Love and Wargames: A Bad Boy Hacker Romance Page 2

  His wet breath heaves against the glass counter top, fogging it up with his stench. “All right — all right — I was just fuckin’ around. Don’t gotta be such a bitch about it—” I dig in harder and he shrieks. “Fuck— lady! I’m sorry!”

  I push into him as I let him go, bouncing back to put a bit of distance between us. “Now, get out of my shop.” I keep my grip on the club as he rises, ready to beat him with it if he drifts even an inch closer.

  He straightens up and adjusts his jacket, his eyes once again falling to my chest. This time, he looks right passed my tits and notices the dog tags hanging from my neck. “Christ, lady… what are you? Army?”

  “Once upon a time,” I answer.

  His face shifts from annoyance to respect. “Thank you for your service—”

  “Dude, get the fuck out.”

  “Right.” He spins around and rushes outside without looking back.

  I hop over the counter and walk across the aisle to hang the golf club back up onto the wall where he got it. A quick glance around the empty shop tells me there were no witnesses to that little spat — either that, or they all bailed the second he tried to hit me.

  That’s Los Angeles for you. I ain’t seen nothing, officer.

  Oh, well. It’s almost midnight anyway. Might as well close up and count the pennies I earned today selling old, used shit to the masses.

  Tomorrow is Sunday. Sunday is my favorite day of the week. It’s my day off, it’s quiet, but most of all… debt collectors take the day off, too.

  Twenty-four whole hours to myself. It’s all I have to look forward to every week.

  And then it’s back to this dump I call my basement.

  Chapter 3

  Caleb

  Afghanistan

  Two Years Ago

  “Hey, Fawn — you stay back.”

  I nod and roll my eyes, thankfully hidden behind the shaded goggles on my head. “Yes, sir.”

  It’s not the first time Sergeant Rhys has told me to keep to the rear in a potentially dangerous situation and honestly, I don’t really blame him. Society is hardwired to protect women and children and I get that, but I signed up for this war just like every other man in my unit. By default, they are soldiers.

  I have to prove it.

  “Damn, you are seething right now…”

  The soft chuckle beside me belongs to Fox Fitzpatrick, possibly the only friend I’ve made since I was shipped out to this damn desert. “No, I’m not,” I say, steadying the tone of my voice.

  Fox looks ahead at the sergeant to make sure he’s not watching and quickly raises his goggles up to scratch his nose. He squints his brown eyes to block the harsh sunlight above our heads. As he targets the stubborn itch, he accidentally wipes a bit of dirt on his clean-shaven, underwear model-like cheeks. At least the gritty look is in around these parts. “Okay, then,” he grins, sliding his goggles back into place over his eyes.

  “You’d think he’d let me take point,” I say. “I’m the one that noticed the damn signal that led us to the weapons cache.”

  “Eh, you don’t know who could be in there,” Fox replies, resting his rifle on his shoulder. “Better to let them go in first to check it out.”

  “Yeah, it’s a great strategy. Stick their best close-quarters combat soldier in the back with the sniper. That’s definitely how you win wars.”

  He laughs again. “Seething—”

  “Shut up.”

  The five of us close in on the warehouse and Rhys signals us to stop. Fox readies his rifle in both hands while I keep my grip on mine.

  “Fawn, Fitzpatrick—” Rhys says. “You two check the perimeter. Neutralize anyone that comes out — except us.”

  “Yes, sir,” Fox and I reply in unison.

  The three of them slowly push into the building with their heads down and guns up. A sting of jealously strikes me but I shake it off quickly. Maybe Fox is right. I have a better chance at going home again if I play it safe but I didn’t exactly enlist in the United States Army to work on my tan.

  Fox and I walk side-by-side around the warehouse. I switch to my side arm while he scans the distance around us for any sign of movement. I peek around every corner we pass, each one revealing nothing at all. An odd sense rolls down my neck.

  “This isn’t right…” I mutter. “Intel said there were at least a dozen men here.”

