by Renee Rose
“And how did she find Kylie?”
Luis shrugs. “I’m sorry. I haven’t looked into it. It’s well known the hacker boards are tapped for these jobs. It makes sense to hire from the pool of those who truly understand what we deal with. We make special exceptions for candidates like Kylie. For example, the official job requirements demand twenty to twenty-five years in the field. But her demonstrated skills, based on the test Stu administered, are used in lieu of the years of experience.”
It all makes perfect sense and even sounds plausible. But, Kylie was right. It was too much of a coincidence that she was sent the blackmail note immediately after starting with SeCure. If the hackers were looking for an in, it would have taken them longer than a few days to identify and get the dirt on each employee.
This looked like a first-class frame to me.
“I’d like the name and number of the headhunter.”
“Is something wrong, sir? I thought you liked the girl, despite her cheekiness.”
“It doesn’t matter whether I like her or not. I want to know more about the headhunting practices used to fill the most sensitive positions at my company,” I snap, using my most authoritative voice.
Luis instantly puts on his calm, placating face. “Of course, sir. I understand. I will call HR right now and get you the information.” He picks up his phone.
“Never mind,” I say. “I’ll go there myself.” I need to see people’s eyes, be close enough to smell their fear when I interrogate them. I head out, striding purposefully to the elevator and ride down to the fourth floor to see the director of HR.
I get no further with her, other than receiving the name and number of the headhunter.
By this time, my wolf is scratching at the surface, telling me something about Kylie. I’m itchy to see her. Needy almost.
Damn. Is it possible for a shifter’s true mate to be human? Because there’s no other explanation for the way I feel.
Unless it’s just my instinct warning about her potential danger to me.
With that thought, I take the stairs two at a time back to my office, unwilling to stand quietly in an elevator. Her scent is everywhere, filling my nose as if she’s in the stairwell with me.
I get to my office and fling open the door.
My computer is open, and a program is scrolling quickly over the screen.
Oh shit.
My heart chokes me, stuck somewhere between my collarbone and my throat. My palms go clammy; my vision tunnels with rage.
Tell me it’s not what I think it is. Tell me—
Fuck!
With a roar, I pick up my laptop and throw it against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces.
“Mr. King!” Vanessa runs into the office.
“How long ago did she leave?” I’m surprised how calm I sound.
“Oh! Um… about ten minutes, sir. Why? What happened? Sir? Is something wrong?”
I ignore her and run past Vanessa.
The stairwell.
The fucking stairwell. No wonder I thought I smelled her in it. That’s how she got away.
~.~
Kylie
I make it to my car and peel out of the parking lot. I head in the direction of downtown, but I have no idea where to go.
The cops will look for me at home. It’s time to bail. I’ve done this at least twenty times. I know how to erase my existence and put up a new one in another city. Another country, even. But I’ll be damned if I’ll leave Tucson without Mémé.
So, I just need somewhere to lie low. To wait for the blackmailers’ phone call that I fear isn’t coming.
I drive to Bank of America, where I have a safety deposit box. Maybe I can get in before the FBI puts an alert on anything to do with my present social security number. I walk briskly into the bank, tugging the hem of my T-shirt down, wishing I’d worn the heels today.
I withdraw all my savings in cash, give them my ID, and ask to have my safety deposit box. They send me to an office to wait. Three minutes go by. Five.
Please let this one thing go right for me.
The overweight manager with a nineties hairstyle returns with the box.
Thank God.
I open it and take everything out. I have passports and IDs in there, along with more emergency cash. I put on my most businesslike demeanor and resist the urge to stuff everything into my purse and run. I keep my movements clean and crisp. Not a wasted gesture or moment, while maintaining the cool, calm, and collected exterior necessary to avoid suspicion.
“Thank you very much,” I say to the bank manager with a bright smile. As I head out, I nearly crumble.
If I run now, I will be utterly alone. No Mémé. No friends. No chance of maintaining the normal lifestyle I’d adopted.
But, if I stay, I’ll end up in federal prison. Instead of getting in my car, I start walking. Downtown Tucson is small, but there are people everywhere, and I fit in. I hoof it up Congress Street, not heading in any particular direction, just needing to move. To think.
My phone remains agonizingly quiet. Surely the blackmailers know by now the code has been installed.
So, yeah. They have no intention of setting Mémé free.
I find a cafe and pull out my laptop to work once more on tracing the phone call I received the night before. Just having something familiar to do lowers my stress level. I work the rest of the day without luck. By the time the windows darken and the barista is giving me dirty looks, I know there’s no hope.
They’re not going to call.
I’m somewhat surprised someone from SeCure or the FBI hasn’t at least tried to ring my phone, not that I’d answer it.
I leave the cafe and walk back to my car. It’s not surrounded by cop cars or impounded, but I walk by it, anyway. Not worth the risk. Instead, I call Uber and use a dummy account to take me to a cheap hotel off the I-10 frontage road. I book a room with my new identity and credit card.
In the hotel room, I kick off my shoes and sit on the bed with my best and only friend, my laptop.
Think, K-K, think.
