Chapter One

FBI Cyber Attack Team Office, Washington, D.C., Present Day

 

The invitation to hell popped into Sam’s personal email in-box two minutes before he was headed to lunch. His appetite jumped ship as fast as a puppy went after a tennis ball. How had they even gotten his email address? As far as he knew, he’d left his prep school days behind with no plans to return. Ever. Not even for his ten-year reunion.

Agent Suarez stuck his head into the doorway. “Cooper, you ready to go?” Sam looked up from his screen. Suarez stepped fully into the office. “Need a rain check?”

“No, why?” Sam asked.

“You look like my pregnant wife does every morning before she loses her midnight snack. Need a bucket?” Jack bent to lift the small trash can in the corner and thrust it toward Sam, who recoiled.

“I’m not going to vomit. Put my trash can down.” He rose and grabbed his jacket. “Let’s go.”

As the men wound through the maze of cubicles and private offices toward the exit, Jack asked, “What put that look on your face? Work or personal?”

Sam unconsciously patted the phone in his pocket. “I got an email invitation to my ten-year high school reunion.”

“So?” Jack asked. “What’s terrible about that? No date, and you want a hot woman on your arm?”

He swallowed, hating to even dwell on his teen years. “I was kind of a loser in high school. Those were not remotely the best years of my life, and I have no desire to rehash them with a bunch of people who ignored me then and haven’t made an effort to contact me since.”

Jack clapped him on the back. “Got news for you, Cooper. We work in the cyber security division of the FBI. We were all losers in high school.”

Sam laughed, because it was true. He worked with a bunch of computer geeks. Granted, they were now computer geeks who carried weapons and had the right to arrest bad guys, which upped their cool factor. “At least I’ve grown an inch or seven since high school.”

“Late growth spurt?” Jack asked.

“I was five-five until my freshman year of college. I had to essentially buy a new wardrobe overnight.”

“I wish that had happened to me.” Jack said almost wistfully, and Sam glanced down at his partner, who was five-nine on a good day. “If I were suddenly six feet tall and now an FBI agent, I’d go back to my high school reunion and rub it in the faces of every person who was ever mean to me.” Jack glanced over at Sam and correctly read the expression on his face. “Not going to happen, huh?”

“Never. There were a handful of friends from school who were cool, and I still keep in touch with them.”

“Like the infamous Arianna Rose?” Jack asked with a knowing laugh. It was common knowledge around the office that Sam had gone to high school with the year’s biggest scandal in America. Arianna Rose’s father had operated a Ponzi scheme to rival Bernie Madoff’s and then fled the country, leaving Arianna as the public and only face of the Rose family.

“Yes, like Arianna,” Sam replied, still a little sensitive about the ribbing he’d taken for months for defending his flighty but trustworthy friend. Luckily, Arianna had lived up to his trust and helped the authorities track down her father. “There aren’t that many other people from Montgomery Prep that I want or need to see again.”

“What about your girl crush? Don’t you want see if she put on the freshman fifty? Rub it in her face what she missed out on?”

“Fifteen,” Sam corrected. “I believe the correct term is freshman fifteen.”

“I know, but in her case, you’re hoping for fifty.”

Sam froze silently in front of the elevator bay. His girl crush had never put on the freshman fifteen. She’d kept her killer body all through high school, college, and still had it. At least she had last time Sam had stalked her on social media. “No. She knows exactly what she missed out on and isn’t mourning for a second. No high school reunion for me.”

 

Montgomery Preparatory School, 2001

 

“Welcome, new freshmen, to Montgomery Prep. Thank you for giving up your last day of summer break to come get oriented.” A tall, austere woman stood in front of the classroom addressing the thirty or so fourteen-year-olds who were sitting as far back in the room as they could. The front row remained empty. Sam had arrived slightly early, and, not quite understanding the social dynamics his peers seemed to intuit, had sat in the second row, center desk, then watched in dismay as all the other kids shuffled in, finding seats in the last row and working their way up.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” the woman continued. They’d been told that she was Ms. Reamer, their freshman coach, but not like a PE coach. Sam had never heard of a coach who didn’t do sports. Already things were weirdly different from his public middle school. “I’m going to ask you all to stand up and we’re going to get started on the first activity to help us all get to know one another.”

Uneasily the kids looked around at each other, no one wanting to be the first to stand. Ms. Reamer approached the front corner desk and said loudly, “Don’t all stand at once.” She smiled as if she were the school’s version of Chris Rock. “To get to know one another, you’re going to arrange yourselves in alphabetical order by first name and reseat yourselves starting at this front desk. You have four minutes. Go.”

