Wicked Sexy

33

“Mr. O’Doul,” I say, recognizing him. Everyone in the hacking community knows who all the top government cyber dogs are. “I’m a big fan.”

He takes me in with a single, sweeping glance, his expression unchanging. “Executive Assistant

Director O’Doul. And you are?”

Standing beside a tense-looking Connor near the doorway, Miranda says, “This is Tabitha West. She’ll be assisting in the investigation. I expect your team to give her its full cooperation. She’s a computer specialist, subcontracting with Metrix Security.”

Connor and O’Doul nod a greeting at each other. I take it this is one of the FBI guys Connor mentioned he knew.

O’Doul’s steady gaze comes back to rest on me. “What’s your specialty?” I flippantly reply, “Destabilizing governments.”

His expression sours. “You’re a hacker,” he says flatly. The young men sitting at the computers shift in their seats, glancing at one another in surprise.

I give him my most winning smile. “I prefer the term social engineer. By the way, congratulations on being promoted to the head of the National Cyber Investigative Joint Task Force. Your predecessor was a total moron.”

His squinty eyes narrow. He says slowly, “Tabitha West, is it?”

Connor says tersely, “You won’t find anything.”

“We’re the FBI. We always find something.”

“Really?” My brows lift. “How’s that working out for you with Maelstr0m?”

The mood in the room is growing decidedly tense. I’m used to aggravating people, so it’s no skin off my back, but Miranda looks as if she’s already regretting the decision to bring me on board, while Connor is glaring a warning at me from beneath lowered brows. The guys at the desks have their hands poised over their keyboards, as if waiting for a command from O’Doul to enter my name into one of a dozen databases.

O’Doul asks, “You an associate of Maelstr0m’s?”

“Nope.”

Connor says, “She’s clean, Harry.”

A pause as O’Doul examines my face. “You vetted her?”

“Yes. You know no one gets on my team without a squeaky-clean file.”

That’s a stretch, considering Connor has witnessed in the past one or two of my less “squeakyclean” activities, but he’s technically correct. My file is clean.

My hands are another subject altogether.

I wait for O’Doul to decide whether or not he’s going to allow me into the boys’ club before a full government background check can be completed and he’s convinced I’m not collaborating with the enemy, a worm sabotaging the investigation from the inside. When he takes too long, I say with exasperation, “Okay, I’m not being conceited when I say this, but I’m your only hope here. You’ll never catch him without me. Dicking around is only going to make the situation worse.”

A few snickers and rolled eyes from the guys at the computers. Someone chuckles and says under his breath, “Is that a Hello Kitty watch she’s wearing?”

I turn to glare at him, my hands curled to fists. “Yeah, motherfucker, it is. And in two seconds it’s going to be telling the time inside your colon.”

Connor coughs to cover his laugh. Appalled, Miranda lifts her hand to her throat. O’Doul says wearily, “Shut the f**k up, Rodriguez, my daughter loves Hello Kitty.”

Abandoning my attitude of nonchalance, I turn back to O’Doul. “The name of the man you’re looking for is Søren Killgaard. I went to school with him.” I glance at the jerk who made the watch comment. “MIT, in case you’re wondering.” Back to O’Doul: “I know how he thinks, I know how he codes, and I know it’s him using that hacker alias, because he’s eliminated anyone else who ever tried to use the name.”

At the same time, O’Doul and Connor say, “Eliminated?”

“Use your imagination,” I respond, looking back and forth between them. “The part where all the monsters live.”

Connor does this thing where he seems to inflate, like a cat when it bristles all its fur upon sensing danger. I can’t decide if it’s interesting or ridiculous, but all the other men in the room except O’Doul definitely seem to think it’s intimidating as hell. I’ve never seen a group of men shrink as a collective.

Before Connor turns into the Incredible Hulk, I say, “I can make contact with Søren in five minutes. In under an hour, I can have a program installed on Miranda’s server to counteract the damage his malware is doing. And if you don’t get in my way, by tomorrow at this time I can—most likely—find out exactly where he is. If I fail, you’ve lost nothing.”

The room is silent. When I look at Connor, I feel everything he’s feeling as if an invisible wire is connected to our chests.

In a low, controlled voice, he asks, “You know how to contact him?” I know he’s not asking for a yes or a no. He’s asking for an explanation.

“He left me a channel. A way to reach him in case I ever changed my mind.”

O’Doul steps farther into the room, his eyes sharpening. “Changed your mind? About what?”

All at once, the room feels too hot. My skin feels too tight. My hands are cold and clammy. I say simply, “About joining him.”

And because of that invisible connection between us, I feel the exact moment Connor begins to doubt me.