Break Me (Corrupted Hearts Book 2)

by Tiffany Snow

  I was turning the problem over in my head as I dressed for the “mission” tonight. I’d had to raid Mia’s closet for a purse because all I had were backpacks and I needed something to carry my equipment in. I was supposed to compromise any and all electronic devices of Lu’s that I could. I was counting on him having at least a smartphone and watch that would be vulnerable, a twofer that would be tricky to hack, but once I had one, I had them both.

  The dress looked even better on me at home than it had in the store and I took a moment to admire the effect. I’d brushed my hair to a gleaming shine, the ebony waves falling past my shoulders. Makeup wasn’t my thing, but I knew enough to use a little powder, blush, and mascara. I dared not attempt eye shadow or eyeliner. “Smoky eye” would probably turn out more like “black eye” in my less-than-capable hands.

  Glasses were a must, though I thought with the mascara, they kind of amplified my blue eyes, so I didn’t mind them. A squirt of perfume that I’d “borrowed” from Mia and I was ready to go.

  Clark was supposed to pick me up, which made it feel almost too much like a date, but I shook off the feeling. He’d been crystal clear that he viewed me as a rather irritating coworker he was forced to work with, despite his preference for working alone. I didn’t mind. We’d found a truce of sorts in our dealings with one another and when he wasn’t trying to be an ass, he could be clever and even funny. While still not in my Top Ten Buddies to hang out with, I could appreciate his dedication to the job and his expertise. In that, we were alike.

  The doorbell rang as I slung the heavy purse over my shoulder and I hurried to get it. Clark stood on the stoop and I had to blink a few times.

  He wore black pants and a black shirt with a deep blue jacket—all colors that set off his hair and eyes. Two buttons were undone on his shirt, showing a triangle expanse of bronzed skin that drew my gaze. Clark’s physique was perfection—wide shoulders, deep chest, narrow waist and hips. And when he smiled, a girl’s knees went weak.

  Not mine, of course. I knew what he was really like.

  His gaze dragged from my head to my feet and stopped. “You can’t wear those,” he said.

  I glanced down at my Converse. “Why not? They’re comfortable and they match my dress.”

  “Normal women don’t wear tennis shoes with a cocktail dress. You’re working undercover. You need heels.”

  “I’ll kill myself in heels,” I argued. “Plus, I don’t have any.”

  “You don’t have a single pair of dress shoes? Seriously?”

  “Asked and answered,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. “Can we go now?”

  He heaved a sigh and said, “C’mon. I’ll improvise.”

  Clark improvising turned out to be hauling me into Nordstrom and straight to the shoe department. He zeroed in on a pair of sparkly silver shoes with a four-inch heel.

  “No way,” I said. “I’ll fall.”

  “Just try them,” he said, handing them to the salesman. “Size seven, right?”

  I nodded, too anxious at the thought of having to wear the shoes to consider how he knew my shoe size. The salesman returned quickly, opening a box and handing me the shoes.

  I put them on, admiring them. They were really pretty and dainty. Princess shoes.

  “Looks like they fit,” Clark said.

  “Yes, but I haven’t stood in them yet,” I retorted. I got to my feet and as I expected, felt as if I was going to topple over any second. I took a cautious step, surprised when I didn’t immediately twist an ankle.

  “See, Mack?” Clark said. “I knew you could do it.” He turned to the salesman and handed him a credit card. “We’ll take them.”

  I took a tour of the shoe department, walking carefully. A woman eyed me as I passed by her twice. On the third time, she said, “It might be easier if you think of them as just any other shoe. Walk heel-toe, not flat-footed.”

  “Thanks,” I said. Taking her advice to heart, I practiced some more, getting more confident with each trip around.

  “Ready?” Clark asked, pocketing the receipt as he came up to me. His gaze lingered on my feet and legs, then he cleared his throat.

  “Ready as I’m going to be,” I replied, taking a deep breath.

  Clark headed for the car and I followed, walking carefully. Asphalt wasn’t as easy as carpet and linoleum was downright nerve-racking.

