Breaking the Honor Code Page 5

  She crossed to the foot of the stairs. “Mitchell!” She turned back to Sloan and pointed to the great room. “The TV’s through there, if you want something to do.”

  “Shouldn’t I help you?” He scooted his chair back from the table.

  “Help me?” She gave him a baffled look. He really thought he could help her write computer code?

  “Never mind.” He stood and headed to the great room that doubled as the main living area.

  She followed his gaze as he checked out every homey detail—the afghan-draped couch, rock fireplace, and flat surfaces covered with framed pictures.

  He sent her a sidelong glance. “I’ll check the weather report. I hope you have cable.”

  “We do,” Mitchell said as he reached the bottom step. “All the channels.” Mitchell spoke to Allison. “I can show him how the remote works.”

  “He’ll figure it out.” She nodded at the books in Mitchell’s hand. “Did you finish?”

  He shook his head. “I need some help with this problem.”

  “Come on into the kitchen.” After refilling Mitchell’s cocoa and ensuring he started his math assignment, Allison settled into her brother-in-law’s office near the front of the house and put the rich playboy out of her mind. In no time, she was lost inside the cyberworld that had become her life.

  Her talents had always leaned toward computers. In high school, she’d taken to the computer science classes like grease on an engine. The visiting college professor, Ed Tallon, noticed her aptitude and made home visits to encourage her parents to direct their daughter to a career in computer sciences, which they did, but they also made it clear the choice was Allison’s.

  During the summer between her junior and senior year, she helped the professor install a new computer system at the local police station. For her, police work was love at first sight. Law enforcement became her calling rather than computers, much to the professor’s dismay. She earned her Bachelor’s degree in criminal justice while working part-time to supplement her scholarship. Two weeks after graduating from the police academy, she’d lost it all when a bullet went through her shoulder.

  She massaged the phantom pain. Her law-enforcement career was in the past. Right now, she had Northstar’s future to save.

  She checked her Internet connection to verify access to the outside world. With the storm, all of the area’s communications services were probably experiencing intermittent problems, which would explain why she hadn’t received the e-mails from Northstar earlier today. Once she got the data from Tom, she could work offline, assuring that her new work would be inaccessible to the hacker, until it was time to upload the file to the task force.

  The first thing she saw after logging into Northstar’s internal intranet was Tom’s e-mail telling her about last night’s hack. She connected to the firm’s chat program and brought Tom up-to-date with her situation. After requesting that he send the data from her trap, he replied with a link to the secure File Transfer Protocol location where she could retrieve the file. Their communication was inside the firm’s secure intranet, and would handle the file size, where an e-mail attachment would be too large.

  After downloading and opening the file, she poked through the lines of code. Anywhere the hacker had breached her system, her trap created a log. The trail he’d left generated almost a hundred pages of data.

  Damn, this guy was good. He’d really thrashed her system—wormed into places that should’ve been impossible to breach. She could see where he’d touched her files, but it wouldn’t be easy to trace the originating address. The hacker was probably better at coding than she was.

  The files he visited told a story, too. If she could connect the dots, maybe she could ascertain his agenda. Having Sloan on hand to profile this guy might not be such a bad thing. Between the two of them, they could stop the hacker for good.

  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 wit
hout 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.”