Читать книгу A Father's Sacrifice - Mallory Kane - Страница 7

By midnight, Natasha was certain of two things. Someone had definitely targeted Dylan’s computer, and she needed much more powerful equipment if she was going to build an effective firewall.

She stretched and arched her neck to loosen the tight muscles, then glanced toward the ceiling. If she had to be down here much longer, she’d go crazy. Sure the lab was brilliantly lit and air-conditioned, but that didn’t change the fact that it was buried under twelve feet of dirt, steel and wood.

A movement across the hall caught her eye. Dylan Stryker leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. He’d appeared in the glass-walled room across from hers a couple of hours before, freshly showered and dressed in neat khaki slacks and a navy polo shirt that left his long, muscled arms bare.

Even though she’d been concentrating on the patterns in screen after screen of code, a part of her had remained acutely aware of his presence.

Mintz had told her he was working on a computerized surgical simulation program. It had only taken a few seconds’ observation for her to figure out that he was using a stylus like a surgical tool to practice attaching microscopic nerves to microscopic wires. The neural interface.

She’d read the basics of the device in a classified NSA memo. It was a rectangular box about the size of a USB plug, maybe a centimeter long. The 3-D computer-generated mock-up looked like a millipede with thousands of hairlike microfibers covering its surface. Once the device was surgically implanted into a human being, and each microfiber was attached to the proper neural sheath, the interface would feed impulses to and from nerves too damaged to receive proper signals from the brain.

No wonder the government wanted it. The possible uses were astounding. The supersoldier of fiction, with computer-enhanced reflexes, sharpened vision and hearing, perfectly timed response and accuracy, could become a reality. The thought of that technology falling into the hands of terrorists was horrifying.

Abruptly, Dylan pushed back from his workstation and stood. He pushed his hands through his hair and started to pace.

Campbell, sitting at the other workstation, yawned and said something. Dylan shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, as if trying to work the tension from his body.

His movements were spare and graceful. As he rubbed his neck, his biceps flexed and he arched his back, emphasizing the seductive curve at the base of his spine and his strong, well-shaped buttocks.

He turned toward her. Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze to the flat-screen monitor. Studying his physical attributes wasn’t getting her any closer to the hacker.

She reexamined the section of code that had grabbed her attention earlier, and suddenly the jumble of numbers and letters coalesced into a pattern.

“Why you clever little—” she whispered to the unknown hacker as she advanced to the next screen, searching for the same telltale string of numbers she’d just spotted.

Whoever he was, he was good. As she’d told Mintz, they always left something behind, but this guy’s tag was almost undetectable.

It was also vaguely familiar. She frowned at the tiny string of code. She’d seen that pattern before. A nauseating dread began to build in her stomach. Could it be Tom?

No. That would be too weird a coincidence. Although…he had always been fascinated with the fringe groups who would do anything to bring down the government. Not because he had anything against the U.S.

He loved being in control, and he’d always said the zealots who would die for their cause were ridiculously easy to manipulate.

Her heart jackhammered in her throat. If it was Tom, did he know she was here? Eight years ago he’d framed her for hacking into the FBI’s domestic terrorist database. But eight years ago she’d been naive and trusting. She was smarter now. Of course, Tom probably was, too.

Her peripheral vision picked up a movement to her left. She stiffened and casually dropped her hand to the fanny pack where she kept her weapon.

“What’s so interesting on that screen?”

It was Dylan. She glanced up at him, then through the glass toward the lab. She’d been caught off guard. Something that never happened to her.

“No,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I can’t walk through walls. Alfred believes in triple redundancy. There are doors all over the place.” A ghost of a smile flickered about his mouth, making him look younger and achingly handsome.

“Triple redundancy is a good thing.” Having plenty of doors was even better—excellent in fact. She hoped they all led upstairs.

Dylan studied the young woman the FBI claimed was the best hacker-tracker they had. She was young, but computer expertise didn’t depend on years of training. The best hackers were often under twenty-five.

He put his hand on the back of her chair and leaned over, studying her screen. “Find something?”

