Page 14 of Perfect Order
“Yes. It’s going to be crazy for the next few weeks.” I explain the bare bones of the contract to her and make plans to visit after I visit my twin in the city.
“Then, I’ll let you go, darling. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom.” I hang up.
Jumping out of bed and making my way into my bathroom with my tablet in my hand, I think about the attack on Castor last night. I almost pity the poor bastard whose system we used my newest program against. Dioscuri—named after the Gemini twins, Castor and Pollux—identifies and copies all computer data and location information before incapacitating the target in a way that allows the target to continue to operate. It starts an automatic recording of all activities and moves the data to a backup drive the owner can’t access without a secret key that only Dioscuri has access to. It’s proven handy in numerous court cases as evidence. And it’s the same tool the government just acquired the exclusive use of and support for the next three years.
It was a brainchild I began developing in secret after I overheard one of my team bitching about their system getting wiped during the war games they participated in during Defcon and how they missed a court date as a result of it. It reminded me of my high school days when too often, I cavalierly would be the shadow probing my way into companies like my own to see how many layers I could strip away, how many files I could seize, how much data I could accumulate.
Only I never got caught.
There’s no stopping the enemy. If someone’s determined, they’ll use any manner necessary to win. Even as I fend off the smaller attacks with ease, I’m always carefully stepping, trying not to wake the sleeping beasts who are simply waiting for an opportunity to unleash their cyberattacks on my network as a pathway into data much more valuable.
A familiar ping jerks my attention away from the simple pleasure of blow-drying my hair and refocuses it. Immediately, I’m cautious as I lean over. I let out half of my breath in relief as I glimpse a picture of Kylie at Redemption—the hot nightclub in Manhattan. But only half. Picking up the tablet to study the photo, everything inside me clenches up. I have a window of ten minutes to stop the script that will automatically erase Erzulie’s antics, leaving her angelic indie goddess reputation intact. But after a quick perusal, the knot inside me relaxes. “Thank God. It’s just a different one from the night she was table dancing.” Unconcerned about this one being online, since she’s simply holding a drink and laughing, I zoom in to get a good look at who she’s talking with. Because his face is splashed all over social media, and then there’s the fact he’s a damn hottie, I easily recognize Redemption club owner, Marco Houde. I drag my finger around the screen to see if there is anyone else of notice before letting out a long whistle. “Who in the hell ishe?”
In a black suit with a blue shirt that emphasizes his dark blond hair and chiseled jaw, my heart skips a beat at the pure perfection of his face, which is turned away from where Leanne is standing. I love the feeling of pleasure that floods through me as I zoom in on his magnificent profile.
It’shim. Ocean Eyes. The man who I’d begun to think was merely a mirage, though he invades my dreams at regular intervals that I’ve woken reaching for my vibrator.
Finally, I have a photograph to run through my sources when I have a free moment, which means—I think wryly—I’ll get to it in about three or four years. “Or maybe I can convince her to make a return trip to Redemption next weekend. Even if he’s not someone she knows, one can only hope this guy is part of Redemption’s regular clientele.” Mentally, I plan on tossing a little black dress and heels into my bag.
But for now, I have to focus on the here and now. And for me, that means a world most people don’t acknowledge in their minds because if they did, they’d be afraid of their shadow. Then again, that means they’d have to admit they have a shadow. A constant one.
And it’s being monitored.
Kane
We can’t choose our family, but we can choose our friends. Trust me, that’s so much better.
—@PRyanPOfficial
My hands shake as I scroll through the contacts. Pressing Send, I hold the phone to my ear and wait as the first, then second, ring happen.
I’m almost grateful when I’m sent to voicemail. “Hey, Brit. It’s Kane. I just wanted to call and check in on how you and Maddie are doing. I’m thinking of you both.” I disconnect the call.
I’d be a liar if I expressed disappointment she didn’t pick up. I’m always terrified one day she’s going to answer and tell me the truth about what she thinks of me for sending her loved one to his certain death. And someday, I know I’ll need to be strong enough to endure her censure. Just the way I did from the government that ordered us to conduct the op in the first place. But again, I’ve received a reprieve.
I’m still sitting there clutching my phone with my elbows braced on my knees when I hear a knock on the doorframe. My colleague Mitch is leaning against the jamb. “Anything you need?” His face holds the understanding only another person who’s witnessed death recognizes. It’s why I don’t immediately tell him to go shove his support up his ass and stalk away, as I’ve done with so many others.
“I imagine twenty years from now, I’ll still be trying to absolve myself for his death,” I declare bluntly.
He nods, his face reflecting the same weighty guilt mine does. Though we served in different capacities, Mitch—a former cop—still carries his own wounds. And like mine, they’re normally not visible. So we don’t get bogged down in the mistakes of the past, I drag us both into the present. “What’s up?”
“Beckett’s schedule for the next week.” He holds out the typed papers to me.
I scan the pages, noticing how light the schedule is, and groan. “We’re screwed. He doesn’t have enough to keep him busy. This means we’re going to be flying somewhere on a whim, or we’re going to be traipsing around New York. Either way, it’s a security nightmare.”
“Thank you.”
I frown. “For what?”
Mitch’s mouth curves. “I bet the guys you’d say something almost exactly like that. I just won twenty in the pool we have going.”
Despite the lingering nausea threatening to claw its way up my guts from my earlier call, my lips twitch. “I’m not sure I like becoming predictable.”
Mitch is quick to dissent. “Oh, it’s not you who’s predictable, Kane. Beckett, yes. You, no.”
“Still.” I frown down at the paper. “Maybe it’s a good time to go over the security protocols to Beckett’s place.”
