Santa's Pet (24 page)

~ Brittney ~

Sammie opens the door of her apartment, her hair wrapped with a towel.

“What are you doing here?” she drawls lazily. “I thought you left town.”

“Sorry. Came back as soon as I came to my senses.” The more I think about the Powers brothers, the angrier I get. Ben had no business telling me to cut off Nash, and Nash was being an ass by rubbing me in Ben’s face.

Meanwhile Ben hurt me on purpose, telling me I was a little bit of fun—a distraction from his problems. Well, fun’s over, and I have a company to save.

“Came to your senses? What about, that hunk, Ben Powers?” Samantha breathes his name as if he were a god. “Did you get a piece of him? Is he as hot as they say?”

I squeeze through the doorway, ignoring her speculations about Ben. “Let me onto your wifi, and I’ll be out of your way.”

“Can’t you do that at your apartment?” She’s still standing too close, like she doesn’t want me to go past the entrance. No wonder. A pair of men’s motorcycle boots are sitting on the tile floor in front of the umbrella stand.

“Someone I don’t want to deal with is over there.” My voice trembles despite my heroic effort to focus on catching the hackers.

“Sure, go ahead. Password’s on the router. I’ve … ah … got to take care of some business.”

“Take your time.” I roll my eyes and set my laptop bag on the kitchen table. I look exaggeratedly at the wall clock. “Don’t mind me, I’m not your boss anymore. What does Marlena have you guys working on anyway?”

“Oh, we’re cleaning up. Mostly sending logs to the auditors and lawyers. They’re still trying to figure stuff out.” She waves her hand carelessly as she practically skips out of the kitchen and back to her room.

No wonder she didn’t want to room with me when my aunt asked me to keep an eye on her. She’s a recent grad and having trouble landing a job because she majored in math instead computer science. The liberal arts college her mother insisted she attend to become well-rounded and balanced didn’t offer it as a major.

I boot up my laptop, then peek on the kitchen counter for the router. She not only has the wifi password written on a sticker, but she also has the router’s management password in plain view. I’ll have to speak to her about this breach. Hopefully I’m the only one who noticed, or even knows the difference between the two.

After going to the refrigerator and pouring myself a glass of orange juice, I log in to the router. First thing, I’m going to leave myself a tunnel through her router VPN, since she so conveniently provided me the management password. This way, I can access her system and use it to get back to ScrapCloud. I shouldn’t have gotten distracted by He Who Shall Not Be Mentioned. During the two days I’ve been gone, the perp could have destroyed evidence.

I select the router configuration menu to set up port-forwarding on the VPN client. This will allow me to tunnel into ScrapCloud whenever I want.

What the fuck? Someone has already set one up. I quickly copy down all the details. Who the hell’s been using Samantha’s unsecured router to hack into my company’s network?

I make quick work of downloading her entire configuration and all of her log files. If a hacker came into our network cloaked with Samantha’s credentials, it would never have set off any alarms. They could have altered the code, and did any number of bad things under her user name. No wonder we hadn’t found the breach.

A quick glance down the hallway assures me that Samantha’s busy burning up the sheets with someone, maybe even the asshole who tunneled into our network. With access to our source code, who knows what other vulnerabilities he or she might have put in?

Ice freezes my veins. From Samantha’s account, the hacker could also have gotten into Shopahol and through them to Mississippi.com. A red tide of anger sweeps through me like wild fire. Whoever violated my company had violated me. This is quantum leaps worse than what He Who Shall Not Be Mentioned did to me this morning. That ass had only plugged himself into one hole. This jerk could have opened up more holes than Tiger Woods on a golf course.

Quickly, I bring up the code editor and copy my new, improved attack worm into it. Last year, when I unleashed a reverse attack, my worm was quickly disabled by the genius Jen Jones Jewell and her anomaly detecting virus checker.

A sneaky giggle sizzles through my teeth. I learned a few tricks myself, emulating biology by cloaking my worm with signatures making it look like a harmless image file, but able to adapt and change its outer shell if probed. Most virus checkers don’t dig deep enough.

