Wicked Beautiful

by J. T. Geissinger

  A flicker of emotion crosses his face, there, then instantly gone. “Not all of them.”

  With that, I’m right back into high anxiety mode about this mysterious land of no secrets he mentioned before.

  Parker sees the change in my face and puts a finger over my lips. “I said it was a surprise, didn’t I?”

  I nod. Satisfied, he nods, too. “And so it is. Did you pack a bag?”

  I nod again. He drops his hand to my shoulder and squeezes it.

  “Good. Are you ready for your first surprise?”

  Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “Exactly how many will there be?”

  His smile is maddeningly smug. “It’s a surprise.”

  I’m about to dig in my heels and insist on an explanation, but just then someone hollers my name. When I turn toward the voice, I see Tabby striding toward me with a scowl, a sheaf of papers clenched in her fist. She sees Parker and her step falters, but then she smiles brightly and keeps walking toward us as if nothing is wrong.

  I know her too well, though. That smile she’s dangling in front of Parker is about as genuine as a Kardashian’s tits.

  Something’s happened.

  Tabby fixes Parker in her piercing green gaze and says curtly, “Hey.”

  I make the introductions. “Parker, this is my assistant, Tabitha. Tabby, Parker.”

  Parker looks with bemusement at Tabby’s outfit du jour, a mash-up of heroin chic and Elizabethan Goth that features a ruffled black mini, black stockings ripped at the knees, six-inch black stiletto booties, a man’s sleeveless white undershirt, and a huge, chunky black cross on a rosary around her neck, which I know she’s wearing ironically because she’s an atheist.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Tabby’s fake smile grows brittle. “You, too. Can I borrow her for a minute?”

  “Of course.” Parker graciously inclines his head. “I’ll wait for you in the lobby.” He kisses me on the cheek, and then turns and walks away.

  There’s a certain swagger in his walk, a satisfaction, as if he’s a big game hunter who’s just bagged an elephant.

  Tabby notices it, too. Watching him go, she mutters, “I don’t like this, Victoria. This weekend getaway to a place of no secrets thing?” She shakes her head. “I think you should cancel, and call this whole revenge thing off. Especially after this.”

  She smacks me on the arm with the sheaf of papers. I take it from her, unroll the pages, and peer at it in confusion. The pages are covered in gibberish, rows of random numbers and symbols that are as indecipherable as hieroglyphs.

  “This looks like your computer threw up. What is it?”

  She pins me with a look of such apprehension it makes my blood run cold. “Evidence that someone’s been creeping a little too close to home.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning there’s a fox trying to get into the henhouse.” She jerks her chin at the printout in my hand. “This is proof that someone’s trying to hack into our system.”

  My heart does a somersault. Dreading the answer, I ask, “Did they get in?”

  She looks at me with deep insult, as if I’ve just taken a poop inside one of her Hello Kitty handbags. “Of course not! But this is some high-level shit, Victoria. It’s a kernel rootkit worm that can subvert intrusion detection software and basically hijack the entire system and enslave it.”

  When I slow blink, she sighs.

  “Your computer would be at someone else’s control. They could spy on you, see everything you’re doing, and you’d never know they were there.”

  I gasp.

  She says, “Exactly. It’s bad. Also there’s the fun fact that I haven’t yet been able to get past whatever software is protecting Parker’s systems, because now there’s someone on the other end who keeps changing the passwords.” Her voice turns sour. “Every two minutes.”

  “Wait, what are you saying? What does this all mean?”

  She takes the papers from my hands and crushes them into a ball. “My best guess? Your boyfriend has someone like me on his side who knows what we’re up to, and is trying to do to us what we’re trying to do to him.”

  My mouth drops open. “What?”

  “The pooch has been screwed, is what. The fat lady has sung. All the backdoors I could’ve exploited have been slammed shut on Parker’s system, and his admin has put traps in place that will lead him right back to me if I try to enter. It’s tighter than any military system I’ve ever seen. I’d have a better chance at getting in the Pope’s asshole undetected.”

