Читать книгу Marriage Confidential - Debra Regan - Страница 9

Chapter Two

Sam Bellemere sank into the plush seat of the limousine and tugged at his bow tie, letting the ends hang loose. He popped the button at the collar of his tuxedo shirt and pushed his hands through his hair. Able to breathe at last, he felt a thousand times better than he had just ten minutes ago surrounded by a ballroom full of wealthy people eager to support the Gray Box youth programs. The June fund-raiser was the one event his business partner, Rush Grayson, refused to let him dodge. The codevelopers’ proprietary encryption technology had led to their founding of the cloud storage service giant, Gray Box. For the former smart-ass teenage hackers, mentoring the next generation of responsible computer geeks was a cause near and dear to both of them.

Knowing how shy Sam was, Rush had willingly assumed the role as the front man of the company, handling most of the public events and meetings. It had become an ideal partnership over the years. Rush’s extroverted nature thrived on time spent in the limelight and Sam happily kept himself behind the scenes. Without Rush and the company, Sam knew he’d be labeled an eccentric hermit—or worse—by now. The label held a certain appeal for Sam, but his friend insisted that kind of notoriety set a bad example for the kids they were trying to help.

“Back to the office, sir?” asked Jake, one of the drivers Gray Box kept on staff.

“Please,” Sam replied. The privacy screen rolled up between them and he withdrew his phone from the inner pocket of his jacket and turned it on. Within a minute, the device buzzed and chimed as if he’d been offline for weeks rather than hours.

He shook his head, skimming the alerts he’d missed while rubbing elbows with San Francisco’s elite. No phone was another rule for social events that Sam wasn’t allowed to argue with. He and Rush both knew if he’d had his phone on, he would have hidden behind the device rather than mingle face-to-face with the guests. Per their agreement, that behavior would have meant Sam was required to attend another event later in the year to make up for the gaffe.

Once a year in the monkey suit, smiling until his face ached, was more than enough time in the spotlight for Sam. Didn’t matter that by the sole measure of net worth he was technically one of the elite he struggled to connect with.

Terminally shy, he felt like a fish out of water in social situations. Anything more than dinner out with his closest friends left him wound tighter than a high wire. After several awkward failures, he’d met with counselors and psychiatrists to help him, without much success. He tried chemistry as well, in the form of medication to erase his anxiety. The unpleasant side effects hadn’t been worth it. He’d since resigned himself to limiting his social exposure and created a recovery plan that involved a double shot of whiskey and an online warfare game as a reward for making the attempt.

Several missed calls were from the same number, one he didn’t recognize. Half a dozen emails with a similar time stamp caught his full attention. With luck, this would be a security crisis at Gray Box that only he could resolve. Then Rush would have to let him keep his phone on during future events.

To Sam’s astonishment, all of the messages were from Madison Goode, an old friend from high school. Well, he’d known her for the two years he was allowed to attend public high school after his stint in juvenile detention. The government hadn’t appreciated the skill or restraint when Sam and Rush hacked into sites just to prove it could be done.

Sam had tutored Madison through a couple of classes, helping her pump up her GPA as well as her comprehension on some required course work. To this day, she sent him an email Christmas card every year. As much as he resisted those conventional traditions, because she respected his preference for digital correspondence, he always sent one back.

He put the voice mail on speaker and listened, then quickly read and reread the emails, each more desperate than the last, which was only two sentences: “Come on, Sam. You owe me.”

Sam shifted to the seat closer to the driver and lowered the privacy screen. “Change of plans. I need to get to the Artistry of the Far East Museum.” He buttoned up his collar and started on his tie. “Fast as you can get there.”

He hit Reply on the last email, letting Madison know he was on the way. Her first email had arrived over two and a half hours ago. Damn. He never would’ve left her hanging intentionally. She was right, he did owe her. Big time. Just before Christmas, she’d helped bring Rush and Lucy, Rush’s new wife, home from France, sparing everyone involved delays and inquiries that were better off as unconfirmed rumors. Next, he tapped the icon and returned one of her three phone calls. She didn’t pick up. He left a voice mail message that he was on the way.

While the driver made quick work of the bottlenecks of Friday night traffic, Sam checked for any breaking news at the museum. He came up empty and was ready to start a different search when the driver hit a detour about a block from the museum. “Looks like some big event,” Jake said. “There’s a red carpet out and everything.”