Her pale blond hair tickled his nose, and the scent of springtime and wild strawberries filled his nostrils. He took a deep breath, faintly shocked at his reaction. He had a sudden urge to run his fingers through her silky hair, to nuzzle the graceful curve of her neck.

What the hell was he thinking?

She cleared her throat and pulled slightly away from him. “I’ve found traces of the hacker.”

He squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, trying to throw off his body’s instantaneous response to her closeness. He straightened.

“You told Alfred the hacker couldn’t have gotten out clean.”

She shook her head. “That’s right. Everything that’s done on a computer leaves a trace. This guy is very good, but—”

“You found him.” Dylan leaned in close to the monitor again, curious about what she’d seen. At that moment she turned her head. Her brilliant green eyes were only a couple of inches away from his, her mouth so close he felt her breath.

Her eyes widened and she turned her head back to the screen.

“In less than three hours.”

“I—I haven’t found him, just his trail.”

She nervously moistened her lips and a spear of lust streaked through him.

As if she knew the effect she was having on him, she leaned farther back in her chair and took a deep breath. “Is this your first hacking attempt?”

For his own sake, he straightened and stepped away from her. He crossed his arms. “We get reports of failed attempts—maybe once or twice a month. But two days ago Campbell received an alert. It wasn’t just a knock at the door. It was unauthorized access.”

“Well, either Campbell made another mistake or this is a different hacker, because this guy’s been accessing the vulnerable areas of your system for at least two years.”

Dylan stared at her. “Two years?” He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s impossible!”

She sent him a sharp look.

“Okay. Two years.” His insides twisted in horror. He ran his hand across the back of his neck, massaging the tight muscles there. Two years. Ben!

“What kind of damage has he done?”

“He’s accessed your document files, household calendars and schedules, financial records, buying habits.”

Dylan’s jaw clenched and a cold fear engulfed him. “Buying habits. Household calendars.” He cursed vividly. “Then he knows Ben is alive. What else does he know?”

“Anything that came in or went out via e-mail.”

“Even to or from NSA?”

“That’s right.”

“Damn it!” He whirled and slammed his palm into the door facing.

Natasha jumped.

“Sorry,” he said, glancing at her sheepishly. He rubbed his hand. “So he knows about the interface. Knows how close I am to perfecting it.” Fear and rage swirled through him.

“What the hell good is a firewall then? What’s the point of all the damned computer security if—?”

She held up a hand. “He hasn’t cracked the encryption that protects your neural interface. Not yet anyway.”

He blew out a breath. “Thank God for that. But why hasn’t my software detected him? It was developed by NSA.”

Natasha smiled without humor. “That’s why he hasn’t gotten what he wants. But whoever he is, he’s that good. Firewalls are built by people. People can crack them.”

The confidence in her voice intrigued him. Dylan eyed her. She could pass for a college kid. Too young, too innocent, to be so sure of herself. He asked her a question he already knew the answer to. “Could you have gotten into my system?”

Natasha stared into Dylan’s eyes, into the lake of blue fire that burned so intensely. She resisted the urge to look away. “Yes.”

He nodded as he studied her thoughtfully. “So are you a hacker?”

She swallowed. “No.” Not anymore.

His gaze searched her face. Did he believe her?

“Okay then, who is this guy?” he asked.

The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. She looked at the screen and didn’t quite lie this time. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him before. Since I’ve been with the FBI, I’ve run across a lot of very good hackers. This is almost certainly one of them. But to catch him, I’m going to need much better equipment.”

“Fine. I’ll contact NSA.”

“No need. My boss can have it here sometime early tomorrow by jet courier.”

“Good. Do it.”

She began to breathe easier. He’d been satisfied with her answer about the hacker’s ID. There was no way she was going to tell anyone of her suspicion that the hacker was Tom. Not until she was sure, and maybe not even then. She told herself no one needed to know she’d been so desperate for money to pay for college that she’d performed hacking jobs for the same man who might be attacking Dylan’s system—who might even be responsible for the death of his wife and the crippling of his young son.

