Vendor:NorthStarLogistics.Amount: $4,500.Code:Consulting.
Pullingup the digital file for the previous year shows absolutely nothing.NorthStarLogisticsdidn't exist in the system until eight months ago, precisely when the digital breaches started.
"Elias."
Standingat the small kitchenette in the corner, he runs the coffee grinder.Theaggressive noise fills the small space.
"Elias!"Ishout over the grind.
Turning, he holds up a glass pot. "What?"
"Comelook at this."
Settingthe pot down, he crosses the room.Closingthe distance instantly brings him right to my side.Onelarge hand rests on the back of my chair.Theskin of my neck hums under his proximity, my pussy throbbing with a heavy, aching pulse as hisheat radiates off his frame, my lace turning soaked and heavy under the sheer weight of his proximity.
"Whatdid you find?"
"NorthStarLogistics,"Isay, pointing with the tip of my pink marker. "Whoare they?"
Hisjaw clenches.Hischeek hovers inches from my hair. "Shellcompany.Weuse it for importing parts for the shop.Standardpass-through."
"Whomanages it?"
"Ido."
"No,"Isay, shaking my head. "Youmanage the accounts.Whomanages the invoices?Becauselook at the timestamps."
Itap the screen. "Everyinvoice fromNorthStaris submitted at exactly 3:00 a.m. on the secondTuesdayof the month.Automated.Butthe approval stamp is yours.TheIPaddress for the approval isn't theVault.It’sexternal."
Eliasgoes completely still.
"Showme," he commands.
Typinga quick query filters byIPaddress.Thescreen fills with entries.Smallamounts skimming shipping fees and padding consulting costs.Thesubtle bleed drains the accounts slowly over the long term.
"ThatIPtraces to a localized server,"Imurmur, my fingers flying across the keys. "Itlooks like it's bouncing off a cell tower."
"Whichtower?"Hisvoice drops to absolute ice.
"Theone on the ridge,"Isay. "BytheEasternCliffs."
Thatplaces it directly inCostaterritory.
Eliasswears.Alow, vicious word rips from his throat.Hisfingers grip the back of my chair so hard the leather creaks.
"They'vebeen billing us for our own destruction," he says, a lethal edge slicing through his tone. "Usinga clone of my approval code."
"It'sa mirror,"Isay softly. "Someonehas access to your keystrokes.They’reshadowing you."
Pullingback, his face pales beneath the scruff of his beard.Theinvasion of his digital privacy forces a tight clench in his jaw.Thebrutal hit to his pride requires no explanation.
"Hey,"Isay, instinctively reaching out.Myhand lands on his forearm.
Hisskin runs hot.Hardmuscle shifts under my palm.
Lookingdown at my hand, he stays planted.Hestares at my pale fingers resting against his tanned, scarred skin.
"Imissed it," he says. "Ilook at these numbers every day."
