Fascination

“I have someone coming in any minute now.”

“Who is he?”

“She. Sarah T. Jessup. She’s driving down from New York for the interview. We’ve used her from time to time as a freelance consultant.”

“Otherwise meaning an informant?” Ian could detect the skepticism in Marty’s voice—informants were not exactly the cream of the crop in police circles—but Sarah was operating on a different level.

“A good one. She’s offered us first-rate information over the years with no expectation of compensation or recognition. She has managed to dig out things on the Net that we wouldn’t have found, she can go places we can’t. She’s been…useful.”

“Is she cute?”

Ian sent a disparaging look in Marty’s direction. “This is a job interview for HotWires, Marty, not a dating service. Try to drag yourself up into the twenty-first century. Besides, I have no idea if she’s cute or not—we’ve only communicated online and over the phone.”

“Hey, I’m just thinking good thoughts for you, buddy. The national statistics say the median age for a second marriage is thirty-four. At thirty-three and counting, you are ripe for the plucking, the way I see it.”

Marty grinned, clearly knowing he was pushing Ian’s buttons and appearing to be thoroughly enjoying it. Ian stemmed his gut-level response, keeping his buttons in check.

“Statistics lie. I have no plans to rush into remarrying.”

“Rush? Um, yeah, it’s been a little more than five years since the divorce, bud. You’re a real wild man with the rushing. National stats say that most men remarry within four years—”

“Marty—”

“I’m just saying. Maybe Sarah T. Jessup will be the one to make you a statistically viable member of society again.”

Ian shook his head and took a long drink of water. He had no intention of gracing that comment with a response. Sarah Jessup could look like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, but as far as Ian was concerned it made no difference—work and sex never mixed. All he cared about was how good she was at her job.

He was curious about her, though. Using the online name TigerLily, she had a reputation as a major computer junkie—a hacker in the most positive sense of the term. Not all hackers were criminals. In fact, the major proportion of people who called themselves hackers were upstanding citizens. Criminal hackers took otherwise creative and essential computer skills and used them recklessly to do harm or for their own gain.

Then there were hackers, like Sage and her friend Locke, who called themselves “hacktivists”—hackers who used destructive hacking methods as a form of social protest, attacking the computer systems of multinational corporations and major polluters and the like.

Unfortunately the attacks these groups waged often ended up hurting a wider spectrum of people than the organizations they targeted. Hacktivists were still often criminal hackers, as Ian saw it—you couldn’t start letting politics be an excuse for committing crimes.

Sarah was an example of a legal hacker, someone who was just damned talented with a computer and who had no intention of breaking the law. She had become a self-appointed informant for the feds, tracking down Internet porn rings in her spare time, sending Ian what she found. It was a weird hobby, but the info she’d shared had led to several busts.

Ian knew that Sarah had an incomplete college degree and no formal police training, but those things could be dealt with. She had several part-time jobs, lived in a low-cost apartment in the city. He was willing to bet she probably spent more money on computer equipment than food. But she knew her stuff and stayed on the right side of the law, and that’s what he was looking for. He trusted his gut about people more than he trusted pieces of paper anyway. He just had a feeling about her.

Taking a deep breath, Ian furrowed his brow in irritation as he detected the slightly spicy fragrance Sage had worn earlier today still lingering in the otherwise musty air of his office. His hand clenched tightly around the plastic bottle as he felt the familiar wave of desire hit, followed by the dulling sense of frustration.

Sage was a criminal hacker, someone off-limits to him even if only for the next few days. She was the last connection to his old life, and when this gig was over he would cut her loose and forget about her.

Yeah, right. Even though he’d carefully guarded against it, Sage had become more than just another case. He replayed the moment her hand moved over the skin of his arm and felt a flash of heat—he could still feel it, her soft skin on his. Her long fingers touching him just for that short moment. Her nails, ragged and bitten to the quick, were painted with red polish, and he found that was amazingly sexy, because it was on her. That she would wear such a bold color on her short nails was also indicative of Sage—she just didn’t accept limitations. Not easily anyway. And she tempted him every chance she got.

He was tempted, no doubt about that. What red-blooded man could have Sage in front of him for years, issuing invitations left and right, and not at least think about it? But red-blooded as he might be, Ian’s sense of self-discipline was fierce.

It also helped that he knew the come-ons and flirting were just her way of punishing him, of exacting some small bit of revenge for how he’d invaded her life. She didn’t really want him, she just wanted to get back at him. He was just doing his job and he reminded himself of that every time he let himself think how good she smelled.

There was just something about her that he’d known from the start was going to be trouble. One look into those stubborn green eyes when they’d first met, and a part of him knew she could cause trouble for him as no other woman had. Her wildly curly red hair cinched it. She was like a flame, dancing around him, always just out of reach.

He just had to hold strong. And he had.

