Hidden Agenda: A Reverse Harem Romance (The Code Book 2)

by Bethany Jadin

  I jump up from the chair and dig through my pile of clothing on the counter, pulling my pants on under my robe. I turn back to Zoey as I grab my bra off the counter. “I’ve gotta get out of here. My parents need me to come over and help inventory what was stolen.”

  “Okay,” she nods. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  My shirt. Where is my shirt? I stand on my tip-toes, leaning over the counter, thinking maybe it fell off onto the kitchen floor. “I don’t think so. I’ll just be filling out police reports and insurance forms and helping to clean up the mess.”

  Zoey hooks a thumb over her shoulder, toward the hallway. “What about them?”

  Ah! I spot my shirt under the dining room table, left there last night from when I removed it after a losing a hand of strip poker. I shrug my robe off and slip my bra on, turning to look at Zoey over my shoulder as I fasten it. “Uh, just say I had to run some errands.”

  I lean down to retrieve my t-shirt. As I slide it over my head, I spot Gunner’s boxer briefs hanging from the ceiling fan. I pause, leaning against the table as a series of erotic images flash through my head, a shiver of pleasure running through my body at the memories — Jax and I stroking him together in the kitchen, Gunner lying spread-eagle on my bed, how they both kissed me so passionately and tenderly as I came over and over.

  Zoey’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Do you want me to tell them to call you or...?

  “God no,” I say, horrified at the idea of having the morning-after conversation over the phone. “I mean, I’ll be busy. Just tell them I’ll be gone a while, and they shouldn’t wait for me.”

  My best friend squints at me. “They’re going to think you’re freaking out about last night.”

  “I am freaking out about last night,” I mumble. I grab a travel mug from the dishwasher and pour the rest of my coffee into it. “And I don’t want them to know about the break-in. They’ll insist on coming over to help or something. I can’t deal with them this morning.”

  “Okay, I’ll just say you had errands.”

  “Thanks, you’re the best.” I grab my phone from the counter and stuff it in my pocket then kiss Zoey on the cheek. “And thank you for the coffee.”

  “Hey, wait,” she says, grabbing her purse from the table under the security panel in the foyer. She digs out a granola bar. “Take this — you didn’t eat your eggs.”

  “You’re the best,” I tell her, taking the granola bar. “By the way, Gunner will probably love those eggs.”

  Zoey smiles. “True. Just check in with me in a bit so I don’t worry, okay?”

  I open the door to the apartment. “I will. And you hang in there, too — eventually all of it will get straightened out.”

  “Uh... are those underwear?” Zoey points to the dining room ceiling.

  “Yeah. Gunner’s.”

  “Interesting.” She purses her lips, and I see a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “I think I’ll just sit right here and enjoy the show, then.”

  I shake my head with a laugh as Zoey walks back to the kitchen, taking a seat on one of the barstools, facing down the hallway in anticipation. “Have fun with that,” I tell her.

  “Oh, I will,” she says with a big grin.

  I give her one last smile as I head out the door, hitting the return call button on my phone.

  15

  Jude

  Emma hasn’t been to the Pentabyte offices since we had our very first meeting with her about the security program, but I don’t believe this is going to be about negotiating the contract terms.

  She sounded pretty hot under the collar when she called, asking to speak with me about recent developments. I’m not sure if the recent developments have anything to do with her code, or if she’s wanting to know what the hell I was thinking when I fucked her against the wall in her apartment.

  I won’t lie, even thinking about her fiery passion and the way her fingernails dug into my skin when she climaxed has me sporting a partial. Not now, I remind myself. If she is here about that, I’m not sure what to say. Because the truth is, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, other than I needed her more in that moment than I’ve needed anything. I needed to tease that fire out of her, to feel the heat of her skin against mine, to give into the desire that had been smoldering inside me for weeks. But I’m pretty damn sure Emma isn’t coming here for round two.

  “Miss Emma Collins, for you.” My office assistance’s voice is calm and professional through the speakers.

  “Let her in, please.” I stand from behind my desk and move toward the door to greet her. Emma enters, and sure enough, there’s an uneasy expression settled on her features. “Hi, Emma. How are you?”

  Emma wastes no time in getting down to business. “Has Jax made any progress?”

  She doesn’t have to explain her terse question – it’s a topic that’s been weighing heavily on all of us. Taking her lead, I skip right to the issue at hand. “He hit a wall. Whoever hacked your bank account is very good and knows how to cover their tracks. He was able to get ahold of an IP address, but it pinged across to a dozen unsecured servers before going dark.”

  I can tell by the look of frustration on her face that it’s more or less the answer she was expecting. “And Zoey?”

  “Same rabbit trail,” I say, moving back toward my desk. “But the key word is same. There are too many similarities to simply dismiss the two incidences as unrelated. We think whoever hacked your bank account is also the one who stole Zoey’s identity.”

  Emma lets out a deep sigh. “Well, there’s more.”

