“We should respond to his email and see if he’ll negotiate.”Otherwise, a bomb could go off in Times Square.
Me: If anyone dies, all deals are off. What do you want?
Two minutes later, a tourist records an explosion on Broadway and sends out the tweet.
“Oh shit.” My mouth drops open as more messages join the first, confirming the attack. The city’s in the middle of an extreme heat wave so not many were outside, but it will be hours before we know the death toll and the extent of the damage.
“What the fuck?” Caleb enters the room, my phone rings, and I press the speaker icon so we all can hear the terrorist.
“I send next steps. Don’t do as I say, more people die. Buh-bye.” The line goes dead.
“Bloody toff.” Dash, listening behind me, squeezes my waist.
While the G-man glances down at a text, our door bursts open, and Private Zhang leans in. “The general wants y’all in the meeting room, right now.”
“Just a sec.” I race to the bathroom, tug on my hand-washed but damp undies, and slip my jeans under the dress-length t-shirt.
By the time I find my boots, the men are out the door, so I race down the plank sidewalk in bare feet. Waiting for Young, I comb my fingers through my hair and make a loose braid. As I knot the end, Slate and Suds arrive, escorting a very unhappy General Young who barks at the private.
“Coffee. Bagels.”
“And tea.” Not losing a beat, my Brit brings his phone to his mouth, answering questions from his hackers.
“What do you think he wants?” MI6 agent Oliver Smith directs his question to Special FBI Agent Caleb Trencher.
The G-man retrieves his iPad and furrows his brows. “Shit. We did not see this coming.”
“The Russians are desperate for funding. Whatever is going on, they’ll be looking for a huge infusion of cash.” This bit of intel comes from Hackzilla who’s listening in from her bat cave in some unknown location on the West Coast.
“But why me?” My brain’s not firing on all cylinders, but it seems to me, I’m missing a big piece of the puzzle. It doesn’t make sense. Who bombs a city because a woman crushed one of his balls? He still has a spare. Jeez.
“Not you, luv, me.” As my man places a palm on my thigh, my whole understanding of the last few days, shifts on its axis.
“Say what?”
“Whatever happens, we’ve got your six.” Ignoring me, Slate turns to my fiancé and Smith nods his head.
“We’ve been trying to get this bastard for years. You can bet we’re all-in.”
The male hacker, Despairado, clears his throat. “Excuse me? Can I say something?”
“Go ahead.” The bounty hunter pushes his phone to the center of the table and turns up the volume.
“I’m going out on a limb, but I believe the terrorism has nothing to do with Lanita or Dash, and everything to do with Alistair.” The brilliant coder has obviously lost the plot.
“My bloody father? Why him?” Dash looks around the table, no doubt wondering who in the room is aware of the man’s hobby.
Caleb shakes his head. “Most everyone suspects, my friend.”
“Bollocks.”
Chapter 13
Dash
In the cement block room, under the fluorescent lights, our small team bounces around ideas. More FBI agents join our call, two base technicians flit about, and a platter of egg sandwiches arrive along with another huge carafe of coffee. Apparently, my request for tea was ignored.
I have no idea why Despairado thinks my father is involved but when we find out, I’m sure it won’t be to my liking.
