by Mallory Kane
She looked back at the door. “Why didn’t the explosion trigger lockdown?”
“Too small.”
“Damn it.” The panic bar. It allowed the door to be opened from the inside without detection. “No footprints, either?”
“Ground’s dry. I doubt we’ll get much.”
Mintz straightened from his crouch and walked over to them. “Nice work, Agent Storm,” he said, his face lined with worry. “The trigger was a cell phone. Very simple. A small amount of RDX, hot wires, probably triggered by calling the phone.”
“From the outside?” Natasha asked.
“I’d bet a year’s salary on it.”
“How many men do you have searching the outside perimeter?”
“Eight. But whoever did this is long gone.” Mintz wiped a shaky hand over his hair.
Natasha touched his arm. “We’ll get them.”
He nodded. “Where’s Dylan?”
“He’s with Ben.”
Mintz met her gaze and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. This was too close. Ben couldn’t stay here. Dylan shouldn’t stay.
“I’d better let him know.”
“Alfred. I’ll do it.”
He shook his grizzled head. “Nope. It’s not your responsibility. I should have insisted weeks ago that he and Ben get out of here. We could have moved the interface then. We can’t move it now.”
“But Ben can be moved.”
He looked up at her, pain etched on his weathered face. He rubbed his chin. “Dylan won’t go. Not now.”
She nodded, wanting to cry. “I know.”
Mintz pressed his lips together and glanced up at the house. “Take over the scene.”
“I’m going with you. Storm can handle this.”
This time Mintz didn’t object. “Dust for prints,” he said to Storm. “We’ve got prints on all the house staff and the security team.”
“I’m on it,” Storm said.
“As soon as I get back we’ll start questioning the staff.”
Natasha followed Mintz up the stairs to Ben’s room. Mintz tapped softly on the door then turned the knob. Dylan was sitting beside Ben’s bed.
He stood, anticipation and dread etched on his face. “Well?”
“Come out here,” Mintz said softly.
Dylan glanced down at his sleeping son, then brushed his fingers across Ben’s forehead in a gesture so tender it sent an aching pain through Natasha’s heart.
She backed up as Dylan stepped into the hall and closed Ben’s door.
Mintz gestured toward her room. She went in first and turned on the lights, revealing her unmade bed and the pile clothes she’d shed the night before.
Dylan barely waited until the door closed to turn on Mintz.
“What happened?”
“Dylan—” Natasha started, but Mintz held up his hand.
“There was an explosion.”
Dylan’s face drained of color. “Explosion? Another one? Why didn’t I hear it?”
“It was a small blast, very contained, very deliberate.”
“Where? Who was hurt?”
Mintz gripped Dylan’s shoulder. “Son, you need to calm down. You’re exhausted. You’re burning yourself up.”
“Stop trying to protect me, Alfred. You’re working as hard as I am.”
“The explosion was near the west wing fire door. The door was unlocked. There’s no evidence that anyone came over the fence.”
Natasha stood immobilized by the fear and anguish roiling around her. She hadn’t realized how much the two men depended on each other. They were like father and son. The bond between them was palpable.
Dylan glanced at her. She hoped her expression didn’t reflect how worried she was—about him, about Ben.
“If they didn’t come over the fence—” His eyes flared like an oxygen flame as the truth penetrated. “Inside?” he croaked. “The explosion was set from the inside?”
Mintz rubbed a hand over his face and nodded. “Using a cell phone. Detonated by a cell phone call that activated the trigger. I’ve got men canvassing the entire perimeter to verify that not one inch has been compromised. I’ve given instructions that no one is to leave the grounds until we say so.”
“We’re going to question all the staff. We’ll find out who did this,” Natasha said.
“Dylan—”
Dylan held up his hands and shook his head at Alfred. “No. Don’t even say it. I am not sending Ben away. He wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m hoping you’ll go with him.” Mintz’s face was grim.
“You know I can’t do that,” Dylan rasped. His jaw twitched with tension. “The prototype can’t be moved.”
“Listen to me, son. I want Ben to walk, too. But your lives are worth more than that contraption. You’re going to get him and yourself killed if you don’t get him out of here.”
Natasha backed toward the door. This was too intimate, too private. She shouldn’t be here. This was a family matter. Dylan and Mintz had to work this out together.
It was no place for her.
She turned the knob and slipped out. As she closed the door behind her, she heard Dylan’s anguished voice, but she couldn’t make out what he said.
For a few seconds she stood there in the dimly lit hallway, her jaw clenched, her eyes stinging, until she finally forced the tears back. She took a long breath and headed back downstairs to help Storm collect evidence.
OH, BOY. This was not good. Natasha stared at the computer screen, her mouth going dry and her heartbeat fluttering in her throat as her eyes skimmed the lines and lines of code.
She’d finished helping Storm with the evidence several hours ago and had spent the afternoon searching for errors in the interface code.
The system had alerted her to a hit on the shell server. She’d signed on immediately and traced back the hit. It had been bold and reckless. The hacker had stayed on the system much longer than was safe. He was careful and very good, but he was also cocky.