There was a mad scramble and a cacophony of blurted names as the kids raced, eager to accomplish their first task at their new school and prove they were worthy of being students at what was considered the best private college preparatory school in the Metro D.C. region.

They bumped into each other and shouted their names, trying to figure out which desk would be their own. Sam hated stuff like this and hoped this wasn’t a precursor to the next four years. There were at least six different better ways to approach this task, yet they all insisted on acting like imbeciles. Why wasn’t someone taking charge? Why wasn’t he?

“Two minutes,” Ms. Reamer called, and a moment of panicked silence fell before the chaos rose again. They spent the next two minutes trying to get themselves seated properly until “Time!” The final two kids standing made a mad dash for seats.

A hush fell over the now slightly sweaty occupants of the room, but they were fourteen— BO was one of those sorry facts of life.

“Not bad,” Ms. Reamer said, standing at the front. “But not great, either. Let’s check your work.” She pointed to the front corner desk. “Name.”

“Alex.”

“Amanda.”

They continued down the rows until a red-faced Erica and Eric had to swap seats. Holy crap, how was that Eric kid only in ninth grade? He looked like a senior. Junior at the minimum. Sam tried to memorize as many names and faces as he could, but being in the last row now had its disadvantages.

When the last kids had said their names, Ms. Reamer said, “One of the things you will learn during your years at Montgomery Prep is teamwork and leadership. I didn’t see either of those things happening during that exercise. What was something you could’ve done to expedite the process?”

Sam raised his hand while a lot of his new classmates were visibly trying to define “expedite.” But he didn’t get called on. Instead, Eric called out, “Name tags,” hoping to get a laugh. Sam inwardly groaned. The guy was big and thought he was a comedian.

“That’s an idea,” Ms. Reamer answered diplomatically. “Any other ideas?”

Sam raised his hand again, but a girl with long, straight reddish-blond hair seated near the front answered. “We could’ve divided the room into three sections. A through H up front, I to O in the middle, and P to Z in back. Then from there, if we’d said our names one at a time in the group, it would’ve gone faster.”

“Excellent idea, Casey. So good, I think we’ll try it. But this time, we’ll alphabetize by last name, and the Z’s will start us off in front and work toward the A’s in the back.”

Ms. Reamer barely had the words “Ready, go” off her tongue before the new freshmen were out of their seats and scrambling to get themselves in the right seats.

Sam stayed where he was and was pleased when the take-charge girl, Casey, headed toward him. About seven kids huddled in the last row, and when Casey pointed at them, they said their last names and stood on either the left or right of the person who’d gone before, depending on their last name. It was much faster and less chaotic than the first go-round, but still tricky because last name spellings were more complicated than first names.

“Cooper,” Sam said, and Casey, whom he now noticed was extremely pretty, grinned.

“Me too,” she said.

“Ooh, you’ll have to sit on his lap,” Eric, whose last name was Cohen, said.

“You’ll never work in a library,” Casey informed him. “First name?” she asked Sam.

“Sam, Sam Cooper. So you’ll be on my left.” He shifted over to make room for the redhead, or maybe her hair was blond. He couldn’t exactly pick one color, as every time the light hit it or she turned, the strands of her hair looked blonder or redder.

“I like the lap option,” Eric said, who was on Casey’s left. He patted his own. “You could sit on mine.”

Casey ignored him and turned to Sam, who couldn’t take his gaze off her. She was so much prettier than any girl in his old school. He racked his brain trying to think of something clever to say, but was interrupted.

“Done,” Ms. Reamer announced. “Two minutes, seven seconds. Excellent work.” They all sat a little straighter, decidedly pleased with themselves. “Enjoy these seats: you’ll be here for the rest of the day.”

They spent the rest of the day playing games and going over school rules. For most of the activities they had to pair up with the person sitting next to them, and for Sam it was Casey Cooper. She was nice. Way nicer than he expected a girl with her looks to be. By the end of the day, they were exchanging jokes and sly sideways smiles whenever Eric made a boneheaded comment. There were a lot of smiles.

Sam went home from orientation psyched for the first day of school in a new place where he already had a friend. He came home on the second day of school friendless.

 

Montgomery Prep, Present Day

  

Casey Cooper hung up her handset on her pristine desk knowing she had a frown and that it was going to cause a headache if she couldn’t relax her facial muscles. Or maybe it was that she’d neglected to put on the glasses that the doctor claimed she needed if she was going to be staring at computer screens and small print documents all day, every day. Whatever. Doctors didn’t know everything.

