CHAPTER NINE
Azusa, CA
Monday, 4:30 a.m.
SCOTT WAS LOST THE MINUTE Valerie’s lips met his. He’d used up every ounce of willpower he had backing away from her the first time. Now, he couldn’t even remember why he’d wanted to.
Her hands curled into his hair, the light scratch of her fingernails at the base of his neck making his knees weak. Sitting back on his heels, he tugged her onto his lap and explored her sweet mouth. Slowly, slowly, torturing both of them, he slid his hand down to cup her left breast, to gently caress the heavy softness in his palm.
He stroked a thumb across her rock-hard nipple and she arched back.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered in a groan, nipping at her lips.
Valerie moaned in response, a plea that went straight to his groin.
Her fingers slid beneath the hem of his shirt, trailing over his abs, up his chest and across his collarbone, her touch lighting him up like an incendiary grenade. She ground her hips against him, and he nearly exploded. Jesus.
Cradling her around the shoulders and hips, he lay her down without breaking the kiss, stretching out above her, aligning their bodies from head to toe.
A small voice at the back of his mind whispered a warning. You can’t just walk away from this one.
Fuck off, he answered back.
Propping himself with one arm, he tugged the bottom of her shirt with his free hand, wishing he could risk opening a curtain to let in more light. He wanted nothing more than to see her in all her bronze glory. Then again, he wasn’t necessarily ready for her to see all of his not-so-glorious parts. Maybe darker was better.
“Wait.” She stopped his progress with her hand over his, something odd in her voice.
He froze. “What’s wrong?” Had she heard something? Christ, he was so caught up in her that he’d lost his sense of situational awareness. He dropped his hand and started to push away.
“No, don’t,” she said, grabbing the waistband of his shorts, her smooth fingers tantalizing against his bare stomach.
Come on, baby, move that hand a little lower.
“But, um, I’d like to leave my shirt on,” she said, without meeting his gaze.
“Why?” The fear and vulnerability on her face drove him up onto his knees, dislodging her hand from his pants as his brain flashed neon red warning signs.
“I…” She absently rubbed a hand across her ribs.
“You know what? You don’t need to tell me.” This whole episode was veering dangerously close to relationship-forming territory. Assuming they survived this nightmare, he needed to be able to move on when it was over. Physical intimacy was one thing, but emotional? That was something else altogether.
He cared enough to spare them both.
A slice of white light flashed under the driver’s side window shade, illuminating the front seat and dashboard, drawing Scott’s attention away from the gorgeous woman laid out before him. Something hard rapped against the glass.
“Anyone in there?” a man asked from outside.
Shit. What the hell had he been thinking letting down his guard? Bad enough that he was ready to break his own rules to sleep with Valerie, but now he’d let his libido put them in danger.
Her eyes widened, and he put a finger to his lips. “Don’t move,” he mouthed.
Shaking her head, she slid out from under him, tugging her shirt down to her hips. He grabbed her arm. “Trust me,” she whispered, gesturing him out of sight as she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.
He let go. She was the mistress of the con, right? Time to let her prove herself.
“Hel-lo.” The man outside rapped on the window again. “Valley Security.”
Scott’s shoulders relaxed a little. Rent-a-cop. Potentially dangerous, but not the police.
Finger-combing her hair, Valerie clambered into the front seat, pulled back the curtain, and used the crank to roll the window about a quarter of the way down. “Hi,” she said, cheerfully. “What’s going on?”
Nerves of steel, that woman.
“Ma’am.” The man shone his flashlight beam around the interior of the van, but Scott stayed out of range. “You can’t park here without a resident permit, and you definitely can’t camp here.”
“Oh, no, I’m not camping. My mom said any space without a number was for visitors.”
“Your mom?”
“Yes, sir, she lives here,” she said. Scott couldn’t see her face, but he could hear the genuine warmth of a smile in her tone. “Esperanza Ramirez?”
Silence. Scott couldn’t see the guard from his vantage point either, but he could imagine him shaking his head.
