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Would she seem needy if she sent him a message? He was probably on his way up now. Right? She glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes late. No, this would be okay. She sent him a quick text. Itā€™s Mikki. Just making sure everythingā€™s okay.

Another half an hour ticked by, and nothing. Sick dread nudged her senses. Heā€™d said they werenā€™t completely okay but had still forgiven her. Had he changed his mind? Had the few hours apart given him a new perspective on how badly sheā€™d fucked up?

She was overreacting. There was nothing wrong. Sometimes life happened. She set him another quick note. You all right? Where are you?

Which was okay, right? They hadnā€™t exactly defined their relationship this afternoon, but she assumed when he said he wanted to see more of her, heā€™d meant it.

Except an hour after she sent the message, and still had no response, she wasnā€™t so sure. She clicked on the TV and cycled through the channels two times before she realized she had no idea what sheā€™d just seen on any of them. Another hour passed. He wasnā€™t coming. Whatever was going on, he wasnā€™t going to show up.

She set her phone on the nightstand and lay on her stomach on the bed. Crime drama. That should take her mind off things. Classic, straightforward whodunit with a smattering of interrogation and court room drama. The victim had been killed by his business partner, who had been sleeping with the victimā€™s wife, and embezzling from their company.

Mikki clicked the channel to something with cartoons instead. The inanities and three nights of almost no sleep combined with her wounded disappointment and pulled her eyelids shut.

A loud hum tore through the room, jarring her awake. She stared around her room, blinking away the sleep. What the hell? She turned toward the nightstand. A sad giggle escaped. It was just her phone vibrating against the solid surface.

She grabbed the device, not able to suppress her hope. It was Jared. It had to be. He had a good excuse. Her gut sank when she read the message. It was definitely him, all right.

His note just said, Cleaning up your mess. A Trojan, really?

She clicked the words around in her head, looking for a meaning. She knew what they meant, but how did it relate to her? Realization crashed in around her, and she sank to the floor. Someone had exploited what sheā€™d found. It was the most plausible reason she could think of for why heā€™d be blaming her. Someone whoā€™d known all the details of what sheā€™d uncovered and had access to her phone less than twenty-four hours ago.

Her hands were shaking as she pulled up her phoneā€™s email history. There it was, sitting in a file that was deleted but still hiding on her phone, with Jaredā€™s email information spoofed as headers. Whoever had used her phone to do this hadnā€™t even bothered to cover his tracks.

She pulled up Haydenā€™s number, her raging fury making it difficult to even think. Heā€™d still be on his flight, but he always checked his messages as soon as he landed. She didnā€™t try to keep her voice steady. It took enough effort to keep a string of profanities and cruel names from flying to her lips. ā€œItā€™s Mikki. I know itā€™ll be late when you get in, but I thought youā€™d like to know sooner rather than later. I quit.ā€

All his warnings about her finding other work faded into the back of her mind. This was unacceptable. It bordered on illegal. She couldnā€™t draw a paycheck from these people even if it did mean finding another job would be a struggle.

She pulled herself into the easy chair next to the bed and turned her attention back to the TV. Cleaning up your mess. Jaredā€™s text echoed in her thoughts. She hadnā€™t meant to cause a mess. It was never supposed to be like this. This was more than the simplicity of her wanting to know if she was better than the legendary Jared Tippins; it impacted an entire company. The livelihood of thousands of people.

She needed to find Jared and make things right. It didnā€™t matter that sleep tugged at her senses. Rest could wait until this entire thing was straightened out.

She pulled on some clothes, grabbed her phone and her room key, and headed straight for the elevator. Hopefully Jared would be in his room. She had to help him make this right.

She pounded as loud as she dared without drawing attention from the neighbors and staff. Her gut sank further when there was no answer. Now what?

When her phone vibrated against her hip, it jarred her from the edge of panic. She didnā€™t check the display, hitting answer on autopilot while her brain whirred for solutions on where to look for Jared next. ā€œHello?ā€ Her voice cracked, and she winced.

ā€œEverything all right?ā€ Haydenā€™s cheerful tone sharpened the edge of her exhaustion.

Any restraint sheā€™d used earlier was lost in the haze of exhaustion and frustration. Time to be blunt. ā€œNo, itā€™s not. Things have moved past bad and straight into fucked up.ā€

His chuckle drifted over the phone line and sent ice dragging up her spine. ā€œThen maybe you should have been more selective about how you landed your job.ā€ His tone was steel. ā€œIā€™ve tried to put this politely, and Iā€™ve tried to hint. Youā€™re smart. I figured you got what I was implying. The signing bonus was to help soothe your conscience. The fact youā€™ve kept quiet for six months implies you didnā€™t want to be found out. That you fucked their director of technology and still didnā€™t say anything indicates youā€™re getting off on the entire thing. If you quit now, youā€™ll never work tech again. Not just in this industry, but in any. Just like the guy who interviewed you. And your resignation is accepted, by the way.ā€

The line clicked off, and Mikki stared at the device in her hands. Rage, fear, and nausea all rolled inside. She didnā€™t know how she was going to make this better, but if it was the equivalent of spitting in Haydenā€™s face and helped Jared out at the same time, sheā€™d sacrifice a lot to make it happen.

Chapter Nineteen

Jared stared at the laptop in front of him, and tried to blink some moisture back into his eyes. Vivianā€™s phone sat in the middle of the table, speaker on and cable running back to her machine to keep it charged. The clack of keys filled the room. Occasionally Dewson would report something, or one of them would snap out a question or command, but for the most part, they kept their heads down.

