Mallory Kane - A Father's Sacrifice

She’d read the basics of the device in a classified NSA memo. It was a rectangular box about the size of a USB plug, maybe a centimeter long. The 3-D computer-generated mock-up looked like a millipede with thousands of hairlike microfibers covering its surface. Once the device was surgically implanted into a human being, and each microfiber was attached to the proper neural sheath, the interface would feed impulses to and from nerves too damaged to receive proper signals from the brain.

No wonder the government wanted it. The possible uses were astounding. The supersoldier of fiction, with computer-enhanced reflexes, sharpened vision and hearing, perfectly timed response and accuracy, could become a reality. The thought of that technology falling into the hands of terrorists was horrifying.

Abruptly, Dylan pushed back from his workstation and stood. He pushed his hands through his hair and started to pace.

Campbell, sitting at the other workstation, yawned and said something. Dylan shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, as if trying to work the tension from his body.

His movements were spare and graceful. As he rubbed his neck, his biceps flexed and he arched his back, emphasizing the seductive curve at the base of his spine and his strong, well-shaped buttocks.

He turned toward her. Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze to the flat-screen monitor. Studying his physical attributes wasn’t getting her any closer to the hacker.

She reexamined the section of code that had grabbed her attention earlier, and suddenly the jumble of numbers and letters coalesced into a pattern.

“Why you clever little—” she whispered to the unknown hacker as she advanced to the next screen, searching for the same telltale string of numbers she’d just spotted.

Whoever he was, he was good. As she’d told Mintz, they always left something behind, but this guy’s tag was almost undetectable.

It was also vaguely familiar. She frowned at the tiny string of code. She’d seen that pattern before. A nauseating dread began to build in her stomach. Could it be Tom?

No. That would be too weird a coincidence. Although…he had always been fascinated with the fringe groups who would do anything to bring down the government. Not because he had anything against the U.S.

He loved being in control, and he’d always said the zealots who would die for their cause were ridiculously easy to manipulate.

Her heart jackhammered in her throat. If it was Tom, did he know she was here? Eight years ago he’d framed her for hacking into the FBI’s domestic terrorist database. But eight years ago she’d been naive and trusting. She was smarter now. Of course, Tom probably was, too.

Her peripheral vision picked up a movement to her left. She stiffened and casually dropped her hand to the fanny pack where she kept her weapon.

“What’s so interesting on that screen?”

It was Dylan. She glanced up at him, then through the glass toward the lab. She’d been caught off guard. Something that never happened to her.

“No,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I can’t walk through walls. Alfred believes in triple redundancy. There are doors all over the place.” A ghost of a smile flickered about his mouth, making him look younger and achingly handsome.

“Triple redundancy is a good thing.” Having plenty of doors was even better—excellent in fact. She hoped they all led upstairs.

Dylan studied the young woman the FBI claimed was the best hacker-tracker they had. She was young, but computer expertise didn’t depend on years of training. The best hackers were often under twenty-five.

He put his hand on the back of her chair and leaned over, studying her screen. “Find something?”

Her pale blond hair tickled his nose, and the scent of springtime and wild strawberries filled his nostrils. He took a deep breath, faintly shocked at his reaction. He had a sudden urge to run his fingers through her silky hair, to nuzzle the graceful curve of her neck.

What the hell was he thinking?

She cleared her throat and pulled slightly away from him. “I’ve found traces of the hacker.”

He squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, trying to throw off his body’s instantaneous response to her closeness. He straightened.

“You told Alfred the hacker couldn’t have gotten out clean.”

She shook her head. “That’s right. Everything that’s done on a computer leaves a trace. This guy is very good, but—”

“You found him.” Dylan leaned in close to the monitor again, curious about what she’d seen. At that moment she turned her head. Her brilliant green eyes were only a couple of inches away from his, her mouth so close he felt her breath.

Her eyes widened and she turned her head back to the screen.

“In less than three hours.”

“I—I haven’t found him, just his trail.”

She nervously moistened her lips and a spear of lust streaked through him.

As if she knew the effect she was having on him, she leaned farther back in her chair and took a deep breath. “Is this your first hacking attempt?”

For his own sake, he straightened and stepped away from her. He crossed his arms. “We get reports of failed attempts—maybe once or twice a month. But two days ago Campbell received an alert. It wasn’t just a knock at the door. It was unauthorized access.”

“Well, either Campbell made another mistake or this is a different hacker, because this guy’s been accessing the vulnerable areas of your system for at least two years.”

Dylan stared at her. “Two years?” He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s impossible!”

She sent him a sharp look.

“Okay. Two years.” His insides twisted in horror. He ran his hand across the back of his neck, massaging the tight muscles there. Two years. Ben!

“What kind of damage has he done?”

“He’s accessed your document files, household calendars and schedules, financial records, buying habits.”

Dylan’s jaw clenched and a cold fear engulfed him. “Buying habits. Household calendars.” He cursed vividly. “Then he knows Ben is alive. What else does he know?”

“Anything that came in or went out via e-mail.”

“Even to or from NSA?”

“That’s right.”

“Damn it!” He whirled and slammed his palm into the door facing.

Natasha jumped.

“Sorry,” he said, glancing at her sheepishly. He rubbed his hand. “So he knows about the interface. Knows how close I am to perfecting it.” Fear and rage swirled through him.

“What the hell good is a firewall then? What’s the point of all the damned computer security if—?”

She held up a hand. “He hasn’t cracked the encryption that protects your neural interface. Not yet anyway.”

He blew out a breath. “Thank God for that. But why hasn’t my software detected him? It was developed by NSA.”

Natasha smiled without humor. “That’s why he hasn’t gotten what he wants. But whoever he is, he’s that good. Firewalls are built by people. People can crack them.”

The confidence in her voice intrigued him. Dylan eyed her. She could pass for a college kid. Too young, too innocent, to be so sure of herself. He asked her a question he already knew the answer to. “Could you have gotten into my system?”

Natasha stared into Dylan’s eyes, into the lake of blue fire that burned so intensely. She resisted the urge to look away. “Yes.”

He nodded as he studied her thoughtfully. “So are you a hacker?”

She swallowed. “No.” Not anymore.

His gaze searched her face. Did he believe her?

“Okay then, who is this guy?” he asked.

The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. She looked at the screen and didn’t quite lie this time. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him before. Since I’ve been with the FBI, I’ve run across a lot of very good hackers. This is almost certainly one of them. But to catch him, I’m going to need much better equipment.”