The thought has my nipples tightening, pussy clenching. The image of us as some kind of 1950s married couple floats through my mind. I'm the sex-kitten wife, waiting for him to come home from a hard day at work. Offer him a drink and loosen his tie before I pout and make him lick my pussy as compensation for pounding me too hard the night before.
Okay, I'm getting way too excited. And there's work to be done. Serious work.
He pulls into his garage and insists on carrying me inside. "Your ankle is sore, and you're not wearing panties."
I laugh. "So those are the two criteria for getting carried?"
"That's right. Now, watch the sass or I'll have to see to that pretty little ass of yours before I go. Is it sore, too?"
I reach back and run my hand over my bare cheeks. "No." I can't decide if I'm glad or disappointed. He settles me on the couch. "Listen, I didn't tell you something that happened yesterday. I got a call from the blackmailer-with the robotic voice. They identified themselves as Catgirl. Said they installed corruption code to wipe out all of SeCure's backup data. Told me to transfer five hundred million dollar by midnight tonight if I want it back."
I sit up straight. "Tell me you have the information backed up somewhere else." Of course he does. He's Jackson King, genius of cyber security.
"I do. Triple saved. Not even my infosec team knows how." He flicks his brows, and I understand he believes this threat came from the inside.
"So what did you tell them?"
"I told them to go fuck themselves."
I laugh. "I believe I used those exact words, too."
His eyes crinkle, and he kisses the top of my head. "I have it handled. I just wanted you to know. No contact with me. Stay off your phone, or they'll trace you here."
I roll my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Preaching to the choir, big guy. I wrote the manual on going dark."
He gives a reluctant nod. "Okay. Make sure you eat and get more rest."
It's too good to be true. I like it way too much. The practical little voice in the back of my head tells me not to get used to this. Not to trust. He's already made it plain he can't be with a human. And I can't stay in hiding in the mansion of a member of the Forbes Fortune 500 CEOs.
I need to put my head on straight, fix this situation, and get lost. It doesn't matter how good the sex was. How much I want to be claimed and marked and kept by Jackson King. It can't happen.
Won't happen.
I grab some toast and coffee and start to work. I start by opening Mémé's favorite Parisian antique message board. Mémé and I have prearranged to message each other there if we are ever separated or need to get in touch. We made the arrangement years ago, and I forgot it until last night. I hope her memory serves her better. I search out her alias and click to private message her. Even though it's a private message, I keep my note cryptic.
Looking for you. Can we meet?
I hope she remembers.
From there, I click open the DefCon boards. The place where hackers meet. The place I let slip, years ago, that I'd hacked into SeCure. Someone there had set me up. And now that I realize that, something in the malware has jogged my memory. If I can find the conversation I'm remembering, I might have my hacker.
~.~
Ginrummy
Something is wrong. He should be hearing more about the blackmail threat. They should all be scrambling to try to decode my corruption. He knows SeCure doesn't have additional backup. He's in charge of this shit.
And the FBI clowns should be all over it, too.
Which means Jackson King didn't tell anyone about the call. Why in the fuck not?
Perhaps out of nostalgia, he opens the DefCon boards. It would be interesting to see if they were talking about the SeCure hack. Some idiot is probably bragging in there that it was him.
He finds a direct message in his DefCon inbox. From Catgirl.
His pulse stutters as he opens it.
Ginrummy,
I need to talk to you. In person. Meet me at the Park 'n Save at the Tucson airport at one p. m.. The shade structure on Row 7.
~Catgirl
His heart pounds triple time. He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, going to that meeting would be a huge mistake. He should let the FBI know he's had a tip she'll be there. But what if she presents the FBI with the dirt on him? Better to tell Mr. X.
But that thought just doesn't sit right with him. He now has no doubt they will kill Kylie like they did her grandmother. And, while he should be glad he's working with an organization willing to tie up loose ends, he can't stomach it.
Catgirl means something to him. Even if she doesn't reciprocate. Even if what she means is mostly in his head. He's not willing to let go of that fantasy.
What does she want to say to him? Why does she want to meet? The fascination with her every move, every thought hooks him like a barb, reels him in. How does that brilliant mind work? Is she planning a counter-blackmail?
She asked to meet at the Tucson airport. Does that mean she's headed out of town? If she is, he'll let her go. Let her disappear into hiding again, bearing the suspicion for his crime. Perhaps she just wants to let him know she knows.
Or maybe she wants to kill him.