  A tightness comes into my chest, and I curl my fingers into fists. So far, I’ve resisted asking Jax and Daniel to setup a digital fingerprint so we can trace any unusual activities and head off possible problems. I really want Trigg and Gunner to install physical surveillance, too — cameras, sensors, the works. But I’ve held off, knowing Emma would say no if we asked and would be furious if we did it without her permission. Now I’m wondering if that was the right call. Her safety has to come first, to hell with the consequences.

  I choke down the myriad of questions I want to spout off and settle on just one. “What is it?”

  “It’s my parents, Jude. My parents.”

  That tightness in my chest threatens to erupt like a volcano. The clenching in my fists rises up my body, into my shoulders and neck. “What’s happened, Emma? Their bank account, too?”

  She’s laughing now, but it’s not at all funny. It’s a hollow, angry laugh. “Oh, if only. This isn’t just hackers behind a computer screen messing with data anymore. They were in my house, Jude. The house I grew up in. The house where my mother and father still live. Where they sleep.”

  The clenching reaches down into my gut and across my thighs, a hot burn lighting up every nerve. “They’re okay?”

  “My parents are fine.” Emma’s pacing now, her hands swinging in front of her. “They trashed the place, though. Took a few things, but I know it was just cover-up for whatever they were looking for. Who ransacks a room that looks like it belongs to a teenage girl?”

  Motherfuckers. They were looking for a copy of her code. “Did they get it?”

  Emma comes to a sudden halt, her eyes focusing sharply on me. She knows exactly what I’m referring to. “I don’t keep it at my parent’s house, for fuckssake.”

  I know immediately my question has only raised Emma’s hackles more. I’m a tightly wound ball of tension, and I desperately want to smash something — the face of the motherfucker who’s behind this, for starters — but I manage to reach my palms out in a calming motion.

  “I don’t need to know where you keep it. I’m not asking you to tell me. But I have contacts. We need to go down to your parent’s house. My guys will make a thorough search. Breaking and entering takes time, and with the kind of mess you described, there’s no way they didn’t leave behind something. Hair, fibers, fingerprints — something.”

  Emma sits down in one of the cha
irs in front of my desk, shaking her head. “I’ve already been there, and the police are handling it.”

  I grit my teeth but take the seat opposite her, trying to remain calm for her sake. “The police? They might be good at catching a sloppy local guy doing break-ins for pocket change, but this is beyond their scope. Did you even tell them about the bank job and the identity theft?”

  She scoffs. “Of course not. I’m not going to have my parents worrying that I might be the target of this. Right now, my parents believe it’s just some meth-head who chose their house at random. They’ll sleep better at night if they keep thinking that’s all it was.”

  “And let me guess — that’s what the police think, too?”

  Her eyes narrow angrily, but she doesn’t say anything.

  “Look, if the police could handle it, this never would have happened. I have contacts all over the CIA and FBI. My guys will be able to handle this, not the local police.”

  That sharp focus is boring straight into me. “What do you mean this never would have happened?”

  “I mean, we both know something is going on. You just said it yourself, the thing we’ve all been tap-dancing around. We can’t deny it any longer — you’re being targeted. The police don’t have the chops to handle this kind of thing. Data breaches, digital theft, a house raid. This kind of big picture stuff, it’s too complicated for a local department to handle. This is over their heads, but I can assemble a team. I can—”

  “No.”

  I halt, my eyes widening. “No?”

  “You’re mixed up in this.”

  Her words hit me like a punch in the gut. She couldn’t possibly think… “I have nothing to do with this, Emma. There’s some real shit going down here, but if you just let me take care of it—”

  “No. I don’t—” she trails off and lets a huff of air out her nose, looking away for a moment, blinking back angry tears before turning to me again. “Let’s just say it’s been one fucked up thing after another since I went to that Gala and met you guys. I don’t think you’re causing this, but nothing you’re doing is fixing it, either. I didn’t come here so you could pull strings and get me even more in debt to you than I already am. The less I owe you, the better.”

  “Then why the hell are you here?” I growl, throwing my arms wide. “If you won’t let me do a goddamn thing, why the hell are you here?”

  Emma’s so furious, her lips are trembling. “You are such a fucking caveman. I don’t need you to organize mission control.”

  “Then what? Tell me what it is, and I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

  Her lip trembles more, and I realize it’s not all from anger. “I’m freaked the fuck out right now, Jude,” she says softly, losing some of her steam as other emotions rise to the surface. “I need someone to listen to me and give me some advice. Some goddamn advice. Not call the CIA.”

  Fuck. I’m not an advice guy. I’m who you come to when you want to punch assholes and get a good, hard fuck against the wall. I’m a get shit done guy, as in immediately and thoroughly — especially when someone I care about is in harm’s way. The tension in my body is starting to make my muscles ache, and I can’t stand to see the fear in Emma’s eyes. But I meant what I promised — whatever she needs, I’ll do it.

  It’s painful to ease off the accelerator, but all those goddamn corporate communication classes Trigg makes me attend aren’t going to complete waste. I make myself draw a deep breath and lean back in my chair, taking a less aggressive posture. I say the words I know she needs to hear. “Alright. Tell me how I can help.”

  A silent beat passes as she gathers herself, and I wait patiently, trying to quiet the ferocious, protective beast inside me.

