Code Conspiracy Read online

  Amit disappeared from the security cam and Jerrica jumped from her chair and hunched over Amit’s, folding her arms across the back and studying the data marching across the display. The attack on the embassy outpost in Nigeria had been on her radar, too. And not only because it involved someone she knew, peripherally, anyway.

  Delta Force Major Rex Denver had played a significant role in the Nigeria debacle, as he’d visited the outpost days before the attack. He’d also, allegedly, played a role in the bombing at the Syrian refugee center, although the witnesses in Syria had been walking back that narrative for a few months now.

  She drummed her fingers against her chin. And Denver’s name had come up again as she scurried down the rabbit hole of her current hunch—or maybe she’d been scurrying down a mole hole, if moles even burrowed into holes. Because she’d bet all the settlement money sitting in her bank account that the intel she’d been tracking was going to lead to a mole—possibly in the CIA itself.

  Rubbing her hands together, she returned to her own chair and continued inputting data to dig deeper into the CIA system she’d already compromised.

  After a few hours of work, she rubbed her eyes and took a swig of water. As she watched her screen, a blurry message popped up in the lower-left corner of her display.

  She blinked and the words came into focus. She read them aloud to the room where all sounds of human intercourse had been replaced by the whirs and clicks of computer interaction. “Who are you?”

  She huffed out a breath and growled. “You show me yours first, buddy.”

  So, someone at the other end had detected an intruder. She entered her reply, whispering the words as she typed them.

  Who are you?

  Not terribly clever, but she had no intention of showing her hand. She fastened her gaze on the blinking cursor, waiting for the response.

  Her eyeballs dried up watching that cursor, so she set the program’s command to keep running in her absence, just as Amit had done on his computer. If Amit came back to the Dreadworm offices, he would know to leave the program running, but just in case, she plastered a sticky note to her screen before packing up for the night.

  Jerrica scanned the video feed showing the alley while she scooped up her backpack and hitched it over one shoulder. She swept up her black fedora, which she’d left here the other night, and clapped it on her head.

  Flipping up the collar of her black leather jacket, she jogged down the steps from the work area. She tipped her head back to check the video from outside and then, pausing at the door, she pressed her ear against the cold metal, not that she could hear anything through it.

  She took a final glance at the monitor above the door before easing the door open. She looked both ways up and down the alley. She shimmied through the space, the zipper and metal studs on her jacket scraping against the doorjamb, and pulled the heavy slab of metal shut behind her.

  This alley had just a few doorways and a couple of fire escapes, so it didn’t attract much traffic. Olaf, Dreadworm’s founder, had searched high and low in Manhattan to find just the right locations, and then had secured those locations—but he hadn’t been able to secure himself.

  Someone outed him and his residence and he’d had to go on the run or face federal prosecution. She didn’t want to be criminally charged, but she couldn’t give up this job...mission...especially now that she’d hacked into the CIA databases.

  She emerged from the alley onto the crowded sidewalk and joined the surge of people. Darkness hadn’t descended yet on this cool spring evening. Summer with its heat and humidity waited right around the corner, and Jerrica wanted to soak up the last bits of May with its hint of freshness still on the cusp of the air. She closed her eyes and inhaled, getting a lungful of exhaust fumes and some guy’s over-ambitious aftershave.

  She headed underground to catch the subway to her neighborhood. Just as she plopped down in her seat, an old man with a cane scraping beside him shuffled onto the train.

  Jerrica’s gaze swept the other passengers in the car, their heads buried in their phones, earbuds shoved in their ears, noses dipped into tablets, reading devices and portable game consoles. Nobody budged, nobody stirred from the online, electronic worlds sucking up their attention and their humanity.

  Jerrica hoisted her backpack from her lap and pushed up from her seat. She tapped the old man’s arm and pointed to the empty spot.

  He nodded and smiled, the light reaching his faded blue eyes.

  The train lurched around a bend, and Jerrica grabbed the bar above her head, swaying with the motion of the car. Maybe she should’ve accepted Amit’s invitation to the party. She didn’t even have her cat to greet her at home. Puck had disappeared last month without a trace just as seamlessly as he’d entered her realm. Even cats had a way of passing through her life, perhaps recognizing her rootless existence and most likely identifying with it.

  With both of her hands holding on for dear life, she shook her hair from her face. Yeah, she definitely needed to get out and socialize. She’d call Amit once she got home and had some dinner and put on her best party face.

  The train rumbled into her station and she jumped off. She emerged into the fresh air but hung back at the top of the steps.

  If someone had been following her this afternoon, they must’ve picked up her trail around here—her neighborhood, her subway stop. No way someone just started tracking her in the middle of Manhattan. She took a different route to Dreadworm every time she went there. This place, this neighborhood, comprised her only constants.

  She zeroed in on a few faces, attuned to sudden stops, starts and reversals. She moved forward by putting one foot in front of the other because she had to start somewhere. Sometimes the fear and uncertainty paralyzed her.

  She ducked into her favorite noodle shop and ordered a spicy vegetarian pho with tofu, inhaling the aroma of the rich broth while she waited for her order.

