Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(59)

I look at him, my heart beating wildly in my chest. “Connor. No. Please. Tell him no.”

“It’s not his decision,” answers O’Doul. “And anyway, he’s right. Did you think we would just let you walk away with all this information? We’re the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Miss West. You might play by your own rules, but so do we.” His smile is a little apologetic. “And our rules say that your system and everything on it now belongs to us. We’ll take it from here.”

I say vehemently, “Touch my computer and I’ll break your face!”

While O’Doul looks at the ceiling, Ryan tries to reason with me. “C’mon now, Tabby, it’s just a computer.”

“It’s my life!”

“Well that’s just pathetic,” says Rodriguez, smiling broadly at me from his chair across the room.

I snatch up a stapler someone has left on my desk and hurl it at him. It hits him square in the forehead.

He squawks, covers his face with his hands, jerks out of his chair, and promptly trips over his own feet. He crashes to the floor, howling. “You crazy bitch! I’m pressing charges!”

I’m so furious, I can’t even speak. I don’t know where to look or what to do. They’re going to confiscate my computer! I have half a mind to yank Connor’s gun from that stupid holster at his waist and start randomly shooting.

“Not sure you want to press charges against the person who just handed us the biggest score I’ve seen in my time on this job,” says Chan, staring in shock at his computer screen.

Everyone stops what they’re doing and looks at him.

O’Doul strides over to Chan’s workstation. “What’ve you got?”

Agent Chan says somberly, “Two dozen hits, sir. So far.”

“Show me.”

Agent Chan points at his monitor. “Shellshock, 2014. The huge slave botnet that took over the Department of Defense.” He scrolls through several more screens and stops to point out something else. “GhostClick, 2013. Millions of computers infected with a surveillance virus.” Another scroll, another point. “The attack on the Chinese central bank last year that put their economy into a tailspin and almost crashed their stock market.”

“Jesus,” mutters O’Doul. “We hit the mother lode.” He flicks me an inscrutable look.

“The hack on Heathrow airport in September that shut down air traffic control for four days. The Ukraine power grid attack last month. The list goes on.” Chan glances up at O’Doul and then over at me. “This guy’s everywhere.”

The room has gone silent. Even Rodriguez has stopped his bitching and is simply kneeling on the floor with his hand cradling his forehead, gaping at Agent Chan.

Into the stillness, Connor says, “Open the location file.”

I make a move to sit down at my workstation, but Connor moves faster than I do. He’s in front of me before I’ve taken two steps, holding out his hand to stop me. “Let Chan do it.”

Blood rushes to my face. I glare at him, outraged. “It’s my computer.”

He shakes his head and doesn’t budge.

“Oh, f*ck this.” I take two long strides, brushing past him, determined to sit down at my own damn computer in spite of what anyone says, when before I know it, I’m swept up off my feet and am staring openmouthed at the hideous gold carpet on the floor.

Connor has thrown me over his shoulder.

“Be right back, boys,” he says calmly, turns around, and walks away.

I pound on the expanse of his broad back, sputtering, “You—you—jerk! Put me down! Right now! You giant—”

“Animal, I know,” he says drily. In one smooth motion, he flips me over and sets me on my feet.

We’re in the adjacent room. It’s an average office with a desk and two chairs, a bookcase, a sofa along one wall. A poster of Arnold Schwarzenegger from The Terminator stares back at me from the opposite wall.

I wonder how it’s going to look with Connor’s blood splattered all over it.

With a kick of his boot, Connor shuts the door.

“You did not,” I say, breathing hard with my hands balled to fists at my side, “just pick me up and throw me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes. In front of everyone. In front of that epic * Rodriguez, you did not just do that. Right?”

Connor folds his arms over his chest. “Is that a trick question?”

“Because if you did,” I continue, ignoring him, “I’m going to tell you that I loathe you.” When his eyes flare, I add, “And not in our secret code way!”

He purses his lips. “Now you’re just being mean.”

I take a moment to try to calm myself. When I’m reasonably sure I’m not going to stab him with the scissors from the jar on the desk, I ask through gritted teeth, “Why would you do that to me?”

“Because I’m gonna look out for you,” comes the instant reply, “even when you’re not looking out for yourself.”

I glare at him without speaking, forcing him to explain.

“Harry will arrest you if you interfere with the investigation.”

“I just handed him the investigation!”

“It doesn’t matter. He told you to step aside. If you don’t listen to him, he’ll have you removed from the premises with some shiny new metal bracelets decorating your wrists.”