Читать книгу Fascination - Samantha Hunter - Страница 7

“SO DID YOU STAY OUT OF trouble this month, Sage?”

Sage Matthews held Ian Chandler’s steady gray-eyed gaze for a long moment and pursed her lips, as if she had to think carefully before speaking. She looked down at the drink she held in her hand, slipped the straw between her cherry-red lips and sucked slowly, drawing her cheeks in so that her mouth formed a sexy pout around the plastic, closing her eyes as the cool burst of carbonation hit her throat. She released the straw and caught a stray bit of fizz with her tongue before answering.

“Exactly what kind of trouble would you be referring to, Ian?” Her soft southeastern Virginia accent added a lilt of mischief to her sultry purr.

Ian sighed, his full, gorgeous lips drawing into a tight, impatient line, and Sage felt a little spark of satisfaction. Ian might be the sexiest man she’d ever met, but she fought any attraction she’d ever felt because he was also a huge, unforgivable thorn in her side.

Sure, he was only doing his job, but for five years he’d controlled almost every aspect of her life. Annoying him—and teasing him—was one of the few ways she had to wrestle that control back into her hands. It was a small advantage, true, but she made the most of it.

It was an additional benefit that the air-conditioning in the Norfolk Police Department, where Ian had his new office—part of the new job he was leaving his post as a federal agent for—was on the fritz. The sweltering August heat created a fine film of sweat on her skin, making her thin tank dress cling to her, leaving little to the imagination. Sage didn’t want to be subtle. She wanted federal agent Ian Chandler, who specialized in computer crime, to sweat.

She hadn’t worn anything underneath the light shift because she was more comfortable that way but also because she was going to see Ian for her monthly check-in. The more to tempt you with, she thought devilishly. Sage didn’t really want Ian, she just wanted to torture him with what he couldn’t have. She slid a glance over his handsome features. She had a weakness for dark-haired men. Ian was a sexy guy. Too bad he was a cop.

But just five more days and she would be free of Ian for good. And hopefully free of a past that had been holding her back for too long. Her sentence for the computer crimes she’d been arrested for almost five years ago was nearly over. Ian Chandler was the federal agent who’d arrested her and he’d been assigned to “monitor her progress” throughout her sentence.

What that really meant was that he had the right to invade every corner of her life, watch her constantly, ask her anything he wanted and pry into every detail of her activities. If he caught her doing anything he thought broke the rules, he could throw her in jail. No questions asked.

It rankled her that he had so much power over her life, though she’d learned to live with it. Sage was determined never to give him the satisfaction of catching her slipping up—or any kind of satisfaction, for that matter. But he couldn’t arrest her for flirting.

Not that he’d ever expressed interest. Ian was the epitome of straight and narrow. It wasn’t in his nature to break the rules or back off from enforcing them. She tempted him incessantly, knowing he would never cross the line. But that fact only made pushing the limits all the more enjoyable.

She got up out of the chair and sat on the corner of his very organized desk. The room was clean as a whistle, the chrome gleaming, the windows sparkling clear. Everything was exactly in its place, and Sage pushed a neatly stacked pile of papers carelessly to the side as she made room for herself. She leaned over to throw her empty paper cup in the garbage can, not-so-subtly inviting him to take a peek at what was revealed by the slight sag of her neckline as she did so.

He just looked away.

She smiled and crossed one slender leg over the other, swinging it as if to some unheard song playing in her head, and picked up a pen to play with between her nimble, tanned fingers.

“Oh, you know I’ve been good, Ian. I’m always good.”

Sexual innuendo aside, she had been good—not that she had much choice. As much as she liked to mess with Ian, she had no desire to end up in prison, so she’d also played it straight and narrow, as contrary as that was to her nature. There was no way she was going to lose what precious little freedom she had. She’d been a fool for a man once, which was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place. She wasn’t about to do it again.

The first eighteen months of her sentence had been pure hell—house arrest, ensured by a nasty ankle bracelet that she could have removed herself within an hour if doing so wouldn’t have landed her directly in a cement cage.

It seemed extreme for simply letting a virus out on the Net—especially when she had been duped into doing it. Not that anyone would believe her. Technically she had released it, but the fact that she had no idea what was on the disk she’d slipped into the computer that day didn’t matter.

