Break Me (Corrupted Hearts Book 2) Page 9

  Spinning on my heel, I hightailed it back to the dressing room. That was the problem with trying to look like a girl. When I failed utterly, it was demoralizing. I’d rather be in my T-shirt and jeans and meet low expectations for my looks rather than trying to be the hottie that I so wasn’t.

  Marie took the dress from me without a word while I jerked my hair back up into a ponytail and shoved my feet back into my Converse. I took a deep breath. I was the boss. Clark worked for me, not the other way around.

  I didn’t bother speaking to Clark as I walked by him toward the register. I certainly didn’t need him to assuage my bruised ego. I was smart. That was my “thing.” Some girls were athletic, others were funny, and some were beautiful. The only box I checked was “Wickedly Smart.” And that was okay.

  “I’ll take the dress,” I told Marie, digging out my credit card.

  “Do you need shoes?” she asked.

  I ran inventory of my shoes, remembering a pair of candy-apple red Converse in the back of my closet. I saved them to wear around Christmas.

  “No, I have shoes.”

  I felt Clark’s presence behind me as I signed the receipt and accepted the garment bag from Marie. Before I could protest, Clark had slipped his finger under the hanger and taken it from me.

  “I can carry it,” I said as he slung the dress over his back.

  “I know you can. Let’s go.”

  Irritation edged out my hurt as I followed him out the door and to his car. Now he wanted to play at chivalry after he’d just insulted me to my face?

  I shouldn’t let it bother me. I shouldn’t let it bother me, I repeated over and over inside my head. Clark and I had a professional working relationship. Not a personal one. I had to remember that.

  Clark cleared his throat a couple of times and I glanced at him, waiting. “Were you going to say something?” I finally asked, my voice frosty.

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat again and I waited. “The dress—”

  I stiffened. “They don’t accept returns,” I interrupted.

  “No, it’s not that.” He glanced at me, then back to the road. “It looked amazing. I guess I was just . . . not expecting that. You’re always in . . .” He waved a hand toward my jeans and T-shirts. “Anyway, I just thought you should know. It was a good choice.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, so I settled for a quiet, “Thank you,” then decided the silence was awkward. I reached forward and turned on the radio, rolling the dial until I hit a news station. That was the thing about my job—I could no longer be oblivious to the news of what was happening in the world.

  “. . . Tong Enterprises, an international telecommunications company based in Shanghai, is filing a case with the State Department, citing evidence of corporate espionage and attempted theft.”

  That caught my attention. Tong Enterprises was Lu’s company. I turned up the volume.

  “Sources at the State Department say that one of the companies cited in the suit is American corporation Wyndemere, which was just involved a few months ago in an attempted terrorist infiltration. The Department of Justice is still tracing ties Wyndemere had with both international and domestic corporations, searching for any further terrorist connections. One of the companies rumored to be under investigation is Cysnet, run by billionaire tech entrepreneur Jackson Cooper. In other news . . .”

  And I stopped listening. I stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. The DoJ was investigating Cysnet? I should’ve known things had been too quiet after the fallout from the near-loss of Vigilance. Wyndemere had declared bankruptcy soon afterward and I thought Jackson’s lawyers had severed all ties between the two companies.

  “Coop’s not having a good week,” Clark mused. “Gets dumped by his girlfriend, now the DoJ is after his company.”

  “I didn’t dump him,” I said sharply. “I should call him, see if there’s anything I can do.”

  Clark slanted a look at me, then back to the road. “He’s already dragged you too far into his life. The paparazzi is one thing. The DoJ is another. Cooper is toxic right now.”

  “I thought that was when friends were supposed to stick by each other,” I persisted. “When things get rough. It’s easy to be someone’s friend when things are good.”

  Clark snorted with disdain. “If you think Coop wants to be friend-zoned, then you’re delusional.”

  I bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t think he’d want anything to do with me unless we’re in a romantic relationship?”