“Anyway.” Valerie’s hand flashed in the light as she gave a dismissive wave. “My boyfriend kicked me out last night”—she blew out a breath, spinning a whole tale behind that small noise—“and she said I could stay with her, but she’s a cleaner on the night shift at the JPL, and I don’t have a key. So, she told me to wait in the parking lot until she gets home at seven-thirty.”
The man’s shoes made a scuffing sound on the asphalt.
“What time is it now?” she asked, shifting closer to the window, probably giving the guy a little dose of her stellar cleavage.
Those incredible breasts that she wouldn’t let Scott see naked. Let it go. He swallowed hard and held in a sigh.
Clearing his throat, the guard said, “Almost five.”
“Oh, good. Not too much longer.”
“Look, ma’am, there are a few visitor spots out front, but you’ll need to come back when your mom’s home.”
“I understand. I’ll go park at Walmart for now.”
“Good idea. They have cameras and security, so you should be safe there.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Sorry to trouble you.”
He chuckled. “No problem. You’re the most excitement I’ve had all night.”
You bet your ass, dickhead. His body might disagree, but Scott figured he should probably be thanking the guy for interrupting what had all the makings of a mistake the size of Idaho.
Giving the man a little wave, Valerie rolled up the window and got to work opening all of the curtains in silence. Scott could only watch from his position in the back corner in case the guard was still nearby, watching through the glass.
“So much for staying off the road,” Valerie whispered as she slid open the rear curtain. “But at least there should be some early traffic now.”
“JPL?” he asked.
“Jet Propulsion Lab. It’s somewhere in Pasadena.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
She shrugged. “It’s part of NASA. They run the robotic exploration missions. Like the Mars Rover guys. It’s a hacker’s wet dream.”
Speaking of wet dreams… He nodded, sitting on his hands so he wouldn’t be tempted to reach for her. “I think we should change course to San Diego. If we dump the van there, it’ll be over the border within hours.”
“And get another car?”
“I wish we had a better option. It’s too easy to get pulled over for some minor infraction—in which case we’re dead in the water—but long-distance public transportation means cameras, showing IDs.” Since 9/11, going on the run had become much more difficult. Normally, he was fine with that when it applied to actual terrorists. “So, yeah. I guess another car.”
On the opposite side of the van, she shoved back the last curtain and crouched low on her way to the front seat. “What if Duncan takes the money and runs before we get to D.C.?” she asked in a low voice without looking at him.
“He hasn’t bailed yet. I don’t think he wants to give up his home and family and status. Otherwise, why bother to frame you?” Though a smart man would have an exit strategy, just in case.
She glanced back at Scott, her expression skeptical.
“If it happens, we’ll deal with it,” he said. Somehow. “Let’s get the hell out of here first.”
“Agreed.” Sighing, she adjusted the driver’s seat so she could reach the pedals and started the van.
Three hours later in San Diego, Valerie sat in a cozy club chair in the second-floor café of a popular bookstore chain that offered free WiFi. There were enough people milling around and working on their computers that no one looked at her and Scott twice, even though their story was all over the news.
“The cops figured out it was us, but the surveillance footage is grainy at best, black and white.” She modulated her voice to carry just above the light jazz playing overhead as she used her secure browser to check for updates.
“Let’s see.” He pulled his chair closer, cutting the space between them to unbearable.
After the security guard interrupted their make-out session that morning, she and Scott had only spoken as necessary on the drive down from Pasadena. He was playing it as if nothing had happened. She was doing her damnedest to follow suit, but failing miserably.
Then again, if she couldn’t muster the courage to lift her shirt for him, hooking up was probably a bad idea anyway.
“Your hair is clearly long and blond,” he said, studying the low-quality image pulled from the gas station’s security camera. He glanced her way, keeping his eyes trained above her neck. “But the glasses and ponytail are enough though, I think.”
She’d bought another pair of reading glasses and changed into a tight, gray, scoop-neck T-shirt that emphasized her figure in a way that made her want to squirm. But it changed her appearance even more. When she dressed like this, people—men and women alike—focused more on her chest than her face.