  Kevin, the shop’s owner, placed the bag in her hands. “Special for Jerrica. You find your cat yet?”

  “No, I’m afraid he’s gone for good, Kevin.”

  “I look out for him.” He tapped his cheekbone beneath his eye with the tip of his finger. “Cats come and go.”

  So did people.

  “If you do see Puck, give him some chicken and call me.” She waved as she shoved through the door, sending the little bell into a frenzy.

  She loped to her apartment, her pack bouncing against her back and the plastic bag containing the soup swinging from her fingertips. She could’ve afforded fancier digs, but this neighborhood on the Lower East Side suited her—and she’d found a secure building without a nosy doorman watching her comings and goings.

  She made it up to her apartment, got through the triple locks and shut the door behind her. Her gaze flicked about the room, and a shot of adrenaline lanced her system.

  She dropped her dinner, plunged her hand into the front pocket of her backpack and pulled out her .22.

  “Get out here with your hands up or I swear to God I’ll shoot you through the bathroom wall.”

  The door to the bathroom inched open and a pair of hands poked through the opening, fingers wiggling. “Don’t shoot. I even brought a bottle of wine.”

  Jerrica lowered her weapon with unsteady hands and closed her eyes as she braced one hand against the wall.

  Just like that, Gray Prescott had slipped past her best defenses...like he always did.

  Chapter Two

  Heavy breathing came at him from the other room, but he ducked his head anyway. He never could tell about Jerrica West. The woman didn’t play by any rules.

  Leaning back, he stuck one leg out the door. If she started shooting, he’d rather she take out a kneecap than his eyeball. “It’s me, Gray... Gray Prescott.”

  For all he knew Jerrica could’ve wiped him from that databank she called a brain. When
he’d ended their relationship over her hacking, she hadn’t even blinked an eye as she showed him the door.

  “I’m unarmed, and I need to talk to you, Jerrica.”

  A clunk resounded down the hallway. “C’mon out. I won’t shoot...yet.”

  He poked his head out the bathroom door and whistled through his teeth. “I guess that was stupid to be in the bathroom when you came home, but I was washing my hands. I didn’t know what time to expect you since I remembered you work late.”

  As he rambled on, he approached Jerrica as if stalking a wildcat. Her green eyes narrowed as he got closer, her heavy, black boots planted on the floor in a shooter’s stance. He’d taught her that.

  “What are you doing here and how the hell did you get in?” Her gaze flicked to the window that he’d left open a crack after climbing through.

  “Yeah, well, I did come through that window, but the security for this building is good—better than most.” He’d added that last part because he knew how important safety was for her, and he didn’t want Jerrica freaking out right now.

  “We’re on the third floor.” She pushed her black hair out of her eyes. “Oh, that’s right, you’re a hotshot Delta Force soldier able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.”

  “There was a fire escape, a ledge...and...forget it. I’m here now.”

  “What are you doing here? You said you wanted to talk—about what?” She crossed her arms over her chest not looking like she wanted to talk at all.

  “Can we sit down and get comfortable? I wasn’t kidding about the bottle of wine, and it took a lot of effort to get it up here. I left it in the kitchen.” He pointed to the sofa with colorful pillows strewn across it. “You first.”

  “Where are my manners? I guess they went out the window, when you came in the window. It’s not every day someone breaks into my apartment.”

  “It’s not like I’m a stranger. I’ve even been to this inner sanctum before.”

  “Have a seat, and I’ll get us a glass of wine.” She finally uprooted her feet from the floor, and her heavy boots clomped across the hardwood to the kitchen. She grabbed the bottle of wine by its neck and raised it in the air. “How did you manage to break in here while carrying this bottle of wine?”

  He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “You have your secrets and I have mine.”

  “You don’t have any secrets Gray. Nobody does.” She jabbed a corkscrew into the cork, twisted and eased it from the bottle. The glasses clinked together as she pulled them out of the cupboard. “You use a computer? The internet? Social media? Buy online? Nothing is sacred. They know all about you.”

  “I know. You’ve told me before.” He kicked his feet up onto her coffee table. “And after that cheery reminder, I’m gonna need a glass of wine more than ever.”

  She marched back into the living room, cupping a glass of wine in each hand. The ruby-red liquid sloshed with her jerky steps. She held a wine glass out to him. “You always did prefer red, didn’t you?”

  His gaze locked onto her lips, the color of the wine in her glass. “Yeah, I always did like red better.”

  Her cheeks flushed, matching her lips. She backed away from him and plopped down in the chair across from the sofa, pulling a pillow into her lap with one hand. “Now, what’s so important that you need to scale a three-story building and break into my place, all while carrying a killer bottle of pinot noir?”

  “I need your help, Jerrica.” Damn, this was going to be harder than he’d expected. He’d better ease into it. “The kind of help only you can give me.”

  She swirled her wine in the glass before taking a sip. Raising her eyes to the ceiling, she swished the liquid around in her mouth as if at a wine tasting. “That’s...interesting. What kind of help would that be?”

