Everyone turns to the sound of the voice.
It’s Tabby, standing in a doorway on the opposite side of the room. She’s obviously dead tired, but still sexy as fuck in spite of it. Her eyes are heavy lidded, her hair tumbles over her shoulders in an appealing mess. She’s wearing the clothes she had on earlier, but pared down: unlaced combat boots, skintight black jeans, a black T-shirt that’s about three sizes too small and does an incredible job of showcasing her slender waist and the fullness of her breasts.
She yawns and stretches, arms overhead, arching her back. The T-shirt rides up her flat stomach to display the glittering jewel tucked into her navel and part of the tiger tattoo lower down. I know it’s not my imagination that the temperature in the room seems to jump by several degrees.
Standing next to me, Ryan mutters, “Mercy.”
I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. The way everyone is looking at her.
The way she’s now looking at me, with complete disgust.
Harry says, “Pardon?”
Tabby moves into the room. Nineteen pairs of eyes follow her every move. She stops on the other side of the desk from me and stares down at the screen.
“Niccolo Machiavelli, the Renaissance philosopher. It’s part of a quote of his. ‘There is no avoiding war, it can only be postponed to the advantage of others.’”
When no one responds, she looks up and around. “None of you has read Machiavelli?”
“No, ma’am,” says Ryan. “But he sure sounds fascinatin’. I’d love to hear all about him real soon.”
While I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end the way it does just before I pull the trigger on a kill, Tabby blinks at Ryan and looks him up and down.
“Who are you?”
“Ryan T. McLean, ma’am. At your service.” His gaze rakes over her. “And you are?”
Before I can snarl Off limits! Tabby says, “Tabitha West. But you can call me Tabby.”
Ryan grins. “I once saw a thoroughbred named Tabby win at Belmont Park. Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Obviously charmed, Tabby grins back at him. “What’s the ‘T’ stand for?”
“Tiberius.”
Her brows shoot up. “Like Captain Kirk or the Roman emperor?”
Impressed, Ryan blinks. “Like Captain Kirk. My parents are huge Trekkies.”
“Well,” Tabby says, looking him over, “it suits you. You have the look of a man who could captain a starship.”
“Why thank you, ma’am,” he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest so his big, tattooed biceps are on full display. “And may I say I really like that T-shirt. Does it, uh…have any special meanin’?”
Tabby’s T-shirt reads: “Pussy Riot.” She glances down at herself. “It’s a Russian feminist punk rock protest group.”
Ryan thoughtfully strokes his goatee. “Oh. And here I thought it might be somethin’ straight outta one of my wet dreams.”
Heat sweeps up my neck and into my face. Tabby looks at me…and smiles.
I think if I look anywhere but right at her, I might accidentally murder someone.
Harry clears his throat. “Miss West, your friend S?ren is a little pissy about that antimalware program you ran that disabled his intrusion attacks. Having a bit of a meltdown. I’m worried what his next move might be.”
Tabby looks at the screen again. Her smile dies. “Well. Let’s give him what he wants then, shall we?” Then under her breath, “God forbid the son of a bitch is kept waiting.” She pulls the chair out from under the desk and sits down.
I blurt, “Don’t—”
Harry stops me short with a hand flat on my chest.
Looking into my eyes, he says quietly, “Rein it in, or I’ll throw you out. Decide now.”
Everyone’s looking at me, including Ryan, whose brows are arched in surprise. I take a deep breath, nod, and step back.
To Tabby, Harry says, “This isn’t your show, understood? I’m in charge here. I make the decisions about how to proceed. So before you put a finger on that keyboard, we’re gonna have a talk.”
Tabby slowly swivels around in the chair. She crosses her legs. She folds her hands in her lap, gazes up at Harry with a chastened look, and bats her long eyelashes. “Yes, sir,” she says demurely, and waits.
Harry scowls at her, but I sense it’s more to maintain the status quo than from actual irritation. In spite of any doubts and questions he still might have about her, I can tell he’s just as impressed by Tabby as everyone else is.
Except Rodriguez, who’s glaring at her with all the intimidation he can muster. Which isn’t much.
Harry says, “Tell me what you’re thinking. Are you just going to flat-out tell him who you are?”
“What fun would that be?”
“We’re not here to have fun.”