Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(19)

“Oh.” I’m impressed. “That sounds cool.”

“It is.”

He says it flatly. I resist the urge to glance at his face to see what it’s doing.

“So what happened?”

He’s quiet for a moment, tapping a thumb against the steering wheel in a restless, staccato rhythm. “She received an email a few weeks ago. It said she was to deposit ten million dollars into an account in the Cayman Islands or there would be a serious data breach on her company’s network. One that would make the Sony hack in 2014 look like child’s play.”

“Blackmail.”

Connor nods. “What was unusual is that serious blackmailers already have the information they want to extort money for. In this case, it was simply a threat of a breach. One hadn’t actually occurred.”

“That f*cking colossal ego,” I murmur, watching the craggy mountain tops fade from red to purple.

“Pardon?”

Feeling the beginnings of a headache, I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “S?ren. He wanted to give Miranda a heads-up that her system was going to be attacked so she’d close any holes there might have been in the network.”

“Why would he do that? It makes no sense to forewarn your enemy that you’re on the march.”

I smile, but it’s humorless. “Because he doesn’t want it to be easy. He wants it to be as difficult as possible, so that when he beats you after giving you fair warning, it will hurt twice as much.”

Silence as Connor digests that. I open my eyes and glance at him.

I say, “So let me guess how this went. You couldn’t trace the source of the email because an anonymous proxy server was used to hide the IP address. You didn’t think it was a credible threat because not only did he forewarn his intentions, his alias isn’t identifiable with any known hacker collective or has been associated with any prior hacks, high level or otherwise. How am I doing so far?”

“Pretty f*ckin’ spot-on.” He sounds lethally mad.

“Right. Then, after you checked to confirm there were no network breaches and made the system tighter than a virgin’s *, you told Miranda she was probably dealing with an amateur and not to worry about it. And then he raped her network. And then the price doubled.”

Connor’s murderous expression tells me I’m right again.

“How long ago was that?”

“Four days.”

“How are you stalling him?”

“She’s saying she has to put together the money, she isn’t that liquid.”

“Has he given her another deadline?”

“Not yet.”

“Has any of the data he stole been leaked?”

“No.”

Good. So we still have some time. I pause, reflecting. “What did he get?”

“Emails. Everyone’s, right down to the interns’. Executive salary information. Copies of unreleased films. Copies of scripts on future projects. And the source code for Miranda’s proprietary algorithm software, InSight. We think that was the main target.”

I snort.

Frowning, Connor looks at me. “What?”

“He’s not interested in her software. If anything, he probably looked at it and had a good laugh.”

“Why would he take it, then?”

I shrug. “To piss her off. To make it even more personal. She didn’t do as he asked, so she got her hand slapped. Big-time. So what happened next? Did you bring in the feds?”

“Yes—”

“And did you confirm that the people who arrived at the studio with FBI badges were, in fact, FBI agents?”

“Yes.”

He looks uncomfortable with my question. I suspect I’m echoing some of his worst fears about who he’s dealing with. “How?”

“I’ve got contacts inside the agency.”

“Let’s hope those contacts are who they say they are.”

He growls, “I’ve known them for over twenty years, Tabby!”

“Oh, please. You’re not that na?ve.”

Connor’s face flushes. He turns to me with a glint of steel in his dark eyes. “I was in the corps with those men. I’d trust them with my life. They are who they say they are.”

After a quick mental calculation, I switch gears because my curiosity is getting the better of me. “Exactly how old are you?”

He turns his glower back to the road. “Older than you.”

“By how many years, precisely?”

“More than ten. Now back to the subject.”

Obviously he’s not going to divulge his precise age, but “more than ten” puts him at least at thirty-seven or thirty-eight, depending on the month he was born. I look closely at the skin around his eyes, his jaw, the backs of his hands. It’s all unwrinkled and tight, just as perfect as it looked in the pool. I wonder if he uses special cream, or if he’s just genetically blessed, because to have skin that gorgeous at his advanced age— “Jesus Christ, princess, cut a guy a break, will you?” he snaps, bristling under my microscopic inspection.

Perversely pleased I’ve been upgraded from “sweet cheeks” to “princess,” I smile. In a teasing tone, I say, “Look at you, Mr. Senior Badass Hot Guy, still gettin’ out there with the young whippersnappers to fight cybercrime! Impressive! But I’ll understand if you need to be in bed by seven tonight. Gotta rest those creaky old bones. We don’t want you breaking a hip.”