What do I do now? Drive out of town? Get on a plane out of the country? What can be done about Mémé?
I’m a smart woman, but no answers come to me. I draw my knees up to my chest and rock back and forth.
~.~
Jackson
I squeeze my temples with one hand as the other moves over my keyboard. It’s four a.m.
Every employee in infosec and myself have been working all day and night to isolate the fucking malware, but it’s gone everywhere. I implemented emergency measures of transferring the financial data of millions of users to new secure servers, but I doubt we are quick enough. They probably already have enough to do major damage. I still don’t even know what they’re after. This seems bigger than getting at the credit card data. There would be easier hacks than SeCure if that’s all they wanted.
“Tell everyone in the department no one’s going home tonight until we have the transfer complete,” I snap at Luis. “And if anyone breathes a word of what we’re dealing with here, I’ll have their ass. Understand?”
“I’ve already told them,” Luis says with his infinite patience. “At what point are we getting the FBI involved?”
“Not until we have this entire situation managed. I don’t even want the rest of the executive team to hear about this until it’s contained.”
Luis looks doubtful, but nods. “Yes, sir.”
My directive makes perfect sense. We’re sitting on an emergency of epic proportions. If word of it gets out to the press, SeCure’s stock will plummet, and the nation’s populace will turn frantic about their money and information being stolen.
But I have another reason for refusing to involve law enforcement.
I want to deal with Kylie McDaniel personally. She betrayed me, and I need to look in her eyes and understand how I made such a mistake. I need to make sure it never happens again.
And, there’s something else. Something I
don’t even want to admit is a motivator, but it is.
Kylie wouldn’t survive in jail.
She’s claustrophobic. It would kill her.
So I’d rather take wolf justice on this one. Find Kylie and make her pay the traditional way. Punishment and repayment.
She will fix this.
Even if I have to keep her my prisoner until she does.
“Do we know how they got through, yet, sir? Do you suspect the new hire? I heard she disappeared today.”
“I’ll deal with the people behind this. You stay focused on containing the disaster.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You stay here and supervise. I’m going to find who did this and make them pay.” The predator in me needs to hunt my prey. I have to find Kylie.
Luis must see the fierceness of my wolf because he pales and bobs his head. “Yes, sir.”
6
Jackson
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I walk to the Range Rover in the solar panel-covered parking. I lift my nose to the air and sniff, but all I smell is the cool spring air of the desert.
The moon beckons me, makes me itchy to shift and hunt for Kylie.
I reach the vehicle and stop.
A dark head is visible in the passenger seat of my car. I know immediately it’s her.
My body surges into emergency mode, the shift upon me. I don’t know what to think—someone’s murdered her and put her in there. Or that she’s waiting to kill me. Or she’s committed suicide and left her body for me to find.
I know it’s Kylie, and getting to her is a goddamn emergency. I rip open the door.
She’s not dead. She’s not even hurt. And she’s not holding a gun.
All I find is a pale, tear-streaked face punctuated by huge, miserable eyes.
Relief and fury simultaneously flood my veins. I haul her out of the car by her wrists and slam the door.
I don’t smell fear on her, but she’s docile, like she knows she deserves my wrath. Obviously she’s delivered herself to me, which makes no sense logically, but the wolf in me approves.
“Kitten, you have to be crazy showing up here tonight.”
A single tear tracks down her face. She bites her lip and nods. “Yeah. I’m crazy.”
“You have thirty seconds to explain yourself.” I don’t expect her to have an explanation—I can’t fathom anything that would possibly excuse her behavior, but I need to hear what she has to say.
“When I got home last night, my grandmother was gone. They’d taken her.” More tears well up in her beautiful eyes, and the scent of them does something to my wolf. Every cell in my body screams at me to protect her, to fix whatever has made her cry. “They called, and a computer-generated voice said I should have done what they instructed me to do.” Two more tears track down her cheeks.
I’m ready to tear these fuckers apart with my teeth. I wouldn’t even need to shift to do it.
“Mémé is all I have. Stupid me. I thought they’d give her back if I installed the code. But, I’m sure she’s dead. I’ve been perfectly set up to take the fall for ruining SeCure. I’m sorry, Jackson. I screwed you, but I’ll do anything to help you fix it. I know you have no reason to believe me. I know you have even less to trust me. But I’m here. I’m offering myself up to you.” She holds her wrists out like I have handcuffs. “Call the cops, if you want. But you know I’m more useful to you outside of jail. And I sure as hell want to make them pay for what they’ve done to—” Her face crumples, and I’m helpless to do anything but pull her against my chest.
The rightness of her body against mine soothes the wolf.
“She may not be dead.”
Kylie bunches my button-down shirt in her fists as her tears wet it. “Why would they keep her?” she chokes.
The scent of her anguish fucking slays me. She’s right. Her grandmother probably is dead.
“Get in the car,” I say, more gruffly than I mean to. I throw open the door. “You’re my prisoner until we figure this out. You won’t leave the mansion. You won’t do anything but eat, sleep, and trace this fucking code to shut it down. Got it?”
She nods and slides into the passenger seat. “Yes, sir,” she whispers. She sounds so forlorn and lost, but my wolf still takes her deference as a win.