A sickening dread spread through her, and her gut clenched.

Dylan propped a hip on the edge of her desk, way too close for comfort. His eyes blazed.

“Well, Agent Rudolph, you are good. I assume you’re old enough to be an FBI agent. What are you—twenty-five? Twenty-six.”

“I’m twenty-seven, and my name is Natasha.”

“How did you get to be the government’s best hacker-buster?”

She smiled wryly. “So you’re still not sure about me?”

His cheeks turned faintly pink. “It’s not that I question your ability—”

“You just question my ability,” she tossed back at him.

His long black lashes floated down for an instant, giving her his answer.

Normally, she couldn’t care less if some military type or stiff-necked suit doubted her expertise. But the fact that Dylan had reservations about her made her feel as if she had something to prove. She pushed that notion aside. She wasn’t here to impress him, just to do her job and get out as soon as possible.

“Let’s just say I had a lot of incentive,” she said wryly. Incentive. That was an understatement. Mitch Decker had saved her from going to prison for hacking into classified files. No matter that she’d been framed. Prison was prison. She owed a big debt to the U.S. government.

Dylan’s dark brows went up. “Incentive?”

She gnawed on her lower lip. His intensity was mesmerizing and a little frightening. When he looked at her, she felt as if she were the only person in his world. She dropped her gaze to her hands. She wasn’t answering any more questions.

“I need to contact Mitch and give him my equipment list. Until it gets here there’s not much I can do, unless you give me access to your program files.”

Dylan shook his head and stood.

“Look, Dr. Stryker. If I’m going to do my job—”

He broke in. “It’s almost midnight. You should be in bed.”

She tilted her head at him. “As you just pointed out, I’m well over twenty-one, all grown-up. I usually make my own decisions about bed.”

She hadn’t meant it to come out like that. To her dismay, she felt a flush rising from her neck to her cheeks.

The corner of his mouth turned up. He took a step backward and leaned against the door facing.

“Campbell’s working on the programming code right now. You should get a good night’s sleep and get started in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” she snapped, and came to her feet.

Even slouched wearily against the door facing, he commanded attention. His shirt strained over his biceps and lay gently against his well-defined abs.

He exuded strength, competence, and yes—obsession. Not to mention undeniable sexuality. She’d never been in the presence of anyone so physically compelling.

He gave her a quick nod, straightened and turned on his heel. “I assume you can find your way to your room, being so grown-up and all,” he said over his shoulder.

JERRY CAMPBELL yawned loudly and twisted his stringy hair back into its ponytail. He’d stared at screen after screen of computer code until he was cross-eyed. It was almost midnight. Dr. Stryker had told him to go to bed an hour ago. He was about ready to take that advice.

But first—he glanced through the glass walls of the virtual surgery lab, searching the halls and other offices, making sure no one was around. Typing briskly, he opened his e-mail account and composed a message, quickly attached a file and pressed Send. Then he began to shut down the computer.

THE WALLS WERE CLOSING IN. Little Tasha pushed against the car seat that pinned her. But she couldn’t move. She tried not to think about the blood, or why her mama and daddy wouldn’t talk to her.

A big boom shook the car. She shrieked. That one was louder than the first, the one that had smashed the front of the car.

She saw a flash of light, and then another boom rumbled through her. She couldn’t see! Couldn’t breathe!

Daddy!

Natasha sat up, gasping for air.

Her chest heaved as spasms racked her rigid muscles. Her mind crashed back into her body. She’d been dreaming. Again.

Where was she? Not in the car where her parents had died. Not buried under mountains of debris in a burned-out building.

She was inside Dylan Stryker’s secluded estate—in the windowless pitch-dark room. No wonder she’d dreamed of being trapped.

Quiet and safe. Plenty of fresh air. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

She kicked at the tangled sheets. She had to get out of there. She’d go sit under the skylight.

As she stood up, she heard something. It sounded as if it was just outside her door. Silently, she slipped her Glock from under her pillow and slid out of bed, gliding silently along the wall, listening. As she neared the door, she saw the knob slowly turn. The door swung open a few inches, until a pale night-light from the hall sent a long shadow across the floor near the foot of her bed.

