by Mallory Kane
“You are.” His pensive smile made her wonder what he was thinking.
“No I’m not. Look at me. I’m a mess. I’m standing here wishing I could just—” She stopped. There was no sense in going further. She would just embarrass herself more.
“Wishing what?” He pushed a strand of hair off her forehead and ran his fingers across her cheek.
Desire streaked through her, uninvited and yet welcome. She gasped softly.
He cupped her cheeks in his palms and urged her to look at him. He was so close she could feel his breath—she was surrounded by the scent of soap and cinnamon. When she looked up his hot blue gaze traveled from her eyes to her mouth.
“Tell me what frightens you.”
She strained against his hands. His intense blue gaze held her in thrall. Her pulse thrummed in her temple, in her throat, all the way through her. “This,” she murmured. “You.”
He smiled and lowered his head until their foreheads touched. “I’m not talking about right now,” he whispered. “Right now I’m nervous, too.”
His voice soothed her, calmed her. She closed her eyes, letting herself go in a way she’d never done before.
She was with Dylan. She was safe. His gaze heated her skin, his hands caressed her cheeks and neck. She felt like quicksilver, liquid and shimmering, poised on the very edge of release.
“Tell me what frightens you when you lie in bed at night. When you’re alone in the dark.”
His words evoked fear, and the fear tried to drive away the liquid feeling. She put her hands on his chest, pushing, but he resisted. He slid his palms over her shoulders and down to her waist. He wrapped her in his strong embrace.
“Don’t ask me that,” she pleaded, laying her head on his chest. Her lips moved against the soft material of his T-shirt. He cradled her head in one hand and pressed his mouth against her hair.
“I’ll tell you what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid to sleep,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m afraid I’ll wake up and find out my nightmares are the reality and that all this—this is the dream.”
His words were heartbreaking. His voice was hushed and tight. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to speak past the ache in her heart. “What are your nightmares?” she asked.
His muscles tensed around her. His voice was muffled by her hair. “I dream I’m alone, buried in my basement like some deranged hermit, obsessed with healing my son. But I can’t, because Ben’s not here. He—he died that day, in the car with his mother.”
His shattered voice broke her heart—ripped it open. She leaned back in his arms and looked up at him. “It’s just a nightmare. He’s alive. He loves you more than anything in the world.”
He gave her a sad smile and nodded. “In the middle of the night it’s easy to believe the nightmare.”
“I know.” Natasha swallowed against the tears that clogged her throat. He’d told her his private fears. Could she tell him hers? Would it help either of them if he knew what terrified her?
“Why are you afraid of the dark, Tasha?”
She closed her eyes and buried her nose in the hollow of his shoulder. “My parents were diplomats. They were killed in a car bombing in Kosovo when I was six. Collateral damage. I was in the backseat. They were in the front. A soldier must have heard me crying in the wreckage. I hardly remember it.”
Dylan winced at her words. In the backseat, just like Ben. A lot of things started to make sense to him. Her frustration at the lack of windows in the family quarters. Her unease when she first saw the underground lab. Her immediate connection with his son.
“It was a long time before anyone found me. I don’t know how long. I think I knew my parents were dead. I remember a soldier looking through the broken car window, telling me not to cry. Telling me he’d take care of me.” Her shoulder twitched in a half shrug. “I don’t remember much after that, until I was brought back to the U.S. and placed in foster care.”
“But you dream about it,” he said, his throat clogged with sadness for the little girl she’d been.
She nodded. “I’m trapped in the dark,” she said in a small voice. “I can’t move. And nobody comes to save me.”
Dylan felt her trembling, felt her shuddering breaths. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her. “But they did come to save you, and you’re here now. And you’re strong and brave and beautiful.”
Her eyes softened to a velvety green. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “For what? Stating the obvious?”
“No. For trusting me.”
He frowned as her words echoed in his brain. Did he trust her? He realized he did. She’d been right beside him each time danger had threatened. She’d protected Ben without thought to her own safety.
A tendril of her hair slipped out of its restraint. He caught it. Then he ran his fingers through her hair and whatever held it let go. It tumbled her blond waves to her shoulders.
He cupped her cheek in his palm again and kissed her lips. The feel of her mouth under his sent desire streaking straight to his groin. He wanted her with a ferocity that he couldn’t remember ever feeling before.
She pulled back slightly, but he held her head still and dipped his head to kiss her again. This time she angled her head and her lips moved under his.
When he took the kiss deeper, she followed, parting her lips and letting him in. Kissing him back.
He slid his hand down her back and encountered warm bare skin. Pressing her close, he let her feel how much he wanted her.
She froze for an instant, but his mouth and hands coaxed her across the line of trepidation. As her body lost its tension and became supple and lithe, they melded together.
He trailed soft kisses across the smooth sweet skin of her cheeks, her jaw, her neck. The scent of strawberries clouded his senses. He moved back to her mouth.
She met him, kissed him, ran her fingers up his shoulders to his neck.
Somewhere, outside of him, a bothersome noise erupted.