  “It means you still believe in friendship, true love, rainbows, and unicorn farts.” His blue-eyed gaze caught mine for a moment. “It’s sweet and all, but you need to wise up. Fast. The only person you can depend on is yourself. Eventually, you’ll lose everyone close to you or they’ll turn on you and betray you. I’m sure Cooper’s already learned that life lesson.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “There’s a place for cynicism, yes, because people are human. But it’s just as wrong to expect the very worst.”

  “Very rarely does anyone’s lack of faith and loyalty surprise me,” he said. “I’ve been around too long.”

  An unwanted twinge of sympathy struck me at not just his words, but the way he said them. Clark suddenly looked tired and I wondered just who had disappointed him so badly that the scars still remained.

  I didn’t know what words to use, how to express the pang of sympathy inside. “I . . . wish you didn’t feel that way,” I finally said. “It’s sad.”

  Clark gave me a sharp look, the moment of vulnerability gone like a shadow. “Don’t even think of feeling sorry for me.”

  So much for trying to read social cues. Pressing my lips together, I turned to stare out the window. Clark reminded me of a tiger, beautiful but deadly, with sharp teeth and claws that remained hidden until they were embedded in your skin.

  We pulled into the parking garage and Clark maneuvered to where I’d parked. I got out, removing the garment bag from the back seat, and when I turned around, Jackson was leaning against my car.

  It felt like a sucker punch in my gut and I froze. Jackson shouldn’t be here on many levels—not least of which was that I hadn’t called when I said I would—but most importantly, how the hell had he found out where I worked and gotten into the garage?

  Before I could decide on my next course of action, Clark was striding toward him. Jackson pushed himself away from my car and stood his ground, his eyes darkening as he focused on Clark’s rapid approach.

  “You need a lesson in when your presence isn’t wanted, Coop,” Clark sneered. “You’re violating several laws just by being on this property. I’m debating arresting you or shooting you and, gotta say, I’m leaning toward the latter.”

  “What the hell are you doing with my girlfriend?” Jackson snapped, completely ignoring Clark’s threats.

  “None of your business. And maybe you’d better rethink your relationship status.” His smile was slow and sent a chill down my back. “I hear she unfriended you, which, in non-tech terms, means to go fuck yourself.”

  Their antipathy for each other made me wince and for a long moment, I watched them trading barbs. But when Jackson’s jaw tightened and he took a step toward Clark, I realized I needed to intervene.

  “Enough!” My voice wasn’t terribly loud, but it did echo in the garage, enough at least to make them both pause and glance my way. I hurried forward while I had the chance. “What is with you two? Clark, I’ll take care of this. Jackson, what are you doing here?”

  Clark crossed his arms over his considerable chest, his blue eyes focused like lasers on Jackson. “He’s trespassing. Let’s just shoot him and dump the body.”

  “Clark!” I hissed in exasperation.

  “No one will miss him. I bet some people would even thank us.”

  I took hold of Clark’s shoulders and turned him away, then gave him a shove that moved his body maybe half an inch. He was a big guy. “Just go inside,” I ordered. “I’ll handle thi
s.” Jackson looked ready to spring at Clark and rip him apart, piece by piece. I honestly didn’t know who’d win in a fight like that, and I had no desire to find out.

  Clark’s gaze fell on me and I couldn’t decipher what I saw in his eyes. I did know that whatever it was made me feel unsure, as though I was disappointing him somehow. But that didn’t make any sense so it must just be my stunted social-cue barometer misreading things again.

  When Clark had disappeared inside, I turned back to Jackson. He was closely watching where Clark had entered the building, his brow furrowed in thought.

  “Why are you here?” I asked, drawing his attention back to me.

  “I needed to see you, and I can’t trust anything other than face-to-face communication right now,” he said.

  Nausea roiled my stomach. “Is that because of the DoJ?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I think it’s in retaliation for the pressure I’ve been putting on some politicians to do something about the hacking coming out of China and Korea. It’s relentless and they deny it all the time. I’ve had friends’ entire businesses get hijacked because of theft by the Chinese. They need to be stopped. But someone’s pushing back and using the DoJ to do it.”

