by Desiree Holt
Hoffman shook his head. “It continues to baffle my mind. If these hackers have such sophisticated skills, why don’t they use them to make a lot of money?”
Liam shrugged. “For some it’s just the thrill of getting over on what they consider the establishment. For others, they make way too much money hacking for profit. We work hard just to keep ahead of them. But that’s why we advise our clients to use different protocols for each project. There is always the chance some hacker has figured out the previous one by the time you get to the new project.”
“I have to admit,” Hoffman said, “when you first brought it up I thought maybe you were just trying to squeeze another fee out of us. But I talked to my contacts at DoD and they said they wished all their contractors would do this.”
“We always insert what we call duress words to alert us of any intrusion into the system,” he assured Hoffman. Liam used those duress words to trigger a special alarm. “But that’s just an extra precaution because our software is very strong. That just means someone is making the effort. And a hacker would have to penetrate that to actually get to your design software.”
Hoffman’s lips twisted in a lopsided grin. “I suppose you think I’m nuts to keep going over this with you, especially since this isn’t our first rodeo together.”
Liam shook his head. “Not at all. The stuff you did, as with many of our clients, is so sensitive it requires utmost secrecy. We’re happy to provide it. Of course, safety would be one hundred percent if you used an isolated computer, or one that was only part of an in-house network.”
“I hear you, but that’s impossible. Often when we work on a design for them, we need input along the way. And they want their eyes on the progress.”
Hoffman studied him for a long moment. “You know, you never asked the details of our project.”
Liam shrugged. “I know it’s top secret. I figured it was none of my business. I didn’t need the details to write the software.”
“Even though you have high-level clearance from the DoD?”
“Yeah. Even though.”
“Well, I think you should know what we’re so paranoid about.” Hoffman leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk. “We’re creating a brand-new drone that can be armed as well as disappear from tracking software like radar.”
Liam’s brows rose at that. “Damn! I know a lot of foreign nations would salivate to get their hands on the design for this.”
“You know it. So now you understand how important it is that the security software you install has to be airtight.”
“Agreed. And it will be.” He rose from his chair. “We’ll start beta testing next week. That will give us time to run it through its paces. You said you wanted it before Gasparilla, right?”
Hoffman nodded his agreement.
“Okay, then. My goal right now is to get it to you before then so your own people can also test it.”
“Looking forward to it.” Hoffman stood and the two men shook hands.
“I’ll touch base the beginning of the week to keep you in the loop.”
Excitement was still sizzling through Liam as he rode down in the elevator and walked out to the secure lot where his car was parked. His mind was whirling with the idea of the drone Hoffman Inc. was creating. He’d damn well better be sure the software keeping their computers secure was airtight. In theory, there shouldn’t be a problem. The computers the designs were created on were only linked to a secure connection with the Department of Defense. But Liam knew that once those codes were out in the Internet stratosphere, there was always a danger of hacking.
Sometimes he thought the old ways of doing things had been better. Save it all to discs, then have the client send someone to deliver it to DoD or whoever. But he knew of at least two instances where the messenger had been killed in order to get the discs and others where the messenger had been compromised and sold them to the highest bidder.
It was his job to create an electronic safety net around the project’s design software so it was safe from beginning to end. It was exactly the kind of challenge Liam liked and what he had built his reputation on.
He had three of his people working on the program with him—Teri, Jason and Brad. He would put all the parts together before the beta testing. When that was done, he’d put the software behind a digital lock and wipe the files from the main server. Finally, he’d save it to a hard disk and lock that in the office safe. He’d learned early on in this business that there could never be too many safeguards.
As he climbed into his car, memories of his night with Sydney flooded his senses. That had been happening to him a lot lately. He had to figure out a way to see her again before he lost his mind. Not just for sex, either. A meal. Coffee. Anything.
Shit, Benedict. Acting like a teenager much?
But he knew, especially after their night together, that they had something special between them. They just had to find time to nurture it, which wasn’t too easy these days. And texting wasn’t quite doing it for him, especially when they couldn’t always answer each other right away. He knew her trial had begun two days earlier but when he looked at his watch, he realized they were on break until two o’clock. It was now one. Maybe he could catch her for a quick message.
Hi. At lunch?
It was a full two minutes before she answered him.
Is a courthouse hot dog lunch?
He sent her a smile emoji. We’ll have to fix that.
Please. I might have to kill my client & I need sustenance.
He thought for a minute.
Can u do a late dinner 2nite?
Another long pause.
Maybe. Text u as soon as we are done for 2day.
K
And he’d have to be satisfied with that, at least for the moment. He had plenty to keep himself busy with in the meantime. As he drove out of the lot, he waved at the guard in the little gatehouse, who nodded at him. The street was a busy one, lined with a mix of businesses and office buildings so he had to ease into the traffic. Some of the buildings were already flying Gasparilla flags, the famous pirate symbol. This time every year, Tampa went crazy with Gasparilla events leading up to the big parade.
