She sat down, wrapping herself in the laptop’s familiar glow, and kept working as the algorithm ran in the background.
Xander was back a few hours later with a mug of tea in his hand. He set it in front of her and sat down. “Still nothing?”
Alexa pressed her palms to the desk and pushed her rolling chair back. “The files we downloaded are basically a bunch of pixel fragments. It’s complex.”
“And you’re the best at complex, which is why we dragged your arse to Munich with us.” A smile met his lips. God, didn’t he just love giving her a hard time.
“You try and figure out a million-piece jigsaw puzzle when the pieces are all practically the same color, shape, and size . . .” Her analogy seemed lost on him as he shot her a blank stare. “Using our binary systems to decode these files is proving damn near impossible. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I knew these guys were on another level, but I didn’t expect this,” she said while waving her hand at her computer as if she were brushing it away.
“So we send it to GCHQ.” The Government Communications Headquarters were Britain’s, and really the world’s, premier cyber agency.
She scrubbed a palm up and down her cheek and glowered at her screen. “Something doesn’t make sense—it doesn’t feel right.”
“At least you were able to bypass Gregov’s firewalls and copy his files back in Munich. But if we want to stop whatever cyberattack Anarchy is planning we really need to—”
She held up her hand. “I know. I know. And I already copied the files and sent them off to GCHQ. Maybe they’ll have better luck.”
Xander touched her shoulder and gently squeezed. “Good to hear you already passed the files on, because we need you to play dress-up again.”
Alexa looked over her shoulder at him, her lips parting. This was always her least favorite part of the job. The only time she wanted to impersonate someone else was via computer.
“It’s Laney’s orders.”
“Why?” She pushed to her feet. “This isn’t about the bombing, is it? You said Secret Service is on that.”
“They’re asking for our help now.”
“Isn’t there anyone else?” She pleaded with her eyes, narrowing them at Xander. But she knew she was wasting her time. If Laney wanted something, there was no arguing. “We’re knee deep in our own shit right now.”
He shrugged. “Not my decision, babe. Sorry.”
“Well, who am I supposed to be this time?”
Xander smirked.
“What?” She folded her arms, growing tense.
“Oh, well, um.” He paused and touched his chest, and then his smile spread until she wondered if it would reach his ears. “Laney needs you to play nurse.”
“Oh, bloody hell.”
Chapter Five
Alexa ducked into the hospital room and shut the door behind her.
Justin King, the Secret Service agent in charge of the investigation, had informed her that the U.S. government didn’t want anyone going near the injured American’s hospital room. She couldn’t believe the Americans were managing to boss them around, especially given that they were on British soil.
Of course, she understood their reasoning. The Americans wanted everyone to think their FBI agent had died in the explosion. They were trying to protect him. And if you wanted to cover the truth, you couldn’t have police running around.
Fortunately, they had made her job enormously easy. Since the hospital wing was practically vacant, there weren’t many people to notice her. In fact, so far there hadn’t been any at all. The Americans only had one guard dog—another agent. She had waited for him to disappear down a hall before she made her move.
I shouldn’t be here, she thought bitterly. She’d much prefer to sit behind her screen, breaking through Gregov’s snarl of code. It was damn infuriating she couldn’t crack it. After so much time tracking @Anarchy, she was anxious as hell to stop them finally.
Alexa moved with slow and cautious steps toward the man lying in bed.
Jake Summers was asleep. White gauze wrapped his forehead, covering part of his scalp.
There were black rings around his closed eyes, and he had a little bit of a swollen cheek.
He wasn’t all that banged up for someone who had survived an explosion. But there was something painfully familiar about the man. She couldn’t quite place her finger on it.
She turned away from him, even though she was compelled to stare. Reaching for his chart, she skimmed over the details, attempting to verify the information Secret Service had received about the man’s condition.
The trauma to his head could have caused temporary amnesia. But what if he was faking it? Then again, why would he lie?
The lashings on his back indicated he’d been tortured. But why terrorists sent Jake to an old mill was beyond her—unless he had escaped?
She returned his chart to where she’d found it and moved to the side of his bed, where she stared down at his hands, which were linked on his chest. Her fingers touched his bruised knuckles, and she held her hand over his for a moment.
What am I doing? She pulled her hand free from his.
His chest inflated and he released a ragged breath.
When Jake blinked a few times, and opened his eyes, Alexa stumbled back, turning toward the heart rate monitor.
“How are you feeling?” she softly asked, examining the monitor like she had a clue. Did he know she wasn’t supposed to be in there? She’d have to improvise—and fast—if that were the case.
“I feel like hell . . . but I don’t want any more meds.” His deep, country voice flitted to her ears and goosebumps chased across her skin.
“Are you sure? You must be in a lot of pain.” She stole a glimpse of the hall through the window in the room, checking to see if the coast was still clear.
“I can’t think with that stuff in me. And, apparently, I have a lot I should be thinking about.”
She listened closer to the rich baritone of his voice, which was like a slow whisper of seduction nipping at her skin. She spun toward him.
It couldn’t . . . could it?
Her body stilled, and the hairs on her arm stood.
“Your voice . . .”
