Chapter Four

Drew Getty studied his online calendar. It was time to strike again. The timing was crucial or everything he’d put into play would crumble like a dirt wall.

He studied his creation displayed in neat rows across the computer monitor. A masterpiece. Monochrome proof of his genius.

With a single touch of the DELETE key, the hours he’d spent, all that effort, would be erased. If—

No ifs. He was nearing the end game.

A couple of months ago, his hack might have faded into billions of web crawlers, never to be discovered. But it was too late now. He was in too deep to avoid the unlawful act of virtual trespassing. Regardless of his complex encryption, cyber technology would eventually expose his work. Expose him.

He took some comfort in knowing the damage was already done. Only the final objective remained.

He checked the tiny icon on his task bar. The packet of malignant code remained within the boundaries of his system’s firewall—an array of servers and workstations securely housed inside the private quarters of his mother’s estate that made his system virtually untraceable.

After the last injection of malware delivered by a pineapple-packing drone, Drew’s phishing expedition located the folder containing specifics of Senator Burnsworth’s blackmail. Drew had hit the jackpot.

His breach into Northstar Security Firm’s computer network was complete. The reality exceeded his wildest expectations. He’d accessed several encrypted incoming and outgoing communications between Northstar’s operatives, allowing him to select which confidential documents to send to the news outlets and which ones to keep for his coup de grâce. The Burnsworth leak had been like chum to the Beltway media sharks.

As soon as he’d stolen the material, he shut down his search program. He’d needed Miss Goody-Two-Shoes Richards to think she’d resolved the network breach. She’d been getting close, but he had one last delivery to make.

He leaned back in his ergonomic chair, fingers at rest on the keyboard. His life was at a virtual crossroad.

Despite the air conditioning that kept the state-of-the-art computers running at an optimum, sweat beaded on his forehead. His heart pounded as though searching for a way free of his chest. Seconds became minutes as his index finger hovered over the DELETE key while he considered the consequences.

He wiped sweat from his face. In another twenty-four hours—two days at the most—he’d begin the final phase to secure his brother’s release from prison and ultimately bring joy back to their mother.

He gazed at the woman smiling back at him from the picture frame on his desk. The decision to break the law was easy—a price he’d gladly pay for their mother’s happiness.

The alarm on his computer chimed. If he was going forward with the plan, then he had to do it now, while he still had access to Northstar’s system.

His fingers flew over the keyboard. With fewer than thirty keystrokes, he inserted the last of his packets through the breach in the firewall. He was single-handedly bringing the arrogant security firm to its knees. As a bonus, he’d make them believe one of their own had betrayed them. That was his never-get-caught card—not only would they not come looking for him, Northstar would be chasing someone else.

****

After an hour working on the program to track down Northstar’s hacker, Allison was no closer to finding his physical address. She’d started a trace program to analyze the hacker’s first known entry. She’d also started another script to review the files he’d visited while inside the network. If there was any pattern to his attacks, the script might find enough information to get a fix on the guy.

A crash came from the kitchen, breaking her concentration.

“Aunt Allison! When are you gonna make dinner?” Mitchell’s plea carried clearly through the house.

Despite the clock displayed on her screen, she’d lost track of time. It was a personal hazard whenever she sat at the computer. She bookmarked the file and hit the SAVE icon. When she entered the kitchen, Mitchell had the pantry door open and was rummaging inside, a couple of cans of soup rolled near his feet.

“What are you doing?” She walked up behind her nephew and grabbed his wrist hard enough to make him drop a candy bar he’d found.

“Ouch!”

“No candy before dinner.” She took him by the shoulder and pointed to the floor. “Clean up this mess, and then put your books away. While you wash up, I’ll cook the noodles and hard-boil some eggs.”

Mitchell punched the air. “Yes!” He picked up the soup cans and put them on the shelf. After he left the pantry, he gathered his books off the table, carried them to a sideboard by the wall, and dropped them with a loud thud. “Remember. No onions in mine.”