  “Stick to the plan,” he said. “You’re a terrible liar and a worse actress. Keep your mouth shut as much as possible.”

  I was about to retort in outrage at his judgment of my thespian skills, but he’d already gotten in the car. He hadn’t even opened my door for me. “What a gentleman,” I groused, climbing into the passenger side.

  “I know you don’t want me doing this with you,” I said. “But you could at least pretend.”

  “I’m not a big believer in hiding my feelings.”

  No shit. I was uncomfortable around people in the best of circumstances, but rarely had I come across someone in my adult life who could be as openly hostile toward me as Clark, or as dismissive. I’d been demanding respect for my intellect and talents for years, commanding hundreds of millions of dollars in R&D projects, then on real-life scenarios where the entire future of a business rested in my hands. I was unaccustomed to being treated as the inept ingénue, and I didn’t like it.

  I could probably try to pull rank and tell him to watch his attitude, but I didn’t see how that would help me. Not really. Whatever Clark’s problem, me being a hardnose bitch about protocol wasn’t going to make it any better. I just had to ignore it the best I could and do the job.

  The VIP dinner was located in an exclusive hotel downtown. Clark gave the valet his keys and reached for my hand. I instinctively drew back.

  “We’re supposed to be madly infatuated, remember?”

  I felt like the misbehaving toddler forced to hold Daddy’s hand as we entered the hotel. Not that his hand wasn’t nice. It was. Clark’s hand was rough, but holding it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. It still swallowed mine, and helped steady me on the slippery floor.

  Clark led me toward a set of stairs guarded by two men. They looked over our invitation carefully, then let us pass. Clark let me go in front of him and I tried not to be self-conscious with him inches behind me on the narrow staircase. I needed to focus so we could do our job. Clark already thought I would be incompetent at undercover work. I certainly didn’t want to confirm his low opinion.

  I was met by a man at the top of the stairs, though “Hulk” would’ve been more apt. He had to be at least six five and three hundred pounds. At some point, it didn’t matter if it was muscle or fat—it was just bulk that you didn’t want propelled in your direction. His head was shaved, his eyes were beady, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see him crack his knuckles.

  “Your bag,” he said, holding out a meaty hand.

  I handed him my purse. He looked me up and down, then unzipped the purse and glanced inside. I’d considered this possibility, so I’d tossed a handful of tampons on top of my things, hoping for the instinctual male reaction. I wasn’t disappointed. As soon as he saw the little white wrappers, he couldn’t get rid of it fast enough.

  “Turn around,” he said to Clark, who got the full pat down. The guy was very thorough.

  “You could at least buy me dinner first,” Clark wisecracked.

  Hulk wasn’t amused. “Your turn,” he said to me, and Clark’s smirk disappeared. Apparently, he wanted to retaliate for having come within inches of touching feminine hygiene products because I’d had less invasive pat downs from the TSA. When his hand touched the inside of my knee and scooted upward, Clark was suddenly there.

  In a move that was too fast for me to see exactly how he’d done it, Clark had the guy against the wall and his arm twisted up behind his back. “You’re about to lose some fingers,” he snarled.

  I watched, eyes wide and holding my breath. Clark was a big guy, but the beefy security guard topped him by a few i
nches and about a hundred pounds.

  After a long pause, Clark let go of him, then took my elbow and pulled me in front of him and through the doorway, his hands on my bare shoulders. The guard didn’t try to stop us.

  “What was that for?” I asked, once we were out of earshot. “You could’ve gotten us thrown out.”

  “You’d have preferred a cavity search?”

  My cheeks flushed. “Of course not.” Even though we were through the doorway, his hands remained on my shoulders, sending unwelcome flutters through my stomach.

  “Then don’t worry about it. It’s not my first rodeo, sweetheart.”

  I stopped in my tracks and rounded on him. Enough was enough. “Sweetheart?” My frustration and irritation with him was reaching its limits.