Was he a mind reader? Oh, God. It was him. Mr. New Year’s Eve—the guy she’d spent a week with a year ago and . . . What the hell?
He’d said his name was Jake, but he’d never given his last name. She hadn’t wanted to do last names—that would imply something more serious.
And she couldn’t ever do serious. Not while she was racing around the world trying to stop terrorists.
Alexa’s mind scrambled for answers as she turned away again, offering only her profile. Of course, if he truly had amnesia, he wouldn’t recognize her.
Would he?
How could this be happening? How could he be lying in a bed twenty minutes from her flat? It was almost unbelievable. Scratch that. It was unbelievable.
She touched a hand to her red wig, making sure it was still in place. As she started to lower her arm, he reached out and captured her wrist. The gesture sent strange, tingling sensations up her arm. Her nipples became stiff against the inside of her bra.
“Do I know you?” he asked gruffly.
“No, of course not.”
He released Alexa’s hand, but the loss of his touch left a cool imprint in its place.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I barely know who I am.” He forced an awkward laugh. “Any updates on my charts? I haven’t seen the doctor in a little while. You think you could ask him to come in here?” Jake pressed a hand to his face and then gripped the bridge of his nose. Maybe his nurse or the doctor could talk some sense into him and get him to take pain meds. He seemed an awful lot like her, though—stubborn.
“I’ll get him.” Well, not that she really could. But he’d probably be along at some point.
She inhaled one long breath and took a step back from the bed. “I hope you get better, Mr. Summers.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Ma’am? She tried not to laugh. He had called her that the night they’d first met.
“Take care.” She touched a hand to her stomach, trying to fight the sudden emotions that pulled her apart like frayed fabric coming unraveled.
“Miss?”
“Yeah?” she nearly whispered as she looked up at him, finding his eyes. They were the color of chocolate—no. His eyes were more like the color of oak. Strong and dependable.
Those eyes had haunted her for the last year.
Jake’s forehead creased, which must have hurt, given the bandage on his head. “Are you sure I don’t know you?”
Some small part of her wanted to tell him the truth, but she swallowed back the words. “I don’t think you’d be the kind of man I’d forget.”
Not so much a lie since she’d never forgotten him.
“Goodbye.”
Alexa rushed from the room without waiting for a response, her heart pumping loud in her chest. She lowered her head as she maneuvered down the hall, thankful that no one was around.
She noticed a tremble in her hand as she raised it to press the button to open the automatic doors. When they parted, she rushed through, anxious to get out of there. But once she rounded the next corner, she quickly stepped back and hid inside an empty room. She’d nearly collided with the agent that had been outside Jake’s room. She assumed he was Special Agent Trent Shaw, the man whom Justin King of Secret Service wanted to throttle.
“What are you doing here? When you called, I said not to come,” she heard the agent rasp to the man that had been standing next to him. Alexa pressed her back to the wall and angled her head to bring her ear closer to the doorway.
The other man had been tall and built, with thick black hair and sharp blue eyes. And he had looked pissed. “And I told you that I was coming, like it or not,” the man responded to the agent.
“You’re not family,” Shaw answered. “And hell, not even his family is invited.”
“I want to ID the body. I need to see for myself that it’s Jake. That he’s gone.” A hot warmth of sadness trickled through his voice—an obvious pain.
Alexa tugged her lower lip between her teeth. She felt bad for whoever this guy was—he thought Jake was dead. All of London did, too. But even though he didn’t know Jake’s true status, he had been knowledgeable enough to find his way to Shaw. That was impressive.
“How’d you even locate us? Hell, you still haven’t told me how you found out what happened to Jake,” Shaw bit out, his accusation following the line of Alexa’s thoughts.
“Don’t worry about that. Tell me what happened on his OP in Sicily—how did this happen to Jake?” His voice was raw, near breaking.
“Did Jake tell you about Sicily? How’d you know he was there?”
“He didn’t tell me. Jake’s a rule follower, you know that.” He cleared his throat, quiet for a moment. “Jake was . . .”
“Then how’d you—”
“You know who I am. You know my contacts.”
“And yet your contacts forgot to mention one important thing to you.”
Alexa’s stomach muscles tightened with anticipation. Was the agent going to tell him the truth? Alexa’s fingertips bit into her palms as she waited, her nerves growing anxious for Shaw to speak again.
“I’m going to tell you something. Well, show you . . . but it’s only because of who you are and what you’ve done for our country. Hear me, though—you’re under direct orders not to tell what you learn to anyone,” Shaw finally said in a low voice. “And I mean anyone.”
“Agreed. Now, what the hell is going on?”
“Come with me,” Shaw grumbled.
The two men started past her door, and Alexa stepped back, allowing the darkness of the room to shroud her body. She waited a few minutes to make sure they were gone and then hurried to the stairs.
The second Alexa set foot on the first level, her work mobile began to vibrate in her pocket.
“It’s me. Code: zero nine five three two eleven.”
“How’d it go?” It was Laney.
Not how I expected.
Before she could answer, Laney said, “I’m worried. I think the Americans are going to try and swoop him out of London without giving us any intel.”
