I flash my brightest smile as I head into Jackson's office. "Your coffee, sir." I walk around to his side of the desk and stand too close as I lean over like a sex kitten to deliver it.
His secretary gapes in the doorway.
"Watch it, kitten, or I'll punish you here, too," he growls in an undertone.
"What?" I ask innocently.
"Cancel all my appointments and close the door, Vanessa. We have a situation to deal with here," he says to his secretary as he opens his desk and pulls out a wooden ruler. He lays it on the desk between us, shooting me a meaningful look.
Despite it all-despite the lack of sleep and worrying sick over Mémé, despite my daunting task of getting the thumb drive and hacking into SeCure's system within the next twelve hours, a charge of pure sexual desire runs through me.
Hell, yes, he can spank me again.
He's going to want to do far worse when he realizes what I'm going to do. And that thought sobers the lust right out of me.
I hold out my palm. "Thumb drive?"
I'm really not sure he's going to hand it to me, but, after a moment, he pulls it out of his pocket and tosses it in the air.
I snatch it, and he smiles at my quick reflexes.
"You'll stay in my office while you work on it." He lifts his chin toward the chair across from him.
Shit. How in the hell am I supposed to hack into SeCure and load the damn malware while sitting in his office working on a computer that's not linked into the system?
I settle into a chair and plug in the thumb drive. It's a sophisticated program, and I'm not entirely sure how it works, but I can't concentrate on figuring it out. Instead, I'm reviewing everything I learned about hacking SeCure eight years ago. Of course, I know nothing will be the same this time.
Fuck, I've only been on the job a few days. How do they expect me to get this installed? I haven't been given security access to anything yet. Unless…
What are the chances of getting on boss man's computer? Here I am, sitting in his office. If he's logged onto the system, I can grab his password, or maybe even load the code from his computer. The man will have to use the restroom at some point, right? Or leave for lunch?
My heart pounds as I contemplate the treachery, and Jackson looks up, like he hears the rampaging beat.
I keep my head down, as if I'm studying really hard.
I'll have to make a run for it the moment I finish, or else I'll be leaving in handcuffs. I consider the exits. Stairwell leads to the back of the building. I might make it to my car.
And then where do I go?
The asshole blackmailers didn't even tell me how to get in touch. How will I get Mémé back?
A terrible, horrible fear strikes me like an electric shock to the spine. What if they don't intend to give her back? What if she's already dead, her body lying in the desert somewhere? I should've demanded to hear her voice. What in the hell is wrong with me?
Once I load the malware, I'll have no leverage whatsoever. Mémé and I will both be expendable. I'll take the fall for the attack, and Mémé dies.
"What?" Jackson's voice cuts across the office.
I jerk my head up to find him staring a hole through me. His nostrils are flaring like he smells something distasteful.
My heart pounds harder. Did I say something out loud?
"I sense your agitation. What did you find in the code? Do you know who did it?"
Jesus, he senses my agitation? No wonder this man built a multi-billion dollar company out of nothing but a laptop. And I'd always thought he was socially stunted. Maybe he stays away from people because he can read them all too well, and they bore him.
My mind races for something to give him. "I-I think I was set up."
His lip lifts with scorn. "I thought we knew that part."
"I mean from the inside. How did I get this job? A headhunter called me out of the blue. I never saw it posted anywhere. Never applied to SeCure."
Jackson pales, and I swear his eyes change to blue again. He stands up with a grim expression. "I'll be right back." He walks out the door, shutting it behind him.
I count to five, steadying my breath. Then I walk swiftly to Jackson's desk and sit in his seat.
I learned in my heist days to disconnect fear when on a job. Time was always of the essence, and, if you lost your head, the job was as good as over. I learned to dive into a black hole of concentration. I focus on nothing but the task at hand. That's the headspace I find now, my vision narrowing to the prompts on the screen as I sift through login screens to pull Jackson's password. I find twenty, with no discernable pattern. He must have a different one for every login. Smart man.
I work to get through the firewall and into the infosec code. I do not allow myself to think of what will happen if Jackson comes back before I've succeeded. Or if I can't get in. Or if they don't let Mémé go.
I only see the characters on a screen. A puzzle to solve.
Sixteen minutes later, I'm in.
No time to celebrate. I grab the thumb drive and insert it into his port.
I'm sorry, Jackson. I'm so fucking sorry.
It auto-launches, code unfolding before my eyes with lightning speed.
I get up from his chair, pick up my things, and walk swiftly out. I don't acknowledge his secretary. I travel down the hall, like I'm headed for the bathroom, and slip into the stairwell.
Eight stories. Then a parking lot, and I'll be in my car.