  “Have you seen this kind of thing before?” Her voice is calmer, but still tinged with nervousness. “I mean, boots on the ground stuff.”

  I cross my arms, my fingers digging into my biceps, not just to give my hands something to do, but to let my body feel a little pain — anything to keep me anchored, to discuss this calmly like Emma wants instead of kicking in teeth and worrying about the body count later.

  “Yes. We’ve seen this before. More often than you’d think. Everyone does competitive intelligence gathering — that’s par for the course. But some companies will turn to what’s known as digital persuasion when they’re trying to put the pressure on, whether it’s another company they want to buy or an individual they want to do business with.”

  Emma nods, staring at the floor between us. “I’ve heard a lot of stories, over the years. But I didn’t know how much stock to put in rumors.”

  “Usually, it’s really minor stuff, the kind of thing the FBI doesn’t even consider worth their time. They create annoyances, inconveniences.”

  Her eyes turn up, finding mine. “But?”

  I release my arms with a sigh. I have to tell her. I hate it, but I have to. “What’s happening to you — if it is corporate espionage, which is the most logical explanation — it’s not typical. There’s only a couple of companies who would have the ability to pull off something like this as cleanly as they have so far. Not to mention, there’s only a few with the balls to even try.”

  “And… are those the kind of companies that would be able to hack a bank account with no trace? And ping an IP all over the place and make it disappear?”

  “Absolutely.”

  A long silence fills the room as Emma’s eyes search my face, looking for answers I’m not sure I have. Then finally, “This is the kind of stuff Jax used to do, isn’t it?”

  That came out of fucking nowhere. I suck in my cheeks and clench my jaw, not wanting to expose my twin, but my silence must speak for itself. I don’t like the implication, either. Between the five of us, Pentabyte has the skills and know-how to execute exactly the kind of underhand tactics happening to Emma — if we were a bunch of assholes. I sincerely hope she’s not trying to lump us into that category just based on our capabilities.

  Emma’s brow wrinkles, and she stands up from the chair, pacing once more.

  “He doesn’t do that anymore.”

  “Should he be in jail right now? Is that why he doesn’t want to talk about his past?”

  I hold up a hand. “I know you need a target to blame for this shit, but he has nothing to do with this. He’s paid his dues, and then some, and he’s still making restitution every goddamn day. What he does not need is you heaping this on his head. He’s trying to help you.”

  Emma relaxes visibly, contrition coming into her eyes. “I know he is. I’m just upset. No, scratch that — I’m fucking pissed off.”

  “He may be able to make contact with some of the guys he used to know,” I offer. “It’s been a while since he’s had his ear to the ground in that quarter, but he might be able to find something out. He was...” I pause, unsure of how much to say or how to put it. “He was very well-respected in those circles.”

  She shakes her head. “No. I don’t want him getting back into that, not on my account. In fact, I don’t want any of you doing anything dangerous. I’m guessing these guys aren’t exactly Boy Scouts.”

  “That they are not.” I lean forward, watching as she paces. I speak as calmly as I can manage, not wanting to scare her, but needing her to understand the possible implications. “Listen, Emma, there’s something you need to know. Getting physical — going to ground as we call it, like what happened at your parents’ house — that isn’t usually in the repertoire of these companies. So, this is a different ballgame altogether. Which is why I strongly suggest you let me call my friends at the agencies.”

  Her back is to me, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window of my office. I stay seated, waiting for her response, but I really want to wrap my arms around her and keep her there, where nothing can hurt her. To hold her against my chest and run my fingers through that thick mane until her heartbeat calms and all the fear is gone.

  My phone buzzes in my breast pocket, and I take a peek. “Shit.”

  Emma pra
ctically jumps, turning away from the window with concern. “What is it?”

  I can’t show her the picture. It’s enough to make my heart break and raise my blood pressure through the roof; I can’t imagine what it would do to Emma. I scan the text. AC couldn’t do pickup, too aggressive. They’re coming back to put her down. The address follows.

  “We have to go, now.” I strip off my suit coat, loosen my tie, and begin to unbutton the dress shirt underneath.

  She stands in place, bewildered as she watches me undress. “What’s going on?”

  I whip the tie over my head and fling it on my desk. “Are you good behind the wheel? Can you drive a truck in heavy traffic? Fast?”

  Emma nods, confused. “Yes, but where are we going?”

  I get impatient with the buttons and rip the shirt the rest of the way, throwing it on my desk before heading to my in-office bathroom. Digging in the cabinet under the sink, I pull out a spare set of workout clothes and a stack of towels then stride back into the office.

  “Come on — I’ll need you to drive so I can get things ready on the way.”

  Emma’s staring as I pull on an old t-shirt. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “When we’re in the car. We need to move, now. We don’t have much time.” I throw her my keys. “Let’s go. I have the address.”

  16

  Emma

  We’ve been driving for over twenty minutes, and the entire time we have been getting into worse and worse parts of town. We’ve exited the city proper and are now in one of the older housing developments, the small houses close to one another, and each of them run down and decrepit; peeling and faded paint, sagging porches, chain-link fences around tiny yards. Older model cars with dents and mismatched panels are parked along the curbs and trash litters the sidewalks.