“I’ll put the chopped onions in a separate bowl. You can add them to your dish or not, as you like.” She turned to see him pull his computer tablet out of a pocket and turn it on. “No games. Go wash your hands, then set the table.”

“Come on. Just a short one?”

“Later.”

“All right.” He left the room, shoulders drooping a little.

Allison figured he’d still sneak in some playing time. Hopefully, he wouldn’t drop the new tablet in the sink. The top-of-the-line unit had cost her a few hundred dollars, plus a disastrous blind date with the salesperson’s friend to get a pre-release of the latest version for Mitchell’s Christmas present. Not an experience she wanted to repeat.

She set the water to boil for eggs and noodles. Moving to the middle counter, she pulled out the cutting board to chop leftover chicken and half an onion.

A noise from behind startled her, causing the knife to slip and nearly cut her finger. “Damnit.”

“I heard that,” Mitchell yelled from the bathroom.

“You’d better be using soap, brat,” she called while turning around. Still holding the knife, she faced Sloan and blurted the first thing that came to her. “What do you think you’re doing sneaking up on me?”

“I made noise.” He lifted an eyebrow as though that should have been enough to announce his presence.

“You should be more careful.” She pointed the knife at him. “You never know how a person is going to react.”

He stared at the knife and took a step back. “You’re the jumpy one here.” He nodded toward the cutting board. “What are you making?”

She sighed inwardly. He was right. She was jumpy. It seemed there was no way to avoid the man and still show good manners. “Ramen noodles. It’s a recent favorite of Mitchell’s, sans the onion. I hope you’re not picky.”

“I’m hungry. Hungry doesn’t get to be picky.” He nodded at the package. “Don’t most kids like noodles?”

“Yes, but he just got a Japanese Samurai computer game, so now he’s fascinated with everything Japanese, including eating with chopsticks.”

“Sounds…interesting.”

“You mean simple. Why don’t you just come out and say it?”

“Say what?”

“You hate this situation as much as I do.” She didn’t want him dissing her home, her nephew, or anything else in her personal life. So why was she egging him into an argument? He didn’t want to be here any more than she wanted him here. Especially since she couldn’t avoid how good he smelled, not to mention how he looked so comfortable…in her childhood home.

“Despite being stranded in this one-horse town,” Sloan said. “I’m making an effort to be civil.”

She opened her mouth to defend her hometown when his words sank in. He was right. In addition, his refined manners made her look childish. What she needed was polite distance. Like strangers. Behave as if this entire situation hadn’t already upset her peace of mind today.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you’d love to stay anywhere else but here.”

“There is nowhere else, so don’t beat yourself up over it.” A thoughtful look crossed his face and he walked toward her with the menace of a stalking cougar. “Does my presence here upset you that much?” One more step and he entered her space.

She slid along the counter, away from the dangerous gleam in his eyes, pushing the cutting board over to the corner next to the sink. “I’ll manage.” She realized he was taunting her—watching every reaction. Even at the office, he’d never blatantly invaded her space as he was doing now. Reflexively, she brought the knife level with her chest.

He glanced at it, smoothly removing it from her hand and placing it beside the cutting board. Obviously, he didn’t consider her little kitchen knife much of a threat. “You might as well get used to the idea that I’m here.” A gleam flared in his eyes. “For the entire night.”

“I know.” The tight reply squeaked from her throat. “I said I was sorry.”

His sheer magnetism evoked a raw, feminine reaction inside her, stirring up feelings she wasn’t prepared to deal with. She tried to skirt around him and return to her dinner preparations, but he cut her off. She rarely felt small next to anyone, yet his height dwarfed her five foot ten inches. She stepped back, hoping distance would diminish the overwhelming urge to lean into him.

He followed, forcing her retreat until she was cornered. “How sorry are you, Allison?” His spicy scent surrounded her like a seductive lover. “Will you make me sleep on the couch or a bed?”

She licked her lips to ease the sudden dryness. “A bed,” she squeaked. The pounding of her heart was relentless and she raised a hand to her chest.

