Darcy owed the plucky woman for putting in the hours to help her build a case against Hewitt. Intrigued by his skill, Molly saw him as a challenge. Darcy just wanted to nail his sorry ass.
“He’s the stuff of a Hollywood hero. He’s a lot of man candy and a lot of smarts. The picture of him clubbing with Sophie Dean and her friends is hot. And how about my little discovery that he used the money he made from selling apps to pay for his sister’s musical training?”
Darcy snorted. “He’s too good to be true. That’s why he’s perfect for it. And with his security clearance, he has access to DOD’s files. Maybe he manipulated them to hide his trail.”
The only picture that they were able to pull up, besides his driver’s license and passport photos, was taken when Sophie Dean was living out her wilder party days. Darcy felt a kinship with Sophie Dean’s need to act out after her mother’s death. Darcy had left a spate of bad boys in her wake after her dad died. And Reeves Hewitt had “bad boy” written all over his pretty face.
“I’m surprised Richard Dean didn’t use his influence to pull this one.”
Molly hit the button, and Reeves Hewitt’s angular face filled the giant screen. His thick, ebony hair was disheveled, his black eyes staring at Darcy. He could have been an ad for a men’s cologne or a Porsche with his arm draped casually around Sophie Dean, his collared shirt open to reveal a hint of his potent virility. How was this guy a computer nerd? There was no question the man oozed sex-on-a-stick with privilege.
Why did she have such a visceral reaction to this one man? She refused to acknowledge the synergy between them during the three-hour gaming marathon. She thought she had finished with the whole love ’em and leave ’em type. He could be best friends with one of her older brothers. And she had seen the trail of heartbreak her brothers left behind. She didn’t require overloaded testosterone to make her life exciting. The CIA gave enough of that.
“Dean might control his computer world, but there’s no way he can monitor every picture of his daughter and her friends.” Molly smirked.
Darcy didn’t have access to Molly’s file. All Darcy knew was from comments the young hacker made as an aside. Molly had been a foster kid and seemed to have a lot of trust issues around authority figures. The CIA had recruited her to use her skills for the government, not against it. Richard Dean, billionaire software guru, was the ultimate father figure to rail against. Making Molly the perfect partner for pushing the boundaries but not crossing the CIA line with their deep dive into Hewitt.
“Why do such piddly shit when Hewitt could hack into the main frame of the CIA? The dude doesn’t need to use his game to install ransomware. And why countries that are barely on the international radar?”
Darcy hated to admit that Molly’s logic was sound. She was frustrated and under a lot of pressure after being sent back to Langley before her fieldwork had been finished. She needed a win, or she would end up behind a desk forever instead of fighting the bad guys. The only reason she had gotten this assignment was that she had been a big gamer before she straightened up her life and joined the military. Instead of attending her college classes, she spent hours gaming, hooking up, and smoking weed.
Wishing Hewitt to be a terrorist didn’t make it so. Hewitt was probably too smart to be the perpetrator of the cyberattack. Neither he or Thompson were capable of selling the virus-infected variation to the highest bidder. She had the requisite amount of cyber skills for this op but nothing like Molly or Hewitt.
She was a field agent … or used to be. Her father always reminded her that her need to win would come back to bite her in the ass. But she grew up in a household of five men—four older brothers and her father, who cast a long and formidable shadow. She wanted a life of adventure in foreign countries, not to be a housewife like her mother, who’d spent her days cooking and cleaning. She’d died before she ever had a chance to live. And Darcy wasn’t going to let that happen to her.
The door opened, and a man in an ill-fitting black jacket waited in the entrance. His sidearm bulged under his Men’s Wearhouse polyester suit. “Officer Darcy Wilson?”
“Yes.” Darcy’s heart raced from the formality of his voice and his military posture.
“The director wants to see you. Now.”
“He’s in his office?” Her voice quavered. It was midnight.
“Yes. He just arrived and immediately sent for you.”