  His eyes flickered down toward my cleavage, then back up to my eyes. “Relax. It’s a part. You getting all pissy with me isn’t in the playbook.”

  I stepped closer, right into his personal space. I had to tip my head back a good ways to look him in the eye. “It may be a part,” I said, “but just remember to watch the hands, and the sweethearts.”

  Clark’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening in a way that nearly made me take a step back. Leaning down, he set his lips by my ear. “I’m in charge of keeping you alive tonight. If I were you, I wouldn’t piss me off.”

  I swallowed hard, looking into his eyes, inches from mine. Clark played by a different set of rules—his own. I didn’t know the exact reason why he’d given up his autonomy to work at Vigilance. He’d never said and I hadn’t asked. But I did know from the little Gammin had let me view of Clark’s file that a) he was dangerous and b) he was smart. Clark was very valuable to people who knew of his existence—and that number was precious few—and I had little doubt that his value didn’t lie in his conversational skills.

  “Champagne?”

  We both turned to see a waiter holding a tray full of champagne flutes. He waited patiently as Clark took two glasses and handed one to me.

  “Let’s focus on the job and get the hell out of here,” he said.

  I wholeheartedly agreed.

  Champagne probably wasn’t the best idea, but I downed half the glass anyway, glancing around the room as I did so. There were about twenty people there, maybe a few more—mostly men but a handful of women. I spotted Lu talking to a man in the far corner. I couldn’t tell who the man was, not with his back to us, but he looked familiar, which was weird. I shouldn’t know anyone here.

  I had a small device I’d helped Yash design that could clone a cell phone’s SIM card in seconds—a procedure that would usually require the IMSI number on the card and its authentication code. Since the authentication code had to be achieved electronically—it couldn’t just be read off the SIM, and obtaining it could sometimes brick the phone—I’d had to ask Yash for assistance. Telephony and all things cellular expert that he was, all I had to do was remove the SIM in Lu’s cell phone and replace it with the clone that was already programmed to both transmit any communications to Vigilance and spread its core programming to any device and network Lu’s phone touched.

  The hard part was going to be getting Lu’s phone, but that was Clark’s area, not mine.

  Waiters mingled among the guests, offering trays of hors d’oeuvres. Absently, I took one from a tray and popped it in my mouth. Chewing, I asked Clark, “What is this? It’s really good.”

  He glanced at the bite, saying, “Pâté on a crostino,” before eating it.

  I choked. “Pâté? As in duck liver?” The bite turned to playdough in my mouth and I couldn’t swallow.

  Clark looked at me. “If you puke, I swear to God, I will not hold your hair.”

  I looked at him helplessly, holding the mushy food in my mouth.

  “I’ve never had to ask this particular question before,” he said, “but can’t you swallow?”

  I shook my head, then did a little dry heave. Oh God . . .

  He cursed, then handed me his pocket square. Turning away, I spit the bite into the fabric and wrapped it up. Gross. Spotting a potted plant, I glanced around before poking it in among the dirt and leaves.

  “Thank you,” I breathed, relieved to have that over with.

  “You are so high class,” Clark said. “Let’s hope they don’t serve caviar.” He took my elbow. “Next time, ask before you put something in your mouth.” He frowned. “That didn’t come out quite right.”

  The next waiter walked by and I asked very specifically what he was serving and when I found out it was just flank steak on bruschetta, I took one.

  “No mushrooms, right?” I asked. He shook his head. “Nothing weird?” I persisted.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Clark rolled his eyes, stuffing the food in his mouth and chewing. He snagged another glass of champagne and took a long drink.

  We wandered Lu’s direction, mingling along the way. I didn’t have to do very much except smile and sip my champagne. Everything was going fine until we were about halfway there.

  “Don’t I know you?”

  A woman stopped me with a hand on my arm. She looked midtwenties and very pretty.

  “I don’t think we’ve met, no,” I said, giving her a polite smile. Shrugging off her hand, I took another step, only to be stopped again.

  “No. You look familiar. I swear I know you,” she persisted.

