Page 127 of Only the Wicked
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I forgot to pack one.”
“You remembered to send me five gowns and forgot your tux?”
“I planned to wear a suit. But we’ve been invited to a private reception at the Russian embassy before the event tonight. I’ll need to show my respect.”
My steps slow as adrenaline surges. I need to alert the team. An opportunity to access the Russian embassy… I mean, I’ll be watched. I probably can’t do much, if anything.
“Maybe you can help me,” he says, spinning to face me in the bathroom. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me.
“How?”
“Let’s see if we can determine who is pulling the strings?”
“You mean with your blackmail? You know with Russia it’s… All instruction leads to the leader.”
“Right. But you want to find out who leaked your list, right?”
“I doubt that information is lying around in a file cabinet.” But wouldn’t it be lovely if it was?
“Inside the embassy, if you were to get a chance to access an office…any office. Any computer…” He tilts his head, assessing.
“What?”
“No,” he shakes his head and scratches his jaw. “It’s dangerous.”
He steps forward to tug at my top, but I step back.
“What? I’ll do it.” I may sound too eager, but I’m intrigued.
“If you can insert a drive into a computer,” he says, voice dropping to barely above a whisper, “it can install a surveillance package that will provide remote access.” He reaches for the towels, continuing as if discussing dinner plans. “The drive has a zero-day exploit that bypasses typical security measures. Twenty seconds is all it needs.”
His technical knowledge reminds me that beneath the executive exterior is still the genius who dropped out of Harvard’s business school.
“And if I get caught?” A legitimate question.
“If you get caught, of course, you’d need to play it off that you were trying to download something.” His eyes meet mine, calculating. “The drive is disguised as a compact—looks like makeup. If they find it, the software self-destructs after three incorrect password attempts.”
This isn’t amateur hour. The level of preparation suggests Rhodes has either done this before or has resources with serious intelligence backgrounds. I’m both impressed and concerned—how much of this was planned before our “honest” conversation yesterday?
He steps into the shower and twists the water to high.
“I can do it.”
I push my leggings over my hips and attempt to step out of them quickly while his back is to me, but when he turns, they’re at my ankles. As I awkwardly step one leg out at a time, he steps close and fingers the underside of my sports bra.
I peer up at him, and he says, “Up.”
Obediently I raise my arms and he fingers the tight clothing over my breasts and up over my arms.
“You’ve done this before,” I can’t help but say, and what’s more, I’m slightly alarmed at the jealousy I feel. Unlike me, he has been in a long-term relationship.
“Undressed a woman?” A singular eyebrow raises. “Yes.”
His heated gaze roams from my breasts down to my remaining undies and ankle socks. He releases an appreciative sigh.
“Maybe I should’ve taken you on the run with me.”