Natasha flattened herself against the wall, her eyes glued to the hand on the knob. She braced herself, then grabbed the wrist with her left hand and yanked, aiming her weapon at the intruder’s neck.

“Don’t move,” she hissed, her heart hammering.

A deafening screech split the air. Natasha jerked and almost dropped her gun.

Sirens.

Shaking her head, gripping her gun until her hand ached, she shoved the intruder back through the door and against the wall of the hallway.

A small, feminine grunt reached her ears, almost drowned out by the earsplitting screech.

It was Charlene. Natasha flipped her around to face her, but she didn’t lower her gun. “What were you doing?”

Charlene’s eyes were wide with panic. “The sirens. I knew you wouldn’t know what they were. The first time I heard them I nearly jumped out of my skin.” She laughed nervously.

Natasha stared at the woman for a beat, and frowned. Had the sirens awoken her?

Just then, Ben’s door opened. Dylan came out, his hair tousled and his trousers wrinkled. He was shirtless and barefoot. He clutched his polo shirt in one hand and his loafers in the other. His sleepy eyes were too bright, burning with azure fire.

“Charlene, get in there with Ben. Natasha, go back to your room.” He dropped his shoes to the floor and slipped into them.

Charlene scooted around Natasha, past Dylan and through the door to Ben’s room.

“What’s happening?” Natasha yelled over the siren’s screech.

Dylan glared at her. He opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. She darted back inside her room for her gear. She grabbed her hiking boots, a black pullover and her leather fanny pack.

As she stepped back into the hall, the sirens finally decreased in volume and faded.

Dylan hadn’t bothered to wait for her. He’d already reached the end of the hall.

She stuffed her weapon into the fanny pack along with her badge and the pass code generator, then hopped on one foot at a time as she pulled on her boots. She caught up to him when he paused to put on his shirt.

His bare, shadowed shoulders rippled and gleamed in the low light as he tugged the polo shirt over his head.

It was impossible to ignore the yearning that had taken root inside her when he’d appeared without his shirt—the yearning to touch his hot, smooth skin.

She didn’t like the way he affected her. It was distracting—and dangerous.

“What are those sirens?” she asked.

He vaulted down the stairs. She was right behind him. “Security breach.”

“Breach? Where?”

“This way. The west side.” Dylan opened the exit door at the foot of the stairs. Campbell burst into the stairwell from the lab.

“What are you doing still down here?” Dylan frowned at his bioengineer. Campbell looked as though he’d been in a tussle. His long hair was tangled and loose around his face. He pushed it back with hands that shook.

“I was shutting down the computers when the sirens went off. Scared the crap out of me.”

“It’s after four. I thought you were going to bed hours ago.”

Dylan held the exit door for Campbell and Natasha. As she passed him, she met his gaze with a narrow, questioning look. Was she also wondering why Campbell looked as though he’d just crawled through a fence?

“I lost track of time,” Campbell said. “Where’s the breach?”

“Spotlights,” Natasha said, pointing west. She took off toward them at a jog.

Dylan made sure the exit door was closed securely, and then he caught up with her. Campbell followed more slowly.

Abruptly, the sirens stopped, leaving his ears ringing.

Natasha’s long blond hair swung around her shoulders as she settled into a graceful loping stride. Her buttocks and legs were slender, but powerful. Dylan hung back, watching her for a moment before he sped up enough to match her pace.

“Have you talked to Mintz?” she tossed over her shoulder.

“Not yet. The sirens go off whenever any significant weight is put on the fence. Usually they only last a few seconds.”

“How’d you know where it was?” She matched her speech pattern to her pace.

Dylan ran alongside her, impressed that she wasn’t huffing. She was in damned good shape.

“The sirens have a different repeat for each area.”

“Run through them for me.”

Dylan recited the litany. “And the front gate is a solid whine. It’s the most vulnerable, since it’s closest to the main house. I’ll have Alfred give you a sheet listing them all.”