“Which room are you putting me in for the night?”

Visions of him sleeping in her bed, his warm body pressed against hers, popped into her head. What was she thinking? “You can’t sleep in my room.” Her answer came out in a whisper.

A wicked grin crossed his face. He placed his hand on the counter beside her. “No?” he whispered near her ear. His deep, rich voice slid down her spine, tripping the nerve endings in her legs. It took all of her willpower to stay standing.

“No.” Even to her, the protest sounded weak.

His hand came to rest on her shoulder. The warm, suggestive touch nearly buckled her knees.

“What happened to the feisty lab tech I know from Northstar? Where’s your fight?”

She pressed her palm against his chest. His hand curled around hers, holding her fast. Heat from his fingers belied the cold outside. No one was that hot-blooded.

His warm breath fanned her cheek as he leaned in closer. “Surely, we can find a way to get along.”

Her breath stalled, as well as any thought of resisting him. Was he going to kiss her? Her brain, brilliant as it was, couldn’t conjure up a single reason to stop him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. It seemed as though another person had taken over her body, urging her to drop her defenses and let the moment happen. A small sigh of acceptance escaped her slightly parted lips.

Sloan’s eyes glittered as he lowered his head, his mouth mere centimeters from hers.

She closed her eyes, anticipating total sensory input. Time stopped as she waited for the first touch of a man’s lips since before the shooting.

“Aunt Allison! The eggs are boiling!”

Her eyes flew open just as Mitchell stepped up to the stove on the center island and peered at the boiling water.

Sloan slowly retreated—too slowly.

She ducked under his arm, away from his searing touch, squashing the urge to run to Mitchell’s side. She hurried to the stove and turned down the water, wishing she could douse the heat in her body as easily.

****

Dinner was a disaster. Allison took a drink of water to ease her dry lips and then set the glass down on the kitchen table. Perhaps the onions had triggered a chemical reaction in her bloodstream. Something had to explain her uncharacteristic awareness of Sloan.

He sat across the table from her. Every gesture—every little detail—demanded her attention. He’d rolled up the sleeves on his mint-green button-down shirt. She was fascinated by the hairs on the back of his wrist and how the golden strands curled over his watchband. She couldn’t stop watching the way the muscles in his forearm flexed as he worked the chopsticks, negotiating noodles to his mouth without them splattering back into the soup.

She looked away from his mouth and found him staring back at her. When he unexpectedly winked, she nearly dropped her chopsticks. With some effort, she averted her gaze and laid the sticks next to her bowl, curling her hand to keep it from shaking.

After the shooting, she’d endured reconstructive surgery and months of rehabilitation on her upper arm. Even though she worked out with weights daily to rebuild muscle strength, she hadn’t completely regained normal use, probably never would. Ultimately, she was resigned to doing everything left-handed.

Relearning the computer keyboard and mouse hadn’t been too difficult, but chopsticks presented a particular challenge. If Mitchell hadn’t insisted on using them with their Japanese-style meal, she would’ve used a fork. Pride hadn’t saved her from embarrassment.

“So, why did you come to Idaho?” Mitchell asked Sloan.

Sloan finished chewing and threw a cautious look at Allison. “To help your aunt with a company project she’s working on.”

Mitchell peered over his chopsticks at her. “I thought you were on vacation?”

Giving up on dinner, she slid her bowl aside. She’d lost her appetite anyway, especially after being reminded of the hacker. This was more than a company project. Sloan was being nice about her failure to protect the firm. “This just came up today.”

“Is it real detective work, like at your job? Can I help?”

She shook her head. “You have a history report to finish.”

Mitchell scowled. “There won’t be school tomorrow. Besides, the report’s not due yet.”

“You don’t want to gamble your grade against the snowstorm, do you? You promised your mom you’d be on the honor roll this semester.”

“Only ‘cause she told me I was as smart as you,” Mitchell argued.

