Reagan Through the Looking Glass (Hacking Wonderland, #1)

by Allyson Lindt

  That’s a big promise. Sure you can deliver? That was what she wanted to say. The words lodged in her throat, as her imagination took off on its own. With as close as he stood, body pressed to hers, she could feel the size of his... promise, digging into her hip. Tempting. Filling her head with images of his hands roaming her body. Heat flared across her skin everywhere the fantasy touched, until her nipples strained against her bra and need pulsed between her thighs.

  “In case you were wondering”—his words rolled over her—“that was the proposition. You interested?”

  There were more holes in his story than the security system the Tweedles were selling, but she’d been talked into bed by less, and she had no illusions that this was more than a random fling in a hotel room. The thrill of it raced through her, mingling with lust and anticipation. Seemed like a fantastic way to spend her last night in Vegas.

  She grabbed her composure and flashed him a smile. “Definitely.”

  Chapter Two

  He kissed along her neck. “Is this where you insist you’re not this kind of girl?” His question caressed her skin.

  “I’m definitely this kind of girl.” Reagan tilted her head, to give him a better angle. “If you’re looking for a weak protest wrapped in morality, you’re going to be disappointed.”

  “I’m not worried about being disappointed.” He drew his hands up her sides, thumbs on her ribs and then brushing the bottom of her breasts.

  She arched her back into his touch, and her nipples hardened, aching for attention. Voices drifted in from the hallway, louder than they should be. Neither she nor her sexy stranger had closed the door. Anyone could walk in on them. The realization pulsed between her legs.

  He yanked her shirt over her head and traveled his mouth her collarbone and down the middle of her chest. When he kissed along the top of her breast, she dragged her nails down his back, trying to pull him closer. Needing more.

  A laugh caused her to jerk her head toward the exit.

  “Worried about getting caught?” he asked between licks over her skin.

  She was terrified, but that made the arousal more intense. “Hoping they want to watch.” She found his erection and traced the impressive outline through his slacks.

  He pressed against her hand, gyrating his hips each time she stroked. What would it feel like, to have him buried inside her? He pushed one breast from its cup and lowered his head to her nipple.

  When he flicked out his tongue, she whimpered and shifted closer. He nipped at the swollen bud and she groaned. She swore for a moment that the sound outside vanished. It returned, full-volume, and her heart started up again.

  With a quick flick, he undid the button on her pants, and dipped his hand under the elastic of her panties. He continued to suck her nipple, as he stroked along her slit, then dipped toward her opening and slid two fingers inside.

  She bucked her hips, and he pulled out to move back up. He found her clit, and she gasped. The attention on two different fronts drew her close to climax, pleasure building inside.

  She crashed into orgasm, grinding against his hand, until his touch was too much and she jerked away.

  He brought his mouth down on hers, their lips crushing together as he hooked his thumbs in her waistband. The fervor of the moment raced through her, making her forget the wobble in her legs. He shoved her jeans and panties to the ground, then spun her toward the wall.

  Fingers knotted in her hair, he tugged her head back. “I need to fuck you.” He nipped her earlobe and her neck.

  She wiggled her ass against him. She heard the tear of foil followed by the sound of a zipper, and seconds later, he yanked her hips to him, glided the head of his cock along her slit, and plunged inside her.

  “God. You feel good.” Did she say that out loud? Fire tinged her cheeks. She’d never been a dirty talker before.

  “It helps that you’re so wet.” He withdrew to the tip, before thrusting again. “Fuck, you’re tight.” With one hand on her stomach and the other on her hip, he pulled her into his torso, while he kept a steady rhythm, slamming inside her and hitting just the right spot.

  Orgasm built again. She bit her tongue, to keep from screaming, as ecstasy crashed over her. She clenched around his cock, pressing back into him, and floating into the clouds as the moment drew on.

  His grunts and short, hard thrusts told her he was close too. He ground against her as he came, gripping her tight, and pounding for several seconds before he slowed.