  And it struck me. My newfound Internet fame. She probably had seen me on Twitter or TMZ or something. Her outing me would be very, very bad.

  Clark appeared to come to the same conclusion I did because he stepped between her and me, forcing her to let me go. “Excuse us,” he said. His hand rested possessively on my lower back, propelling me forward with him and away from the girl.

  “That was close,” I muttered, half to him and half to myself.

  “Not nearly as close as this is going to be,” he replied.

  I glanced up at him, a question on my lips, then saw where he was looking and followed his gaze. The man who’d been speaking with Lu who had looked familiar to me had turned and was facing us now. It turned out that I actually did know him. I knew him very well.

  “Jackson,” I murmured in surprise. “What’s he doing here?”

  “He looks like he’s thinking the same thing about us,” Clark replied.

  It was true. Jackson’s eyebrows had climbed when he spotted us and now he was frowning. He headed in our direction, meeting us in the middle of the room.

  “What the hell are you two doing here?” he asked.

  “I could ask you the same,” I replied, thinking fast. If Jackson outed us, we’d lose our chance at Lu. “But it’ll have to wait. We’re here for work, and I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t blow our cover.”

  “Your cover?” He looked confused, not that I blamed him.

  “Mark Dale,” Clark said, giving his alias and holding out his hand. Jackson shook it automatically. “And this is my date, Suzi.”

  Suzi? Really? Ugh. “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  Jackson’s expression cleared as understanding dawned, then his jaw tightened. “The pleasure’s all mine,” he said with a forced smile. Leaning forward, his lips grazed my cheek. “I think you and I are going to be having a long conversation, my darling.”

  His whispered words and the leashed anger in them made me wince, but I forced my fake smile. “That sounds lovely.”

  “Jackson, will you get me another drink?” A woman had come up behind him and was glancing curiously at Clark and me. Statuesque with long, red hair, her black dress sparkled and had a slit up the side, exposing a perfectly shaped leg.

  I gritted my teeth. “And who is this?” I asked him.

  “This is Rebecca,” Jackson replied. “My companion for the evening. Rebecca, this is Mark and . . . Suzi.”

  She smiled in a blandly polite way, her crimson lips curving and showing off Angelina Jolie–worthy cheekbones. “How do you do?”

  It wasn’t a question that she was interes
ted in hearing an answer to because she immediately dismissed us, turning her attention back to Jackson and winding one bare arm through his. “Do get me another drink, Jack. The champagne is simply divine.”

  Jack? Exactly how well did this chick know him?

  I opened my mouth to ask just that question when Clark suddenly pushed us past them, his arm tight around my waist.

  “Save it,” he said. “Now’s not the time for a lovers’ spat.”

  I bit back a retort, because he was right. I pasted a smile on my face as Clark gazed adoringly down at me . . . and ran right into Lu.

  “Hey, my apologies,” Clark said, helping him right himself. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “Obviously.” Lu’s curt reply was laced with his accent, undisguised irritation on his face as he straightened his cuffs. He gave me a cursory glance, then moved on.

  “Did you get it?” I asked Clark.

  “Of course.” He slipped the phone into my palm. “Now go. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  I hurried away to find the ladies’ room and locked myself into a stall. Pulling out my new toy, I cloned Lu’s SIM and inserted the new one. I was nervous and trying to hurry and I nearly dropped the phone. Doing something like this in theory and doing it in reality and under pressure were two very different things.

  “Oh God, that would’ve been bad,” I whispered to myself, picturing trying to explain a shattered phone screen to Clark. He’d never let me live it down, if he didn’t kill me, that was.

  My heart was racing and I felt light-headed as I packed up my things inside my purse. Luckily, no one else was in the bathroom when I came out. I paused for a moment to take a deep breath before opening the door.

  Clark was waiting at the end of the hallway. “Here,” I said, passing the phone back.

  We walked together back into the dining room. I spotted Lu patting his pockets and looking around. He’d already missed his phone. Damn.