Allison noticed that Sloan had tuned in to their exchange. He hadn’t rolled his eyes or looked bored, but seemed genuinely interested. She had a sudden urge to keep him apart from Mitchell and a recitation of their family’s affairs. Offering Sloan a window into the things she held closest to her heart made her uncomfortable. “Finish your report tonight. No arguments—or else.”

“Or else, what?” Mitchell taunted.

“No games.”

Mitchell made a face, but held his tongue. Those games were his world. Taking them away was her only leverage.

“What kind of history report?” Sloan asked.

“American Revolution.” Mitchell rolled his eyes as he answered. “Borrr-ing.”

Sloan gave him an indulgent smile. “And what isn’t boring?”

“My game isn’t.”

“Your aunt mentioned that you’re really into it. Tell me about it.”

“It’s called Warrior Code. About Japanese Samurai. Aunt Allison made it.” Mitchell’s face lit up as he launched into an explanation of a game episode.

“That sounds impressive.” Sloan looked at Allison. “How do you have time to program video games when you’ve been chasing this hacker twenty-four/seven?”

“I haven’t worked on it since the hacks started. This version is a prototype I started last summer. I picked up the new tablet over the holidays. Coming home for a break was my first chance to test the game on the new platform.”

“So it has sword battles, secret messages, and noble journeys?”

“There’s some of that,” she admitted. “I developed it for pre-teens. I thought it might be fun and educational at the same time.”

“Loyal Samurai fighting for their warlords.”

“Exactly.” Allison started at Sloan’s perceptiveness. “There’s a code of honor, of loyalty and dedication that I admire from that period.”

“Aunt Allison made the best game in the whole world!” Mitchell beamed with pride.

“That’s high praise, kiddo, but it won’t get you out of homework,” she reminded him.

Mitchell’s shoulders slumped. “Okay.” He stabbed at his noodles.

Sloan glanced at her and then at the disappointed boy. “Did you know that Japanese Shogun were alive while the American Revolution was being fought?”

Mitchell sat up and looked at Sloan. “Yeah? So?”

“While the Samurai fought for their Warlords, there were warriors in this country, fighting for liberty and freedom from the oppressive laws of the British.”

“Really?” Mitchell’s face shone with curiosity.

Sloan continued to expound on the historical timeline. Allison watched her nephew try to understand how concurrent events in history could take place on opposite sides of the world. Events that, thanks to Sloan, might finally interest Mitchell.

As she cleared away the dinner dishes, she felt a twinge of jealousy. She regularly exchanged e-mails with Mitchell about his school subjects, and often helped him with math and science. But when it came to history, she had her own mental blocks.

She was glad Sloan had found a way to pique the boy’s curiosity and perhaps overcome his aversion to the one subject she had struggled with in school. Sloan’s approach was so simple—relating the study of history to his game play—she mentally kicked herself for not seeing that solution.

Allison finished loading the dishwasher and wiped the counter. There were no leftovers to put away. Mitchell always seemed to eat twice his body weight, even though he was as skinny as a mop handle. Sloan had put away his share of noodles and chicken, as well. Either he’d been famished, or her cooking wasn’t so bad after all. Whatever the reason, she felt absurdly pleased he seemed to enjoy the meal.

Wiping her hands, she studied the two heads bent over Mitchell’s textbook.

Sloan’s light-brown hair almost touched Mitchell’s flaming red head. The two were caught up in the adventures of the past, talking and sharing as though they had done it for years, instead of hours.

The cozy scene was engaging and poignant. The tug of emotion was so foreign it caught her off guard. It wasn’t a feeling of being alone, but one of emptiness.

Loneliness.

In that moment, being Aunt Allison wasn’t enough. She wanted more—a home, a family of her own. A husband and children.

A husband? Thoughts of marriage hadn’t crossed her mind since she was a little girl. Like most girls, she figured she’d someday have a home and kids. After she’d graduated from college, she was more than content with her single status. Visiting her sister provided plenty of mothering opportunities with Mitchell without making the total commitment.