  “Maybe they’re all inside?”

  “They’d have regular perimeter patrols,” I point out. “There’s supposed to be an entire armory in there. This doesn’t make any sense.” I look up as we reach the rear of the warehouse, noticing the crushed roof along the back wall. “This place has already been hit…”

  Fox scans the damage himself, slowly nodding his head. “Think we’re too late?”

  “Shh—” My ears perk at the sudden, rhythmic sound. “Do you hear that?”

  He lowers his gun and tilts his head, raising his ear higher into the air. “Is that music?”

  I step closer and pull my helmet off so I can lay my ear against the hard, stone wall. “American music…”

  “These guys certainly have a thing for pop culture.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Calling the kettle black, aren’t ya?”

  “Shut up.”

  I exhale a soft laugh but quickly stop. Now isn’t the time to tease Fox about his movie star crush. I push my helmet back on and stand up to keep moving around the warehouse.

  “Hello?”

  We pause and turn back to the singing wall. The music’s volume dims and the voice calls out again. “Hello?!”

  Fox knocks on the stone. “Hello!” he greets.

  “Oh, thank fuck.” The man’s voice cries and he laughs loudly. “English-speaking people!”

  I stare at Fox with confusion and he holds back a laugh. “Are you all right, sir?” I ask.

  “I’m doing much better right now.”

  This must be the American journalist being held captive inside the warehouse. “We’re here to get you out, sir. Sit tight,” I tell him.

  “Oh, believe me, honey — I’m not going anywhere.”

  I flex my jaw and Fox’s lips curl once again.

  “Is there anyone inside with you?” Fox asks the wall. “Any guards or other prisoners?”

  “Nope. It’s just me.”

  I holster my side arm and we move around the building to find another way inside, looking for a place to start digging away rocks that won’t cause the rest of the building to collapse on the guy. Although, after hearing him call me honey, I don’t think it’d be the worst loss the world has ever known.

  We start rolling debris out of the way, constantly glancing over our shoulders in case someone is looking to sneak up on us but no one shows up. Whatever this place was used for, it was abandoned a long time ago.

  Something definitely isn’t right.

  Finally, a hole forms and light shines through to the other side. The man’s laughter echoes through it as he crawls out with a small messenger bag on his back and he collapses against the sand at our feet.

  I slide my goggles off to get a better look at him. He’s just a damn kid, no older than myself or Fox. His hair is dirty, along with his skin and clothes and there’s a smear of dried blood wiped along his forehead beneath a pair of filth-covered glasses.

  He rolls over onto his back and smiles up at the two of us with dry, cracked lips. “You wouldn’t happen to have some water, would you?”

  I share a look with Fox before he reaches for his canteen and kneels down to hand it to him.

  “So, uh…” Fox begins, “want to tell us what’s going on?”

  The man sits up and chugs the entire canteen dry, spilling more of it onto his chin than down his throat. “I got trapped,” he finally chokes out.

  “Right…” I mutter. “We received word of an American journalist being held captive in a weapons cache—”

  The man shakes his head. “Never happened.”

  Fox stands up. �
��Never happened?”

  “Sorry. I lied.”

  I stare at Fox again and we both blink with confusion. “You what?”

  He reaches out his hand and Fox takes it to help him up. “Yeah, sorry… I hid out in here during the last raid and the ceiling kind of caved in on me…”

  “Uh huh…” I take in the features of his face. Full, boyish cheeks. Dimpled chin. Green eyes. He stands about an inch taller than myself. I glance down at his sneakers and jeans and all the way back up to the thin, white dress shirt that’s now completely soaked through with sweat and dirt. “The last raid in this area was three days ago.”

  “Is that all? Feels longer…”

  Fox shifts in his boots and holds up a hand. “Okay, wait— what do you mean you lied?”

  The man pats his duffel bag. “I hacked your equipment.”

  My jaw drops. “You did what?”