Now for the payload. I’m not some stupid hacker who’s going to announce myself. Oh no, none of these “April Fools, you’ve been hacked” messages. What I want is information. Who messages who, and what they talk about. Emails and text messages would provide the most embarrassing and potentially exploitable information. If I can gather enough, I can force the hacker to stop exposing people’s wish lists and shopping histories. Even better, if the attacker has access to porn sites, which these dweebie computer guys no doubt frequent, I can get a complete sexual trail of all their perversions, and if I hit pay dirt like child pornography, they’re toast.

Nobody better mess with me and my company.

I’m tapping quickly at my keyboard when footsteps stop next to me. Shit. I ‘x’ out of the code view window and look up at my cousin.

“Yes?” I feign a normal voice.

“What are you doing sitting there with that sneaky smile on your face?” She pulls up a chair. “Tell me about Ben’s love nest. You slept with him, right?”

“You have anything to eat here?” I close my laptop partway. “Sorry to barge in on you. I’ll get out of your way if you’re busy.”

She smiles and her eyes narrow to slits. “You’re so funny, Britt. You look like you got caught in bed with a nun. So, tell me about Big Ben. Granny says he stopped by and spoke to them. She said, ‘Mark my words, that boy’s in love with Brittney.’ When I saw the way he looked at you in the parking lot, all moony and love struck, I just knew you two were meant for each other.”

The last thing I can stomach is listening to speculation about Ben being moonstruck by me. Sure, he spoke a good game, did all the classic vulnerability act, the boy who lost his mother, and dammit, the tender way he wondered if I were the ‘One’—complete with quivering lower lip. And I fell for it, because oh … he’s so damn sexy and if I scored him, every woman would be jealous of me. Except I did score a fuck with him and now I feel depleted—empty, dead—and totally confused because no matter whether it was a hookup or not, I still love him.

Samantha’s still staring at me with that cheesy grin. “See? You
are
in love. I can read all the expressions off your face. You’re unsure and fighting it, not believing he could possibly love you back.”

“You see nothing.” My voice is sharper than I want it to be. “Listen, you need to go to work while you still have a job.”

I close my laptop and disconnect the power cord. Now that I have my tunnel, I can get into her VPN router anytime.

“Marlena’s letting us have flex hours.” Samantha stretched her arms over her head and yawned.

If I cared, I would be jealous of Marlena. Flex hours my foot. In my book, it means 24/7. I’ll show them flex hours. Humpf.

A footstep sounds near the kitchen doorway.

“Sam, have you seen my phone?” A man props his arm on the counter. He looks like a member of a motorcycle club, wearing his cut, or vest with all the patches on it. I quickly lower my head, hoping my hair hides my face. I’ve seen that patch before—Scrappers Motorcycle Club—the same one whose trailer I was held captive in by last year’s hacker, Dex Steele.

I sneak a peek at the man whose back is turned to me, giving me the opportunity to study the patches. His nickname is “Back Door” and he’s the VP of the club. I’ll bet snake eyes, he’s Mitch Slack, president of TrophyShots, my number one competitor.

He slathers Sammie with a full, mouth-to-mouth kiss, rubs her hair roughly and swaggers from the kitchen. My stomach rolls at that display of grossness. Rough, hairy guys with beards and nose hair growing into their mustaches don’t hold any attraction for me. Add the yucky tattoos, engine grease, and road dust, and I’m ready to barf.

“So, did you find anything about the hackers?” Sammie prances back from the doorway, her teeny boobs bouncing under her hurriedly pulled on tank-top. She’s half-Chinese so she can get away with not wearing a bra. Meanwhile I have to lug around mammary appendages that make my back ache and turn men into drooling idiots or complete assbites.

“I’m good,” I chirp cheerfully to cover my less than charitable thoughts. “How’re Granny and Pappy doing? Any plans for Christmas?”

“They almost got kicked out of Happy Bear.” Her eyes roll slightly larger, referring to the retirement community my grandparents moved to recently. “They were taking care of Ben Powers’ pets so you two could take off for parts unknown.”

I hate it when rumors get distorted. “First of all, the pets belong to his grandfather. Secondly, I went somewhere to de-stress from all the crap going on.”

“With Bamm-Bamm Ben! I made sure to tell Lacy and Nash when they came looking for you.”

“Yes, thanks, Sammie.” I growl under my breath. Sammie’s one of those perky girls who give us larger, more buxom ones the urge to take that thin neck of hers and wring it hard. “You were ever so helpful.”