  She adds grudgingly, “Honestly, it’s pretty impressive. If I didn’t hate this prick so much, whoever he is, I’d want to pick his beautiful, bastardy brain.”

  “Rewind a second—military system? When did you work on military systems?”

  Tabby looks at me silently for a moment. “Remember before, when I was telling you about President Underwood’s minion who insisted on keeping certain nefarious details confidential so the president could plead ignorance if questioned?”

  My eyes pop so wide I feel like a cartoon character, as if my eyeballs are in danger of springing from my head with a bazOOO-guh! noise, like an old-fashioned car horn. “Tabitha. Please tell me you’re not involved with anything to do with hacking the government.”

  She shrugs. “Not anymore.”

  Oh God. My head is spinning. I think I need to sit down, but I panic at the thought of Parker waiting for me in the lobby. Then something horrible occurs to me.

  “Does Parker know it’s us who’ve been trying to gain access to his system?”

  “There’s no proof where the attacks originated; so far, I’m invisible. But it can’t be coincidence that we targeted him, and then this happens.” She waves the crumpled wad of papers in my face. “And if I keep trying to get in, I’ll lead him right to us.”

  “So there’s nothing more we can do? We’re screwed?”

  “Six ways to Sunday, boss. The SS Cyber Revenge has sailed.”

  “Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

  I dig my hands into my hair and stand for a moment with my eyes closed, breathing deeply, trying to determine what my next move should be, when Tabby says with utter nonchalance, “Unless I break into his house.”

  I drop my hands to my sides and stare at her. “You’re joking.”

  “I only joke about politics, religion and the size of men’s dicks, never about something important like work.”

  I look around, worried that anyone standing nearby might overhear this outrageous conversation, but except for a few banquet guys conferring about setting up for another event tomorrow, we’re alone. In a lowered voice, I hiss, “Are you crazy? If you’re caught you’ll be arrested!”

  She smiles a vague Mona Lisa smile. “So you’re not against the idea per se. Your only objection is that I might get caught?”

  I open my mouth to deny it, but catch myself. “Well…yes.”

  When I see her smile turn smug, I insist, “But Tabby, there’s no way you can guarantee you won’t get caught! If he’s got major defenses on his computer—not to mention the biometric security on his office safe—there’s no telling what kind of security system he has installed on his home!”

  “Sure there is—”

  “No! I’m not letting you do that, Tabitha. It’s too dangerous for you. The answer is no.”

  She stares at me with her lips pursed, a lock of red hair falling into her eyes. “So you’re cool with me breaking and entering electronically, but physically it’s a problem…I assume you’re aware of the definition of the word hypocrite? Because I’m thinking if we looked it up in the dictionary, your picture would be right next to it, Maleficent.”

  I want to wring her neck for arguing with me, but exhale in exasperation instead. “Last time I checked there weren’t policemen with guns pointed at your head in cyberspace—if you trip an alarm at Parker’s house, it will be swarming with armed cops before you can say ‘Guardians of the Galaxy rocks!’”

  Tabby’s nos
trils flare. “Do not mock Guardians of the Galaxy, Victoria. Chris Pratt was super hot in that! And don’t even get me started on the special effects—or the soundtrack! And remind me again how you’re going to ruin Parker’s life if we can’t get into his safe, or his computers, to find his dirty laundry?”

  She’s being sarcastic, the little bitch, but she has an excellent point. If I’m cock-blocked by Parker’s smarty-pants security firm and can’t get any more information on him, and the intel Tabby’s come up with so far is bubkes, what’s my next move?

  My brain waves a big red flag that reads: a place of no secrets.

  It could be my last shot.

  I square my shoulders, toss my head, and decide to go for broke. “I’m finishing this, Tabby. I’m too far down the rabbit hole to give up now. Whatever happens this weekend, Parker Maxwell will end up sorely regretting he ever fed this kitty his churro.”

  Tabby raises her brows. “You named his dick after a donut?”

  “It’s a pastry.”

  She snorts. “Well, like I always say, all a girl really needs is fifty million dollars and a pastry.”