When heā€™d gotten Mikkiā€™s first text several hours ago, the rest of his doubt had been obliterated. The message headers matched. The emailā€”the one pretending to be himā€”had come from her phone.

He didnā€™t want to believe it. It devoured every thread of his consciousness not already dedicated to fixing the problem at hand. Heā€™d really fallen for it again. Not in a million years would he have ever guessedā€¦

Then again, that seemed to be his curse. It really was trueā€”what his parents had between each other, the love heā€™d grown up aroundā€”that was the shit of fairy tales.

He hadnā€™t been able to tell his friends the newest information. Vivian at least thought highly of her. They could deal with that after. The only thing he didnā€™t understand was the shitty job sheā€™d done covering her tracks. Six months ago, he hadnā€™t seen a trace anyone had been on his network. This had her name stamped on it. Literally. Was she mocking him? He didnā€™t want to believe it, but he also couldnā€™t ignore the possibility.

He raked his fingers through his hair. He needed to focus on work. Where was the hole that had allowed the Trojan onto their network? What was he missing? Maybe Rosen had been right; heā€™d been out of the tech for too long. At least the network was clean, as far as they could tell. That was killing him, too. Not only could they not find the holes in their network, they didnā€™t even know if theyā€™d completely removed the immediate threat.

ā€œNext steps?ā€ The exhaustion in Tateā€™s voice reflected the weary atmosphere of the entire room. It was barely eleven, but theyā€™d been at this for hours, only breaking long enough to down another can of Red Bull or cup of coffee. For about thirty seconds, heā€™d considered using the former to make the latter. Fortunately, he wasnā€™t that exhausted. Yet.

Would Mikki do something like make coffee with Red Bull? He hated himself the moment the thought passed through his head. Heā€™d managed to keep from thinking her name all night, and now there it was, flooding back in and taunting him. Maybe that was what he needed to do. Think like her.

Sexy, alluring, deceptiveā€¦ He pushed the string of words aside. Later. Wallow later. Impulsive, fickle, and fleeting. There was the mindset he needed. He closed his eyes and breathed deeplyā€”oneā€¦twoā€¦three times, trying to push away all the indoctrination heā€™d picked up over the years. If he was just some person, someone who had the skill and intelligence, but not the corporate experience, where would he poke around for holes?

Her words echoed in his head. Remote computers. Machines you wouldnā€™t ever expect to have access to your deepest, most important information. He focused on the room again, gaze pausing on Tate. ā€œCheck the virtual machines quality assurance uses. Youā€™re looking at database users. Accounts with no passwords, admin access, shit like that.ā€ He turned to Vivian. ā€œSame thing, focus group VMā€™s. Dewson.ā€

The drowsy ā€œYeah?ā€ echoed off the glass coffee table.

ā€œEvery fucking administrative assistant we have. Ours, reception, all of them.ā€

That was it. It had to be. Hope surged inside as he dove into his own work, searching and scanning the same things heā€™d ordered everyone else to do.

Except an hour later, no one had anything. It was all tight and secure. He flopped his head back against the couch, letting a frustrated grunt escape. ā€œFuck.ā€

A knock echoed through the room. Jared shot a questioning glance at Tate.

His friend shrugged and nodded at the tray on the table. ā€œRoom service was already here, and even if it wasnā€™t the middle of the night, I told the front desk to give us some quietā€”including housekeeping.ā€

Vivian sighed and stood. ā€œStaring at each other isnā€™t going to answer the ā€˜whoā€™ question, and weā€™re obviously at a standstill, so an interruption wonā€™t hurt.ā€ She pressed her eye to the peephole and muttered, ā€œWell then. Didnā€™t expect that.ā€

Jaredā€™s gut sank, rage twisting with betrayal. He didnā€™t have to ask who it was.

ā€œWeā€™re kind of busy for a booty call.ā€ Tateā€™s comment barely reached Jaredā€™s ears through the scream of his thoughts.

What the hell was she doing there? Rubbing it in? The latch clicked, and the hinges squeaked. He didnā€™t want to look, but he couldnā€™t help it. There was Mikki, standing in the doorway. Even across the room he could see the circles under eyes. Her shoulders were hunched. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, gaze darting everywhere. Every time she reached him, she skipped past, never making eye contact. ā€œI want to help.ā€

Vivian opened the door wider.

Jaredā€™s protest stuck in his throat. He should be ordering her to leave. Ignoring everything she said. But that tiny little voice in the back of his head refused to accept all the facts at face value. Mikki stepped into the room, and the door swung shut behind her.

Vivian nodded at Jared before she turned away. ā€œItā€™s his show, itā€™s not my call.ā€

Apparently it was her call, at least on some level. He fixed his most damning glare on Vivian, who shrugged it off and settled back onto the couch across from him. Maybe he should have told them there was evidence to back up their suspicions of where this had come from.

A heavy silence descended on the room, filling Jaredā€™s lungs until he thought it might suffocate him. He forced himself to breathe but still couldnā€™t look at her. ā€œHow did you find the room?ā€

ā€œItā€™s umā€¦luck?ā€

ā€œWe have work to do.ā€ Jared couldnā€™t keep his exhaustion from his voice. ā€œYou hacked another computer so you could come tell us youā€™re sorry for hacking ours?ā€

He finally forced himself to look at Mikki. Even being as furious with her as

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