She’d told the one of the investigators who’d questioned her that she hadn’t written the virus, but he’d clearly thought she was just trying to slip the rap. And she hadn’t been able to prove otherwise; even to her own eyes the evidence was damning. Locke, the hacker who had set her up, had made sure of that.

The worst of it was that she’d been banned from any use of computers for five long years, a heavy price to pay, though it was better than prison. The judge had made use of flexible federal sentencing guidelines and had been cruelly creative.

If Sage was so much as seen near a computer, even in a store, or if she attempted to contact her hacker friends from college, she would go to prison. She wasn’t allowed to own or use anything even remotely computerized, not even a cell phone. Ian was the man who’d tracked her down in the first place and he was in charge of making sure she minded her p’s and q’s. Sage had never been one much for p’s and q’s.

Ian’s interference in her life had been considerable—she had to check in with him monthly; he’d stopped by her home unannounced, checked out her house and her habits, checked on her classes when she was in school and later would discuss her with her boss and coworkers at the plumbing store where she currently worked.

She had even caught him going through her mail on a couple of occasions. She’d never felt safe talking on the phone, though most of her conversations were innocuous—she didn’t have many friends, as most of them had been computer junkies just like her. The loss of control over her own privacy was the worst punishment anyone could have concocted, sometimes overwhelming her.

No part of her life had been safe from Ian’s prying. Once she’d been kissing a date good-night in front of her apartment and had found out later that Ian had run a background check on him. She’d discovered this at her monthly meeting when Ian had asked her not to see the guy again because he had a drunk-driving record. She’d railed against the unfairness of it, not that it could change anything.

Since then she’d stayed away from men, except for Ian. Eying him speculatively, she spoke again, “Ian, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, I am almost done with my time. I’ll be a free and responsible member of society again within the week. And since you’ll be starting a brand-new position and you won’t be a federal agent anymore, you won’t be held back by those silly ole rules that say you and I can’t have a more personal relationship, right? So maybe we could—”

She reached over a little farther and slid her hand over his forearm, catching her breath at the hardness of the muscle there, and pursed her lips appreciatively—Ian was not just a desk jockey. The same crisp, black hair that he wore nearly military-short was sprinkled over his skin, and she wondered how it would feel to tangle her fingers in it over his chest and in other places….

Ian’s head snapped up at her touch. His eyes weren’t cold or distant now, but they were definitely pissed off. She bit her lip, partially because his reaction nearly sent her rocketing off the desk and back into her chair and partially because she’d never thought he was capable of such heat. Did it all just come from anger? Or was there more to it? Right now those irises were dark as slate, and she felt herself falling into them, forgetting the moment at hand, where she was, who he was.

Wowsa.

She’d never really seen him angry. Usually he was just aloof. A little frisson of excitement danced along her hot skin at making him lose it, if just a little. Now, this was fun. He yanked his arm from under her hand and pushed his chair back, distancing them.

“I don’t have to tell you that kind of behavior is completely out of line. There’s nothing between us and you know it. And there never will be. I think it’s time for you to go.”

She just laughed and got down from the desk, walking slowly around the office, posing in the doorway while turning to look at him, turning on full vixen mode.

“You sure about that?”

“Dead sure. I’ll see you next week at your release hearing. Behave yourself until then.”

He’d sucked that heat right back in and buried it under the cool, unflappable exterior once again. But now she was intrigued. All of a sudden the sense of challenge that had led her to computer hacking in the first place—the urge to find your way into somewhere forbidden, to solve an unsolvable puzzle—tugged at her.

What would it be like to try to get behind those straight-and-narrow walls that encased Ian so securely? What would be the key that would allow her access to what lay behind them? What would she find there, inside the man who always seemed so tightly under control?

She smiled, waving flirtatiously to Ian as she left the office. What the courts didn’t realize is that you didn’t get rid of a hacker by taking away their computer—hacking was a way of life, a philosophy, a way of thinking. And some challenges were just too good to resist.

“ANY LUCK YET?”

Ian looked up to see Marty Constantine standing in his doorway and shook his head noncommittally. “We’ll see. Have the first interview today.”

“When do you think the team will be up and running?”

Ian sat back in his chair, stretching and leveling a look at the man who was both his close friend and his immediate superior. He’d worked frequently with Marty over the years in his position with the FBI and Ian had nothing but respect for the man.