A red carpet event with no news teams nearby? It didn’t make sense. “No problem. I’ll walk from here.” His curiosity piqued, Sam reached for the door handle.

“Do you want me to wait?”

“Not necessary. I can call if I need something.”

Before he’d exited the limo, the familiar tension lanced across his shoulders and turned his mouth dry. At least at this event, without Rush nearby to glare at him, he could use his phone as a shield if necessary. Although he was dressed for it, he didn’t want to brave the red carpet, so he turned away at the last second and looked for a side entrance. The museum was crawling with local uniforms as well as a team that gave Sam the impression the President of the United States might be in attendance. He hoped not. Rush’s last meeting at the Pentagon had become urban legend in certain circles by now.

Sam took comfort again in the lack of news crews. For a split second, he considered the fallout if he walked away and caught a cab home. He waged an internal argument that there wasn’t any kind of favor worth the agony of walking into a world of strangers.

But he couldn’t do that. Madison had used her connections for him, coming through in the midst of a crisis to smooth over what might easily have been an unpleasant international incident for Rush, Lucy and the company. Not to mention she was one of two people from high school—aside from teachers—who consistently kept up with him. The other was Rush.

He was climbing the stairs to the side entrance, still waging that internal debate, when a uniformed museum guard and a man in a dark suit holding a tablet blocked the door. “Sam Bellemere,” he told the man in the suit. As the man brought the guest list onto the tablet, Sam saw names and photos in two columns. “Madison Goode asked me to stop by,” he added, shamelessly dropping her name to speed things up. “Is she here?”

The suit didn’t reply, focused on scrolling through the long list. From Sam’s view, he could see the last page was a different color and to his surprise, he recognized the head shot used on all of the Gray Box publicity.

“Mr. Bellemere.” The suit said the name with reverence and a little shock. As he stuck out his hand, a smile erased the stoic gatekeeper’s expression. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He pumped Sam’s hand and then signaled for the museum guard to open the door. “I’ll walk you back.”

“Thank you.”

“It is a pleasure,” the suit repeated. “I’m Brady Cortland. Has Madison mentioned me? I’ve been on her planning team for this exhibition and reception from the start.”

“Not that I recall,” Sam said. Why did this guy think Madison shared any details about her work? When the man’s face fell, he knew he had to say something. “But I’m terrible with names.”

“No problem,” Brady said. “Everyone who knows anything has heard how your work consumes you. Give me Mandarin any day over a computer language.”

“You and Madison must have worked night and day on this event,” Sam guessed.

“Yes!” Brady’s smile reappeared. “It took most of the office at one point or another. This exhibit was a logistical nightmare,” he said conspiratorially, “but so worth it in the long run.” He paused outside a door marked Security. “I need to get back to my post. Madison will be relieved you’re here. If you can sort out this mess, you’ll be the most popular spouse in the State Department.”

Sam was sure he’d misheard the man, but when he stepped inside the room, the question faded to the back of his mind. Here, surrounded by technology and the low murmurs of voices, he was instantly at home. Monitors showed views of the museum inside and out. Panels of status displays offered rows and blocks of colors and the soft click and clack of keyboards in action created his favorite background music. This tech-filled room was a world he understood.

Madison’s gaze collided with his immediately. As she crossed the room, her face was the epitome of calm with not a single sign of the tension he’d heard on his voice mail and in the unhappy tenor of her emails. She was a vision in a black sleeveless dress that poured over her curves, slits high at each leg allowing her to move with the dancer’s grace he remembered from school.

“You came,” she said. Her lips, painted a deep red, curved into a warm smile. Her soft green eyes, framed with long black eyelashes, drifted over him head to toe and back up again. She’d pulled her blond hair back from her face. “Dressed for the occasion too.” She leaned back and studied him and he wondered what she saw.

“I would’ve been here earlier if my phone hadn’t been turned off.” Her eyebrows arched. “Rush’s orders for social events,” he explained.

He soaked up every detail of her. They hadn’t seen each other in person since their ten-year high-school reunion, another event Rush had forced him to attend. Madison had been the only bright light that evening. He remembered her in a softer dress, her hair in loose waves around her shoulders. Tonight, the sleek dress and hair created the illusion of a blond version of perfect Far Eastern elegance. As if being shy wasn’t bad enough, her lithe dancer’s body left him tongue-tied. He knew it would be polite to offer her a compliment. If only he could trust his mouth to deliver the words in the proper, flattering order. The years of exercises in composure and confidence in social settings were lost in the ether of his brain. He was terrified of saying something wrong in front of so many people. These were her coworkers and he wouldn’t compound her current trouble with some embarrassing blunder.