Alexa paused outside the hospital cafeteria, her gaze fixated on a young and probably very normal couple. They were sitting at a small, round table munching on burgers and chips. Mustard dripped down and splattered on the man’s shirt. Alexa couldn’t help but wonder why they were at the hospital. Was someone sick? Or maybe it was a happy occasion—maybe someone had delivered a baby.
She was craving “normal” more and more these days—well, in between the moments she wasn’t knee deep in code, trying to hack the hackers.
“Well, this Shaw guy seems pretty secretive, but I did learn something that might be helpful,” Alexa finally said.
“And?”
“Jake Summers was on an assignment in Sicily before the explosion. I’ll tell you more when I get there. Heading to you now.” She ended the call and quickly made another.
The phone only rang once. “About bloody time you called me. It’s been weeks.”
“Lori?” Alexa’s eyes averted to the floor as she moved off to the side of the lobby. “Remember that guy I met last year?” She leaned against the wall and bowed her head. “He’s back in London.” She shouldn’t have been telling her sister this—it could compromise the investigation. But her family was all she had, and they were the only ones outside her work who knew the truth about her.
“How could I forget him?” Lori’s voice rose an octave, and Alexa could visualize the smile on her sister’s face. “You guys shagging again?” She said it so casually, like Alexa had time for such things.
“No. But—”
“You want my permission or something?” She chuckled. “Because you’ve got it.”
“I shouldn’t have called,” Alexa grumbled. She straightened her shoulders and started moving toward the exit.
“What’s wrong?” The humor was gone from Lori’s voice. “Alexa?”
“Nothing, Lori. I’m—well, I just miss you. I have to run. Love you.”
She didn’t wait to hear her sister’s goodbye. Instead, she shoved her phone back in her pocket, kicking herself for being weak, for giving in to her desire to share her life.
Chapter Six
Jake mindlessly flipped through channels on the TV. He tapped at the volume, lowering it to barely audible. Almost any noise was like a banshee howling in his ears.
He stopped scrolling when he came across a news station, then set the remote next to him, happy to simply read the headlines at the bottom of the screen, opposed to hearing them.
But Jake’s attention diverted to the tall, broad-shouldered man who was now filling the doorframe to his room. The man’s sharp blue eyes steadied on Jake with disbelief as his brows pulled together.
He looked government, that was for sure. Well, at least as far as Jake could tell—he drew his comparisons from TV and movies, and his father’s military pals. From what Jake knew, this guy screamed military badass. He was all hard planes—his facial expressions seemed carved from granite, his jaw was probably so tough he had to use a switch blade to shave. There was a grit to him, a roughness. Yet, he was cloaked in a perfectly tailored black suit that matched the sense of danger his presence radiated. The man cleared his throat and brought a hand to the nape of his neck, where his black hair brushed against the collar of his dark dress shirt.
“Who are you?” Jake finally asked, and the man took a step into the room. He shut the door behind him, but not before Jake caught sight of Trent standing with arms crossed, observing through the window from outside the room.
The man fidgeted with the knot on his tie—it was black atop a black shirt. Was he going to a funeral? He cleared his throat, yet again. Either he was sick or nervous, although that didn’t really fit. Thi
s guy didn’t look like he ever got nervous.
The man came to the bed, his eyes assessing Jake. He folded one arm across his chest and rested the elbow of the other against it, tapping his fingers against his lips. There was a thick titanium wedding band there.
Jake’s eyes snapped shut as a sharp pain tore through his skull, followed by the image of this man holding a ring box. “You think you could hang on to this for me until the vows?”
“Shit.” Jake shook his head and swallowed as his stomach became unsettled. “I’m gonna be sick.” He grabbed the plastic bowl at his side as his stomach tucked in, convulsing. Tremors raked over his spine as his skin pebbled with perspiration. His jaw opened wide, but only spit dribbled down as his body shook. Jesus Christ.
“You okay?” The man’s eyes grew dark, and his arms dropped like weighted anchors at his sides.
Jake’s throat burned, and his chest grew tight. He pushed the plastic bowl aside and jabbed at the nurse call button. Maybe the red-head was still there.
But it was Lisa’s voice that resounded through the speaker above Jake’s bed. “Can I help you?”
“I need you.”
“Here.” The man reached for the tray table by the bed and offered him the cup of water that sat there.
“Thanks.”
“I’m Michael Maddox,” he said at last.
Lisa opened the door and arrived at his bedside before Jake could decide how to respond. She glanced at Michael and tossed him a nervous smile. “What can I do for you?” She looked over at Jake and angled her head, compassion shining in her eyes.
“Got any anti-nausea meds you can pump in me?”
She frowned in apology at his pain. “Yes, sir. The doctor has meds on standby if you ever asked for them. I’ll be back.”
Jake rubbed his stomach and tried to sit up a little so he could concentrate on whatever news this Michael character had arrived to deliver.
“It’s so good to see you alive.”
So, you know I was in an explosion. “Are you FBI, too?” Jake released an exaggerated sigh. He must be, right? That tightwad, Trent, wouldn’t let just anyone in his room. Maybe he was a general. Although this guy looked like a soldier in a suit, too young for general status.
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