Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(47)

“He’s already proven he’s in the power grid,” points out Miranda.

“If he had that much access, he’d have caused a lot more problems than what we’re dealing with here,” I counter.

Tabby asks quietly, “How do you know he hasn’t?” She glances at me over her shoulder. Her normally bright green eyes are troubled and dark.

“What do you mean?”

She looks at Harry. “How many terrorist acts go unclaimed?”

“Almost all of them,” he replies, watching her closely. “Only fourteen percent of the more than forty-five thousand terrorist acts that have occurred since ’ninety-eight have credible claims of responsibility.”

“What are you saying?” As my heart starts to beat faster, I move closer to her. “That S?ren’s not only an extortionist, he’s a terrorist? You have proof of that? What do you know?”

Her prolonged silence infuriates me. My patience, worn to a shred, finally snaps.

I growl, “Tabby, whatever problem you have with me, you better spill your f*cking guts before Harry decides you’re withholding evidence, because I will not stand here with my dick in my hand while you get hauled away to prison and interrogated by the FBI! Am I making myself clear?”

Faint color rises to her cheeks.

Ryan says, “Lady, start talking, because if he squares off against the feds, so do I, and that is one shit storm you definitely don’t wanna get in the middle of.”

“I’m going to pretend both of you idiots didn’t just threaten me,” says Harry between gritted teeth. “But if it happens again, you’re all going to prison. Miss West, you’re walking a very fine line here. Talk.”

She looks at the three of us, then at Chan, then at Miranda. Finally, she heaves a breath that sounds exhausted and flops into a nearby chair. She rests her elbows on her knees and puts her head in her hands. When she speaks, her voice is hollow.

“I don’t have proof of anything. All I know is…S?ren. I know S?ren. Whatever his interest is in this studio, it isn’t money. He doesn’t care about money. He’s an anarchist, not a capitalist. What he cares about is chaos. Instigating it, creating it, and then sitting back with a bowl of popcorn and enjoying the show. He likes to set things in motion. He likes to destroy things.” She pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice is shaking. “He just wants to watch the world burn.”

Her pain is so obvious, it seems like another person has suddenly appeared in the room, an invisible, heavy presence, indelibly dark. With a shock, I realize this is the thing she hides at her core. Beneath her smart mouth and rebel attitude and odd costumes, all the walls she’s built around herself, lies a lost soul, alone and in pain.

My sweet Tabby is in so much pain.

“Shut it down,” I instruct Chan, my voice thick.

Tabby raises her head. Our eyes lock. Her lashes are wet. It sends a flood of emotion coursing through me, fury and possessiveness and a need to protect her, stronger than everything else.

“Shut it down right now,” I repeat, turning to Harry. “Get that * off the screen.”

While looking at me, Harry says to Tabby, “Has it been long enough for your pro—”

“I don’t care about the program,” I snap, squaring off to face him. “Shut the f*cking thing down!”

“You’re being paid to care about the program,” says Miranda stiffly, sending me an arctic stare.

Special Agent Chan says, “Too late. He’s out. He must’ve spotted the trace.”

When we all look at the screen, the monitor has gone dark. All the pictures of S?ren have vanished. Only a blinking green cursor remains.

With quiet resignation, Tabby says, “It will take hours for the traceback to compile a report. Then more hours to comb through it to see if there’s anything useful. In the meantime, to appease him a little, we should give him some money. Make it look like we’re trying to comply with his demands.”

Miranda points out, “You said he doesn’t care about money.”

“He doesn’t. But it’s our only play if we want to stay in the game. It’ll buy us time to try to figure out what he’s really after, and maybe unruffle a few feathers so he doesn’t blow the whole thing to shit.” Her voice drops. “Obedience is always rewarded.”

That last part sends a rash of chills down my spine. I share a look with Ryan. I know our thoughts are aligned: This freak S?ren Killgaard needs to be put down.

Tabby glances at Miranda. “His demand is now at twenty million, correct?”

Miranda nods. “But my assets are primarily real estate, stocks, equity in the studio. I don’t have that kind of cash just lying around.”

Tabby stands, pulls her shoulders back, takes a breath. She lets it out in a noisy rush.

“I do.”





Eighteen





Tabby




The first thing out of O’Doul’s mouth is a flat, “No.”

His tone suggests there’s no room for argument. Naturally, I do anyway.

“Miranda can pay me back—”

“No. As soon as he has the money, he’ll make good on all his threats. We never negotiate—”

“This isn’t negotiating,” I interrupt wearily. I’m so tired, my eyes are crossed. “This is stalling. It’s strategic—”