Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(46)

The instant the question is entered, an answer flashes back: 42.

On the next line: I didn’t realize the FBI had a sense of whimsy. How refreshing. With whom do I have the pleasure of communicating, please?

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “Does he always talk like this?”

“Not everyone has a dirty mouth,” says Tabby. When she slides me a smoldering look, my heartbeat goes arrhythmic.

Our gazes hold. Still looking at me, she says to Chan, “Type, ‘If you can answer my first question, I’ll give you my name.’”

After Chan complies, on the screen flashes an animated gif of a cartoon dog with its paws clasped, eyes closed, heart pumping wildly outside of its chest. Beneath the dog are the words Be still my heart! A challenge!

Then a T-Rex bursts onto the screen and devours the dog in one giant bite. Blood spurts from its grinning jaws. The dinosaur runs off, trailing intestines.

“What the f*ck is wrong with this guy?” I bark, making Miranda jump.

Tabby says softly, “Everything.” She’s still looking at me.

When she looks away, it feels as if something tears inside my chest.

She instructs Chan, “Type ‘Your paleontology is as weak as your hacks.”

Harry says drily, “I don’t think poking the bear is the best strategy here, Miss West.”

“We need the bear distracted, and so we poke it with as big a stick as we can. Type, Chan.”

Special Agent Chan looks at Harry. “Sir?”

After a moment of thought, Harry nods and waves his hand, resigned.

Chan’s fingers fly over the keys. The response arrives at light speed.

Explain yourself.

Tabby’s smile is savage. “Canids didn’t exist concurrently with tyrannosaurus in the Late Cretaceous period, dumbass.”

“Leave out the ‘dumbass,’” says Harry.

Chan types.

There follows an interval of screen silence. Then: You are reckless. I enjoy that in an enemy. Toying with overconfident fools makes for excellent sport.

Tabby smiles. “You should know, having toyed with yourself so much. Tell me, how calloused are your palms?”

Before Harry can protest, Chan has typed it out and hit Enter.

If you are too much a coward to reveal your name, let me see your face, comes the immediate reply, so I may know what it looks like while still alive.

“Ooh,” says Tabby with bitter cheer. “Is someone miffed?”

I step forward. “That’s a threat on your life. Disconnect.”

“Back off, jarhead,” answers Tabby offhandedly. “The adults are handling this.”

Harry shoots me a warning look. Ryan clears his throat. Chan looks up at me sheepishly. And I turn away with my hands clenched in my hair so I don’t do anything stupid, like throw Tabby over my shoulder, bolt from the room, and find the nearest bed to tie her down to so I can f*ck some sense into us both.

I hear Tabby’s voice from behind me. “Chan, type, ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’”

As Chan starts tapping away, Harry says wearily, “You don’t really think that will work. No criminal mastermind who’s gone to the trouble to erase every trace of his existence would ever…”

When Harry trails off into astonished silence, I turn around to find the computer monitor flooded with image after image. Windows pop up on top of each other, piling so fast the screen is a blur.

Tabby says softly, “Everyone has an Achilles’ heel. S?ren’s is his ego. He could never let a challenge go unanswered.” She folds her arms over her chest and turns away. Her posture changes, becomes smaller somehow, as if she’s drawing into herself. Protecting herself from what’s on the screen.

Like a fairy-tale prince, Tabby had described him with the face of an angel. I’d thought it over the top at the time. A silly exaggeration. But now I see it was something far worse.

Accurate.

I don’t find men attractive. I’ve never considered another man beautiful in the physical sense, would never have thought it possible that I could. But now I’m forced to admit that the face splashed all over the monitor isn’t only beautiful. It’s perfect.

Miranda’s soft gasp indicates she concurs.

His features are fine and sculpted, like those of a Greek god. His hair is rich golden blonde. He’s got a pair of lips any woman would covet, full and berry red, offset by a cleft chin and strong, angular jaw.

But it’s his eyes that are most arresting. Pale, icy blue, heavily fringed with dark lashes, his eyes have an arrogance and cruelty that the rest of his elegant features can’t soften.

Taken from various angles, the pictures of his face are accompanied by dozens of pictures of the rest of him. Striding through an airport, crossing a busy intersection, waiting on a subway platform, always standing a head taller than anyone else. Always looking at the people around him like a king surveys his subjects. Always alone, regal, dressed in beautifully tailored suits.

I can’t help but glance down at myself, clothed in a black T-shirt and cargo pants.

Harry leans closer to the monitor, squinting at it. “These are all taken from surveillance cameras. Look at the angles. They’re all from above.”

“If that’s true,” says Chan slowly, “he’s hacked into the entire infrastructure. Transportation grids, law enforcement grids, traffic cams…you name it.”