  Her thoughts swam, blissfully clear. As the endorphins faded, her legs wobbled, and the voices outside surged back to tease her.

  Wow. What a rush.

  Reagan rested her forehead against the wall, content to let the sound of them catching their breath be the conversation. She should cover herself before someone walked in on them. As soon as her limbs felt like moving.

  “What are your plans for the rest of the night?” His question sent shivers of conflict down her spine.

  She liked hearing him talk. She really liked the idea of a round two in bed. She had zero interest in forming an attachment, ever and especially to someone who picked her up at a tradeshow hundreds of miles from home. “I, uh...” if she was going to turn him down, she’d rather put some distance between them, than be half-dressed and way too comfortable leaning back into him.

  The air kicked on, and cold rushed over her, raising goosebumps in its wake. That added to the topic of conversation seemed like a good reason to tug on her shirt and pull up her pants. She nudged him back and stepped away from him, to dress.

  He let her go without resistance. “Don’t misunderstand. I know what this is,” he said.

  She met his gaze. “No names. No numbers?”

  “Right.” He stared back, unflinching. “But my night’s open, and I enjoy your company more than mingling with a bunch of salesmen who aren’t telling me the whole story. My proposal is this—we’ll order dinner, test out the giant tub, and see what else we can get up to before we go our separate ways in the morning.”

  “I have to admit that sounds like a decent arrangement.”

  He gripped her waist and pulled her close. The heat of his body chased away the chill of the room and sank into her bones. He trailed his nose along her neck. “What do you say we head upstairs and see where the night goes from there?”

  He was offering to buy her dinner, keep her company, plus more of what had the potential to be incredible sex.

  She was good with that. Better than she should be. “Five seconds. Or ten.” She turned on her phone long enough to send her roommate a text that said Met a hottie. Call 911 if you don’t hear from me by morning. Reagan clicked send, powered off the device, and looked at Suit-Guy. “I’m in.”

  When they got back to his room, they skipped the tub in favor of something quicker, and spent their time in the shower, getting clean then filthy. She had to put something on, to keep from flashing the porter who delivered their meal, her mysterious-but-sexy Suit-Guy draped his shirt over her shoulders. The way he looked at her, as though she were the main course, made her pulse race.

  They tested out his jetted tub in what became a drawn-out tease session, fucked in bed, and fell to the mattress tangled around each other.

  Definitely not what she expected when she started her day, but an evening she’d keep fond memories of and revisit often—no doubt—for a long time.

  When she woke up the next morning, she was alone in the room. As she cast her gaze around, an unfamiliar stone sank in her gut. It wasn’t just that he was gone, but so were all of his things. There were no suitcases. She scrambled to her feet and checked the closet.

  Empty.

  Like the counter in the bathroom. Her clothes were folded on a chair, her purse on top, with her phone and wallet untouched inside. At least he didn’t rob her.

  Something caught Reagan’s eye. A note scribbled on hotel stationary sat next to the TV.

  Alice,

  Her blood ran cold, and she sank to the m
attress before her shaking legs gave out on her. Only Wayne called her that.

  Had a blast last night. Sorry to run before you woke up. I was late. Check out of the room when you’re finished.

  Hatter

  PS-Turn on your phone.

  If she was freaked out by his knowing her nickname, his name turned her skin to ice. What the fuck did she step into?

  She grabbed her clothes and yanked them on with shaking hands. The rip in the leg of her jeans tore when she accidentally jammed her foot through the worn fabric. Fuck fuck fuck. Tension surged inside. She shoved her bra in her purse and pulled her shirt on.

  As she walked into the hallway, she turned on her phone. The more distance she put between her and his room, the more her pulse slowed. It was probably a stupid thing to get all strung out over, but the note left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Wayne hadn’t left her any more messages—which surprised her—but there was a voicemail from her roommate. As she stepped onto the elevator and pushed the button for her floor, she let the message play.

