Addison Fox - The Paris Assignment

“Not on the surface. That’s what’s not jibing for her.”

Campbell moved closer to the TV, the images pulling him like a lodestone. The damned Steele curiosity, he knew, even as he turned back to look at his sister. “They’ve got military-grade security. How else would someone get in? It’s got to be an inside job.”

Kensington’s gaze was laser-sharp, the frank assessment behind her cobalt-blue eyes direct and unyielding. “Maybe yes, maybe no. We both know not everyone can be stopped with a firewall, even ones supposedly as impenetrable as McBane’s. Or the government’s,” Kensington added for emphasis.

Campbell ignored the not-so-thinly-veiled jab at his youthful—and idiot-fueled—choices. “Seven minutes?”

“Yep.”

“And her systems people have checked the code?”

“Forward and backward and there’s no trace of tampering, viruses or remote entrance.”

“She’s got a ghost.” Campbell knew the level of skills required for a job of this magnitude belonged to a handful of people. He ran through his mental list, discarding names as he went.

“Which is why she needs another ghost. One not employed by the company.”

“There are traces. Somewhere, there’s evidence in the system of where someone tampered with it. You can’t divert that much equipment without leaving a mark.”

“Exactly, Campbell. This isn’t just me wanting to take this job for a friend.” He saw the subtle pleading in his sister’s eyes and wondered why she hadn’t just started there in the first place.

He might enjoy riling her up and giving Kensington a hard time, but there was no one’s opinion he respected more. “Fair enough.”

“You’re the only one who can find this problem.”

He might not be the only one, but he knew damn well he was one of the few who had the skills to match a foe with this degree of systems knowledge.

He also knew Kensington’s considerable instincts had hit on something.

So why was he still so reluctant to take the job?

He couldn’t fully blame it on lack of sleep or a backbreaking schedule that invigorated even as it pushed him to his limits and beyond. Nor could he blame it on the lingering unease that never failed to tighten his chest when he thought about the threat that had methodically stalked and baited Sarah.

So what was it?

A security breach, conducted through electronic means and across a company with the size and scope of McBane’s, was squarely in his wheelhouse.

Kensington pointed toward the travel itinerary in his hand. He saw the briefest flash of sympathy light up her eyes before it vanished as if it had never been. “Get your game face on. You need to be there in an hour. Forty-five minutes if you want a good seat.”

Campbell glanced at his watch and quickly calculated the crosstown traffic between their offices and the Midtown high rise owned by McBane Communications. “It’s just a press conference. I’ll stand in the back. There’s no rush to get there.”

“I couldn’t care less where you plant your petulant ass. Just get going. Find the bad guy and keep an eye on Abby in the process. Do what we do best.”

* * *

Abby McBane watched her key staff members file out of her office, a well of suspicion hovering in their wake.

Was one of them responsible?

One of these individuals—all of whom she’d known for years. People she’d worked with. Shared holidays with. Traveled and ate with.

They’d all participated actively in their pre-press conference prep session and none seemed different. If anything, Abby knew, she was the one who seemed off, scrutinizing each and every one of them as she attempted to discern a traitor.

She glanced at her inbox and fought to maintain a spirit of hope that had been steadfastly missing the past few weeks. Only time would tell.

With a small sigh—one of the few she’d allow herself today—she turned back toward her email. A quick scan of her messages had her gaze alighting on a familiar name.

Kensington Steele. College roommate and the first person who made her realize she had more to offer the world than a smiling face and her family pedigree.

Abby clicked on the message, not surprised with the news.

He’ll be there.

Of course he would be. Kensington always got her man, from a series of hot and interesting boyfriends to capturing a surprising number of criminals to getting her reportedly stubborn brothers to do her bidding.

Her friend could kick the ass of the male of their species and have each and every one of them begging for more.

Why’d you stop taking lessons, Abby girl?

Deleting the message and tamping firmly down on those whispers of self-doubt, Abby grabbed her tablet and flipped through her slides for the press conference. The words floated through her mind as she pictured the various inflection points, the moments she’d pause and where she’d push through the dense information.

Her computer dinged like the final-round bell in a prize fight, signaling it was time for the meeting. She stood and smoothed her skirt, the tablet in hand and her stilettos sinking into the plush carpet as she crossed to the door.

Time to face the music.

Even if she had no freaking idea who was playing the tune.

* * *

Do what we do best.

Kensington’s words still echoed in his ear as Campbell took a seat in the large auditorium that would house Abigail McBane’s press conference. Despite his protests to his sister, he’d arrived early and taken a seat near the front, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he took in the room.

The turnout was considerable, a mix of press and Wall Street analyst types all anxious to hear the next big thing in communications technology.

While he’d moderately enjoyed baiting Kenzi, he’d done his homework, just as he did for every job they took on. McBane Communications was a global leader in satellite and communications technology. The daughter of the founder, Abigail McBane was reported to be cool under pressure and a highly competent executive.

Which meant she must be seriously running scared if she’d go outside her own security team—individuals who’d been vetted and background-checked—to come to Kensington for help.

A light hush fell over the room as Abby and her team crossed the stage to the podium. He mentally catalogued the line of executives that walked with her—men and women clad in highly conservative business attire—before taking in the woman everyone had come to see.

Abigail McBane.

That same fall of dark hair he’d noticed while in Kensington’s office looked even lusher in person and high cheekbones framed her face with distinction. The V of her jacket revealed a smooth neckline displaying a simple strand of pearls. She was elegant and efficient, beautiful and businesslike.

And when she took a spot behind the podium, Campbell briefly registered a moment of sadness that the spectacular legs on display under the severe cut of her skirt were now hidden.

Just as well, he admonished himself. Between his unexpected resentment over the job and the quick lick of attraction that rode the back of his neck, he needed to get his head in the game.

He glanced down at the slim tablet on his lap, flipping through a few screens of data that matched the opening of Abby’s speech. When he’d checked in, the corporate drone who’d greeted him had offered a folder of data or a secure site to download the presentation. Intrigued at the depth of preparation, he’d taken the electronic version and used the download code as his entrée into the McBane portal to do some nosing around.

Pleased when several layers of security prevented him from digging further, he admitted their surface protocol was as impressive as he’d expected.