Seek and Destroy (28 page)

    "What was ICE doing there?" David countered.

    They both turned toward Weber, waiting for an answer.

    Weber cussed, shook his head. "NASSD was sent in to remove the threat. They were supposed to be alone," he ground out as his eyes fixed on her.

    "ICE was there to negotiate Surreal's surrender," Charis added.

    "Don't the two agencies talk?" JT asked, looking at her husband. "With two agents on site, neither knowing of the other's role, they could have ended up killing each other."

    "I know. We're lucky they didn't, or blowing the whole thing. I'll talk with McKoy, see if he had anything to do with this. If Donovan was involved somehow..." Weber trailed off and shrugged, another cuss word falling from his lips.

    "The last director," David explained to Charis.

    "I know who Ron Donovan was." How could she not? The news of the ex-director, turned double agent, turned co-conspirator, sending his own team into a trap sent shockwaves throughout all the counter-terrorist agencies. Knowing he died in the trap instead of his team and those surrounding her at this very table had everything to do with that made her proud to be in the same room with them.

    Weber turned and addressed David and Charis. "I'm still cleaning up after that asshole."

    JT cleared her throat. Weber looked over at her and smiled an apology. "Sorry, sweetheart. I know, no cussing at the dinner table." He gave David a sideways glance and rolled his eyes, shook his head. "See how domesticated I am now?"

    "It's a damn shame," David commented. Charis wanted to kick him under the table. She thought it was cute.

    Weber brought his attention back to them both. "As long as I'm the director, shit like this won't happen. Full disclosure, you got it?"

    "Dan," JT warned.

    He rolled his eyes again.

    "Good. So," David said after taking another piece of chicken off his plate. "If this is a decoy, where do you think he is?"

    "I don't know," Charis answered, then added, "yet."

    "Yet?"

    She nodded. "I need to get to my system. I know him. I can track him."

    "How well do you know him?" Weber asked.

    Charis met his eyes with a conviction she felt clean into her soul. "His name is Thomas Macy. He's 5'8", sandy blond hair. Brown eyes. Very average looking. An only child raised by his grandmother when his parents were killed in a car accident. He was seven. He's allergic to shellfish. He hates the Denver Broncos and Pittsburgh Steelers, but loves the Seattle Seahawks." She paused to watch the director's reaction. When he leaned toward her, his attention completely fixed on her, she smiled. "Do you want to know his shoe size?"

    "Congratulations," Weber stated. "You passed. You leave in the morning."

    

    

    Charis concentrated on the monitor of the laptop NASSD gave her for the flight to Montana. The wifi scrambler blinked its little green and blue lights, signaling IP shifts every 1.5 seconds. Nine different points should be enough. Still, even the untraceable connections could be hit if the hacker knew what to look for. She increased her points to fifteen, not about to underestimate a hacker like Surreal.

    This end of the airport baggage claim hardly had a soul in it. The Pacific Marketplace sat clear at the other end of the airport and attracted the travelers much more than an empty carousel. With nothing more than a few vending machines, nothing would draw a person to this end. The baggage claim looked eerily still. It creeped her out how the lighting wouldn't stop flickering, just like in the movies before someone got hacked to shreds. And the fact it was almost five in the morning helped to keep the population down.

    At least she had her protection pacing behind her. If she could call David her protector, anyway. She didn't know whether she should be protected
by
him, or
from
him.

    "Are you sure?" he said into the cell phone against his ear. "And it was him? You've ID'd the device?" He cussed. "Why didn't you find this out earlier? Not connected, my ass. Yeah. Thanks." He slapped the phone closed.

    "What was that?" she asked, not sure if she really wanted to know.

    "Another bombing. That's three buildings in three weeks. Surreal took out the History of Arts server room in Houston two weeks ago."

    "An art company?" That didn't make any sense. Surreal usually went after technology companies. Well, except for that odd bombing that took out an architectural company.

