by Mallory Kane
“Eww,” she said. “Sticky.”
Ben giggled. “Eww, softy.”
Laughter bubbled up from Natasha’s chest. “I didn’t know you were such a flirt, Ben.” She kissed his syrup-smeared cheek. “You’re going to be a lady-killer—just like your dad.”
Charlene sniffed.
“Go with Charlene,” Natasha whispered. “I’ll check on you later, okay?”
Ben leaned close to her ear. “Okay.”
AFTER A QUICK shower, Natasha pulled her damp hair back into a ponytail and headed down to the lab. She spent an hour studying the schematic of Dylan’s system, testing and retesting to be sure her hardware tied in with his seamlessly.
Across the hall, Dylan was working on the interface. About the time she stood to do a couple of stretching exercises, Campbell walked into Dylan’s office, sending an interested look and a smile in her direction.
The contrast between him and Dylan was obvious even through two glass walls. Dylan’s shoulders were bowed with exhaustion. His hair was tousled where he’d run his fingers through it.
Campbell on the other hand looked rested, freshly showered and generally pleased with himself. She had the feeling he spent a lot of time being pleased with himself.
She thought about the other night, when he’d met Dylan and her in the stairwell. He’d looked like hell then. And he hadn’t shown up at all when the suicide truck crashed into the front gate. She made a mental note to ask Dylan about him.
She sat and started to work on her tracking program. NSA had set up a state-of-the-art firewall on Dylan’s system. According to the log, their spam-blocker was stopping 99.37 percent of all ad-ware robot programs.
The first thing Natasha did was set an alert to capture every single attempt to hit Dylan’s system. NSA might be capable of stopping virtually all bots, but she wanted to catch one hundred percent of them. She didn’t want to take the chance that the hacker might disguise a virus as a harmless advertising bot.
She had no doubt that her program would be better than NSA’s. After all, she’d helped to train many of their programmers.
She glanced at the computer’s clock as she massaged the back of her neck. She’d been working for over three hours. Her cramped fingers and stiff muscles confirmed that. She arched her back and stretched her arms.
A flurry of activity caught the edge of her vision. Across the hall, Campbell had kicked his computer chair back against the wall and was pacing, his fingers digging into his scalp.
Dylan said something to him. Campbell glared at him and shook his head violently. He made a fist and aimed it at the glass wall in front of him. Dylan was up and across the room in a split second. He grabbed Campbell’s arm, talking intensely.
After a few seconds, Campbell nodded, although his face was still distorted with anger. He grabbed the water bottle that always sat next to him and stalked out of the room.
Dylan wiped his face and turned back toward his workstation. Then he looked up and caught her eye.
Busted. Averting her gaze would only make her look like what she was—an eavesdropper. So she raised her eyebrows in a silent question.
Dylan looked at his hand that still held the stylus, set it down and disappeared through a door on the west wall of his workroom.
Before she could blink, he was standing in her doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the door facing.
She jumped. “You’re going to have to show me that secret passage one of these days.”
He smiled wearily. “No problem.”
He’d showered and shaved. His hair was slightly damp and he had on a white T-shirt and faded jeans. Her eyes lingered on the metal zipper of the jeans for a couple of seconds too long.
“Um—what’s the matter with Campbell?” She forced her gaze back to her computer screen.
“He’s been searching for that error he swears is the last one. He can’t find it. His nerves are shot, just like everybody else’s.”
“Where’d he go?”
“He said he was going to take a shower.”
“Let me take a look at the program.”
“That’s what I just said to him.”
“That’s what had him so upset?”
Dylan nodded. “You have to understand. He’s been working with me on this for over a year. The area he’s looking at is at least fifty thousand lines of code. He said it would take you several days just to get up to speed with the program. He doesn’t think we can afford the time.”
“And you agree with him?”
“I don’t know.”
She shook her head. “I don’t have to see the whole fifty thousand lines of code. Just the section he’s isolated as the source of the bug.”
“Look, I’m no programmer, but from what he told me, even the best would need at least twelve hours of review to distinguish good code from bad.”
“I am the best.” She sat back in the ergonomic chair and gazed up at him. “And I can promise you it won’t take me that long. I’ve never met a bug I couldn’t squash.”
He laughed softly.
The sound coaxed a smile to her face.
“I’ll get him to show it to you.”
“Dylan, you know in general what Campbell is doing. Show me now.” She stood.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m ready to work now. I guarantee you anything he can do, I can do—probably better.”
“You’re pretty confident, aren’t you?”
“I know what I can do.” She paused for an instant. “How well do you know him anyway?”
Dylan’s gaze sharpened. “Pretty darn well. Why?”
“You seemed suspicious when he came out of the computer room Tuesday night.”
Her comment had caught him off guard. She watched as his mind went back over that moment.
“Not suspicious really. I was surprised. When I left the lab around 2:00 a.m., he promised to lock up in a few minutes. Said he wanted to check a section of code one more time.”