  “I sent the intel,” he admits. “Made up a story about a bunch of evil terrorists guarding some crap, I don’t know. Dehydration has me kind of loopy—”

  “You realize that’s a felony, right?” I ask.

  He chuckles, flashing his perfect, white teeth at me. “Believe me, honey, there are far easier ways of getting me in handcuffs.”

  Fox lays a hand on my shoulder and gently eases me away to keep me from punching this bastard in the jaw.

  “Sir, that’s enough of that, please…” he says to him, although Fox can’t keep the smile from spreading on his face. “So, the roof caved in, trapped you inside, and you hacked our equipment with a distress signal to come and get you out?”

  The man nods along with him. “Right.”

  “How?”

  His hand slips into his bag and pulls out one corner of his laptop. “I wrote a program that transmits a frequency wave that hijacks any vulnerable government equipment within about ten miles. Kid stuff, really… The only downside is that I had no way of differentiating between American equipment and the not-so American equipment. So, they could just as easily be headed here right now to shoot me but it was either take the gamble or die of starvation and/or exposure and that sounds really unpleasant, so…” He shrugs.

  I narrow my eyes at him, inhaling slowly to keep the annoyed rage at bay. “Who the hell are you?”

  He adjust the strap on his bag, tightening it over his shoulder, and grins at me.

  “I’m Boxcar.”

  Chapter 4

  Boxcar

  Los Angeles

  Present Day

  Los Angeles.

  What a fucking dump.

  I promised myself I’d never travel this far west again unless out of absolute necessity but I guess having two assassins on my trail qualifies.

  Elijah and Lilah Hart. I spent my flight over here digging for skeletons and reading up on them. Apparently, they aren’t the only members of the Hart family in Snake Eyes; the other being their big brother, Dante, and I definitely hope he’s not traveling around with them right now. If I have any luck left in the world — and that is one big if — he’s hiding out in their childhood home on Geneva Lake.

  That’s right, assholes, not quite as hidden as you thought.

  Let’s just say I did the right thing running away with my damn tail between my legs. This family isn’t one I want to fuck with and I get the feeling my research only scratches the surface of that iceberg. There’s only one person I know that can confirm my suspicion and he’s living happily ever after in the Hollywood Hills with his movie star girlfriend-slash-stepsister.

  Sorry, bro.

  I dial his number from a coffee shop down the street from their new house, taking advantage of the shop’s free wi-fi signal to bounce the call through various towers and encrypt my location. Sure, the Hart twins found me in Boston but I won’t make it so easy for them to track down my location in Los Angeles.

  “Hello?”

  “Fox! Old buddy, old pal! How are you?” I speak a little too loudly, drawing the attentions of the damn hipsters and wannabe novelists sitting around me so I lower my voice. Adrenaline tends to mess with my ability to maintain calmness and my pulse is thumping like a damn drumline right now.

  “Boxcar?”

  “Yeah, man. Hey — listen. I’m in Los Angeles. Come have a drink with me.”

  There’s a long moment of silence before Fox finally sighs. “What did you do?”

  I snort in defense. “What did I do? What do you mean what did I do?”

  “Fox, who is it?”

  “Go back to sleep, Dani,” he whispers. I hear the ruffling of bedsheets as he stands up.

  “You still asleep, man?” I ask. “It’s noon.”

  “No, it’s five in the morning, actually,” he whispers.

  “What?” I glance at my laptop’s clock, trying to count the difference in hours but I give up quickly. “Where are you?”

  A door slides closed and he answers at normal volume. “Tokyo.”

  “Tokyo?!” I spit, once again drawing side-eyes from people around my table. “Why the hell are you in Japan?”

  Fox yawns. “Dani’s on her press tour for Night Trials.”

  “Oh yeah… that movie you had a perfectly good screener for but refused to send me,” I bite.

  “You’ll see it with the rest of the world next month, Box.”

  “Dick.”

  “Why are you in Los Angeles?”

  I chew on my inner cheek. I really hoped to talk to him in person about this. There’s not much he can do from the other side of the Pacific Ocean and there’s no way he’ll make it here before the Hart twins do. Still, I can’t not tell him there are former Snake Eyes agents out there looking for him.