He was glad the Hoffman project as well as two others would be finished and delivered before then. Some of his project designers were huge fans and attended everything. He smiled, glad that he’d pushed everyone to stay on target so this would be possible.
Then, out of nowhere, like a physical blow, that sense of being watched grabbed him. What the hell? At least a week had passed without that sensation, long enough that he’d chalked it up to his imagination. Thoughts of Sydney and immersion in the program he was writing and planning the move had left little room for anything else. Still, he was sure he would have noticed a feeling like that.
As casually as possible, he lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror, but really, what could he tell? He had pulled out into traffic and there were a number of cars both behind and beside him. The street was two lanes in both directions. He hadn’t been looking for anything, so if someone was following him, they were already in place. And of course, they wouldn’t make it obvious.
The next traffic light was red. He jerked the steering wheel to the right and cut in front of another car—the driver blaring his horn at him—and made a sharp turn into the cross street. More horns squawking at him, but no one tried to pull out of line to follow him. About ten blocks down the street, he pulled into a drive through line for a Joltin’ Java. Probably the last thing he needed was coffee. His nerves were already twanging, but he had to get off the road so he could get his shit together.
As he sat in the usual very long line, he couldn’t help constantly looking left, right and behind him. It didn’t do him any good to tell himself if someone was indeed following him, they couldn’t just cut into this line. Or even bracket him, as full as the parking lot was. Distracted, he almost forgot to give his order and settled for an iced tea, some flavor that would settle his
nerves.
Go-cup in hand, he pulled back onto the roadway and blended in with the traffic He didn’t see anyone suddenly pull in behind or around him, but he was on edge all the way back to the office. He decided, at the last minute, to check on how the new building was coming.
Having a lot of disposable income must be nice, he thought, as he walked up to the building. Then he realized the Arroyo income was hardly disposable. They just had a lot to invest, and this was one of the areas. He was damned sure Taylor Cantrell expected to make all of this back and more as his firm expanded.
A man in khaki pants and a sweatshirt stood at the building entrance. Liam knew to passersby he looked like a man passing the time. Or supervising construction, what with the materials visible in the parking lot. But Taylor had let him know the man had done three tours with Delta Force, knew at least ten ways to kill without using a gun and was a crack marksman. And was also heavily, if not visibly, armed.
The parking lot was surrounded by a chain-link fence, accessible only with a coded key card. The other tenants in the building were also involved in businesses that required secure protection. Taylor had met with them and gotten them on board with all the additional security measures, which they wholeheartedly bought into.
As he pulled up to the gate, Liam waved at the man standing at the entrance, a protection Taylor was paying for.
“How’s it going, Andy?”
The guard winked at him. “Oh, having the time of my life, Liam. You know that.”
What Liam did know was that Andy was recording the faces of everyone who passed by or walked up to the gate or asked permission to enter the building.
The building doors could only be opened and the elevator accessed with specially coded key cards. Then each business had its own cards for its floor. At night there were two guards inside who took turns manning the desk in the lobby and patrolling the floors. All of them were former Special Forces and every business had been more than happy for Arroyo to vet them and hire them.
As Liam pulled into the parking lot, he breathed a sigh of relief. If someone was tracking him, they’d have a fucking hard time doing it here. He just wished he knew who it could be. The clients Software By Design served were certainly high profile and their projects would be worth a lot of money on the black market. That was something he was always aware of, which was why he took so many electronic safeguards. The Hoffman drone was probably the most valuable project of any they had going right now, but neither he nor anyone on his staff ever discussed it outside their offices.
That was something he’d made clear when each person was hired. They were also told that if they breached security, because of the nature of their clients, they could end up in prison. He figured that was enough to deter anyone.
He’d vetted them all at hiring, out of necessity. Maybe he should run another check on everyone, just to be on the safe side. He’d discuss it with Taylor in their next Skype session, which was just a few days from now. He couldn’t figure out, however, what anyone would want with him.
To write a special program for them? Good coders could be bought more easily.
To get him out of the way? But the work wouldn’t stop just because he was taken out of the game.
So, what the hell would anyone be following him for?
With a deliberate effort, he shook it off, used his key card to open the back door and took the elevator to the third level. When he stepped out into the small reception area, he was pleased to note that there was a lot less chaos than usual. He walked the hallway slowly, stopping into each work area and doing a visual check. Most of them were complete, as was the room that would house the server.
Good!
He knew how complicated moves like this were, and his staff was more than double what it had been when they moved into their present quarters. More people, more computers, more everything.
He wanted to be finished before the Monday of Gasparilla week. Festival insanity reigned in the city and he knew the week would be crazy. And Taylor Cantrell had insisted on sending Arroyo’s head of computer services as well as a technical team to make the move that much easier. That meant they would only be offline for less than twenty-four hours. His staff would be there, also. By the time the tech people were finished, they would be ready to rock and roll.
