Breaking the Honor Code Read online

  “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.

  Chapter Five

  The corners of Sloan’s mouth curved in a slow smile that sent Allison’s stomach tumbling to her feet like a drop on a carnival ride. This wasn’t one of his know-it-all smiles, but something natural and warm. Warning bells went off in her head. She clenched her hands in her lap to keep from touching his face. It couldn’t be real, could it? And for her?

  The office suddenly seemed too cozy. She had work to do and didn’t need the distraction. He was only in her house because of the job. The sooner she finished the job, the sooner he’d be gone, the sooner her life would return to normal—if she ignored the spark in his eyes. She faced the computer.

  “Is this the program to trace our hacker?” His voice drifted gently over her shoulder.

  Good. Talk about work. Something safe. “No. This is the data my program captured. I’m studying the footprint he left behind when he broke through my firewall.”

  “Footprint? Sounds like something tangible, not bits of light floating across circuit boards.”

  “Actually, it is.” She was startled at the interest in his tone. “The firewall was designed to keep him out, but the trap logged his entry into our systems. During his attempt to go through our files, he left data—footprints—to follow.”

  “How can you tell it’s the hacker and not something you or Tom did?”

  She gave herself credit for not rolling her eyes. Swiveling her chair, she faced him. “Every programmer has their own style, unique ways of annotating their code. Although the end result might be the same…” She saw his puzzled expression and started over. “Think of it like several people hiking a trail that leads to the same destination. Everybody has a different stride and pattern on the soles of their shoes, yet they all arrive at the end of the same path.”

  “Footprints.” A light of understanding appeared in his eyes.

  “Exactly!” She was inexplicably pleased that he understood her explanation. “Although software language has certain constraints, various approaches we take when we’re programming allow a degree of creativity. Each programmer has a preference for how they annotate their results.” She swiveled back to the computer screen. “I’ve been chasing this guy for almost three months. Tonight, I’m finally seeing where he walked through our system.” Her voice drifted to a whisper. “Maybe this time he won’t get away. This time I’ll follow him all the way home.”

  The puzzle on the screen sucked her right back in. Lost in her thoughts, pursuing the bad guy through cyberspace, seconds turned into minutes. The only sou
nd was the click of the keyboard marking the passage of time. She completely forgot about Sloan until he spoke some time later.

  “Time for a break.” His dark-chocolate voice startled her.

  Had he been sitting behind her the entire time? She did a double take at the clock on the computer. Almost two hours had gone by. “I’m fine.” Sometime during her immersion in the code, he’d slid his chair closer to watch the screen. She’d been so engrossed in her work, she’d simply accepted his presence as part of her environment—she hadn’t noticed his spicy scent and masculine warmth. Now, his sheer closeness penetrated her defenses and a quiver of awareness raced through her body.

  “Well, I’m not fine. I need to rest my eyes, and you should too.”

  She rubbed her eyes then stretched, accidentally bumping him. His effect on her was only physical. It had to be. She took pride in maintaining a clear head and tight control on her emotions. The scars from the shooting were constant reminders of what happened when she let emotion rule—reminders that her life would never be what it should have been. And that dreams end—sometimes unfairly and without warning.

  “I should get your room ready and check on Mitchell.” She pushed her glasses up on her head.

  “I’m sure he’s fine, killing off all the bad guys in his game.” Sloan reached for the picture frame on the desk next to the printer, oblivious to the tug-of-war going on inside her. “Are these Mitch’s parents?”

  She glanced at the picture, grateful for the change in subject. The photograph showed Ed’s arm draped lovingly around Caroline’s shoulder as they smiled at the camera. “Yes. That was taken a couple of years ago, outside my parents’ home in Utah.”

  “Where does Mitch get his red hair? Is there an Irish Leprechaun in the gene pool somewhere?”

  “From his biological father.” Her reply was curt.

  “Not a prize, I take it?”

  She shook her head. “Ed adopted Mitchell as soon as he and Caroline were married. He loves Mitchell like his own, and is every bit the father my nephew needs.”