Zero Hour

by Megan Erickson

  “And a library,” Wren added.

  “I bet he pays someone to arrange them alphabetically,” Marisol said. “If we weren’t on a time crunch on this mission, I’d go in and move all his books around.”

  “He wouldn’t be the one putting them back.”

  “Good point.” Marisol picked up a Snickers and bit off the end with a low growl of frustration. They’d been at this all day. Dade was gone, off doing whatever he did that usually resulted in some sort of injury. Jock and Erick were working side by side, fingers flying over their keyboards as they analyzed the scrolling code on a half-dozen monitors. An hour ago, Erick had left to get food and came back with pizza, soda, and a bag full of candy.

  Meanwhile, Roarke hadn’t moved for hours. He sat on the ground with his laptop, cross-legged, which pulled at something in Wren. Memories flitted through her mind of all the times she’d found him in Erick’s room just like that. Roarke never liked working at a desk. He’d pile a bunch of pillows on the floor, prop his laptop on his legs, and get to work. Scattered around him were crushed Diet Coke cans.

  “So,” Marisol was saying, “I’ll be there early with the catering company to set up. That gives me time to get the lay of the house and make sure nothing has changed from these plans.”

  Arden lived in a gated community and doubled down on security for his home. The place was more fortified than a bank vault. But Wren had the combination to walk right in the front door in the form of Darren Saltner.

  “This catering job is no joke, by the way,” Marisol said. “They ran a background check on me and everything. Good thing Carmen Esposito is clean as a whistle.”

  Wren popped a Sour Patch Kid into her mouth. “Carmen just wants to serve bacon-wrapped scallops to rich assholes.”

  “Lacy wants to eat those bacon-wrapped scallops.”

  “Carmen doesn’t even know what recursive function is.”

  “Lacy hasn’t updated iOS in a year.”

  Marisol gasped loudly before they both dissolved in laughter. Marisol had to catch herself from falling off her chair. She wiped her eyes, smearing her eyeliner.

  “Carmen and Lacy just want to live their lives, damn it!” Marisol grinned. “Anyway, you up for more acting, princess?”

  Wren bit her lip and nodded. The plan was for Wren to play the part of a drunk date. She’d lure Darren into an empty room with the promise of sex, but with a perfectly timed drug slipped in his drink, he’d pass out before she ever had to lift up her dress.

  Wren and Marisol selected a room equal distance between the ballroom and Arden’s office. Once Darren was out for good, they’d head to the office. Arden’s security system had installed cameras throughout the house, but they weren’t manned round the clock. Because of the party though, the cameras would be recording and monitored by the security company.

  “Jock can edit the footage from the cameras and play the feedback on a loop so anyone watching won’t see us. They’ll see a blank hallway that’s already been recorded.” Marisol said.

  “Will they notice the glitch?” Wren asked.

  Marisol shook her head. “Jock showed me how he does it. Seamless. So once Darren is out, we’ve got about two hours to get our shit and get out before he wakes up.” She rubbed her hands together. “I gotta practice my lock-picking skills. I’m a little rusty.”

  “There’s no separate security in his office at least,” Wren noted.

  “Well, it’s not on the plans,” Marisol said. “But we’ll have to stay aware. I’m a little worried these could be outdated.”

  “So we get in, copy the files, and get out.” Wren made a face, her confidence flagging. “I’m sure that’ll be super-easy and not nerve-racking at all.”

  “Getting into that computer will take most of our time,” Marisol said. “And I’ll be honest, I’m a little worried that’s where we’ll run into roadblocks.”

  Wren cracked her knuckles. “Leave that part up to me.”

  Marisol laughed. “Well, princess has confidence.”

  “I work well under pressure. At least when it comes to hacking. Peopling? Not so much.”

  “Good thing you don’t have to hack into Darren’s brain then.”

  Wren shuddered. “I don’t want to know what’s in there.”

  Marisol leaned back in her chair and propped her booted feet on the table, the silver buckles on the ankles clanging. “So you feel okay about this?”