“I can’t thank you enough,” he’d told Taylor when she called to check up on the process.
“It’s the way we do business with our people,” she’d said. “I promise you, it will all come together. By next Monday you’ll be sitting in your office, drinking coffee and elbows deep in your next project. Or entertaining the next swarm of clients.”
It certainly looked as if all the prep work was on time.
He poked his head in the room housing the electrical connects, where he found Esteban ‘Stan’ Contreras, supervising organized chaos. Stan had handled all the wiring before the move into SBD’s present offices and Liam had contacted him as soon as this move was confirmed. Stan knew what the hell he was doing and how to prep the new quarters for everything they’d need.
“Looking good,” he told the man.
Stan flashed him a smile and nodded. “Coming together nicely. We’ll be all set when the movers and the tech team arrive.”
“And twenty-four hours will do it?”
“Absolutamente! We’ll be ready next Friday morning. You’ve got all my numbers and I plan to make myself available if your tech people need anything from me.”
“It’s a weekend,” Liam reminded him.
“No weekends in my business,” Stan joked. “You break down on Saturday and by Sunday you’ll be in business again.”
“I take your word for it,” he told Stan as he backed out of the room and headed toward the elevator.
He glanced at his watch and realized it wasn’t five o’clock yet, but he was done with business for the day. There was a cigar store in the Town and Country area where he bought gifts for special clients. Robert Hoffman certainly fell into that category, so he decided to head out that way and do some shopping. He left the building and headed out State Road 60, and damn! That itch between the shoulder blades was back.
This is stupid. No one is watching me. Why would they? I’m out here on a busy highway in the middle of the city. There are lots of cars here, right?
He was telling himself how ridiculous the whole thing was when bam! A car hit his right rear bumper. Hard!
Shit!
He spared one second for a glance to the right and saw a gray sedan veer right and speed away. But then he was eyes front because the hit had sent him spinning around and he was jolted toward oncoming traffic. He stomped on the brakes as hard as he could and jerked the wheel, but it wasn’t enough. In the blink of an eye he’d collided with the front of an oncoming car, the hard contact enough to jar his entire body. His vehicle shuddered as it made contact, and came to a full stop. Then came the chain reaction, cars behind the one he’d hit who couldn’t stop in time, and cars behind him in the same predicament.
And the asshole who’d caused it was long gone.
He moved to open the driver’s side door and discovered two things. His knee was jammed into the steering column and his shoulder hurt like a motherfucker.
Fuck! Just fuck!
Horns were blaring and people were shouting. He heard heavy pounding, and he realized someone was yelling at him and pounding on his window. He pushed down in the door handle again, shoved harder when the door resisted but finally, with creaking and crunching he got it open. Of course, pushing on it didn’t help his shoulder any that now felt as if someone had stuck a medieval lance through it. He managed to climb out of the car, bracing himself against the door when his knee threatened to crumple. His leg nearly buckled and sharp pain stabbed his knee when he put weight on it and he gritted his teeth as he forced himself to stand. It took him a minute to pull himself together enough to assess the situation.
The highway was a mess everywhere he looked. Cars in both direc
tions, either trying to avoid him or trying to avoid each other, had caused chain reactions. People whose cars had not been involved were trying to inch by without much success.
The man who had pounded on his door was standing so close Liam had trouble getting the door open, and barely moved back enough for Liam to get out of the car. He looked to be in his fifties, his stocky body clad in Bermuda shorts and a Tampa Bay Buccaneers T-shirt. He was shaking his fist at Liam and still shouting.
“You asshole! You fucking asshole! What the hell did you think you were doing?”
Liam gritted his teeth against the pain and dug for his best conciliatory tone.
“I’m sorry, but another car slammed into my right rear and knocked me into traffic. If you take a look you can see where he hit me.”
“I don’t care about your fucking car,” the man raged. “What about mine? Look at it. Just take a look.”
Liam looked at where the other man’s car was locked to his front bumper. Shit. And behind him were six or seven more cars that hadn’t been able to stop.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Let me give you my card and my insurance information.”
“You’re gonna need to give that to more than just me, jerkwad. I’ll sue your ass.” He held up his cell phone. “I’m calling the cops right now. You hear me?”
“I called the cops.” A man standing by a vehicle three cars back yelled at him. “They’ll haul your ass to jail.”
“I did, too,” someone else shouted.
More horns joined the honking until the cacophony made Liam’s head hurt. He wanted to tell them all to just shut the hell up. A woman whose car had plowed into the side of Liam’s because she hadn’t been able to stop had finally climbed out and was adding her two cents to the conversation. Liam thought the whole thing resembled a bad movie that he couldn’t turn off.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
The shrill sound of sirens cut through the noise. Liam watched as three police cars—one from the direction in which he’d come and two from the direction he was facing—made their way along the shoulders of the road. They parked, lights flashing, and headed into the chaos.