The ease with which a person could make themselves unrecognizable never failed to awe her. Even a celebrity might put her hair up and go out without makeup, and only the most ardent fan or paparazzi would recognize her unless they saw her leave her house.
Sure, a crowded place like the bookstore still posed a threat—more people meant more eyeballs on them—but it was easier to blend into the crowd in a busy place than a quiet one. The other half of the battle was acting normal, like they had nothing to hide, something Valerie was a pro at and Scott seemed to have a knack for too.
“I need a way to contact Kurt securely,” he said, “but quicker than the telegram method you used earlier.”
“We can text him directly from the Internet, but if someone’s hacked his phone, they’ll see it.”
He scowled and blew out a long breath. “This is getting fucking ridiculous.”
“What if I could get us a ride?” Why hadn’t the idea come to her earlier?
“Explain.” He lifted a steaming mug of coffee to his lips. Lips that had kissed her like—
Focus.
She stalled for a second, trying to recapture her thoughts. “There’s a guy who lives in Escondido, maybe an hour from here. Or at least, he used to. I met him in person a couple times when he came to Texas, and after I moved in with my papá’s family here in California, he checked on me every few months. I think he might be willing to drive us to D.C. Or maybe hook us up with someone who can.”
“Won’t the FBI be watching people from your past?”
“There’s a good chance they don’t know who this guy actually is even if they’re tracking his online activity somehow. I think it’s worth the risk.”
“You trust him?” To a casual observer, Scott was a just a shaggy-haired surfer type wearing a band shirt—apparently he built his wardrobe at concerts—hanging out with a friend. But his gaze on her… The intensity of it made her stomach dance.
“As much as I can trust anyone. I know a lot of his secrets. If he turns us in, he goes down too.”
Scott frowned. “That doesn’t make for the best relationship.”
She shook her head. “That’s all secondary. Alan’s like an uncle to me. The kind who doesn’t take advantage when you sit on his lap.”
Scott’s eyes widened, and his lips parted in his own understated version of shock.
She laughed. “God, you should see your face. Who knew you were such an easy target?”
He gave her a humorless smile and a heavy dose of skepticism before donning his poker face, but she could sense him studying her profile as she returned to her search. Somehow she needed to block out his scrutiny and stay on task.
“So,” she said brightly. “Should I contact him?”
“Do it. Traveling in a private vehicle as a party of three would make us less noticeable. And we wouldn’t need to find a new car.”
Another person would create a welcome buffer between her and Scott too. “Or sleep in it,” she added. Definitely a bonus.
He didn’t respond.
For the next twenty minutes, Scott hovered as she worked through layers of hidden websites, clicking on a picture of a flower that took her to another site where she clicked on the head of the fifth boy in the back row of a vintage photo of a 1917 high school football team. That link launched her into one of the chat rooms where her papá’s former friend still spent a lot of time.
“How did you know how to access it?” Scott asked, leaning close enough that she could feel his heat. “I would expect them to change the process frequently.”
“I was out of the life, but never out of touch. In fact, it’s part of my job to stay on top of what’s going on in the black hat world. We use most of the same tools, I just have a different goal.”
He sat back. “Does this friend of yours know you switched sides?”
“Actually, it was his idea.” She glanced at Scott and their gazes met. Her stomach dipped. God, she hoped he couldn’t tell how much he scrambled her brain.
“How’s that?” he asked.
Valerie stretched her fingers over her keyboard and took a deep breath. If she wanted things to be easier with Scott, maybe it was time to share. “After Dad died and Papá went to jail, I lived with my aunt’s family in Four Creeks, California.”
His brows furrowed. “I thought your dad went to jail. Who’s Papa?”
“I figured you already knew all this. You didn’t investigate me?”
“It was a surveillance job, not a background check.”
The tightness in her chest loosened. He didn’t already know her every secret. “I grew up with two fathers. They couldn’t marry, but they used a surrogate to have me. To avoid confusion, I learned to call one of them Papá and the other Dad.”
“Ah. I’m sorry. About both of them.”
She nodded, not letting her mind go down that dark hallway.