Though nothing had ever been said, Ian knew that Marty was the reason he had been offered this cherry opportunity so early in his career. It was fairly unusual to move from the federal government to local law enforcement.

Ian had spent the past ten years working on the FBI’s Computer Crime Task Force. Fresh out of grad school at the green age of twenty-three, he’d worked his way up through the ranks. But even so, it would have been another few years before anything like this would have been handed to him at the federal level, if ever.

He’d lived his job. It had cost him friends. It had cost him his marriage. It was also the one thing in his life he was good at and it was his number one priority. His dedication had paid off, if not personally then professionally.

He’d jumped at the chance to create his own investigation team, even though it was a small team in a small department in a medium-size city. Norfolk, the site of the largest Navy base in the United States, had a huge government presence.

Local businesses and citizens were suffering increasing financial losses due to a spike in the number of computer crimes. These were situations street cops and even detectives weren’t normally trained to handle, so computer-crime labs were being set up in cities all over the country these days, and Norfolk had finally found room in the budget to do likewise.

And thanks to Marty Constantine, Ian had been asked to get the project off the ground. Hopefully it would keep him in one place for a while. Working for the federal government had him chasing felons all over the map. Where trouble went, so went the FBI.

In his new position as team leader he might even see his own bed for more than a few nights a month. With any luck, maybe he’d find someone to share it once in a while. Women weren’t exactly interested in someone who worked long hours, was gone at the drop of a hat and didn’t know when he would be back.

“Hard to say. Could be within the month, or within the week.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Lots of applicants, but only a few stood out. I’m looking for a certain kind of person—expert, flexible, experienced. Since it’s a small team, I need people with some chops.”

“It’s up to you, but this is a pretty high-profile project. Taxpayers’ money and all that. Let’s make sure it works.”

“It’ll work.”

Marty nodded. “Things tied up at the agency yet? No pressure—we appreciate you coming in and getting started here a little sooner than scheduled.”

“No problem, Mart. I have a few things left to finish. Shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Like what?”

“You remember the LadyBug case?”

“Of course—it was one of the first big feathers in your cap, bringing her in. Sage Matthews. How’s she doing? I still remember the pictures from the news. Man, she was a hot one, huh? Even looked good in handcuffs.”

Ian sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. “She’s at the end of her sentence. Her release hearing is next week, so I’m just finishing up on that. One more trip to court and I’ll send her on her way, fill out some paperwork with the agency, then I’m all yours.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to meeting the new team members when you have them lined up.”

“I have someone coming in any minute now.”

“Who is he?”

“She. Sarah T. Jessup. She’s driving down from New York for the interview. We’ve used her from time to time as a freelance consultant.”

“Otherwise meaning an informant?” Ian could detect the skepticism in Marty’s voice—informants were not exactly the cream of the crop in police circles—but Sarah was operating on a different level.

“A good one. She’s offered us first-rate information over the years with no expectation of compensation or recognition. She has managed to dig out things on the Net that we wouldn’t have found, she can go places we can’t. She’s been…useful.”

“Is she cute?”

Ian sent a disparaging look in Marty’s direction. “This is a job interview for HotWires, Marty, not a dating service. Try to drag yourself up into the twenty-first century. Besides, I have no idea if she’s cute or not—we’ve only communicated online and over the phone.”

“Hey, I’m just thinking good thoughts for you, buddy. The national statistics say the median age for a second marriage is thirty-four. At thirty-three and counting, you are ripe for the plucking, the way I see it.”

Marty grinned, clearly knowing he was pushing Ian’s buttons and appearing to be thoroughly enjoying it. Ian stemmed his gut-level response, keeping his buttons in check.

“Statistics lie. I have no plans to rush into remarrying.”

“Rush? Um, yeah, it’s been a little more than five years since the divorce, bud. You’re a real wild man with the rushing. National stats say that most men remarry within four years—”

“Marty—”

“I’m just saying. Maybe Sarah T. Jessup will be the one to make you a statistically viable member of society again.”

Ian shook his head and took a long drink of water. He had no intention of gracing that comment with a response. Sarah Jessup could look like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, but as far as Ian was concerned it made no difference—work and sex never mixed. All he cared about was how good she was at her job.