As cute as her glasses were, they didn’t project the image she wanted and therefore they disappeared into a drawer whenever she had an in-person meeting with a potential big donor to Montgomery Prep. She’d given a newly elected congresswoman and her children a tour of the school this morning along with the director of admissions. Not the usual protocol, but here in the nation’s capital, certain things needed a little finessing. The type of finesse at which she was an expert.

After the tour, she’d returned to her office to check on the RSVPs for the various reunion invitations that had gone out that morning. She’d been pleased to see a handful had trickled in for the class celebrating their twenty-year reunion and one or two positive responses for the ten-year reunion, her own class reunion.

Annie, Casey’s assistant, poked her head through the doorway. “What do you think? Are they going to write the check?” Annie had only been in her employ for six months, but Casey knew it was going to work and had plans to groom Annie to blossom under her tutelage. Lucky girl.

“I think so.” She crossed her fingers and held them up in one of the girlish moves she was so good at faking. Back when she’d been queen bee of this school, she hadn’t earned that position haphazardly. It had taken study; it had taken work. One of the things she’d learned was that people responded to girlish confidence and playfulness. People wanted to be around the fun girl. And so, dammit, Casey was fun.

“Any new RSVPs?” Annie asked.

“One. Did the decorator call back yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Give her three more hours, then we’re on to the next one.”

Annie looked at her wide-eyed.

“What?” She couldn’t afford to lose yet another assistant, she mentally reminded herself, or the school would start to look at her as if she was difficult. She wasn’t difficult; she had high standards and required anyone who worked with her meet those standards.

“We only sent out the request for proposal this morning. Maybe we should give at least twenty-four hours?” Annie asked.

“We give a lot of business to them. The least they could do is return our calls in a timely manner.”

Annie stared at her a beat, then released a breath and glued a smile back on her face. “All right. I’ll send another email and queue up the next potential vendor.”

As soon as Annie’s back was turned, Casey released her own breath. Annie had a point. A quality decorator would be working and couldn’t immediately return her call with a proposal. She didn’t want to deal with a decorator who had hours to sit around waiting for a job, and she also didn’t want to deal with a bigger corporate company who had admin after admin on staff answering phones. She wanted—no, needed—the personal touch for the upcoming reunion.

She’d been back at her high school as an employee for a year and a half since moving from another, less prestigious, private school in Atlanta. In her short tenure, she’d pulled in some big donations, but she wanted to lay a foundation for big donors and huge participation from the alumni. Montgomery Prep only had thirty percent donation rates from their alumni. Thirty percent! That was unacceptable to Casey. She’d heard of some private schools in the area that had ninety percent. Which meant that Casey was going for one hundred percent.

And it all started at the reunion. Bring them back to their high school days, give them a good meal and alcohol, and hit them up while they were feeling sentimental, not to mention competitive. Nothing brought out the sharks like a high school reunion. Everyone attending was there because they wanted to show off how successful they were. Successful enough to write big, fat checks to her development office, she hoped.

That’s what she kept telling herself. The fact that this ten-year reunion was her own class reunion was irrelevant. Oh, who the hell was she kidding? Casey Cooper had been head bitch in charge of her senior year; boys had fought to date her and girls had copied her style. Ten years later, she wanted to prove she still had it. If she requested donations, her former classmates better pony up.

It was too bad Arianna Rose no longer had her trust fund at her disposal. One check from her could’ve easily hit her yearly target in one swoop. Last year, Arianna had been the first call Casey had made upon taking the director of development job at Montgomery Prep. Casey had actually felt a twinge of guilt calling on the girl she’d teased for being too artsy in high school, just like she’d felt guilty every time she’d taunted Arianna in school.

With Ari’s gorgeous red hair and loaded bank account, she easily could’ve knocked Casey off the most popular shelf if she’d chosen, so Casey had had to act. Best defense was a good offense, and all that sports metaphor junk. Casey had swallowed her self-loathing and teased a girl with whom, in all honesty, she could’ve been friends.

More than ten years later, Casey had extended an olive branch, called Arianna to apologize and take her for lunch. They’d shared a fun hour, reminiscing and circling the touchy subject of Casey being a bitch back in high school.

“Hell, you’re still a bitch.” Arianna had laughed. “But at least now I understand how to hold my own, and I respect the bitchiness to a degree. Sometimes it’s the only way to succeed.”