I stuff my laptop into the bag and walk toward her door. She bounces after me like an obnoxious Odie to my lethargic Garfield.

“I love helping you, Brittney. You’re my favorite cousin.” She hugs me. “I hope you catch the hacker. Let me know.”

“Definitely.” I peel her off me and picture Garfield drop-kicking Odie off the Thanksgiving table.

~ Ben ~

Ben knocked on the door to his grandfather’s hospital room. He was no longer in intensive care, and the room looked brighter and cheerier with Christmas decorations pasted on the walls.

“Benny Boy,” Grandpa said in a hoarse voice. He was also off the ventilator. “How was the cabin? Is it true you took Brittney up there?”

The memory of Brittney holding his hand as they walked around admiring the Christmas lights pierced him with bittersweet agony. How lovely she was and how hopeful and bright the future had seemed.

“Yes. She was having a bad day, so I thought to cheer her up.” There was no sense hiding it from Grandfather.

“Glad she called off her lawyer. Ridiculous how they threw sexual harassment at you. I ought to call the newspaper and have them print a retraction.”

Ben heaved a sigh. “They don’t really have newspapers anymore.”

“Well, anyway, I did get that City Council lady I know from the pet store to talk to the police chief. He says they’re holding onto the indecent exposure charge because they don’t want to seem easy on athletes—you know, the hometown hero and all that. Hey, did you know Nash is doing a concert for Brittney?”

His grandfather was sure talkative now that he didn’t have a tube stuck down his throat.

“You almost ready to go home?” He pulled the visitor’s chair next to the bed and sat.

Grandpa narrowed his eyes and huffed. “I’m more than ready. Seems you’re getting into trouble without me. How’s the cabin? Anything need repairing?”

“Nothing. I’ll call the cleaners. I put up the Christmas lights and brought out the yard decorations, so if the folks who are renting it for Christmas don’t want them, I can go and take them down.”

“They’ll want them,” Grandpa said. “It’s the Reeds. They always love Christmas.”

“The Reeds? How are they all going to fit?” He couldn’t picture Brittney ever wanting to return to that cottage, especially the loft where he’d made love to her, truly wanting to comfort her and assure her he understood, only to blow it because of his fear of rejection—the thought that his brother had done the same, been there before him.

“It’s only Bob and Cece,” Grandpa said. “They don’t want to spend Christmas at the retirement center.”

“Wouldn’t they spend it with their son and his family?”

“A man wants his own place, you know that.” Grandpa gave him a sidelong glance. “If you’re still thinking of bumping me off to that retirement center, you need to quit. Nash agrees with me.”

“Is Nash going to take care of you? Is he going to look in on you and drive you to your doctor’s appointments?”

“Neither will you,” Grandpa said. “You’re going pro. I know it, and I wouldn’t want to hold you back. I’ll make do with the daytime aide.”

“But what about the night? What if you need help? The retirement center has networked heart monitors. You wear this little band on your wrist and if anything goes wrong, it signals the onsite doctor to your room.”

“I know all about their monitors and I will not be spied upon.” Grandpa crossed his arms. “A man’s got to have his dignity.”

It was true that the retirement center had cameras in every room, with motion detectors and heat sensors. But it was for the protection of the residents. “I’m sure they don’t turn on the video feed unless one of the sensors show a problem.”

“Yeah, like increased heart rate.” Grandpa chuckled. “You and I can think of several scenarios where you wouldn’t want anyone charging into your room for that.”

Whoa. Wait. If Grandpa was seeing another woman, why was he upset at Dad for remarrying?

“Don’t tell me.” Ben kept his voice level. “You have a woman friend?”

Grandpa grinned and patted his chest. “This old ticker’s still got a few beats left.”

“Oh, okay. Well, then, maybe she can monitor you overnight.”

“We’re not that close yet. She’s offered, but I wouldn’t want to take advantage of her.”

“Who is she?” Ben scratched his head. Maybe the reason Grandpa wouldn’t return to the cottage had less to do with missing Grandma, but more to do with this new love interest.

“We’re not ready to go public, so don’t worry your sweet little head. Now, tell me, is anything going on with you and Brittney? Bob and Cece came by all upset that their precious granddaughter had gone missing, and I supplied them with the clue. Looks like I was right.”