Logically, Allison knew that just because Caroline’s first marriage had been a disaster, it didn’t mean her own relationships would fail. Regrettably, most dates she’d been on hadn’t convinced her differently. Eventually, Caroline had fallen in love and married Ed Tallon, Allison’s high school teacher. Ed provided Mitchell with a father who doted on him and he made Caroline happy. Second chances at love were as important as second chances at life.

Allison’s second chance at life happened when the bullet hadn’t killed her. During convalescence, she’d mapped out her life for years to come. A career. Travel. A chance to grab onto life—do and see what her dead partner couldn’t. It was a debt she owed because Reggie had died saving her life. A debt she intended to repay.

Marriage and children weren’t on any road signs she’d painted for herself. Yet, Sloan Cartland, the poster boy for broken hearts from the Potomac to Broadway, had triggered the unbelievable notion that she was missing a chance at love.

She shuddered at the thought of Sloan discovering her feelings. He might be playing around, but she was experiencing emotions she’d never felt before and didn’t fully understand.

As though he felt her stare, he glanced up. Their gazes locked. She hoped the longing she felt inside didn’t show on her face.

His speculative expression ignited a slow burn in her middle that began to spread. Heat burned on her cheeks, yet she couldn’t drag her eyes away. Then he smiled. That triumphant, wicked smirk. Just like that, the spell—more like a hex—was broken.

****

Sloan watched Allison rush from the room. Although her sweatshirt wasn’t as formfitting as the top she’d worn under those coveralls, she still looked as delicious going as she did coming.

When he caught her staring at him, her expression unguarded, he wondered what she was thinking. Her perpetual mask had dropped, exposing a rare glimpse at some turbulent emotion. He was beginning to recognize Allison as a sensual, attractive female. One totally devoted to her family. It was hard to imagine she was the same woman who had hidden inside the plain, white lab coat at Northstar for the last eight months. She was sexy. The transformation defied explanation.

The relief he’d felt at finding her in the garage, unharmed, took him by surprise. A vague yearning remained even after he arrived at her house. Tonight, he’d witnessed a softer side of the cyborg as she prepared the meal. Taunting her in the kitchen had been fun, although he’d taken his life in his hands when he backed her into a corner. To his amazement, she hadn’t really resisted. Had it not been for the pint-sized interruption, he would have kissed her. Probably enjoyed it, too. Even her obvious devotion to family was sexy.

He didn’t understand this odd attraction. He had always thought of her as standoffish, prickly to the point of being rude. Prudish—well, maybe he needed to rethink the prudish part. His reaction left him with an uncomfortable tightness in his gut, and lower. What he was experiencing was only animal magnetism. Good old-fashioned lust. Something he could, and should, control. It was bad policy to mix it up with a coworker.

Yet, he couldn’t deny this curiosity about Allison Richards, especially after the sparks they’d generated. This Allison, the one without the lab coat, made the prospect of being stranded in a blizzard much more appealing than when he’d first pushed his way through the snowdrifts toward her house. He looked forward to their battles becoming a lot more interesting.

Even the preteen chaperone seemed to be on his side, sharing his game and asking for help with homework.

“There. How’s that sound?”

Mitch’s question brought Sloan’s attention to the last page of the history report. After a quick review, he said, “Reads good, my man. Did you count the pages to make sure you have enough?”

“Yup. There’s five.” Mitch grinned at him, showing his oversized front teeth. “Do you think Aunt Allison will let me play my game now?”

“Well, she said you had to finish the report. Looks to me like you’ve met the requirement.”

Mitch slid his chair away from the table and gathered his books. He paused and looked at Sloan. “You want to play with me?”

Mitch’s invitation surprised him. Having rarely associated with children, he didn’t realize he could actually relate to one. “I’d like to, but I think it’s time to give your aunt a hand.”

Mitch nodded knowingly. “Yeah. She could probably use your help. You’re good at homework.”

“Best to not let her hear you say that,” Sloan whispered. “She thinks she’s pretty smart.”