Yep, Casey had thought she’d found the mother lode: a friend who was rich enough to donate six figures to the school without blinking. And then Ari’s life had exploded and Casey was left scrambling to make her yearly quota the old-fashioned way: by calling donors to suck up. Damn Stanley Rose. She’d sent a hasty email to Ari to check in that her life was okay, but she hadn’t offered her assistance, and truthfully, she felt guilty that she hadn’t acted the part of a good friend. A good friend would’ve shown up at Ari’s house with meals and a bottle of wine.

Casey had rationalized it, telling herself that Arianna wasn’t truly a good friend, more of an acquaintance, really. Still…she didn’t like feeling guilty, so she’d sent flowers when she heard through the alumni grapevine that Ari was engaged.

Ten minutes later, there was a beep on her phone, which was Annie’s code that The Mothers were coming. The Mothers were an interchangeable group of parents—mostly moms of current students who volunteered a lot at the school. Casey had come up with the nickname a week after she’d started at Montgomery Prep. Their hours of commitment were commendable, but the women seemed to think it also extended to having a say in the running and daily operations of the school.

Thus far, Casey had had it easy with them. They’d been a great resource in volunteering with the school auction and staffing various booths at the annual spring alumni soccer game. Other school administrators, such as the curriculum specialist and the food services staff, had worse run-ins with The Mothers, and a big part of their job description was finding the balance between actually running the place and letting the parents think they ran the place.

Casey had no idea why a faction of The Mothers was at her door now, but they’d contacted her (directly, of course, in the parking lot at dismissal time when she’d been running out early to a doctor’s appointment; they didn’t like jumping through hoops and going through her admin) to request a minute of her time. No biggie, they’d said. Which of course meant that hours of Casey’s nonexistent free time would be spent dealing with whatever request they made.

“Mrs. Forrest, Mrs. Cho, thank you for coming in.”

“Please, call me Beth,” Mrs. Forrest said, and both women looked pleased she knew their names without needing a reminder.

“How can I help you today?” Casey gestured for them to sit on the small couch in her office she kept specifically for this purpose. When potential donors came in to chat, it was friendlier to have it feel like a living room than an office. She rolled her desk chair around the desk to face them.

“We’re here to talk about the auction.”

Because she was head of the development office—aka the fund-raising office—the auction fell under Casey’s purview. Most of her workdays in the spring were taken up by the event, which raised money for the school’s operating budget. A little-known fact about private schools was that most operated at a shortfall. The tuition did not cover the costs, which was why most schools solicited donations and held other large campaigns to pay for things like STEM labs and scholarships. Neither of these women was on the auction committee.

“What about the auction? Our weekly update meeting isn’t for another three days—perhaps you should join us there?” she suggested.

“It’s the caterer.”

Casey’s stomach tightened. “What happened to our caterer?” she asked, and waited for some tale of disaster highlighting why their usual dependable caterer wasn’t going to do the party, and she’d be scrambling for another caterer three months out.

“Nothing happened to the caterer.” Both moms looked at each other. “We’ve been talking.”

“Not just us,” Mrs. Cho added, “others too.”

Casey could imagine that the kind of “talk” that had been circling the tight-knit group of perennial volunteers was nasty in its nature. Many of the mothers at this school had advanced graduate degrees and were formerly high-level executives who left the work force and now donated their skills and energy to their children. Sometimes Casey wished they’d all lean in and get back to their own offices and out of hers. But they were also the lifeblood of the PTA. Nothing extracurricular would happen at the school without them.

“We feel the food our usual caterer serves isn’t up to par.”

“Friendship Academy had a conveyer belt sushi bar at their auction.”

“I hear what you’re saying,” Casey said slowly, trying to think diplomatically. “I’m open to exploring other options, but we must remember that the owner of the catering company we’ve used for years is a parent at the school. Not only that, he donates the company’s services and food at a significant discount. If we switch caterers, the new company would have to meet the pricing, otherwise the auction wouldn’t make as much money. That would be disappointing.”

Since the bottom-line dollar amount the auction made each year was a point of competition among the yearly chairs, Casey knew she’d hit upon a hot point. “Why don’t you two get some proposals from other companies and then present your findings to the auction committee when you have some new data?”

Mrs. Cho and Mrs. Forrest glanced at each other. It wasn’t the answer they’d wanted, but Casey refused to spend hours of her day calling caterers only to discover an answer she already knew. No one else was going to meet the price of their existing contract.

“All right,” one woman said slowly, as they rose and prepared to leave.

Casey opened her office door to usher them out and was startled to see Matthew Melles waiting outside. Matt was a man she’d met through work, and they’d gone out for drinks a few weeks ago. She’d only received one text from him after their date, so she was surprised to see him. “Hi, Matt. What are you doing here?”