“I’ve never met anyone with gay parents before.” Scott didn’t look disturbed by the idea, just curious. Another point in his favor. “That I know of, anyway.”
“Well, it didn’t go over well in Texas, but they tried to protect me from the backlash as much as possible.” She shrugged. “Still, kids can be cruel.”
“Yes,” he said simply, like a man who could relate. “Where’s Four Creeks?”
She waved vaguely toward the parking lot. “Inland, near Yosemite. Mostly farmland. I badly wanted to get out, but there was no money for college, and I didn’t have the grades for a scholarship.”
“Sounds familiar,” he said, something unreadable flickering across his face.
“But then Alan stepped in with the money. He claimed Papá had helped him earn it, and that I deserved a share.”
He frowned. “Generous.”
So now they were making conversation as if they hadn’t been groping each other in the dark mere hours before. As if she couldn’t still feel his lips on her neck, his hand on her breast. A little tremor moved through her.
“What did you major in?”
“Materials engineering.”
He smiled, his face relaxing into breath-stealing handsomeness. “Seriously?”
Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Yes. Why?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I guess I just figured computer science or something like that.”
“Uh-uh. I wanted to get as far away from that world as possible. I didn’t want to be anything like Papá.” Dammit. She hadn’t meant to spill that.
Scott nodded his understanding. “My dad was a carpenter. I wanted to be an engineer.” He scoffed. “Those two aren’t as different as I once imagined, really. My sophomore science project was a comparison of the load-bearing capacity of three different types of bridges.” His voice filled with pride. “I used to eat that shit up. I spent months researching and building bridges and consulting with my teacher. She thought I had a good chance of placing in my division.”
Valerie ignored her computer, lapping up every morsel about his youth like a cat with milk. “Did you?”
“I didn’t enter.” Scott’s face remained impassive, but his voice had a hard edge.
“Why not?”
The desperate look of anger and hurt that flashed in his eyes sent a chill down her spine. “My dad destroyed my project.”
“Oh, God.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged and shifted his gaze, returning his attention to their surroundings.
Her heart ached for him, but he had put up his walls again. Forcing herself to focus on the computer, she posted a message.
SPYDRCH1C4: @BLACKBARD Do you like flowers?
Scott’s hand on her shoulder made her jump. “You’re nothing like him,” he said softly. “Your dad.”
Tears burned the back of her eyes, catching her by surprise. She thought she’d mastered that urge years ago. “That’s not how the rest of the world sees it.”
Yuck. When had she turned sulky and whiny?
“They will.”
If only she shared his confidence. She knew how easy it was to ruin someone. Even if she and Scott proved their innocence, the stain of everything that happened—the doubts—would be on them forever.
Think positive, mija. She could almost hear her dad’s voice, and the tears pricked again.
All Valerie could do was nod.
Scott removed his hand, leaving behind a warm imprint. “So, Blackbard?”
Grateful for the redirect, she swallowed and took a deep breath. “Yeah. Sort of a play on pirates and poets.”
A young man with brassy blond swimmer’s hair who’d been pushing a mop around the tile floor—rather ineffectively to her eye—moved within several feet of their table. He couldn’t see her screen since she had her back to the wall, but her heart sped up.
“I like the garage on this one,” Scott said without missing a beat. “It’s big enough to fit the motorcycle too.”
She parted her lips and furrowed her brow. “You promised to get rid of the bike.”
His sheepish expression was so on point, she almost forgot they were faking. “Well, yeah, when I thought we wouldn’t have room for it. But if we got that place…” He gestured vaguely toward her computer.
A message popped up on the monitor.
BLACKBARD: @SPYDRCH1C4 Daisies. A dozen white.
“I just worry about you,” she said as the kid with the mop worked slowly away from their table without even looking at them. Dip, wring, splat, swirl, repeat. “You know what happened to my brother.”
Scott hooked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close, dropping a kiss on her forehead before she even knew what was happening. “I know. Just think about it, okay?”
Her brain buzzed from the contact even though he’d already released her. Through the fog, she processed her old friend’s response.