  Mindy’s voice drilled into her thoughts. “Reagan, I need you to call me. I don’t want to do this over the phone, but you need to know. Professor Dickinson is dead.”

  Reagan let out a half-sob, half-gasp, and her shaky legs buckled. She slumped back against the wall of the car. Terror, grief, and nausea raced through her, stealing the strength from her limbs, and Wayne’s pleading echoed in her head.

  It was a coincidence. It had to be. This wasn’t related to his paranoia last night.

  It didn’t matter how long she mentally shouted the insistence. She didn’t believe it.

  Chapter Three

  Reagan glanced over her shoulder every few seconds between the elevator and her room. There was no one there, but that didn’t slow the hammering of her heart against her ribs.

  Landlines are safest. Don’t trust anyone. Wayne’s voice echoed in her thoughts. She fumbled with her keycard before sliding it into the lock and pushing the door open.

  She bolted both latches the moment she was inside, and clenched her hand into a fist, to keep it from shaking. She wasn’t going to surrender to paranoia. This was a coincidence. A horrible, tragic...

  Grief surged inside, and she swallowed hard.

  Everywhere she looked, shadows jumped out at her. Something moved on the wall, and she had to clench her teeth to keep from squeaking in shock. Just the sun reflecting off my phone. I need to chill.

  She tossed her purse on the bed, grabbed the hotel phone, and dialed Mindy.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey. It’s me.” Reagan forced her voice to stay calm.

  “Hey.” Sympathy lined Mindy’s tone. “I didn’t recognize the number. Did you get my message?”

  “Forgot to charge my phone. Listening to your voicemail took the last of my juice.” It was easy to spit out the lie when her mind was splayed in a million spots at once. On top of the news, the creepy note from her one-night stand taunted her. God, how could she be so stupid? She didn’t know how Suit-Guy—it stung less to think of him that way, than by the name he left on the note—was related to this, but his finding and distracting her last night was too convenient.

  “Reagan?”

  Shit. She missed what Mindy said. “Beg pardon?”

  “Everyone on campus is freaking out about this, but you and Dr. Dickinson were close. How are you holding up?”

  “I don’t know. Not well?” Reagan sank to the edge of the mattress. She didn’t trust her legs to support her long enough to pace. “What happened?” Freak heart attack. That would be it. Or he choked on a hot dog. Aneurysm?

  “Depends on who you ask. Some are saying suicide. I went by his place, being nosy for your sake, and all that. That big bay window out front is shattered. I’m thinking the people who say it was a burglary gone wrong have it right. Either way, Major tells me it was a gunshot.” Major was Mindy’s boyfriend and worked for the coroner’s office.

  And bullet wound sounded as ominous as it got. “Fuck. He told me this was going to happen. He called me last night and tried to warn me, and I brushed him off, and I didn’t—”

  “Stop. You swore you wouldn’t get sucked into the spooks he saw hiding around every corner. This has to hurt, but don’t let it tear down your reason.”

  “Right. You’re right.” She wished she could be as rational about this as Mindy. Reagan had an idea of what kind of people hid in the shadows, though. “I’m shaken up, but you make a good point.”

  “Good. Catch your flight, come home, and we’ll get blasted drunk tonight. Help you work through this.”

  Reagan smiled at the phone, but it didn’t ease the ache inside. “Good call. I’ll see you this afternoon.” She hung up.

  As she packed her bags, she let Mindy’s logic play on a loop in her thoughts. By the time she checked out, sorrow had muted anxiety. She headed to her rental car. She passed through the lobby and something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Suit-Guy? When she whirled, it was just three business men jabbering, heads bowed together.

  Don’t jump at shadows.

  The drive to the airport was short. Check-in and security moved quickly. Less than an hour later, she was waiting at her gate. She grabbed a book from a gift shop. She had several on her phone, but that stayed in her purse, powered down.