“Ms. Cooper, introduce us to your friend,” Mrs. Forrest said in a flirtatious tone as she eyed Matt’s tall frame.

Casey had to acknowledge that he was ridiculously handsome in a prep school way. With his perfectly coifed black hair that had the right amount of product, and a suit that looked more Manhattan than D.C., Casey could see how he’d appeal to the women. All women. “This is Matthew Melles, and I’m glad you’re meeting him, because he owns a tutoring and online test prep company. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s called Test Ace.”

Both women shook their heads.

“We guarantee to raise your child’s GPA by a third and add five hundred points to their SAT score.” Like a magician, Matt pulled his company cards from a hidden breast pocket and handed one to each woman. “The best part is that all services are online so your kids with their busy schedules can find the time.” He gave them a dentist’s dream smile. “And you don’t have to schlep them anywhere.”

The women each slipped the card into their oversized pocketbooks and smiled at Matt before exiting. When they were gone, Casey rolled her chair back to the business side of the desk, then spun, surprised Matt had followed her. His pale pink shirt was a centimeter away from her lips. Close enough to smell his strong aftershave.

“Oh, um…” Casey was blocked in at her back and side by her desk.

He moved even closer, leaning down for a kiss. Their date had been fine, but she didn’t think they were on hello-kiss status yet. She turned her cheek and let him buss it.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” she said inanely. He’d been in Florida last week, as he’d explained via the text.

“I got back this morning and couldn’t wait to see you.”

“Wow. Really?”

“Of course.” He smiled and gave her space, moving back to lounge on her couch as if he owned it. “I had a great time on our date. I was hoping we could go for dinner tonight, so I stopped by to ask.”

“That’s really sweet.” And it was. She’d been iffy on the date. On paper, Matt was the perfect guy and good-looking to boot, but he hadn’t pushed Casey’s buttons. Perhaps she should give him another chance. Professional, handsome single men were a hot commodity in D.C.; it wasn’t smart to nix one because she hadn’t wanted to jump in bed with him after an hour together. “All right. I should be finished with work around six.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up then.” He stood. “Thanks for pitching my company to those moms. They’re the opinion makers and my bread and butter.”

“It was no problem. Happy to help. Of course, the school can’t officially recommend one test-prep service over another, but we do keep a list of recommended tutors and prep companies. I can try to find out how you get your name on the list.”

“That would be great.” He came closer as if he were going to try to kiss her again, but instead he glanced at her desktop. “Wow that’s an old computer. I thought at a school like this, you’d be kitted out with the latest tech.”

“They save that for the students. We employees get the old stuff, but the hope is to upgrade everyone’s system with money raised at the auction this year, so cross your fingers we raise enough.”

He raised a hand with all his fingers crossed. It looked as though he’d had a manicure. While Casey was an equal opportunist and liked that a man was into personal grooming, she wasn’t sure how she felt about Matt’s fingers being as nice as hers. “Good luck. I’ll pick you up after work,” he called as he exited her office.

  

Sam bit into his sandwich and chewed, listening to the conversation swirl around him. Though their offices were located in downtown D.C., and there were a ton of cheap and tasty options, today they’d chosen to buy their food from the government cafeteria. Frequently he brought his own lunch from home to save money, but he’d overslept this morning and raced out the door.

Gathered around him were three other members of his Cyber Action team, a division of the cyber crimes unit of the FBI. On his left was his partner, Jack, and across from him was Ted Sanders, the special agent in charge of the unit. It was a rare event Ted joined them in the cafeteria, as he was usually meeting with muckety-mucks and other VIPs, trying to convince them their squad needed more funding.

“We got another report from the IC3,” Ted said, and Sam’s attention was immediately caught. The IC3 was the online complaint center for the FBI where people could report attempted hacks, phishing scams, and more. Basically it was a nightmare of a flood of complaints, some legit, and many from people who had nothing better to do than complain about annoying emails they claimed were spam. For Ted to mention a report from the complaint center meant something valid was happening.

“Another private school, this time in Arizona, logged a complaint that they had suspicious activity, but they’re not even sure if money got stolen, credit card numbers or what.” Ted shook his head. “These schools have millions of dollars on the line, but don’t invest in their IT. I don’t get it.”

Jack piped up, “Sam does. He’s from that world.”

Sam swallowed as all eyes turned in his direction. “Not really.”

“Yes, you are,” Jack said and poked him in the upper arm. “Show them. You got invited to your ten-year reunion.”