She stiffened.
“It’s okay,” he whispered against her mouth as the noise continued, and the real world started to intrude on his seductive haze.
“Dylan—” She pulled away enough to meet his gaze. “The telephone.”
Phone. He straightened, fighting the haze of desire. The tunnel-house phone had its own exchange. The caller had to be Alfred. No one else knew they’d come out here.
He let go of her and grabbed the handset.
“Alfred?”
“Dylan, aren’t you done yet?”
Alfred’s crisp, slightly disapproving tone catapulted Dylan back to the present—to now. To the reality of what they were supposed to be doing. His face burned in humiliation.
“Just about,” he snapped, raking his hair back and wincing at her familiar scent that clung to his fingers.
What the hell was wrong with him? How could he have allowed himself even a second of self-indulgent fantasy when every minute that passed brought Ben closer to the point of no return?
“Did you need something, Alfred?”
“Campbell’s back. Thought you’d want to know. He’s in his room now, but he’ll be heading down to the lab soon.”
“Thanks.”
“Dylan?”
“What?” He knew he was acting like a grouch, and he knew why. He was pissed at himself and at Natasha. One of them should have had better sense. Hell, he couldn’t blame her. He was the one that had started it all.
“Is everything okay out there?”
“Just fine. Keep Campbell away from the lab for—” He turned and raised his eyebrows at Natasha.
She’d already started hooking up the computer. Her cheeks were bright pink, but she acted as if everything was normal.
“Five minutes here,” she said shortly.
“—fifteen minutes. Give us time to get back through the tunnel. I don’t want him to know we’ve been out here.”
“Will do. Tell Agent Rudolph that the FBI confirmed that the fibers on the fence
were planted. At least two edges were cut.”
“Planted? What does that mean?”
“It means someone wanted us to believe that whoever left footprints outside the west door came in through the fence. It’s obvious that they came from the house, but we’re checking the area around the fence. I’m out.”
As Dylan hung up the phone, Natasha planted her fists on her hips. “What was planted?”
He looked at her. “The fibers on the fence. Your FBI lab confirmed they were planted. Alfred said two sides were cut, not torn.”
“I knew it. I’ll let Storm know to check for footprints at the fence, see if they’re a match for the garden boots.” She nodded and went back to hooking up the computer.
He watched her, not knowing what to say. He was furious at himself for using up precious minutes of Ben’s time indulging himself.
But as hard as he tried, he couldn’t be totally sorry for what he’d done. He understood Natasha a lot better now. Now that she’d told him what had happened to her as a child.
And to his surprise, he’d told her about his nightmares—something he’d never told anyone. But it felt right for her to know.
He helped her with the setup. Neither of them said an unnecessary word as Natasha made sure the PC was running and synching correctly with both the shell server and the real one.
“All done,” she said.
“Great. I’ll get Alfred to come and get the cart. Let’s get back to the lab. Campbell’s back and if you don’t want anyone to know about this computer, we need to be out of the access room before he comes downstairs.”
She nodded and followed him back through the doors to the tunnel. They walked the length without saying a word.
As they emerged from the tunnel access room, Dylan saw Campbell bent over Natasha’s workstation.
He glanced at Natasha. She saw him, too. They slipped across the hall and through the door to her office.
“Jerry? What’s going on?” Dylan snapped.
Campbell straightened and glared at Dylan, then at Natasha. “That’s what I want to know. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Chapter Eight
“What are you doing in Natasha’s office, Jerry?”
Campbell took a step toward Natasha. “Ask her what she’s—”
“Jerry—” Dylan stepped between him and Natasha. “Calm down. I’m asking you.”
Campbell’s fists were clenched at his sides. He glared at Natasha, but then he took a deep breath. “I came down to let you know I was back and to see if there was anything I needed to do this evening,” Campbell retorted. “I found the lab empty, so I checked the computers. And found this.”
Dylan glanced at Natasha’s monitor. “Look, Campbell, I don’t know what you saw, but—”
“What I see is that she’s rerouted the system through a different server.” He rounded on Natasha. “You can’t go messing around with the system. What the hell did you think you were accomplishing?”
Dylan grabbed his arm. “Calm down, Jerry. What’s the problem? You know Natasha’s here to stop the hacker.”
Campbell laughed. “By setting up an imposter program? That is so lame.” He glared at Natasha. “All you’re doing is slowing everything down. Cutting our productivity in half.”
Dylan glanced at Natasha, but she was studying Campbell with a small frown on her face.
“Look, Jerry. Go work on that last bug. I need you to find it.”
Campbell cursed under his breath, but he nodded. “Don’t worry, Dylan. I will. But you’d better ask your computer expert here how much time she’s costing us—and why.” He pushed past Dylan and stomped out.
When Dylan turned back to Natasha, she was staring at her computer screen.
“Is he right?”
Natasha sat and manipulated the mouse. Campbell had seen her rerouting code on her monitor. Problem was, she hadn’t left the file open. He must have opened it.