Still, he had a right to be. Natasha swallowed against rising panic. It was Tom. The best hacker she’d ever seen. In a way, she had to admire him. He’d gotten a lot better in the past eight years.
He’d even tried to change his signature, and he’d done a good job of it. If a hacker was good enough to recognize the patterns that made his code unique, he could deliberately change them, like a felon could burn or file his prints. But nobody could change everything. Some of his signature was still there. It was just harder to detect.
She stretched and looked across the hall to Dylan’s virtual surgery lab. It was empty.
She was worried about him. It had been over six hours since she’d left him and Mintz talking. Her heart ached for both of them. She knew—they all knew—what had to be done. But Dylan was so stressed and exhausted. She wasn’t sure he’d survive without Ben.
A tiny window popped up at the bottom of her screen. It was notification of an e-mail. Her pulse raced as she opened the message.
Hi Nt FBI eh? Gd luck U need it U won’t win this time.
“Damn it,” she whispered. Tom knew she was here.
Just then the door to Dylan’s lab opened and he entered. He was pale and the lines around his mouth were deeper. He sat at his workstation and picked up the pad and stylus. Then he put them down again and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor.
His pain reached her through the glass walls, engulfing her. Her whole body ached in sympathy. She had to go to him, give him what little comfort she could offer.
She went through the doors and into his lab.
He didn’t even look up.
“Dylan?” she said tentatively.
“Go back to work,” he said hoarsely.
“Not right now.” She pulled Campbell’s chair over and sat beside him. She didn’t say anything else, just sat there.
After a couple of minutes of silence, Dylan sat back and wiped his face. A muscle twitched in his
jaw.
“Ben’s gone.” His voice was carefully even.
Pain sliced through her heart and tears stung her eyes. She’d known that Mintz would convince Dylan, but being prepared didn’t dull the pain she felt at his anguish.
She wanted to hold him and promise him that everything would be all right. But she knew that wasn’t what he needed. She knew he wouldn’t believe it. So she stayed quiet.
“Charlene went with him. Alfred arranged for Special Agent Storm to transport them to a safe house.” He made a short, sharp sound that could have been a laugh. “Apparently Alfred has been planning this for a while. Obviously, he’s got better judgment than I have.”
He looked at her for the first time and she saw the haunted determination she’d seen the first time he’d looked at her.
“I don’t know what I’ll do if anything happens to him.”
Natasha took his hand. His fingers tightened around hers. “Nothing’s going to happen to Ben,” she said. “He’s safe. You can stop worrying about him and concentrate on the interface.”
He nodded, his eyes on their entwined fingers. He ran his thumb across her knuckles, and then pulled away.
“What are you working on?”
She took a deep breath. She hadn’t decided how much to tell him about Tom. “The hacker hit again.”
His eyes sparked and he sat up. “Did you stop him?”
She nodded. “Like I told you, he’s very good.” She paused. She was going to take the coward’s way out, at least for now. She told herself that Dylan didn’t need the additional stress of knowing that she’d IDed the hacker.
“This was no hit-and-run. This guy’s a risk taker. He launched a deliberate attack on the secure area.”
“But he didn’t get in.”
“No. He did linger long enough for me to trace some of his code. I may be able to isolate his signature.” She looked at her hands. She wasn’t used to lying.
“Explain to me what that means.”
“Every hacker has his or her own way of doing things. Every virus or worm or bot he creates contains his code, written in his way. No two people code in exactly the same way, so a hacker’s signature can ID him, like a fingerprint.”
“Or DNA.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Unfortunately not. DNA doesn’t change. But a good hacker—no, an exceptional hacker can change his signature to a certain extent. He’d have to be savvy enough to recognize his own coding pattern and how it differs from anyone else’s.”
“And our guy?”
“I’m studying him. I’ve got my own database of samples from some known hackers.”
“So you’ll be able to ID him soon?”
Natasha felt queasy. Her hands were shaking. She looked down at them. If she met Dylan’s gaze right now, he’d know the truth—she already knew who the hacker was. “Well, I’d better get back to work.”
Dylan stood. He touched her cheek and gave her a heartbreaking smile. “Thank you.”
She shifted position slightly, just enough to pull away from his fingers. “Just doing my job,” she said.
“You’ve gone far above and beyond. I appreciate it.”
Natasha left and went back to her computer, feeling like a traitor. She had no idea what she was going to do about Tom. But she had to come up with something—and fast.
Because she knew that this wasn’t just her and her expertise against a malicious hacker. Tom had made that clear in his message. She read it one more time.
Hi Nt FBI eh? Gd luck U need it U won’t win this time.
For Tom, it was personal. He wouldn’t give up until he’d destroyed her and everyone around her.
She was the reason he was doing this.
Chapter Nine
Natasha stopped in front of the door to the clean room. She hadn’t seen Dylan in over twenty-four hours, and she was worried about him.