The tingling feeling behind her knees worsened when she heard Molly mumble under her breath, “Oh, shit.”
“You should hustle.” The man gestured for her to go in front of him.
This wasn’t the heart-pounding adventure she wanted when she joined the CIA.
Her heart thrashed in loud thumps against her chest when her escort held the door to the director’s office. She walked into the darkened space. Two metal lamps on the giant desk were the only light source. She had never met the director, but Andrew Marwick’s reputation was that he was a total ball-breaker who did not tolerate idiots or idiots’ mistakes.
“You wish to see me, sir?”
Could she be delusional enough to believe that he had breaking information on the ransomware? She stepped farther into the huge office lined with shelves of leather-bound books and gold-framed pictures of the director hobnobbing with world leaders.
He stood with his back to her, surveying the courtyard below. His silver hair was in sharp contrast to his crisp white shirt. Unlike her jeans and t-shirt, he sported a dark blue, almost black, expensively cut suit as if he had just returned from a late-night meeting.
The power suit accentuated his broad shoulders. By his ramrod posture and his linebacker physique, she would’ve deduced that he was military, like the past directors. Marwick, the exception, was a career diplomat with years of service in embassies across the globe, including West Africa, and part of the reason she wanted to prove herself with this assignment. Embassies were close to the director’s heart, as was human intelligence over unfiltered cyber data.
Marwick’s appointment was part of the president’s mandate that human intelligence and human relationships remained vital to the security of the United States, despite the growing use of AI to gather data and predict human outcomes. She was thrilled with Marwick’s nomination since she was the type of agent he’d value. Or so she hoped.
“Ms. Wilson. You’ve been with the agency a little more than two years?”
“Yes, sir. I was recruited during my second deployment in Afghanistan.”
He hadn’t offered a seat, so she remained standing at attention as he sat behind his desk.
“You were an Army intelligence officer? Gathering intel from the local tribes.”
“Yes, sir. I have a facility with dialects that helped me to reach out and connect with the women.”
Witnessing the Taliban’s repression of the Afghan women, who previously had attended university and held high-powered jobs, made Darcy appreciate the freedom American women took for granted. And inspired her to keep fighting for democracy and human rights for all global citizens.
Darcy shifted on her feet, not sure where this was leading. Nowhere good, she thought, since she spotted her file on his desk.
“And you received one of the highest rankings amongst your class at the farm. And here you are back at Langley before finishing your first assignment in Senegal.”
Her father’s advice echoed in her thoughts about eating crow and admitting your mistakes, but not giving up your opinion, even if you were wiped in the grass.
“I was out of line, sir, but I had to speak my mind. My conscience wouldn’t allow me to step back from the intelligence and my trust in my CI.”
“And you went against direct orders from Station Chief Anders? And shared your intel with your Army liaison.”
“Yes, sir.” The burn in her chest moved upward. She was sure unattractive blotches now dotted her fair skin. Red heads definitely didn’t have more fun. She could control her heart rate but not the dilation of her blo
od vessels shooting blood to her face and neck.
“Sit down.”
Darcy sat on the edge of the seat. Her back stayed straight, and her senses were on high alert.
“Do you know why I’m at my office at this late hour?”
Marwick had skills in interrogation—gifted in dragging this out, making her squirm. She repressed her need to be a smart-ass and commenting that she expected he would tell her very soon.
“The defense department’s director called me this evening, interrupting my keynote speech and my dinner. It seems one of my lowly agents has pissed off Richard Dean, the Richard Dean, DOD’s biggest contractor for our missile defense system and software security systems. A CIA agent attempted earlier today to hack into his employee’s personnel files, and not just any employee, but the one that Dean perceives to be like a son. Is this your work, Wilson?”
Damn. She had no spit in her mouth. Total dry mouth like her days baking under the Afghan sun. And Marwick, known for his smooth ability to charm and gently cajole hostile nations into submission, wasn’t wasting his skills on his “lowly agent.”