  “Sure. I’m glad you’re going to be there.” Wren didn’t want to go into the lion’s den alone, not with Darren. She trusted Marisol, and between the two of them, she knew they’d manage to get out of there with what they needed. Or at least go down fighting like mad. “I think I know a little bit more about how to handle Darren. That date was a nice trial run.”

  “And it got you this invite.” Marisol shoved the rest of her Snickers in her mouth.

  “It did.”

  “And you’re okay with what you’re going to have to do after the date?”

  Wren had been reaching for a fun-size Twix but no longer felt hungry. When Darren woke up, she had to be gone. Lacy, Lacy’s apartment, every trace of her had to be gone until Darren and Arden were brought down. And even then, she had to stay gone. She hadn’t decided where she’d go yet. St. Lucia was sounding better and better. Once Wren and Marisol copied the files, Wren was a ghost. She sighed. “I guess I have to be okay with it, huh?”

  Marisol nodded, her gaze steady. “Guess so.”

  Wren didn’t want to be examined by Marisol anymore. She’d known the woman for a week, and already Marisol could read her like a book. Wren glanced around the basement and spied Roarke’s dark head bent over his laptop. His shoulders were tight, inked fingers flying over the keyboard. “Roarke needs to eat,” she muttered to herself. “He hasn’t eaten, right? I mean, he should at least have a piece of pizza or something.”

  “Boy is fine with his caffeine,” Marisol said, peering at Wren through her strands of blue hair. “You’ve known him longer than I have, so you know this is how he is when he’s in it.”

  “I know but…” It wasn’t healthy, she wanted to finish. What was she, Roarke’s mother now? Well, hey, if he could worry about her life during this mission, then she could worry about his damn eating habits.

  She picked up a piece of mushroom pizza—it’d always been his favorite—and carried it over to him on a ripped-off piece of the pizza box. Kicking a couple of cans out of the way to clear a path, she knelt down beside him. He didn’t look up. She kicked another can, and he still ignored her. His eyes were glued to his computer screen, fingers tapping out a rhythm.

  She couldn’t deny it was hot to watch him work his magic, his brow furrowed, lips set in a determined slash. She wafted the pizza under his nose. He followed the scent, until those hazel eyes rose to her. She wiggled the pizza near her head with a smile. “Hungry?”

  He blinked at her, and she could see the gears in his head switch from binary to English. “Uh.” He blinked again, shook his head, and stilled his fingers. “What time is it?” He glanced around like he wasn’t sure where he was, and his confusion was adorable. She knew what it was like to tumble headfirst into a project and lose all sense of place and time.

  “It’s kinda late,” she said. “You haven’t moved for hours, and I’m not sure why you haven’t pissed yourself or why you haven’t perished from lack of nourishment.”

  He took in the empty cans around him. “Huh.”

  “You went through a six-pack.” She held up the plastic ring. “I’ll take this and cut it before throwing it away, because I’m forever haunted by those pictures of wild animals stuck in these things.”

  The Roarke who was human finally smiled and reached for the pizza in her hands. “Ah, that’s the Wren I remember. The one who cried over Animal Planet.”

  “I don’t care if it’s natural selection. I feel bad for the gazelles,” she muttered.

  “Nah, I always root for the lions.”

  “
You’re a monster.”

  “Survival of the fittest.” He took a bite of his pizza and barely chewed before he swallowed it. “Shit, I was hungry. And I really do have to piss like a racehorse.”

  “How’s it going over here?”

  He stopped chewing and groaned. “Hold on. Let me finish this pizza before I talk about Darren and lose my appetite.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse.”

  She dropped to her butt on the floor next to Roarke while he finished eating. She wondered if he’d found out what she knew about Darren’s other activities. She nibbled on her thumbnail while Roarke continued to eat. They were in relative privacy over in this corner of the basement. Marisol was busy at her laptop, and the guys hadn’t come up for air since they’d eaten. Wren picked up Roarke’s last can, rattled it to find it wasn’t quite empty, and drained the rest of the Diet Coke. “You should probably get a new vice.”