Five more days.

It was his duty to keep tight tabs on her, and he had, but maybe he’d put in a little more time than usual. He told himself it was because she couldn’t be trusted, because he couldn’t drop the ball for one minute with her. He knew the type. They were like drug addicts with computers and were bound to cave sooner or later. But she never did, at least as far as he knew. Still, he watched. Carefully. And he would to the very end.

Marty took another bite from the apple in his hand, the crisp crack of the fruit snapping loudly in the quiet office, breaking the spell of Ian’s thoughts. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Lots on my mind. Anyway, Jessup’s due in here in a few minutes, so I have to get ready.”

Marty smiled and saluted. “Gotcha. Let me know how it goes.”

Ian watched Marty leave and sighed as his friend nearly collided with a woman who appeared in the doorway—an incredibly tall, voluptuous, sable-haired Amazon with blue eyes that grabbed aggressively onto Ian’s and didn’t let go. Dressed in tight black jeans and a leather jacket—not exactly job interview attire—she didn’t disappoint his expectations. Sarah wasn’t your typical computer geek—she looked like hell on wheels.

Ian raised an eyebrow as Marty shook his fingers in a “too hot” gesture behind Jessup’s head as he moved past her into the hallway—something she shouldn’t have seen but did. Turning slowly, she fixed an icy-blue stare on Marty until he smiled feebly and slinked away.

Ian liked her already.

2

SAGE SAT NERVOUSLY IN the small lounge, the folder containing her résumé—her very thin résumé—clasped in her hands. The appointment for her interview had been more than thirty minutes ago, but she was willing to wait—she needed a new job, a real job, something that would allow her to move forward in life.

When she’d seen the classified ad for a security consultant, her heart had leaped—plenty of hackers, even those who had been on the wrong side of the law, became high-level security consultants. It was like hiring a reformed thief to help you make sure your house was secure. She figured she stood as much of a chance at the job as anyone.

But as time passed, her confidence was evaporating. The other applicants looked younger than she was, were male and their folders appeared to be much thicker than hers. Most had laptops with them or at least Blackberrys or PDAs. Probably none of them had felony convictions.

Was she nuts? There was no way a reputable company like this was going to hire someone like her.

Swallowing the lump of anger and despair that had suddenly formed in her throat, she left the room with as much dignity as she could manage, passing by the other applicants, who barely spared her a glance. Well, goody for them, she thought belligerently. Boring bunch of yuppie wannabes anyhow.

Except she wanted to be one, too. Wanted to be normal, to have a real life. Wanted to be respected for her talents. Wanted to be valued and accepted. She wanted to show her family that she could be a success, even though she had let them down in so many other ways.

Walking out into the stifling summer air, she yanked off the conservative gray blazer she’d spent way too much money on for the interview. Her hopes had been too high when she’d received the phone call responding to her application—an application conspicuously missing any hint of her conviction. She’d figured it would be better to try to explain that in person. Ha. What had she been thinking? She was just glad to have left before she’d gone in there and humiliated herself.

Lifting her face up, the strong rays of the midday sun felt like a kiss on her skin. The sky was clear and bright, but when she looked forward and tried to see her future, it was just a gray blur, on the personal as well as the professional front.

Regardless of the games she played with Ian, there hadn’t been many men in her life. Not many decent guys were turned on by a woman who had been convicted of a felony. Those who were weren’t the kind of men she wanted to know. How much of that would change when she was free?

Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, she let the warmth soothe her until a pointed wolf whistle had her glaring at the source and continuing on her way. She walked down the sweltering city sidewalk to the waterfront, gazing out at the Elizabeth River—Lizzie, as the residents called it. She leaned over the rail that ran the length of the park and led down to the Nautilus naval museum, the gigantic battleship, the USS Wisconsin, looming above the museum building.

It was a perfect day—the waters were smooth and green, and dolphins were frolicking out in the river as they often did, drawing amazed stares and the clicking of tourist cameras. Turning from the rail, she headed toward the hot dog stand in search of some lunch and companionship.

She’d taken the day off from the shop to go to the interview, so there was nothing else on her schedule. She’d given her two weeks notice anyway—motivation for getting a better job—but now she thought maybe she had been a little hasty in that decision. Feeling down, she knew just how to lighten her spirits. As she approached the stand, she heard the gruff laugh she loved filling the air around her.

“Hey, Ray.”

“Sage! My favorite girl. Woooo, look at you! All dressed up today!” The older black man leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “Did we have a date and I forgot?”

Sage laughed, her mood brightening at the sound of his voice. She responded, her voice playful.

“No, you never ask me out. I’m still waiting. You’re my guy, Ray, you know that.” She planted a solid kiss on his rough cheek and Ray howled again. He handed her a hot dog with everything on it—just the way she liked it—and a cola.