  Every third word, her attention drifted from the page as she glanced around the airport. A familiar suit caught her attention, and she whipped her head in that direction. Nothing. She was being ridiculous. Even if it were him, he wouldn’t be wearing the same suit today unless he’d spent the last of his money on it.

  She needed to focus on the story she was reading. Vampires, demons, and lots of hot sex—perfect distraction.

  A loud bang ratcheted through the room. Reagan screamed and dropped her book. Anyone not looking at the woman whose suitcase had fallen and broken open, was staring at Reagan.

  Heat flooded her face, and she did her best to hide behind her paperback. By the time her flight boarded, she was jumping at everything and still didn’t understand the first paragraph of her book.

  She scanned every face on the way to her seat, trying to memorize them, and continued to study the people who boarded after her. Once the plane doors were closed and it taxied down the runway, she found enough calm to unclench her fists and roll the kinks from her neck. It wasn’t a state of Zen by any stretch of the imagination, but she managed not to make a sound when the cart in the center aisle broke free, rolled to the back of the plane, and clattered against the wall with an ear-splitting crash.

  As the flight reached cruising altitude, more of her tension faded. With thirty-thousand feet between her and the ground, she could grasp more of the calmness that normally kept her from getting sucked into conspiracy theories. For as many times as Wayne cried wolf, last night was coincidence. A horrible, tragic one, but still coincidence. As the stress ebbed, sorrow knotted in her chest until she couldn’t breathe.

  She was grateful she was in an aisle seat. She fumbled with her seatbelt and rushed to the bathroom. Inside, she bolted the door, leaned back against it, and sobbed. She sank to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest. Tears spilled down her cheeks, as she let sadness wash over her. He’d been a good friend, and as over-the-top as he was, he looked out for her.

  When she had herself under control, she splashed water on her face and returned to her seat.

  The plane landed without incident, and her drive home was the same. The next few days passed in a blur of condolences while the university scrambled to find her a new thesis adviser.

  Thursday afternoon, she scanned her thesis research and writing to date, to cement the highlights in her mind, and she sat down with Dr. Dunlop. Reagan didn’t have any classes with the instructor, but rumor was the woman was practical and fair.

  “I’ve read over Professor Dickinson’s notes, but to start, I’d like you to tell me in your words what your thesis is about.”

 
Reagan could do this. She’d memorized the elevator-pitch version before she even started the project. “Advances in digital security are made every day. However, as long as human beings are an access point to that information, there’s no way to make it one-hundred percent secure. Through an examination of technology and human nature, I’d like to show where the weak points are, and why their existence is not a terrible thing, as long as we recognize it.”

  “Good, good.” Dr. Dunlop nodded, as she scanned the tablet in front of her. “I do have one concern about your research.”

  Reagan’s enthusiasm slipped. “I’m sure I can address whatever you’re seeing.”

  “It says here you’ve been tracking a Jabberwock. That’s his name, not what he is?”

  “That’s correct. As possibly the best-hidden figure on the deep web, he made a perfect case study.” She spoke with confidence, despite the odds the advisor was about to tell Reagan this was a wild-goose chase.

  “I see. So Dr. Dickinson let you chase imaginary people.”

  And there it was. “Not imaginary. Private.”

  Dr. Dunlop set her tablet aside, steepled her fingers, and looked at Reagan. “I’ve read some of your essays and looked at your academic record. You’re intelligent, and you excel in your courses. Professor Dickinson was the best at what he taught, but he saw conspiracies around every corner. I don’t know that the best use of your research hours is falling down a rabbit hole, to find an invisible man who supposedly is some sort of Godfather of the internet black market.”

  “I don’t—” Reagan bit the inside of her cheek, to keep from blurting out something she’d regret. Even if she didn’t buy into Wayne’s various paranoias, what she was looking for existed. But phrasing that the wrong way wouldn’t leave a good impression.