Apparently understanding his discomfiture, she leaned close and feathered a kiss near his cheek. “Thank you for coming.” When she took his hand, her tight grasp was his only clue to her distress. “Did we pull you away from something important?”

“No. I’d finished my part for the evening.”

Her hand slid over his arm as she guided him to a workstation. “My apologies for being simultaneously vague and persistent,” she began in that perfect, unaccented voice. “I wasn’t comfortable putting the details in an email. As this evening approached, we had the typical threats against the dignitaries from China and the exhibit that opens tonight with this gala reception. I chalked it up to normal background noise until the museum system was breached a few hours ago. Whoever is behind this has disrupted display settings and the electronic locks on the centerpiece of this exhibit. The consensus is if those settings can be reset, he can do more damage at will to any part of the museum.”

“Sounds about right,” Sam said. “Is the primary concern preventing a theft?”

“On that we all disagree. I find the threat of a theft low.” She gave a quick shake of her head. “I can’t rule it out, of course. The head of the Chinese consulate has added his men to the security team. If theft is the goal, a hacker messing with the display through the computer has made their task additionally difficult. I’m more concerned with what’s going on in here.” She circled her finger at the nearest monitor.

Her voice rolled over him as easily as surf kissing sand before it slid back to the ocean. He could listen to her for hours, a strange revelation for a man who preferred working either in near-silence or to the pounding beat of heavy metal music. Bending forward, he reached up to bump his glasses and hit his nose, forgetting he’d worn contacts. Hoping she hadn’t noticed, he examined several screenshots of coding. “You caught this?” he asked, impressed.

She laughed. “No.” She rolled her hand, inviting two younger people into the conversation. “Carli and Devon noticed some increasing negative chatter directly tied to the event this evening. The primary person in the chat room had too many specifics of the agenda tonight for it to be random. The FBI has been running down the source, which left Carli and Devon to try and amuse the hacker until you could get here. Pardon me,” she said. “Carli and Devon, this is Sam Bellemere.”

“O-M-G.” Carli clapped a hand over her mouth. Her blue eyes were huge behind her glasses. “I cannot believe you married Sam Bellemere. You’re the—”

“Mastermind of Gray Box,” Devon said, finishing her sentence. “We’re huge fans,” he gushed.

They both tried to shake his hand simultaneously and Sam laughed it off. Though he’d never be completely comfortable in the spotlight, their overwhelming greeting gave him a pleasant distraction from another mention of marriage. Marrying Madison—or any woman—wasn’t something he considered forgettable.

Reflexively he looked at her hand and caught the wedding set on her left ring finger. It was timeless and elegant, much like the woman wearing it. The classic beauty of the wedding set contrasted with the larger ruby ring on her right hand that accented the sleek lines of her dress. So he hadn’t misheard the suit with the tablet. Madison had listed him as her husband?

“Was Rush your best man?” Carli asked.

“If we could stay on point,” Madison interjected coolly.

Happily, Sam thought. Whatever her reasons for calling him her husband, he trusted she’d tell him later. He wouldn’t embarrass her with questions now, in front of people who clearly respected her. “What do you need?” He reached for the mouse and scrolled through the screenshots Carli and Devon had captured.

“I need to know the white jade cup and the museum as a whole are secure and will stay secure. This exhibit is a huge honor for the US and a big show of trust from China. Any perceived trouble could undo months of negotiations.” She waved over another man. “If you’d coordinate with Special Agent Spalding, I need to circulate with the guests for a few minutes.”

“Sure.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. Within a few keystrokes, he was into the museum system and feeling his way around. He’d much rather be here than out there with her among a crowd of strangers.

While Spalding brought him up to speed, Sam felt Carli and Devon watching every keystroke as he looked for how the hacker had wormed this code into the display controls.

The code caught his full attention and everything around him faded into the background. He was always happier working with computer code than trying to unravel the mysteries of people. People had secrets and hidden agendas such as pretend marriage. Computer code, no matter how convoluted or infectious, always retained a sense of logic, if only to the coder. He couldn’t imagine how Madison managed all the protocols and people day in and day out. He’d go crazy under that kind of pressure.