    "Not just any art company," he explained. "A non-profit historical society. Jesus Christ. This doesn't fit his MO at all."

    "How do they know it was him?"

    "They dug the device out of a pile of rubble. They didn't connect it to the other bombings until then since this company had nothing to do with technology. That goddamn broken heart symbol stood out like a sore thumb. Now
that
is the same MO."

    "Hmmm," she nodded. Yes, that definitely fit his MO.

    He rested his hands on her shoulders, unsettling her, sending chills across her body. "How's it going?"

    "Not any better than the last time you asked me."

    "Sorry. I just feel so helpless. Is there anything I can do to help?"

    "For the last time, no. I need to break into the site undetected. For that, I have to have the password." She tried another array. Access denied. She blew her hair off her face and tried again. "Crap."

    "I thought you said you were the best."

    
Yes, thank you for your faith in me.
"Hackers aren't the most trusting of sorts. They change their access codes like I change my underwear-where... Where did I put my pen?" Did she really say that?
Yeah, nice cover McKoy.
She felt her face flush, the heat from her embarrassing outburst burning into her flesh. Why couldn't she control her tongue?

    He grabbed her pen from behind her ear and thrust in into her face. "Here."

    "There it is." She giggled like an idiot. He didn't seem amused. After a dismissive glance, he went back to pacing.

    "You've been working on it for the past," he stopped and looked at his watch.

    "Fifteen minutes," she answered, cutting him off. She didn't need him keeping time. She was well aware of how much time she'd taken. "Our flight doesn't take off for another couple of hours. That should give me plenty of time to find him and put a tracer on him."

    He continued to pace behind her, stopping every other passing to stare over her shoulder. Every time he did, she had to stop. She smelled him. Not his cologne. Not his soap. It was
him
. Deeply masculine, musky. Sexy.

    She'd never been able to smell a man before. Sure, some of the men she'd dated wore cologne. But she'd never smelled
them
, their essence. She smelled David's essence. And it made her senses come alive.

    Oh not again. Apparently her senses weren't the only thing to come alive. Her nipples squeezed to hard little buds. She ignored her body's response.
Not now
.

    He moved in closer, much closer than he needed to be in order to read the screen. His breath tickled her neck as he spoke. "Need help reading this?"

    "Huh? Oh, no. I'm fine." He moved back, but not before he drew in a deep breath and brushed his lips across her neck. She felt the warmth wash through her system clean down to her toes. They curled in response. He didn't need to do that. Now he had her juices flowing. She had to concentrate on her monitor to not turn and stick her tongue down his throat.

    The computer beeped as the screen turned black, the cursor blinking patiently. Finally. Her hormones taking a back seat, she readjusted in her chair. "I'm in." With her fingers moving as fast as she could make them go, she coded a message and sent it out to all the blogs she knew housed hackers of every shape and size. After she accomplished her first task, she took a break and stretched her fingers.

    "What are you doing
now
?"

    "I'm resting my fingers."

    "Charis, we don't have time for resting fingers."

    "Why don't you go get us some coffee?" she asked. Anything to get him to go away for just a few minutes.

    "What?" He looked at her like she'd just asked him to jump over the moon. "I'm not in the mood for coffee."

    "They have tea."

    "Charis-"

    "Just go," she urged. "Please. I can't concentrate with you breathing down my neck." Literally.

    With one last grunt, he spun around and rode the escalator to the coffee house, giving her the space and time she needed to code an algorithm she'd be able to use to trace those knocking on the back door of all the major hackers’ targets. Pentagon. CIA. FBI. For giggles, she added the coordinates for ICE. No one had ever attempted a hack into her own agency's system, but there was always a first time for everything.

    And now she waited.

    She hated this part, wanted instant gratification. Finally having a moment to herself, she leaned back, kicked off her shoes and closed her eyes.