“I told you the imposter program would slow the system some,” she said. She accessed the log file and checked her computer’s sign ons.
“You said it would be imperceptible.”
“I said almost. Campbell was always a gamble. He’s a really good programmer. As soon as he tried to do something—send an e-mail, check a household file, he’d know. He immediately recognized what I’d done.”
“He didn’t have but—what—five minutes. Won’t the hacker be able to do the same thing?”
She shook her head. “Campbell’s intimately familiar with the whole program. Even the best hacker has to know where he is in the program—where to start. Our guy can’t afford to leave himself open and unprotected that long.”
“Still, doesn’t it surprise you that Campbell spotted it in less than fifteen minutes?”
“Not really. He’s tied directly into the real server, just like you are, remember. You two will notice a definite difference between the operation of the server that hides the interface and the one that handles e-mail and household computer activities.”
“So he must have been accessing one of those areas.”
She nodded. “I’m sure he was. My question is, why was he so upset?” She lifted her head and looked across the hall. Campbell was hunched over his computer, typing very fast. “Do you think he could be the inside source?”
“No. I don’t think he’d sabotage his own work.” Dylan looked less certain than he sounded.
“I hope you’re right. But just to be safe, I’m going to check his e-mail history and local files.” She took a look at the quarantined files. It was a good thing Campbell hadn’t gotten far enough on her computer to spot the suspicious files.
“Here. Ten minutes ago he tried to send an e-mail with an attachment. My quarantine caught it.”
“What kind of attachment?” He came around and looked at the screen.
“I’m opening his e-mail in an editing program that will prevent attachments from executing. There—the attached file is computer code.”
“From the interface software?”
“It looks like it. Apparently Campbell has sent himself some of the software.”
Dylan straightened, then slapped his palm against the door. “Go to bed, Natasha. I’m going to have a word with Campbell.”
Natasha watched Dylan disappear through a door and appear on the other side. He stalked straight into the virtual surgery lab and confronted Campbell.
His intensity and magnetism wasn’t cooled by two walls of glass. She pressed her palms against her cheeks, trying to cool the heat there. For the first time in her life, she was having trouble concentrating on the job at hand.
Usually she could lose herself in fascination with the computer code. It had a beauty, a symmetry, which for her rivaled a symphony or a compelling painting.
But now, her fascination was fixed on Dylan Stryker. Just being in the same room with him stirred sensations that scared her.
When he’d kissed her in the tunnel-house, her insides had turned to mush. She’d forgotten all about the hacker, the interface program, even the claustrophobic tunnel.
That couldn’t happen again. She reminded herself that her goal was to catch the hacker and get out of this suffocating fortress.
She had no business having sexual thoughts about Dylan.
NATASHA WOKE UP already reaching for her weapon. What had she heard? There it was again. Her mobile radio. It crackled with static as she grabbed it.
“Agent Rudolph.”
It was Mintz. Natasha’s pulse hammered in her temple as she glanced at her watch. Just after 5:00 a.m.
“The west fire door. Now. Don’t wake Dylan.”
“On my way,” she said as she picked up her fanny pack. “Out.”
The sirens started by the time she got into her boots and pulled a dark sweater over her head. She drew her weapon as she opened the door to the hall.
Ben’s door opened. Dylan.
“Get back inside,” she whispered.
“What is it?
” His sleepy eyes glimmered in the dim night-lights.
“Stay with Ben. Mintz called me.”
His gaze sharpened. “I’m going with you.”
“Dylan!” She took two steps and grasped a handful of his T-shirt. “Mintz wants you here. Ben is the most important thing!”
His eyes flashed, but with a grimace, he nodded.
She turned and headed for the stairs, descending them slowly, her gun aimed and ready to fire.
The west side fire door was open. She stiffened and slowed her pace.
“Mintz?” she called out.
Storm stuck his head in the door and motioned to her. “Hey, sugar, here we are.”
“What’s going on?”
Storm guided her through the door and around an area near the door where several large spotlights were aimed. Smoke was rising from the debris, and a distinctive smell filled the air.
Natasha’s whole body went numb with dread for an instant. “Do I smell RDX?”
Storm nodded. “Royal Demolition explosive. A very small amount. Enough to cause an explosion—not enough to destroy anything. We’ve got men scouring the perimeter, but we don’t believe the RDX was brought in from outside.”
Natasha took in the activity around her. Mintz was crouched over the smoking debris, with Hector and Robby standing on either side of him. Robby had a digital camera, and was photographing the entire area.
“How long ago did it go off?”
Storm glanced at his watch. “It’s been seven minutes.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
He shook his head. “We didn’t, either. Like I said, it was a small explosion, very contained. We’re looking for the trigger now.”
She returned her weapon to her fanny pack. “Who heard it?”
“Nobody. Hector was working the front doors. He saw it on one of the camera monitors.”
Hector again. “I want to see the disks. We should be able to identify who set it.”
“If they’re inside, they’ll know about the surveillance. They probably hid their face.”