“That’s okay. I’ve got them. Thanks.” She glanced behind her. “Campbell works 24-7?”

Dylan took a quick look back. “He’s almost as anxious as I am to get the interface perfected.”

“I doubt that.”

“He’s talented and loyal.”

“Yeah? If you say so. Not in very good condition, though.” Dylan smiled, hearing Campbell’s labored breathing behind them. “Sitting in front of a computer all day will do that.”

She sent him a sidelong glance, and then suddenly put out her arm and stopped him. “Hold it.”

“What?” They were about fifty feet away from the fence.

“Campbell, stop,” she tossed back over her shoulder as she unzipped her fanny pack and drew her weapon.

“Natasha, there’s no reason to—”

She gestured with her head. “Just wait here.”

Dylan blew out an exasperated sigh. He saw Alfred on the other side of the fence, talking with two of his security guards and two men he didn’t recognize.

“What’s going on?” Campbell huffed.

“She said to wait.”

Natasha approached the fence on the balls of her feet, her weapon ready. Dylan couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was graceful, strong and confident. Her pale hair shone like the moon in the darkness of predawn.

“Damn, she is so hot,” Campbell whispered. “Who’d have thought an FBI agent could look like that?”

Who indeed? Dylan nodded to himself. Hot wasn’t the word he’d use. Cool was more like it. Cool and beautiful, but with a deep undercurrent he couldn’t identify. A steel core lurked behind that beautiful skin. A barrier or a firewall? he wondered.

Still, he couldn’t deny the heat that surged through him as he watched her run. His reaction to her surprised him. He hadn’t felt anything close to a sexual urge in a long, long time.

She turned and gestured for them to come forward.

Dylan stalked up beside her and bent his head near her ear. Her hair teased his nose. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had a breach, you know.”

She stiffened and her chin went up a fraction. “Of course not. I apologize, sir.”

“Don’t. You were only doing your job.”

“Not according to your chief of security. He thinks I should stick to the computers.”

“Alfred is very territorial.”

“That would be an understatement—sir.”

Dylan smiled. He took in her profile—her small determined chin, her willowy neck, the slight upward tilt of her nose.

“Dylan.”

It was Alfred. Dylan stepped up to the fence. “What happened? Did you catch him?”

With a brisk nod Alfred passed a business card through the wire.

Dylan read the information on the card with disgust, then stuck it in his pocket. “A reporter, naturally. Get him out of here.”

Alfred motioned to the two official-looking strangers. “These are the two FBI agents assigned to help us with physical security.” Alfred’s voice was carefully bland. He wasn’t happy about the help.

Dylan turned to Natasha. “You know these guys?”

She nodded stiffly. “One of them.”

“Introduce me.”

She stepped forward just as the men approached.

The dark-haired man walked up to the fence. “Ray Storm.” He touched the brim of his baseball cap.

“Special Agent Storm,” Dylan said. “Thanks for being here.” Storm had the chiseled features and distinct coloring of a Native American.

The second man stepped up. He was taller and bulkier than Storm with the kind of pretty-boy face that had probably gotten him in a lot of trouble in high school.

“This is Special Agent Daniel Gambrini,” Storm said.

“Dr. Stryker,” Gambrini acknowledged him.

Dylan nodded. “Thanks.”

Storm stepped to one side and motioned to Natasha.

Dylan watched them while Alfred described the damage to the fence. Thank God it was minimal.

“Hey, Nat, you doing okay?” Storm said.

Natasha nodded and said something Dylan didn’t catch. Then Storm motioned Gambrini over and introduced him to Natasha.

As the agents headed back toward Alfred, Dylan turned his back on the fence. “Another damned reporter,” he said to Campbell, who had hung back out of the way. “Get back to the house. You need to get some sleep.”

Campbell nodded eagerly and headed toward the house.

“Natasha, you can grab another couple of hours, too.”

She didn’t move or comment.

He walked past her. “You want to walk with me?”

She glanced at Alfred, who’d just been handed a camera by one of the security guards, then at her fellow agents. She still held her Glock in both hands and stood perfectly balanced, ready for anything. She obviously took every aspect of her job very seriously.