As he worked, he kept up a running litany for Spalding. “The chances of finding his location with the tools here are low.” Sam wasn’t ready to risk a connection and upload his personal tool kit to a compromised system. “For tonight,” he continued, “I can isolate the issues and prevent him from causing more havoc.”

“Can you keep him out?”

“That requires a major upgrade for the museum. They’re well-protected from the things they know about. This...” His voice trailed off until he ran into another annoying speed bump. “Well, this kid is good.”

“How do you know it’s a kid?” Spalding asked.

“Just an educated guess based on the language, creative approach and execution. He gained access through a gap in the contact page.”

Devon and Carli added their opinions and voices to the discussion, speculating on who was behind the attack and where they were hiding. Though Sam wasn’t willing to give away the online security programs he used at Gray Box, he was happy to weave in a few improvements and lock out the hacker for tonight. “Display controls and locks are back in my control,” a man said from across the room.

“The group from China will be delighted to hear it,” Spalding said with obvious relief. “Almost as much as the museum director.”

Sam imagined Madison would be pleased, as well. “The hard work isn’t done,” he warned. “This stopgap will buy the museum forty-eight hours at best. If he wants back in, he’ll find a way.”

“The exhibit runs through the end of the year,” Madison said from over his shoulder.

Sam swiveled in the seat and met her serene gaze. “I didn’t hear you come in.” He checked his watch, surprised he’d been working on this for nearly an hour.

She gave him a small smile. “Can you create a solution that will last?”

“Yes, but not from here.” He stood up from the workstation. “I’ll work on it more tomorrow. For tonight, everything should run flawlessly.”

“Wonderful.” Her eyes were filled with gratitude. “Thank you, on behalf of all of us.”

“We’ll need to coordinate with your efforts moving forward,” Spalding said. “My team needs to know what you’re implementing.”

Startled at the man’s audacity, Sam laughed. “I’ll keep you in the loop, but you’re not coming anywhere near my lab at Gray Box.”

“This is an ongoing FBI case,” Spalding countered, planting his hands on his hips.

“All right, it’s yours. What a relief I’m not needed here anymore.” Sam stepped away from the workstation and shoved his hands into his pockets before he gave in to the urge to pop Spalding on the chin. At one time, he’d been a scrawny nerd. After high school, when his days were his to manage, he started putting in almost as many hours at the gym as he did at the keyboard.

“Gentlemen,” Madison chided. “I’m sure we can come to terms at a more appropriate time in the morning.”

Sam wanted to snarl at the insinuation that he’d cave on this point. “FBI, Department of Defense, or whoever, can sign a contract if they want a consultant. I don’t work for free.”

He and Rush had seen a need and gone after it, cornering the market of online information security. They’d both developed and sold ideas for millions, so founding Gray Box hadn’t been strictly a money-motivated endeavor. Although no one seemed to believe it, they had an altruistic side, professionally and personally.

Hackers once themselves, they’d been disowned by that community when they launched Gray Box. He couldn’t recall a week since the company went public without an attempt on the servers. Every hacker in the world wanted the instant reputation and recognition that would come from breaking into Gray Box. The legitimate businesses they supported now still held a reserve of distrust, despite their zero-breach record. Sam reminded himself public image wasn’t his problem. He left that to Rush and Rush left the lion’s share of the day-to-day technology to him.

“If you’re set,” Sam said to Madison, “I’ll be on my way.” He shook hands with Carli and Devon and signed a business card for each of them. With a final nod to Spalding, he let Madison walk him out of the security suite.

“You haven’t heard the last of Spalding,” she murmured. “He takes his role in this seriously.”

“As he should,” Sam said, matching her low tone. “I’ll cooperate with him, but I’m not handing over proprietary technology or software.” Again he reached to push his glasses up so he could rub his eyes and remembered in the nick of time he was wearing his contacts. “By noon tomorrow, I’ll have better location intel for the FBI to work with as well as a comprehensive protective program for the museum. At a fair price.”

“Remarkable.” She stopped, placing a hand on his arm again. “I have one more favor to ask.”

He arched his eyebrows, waiting.

She glanced up and down the hallway before meeting his gaze. “Spend a few minutes at the reception with me. News of my, um, husband’s arrival has made people curious.”

He kept her waiting, but she didn’t flinch. “Okay, on one condition.”

“Only one?”

He reconsidered his position. “One condition and I reserve the right to add conditions based on your answers.”