Mine.
She came back to me. Mine to handle. Mine to punish.
Mine.
~.~
Kylie
Jackson doesn’t speak as he drives to his mansion. I can’t believe he didn’t wrap a fist around my neck and squeeze. Or call the cops.
He’s angry, still. I sense his fury, simmering underneath the tightly-leashed control. But it didn’t stop him from wrapping me up in his arms and letting me cry on his shirt.
I was right to stay in town. It’s the first right decision I’ve made in a long time.
I’ve never trusted anyone but family before, but something about Jackson King keeps me coming back, checking my insecurities at the door, and offering myself up on a silver platter. It’s crazy.
Because he truly holds my life in his hands now. It would have been so easy for him to turn me over to the police. They could make an ironclad case against me. And maybe he still will, after I help him quarantine the infected data.
But, somehow, I don’t think so. Jackson feels like safety to me. Like home. The opposite of the utter loneliness I experienced walking down Congress Street contemplating my future.
“Thanks,” I say hoarsely.
He turns his serious gaze on me. “I’m glad you came back.”
“Do you believe me?”
“Against my better judgment, yes. I do.”
I settle back against the seat, exhausted, but relieved. “I’ll do anything to help. I won’t rest until I’ve fixed it. Okay? I promise.”
He reaches over and brushes my cheek. “I will help you, too, kitten. I’ll hire a private investigator tomorrow to look into your grandmother’s disappearance.”
It’s a sweet gesture, but I doubt a PI will be able to find anything a hacker couldn’t. Still, tears of gratitude leak from the corners of my eyes.
Jackson’s nostrils flare, and his glance shifts from the road to my face. He rubs away one of the tears with a knuckle. “Tell me about your grandmother. She lives in Tucson?”
I draw in a steadying breath. “We moved here together. We live together. I’ve been living with her since—” I stop because I’ve already told him too much about myself. I don’t want him to piece it all together.
“Since when?” he asks sharply, like he already knows.
“Since my parents died. She’s all the family I have. Had,” I modify, my stomach lurching.
“Is she dead, kitten? Do you know it in your gut? Reach beyond the fear. Yes or no?”
No.
Relief slips around me like a blanket. “I don’t think so,” I croak. I’m fascinated by Jackson’s reliance on gut instinct over logic. A man with a brain like his? If he trusts it, so do I.
Jackson gives a single nod. “Then we need to crack this code and find her.”
I square my shoulders, the mantle of purpose returning. My brain launches into dissecting what I’ve seen of the malware. I pull out my computer. “Mind if I work in the car?”
“I’d be pissed if you didn’t.”
We drive another ten minutes in silence with me studying the unlaunched code I copied from the thumb drive earlier. When we reach Jackson’s mansion, the automatic gate swings open, and he pulls into the drive. I snap my laptop closed and shove it in my bag, looking up at the house.
Jackson’s black wolf dog stands on the step looking down at us as the car rolls past. His greeting lacks the waggy-tailed joy of a normal pet. There’s an aloofness to it, an eerie quality that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“I’m not sure wolves should be kept as pets,” I mutter as he pulls into the garage.
Jackson arches a brow. “I won’t let him hurt you.”
/> I won’t let him hurt you is quite different from he won’t hurt you. The capacity to maim or wound is definitely there.
“What’s his name?”
Jackson hesitates, like his dog doesn’t have a name, or he doesn’t remember it. “Wolf,” he says finally.
“Wolf? That’s original.”
“Keep up the sass, kitten, and I’ll add to your punishment.”
A shiver runs through me, although I don’t think it’s fear. “Punishment?” I give myself a mental high five for saying the word without my voice quavering.
“Mmm hmm. But we’ll deal with that later. Right now, we have work to do.”
We get out of the car and enter through a laundry room and into the kitchen. Wolf meets us there. He bares his teeth at me, growling. He’s even more frightening in full light. He stands as high as my waist, and the black fur at his nape is ruffled with anger, amber eyes staring right at me.
“Enough.” Jackson doesn’t sound nearly as worried as he should, as far as I’m concerned.
I freeze. “I don’t think he likes me much.”
Jackson prods my back from the door, still unconcerned. “He’s just protective.” To the dog, he says, “Kylie’s staying with us. You’ll be watching over her, got it?” He bats Wolf’s muzzle away, and the dog turns and slinks out of the kitchen.
I exhale a shaky breath. “Tell me again why you have a wolf for a pet?”
Jackson ignores my question. “Come on. I’ll take you to your room.”
I push back the disappointment that I have my own room. But what did I think? Jackson would take me into his bed and cuddle me after what I did to his company?
A blow like this may not end SeCure but even if we isolate the potential damage, a loss in reputation may eventually undermine the entire company’s well-being. Even with my help cleaning up, the damage will persist.
I follow him up the stairs.
Jackson leads me to a guest bedroom and switches on a light. The room is tastefully appointed, but, like the rest of the house, lacks any personal touches. I have a feeling he hired a decorator. “You’ll stay in here. I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep before I have to get back to the office.”