Dylan realized that made her extremely attractive to him.

Dawn was breaking, and the world had turned that colorless gray that made it hard to distinguish light from shadow. Yet her hair still blazed pale gold.

“You didn’t know the second agent?”

She shook her head. “He just transferred in. Took the place of an agent who recently resigned to work in a detective agency with his wife.”

“But you know Agent Storm?”

She sent him a sidelong glance. “Storm? Best undercover man in the Bureau. You can depend on him.” She glanced over her shoulder. “What’s going to happen to that reporter?”

“Alfred will threaten him with prosecution and he’ll back off. Like I said, this happens occasionally.”

She put her weapon away and looked across the lawn toward the house. “A whole lot of money went into designing this place to be totally hidden. How often is occasionally?”

“Every few months or so. It’s impossible to remain totally hidden. This time of the year it’s worse. Next week is the third anniversary of my wife’s death.” The words still felt raw in his throat.

“And your son’s, as far as the media knows. Right?”

Dylan heard the edge in her voice. She sounded like Alfred. He frowned. “It was the only way I could keep him safe.” Not willing to listen to any recriminations, he headed back toward the house. Natasha fell into step beside him.

“Why not let NSA set you up in a secure facility?”

Dylan rounded on her. “What do you know about the NSA’s idea of a secure facility?”

“A little, but—”

“They were kind enough to give me a tour of one that’s based—well, nearby. Its first level is fifty feet underground.”

Natasha’s eyes widened.

“My lab would have been on the third level down. The day-care center and the living quarters were on the fourth level. NSA offered me two choices. Ben could stay there with me, or he could be placed with strangers under a fake name until I finished their damn project.” The idea still sent nausea clawing up from his gut.

“I can’t bear to let him out of my sight. He wouldn’t understand. He’d think I’d abandoned him.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “And I couldn’t bury him under fifty feet of rock and dirt, either.”

“No—of course not.” Her voice sounded strangled. “So you offered them a third choice.” She cut her eyes at him then back to the ground in front of them.

What was the matter with her? Dylan’s defenses rose immediately. Did she disapprove of his choice? Ben was his son—and he was protecting him in the best way he knew how. “That’s right. If they wanted their precious supersoldier, they’d give me what I wanted.”

“So they set up this fortress for you, and now you believe Ben is safe.” She pressed her lips together in a thin line and wrapped her arms around her middle.

Dylan stared at her. Whatever was hidden under her cool exterior, it was exposed now. She looked haunted. He could understand her being upset about Ben being confined to this place. He hated it, too. But her reaction was out of proportion.

“We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it was safe. Protecting my child is my first priority.”

She didn’t look at him. Instead she turned her head and looked at the house. An almost unnoticeable shudder rippled through her.

“Ben is happy here,” he said defensively. “He has the run of the entire house. He has his own camouflaged, secure play area with a wading pool and sandboxes and specially built toys.”

He wasn’t sure why he felt he had to justify himself to her. He just knew that when she looked at him, her green eyes dug deep inside him to a place he hadn’t explored in a long time. A place that hurt.

She nodded jerkily.

“Look, Agent Rudolph. I love my son. I’m protecting him. Did you see how quickly and easily that intruder was caught? I’ve got the best security money can buy.”

She turned those green eyes on him. “Then why are you still worried about his safety?”

He felt as though she’d head-butted him.

Anger flared in his chest, and a worm of guilt gnawed at his gut. He jammed his hands into his back pockets to keep from clenching his fists. Careful to speak calmly, he gave her the truth.

“Because despite all this, I know there can never be a place safe enough. There is evil in the world, murderers and fanatics who will do anything, even harm an innocent child, to get what they want.”

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Then explain something to me. If you’re so concerned about Ben’s safety, why don’t you just stop? Tell the NSA to shove their neural interface.”

Shock cut through him like lightning. “You think I’m doing this for them? For the government?” A harsh laugh scratched his throat. His chest tightened as he tried to wipe away the vision that never left his mind. The sight of that hulking twisted metal at the bottom of the ravine. The sick certainty that it was his fault.