Once the mop boy was out of range, she said, “We’re meeting him in the Botanical Building at Balboa Park at noon.”
Scott knew how to be idle. The most important quality of a sniper wasn’t good aim, it was patience. He had a deeper well than most.
Waiting to meet with Valerie’s friend of dubious moral character—as if he were one to judge—gave him time to establish a baseline for the café’s activity, time to take measure of its normal pace and tempo and mood. And keep track of its customers.
As much as he wanted to watch Valerie at work, nothing on her screen made sense to him. He’d rather play bored-boyfriend-reading-a-book than feel like a simpleton watching her navigate through what she called the “dark web.” He’d heard of it. That was about it.
Not to mention, focusing on Valerie lowered his IQ by about thirty points. He was no more immune to her ample tits hugged tightly by a thin gray shirt than the next guy.
Including the forty-something man with receding brown hair browsing the magazine section who couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
Scott ignored the irritating burn in his chest that he had no right to and flipped another page of the Ken Follett novel he’d picked up when they arrived, keeping the man in his peripheral vision. White guy, medium build, trim but soft, black T-shirt, tan shorts, black Nikes with a red swoosh, oversized silver watch, no visible tattoos.
The man caught Scott’s eye and turned away, working his way toward the front of the store, picking up a magazine here and there, flipping through it.
A pretty Asian woman, pushing a red-faced toddler in a small stroller, set down two drinks and pastries on the table next to Valerie and settled her kid in a booster seat.
People came and went, couples of all ages, a group of thirty-something men with little kids, college-aged girls wearing yoga pants and fur-lined boots, old women debating politics and the best places for vacation, young professionals in blazers with laptops and cell phones. Scott catalogued them all.
“How’s it going?” he asked, leaning toward Valerie and inhaling deeply of her light flowery scent. It was different than before, probably from the travel bottle of shampoo she’d used after dying her hair, but still a tantalizing reminder of their lava-hot hands-on time in the back of the van.
“I sent an email with a document attachment to Duncan’s assistant. As soon as she opens the doc, I should have a backdoor into the system.”
His eyebrows rose against his will. “It’s that easy?”
“Not usually, but I have the advantage of knowing Aggressor’s employees and their email addresses. There’s a pattern to them, and I’ve emailed Meseret enough times to have hers memorized. I spoofed the email address from the head of HR, so when she sees the message, she won’t think twice about opening the file.”
“Like a Trojan horse. She welcomes it inside the gates without a clue.”
Valerie smiled and Scott couldn’t look away. “Exactly. It’s even called that.”
For a brief moment, his chest felt lighter. “If she mentions it to this HR guy, won’t they realize something’s up?”
“Yes, but it’s unlikely she’ll say anything. They don’t talk much, and the file is a mind-numbingly dull notification about new language in an obscure employment law.”
“Smart.” He pulled his gaze away from her face for a quick check of the area. “What’s next?”
“I’m going through the information I collected on Duncan before I located Jay.” She blinked rapidly a few times and took a deep breath, but soldiered on. “I spent most of my nights these last two weeks digging up everything I could find on my boss. Some of his info was in a database file that hackers snagged from the Veterans Administration a few years ago, so I have his social, birthdate, and address.”
Scott grimaced. “All my information is probably out there too.”
“Might be.” Valerie nodded, tracing the edge of her computer with one pink-tipped finger. “You get one free credit report a year from each of the reporting companies, so pick a different one every quarter and keep an eye on things.”
Good idea. He hadn’t taken the data theft too seriously until he started working for Steele and learned just how much damage someone with bad intentions could do to a person’s life without ever meeting them face to face.
“Does it bother you?” he asked. “Dealing with those guys?”
She looked up and waited a beat before answering. “Sometimes. On one hand, I am one of ‘those guys.’ Or, I was. I understand them. I get the excitement of solving the puzzle. Hacking is like the intellectual equivalent of drag racing. You know it’s wrong, but the thrill is addictive.
“Not every hacker is trying to hurt individual people, though” she said. “Some want to make a statement, stick it to the big corporations, or damage a government’s reputation—”
“Never mind that innocent people get strafed in the process.”
