Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(62)

Indifferent, Chan shrugs, but O’Doul is looking more and more like he’s going to keel over from stress. He glares at me. “Will you deal with this, please?” he says gruffly, waving in Tabby’s direction. Then he whips his cell from his pocket and stabs his fingers against the screen to make a call.

Tabby sends me a look that says if I take a step in her direction, I’ll get a knife shoved through my thorax. Then she steps backward into the office and slams the door.

“Well,” says Ryan beside me, “looks like we’re hangin’ out here for a while. I’ll get us some chow.”



By the time we’re ready to make the call to Killgaard the next day, Chan has finished extracting the data from Tabby’s computer, Miranda has given an epic performance as a damsel in distress at a mobbed press conference on the steps of the studio, and Tabby and I are apparently not on speaking terms because she’s refused to acknowledge my existence every time we’re in a room together.

I’m persona non grata, and it’s really crossing my wires. I’ve got a head full of scrambled eggs.

As for the FBI, they’re more hyper than a bunch of little kids on Christmas morning. I’ve never seen a bunch of grown men so giggly and excited. Apparently, Killgaard has been involved in so many previously uncredited high-level hacks, he’s shot right to the top of the Cyber Most Wanted List.

Yes, they really have one of those. Which is where I suspect Tabby’s name will appear if this all falls apart and I have to smuggle her to safety across some international border in the hidden compartment of the Hummer.

I’m pacing back and forth in front of the office windows when Ryan ambles in, fresh from a shower in the employee gym on the first floor.

“What’s the 411?” he asks, dropping the duffel bag with his clothes and shaving kit on the floor beneath the window.

“Just waiting on these f*cknuts to get their shit together.”

Rodriguez and Chan are on the other side of the room at Chan’s desk, arguing over who should sit where during the call. O’Doul and Miranda are deep in discussion outside the adjacent office, where Tabby’s been for hours. She’s emerged only once, to shower and grab a sandwich from the food platters delivered at regular intervals from the cafeteria.

She’s not eating enough. She’s not sleeping enough. I’m worried about her, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

Which sucks so hard, I want to break something.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” asks Ryan without a hint of sarcasm.

Knowing it will only wind him up if I deny Tabby’s my girlfriend, I tip my chin toward the closed office door.

Ryan looks at me. I can tell he’s trying not to smile. “You’re still in the doghouse, huh?”

“Why is this so funny to you?”

He shrugs. “Because I’ve never seen you not get something you want.” Smiling, he adds, “I think a little groveling will be good for your character.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my character. And I don’t grovel.”

“Not yet.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, aggravated. “Remind me why I thought it was a good idea to bring you here?”

Ryan’s smile widens. “Because right now you’ve got a boner where your brain used to be, and I can see stuff that you can’t. For instance, that little interaction between Tabby and Miranda, all that Machiavelli bullshit back and forth. What was that about?”

I think for a moment, recalling the scene. “The smart chick equivalent of a big dick contest?”

“Nope.”

Realizing he’s right, I slowly nod. Their exchange seemed weird to me at the time too. Loaded with unspoken layers of meaning. I glance at Miranda on the other side of the room. She must feel me watching, because she looks over and smiles.

It looks fake. As fake as the tears she manufactured for the press conference.

Ryan says quietly, “She’s been a client for what? Three years?”

“Yeah. She signed on right around the same time…”

The same time I met Tabby.

When I stiffen, Ryan looks at me. “Get your game face on, brother,” he says under his breath, still smiling like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I have a feeling all the pawns are about to get moved around the board.”

Ryan’s mention of pawns jars my memory. It was something Tabby said to me right before we left for LA. We were standing in her kitchen, and she’d just told me the job had a ninety-nine percent failure rate no matter how well I was prepared to go up against S?ren.

“Whatever you think his endgame is, you’ll be wrong. He’ll always be five moves ahead of you, no matter how well you plan, and there’s only one way you’ll ever catch him.”

“Which is?”

“By using me as bait.”

The hair on the back of my neck prickles. “Ryan. You ever play chess?”

“Yep.”

“You any good at it?”

“Yeah, actually. My dad taught me. We played all the time when I was a kid. Why?”

Looking between O’Doul, Miranda, Rodriguez, Chan, and the rest of the FBI agents working at their various stations around the room, I ask, “What’s the most valuable piece on the board?”