  “Tong Enterprises?” I asked, thinking about Simon Lu and his trip to the States to meet with undisclosed officials behind closed doors.

  “Yes, I think so. And if they can trump up some kind of evidence that Cysnet knew that ISIS had infiltrated Wyndemere, then they can levy fines against me. Enough to effectively put us out of business.”

  Dismayed, I said, “But Cysnet is your life. You built it from the ground up. We had no idea Wyndemere had been compromised.”

  “I know. I’m working on it. It’s just going to take some time.”

  Okay, he had a plan. That was good. “Is there something I can do to help?” Which was why I assumed he was here. Though I was at a loss as to what exactly I could do in this particular situation.

  But he shook his head. “It’s my problem, not yours. I just wanted to see you, explain why you may not hear from me for a few days.”

  Ouch. He hadn’t said it out loud, but my guilt reared its head. “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I blurted.

  His gaze remained steady. “You said you needed space. I was giving it to you.”

  “Truly, Jackson, it’s not you. I’m just—”

  “Please don’t use the It’s not you, it’s me speech,” he interrupted. “I get it. I was moving too fast.” He moved closer, pinning me against the car. Lifting a hand, the back of his fingers brushed my cheek. “I don’t want to scare you off.”

  Bending his head, his lips caught mine, soft and coaxing, making me forget all the reasons why I hadn’t called him. His taste was sweet—not in the sugary sense—but in familiarity and intimacy. It unsettled me. I didn’t want to depend on Jackson for normalcy. What if I changed everything for him and we broke up?

  “I . . . I gotta go,” I said, breaking off the kiss and sliding out from between Jackson and the car. He snagged my arm, pulling me to a halt.

  “Are you going to tell me about Clark?” he asked. “Why you’re working with him?”

  Jackson wasn’t dumb. He’d figured that part out and I didn’t doubt that sooner or later, he’d figure the rest out. But it didn’t have to come from me and it didn’t have to be today.

  “You know I can’t tell you,” I said. “But you do need to leave. How’d you find me here, anyway?”

  His eyes shuttered. “You’re not the only one with secrets, China. And secrets are poison to a relationship.” He paused, his lips thinning. “I don’t like you working with Clark.”

  “It wasn’t my decision.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  I frowned. “You don’t need to. You’re not the one working with him. I am.”

  “I meant, I don’t trust him with you.”

  I backpedaled, my thoughts spinning. “You mean . . . you’re jealous?” The idea was absurd. No man had been jealous about me. Ever.

  “Men like Clark chew women up and spit them out,” he said, sliding a finger along my jaw. “Just make sure things stay professional between you two.”

  “Jackson, isn’t that like the pot calling the kettle black? You’ve dated so many women, Google has a search term for you.” Yes, I’d found it while torturing myself looking at photos of him and all his past girlfriends.

  My cell buzzed and I pulled it out of my pocket. It was a text from Roscoe. He’d gotten a hit on our hacker.

  “I gotta go,” I said to Jackson. “When will I see you again?”

  “As soon as I can arrange it.”

  He cupped my jaw and went in for another kiss.

  “I’ve gotta go,” I said, turning my head. His lips skated along my jaw. It took an incredible amount of willpower to slide out of his reach. I hurried to the entrance, only glancing back once to see him watching me.

  Shoving Jackson and our extremely confusing relationship from my mind, I tracked down Roscoe. “What have we got?” I asked.

  Roscoe was about a decade older than me and had the same hangdog expression you’d expect to see on a basset hound. He was a perpetual hypochondriac and squirted antibacterial gel on his hands constantly. You never asked Roscoe the typical “How are you?” question unless you wanted a detailed account of his diet, body temperature, and bowel movements.

  Clark had made that mistake once and I’d had a hard time keeping a straight face as Roscoe went through his current cruciferous vegetable diet and the havoc it had wreaked on his digestive system. The look of boredom that gradually turned to horrified disgust on Clark’s face as Roscoe droned on had been hilarious to watch.