He was curious about her, though. Using the online name TigerLily, she had a reputation as a major computer junkie—a hacker in the most positive sense of the term. Not all hackers were criminals. In fact, the major proportion of people who called themselves hackers were upstanding citizens. Criminal hackers took otherwise creative and essential computer skills and used them recklessly to do harm or for their own gain.

Then there were hackers, like Sage and her friend Locke, who called themselves “hacktivists”—hackers who used destructive hacking methods as a form of social protest, attacking the computer systems of multinational corporations and major polluters and the like.

Unfortunately the attacks these groups waged often ended up hurting a wider spectrum of people than the organizations they targeted. Hacktivists were still often criminal hackers, as Ian saw it—you couldn’t start letting politics be an excuse for committing crimes.

Sarah was an example of a legal hacker, someone who was just damned talented with a computer and who had no intention of breaking the law. She had become a self-appointed informant for the feds, tracking down Internet porn rings in her spare time, sending Ian what she found. It was a weird hobby, but the info she’d shared had led to several busts.

Ian knew that Sarah had an incomplete college degree and no formal police training, but those things could be dealt with. She had several part-time jobs, lived in a low-cost apartment in the city. He was willing to bet she probably spent more money on computer equipment than food. But she knew her stuff and stayed on the right side of the law, and that’s what he was looking for. He trusted his gut about people more than he trusted pieces of paper anyway. He just had a feeling about her.

Taking a deep breath, Ian furrowed his brow in irritation as he detected the slightly spicy fragrance Sage had worn earlier today still lingering in the otherwise musty air of his office. His hand clenched tightly around the plastic bottle as he felt the familiar wave of desire hit, followed by the dulling sense of frustration.

Sage was a criminal hacker, someone off-limits to him even if only for the next few days. She was the last connection to his old life, and when this gig was over he would cut her loose and forget about her.

Yeah, right. Even though he’d carefully guarded against it, Sage had become more than just another case. He replayed the moment her hand moved over the skin of his arm and felt a flash of heat—he could still feel it, her soft skin on his. Her long fingers touching him just for that short moment. Her nails, ragged and bitten to the quick, were painted with red polish, and he found that was amazingly sexy, because it was on her. That she would wear such a bold color on her short nails was also indicative of Sage—she just didn’t accept limitations. Not easily anyway. And she tempted him every chance she got.

He was tempted, no doubt about that. What red-blooded man could have Sage in front of him for years, issuing invitations left and right, and not at least think about it? But red-blooded as he might be, Ian’s sense of self-discipline was fierce.

It also helped that he knew the come-ons and flirting were just her way of punishing him, of exacting some small bit of revenge for how he’d invaded her life. She didn’t really want him, she just wanted to get back at him. He was just doing his job and he reminded himself of that every time he let himself think how good she smelled.

There was just something about her that he’d known from the start was going to be trouble. One look into those stubborn green eyes when they’d first met, and a part of him knew she could cause trouble for him as no other woman had. Her wildly curly red hair cinched it. She was like a flame, dancing around him, always just out of reach.

He just had to hold strong. And he had.

Five more days.

It was his duty to keep tight tabs on her, and he had, but maybe he’d put in a little more time than usual. He told himself it was because she couldn’t be trusted, because he couldn’t drop the ball for one minute with her. He knew the type. They were like drug addicts with computers and were bound to cave sooner or later. But she never did, at least as far as he knew. Still, he watched. Carefully. And he would to the very end.

Marty took another bite from the apple in his hand, the crisp crack of the fruit snapping loudly in the quiet office, breaking the spell of Ian’s thoughts. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Lots on my mind. Anyway, Jessup’s due in here in a few minutes, so I have to get ready.”

Marty smiled and saluted. “Gotcha. Let me know how it goes.”

Ian watched Marty leave and sighed as his friend nearly collided with a woman who appeared in the doorway—an incredibly tall, voluptuous, sable-haired Amazon with blue eyes that grabbed aggressively onto Ian’s and didn’t let go. Dressed in tight black jeans and a leather jacket—not exactly job interview attire—she didn’t disappoint his expectations. Sarah wasn’t your typical computer geek—she looked like hell on wheels.

Ian raised an eyebrow as Marty shook his fingers in a “too hot” gesture behind Jessup’s head as he moved past her into the hallway—something she shouldn’t have seen but did. Turning slowly, she fixed an icy-blue stare on Marty until he smiled feebly and slinked away.

Ian liked her already.