“Then we came down at around four o’clock.”
“He should have been in bed.”
“If you quit at two, why did he stay two more hours? He doesn’t strike me as the obsessive type—especially in comparison with you. Plus he looked like he’d been in a tussle.”
Dylan nodded grimly. “I noticed that.” He straightened. “Come on. I’ll show you the code. If you can make sense out of it, great.”
Natasha followed Dylan across the hall and into the virtual surgery lab.
Natasha studied the room. Sure enough, as she’d already figured out, Dylan’s computer was set up to work with an electronic drawing pad and stylus. On the monitor was a 3-D conceptual graphic of a human spinal cord, with its spaghetti-like tangle of nerves and muscle fibers.
She walked over to Campbell’s computer. A streaming matrix of code filled the screen. “Is this the section where he found the bug?”
Dylan stood just behind her. “Probably. Like I told you, the machine code means nothing to me. He said he’d isolated the area.”
“Okay, great. Let me figure out where this is and find the same area on my computer. Do I have full access?”
Dylan nodded. “I made sure he took care of that first thing this morning. All you have to do is sign on, place your right thumb on the fingerprint reader then enter the current number from your pass code generator.”
Natasha looked at her thumb. “Is it always the thumbprint?”
Dylan shook his head. “With Alfred in charge? He has a rotating system. Everyone has to change fingers at random intervals. If anyone uses the wrong finger or the wrong pass code twice in a row, the system locks down.”
Locks down. She suppressed a shudder. “What does lockdown consist of?”
“You saw it in the family wing. Every door slams shut. Only the four master pass codes can reverse lockdown, and then not for at least an hour, depending on the area.”
“What if someone’s trapped in a locked-down area?”
“Alfred has
notifications on all computer monitors and over a loudspeaker system, giving a fifteen-to-thirty-second warning. I told you, he likes triple redundancy.”
“But what if someone screws up the pass code or uses the wrong finger accidentally?”
“That’s why Alfred built in a second try.” He smiled and raised his brows.
She shook her head. “Two tries. Good thing nobody ever gets nervous and misses a number.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll save you if you get locked in.”
Doing her best not to give in to the fear his words invoked, she sucked in a lungful of cool air and sat in Campbell’s chair.
She had to force her mind to stop flashing images of doors slamming, latches clunking shut, walls closing in.
She deliberately studied the section of code on his screen, jotting down certain unusual strings of numbers.
Dylan leaned over, his hand on the back of her chair. The scent of soap and cinnamon mouthwash filled her head.
“So can you tell anything about it?” he asked softly.
“It appears to be part of your virtual surgery program.” It took all her concentration to stay on subject. All she wanted to do was turn and rub her cheek against Dylan’s, to glean even a small portion of the love he lavished on his little boy.
“How did you come to hire Campbell?” she murmured.
“This program was developed by NSA. He interned with them during his college years. Came with excellent references.”
“When was that?” She knew he hadn’t been in any of her classes at NSA.
“Probably four or five years ago.”
Before her time. She’d started participating in NSA computer training around two years ago. “So if NSA liked him that much, why didn’t they keep him?”
“Think about it. He’s hardly their type. Besides, he told me he didn’t want a nine-to-five job.”
“So instead he’s working twenty-hour days for you.”
Dylan chuckled, and his soft breath wafted across her cheek, reminding her of just how close he was.
“I suppose he likes to think he’s a colleague, not an employee.”
“Is he a colleague? How much do you trust him?”
“He’s got full access to the program that will save my son’s legs. I have to trust him. I have to trust someone.”
Natasha heard the desperate note in his voice. “But you’re not sure.”
She turned her head and realized she was way too close to him. His gaze flickered down to her mouth.
Her pulse leaped as his hot blue eyes and warm breath heated her skin.
“We’re talking about my son. I don’t trust anyone absolutely.”
“Except Alfred.”
His gaze met hers. “Except Alfred.”
Natasha’s pulse fluttered in her throat. She was about to say something she’d never said to anyone. “You can trust me.”
His eyes softened and the lines on his forehead relaxed. “I believe you.” He raised a hand, hesitated for a microsecond, then pushed a few strands of her hair back behind her ear. His fingertips skimmed the edge of the scratch on her cheek.
“You were injured protecting Ben.”
She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his fingers on her skin. His breath warmed her cheek and she imagined that it was his lips and not his fingertips that feathered across her skin.
She’d never liked cinnamon that much, but the clean, spicy scent that surrounded her made her mouth water. Though it was more likely the proximity of his lips than the scent that was affecting her. Because the sensation swirled through her and centered at her deepest core.
Then cool air fanned her heated skin. She opened her eyes to find that he’d straightened, frowning.
Embarrassed, she scooted her chair back. “I’m going to—”
“I’ll just—”
They both spoke at the same time. Dylan backed up a step and she saw his throat move as he swallowed.
Natasha prayed that she could keep her voice steady. “I’m going to print this screen, so I can find the area from my computer. If there’s an error here, I’ll get it.”