“I’ve been pursuing all leads, sir, including suspects who have allies in powerful places. Hewitt designed Snakes Ahead and has high security clearance, and has a suspicious account in the Cayman Islands.”
“Now I know why Anders filed a complaint against you. You don’t know when to back down, do you?”
“No, sir. Not when I feel the safety of the citizens of the United States is at risk.”
“You might have been correct in Senegal, but you’re completely mistaken about Hewitt. You’re to make nice to Hewitt, beg his forgiveness, and ask for his help with finding who is behind the attacks on our embassies. The man is a genius.”
Molly was bad enough, but now her boss was drinking the Hewitt-is-a-genius Kool-Aid. “But sir, he’s not…”
He raised his hands to signal her to desist. “You’re to be on a flight to Seattle to grovel at Dean’s feet. And I mean grovel. Make this right, or you’ll find yourself in the basement, never to see the light of day again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal clear.” She couldn’t keep the frustration out of her voice. Her boss didn’t mention that she had saved hundreds of lives that day by clearing the market before the bomb could explode. All anyone remembered was that she had not followed the chain of command. And she thought coming to the CIA would allow her to use her skills at reading people, anticipating their next moves, predicting their behavior, and not be another cog in the bureaucratic wheel.
“You did good work in Senegal. Anders lacks imagination. He’s old-school and didn’t know what to do with someone like you. The only reason you’re not in the basement right now is that I want officers who have a moral compass. But you need to learn how to negotiate, not break men’s balls.”
Darcy groaned inwardly. There was no comeback the director would listen to. From all her experience at home and in the field, men didn’t negotiate. They gave orders and avoided them when she tried to do the same.
But she kept her professional face on. “Understood, sir.” And started planning how she could get Hewitt to confess once she met him…
Chapter Three
Enjoying the dark and chocolatey taste of his espresso, Reeves dodged the tourists hustling down Pike Street to the farmers market. He had overslept. He never overslept. His brain never stopped firing all cylinders most days and many nights. But yesterday was not his usual day—a pedicure, a stay in the presidential suite at the Four Seasons, and an extreme workout with the Jenkins brothers. An exhausting, intense thirty-six hours after Danni and Sophie had taken over his life.
The women had planned his “recovery day” to the last second. How could he say no to all their genuine concern? Besides the fact that the Jenkins brothers would have whooped his ass if he had made “their” women unhappy. Not that he’d ever hurt Danni or Sophie’s feelings. Having two younger sisters, he was used to meddling women. And as with his sisters, he took the path of least resistance.
Danni, an expert on heartbreak after her fiancé had abandoned her at the altar, was responsible for the spa day, which featured a pedicure and manicure and endless French champagne. He glanced at his buffed nails. If any of the brothers noticed, he’d never stop getting shit from the Jenkins boys who put a capital M in macho.
Sophie took a different approach—first, a shiatsu massage with acupressure, followed by a full-body smudge with sage smoke. Sophie had spent time with several indigenous South American groups and was big into alternative healing methods.
Sophie’s “therapy” also mandated no contact with his job and no use of his personal devices, including his phone. Since her father was Reeves’s boss, he had an unexpected holiday. He was only allowed the TV remote at the Four Seasons.
When the men had shown up at the bar two nights ago and heard what the ladies were planning, Finn and Lars, with dramatic eye rolls, had announced that all he needed was a workout and some horizontal time with a hot woman. The only problem was the workout with spec forces operators was nothing like what civilians did. And Reeves was more than fit, but he was never so glad for the shiatsu massage after what the Jenkins brothers put him through with their usual PT.
And thank God none of his friends had decided to play matchmaker at the bar when they all had imbibed way too much alcohol. The men were right. He needed a woman and sex. He wasn’t into booty calls as he had been in college. And he wasn’t ready … for anything else. If only XChoco could be real and hot.