“That’s right,” Ted said. “I forgot you went to Montgomery Preparatory.” Since Ted rarely forgot any details, Sam could only guess he was playing it coy about his own children applying to Montgomery Prep in the next year. Sam had rightfully claimed he had no sway with the admissions staff at the school, but Ted must not have believed him. It was going to get uncomfortable at work if Ted thought Sam could help get his kids accepted at the exclusive prep school. Sam didn’t earn nearly enough salary to make the kind of donations that gained him traction with the school.

“I went there for high school, but I haven’t been back there since I graduated. I’m sure it’s a very different place, and I don’t know much about the inner workings of private schools,” Sam said.

“Were there other complaints?” Jack asked.

“Three private schools in the last month have logged complaints,” Ted said. “I doubt any of them are connected. My guess in all three cases is that it’s student hackers trying out their skills.” He glanced pointedly at Sam, who felt his cheeks heat.

As part of his admittance to the FBI, he’d had to confess that as a fifteen-year-old, he’d hacked into his school computer just to see if he could do it. He’d changed nothing, stolen nothing, and caused no harm. No one ever knew he was there, but Sam didn’t want anything to trip up his application, so he’d been up front about it. “Fine. That is something I know about.” Everyone at the table laughed, since Sam wasn’t alone in his youthful indiscretion. They were all members of CAT because they were hackers at heart.

“Are you sure they weren’t all related?” Sam asked, thinking swiftly and trying to find patterns.

Ted shrugged and slurped his coffee. “I suspect this case isn’t under our watch. Let someone in the general cyber team handle it. Almost no money was stolen from the schools, so the DOJ won’t take it on.”

“Maybe that wasn’t the goal,” Sam said, thinking rapidly. “Maybe they stole a little bit of money as a MacGuffin.”

His next sentence was drowned out by hoots and laughs at his use of the Hitchcock film term. He accepted the ribbing with a good-natured grin, but he didn’t lose his train of thought. “What if the financial theft was to hide the real goal?”

“What was the end goal, then?” Ted asked curiously.

“I have no idea.” He delved into thoughtful silence, continuing to eat his lunch as the others moved into a discussion about the latest trade for a new pitcher on the Nationals.

He returned to the office after lunch and headed to Ted’s private office. “Can I see the files on the private school hackings?”

“Why bother? We’re overloaded as it is, and these aren’t going to be a big deal. We won’t get a prosecutor to take it on.”

“Maybe not,” Sam replied, “but I want to take a look anyway, with your permission.”

“Fine.” His boss hit a few keys on his computer and sent the files to Sam. “Don’t waste too much time on this. We have bigger cases.”

“Agreed.” Sam returned to his desk and opened the email attachments with the intake files detailing the case. After reading all three files, he saw the cases might or might not be connected. Without knowing more, there was no way to tell, except that his gut instinct was telling him they were connected, and not individual hackings, as was the original thought.

He fired off an email to Ted requesting to take on the case because there was something he was missing. Something bigger than a few grand stolen from scholarship and athletic funding at some prestigious college preparatory schools. With permission to spend more time on the case, he’d find the connection. He knew it.

He wondered how many other schools had been hacked and hadn’t even realized it yet. Likely a lot. While he waited for Ted to give permission for him to delve into the case, he completed some other administrative tasks on his to-do list.

Finally, around three in the afternoon, he got the green light to take the lead on the private school hacks—he had access to assistance from research and they started making calls to various local private schools. From what they’d seen thus far, the schools hit were in urban to highly populated regions. All the schools had big donors and were in the top fifty of the national rankings. Hmm, it sounded familiar. Too familiar; exactly like his alma mater.

With that thought, the phone in his breast pocket felt like a weight because it held the invitation to his ten-year reunion. He’d been lying a little when he’d told Jack and his other colleagues he didn’t want anything to do with Montgomery Prep. The truth was, he’d liked high school most days. Academically it had been challenging. It had been the social life that had caused a few problems.

Sam had had a core group of good friends, most into computers and other academic pursuits like him, but they’d stuck to themselves and not been in the running for prom king or other activities that made you popular. His worst memories about high school revolved around Casey Cooper. She’d remained his friend slash nemesis from orientation through graduation. After their one day of friendship, Casey had entered ninth grade with a clear goal to be the most popular girl, and she’d nailed it with ease.

There’d been no place for Sam in her plan, and she’d dropped him quickly. He’d let her, because tagging after her would’ve been pathetic, though his crush on her never faded. If she’d been stupid or mean, he could’ve lost his fervor, but no, she’d done well academically, and she was never outright mean to him. She simply ignored him as if he weren’t in the grade.