She held her ground and his gaze. “I reserve the right to refuse on a per item basis. Name your primary condition.”

He felt the smile curl his lips, saw her lovely mouth curve in reply. “Tell me where and why we married.”

“Not here.” Her smile faded. “You deserve a full explanation and you’ll get it, I promise. As soon as I navigate the minefield this evening has become. I don’t have any right to impose further, but I could use a buffer in there.”

He suddenly wanted to step up and be that buffer. For her. “I’m no asset in social settings, Madison.”

“No one’s expecting you to be a social butterfly. You only have to be yourself and pretend to be proud of me.”

He didn’t care for her phrasing. Before he could debate the terms further, she leaned her body close to his and gave him a winning smile. “Later,” she murmured, tapping his lips with her finger. “Let’s go. There’s only an hour left.” She linked her hand with his and turned, giving him a start when they came face-to-face with one of the guests.

Her moves made sense now. She’d known they were being watched while he’d been mesmerized by her soft green eyes. The intimacy had only been for show. Thank goodness.

If her smile was any indication, he’d managed the first introduction flawlessly. They were soon surrounded by others eager to meet Madison’s elusive husband. Beside her, working the room wasn’t difficult. She never left him to fend for himself and listening to her answer the same repeated questions, he learned she’d kept details of her married life private. It made the hour easier to bear.

The only thing that came naturally to him was demonstrating pride in his fake wife. She had a flare for diplomacy—no surprise, considering her career. He admired her ability to say the right things or politely evade questions she didn’t want to answer.

When they entered the gallery where the prized white jade cup glowed under soft lights surrounded by guards, he was the only person close enough to catch her relieved sigh. She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Sam. You saved me tonight.”

He couldn’t recall ever hearing similar words aimed at him. “We should dance,” he replied, noticing other couples dancing on the terrace where live music was under way.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, resisting.

This was a new role. Not the one she’d created for him with the marriage ruse, but being the eager and willing dance partner. He tipped his head to the open doors, urging her to come along. “It’s a gorgeous night and it’s our public debut as a couple.”

“It’s not necessary,” she murmured as they lingered on the fringes of the dance floor.

“Afraid I’ll step on your toes?” He managed to keep the growing list of questions to himself, though he couldn’t wait to hear how she’d passed her security clearances with a fake husband. “Come on,” he cajoled. “We deserve a little fun.” Besides, he had more he wanted to say. Nothing as eloquent as the cheesy lines he’d just delivered—something far more relevant to his real reason for being here.

With a little spin, he turned her into his arms and they joined the flow of dancing couples.

“Impressive.” She gave him an open, friendly smile that suited her better than the cool reserve she’d shown all evening.

“My mom was a stickler for all the traditional manners.” If he focused on her, he didn’t mind the other people milling about, watching them.

Madison peered up at him through her lashes. “Was that before or after juvie?”

“Both, actually,” he admitted. Why conversation had always been easy with her was a perpetual mystery to him. She’d always been out of his league and yet she’d never been rude about what she needed when he tutored her. The sobering thought brought him back to the reason she’d called on him to help.

He bent his head close to hers and whispered in her ear. “There’s more to the problem you had tonight, isn’t there?”

Her hand smoothed a small circle across his shoulder. “Yes.” The serene mask she kept between the world and her emotions fell back into place.

“I’d like to talk about it in more detail.”

“As soon as I’m home I’ll call you and fill you in.”

“No.” Based on who she was, the people around them and the disjointed threats from the hacker and online chat rooms, he didn’t trust her phone or email right now. Knowing how she’d reached out to him, he had a few concerns about the security of his phone and email. “In person is better. Smarter,” he added.

Her body tensed under his hands. “Sam, stop. You’ve done enough for me. I can handle it with the FBI’s help from here.”

“I’m serious, Madison.” He guided her through a turn and brought her closer to his body. “You know the history of this situation. You know the protocols and risks in your world better than I do.”

When concern flared in her eyes, he knew she was following his line of thinking. If she’d used his name from the beginning of her marriage charade, he had reason to worry that his condo might be compromised. It wasn’t simply his fondness for spy novels fueling the paranoia. He and Rush had survived several corporate espionage attempts, from local to global threats. As he’d watched Madison work the room, he realized several people in the Chinese delegation recognized him and were reassessing her because of it. He sensed serious trouble brewing and he needed her insight to get ahead of it.

“How long have people believed I’m your husband?”