“Make it up to me,” he said. “Go out with me again.”
Surprised, she hesitated. But only for an instant. How could she refuse? More important, why would she want to refuse? She nodded and gave him her number. He promised to call and shut the door.
She left wondering if she would ever hear from him again, and despite the initial lack of spark, she kind of hoped she would. It wasn’t as if she had guys like Mick knocking her door down. She hadn’t been with someone who was that much of a total package since—
She stopped the thought before it could form. Her lips pressed together in a hard line. If only she’d kept her mouth closed like that back then. She hadn’t really been withhimat all. And John Donovan certainly hadn’t been interested in her—the interest had been painfully one-sided. But her brother’s friend had been every bit as good-looking as Mick. Maybe that was what explained her less-than-enthusiastic response to her date tonight. Once burned, twice shy.
Putting aside thoughts of John Donovan, she focusedon the mysterious e-mail. As much as she wanted it to be from her brother, something about it didn’t feel right. But she couldn’t put her finger on what.
It wasn’t until she was back at the tiny hovel she called home and read through it again that she figured it out. Brandon hadn’t mentioned the missed anniversary of their parents’ death in the e-mail. It was the one connection they still had and the only thing that bound them together. It didn’t seem likely that he would forget to say something about it.
And what about the satellite pictures she’d received from her new source, showing the explosion in Russia and the deployment orders of a team that she assumed was the didn’t-exist Team Nine to Norway, which was a perfect launching place for a mission? Why would this person come forward with information to substantiate her claims if it wasn’t true?
The timing of Brandon’s e-mail was too convenient. It smelled like a cover-up. Brittany had been in the middle of government cover-ups more than once and knew the lengths they could go to shut someone up. Hacking into an e-mail account would be child’s play.
Which gave her an idea. She picked up her phone and dialed.
Mac—as in MacKenzie, her go-to person for anything technology related—picked up on the second ring. “What do you want this time? Spy cameras in your bedroom?”
Brittany wrinkled her nose. “Very funny. You act as if no one has ever asked you to tap their own phone line.”
“As a matter of fact”—snap,crackle,pop—“no one ever has.”
Mac was the best, but a bad smoking habit in high school had turned into a bad chewing gum habit in college. She had been single-handedly keeping Wrigley’s Big Red gum in business ever since. Brittany supposed there were worse things than smelling like cinnamon. Smelling likesmoke, for example. But Brittany put up with the constant gum smacking not just because Mac was a whiz with computers, but because they’d been friends since high school, when they’d both gone to the same all-girls Catholic school in Baltimore. Rebels needed to stick together.
Brittany had spoken to Mac earlier and asked her to tap her home and office phone lines on the off chance her source decided to contact her by phone. “I need you to try to trace an e-mail for me.”
“Who from?”
“Brandon.” Brittany heard the stunned silence on the other end. Mac had never met her brother, but she was the one person who knew their history and everything that had gone down between them. “Or someone purporting to be Brandon.”
“You don’t think it’s him?”
“I...” Brittany paused. “I’m not sure. Can you take a look at it?”
“Forward it, and I’ll see what I can do. If it’s not official, it should be easy enough. But if it was him, and he was using official channels, it might take a few days. The military has some decent encryption.”
Brittany smiled for the first time since that e-mail had come through. “Only decent? Maybe the military should hire you to design their systems for them.”
“They couldn’t afford me,” Mac said bluntly. Which pretty much summed her up. Mac said what she thought. Not a lot of editing going on there. She didn’t have Asperger’s, but she touched the spectrum in a few places.
Brittany laughed, although it was undoubtedly true. Mac made millions as a freelancer, hired by corporations to hack into their systems. Not that you would ever know it. She still lived in a shoe box apartment like Brittany—although Mac’s was in a nicer area—and also like Brittany, she dressed for comfort not fashion. The only thing she seemed to spend money on was computer equipment.Brittany had seen the computer room in her apartment once and had felt like she’d walked into a high-tech war room or a teenage boy gamer’s wet dream—she couldn’t decide which.
Mac had said it might take her a few days, so Brittany was surprised when she heard from her the following afternoon. “That was quick,” she said, answering the phone.
“Whoever did this was being careful. It isn’t going to be as easy as I thought.” Mac sounded a little annoyed—and maybe a little impressed as well, which was unusual.
“Is it military?”
“I’m not sure. It doesn’t have the typical military fingerprint—it feels more sophisticated than that. Something more like the CIA would use.”
Brittany let that sink in, but she didn’t know what to think. “How much longer do you need?”
“I’m not sure, but I have another idea. Something that may get you an answer much quicker.”
Quicker was good, especially with her boss breathing down her neck.
Brittany was listening.