So he’d taken to emailing or writing her little notes and leaving them in her locker. He’d done it once the third week of their freshman year in a lame attempt to gain her back as a friend. He never would’ve repeated the gesture if he hadn’t seen her smile widely when reading the note away from her friends. After that, it became his thing. At least once a week for four years, he wrote her tiny notes, sometimes with jokes, sometimes encouragement, and sometime really bad cartoons.

Somehow, Sam had always assumed that someday he’d summon the balls to do more than write her secret notes. He’d man up and ask her out and she’d fall madly in love with him and they’d live happily ever after. It hadn’t happened. It was never going to happen. Hell, he hadn’t spoken to Casey since their freshman year of college. Still, she was the one woman he held as the ideal woman to marry and start a family with.

He was an idiot. An idiot who had a case to solve, and Casey Cooper could help.

Shit. Sam picked up the phone, both excited and dreading the phone call. He didn’t have to talk to her. He could talk to someone else. After all, Casey worked in development. She had nothing to do with the school’s IT staff or anything remotely connected to the hackings. Still, she was his closest connection to the school, despite his parchment diploma from the place.

He made the call and got a bubbly admin named Annie, who made the assumption he was calling to respond to the ten-year reunion invitation. Her disappointment that he simply wanted to speak to Casey was palpable through the phone.

“I’ll consider attending the reunion,” he finally said, “if work allows.” He tried to make it seem he might be off doing dangerous undercover assignments, when in reality he’d be staring at a glowing computer screen, sitting on his ass most of the day. He loved his job, but sometimes he wished he lived the stereotype that people assumed when they heard he was an FBI special agent, especially given the name of his division. Cyber Action Team implied, well, action, and though they were always busy, always on the go, he’d never had to fire his weapon and likely wouldn’t have to. He did get to wear the cool navy FBI windbreaker when they stormed a building from which they suspected someone was running a cyber fraud ring.

It took an hour for Casey to call him back. Her voice was smooth, professional. Nothing in it hinted that after four years of ignoring him in high school, they’d kissed on graduation night. A kiss, despite its brevity and regrets, that was still the hottest kiss he’d ever had. At least in his memory. It probably hadn’t been that great. It was purely the glow of time settling on the memory. It was this kiss that kept Casey in his mind, even ten years after graduation. It kept her as the pinnacle of women and prevented him from getting serious about any of the women he dated.

The second her voice came over the line, Sam was transported back to high school, and his stomach clenched as his sweaty palm gripped the receiver. He heard words coming out of Casey’s mouth and heard his own mouth making responses, which was tricky, considering his brain was in an alternate universe.

“Sam, are you there?” he heard Casey ask.

“Um, yeah. Still here,” he answered.

“So you can do it?”

“Yeah, of course. Wait, do what?”

“Can you come to give a talk on careers in law enforcement on Career Day?” Casey asked, sounding a little impatient. “What’s up with you? I thought you would’ve changed since high school, especially being an FBI agent, but seems like you’re still living with your head in computer code.” It was something Casey had often teased him about.

Ironic, really, since he was always on the ball and on point until she was in his space. Then he couldn’t stop staring at her long almost-red hair and skin that looked softer than silk. As he’d gotten older, he’d also been nervous around her, waiting for her to tease him about leaving letters in her locker, but she’d never done that.

Casey Cooper was the one woman in the world who got his hyper-focused brain to short-circuit. If that wasn’t a reason to stay far away from her, he didn’t know what was. But circumstances and the alphabet had thrown them together time and again. With both of them having the last name Cooper, they always had to sit next to each other at any large school ceremony, including graduation. They were placed in the same required classes such as Intro to World History and, worst of all, PE. Freshman year, PE had been co-ed. What sadist had invented co-ed PE for high schoolers? Someone who liked to watch underdeveloped adolescent boys get their asses wiped up and down a lacrosse field in front of girls, that was who.

Sam forced his mind back to the present day. “Yes, I can come do Career Day. And I’ll be at our reunion,” he blurted, and then remembered to add, “if work allows.”

“Oh, okay, great.” Casey sounded as if she could not care less. “Gotta go.”

“Wait.” Sam remembered why he’d called in the first place. “Any chance Montgomery Prep’s been hacked recently?”

Casey’s tone suddenly sounded a lot less distant and a lot sharper. “Why do you ask? What have you heard?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Sam said cagily. It was a good tactic to let people think you knew a lot and they’d reveal more than you’d asked. Silence was his friend; an interrogation technique he’d picked up a few years back.

“As far as I know, we’re fine,” Casey said, “but I heard about Wooton.”