  Roarke shoved half of the crust in his mouth. “Like what? Smoking?”

  “No.”

  “Heroin?”

  Wren rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

  “Just saying, sweetheart. Could be worse. Let me have my Diet Coke, and I won’t lecture you on the effects of hair dye fumes.”

  She glared at him.

  He shrugged. “Heard it on NPR or some shit.”

  She smacked him. “You did not.”

  He grinned as he inhaled the last bit of his pizza. “I’m going to the bathroom, then I’ll come back, and we can throw up what we just ate while talking about Darren.”

  “Romantic.” Wren sighed dreamily and fluttered her eyelashes even though her stomach threatened to revolt. She didn’t want Roarke to know yet because she knew he’d jeopardize this mission and hers if he did.

  Roarke rose and winced as something cracked. “Fuck, I really need to take a walk and stretch or some shit.”

  “Pee first, stretch later,” Wren said. “Old man.”

  He shot her the finger as he retreated to the bathroom.

  She glanced around the room while Roarke was gone. Marisol sat hunched over her laptop, scribbling notes on a pad. Jock and Erick were pointing at something on Jock’s screen and discussing it.

  This was what she’d always wanted. A team. A crew. Working on a mission that fucking meant something as a gray hat hacker—she’d straddle the law if it was for the greater good. Stopping Arden from using his security company to sell vulnerabilities was definitely a greater good. How many breaches and data leaks so far were a result of his exploitations? How many deaths had he caused other than Flynn’s?

  But after this mission, there was no way to keep the crew together. They’d have to split up to protect one another. She’d be on her own, and that was if she made it through her own personal mission for Fiona.

  Now that Roarke had finally begun to see her as a teammate and as a desirable woman, she’d have to betray his trust. From what she knew of Roarke, once he wrote someone off, they were dead to him forever. She had to operate under the assumption that that applied to her, too. Better not get her hopes up that he’d be okay with the fact that she’d lied to him all this time.

  * * *

  Roarke washed his hands, his stomach still rumbling. That one slice of pizza wasn’t enough to fill him up, but the thought of eating another one made him nauseous. He should probably pay more attention to his diet rather than subsisting on Diet Coke.

  He risked a glance in the mirror as he dried his hands. Yep, he looked like shit. Jesus. He was already a pale motherfucker, but the bags under his eyes were blue and purple, and his lips were discolored. He resembled a corpse, and while he’d never cared much about his appearance, it bothered him that Wren was seeing him so wrecked.

  Maybe he’d try to work in some protein shakes before he keeled over from lack of nutrition. He splashed cold water on his face, ran it through his hair, and let it drip down his neck, soaking the collar of his white T.

  He was known for keeping himself in check. Maintaining his cool. Erick dealt with difficult situations by making jokes. Roarke stayed ice cold. It was why he was known in hacking circles as only 6192—the melting point of tungsten, which was the highest of all metals.

  Roarke didn’t melt. He didn’t even get close. But this situation with Wren…damn he was at least at 2,000 degrees. Losing his cool on the most important mission of his life wasn’t an option. He shook his head and splashed more water on his face before rubbing it out of his eyes. She was in too deep to back out now, and at least this way he had a whole team keeping an eye on her.

  When he left the bathroom, Wren was still sitting on the floor. She’d slipped off her high-top Converse and wiggled her toes in her mismatched socks. She glanced up at him as he walked over to her. Maybe it’d do him good to get out of this basement. “Hey, you wanna take a walk?”

  She frowned. “Uh, I’d love to but are you sure? What if someone sees us?”

  He shook his head. “I got a place. No one will bother us.”

  As she stood up, he called over to Eric and Jock. “Taking a breather with Wren. Be back in an hour.”

  The guys were deep into something because Erick barely glanced up. “See ya.”

  Marisol gave them a little salute. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  Roarke swore Marisol saw right through them, but she hadn’t said anything yet so he let it slide. She could think what she wanted. He led Wren up the stairs and cut back through the building to a back door. Outside, his Mustang sat covered in a side alley.