    "Your coffee," David said sharply, waking her from her light slumber. He set a tall cup of steaming liquid down next to her. She opened her eyes and looked up. He scowled down at her, not at all happy to find her now resting not only her fingers, but her eyes as well.

    How long had she been out? Looking around, she gave a stretch and a good long yawn. "Oh, boy. I guess I'm tired. I must have-"

    "Have you found me Surreal?"

    "Do you see me jumping for joy?"

    "Do you see me amused?"

    Charis wanted to scream. The guy drove her to within an inch of her sanity. "You can be a real jerk, you know that?"

    "Hate me later. Right now, find me Surreal."

    Oh, she wanted to hate him all right. Unfortunately she'd fallen into such an extreme case of lust she couldn't talk herself into hating him. Her attraction to the man had intensified after their mind-blowing sex-capade in the elevator. She couldn't turn it off. She didn't want to.

    At least last night the director had enough sense to put them up in separate bedrooms. At opposite ends of the house. On different floors. Even with that distance between them she still sensed him. It had to have been the most restless night she'd ever had. Every noise made her jolt awake and look at the bedroom door, hoping she'd see a sliver of light spread across the floor as David snuck into her room.

    But, alas, he'd stayed away. Every once in a while she heard deep voices coming from the downstairs. She couldn't hear what they'd said, but knew it had to be him and the director. After several hours of waiting and listening, she'd drifted off.

    And now that the very man she'd wanted by her side actually stood here by her side, she barely kept her eyes open.

    She felt his gaze fall on her, but didn't look up from her laptop. The lights on the scrambler JT gave her blinked green and then blue, signaling another shift in IP addresses.

    And then the lights held a solid red. It took a second for her to realize what happened. Before she took a breath to warn him, her computer beeped three times, paused, and then beeped three times again. Bone-chilling goose bumps washed across her flesh.

    "David," she called softly, her eyes never leaving the screen. Her blood slowed and she gave an involuntary shudder.

    "I'm not going to get you a pastry."

    She shook her head to dismiss his assumption, her breath growing shallow. "David."

    "No more excuses. Find me Surreal."

    "Holy shit," she muttered. That got his attention, having never cussed in front of him before. He stopped pacing and knelt down beside her, his hands on her shoulders, his eyes resting on the screen.

    "Charis? Why are you shaking? What is it?"

    "My screen just went out. My-my lights are red."

    "And that means..."

    "I'm hit."

    He leaned in and read the message as it flashed across her screen. "
Follow Only Using Nonstop Devotion. Yes Only Us. For In Rising Satisfaction Times. Love your shoes.
" He cocked his head to the side. "What the hell does that mean?"

    She didn't answer. She didn't breathe. Her throat wouldn't work. Looking around in all directions, she searched for the camera. How did he do it? How did he get one up on her? He couldn't be anywhere near them, and yet she felt his eyes on her, watching her every move. "We didn't find Surreal. He found us."

    "What?"

    "He can see us."

    David sprang to his feet and followed her lead in searching in all directions. "How?"

    "I don't know. Maybe he tapped into the cameras at this end of baggage claim."

    "But how did he know where to look?"

    "I don't know! I upped the hits on this scrambler. I tapped into all the sites from the back door. Unless he expected us, there's no way-"

    "Son-of-a-bitch. That's it."

    "What's it?"

    He leaned back against the table and let out a chuckle. The look in his eyes scared her. They were dark, dangerous.
Lethal
. "Where did you plant your taps?"

    "The norms. Pentagon. CIA. FBI."

    He shook his head. "Surreal would know to look there. Where else?"

    Oh. Oh no. She felt sick. "I may have added ICE to my algorithm."

    She heard the distinct grinding of his teeth. His eyes cooled to a stone brown, steely and full of determination. Crisply folding his arms, he remarked shortly, "ICE is
not
the norm. You know the rules."

    She knew the rules, all right. Expose an agency and the agency drops you. "I-I wanted to make sure Surreal didn't try tapping into our system. I swear I didn't expose anything."