He threw his coffee cup into the trash and reached for his phone when he realized he didn’t have it. Sophie promised it would be waiting for him at Dean Security’s main office. Richard Dean’s assistant had left a message at the Four Seasons that Dean wanted to meet with him this morning.
Reeves entered the black-tinted glass and steel building, nodding to the security guard who allowed him to enter the secure private elevator, which served the top floor and Richard’s office. Two men in military uniforms and another in a business suit waited with him for the elevator.
Reeves finger-combed his hair, which he hadn’t taken time to brush. He wished he had on his better jeans and a clean t-shirt for today’s meeting instead of his worn jeans and old Google shirt, an icon appreciated only by fellow geeks.
He allowed the clients to exit the elevator first when they arrived on the top floor. Richard’s assistant greeted the men and led them down the hallway.
Reeves was headed in the opposite direction toward Richard’s private office when his boss emerged from his office.
Impeccable in his Italian suit, the genius who changed the interface of software grinned before handing Reeves his phone. “Are you better now that you’ve been smudged? Or did Sophie have to balance your chakras too?”
Reeves hadn’t considered that his boss would be privy to yesterday’s activities. God, he hoped Sophie hadn’t given him the sordid details of Lily mistakenly sexting Reeves instead of her coworker, which the women had extracted from him after too many scotches. He sure as hell didn’t want any pitying looks from the man he respected.
“I was spared the chakra-balancing but nothing else. Thank you for the day off. It really wasn’t necessary …”
“Of course, it was necessary. Everyone needs time to get away to gain some perspective on what’s important.”
Richard Dean, a powerful, driven man, had come full circle and then some after both his daughters had been kidnapped by a Chinese gang interested in his older daughter’s genetic research. Richard was still as focused, but he was trying to mend all the hurt he had inflicted as he pushed his company to the top of the global market.
Luckily, Richard didn’t specify that perspective was on how a lover you trusted was a two-timing liar. The women’s outrage on his behalf had helped him come to grips with how pissed he truly was at Lily for not being straight-up with him. Why couldn’t she be honest? It wasn’t as if they had committed to a future together. And that
was part of the problem. He never thought about a future with her. He was having way too much fun fighting bad guys with the Jenkinses.
“And Sophie would have never allowed me to say no,” Richard said.
The men laughed conspiratorially. Both techie nerds had an unspoken bond, appreciating that their skills were in front of a screen and not always the best in deciphering human emotions. Case in point, how Reeves had misfired with Lily.
They walked together toward the main meeting room.
“I saw some military types. Are we meeting with them about the software update?”
“You have someone waiting who you’ll find much more interesting than the navy brass. I’ll introduce you, but this is your project.” Richard grinned widely.
Reeves inspected Richard’s face for any hint of the reason for the dramatic change in his demeanor. Richard Dean didn’t grin. And this was his second grin. Richard was demanding and direct. Mysterious projects and humor were never involved in his business dealings.
Reeves entered the enormous meeting room of steel, black leather, and walls of glass with a panoramic view of downtown Seattle and Puget Sound. Shockingly for the gray Northwest, it was a clear day, giving a spectacular vista of the majestic snow-capped Olympic Mountains.
A young woman with flaming red curls severely held by a clip at her neck was seated at the conference table. A few errant curls had sprung free and danced around her pixie face. She was dressed in a navy blue business suit with an open-collared white blouse, the buttons tugging across her chest.
Reeves pulled his gaze away from the buttons as she crossed the room to greet him but not before she caught him red-handed—or was it red-eyed since he was caught lingering on her stacked chest?
Richard cleared his throat, but Reeves would have sworn that he heard a snicker. Had Sophie’s smudging altered his world somehow? Reeves always treated women professionally and didn’t leer. Damn, he had sisters. And suddenly Richard Dean had found a sense of humor?
Mission: Impossible to Deny (The Impossible Mission Romantic Suspense Series Book 7) Page 2