  Gray gulped back a mouthful of wine. She was just trying to make this harder on him. Could he blame her? With a little more liquid courage warming his belly, he said, “You know. That hacking thing you do.”

  Her eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. “What was that? Hacking? You told me that was illegal, immoral and un-American.”

  He snorted and the wine he’d just downed came up his nose. “I never said immoral.”

  “Whatever.” She flicked her short, unpolished nails in the air, and the tattoo of the bird between her thumb and forefinger took flight—she also had one on her wrist. “The words and the accusations were coming so hot and heavy I couldn’t keep track of them.”

  That hadn’t been the only thing hot and heavy between them. He did his best to keep his gaze pinned to her eyes. If they wandered below her chin, he could expect one of those boots planted against his leg.

  He spread his hands. “Give me a break, Jerrica. When we first started dating, I thought you were a generic computer programmer. Then you dropped the bombshell that you worked for one of the most notorious hackers out there, Dreadworm.”

  “I didn’t drop any bombshell. You went snooping through my stuff.” She rolled her eyes. “You really believed I was using you to get military secrets to post on Dreadworm?”

  “Can you blame me?” He jumped up from the sofa and his wine came dangerously close to spilling over the rim. “If you had discovered I’d been lying to you, you would have gone underground and cut off all communications. Your reaction to my suspicion was laughable coming from one of the most paranoid people I know.”

  She bent forward at the waist and undid the laces on her right boot, hiding her face and buying time. He knew her well.

  She pulled off the boot and got to work on the second one. She looked up, her bangs tangled in her long dark lashes. “You know now I never would’ve done that to you. You should’ve known it then.”

  He stopped his pacing to walk toward her, resting a hand on her shoulder, his fingers tangling in her silky hair. He rubbed a lock between his thumb and forefinger. “I knew it then, too, Jerrica. You just took me by surprise.”

  She shifted her head away from his touch and the diamond in the side of her nose glinted in the light. “Even if you weren’t Delta Force, even if you didn’t believe that I was using you, you’re not a big fan of hacking, are you?”

  “It seems...wrong.” He stepped away from her and went back to his seat. “These are private government systems you’re hacking. In some cases, these are classified systems. Communications not meant for the general public.”

  “All government systems should be for the general public.” She tossed back her hair and raised her chin.

  Gray took up the challenge. “Not if that exposure is going to result in outing people, putting their lives in danger, compromising their safety.”

  “Dreadworm never did that, and if you’d stuck around long enough to let me explain you would’ve known that.”

  “Maybe you’re right. I admit I jumped the gun.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. Now he had to get to the rest of his request. He tossed off the last of his wine.

  “Looks like you need another.” Jerrica pointed at his empty glass. “Maybe that’ll help you get to the point.”

  “That obvious huh?” He pushed to his feet and held his hand out for her glass. “You, too?”

  “I think I may need a few more to hear your request.” She scrambled out of the chair and shoved her glass into his hand. “I brought some pho home for my dinner. Do you wanna share it with me? When I dropped the bag, the container even landed upright.”

  “Yeah, breaking and entering always makes me hungry.” He took the wine glasses into the kitchen and filled them halfway. As he turned he almost plowed right into Jerrica. He lifted the glasses over her head. “Whoa.”

  The bag of food swung from her fingertips. “You’re too big for this kitchen.”

  He surveyed the small space. “A jockey would be too big for this kitchen. I thought you were going to move to a bigger place, a safer neighborhood. I
t’s not like you can’t afford it.”

  “I like this place. I feel secure here.”

  “I was able to break in.” He set her wine glass on the counter at her elbow.

  Nudging him with her hip she said, “You just told me my place was safer than most and it was your mad Delta Force skills that allowed you to break in here.”

  “I said safer than most, but you have the money to get into a much better neighborhood than this one with a doorman, twenty-four-hour security, the works. I don’t know why you don’t make the move.” She picked up her glass and he clinked his against hers.

  “You know I don’t like using that money. Blood money.” She took a quick sip of wine.

  “You must use the money for living expenses, anyway. I can’t imagine Dreadworm pays you the kind of salary to live in a Manhattan apartment without roommates. Didn’t you tell me once that most of the other hackers have day jobs?”

  “And didn’t you tell me you came to Manhattan to ask me a favor?” She ladled the pho into two bowls.

  As the savory steam rose, his eyes watered and he blinked, his nose already running from the spices. “Did I say it was a favor?”

  “If it weren’t a favor, Prescott, we wouldn’t be standing around drinking wine and eating pho together. You’re a man who likes to get to the point. You’ve been doing a lot of waffling.” She slid a bowl closer to him and the tofu bobbed in the liquid like square life preservers.

  He stirred the broth, chockful of health, with a spoon. “Figures you got tofu in here.”

  “Waffler.” She puckered her lips and slurped up a spoonful.

  This time, he allowed his gaze to linger on her mouth. If she wanted to see waffling, he could show her waffling by kissing her.

  She wiped her nose with a paper towel, covering the bottom half of her face. “What’s going on with you? What do you want me to do?”

  He dropped his spoon in the broth and took a deep breath. “It’s my commander, Major Rex Denver. He’s in trouble.”