Her lips compressed. “Kind of like your war.”
“It wasn’t mine.” But she had a point.
“Look, some of these guys are straight-up criminals, some fancy themselves crusaders, others like the challenge. Papá may have started out with some ideals and become addicted to the rush, but he forgot to draw a line. I want to fight guys like him, but if I’m going to help vulnerable companies and government organizations find their security holes so they can plug the leaks, I have to know the tools and tricks.”
“Like working undercover, except online.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Scott sighed and held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to attack your career choice. I’m hardly one who should be throwing stones.”
He squeezed the back of his neck and scanned the tables and bookshelves nearby. He was a hands-on kind of guy, and while he didn’t have any trouble sitting surveillance, he also liked to know that he added value. In the Marines, there had never been a doubt. He knew how to take down an enemy standing directly in front of him, or one a thousand yards away. But this whole underground battle taking place over transatlantic cables was something he didn’t comprehend and didn’t have a clue how to fight. He was as useful as a fifth leg on a dog watching Valerie bang away at her keyboard.
Their partnership was not equal at all. In the beginning, he’d protected her, saved her. But now, without her, he had no chance at clearing his name. Not even a clue where to start.
Not to mention, she’d brought most of the money to the party.
Any goon with moderate intelligence could provide her security. She didn’t need Scott.
But he needed her.
And he wanted her.
Fuck.
“It’s okay,” she said.
He gave her a blank look, trying to backtrack to what he’d said, because for damn sure she wasn’t reading his mind or her expression would be far different.
“We’re both under a lot of stress.” She toyed absently with her ponytail and took a sip of her frothy iced coffee. “And, to be fair, I was part of the black hat community before.”
Relaxing somewhat, he said, “To be fair, you were a kid.”
She gave him a humorless smile that said she appreciated his efforts but didn’t agree. “I knew the difference between right and wrong.”
“Maybe. But did you feel like you could quit? Would your papá have let you?”
Her face turned pale and she stared at her keyboard, elegant hands at the ready but not moving. “No.” She shook her head. “I know he wouldn’t. My dads used to fight about it, but Papá and I never stopped.”
Setting down his book, Scott placed his palm over one of her small hands and tried to think of something to say.
“It’s our fault Dad died,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“We pissed off the wrong guy.” A tear slid down her cheek, clamping a vise around Scott’s chest. “He was a carder—a dealer in stolen credit card numbers—that Papá and I had put out of business, and he’d lost everything. His money, his family, his reputation. He broke into our house one night when Papá was gone. Dad and I were eating dinner, and the guy pulled a knife and started screaming at Dad about revenge.” Her breath came faster. “I just stood there and watched, not believing what I was seeing, my feet frozen to the ground as he—” Her face crumpled, and she covered her mouth with shaking fingers. “He stabbed him.”
Fucking hell. Scott didn’t want to make a scene, but he couldn’t sit there and watch her implode. “Hey,” he reached for her.
She slammed the lid on her laptop and jumped to her feet, her chair screeching against the tile floor and drawing several gazes. “I… Excuse me.”
“V…” But he let her go, watching her race past the bakery display and through the doorway at the far side of the café marked RESTROOMS. He’d been trying to make her feel better, to prove a point about her culpability in the crimes she’d committed under her father’s direction, but obviously he’d only added to her distress.
Perfect.
He glanced at his watch. Nine forty-two. He’d give her five minutes.
Picking up his book, he returned to surreptitious people-watching, practicing his observation skills, eavesdropping on conversations. Everyone was so ordinary, going through the motions of daily life while he and Valerie were stuck in some parallel universe where their lives had gone completely off the rails.
Nothing appeared particularly unusual about the man who joined the line at the counter, and Scott didn’t initially understand why the guy had caught his attention. He looked like half a dozen other men who’d passed through the store in the last ninety minutes. Medium height and build, Oakland A’s baseball cap, square-framed glasses, brown hair peeking out from beneath his hat, 5K race tech T in dark gray, blue jeans…
Black Nikes with a red swoosh, and a nice watch.