Mintz had told her he was working in the temperature-controlled, air-filtered room where the prototype device was stored. He was refining the mapping of the nerves and finalizing the corresponding superfine fibers that would take the place of Ben’s damaged nerves.
Mintz had also told her not to bother him, yet here she was. Her conscience had been eating at her all day as she studied Tom’s code and tried to figure out what his next move would be.
She had to tell Dylan about Tom. He deserved to know just how vengeful the attacks on his home and his computer were. He deserved the choice of keeping her or dismissing her.
She had the sick feeling that if she weren’t here, Tom might have given up after a couple of failed attempts and gone on to an easier target.
She’d already sent an urgent message via Storm to Decker alerting him that Tom was the hacker and that they should assume he was working with a domestic terrorist cell—based on the truck driver’s suicide mission.
Now she had to tell Dylan. She knocked on the door, but the flat sound of her knuckles hitting steel told her there was no way anyone inside could hear her. She looked for a buzzer or button, but didn’t see anything.
Dylan had told her that she was one of four people who could open any door. Did that include this one? She tried her pass code and fingerprint, and heard the muffled click. She went in, letting the door swing shut behind her with a quiet heavy thud. The sound of forced air surrounded her.
A frisson of alarm slithered down her back. She turned, her breathing suddenly sharp and uneven. The door had a panic bar, like most of the other doors in the house.
Panic bar. Good name. She smiled wryly. Forcing herself to breathe slowly and evenly, she surveyed the room.
It was swathed in shadow. She saw a seating area—a couch and chair on one side. A desk with a computer console was against one wall.
Her eyes were drawn toward a bright area on the opposite wall—a small area curtained by heavy translucent plastic sheeting.
The clean room. Where Dylan and Campbell worked on assembling the interface hardware. It was set up to filter dust and keep the temperature and humidity at a controlled level.
That’s where the forced air was coming from. The clean room was positive pressure, which meant that anyone entering would be subjected to a strong downdraft of clean air—it kept out dust and lint.
She scanned the length of the room. It was empty.
“Dylan?” she called as she stepped away from the door. To her left a recess in the wall provided the only other light. A small sign hung next to it. She stepped closer.
Restroom And Showers. Light spilled out from a short, tiled corridor.
“Dylan?” Her voice sounded small and scared.
She heard a noise. She hesitated. Should she go in?
Just then he appeared wearing jeans and nothing else. His face and torso were sprinkled with drops of water and he rubbed a towel over his wet hair.
The sight of him backlit by the shower room’s fluorescent glow struck Natasha speechless for a second. His bare arms and shoulders rippled with sleek muscles. His abs were lean and defined. And the sparkling water droplets made him look sprinkled with fairy dust.
Her insides tingled with awareness. Her mouth watered at the remembered the taste of him. Her fingers remembered his skin.
He lowered the towel and stopped, surprised. “Tasha—”
She dragged her eyes away from his abs. “I’m sorry. I was worried—”
“No, no. It’s okay.” He gave his hair one last swipe with the towel then tossed it behind him. “I was just taking a break while the diagnostic program runs.”
His golden skin glimmered. Natasha watched two little drops on his chest merge into one and trickle down toward his belly. She swallowed and blinked, imagining that she felt his heat radiating over her. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the magnetism of his presence.
“How—how’s it going?” she stammered, forcing her gaze upward, to meet his.
He shrugged. “I’ll know when the diagnostic is finished.” He wiped a hand across his face,
then pushed his fingers through his wet hair, spiking it. His eyelashes were wet and matted together like star points around his eyes.
He sent her a curious glance. “Did you need something?”
She opened her mouth to tell him about Tom and how she knew him, but she couldn’t. In fact she wasn’t sure she could speak at all. Not with him standing half-naked in front of her. “I—was just worried about you,” she stammered. “I haven’t seen you all day.”
His mouth turned up. “I’m okay. I’ll be better if that diagnostic finishes with no errors.” He glanced toward the clean room then looked at his watch. “It’s been running over an hour. Campbell started it around ten.”
“I saw him in the virtual surgery lab.”
“Really? I guess he’s trying to make up for what he did.”
“You talked to him? What did he say?”
“He said he was just sending files of his code to his home computer.”
Natasha raised her brows. “Did he say why?”
Dylan shrugged, sending rivulets of water sliding down his pecs and over his belly.
She forced herself to look at his face.
“He said he was proud of his work. Said none of it could be used to create or destroy the interface.”
“You believe him?”
“I have to. But you are quarantining his e-mails, right?”
“Right.” She quirked her mouth into a smile. “So what about you? How long have you been down here?”
He shook his head and a shadow crossed his face. “Not long enough. The interface isn’t finished until the diagnostic runs without error. So far, we’ve run it eleven times.”
“Eleven errors?”
“You know how it goes. Fix one error and another that was hidden by the first pops up.”
A beeping sound came from the clean room.
Dylan’s head angled. “It’s finished.” He met her gaze, fear and hope shining in his eyes.
She nodded and tried to smile. Hope and need radiated from him, hot as a desert wind. She didn’t know what he’d do if the program was still buggy.
