t a costume.

  “You can’t be serious?” Eric asked, rolling both shoulders because she’d just trapped him. “Send in an inexperienced woman to do what, Murph? Face a madman and his three goons while she’s wearing some stupid ruffled get-up and heels? Give me a break.”