  As he took the cover off, folded it, and placed it in the trunk, Wren said, “Do you cover your baby so no one sees her or so she doesn’t get damaged?”

  He opened the passenger-side door for her before rounding the front. “Both.”

  She smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

  Once he turned the ignition, the engine rumbled to life. He pulled out of the alley, made his way out of the city, and opened her up on the highway.

  “You going to tell me where we’re going?” Wren asked. She’d taken her hair down, and it hung in shiny waves around her shoulders. How did she look so good after spending hours in a basement huddled over a computer, eating pizza and candy?

  “Just a small park,” he said. “I need to clear my head, breathe in something that isn’t that damn stale air.”

  “I hear ya,” she muttered.

  They drove in silence for a while until Wren turned on the radio. She tapped out the rhythm to a pop song on her thigh with purple-tipped fingernails. In this car, he could almost imagine what their lives would be like if they were normal. If they worked jobs that didn’t require them to carry guns or constantly look over their shoulders.

  “What would you be doing if you weren’t doing this?” he asked as he turned down the radio a bit.

  Wren ran her tongue over her teeth in thought. “Well, I know I went to school for journalism, but I think I’d want to be a social media manager.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I know it sounds weird, but I’d love to be in charge of a business’s Facebook or Twitter page. Post funny memes and take down haters.”

  Roarke laughed softly. “I can see you doing that.”

  “Yeah? So can I. What about you?”

  He hadn’t given it much thought. In his mind, not hacking meant he’d have to wear a suit and work nine to five in an office with a briefcase, but he knew that wouldn’t have to be the case. He didn’t want coworkers. Hell, he hated most adults. A couple of times, he’d come into contact with young hackers, teenagers who reminded him of himself, who were getting into things they shouldn’t have. He hadn’t minded reaching out to them over the Web and setting them on the right course. “I think I’d want to teach computer science. At-risk teenagers. Show them there’s a way out.”

  Wren was quiet for a while, and he stole a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She was watching him, her face soft, lips parted. He startled when something brushed his hand. She squeez
ed his fingers gently where they rested on the gear shift. “I can see you doing that, believe it or not.”

  “Really? Thought you’d laugh at the idea of me standing in front of a bunch of scowling teenagers.”

  “No,” she said with no hint of humor. “I wouldn’t laugh at that.”

  He swallowed, surprised and touched at her belief he could be something other than a hacker consumed with a personal vendetta. Because he wasn’t so sure he was much more than that. When he didn’t respond, she patted his hand and drew hers away. His skin went cold at the loss of her touch. They drove in silence for a while more before he spotted the sign for the rest stop and pulled off.

  “You need to use the bathroom again?” she asked, her lips turning up.

  He shook his head. “There’s a park behind the rest stop. No one stays long because they’re pretty much just letting their dogs shit, then leaving.”

  “Sounds lovely,” she muttered.

  He bumped her with his elbow. “So we can mostly be alone and no one will bother us.”

  “Okay, that actually does sound lovely.”

  He laughed. “Told you.”

  There weren’t many people there at all. The rest stop was mostly used by truckers, so large eighteen-wheelers lined the back parking lot, while the drivers inside got some rest.

  After grabbing waters out of a nearby vending machine, they took a dirt path away from the main building, which housed a convenience store and bathrooms. Roarke chugged his water quickly and shoved the half-empty bottle in the back pocket of his jeans.

  Wren walked quietly, her gaze on the ground. He wished he had the liberty to touch her, to grab her hand and press the back of it to his lips, to wrap his fingers around the back of her neck while she tipped those dark eyes up at him. He wished he could dip his head at that moment and kiss her. Last night, she’d thrown up road blocks. Go away, Roarke. And he had to stay in his lane. It was for their own good anyway.

  As much as he enjoyed being with Wren, he wished he didn’t have to tell her what he’d found on Darren. He took another sip of water before plunging in headfirst. “That password-protected forum? I made it in.”