  “You have a problem, Fox.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “Last night…” I lower my voice, taking full control of its volume. “Some Snake— reptilian folks showed up at my place in Boston looking for you.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks quickly.

  “Positive. My guess is they figured out who was behind the exposure and they aren’t too happy about it.”

  “Do you know who they were?”

  “Yeah — Elijah and Lilah Hart.” I wait for a reaction but silence screams back at me. “Fox?”

  “I’ll be on the next flight home.”

  “No,” I say. “That’s a horrible idea. As of right now, they don’t know where you are.”

  “But they know where you are,” he says. “You don’t want to get cornered by the Harts, Boxcar… especially Lilah.”

  I laugh, forcing any manliness I have to the surface. “I think I can handle—”

  “No, Box,” he interrupts. “You really can’t.”

  I deflate. “I know, man. I’m kinda in over my head here.”

  “Lay low,” he tells me. “Just go into hiding for a while until I can come home and deal with it myself.”

  It’s always been my first instinct. Run away. It’s not like I don’t have the means to do it right now. I have plenty of untraceable money to throw at an escape plan. There’s nothing stopping me, except…

  “I can’t, Fox.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they know about Caleb.”

  Fox pauses and exhales a breath. “Then you know what you have to do.”

  I wince. “I know, but…” Our brief history rushes to the front of my mind. “I don’t wanna.”

  “Boxcar…”

  “This isn’t exactly the reunion I had in mind!”

  “Well, it’s the one you’re getting,” he argues. “You can’t walk away from this. If she’s in danger, you have to tell her about it. Now.”

  “Yeah, but…” I snap my fingers. “I know! You can call her and I’ll—”

  “Nope.”

  “Dammit.” I sit back and sigh loudly. Caleb Fawn. The love of my life. The bane of my existence. “Fine. I’ll go see her.”

  “If something goes wrong, she can protect you.” He’s not wrong. Caleb saved my ass plenty while we were all ove
rseas. “You should be able to find her in the loft above—”

  “Above her shop.” I twist my neck until it pops. “Yeah, I know…”

  “Been keeping tabs on her?”

  I wince. “Kind of.”

  “Well,” he says, “you never know. Maybe she’ll be happy to see you.”

  I laugh. “Doubt it. I haven’t seen her since…” My words fail. Almost two years later and I still can’t say it out loud. “Since we came back,” I say instead.

  “Just keep your cool and everything will be fine,” Fox says. “I’ll try and get stateside as soon as I can.”

  “Stay away, man,” I warn. “I’m not worth getting caught over.” It’s quite possibly the most heroic thing I’ve ever said but it’s also honest. Fox’s life matters to other people.

  Mine? Not so much.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Fox says. “I can’t just sit out here and do nothing. I’m coming home.”

  “Fine.” The air around me weighs heavy and smothers my shoulders. I push it aside. “Oh! How about — instead — you stay in Japan and take Dani to one of those love hotels. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

  Fox chuckles. “I’m not doing that.”

  “Seriously! I read about one in Shinjuku. They’ll deliver a girl to your room and you can eat sushi off her bellybutton. Dani will love it!”

  “This conversation is a pretty sterling example for why you’re still single, Boxcar.”

  “Ooo! Look at me!” I mock. “I’m Fox Fitzpatrick. I’m a man of action. I jump out of windows and date movie stars! We can’t all be James Bond, dude. Some of us are perfectly content with being Q.”

  “Quit stalling and go talk to Caleb.”

  “Fine,” I exhale. “Say hi to your sister for me.”

  “Stepsister.”

  “Still weird.”

  “Bye, Box.”

  “Buh-bye.” I hang up and fall forward until my head hits the table.

  Caleb Fawn.

  The last time I saw her, she told me she never wanted to see my face again.

  Not exactly how a man pictures the end of his honeymoon, but…

  Shit happens, right?