“What’d you hear?”

“That they were hacked and the parent body is freaking out that a lot of their personal information was leaked. It’s a total nightmare. Think about how much data a school has on each student and their family.”

There was an awkward moment of silence as they both remembered that back when Sam had been in high school, he’d hacked into the school’s database to see if he could. As he’d told his employer, he’d touched and changed nothing, especially because he’d been careful to only look at his own record. The problem was that the wrong Cooper had come up, and that was how he’d learned Queen Bee Casey’s dirty secret that she’d been a scholarship student, something she’d teased Sam about.

She was the only person ever, besides his boss, who knew what he’d done, and proving that adolescent boys were truly idiots, he’d gone to Casey in a lame attempt to bond with her over both of them being on scholarship.

Unfortunately, his plan had backfired and, instead of it bringing them closer, Casey had been super angry, threatening to report his actions to the head of school. To stop her, Sam had said he’d spread the word that she was on scholarship. For four years, they’d lived with an uneasy truce.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” she asked.

“I do see the irony, yeah,” Sam responded softly. “Casey, I never really apologized for what happened. I was an idiot to look into those records, and once I did, I never should’ve told you what I’d seen.”

She snorted. “Yeah, because you could lose your job if I ever decided to tell the FBI that you once were a hacker, not to mention you would’ve been kicked out of school if I’d told on you.”

“Actually, the FBI knows. I told them during my interview process.”

Casey was silent over the phone, and then she said, “It was your good luck I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it to hide my own scholarship.”

“I would’ve deserved it. I shouldn’t have blackmailed you.”

“Damn straight.”

“I didn’t want to upset you,” he said. “In my own awkward way, I was trying to be sympathetic and tell you there were worse things in the world than being on scholarship. Instead, you thought I was trying to blackmail you.”

“I understand that now,” Casey said, sounding softer and sweeter than Sam had ever heard from her. “I—” But whatever she was about to say, he wouldn’t find out, because she broke off and then finished with, “Why were you asking me about the hackings? The private school community is small but not that small that they’d share their dirty laundry with me.”

“Gotcha,” he said, disappointed that the moment of sweetness was gone. He’d always suspected that whomever could break through Casey’s diamond shell would discover pure powdered sugar underneath, and for too many years he’d tried to be that boy. Now as a man, it seemed he was still trying.

He knew Casey could be sweet because he’d had one day of her sweetness. Well, one day and one kiss before it had been swept away, or more like excised. “You know who to call if Montgomery Prep is hacked.”

She gave a low, sexy chuckle. “Will do, but let’s hope you never hear from me.”

Ouch. “See you at the reunion,” he said, but she’d already hung up, which was a good thing, because he undoubtedly would’ve done something stupid like ask her to be his date to the reunion. Yeah, like she didn’t already have a date, and if she didn’t, she wouldn’t want to go with him.

Sam slowly rested the receiver in the cradle and cursed out loud. Loud enough to get a glance from his across-the-cubicle neighbor.

“Bad case?”

“It’s nothing,” Sam said. It was nothing, and he was pissed as hell that two seconds on the phone with Casey Cooper had reverted him back to the insecure, underdeveloped geek that he was in high school.

It was ten years later, and he’d grown a little past six feet, worked out every day in the gym, resulting in decent muscles, and had a brain muscle that surpassed the external physical ones. According to his last few girlfriends, smart was sexy. So, all in all, he was the total package, and he had to remember that the next time he interacted with Casey Cooper.

In fact, maybe if she saw him in person, she’d see him as he was now and not how he’d been. If he saw her in person, maybe he’d see that she was just a woman, maybe even not as fabulous as his last girlfriend.

Except his last Facebook stalk had revealed that she was prettier now than she’d been in high school. She’d finally allowed herself to eat more than three Tater Tots, and her breasts and ass, which had been spectacular before, were now hovering in the out-of-this-world plane.

The more Sam thought about it, the more he liked the idea of seeing her again. He didn’t want to see Casey for the first time at the reunion. He wanted to see her sooner. He’d wanted to see her a lot during the past ten years, eight years really, if you counted their freshman and sophomore years at college, which Sam didn’t, since Casey and he had barely seen each other except in passing.

Since you couldn’t call someone you hadn’t been friends with out of the blue to ask them to hang out, he’d never contacted her. He had a reason now. A legit reason. He needed more information on how the administration of a private school operated and she might help him to see a pattern of how the school crimes were connected. Who better to help him than Casey? He’d show up at the school without an appointment tomorrow. Surprise her and see how she handled getting thrown off her game.