As Natasha watched Dylan’s face in the soft light of dawn, the truth hit her like a bucket of icy water.

Ben’s awkward braces. His nerve damage. The fervor that burned in his father’s eyes.

She’d been so preoccupied with overcoming her own fears and her concern for the child that she’d missed the obvious.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “The interface. You’re doing it for Ben.”

Dylan’s face registered sadness and desperation. “He’s in a growth spurt right now.” His voice was tortured. “His body is sucking energy into growing bone. Even with intense physical therapy, the neurological damage is progressing faster than his body can fight it. He’s losing muscle, and with loss of muscle goes the loss of nerve tissue.” He scrubbed a hand across his face, and started walking again.

“We’re so close to success. Campbell is working on the final debugging. He’s already finished the prototype implant. It’s ninety-nine percent done. But in order for it to work it needs viable nerve and muscle to stimulate. I only have a few weeks before the damage to Ben’s body is too great.”

“A few weeks?”

He nodded. “I need to implant the interface and tie the microfibers into Ben’s nervous system before the nerves that control his legs all die.”

Natasha matched her pace to his. “So it’s Ben who’s running out of time,” she said, sadness gripping her heart in its heavy fist.

He nodded. “There aren’t enough hours in a day. I could complete it tomorrow, or it could take a year. I’ve got to believe it will happen tomorrow. If I could, I’d let NSA move the prototype, but it’s much too fragile.”

“Who’ll be operating on Ben?”

Dylan’s brows raised. “Me, of course.”

She was surprised. “You? Don’t you think you’re too emotionally involved?”

“It doesn’t matter if I am or not. There are only three neurosurgeons in the world who have the expertise to handle this intricate microscopic surgery.”

“Only three?”

He nodded grimly. “Two besides me.”

“Who are they?”

“There’s no way you’d know them. One is Mohan Patel, at the University of Mumbai in India. The other is Frederick Werner. He’s at Johns Hopkins. I studied under him.”

“Why couldn’t one of them do the operation?”

“Because Ben is my son.” His expression darkened. “I don’t need someone else to do the surgery. I’ve been preparing for this for three years. Besides, it’s all moot if I can’t complete the nerve mapping in time.”

“And the code? It’s still buggy?”

“There’s at least one more error we can’t find.” He sighed. “Campbell and I have looked at it too long. We need a fresh eye. And now we’ve got a hacker trying to steal the code almost certainly to sell to some foreign government. That’s why I asked NSA to send me the best.”

They reached the entrance to the back stairs. Dylan pressed his thumb against the pad and keyed in the current pass code. He held the heavy security door open for her.

As she walked past him, he caught her arm. His hot touch branded her through the sleeve of her sweater. She looked up and met his haunted gaze.

“Help me debug the computer program. Build a firewall no hacker can get past. Give me the time I need to finish. If anything happens to the program or the prototype, my son will lose his last chance.” His voice cracked. “Do you understand what that means?”

She nodded, thinking of the wire braces propped beside Ben’s little bed.

“I doubt you do. In another few weeks, Ben won’t even be able to use the braces.” Dylan’s voice cracked.

Shock and denial pierced her chest. “What do you mean? He seems to handle the braces just fine.”

“Once the nerve damage progresses by another ten percent, he won’t be able to move his legs at all. The braces will be useless, and my son will be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.”

Her heart squeezed painfully. “But I thought the interface—”

His anguished gaze answered her. Must have viable muscle and nerve. Not even Stryker’s genius could stop the damage from becoming permanent.

She had a fleeting vision of that vital, healthy little boy stuck in a wheelchair, the cold metal sucking the life out of him. Trapped as surely as if he were buried alive.

Nausea swirled through her and a trickle of sweat slid down the back of her neck.

Dylan gripped her arm. “Can you do it?” His eyes glittered in the dim night. “Can you hold the hacker at bay until I finish the prototype? It’s Ben’s only chance to be normal.”