  “Meet me in five with my bags in the lobby; I’ve got to go to the ladies’ room before my bladder explodes.”

  I turn to head to the bathroom, but Tabby grabs my arm. “Victoria, wait.”

  Arrested by the new tone in her voice, I stop and stare at her. She looks back at me silently for a moment, and then sighs.

  “Just be careful, OK? I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  I study her face, noting the worry in her eyes. “Worse than the feeling you had after the last Avengers movie?”

  “Way worse.” She pauses for a moment and then adds softly, “You remember how to access the bug-out bag, right?”

  All the hairs on my arms stand on end. “We’re not even going there, Tabitha. Everything will be fine. You know I can handle myself.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about, boss. It’s him. Don’t forget what’s at stake here; if this situation with Parker goes sideways, you could lose everything. Everything. And we both could wind up in prison.”

  She releases my arm, turns, and walks away, leaving me to stare after her with those terrifying words echoing in my ears.

  THIRTY-ONE

  As promised, Parker is waiting for me in the lobby, leaning casually against the concierge’s counter with his arms folded across his chest and a secret smile on his face. When he sees me, he straightens. His smile grows wider.

  Walking beside me, Tabby mutters, “Would you look at that shit-eating grin? This is so fucked up.”

  “Shhh!” I manufacture a smile that probably looks more like a constipated grimace; Tabby is really starting to freak me out.

  “Ladies,” says Parker when we stop in front of him. He looks at me. “All set?”

  “Ready to go!” I answer brightly. “Wherever it is we’re going!”

  If I thought Parker’s smile was secretive before, now it’s positively covert. I’ve never seen anyone’s mouth take on such a sly, mysterious slant.

  Tabby nudges me with her elbow. I resist the urge to kick her in the shin.

  Parker snaps his fingers, and a porter hustles over from across the lobby. “Put these in the black Rolls in front,” says Parker, gesturing to my bags.

  The porter immediately obeys. I’ve seen speeding trains move slower. I’m not sure which one of us the porter recognized, but I’m sure he’s hoping for a nice fat tip.

  Here’s a tip, darling, I think, batting my lashes at Parker. I put the hot in psychotic.

  I don’t care if I have to set him on fire to do it. I will have my revenge.

  “Well,” says Tabby, “have a great weekend.” Her gaze on me grows sharper. Her voice drops. “Call me if you need anything, whatever time it is. You know I’m always available for you.”

  Parker settles his arm around my shoulders. “Victoria’s lucky to have such a dedicated assistant.”

  Tabby laughs mirthlessly. “You have no idea.” She gives a little wave using only the tips of her fingers, and then abruptly turns and leaves without saying good-bye.

  Watching her go, I experience the sudden, gut-wrenching premonition that it will be the last time I’ll ever see her. My entire body goes cold.

  “Are you all right? Your face is white.”

  Parker stares down at me with concern. I realize I’m standing there frozen and have stopped breathing. I put a hand over my throbbing heart and weakly laugh.

  “Oh…yes, I’m…sorry, I just realized I haven’t eaten in hours! I’m famished!”

  I turn to him with a bright smile and fake words, swallowing the silly lump in my throat. I’m being overly dramatic. Imagining things. I need to put my game face on and concentrate.

  “I can fix that,” says Parker with that strange, sly confidence.

  My weird feeling of doom intensifies.

  He gently takes me by the arm and steers me through the lobby to the valet area outside. The porter who took our bags bounds up like an overexcited Labrador.

  “Your car is ready, sir!” He gestures to a black sedan parked right in front. It’s sleek, long, and beautiful. A driver in a dark suit stands next to the passenger door, waiting.

  And my brain executes a sprint so quick it could win an Olympic gold medal.

  It can’t be he couldn’t have holy Mother Mary what could this possibly mean Tabby was right this is fucked!

  I ask indifferently, “New car?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is.” Parker leans closer to my ear. When he speaks again, his voice is incredibly sexy. “You did say you wanted one.”