  Currently, Roscoe was on a strict regimen of protein smoothies and pork—a diet choice I hadn’t quite figured out but didn’t particularly want to ask—and he was chewing on a strip of bacon as he bent over the massive printout he’d spread on the table.

  “Hey, boss,” he said, glancing up at me. Roscoe spoke mainly in a monotone and rarely saw the need to get worked up over anything. “Want some?” He held out the half-eaten bacon.

  I forced a smile. “Thanks, but I’ve eaten.”

  He shrugged, returning his attention to the printout. “Our guy popped up again last night,” he said. “He tripped an alert I’d set on a router in Austria.”

  I didn’t ask how he’d done that or how many laws he’d broken by doing so. I was more interested in results than analyzing the ethics and legalities of the How.

  “Could you trace him?”

  Roscoe nodded. “Better than we have before. It got us to a metro area before he realized he’d been made and pulled the plug.”

  “So where was he?”

  “Well, he bounced around Eastern Europe for a while, then over to China and Bangladesh. A router in Switzerland, another in Turkey, before finally returning home to the States.”

  “I don’t need a roadmap, Roscoe,” I said.

  He looked balefully at me. “But I want you to know how hard I worked.”

  I pressed my lips together. “Point taken,” I said. “Continue.”

  With a long-suffering sigh, he turned back to the printout, his finger moving along the lines of traffic and IP addresses scattered across the map. “He ended up there.” He pointed.

  “Boston?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Could you tell what he was doing when you tracked him?”

  Roscoe nodded again. “Trying to poke around a home network. Here.”

  He handed me a scrap of paper with an IP address scrawled on it. My network’s IP address.

  Crap.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Roscoe left and I returned to my work, only getting buzzed on my cell a few times that afternoon. One text was from Mia, telling me about being back at home with her parents and how she was watching Twitter for updates about Jackson and me, but there’d been nothing since Saturday night. I told her there wasn’t really anything to tell.

&nb
sp; OMG, she texted. Are you two on a break?

  I thought about it. I guess so.

  Like Ross and Rachel. They were on a break, too. It didn’t end well.

  Another Friends reference. I sighed. I’d have to try watching that show again. Apparently Rachel and Ross had had quite the turbulent romance.

  How are things with your dad and Heather? I texted. Heather was Oslo’s second wife and though they’d been together for several years, Mia had always had issues with her stepmom.

  It’s okay. They want me to move back home.

  I felt a twinge of panic at that, which was strange. I should want her to go back home with her parents, but I’d also gotten really used to not coming home to an empty house. At first, Mia had really rocked my routine all out of whack, but now she was a part of it. Without her, I’d have to forgo the dumplings on Chinese night because there were too many for me to eat alone and they were never good the next day.

  What do you want to do? I texted. I should tell her they were right and she should stay home . . . but I couldn’t.

  I dunno. It’s nice to be home, but I miss it there, too.

  Okay, well she hadn’t ruled either option out. I supposed this was a wait-and-see thing.

  Whatever you decide, I’ll support you, I texted.

  Thanks.

  Gotta go. Have a date. Not really—it was work—but it made me sound slightly less pathetic to say I had a date.

  With who?

  Asshat. I smiled as I typed in her pet name for Clark. Mia liked to think my dating life was more interesting than it really was. Might as well try to live up to it.

  No way! Okay, well remember, you and Jackson are on a break!

  I took that to mean I should be guilt-free for whatever I chose to do . . . not that anything would happen. I signed off with a promise to tell all to her later—I’d have to make something up—and went to get ready for my non-date with Clark the Asshat.

  7

  I’d taken my network offline before I’d left for work, so I wasn’t worried that the hacker had gotten in again. But it was annoying that he was still trying. Apparently, he’d found my files and network to be too much fun to leave alone. At least I hoped that’s all it was, though since he’d traced me from Vigilance’s system, he was more worrying than your everyday teenage social misfit hacker wanting to show off. His taking over of my Iron Man was a direct insult and throwdown to me, and he was going to be sorry he started this fishing expedition.