Mitch’s chest puffed out proudly. “She is. Mom says Aunt Allison’s smarter than my dad and he’s a special professor at the college, now. But you’re smart, too.” He paused, his gaze growing thoughtful. “At least in history, you are. So maybe you could help her.”

“Thanks for the vote, champ.” Sloan stood. “Which way is the office?”

“Through there.” Mitch pointed toward a room off the kitchen. “Hey, I just thought of something.” He walked to the window over the kitchen sink and looked outside. “I’ll bet the roads are still closed. How’re you gonna get home?”

Sloan hesitated. He hated being stranded, but supposed there were much worse places to end up. How would Mitch feel about him staying overnight? After all, this was his parents’ house and he didn’t want to do something that might upset the boy. “Well…I’m sort of stranded. I was hoping I could stay here for the night. Would that be okay with you?”

Mitch grinned. “Yeah! That’d be great. Let’s go tell Aunt Allison.”

Mitch rushed out of the kitchen while Sloan followed at a cautious pace. He was certain Aunt Allison wasn’t nearly as excited as her nephew about him staying over.

They found Allison sitting in the corner of the office, staring at the computer, lines of indecipherable characters streaming across the light-gray screen. A second monitor attached to the PC seemed to have just as much gibberish on the screen.

“Aunt Allison. Sloan can’t leave tonight with the roads closed, so he’s gonna spend the night. I told him it was okay.” Mitch hesitated. “Is it okay with you?”

She paused before turning away from the computer. Sloan guessed they had interrupted her train of thought, but noticed she regrouped to address her nephew. He sensed reluctance on her part to disappoint the boy.

She looked at Sloan, and then at Mitch’s hopeful face. “I know. Do you think he can sleep in the guest room?”

“Sure!” Mitch bounced on his toes. “That’ll be perfect. He’ll be right across the hall from me.”

Sloan wondered where that put him in relation to Allison’s room, then stopped the thought cold. Not a place for him to go, tonight, or any night. He needed to focus on helping her catch the hacker, instead of spending the night with the cyborg queen—even though her legs stretched from here to Boise.

It was a strange sensation for him to be at the mercy of a woman and young boy. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t controlled most of his circumstances. Independence and total management of any situation was something he’d done for too many years to count.

“Why don’t you show Sloan where the guest room and bathroom are?” Allison asked Mitch.

“Okay!” He gave his aunt a quick hug. “Thanks.”

With his fate settled, at least for the night, Allison turned her attention back to the computer. Sloan hid his smile at her subtle attempt to get rid of him. Too late. I see you now and you have my full attention.

Mitch tugged his shirt. “Come on, Sloan.”

The kid’s enthusiasm was contagious and he felt bad putting a damper on it. “Will you show me later, champ? I think I’ll stay here and help your aunt.”

Allison glanced up. “I don’t—”

“Oh, right.” Mitch cut her off. “Sloan’s real good at homework. I finished my report. So I can play my game. Right?”

Two against one. Sloan almost felt sorry for her. He enjoyed watching her squirm, and saw the exact moment she gave in. Mitch’s persuasion was tough to resist. And she appeared to have quite a weak spot for the boy. He had to admit, he enjoyed watching her cave—something she rarely did back at the lab.

She looked at her watch, then gave the boy a stern look. “You can play for an hour. Then get your things ready for school, just in case.”

Mitch scrunched up his nose, but didn’t argue. “I’ll come back in a while to show you around, Sloan.” He held out his fist.

“Deal.” Sloan bumped knuckles with the kid.

Mitch practically ran out the door to get to his game.

Allison pushed her glasses up on her nose. “Thank you for helping him with his homework.”

“Don’t stretch that gratitude muscle too much—you haven’t seen his grade yet. For all I know, he’ll get an F on the report and blame you for letting me help him.”

“Mitchell’s not like that.” Then, Allison did something he couldn’t recall ever seeing her do. She smiled at him. A genuine, sincere smile that made her eyes glow from the inside and soften her face.

A shock of discovery and delight coursed through him. He couldn’t help responding. He smiled back.