  I did. I remember it perfectly, primarily because it’s not often I demand a black-on-black Rolls-Royce with blacked-out rims during sex.

  Not often as in never. I should’ve tried it years ago.

  “A Phantom, no less. How did you guess I wouldn’t be satisfied with a Ghost?”

  Parker’s lips quirk into another of his secretive smirks. “My personal motto is, ‘Be all in or get all out; there is no halfway.’ The Phantom is definitely all in. Plus, a Ghost just didn’t seem like your style. Not when a much more expensive model was available.”

  I wonder if, in addition to my heart problem, I’ve developed a nasty case of asthma, because every breath I take is like trying to drag air through a straw full of sand. My game face is firmly in place, however, so I manage a smile as enigmatic as Parker’s. “So you’re all in, are you? I should expect that Caribbean island next?”

  “Of course,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. I have no quick response because my brain gives up on this conversation and decides it’s time for a nap.

  I’ll never win with logic, anyway. The only thing that’s going to carry me through this weekend is sheer animal cunning, which is something different altogether.

  Looking at Parker—at his perfect hair, chiseled jaw, cocky grin—I smile again, only this time it’s real. “I should warn you, Parker; bitches aren’t kept. They do the keeping.”

  His grin turns wolfish. “I can hardly wait.”

  We approach the car. The driver opens the rear passenger door for me, murmuring, “Ms. Price.” I settle myself into butter-soft leather and try not to cackle hysterically when I see a picnic basket between the seats that looks right out of a Grimm Brothers’ fairy tale.

  Which one of us is Little Red Riding Hood, and which is the Big Bad Wolf?

  Judging by Parker’s smile alone, I’d say I’m the one in the red cape.

  Parker enters from the other side, the driver shuts my door and gets in the front, and then we’re off.

  We don’t speak as Parker opens the wicker basket, removes two crystal champagne flutes and a bottle of Dom, and pours a measure in each glass. He hands me one. I decide I’d rather not be the little girl in the cape who’s about to be devoured, so I raise my glass and make a toast thick with threat.

  “Here’s to those who wish me well, and those
who don’t can go to hell.” Without waiting for Parker’s response, I tip my head back and swallow the contents of my glass.

  Parker chuckles. “My sentiments exactly.” He downs his champagne, sets the glass back in the basket and removes a plastic-wrapped cheese board. “Gouda?” he inquires, so innocently I know I’m in real trouble.

  You want me to eat your cheese? I’ll eat your cheese, you sneaky prick. I’ll eat your cheese, and then I’ll eat your heart, and for dessert I think I’ll eat your black, selfish soul.

  I purr, “I’d love some Gouda.”

  We trade a pair of sinister grins and settle in for the ride.

  * * *

  After a ride to JFK in the Rolls, a flight on a private jet, and a winding drive from a colorful port town through a dense, tropical jungle in a Jeep with no windows and a canvas roof, we’ve finally arrived at the mysterious place of no secrets.

  Casa de la Verdad, reads the wooden sign nailed to the lintel above the front door.

  Literal translation: House of Truth.

  Carrying my bags, Parker steps past me with a sideways glance, smiling. “Told you.”

  “Oh, you’re good.”

  I shake my head in disbelief, taking in the place. It’s a classic Caribbean-style home—saffron-hued, open air where walls should be, white linen curtains blowing in the gentle trade winds—perched atop a hill surrounded by lush vegetation. The moon is high and the crickets are singing. Palmetto palms rustle in the breeze. Down a small path beside the circular driveway, wooden stairs lead to a private beach. Hidden lamps spread pools of golden light over the scarlet bougainvillea that cascades in waves over the walls surrounding the high side of the property; the other side looks straight out to the sea. I close my eyes and inhale the sweet, heady scent of orchids and night-blooming jasmine.

  It’s heaven.

  Except it’s named House of Truth, so it’s quite possibly my own personal hell.

  Parker unlocks the front door and heads inside. He calls over his shoulder, “Are you just gonna stand there with your mouth hanging open, Cruella, or are you coming in?”