He nodded, still frowning. Then he blinked and moved across the room to his virtual surgery model.
“Great,” he said shortly. He sat and picked up the pad and stylus.
After retrieving the printout, Natasha turned. “I’ll work on this in my office.”
Dylan nodded without looking up. His cheeks were stained a faint pink.
Just like hers. She knew because her face felt hot.
She needed to get out of there, away from his intensity. She had to think logically, analytically, and that was becoming more and more difficult when she was close to Dylan. She reached for the doorknob.
“Wait,” he said, standing and pushing his chair back. “Come with me. I’ll show you the ‘secret passage.’”
She stared at him. “Seriously? There really is one?”
He stepped over to a door on the east wall of the room. She followed him through. On the left as she entered was a door—a heavy steel door.
Dylan used the fingerprint reader and the pass code device to open it.
“I’m sure Alfred told you there are only four people who are allowed access to certain areas? This is one of those areas.”
He opened the door. Inside was dark, but as they stepped in, lights came on, projecting a weak beam onto the walls and floor of a tiny alcove.
As the door eased shut behind her, panic tried to crawl up her throat. She looked frantically around the walls, ceiling and floor. A second steel door was in front of her, and to her right her shoulder nearly brushed against a solid wall. To her left was a long dark corridor.
“From the inside, these doors open like fire doors—just push the panic bar.”
Dylan’s voice surrounded her in the close space. There was barely enough room for the two of them to stand shoulder to shoulder between the doors. Her throat tightened and alarm burned her scalp. “What is this?” She was afraid she knew.
“An escape tunnel. I told you Alfred likes triple redundancy.”
“Triple—”
“From the lab there are three exits. Only Alfred, Charlene, me and now you, know about this one. The other two are the main exit via the elevators, and the back stairs that lead to the living quarters.”
“So that’s why you have the back stairs. I wondered, because they make the family wing much more vulnerable.
“I had to have a fail-safe escape route for Ben. Alfred designed the security system.”
They emerged into a glass-walled room next to her office.
Natasha took a deep breath, thankful to be out of that tight dark space. She thought about what Mitch had said, and about the psychiatrist’s concern that she wasn’t ready for fieldwork because of her claustrophobia.
She’d been confident she could handle it, but now, still shaken from her reaction to the dark tunnel, the question dug at her gut. Could she if she had to?
“I could,” she murmured.
“What?” Dylan glanced over his shoulder at her as he opened the door to her office.
Had she spoken aloud? “Nothing. How long is the corridor and where does it lead?”
“Long enough. And you wouldn’t know the place. It’s an abandoned shack on an abandoned road. What you need to know is that there’s an old Toyota hidden thirty feet south of the exit, and a key for it above the exit door. Inside the car is a cell phone with a battery pack and directions to the nearest police office.”
He turned to her, the blue fire in his eyes bright and hot. “If anything happens, priority one is to get Ben to safety.”
“Of course.” She knew that Dylan was counting on her. His single-minded resolve to protect his son was fast becoming her top priority, as well. She could brave anything, even the dark tunnel, if it meant keeping Ben safe.
“Dylan, I need to know everything. And Storm and Gambrini need to know where the tunnel is and how to get to it. Is there access
to the tunnel from outside?”
“I can print out a map for you that shows the tunnel exit, the vehicle and the fastest route to town.”
She frowned as a chill ran up her spine. “That information is in your system? Where?”
Dylan looked stricken.
She grabbed his arm. “Please tell me it’s in the encrypted area with the interface program.”
He wiped a hand down his face, a hand that trembled. “It’s not.”
Chapter Six
“Aha. There you are, Natasha,” Tom whispered. He grinned and scooted his chair up closer to his computer screen. “I’d recognize that code anywhere.”
After the diversion the night before, he was sure they were all working twice as hard today. He’d been trying to penetrate the secure section of Stryker’s system since the truck’s explosion.
His plan had gone off without a hitch. He knew from his inside connection that his timing had been perfect. The truck hit. All available manpower went to the front gate. The police were called.
Meanwhile, his accomplice had had plenty of time to plant evidence of a second breach—one that had come uncomfortably close to Stryker’s child.
Close enough to scare the crap out of Stryker. The neurosurgeon had redoubled his efforts to finish the computer-generated model of the neural interface. And the code he’d just managed to extract told him that Natasha had created an impenetrable firewall. She thought.
He smiled to himself. “If you can build it, Nat, I can break it.”
He knew her too well. Granted it had been eight years, but even though technology had advanced, people didn’t change as easily. Natasha would still code the same way.
He’d managed to frame her eight years ago by duplicating her signature. He could do it again—this time to gain access to Stryker’s program.
And that wasn’t all. He’d spent months altering his own way of coding. Changing his signature. There probably weren’t twenty people in the world who were good enough to do that.
Natasha wouldn’t know it was him until it was too late. He shuddered as a thrill arrowed through him.
This was better than sex.
