I hear Tabby’s voice from behind me. “Chan, type, ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’”
As Chan starts tapping away, Harry says wearily, “You don’t really think that will work. No criminal mastermind who’s gone to the trouble to erase every trace of his existence would ever…”
When Harry trails off into astonished silence, I turn around to find the computer monitor flooded with image after image. Windows pop up on top of each other, piling so fast the screen is a blur.
Tabby says softly, “Everyone has an Achilles’ heel. S?ren’s is his ego. He could never let a challenge go unanswered.” She folds her arms over her chest and turns away. Her posture changes, becomes smaller somehow, as if she’s drawing into herself. Protecting herself from what’s on the screen.
Like a fairy-tale prince, Tabby had described him with the face of an angel. I’d thought it over the top at the time. A silly exaggeration. But now I see it was something far worse.
Accurate.
I don’t find men attractive. I’ve never considered another man beautiful in the physical sense, would never have thought it possible that I could. But now I’m forced to admit that the face splashed all over the monitor isn’t only beautiful. It’s perfect.
Miranda’s soft gasp indicates she concurs.
His features are fine and sculpted, like those of a Greek god. His hair is rich golden blonde. He’s got a pair of lips any woman would covet, full and berry red, offset by a cleft chin and strong, angular jaw.
But it’s his eyes that are most arresting. Pale, icy blue, heavily fringed with dark lashes, his eyes have an arrogance and cruelty that the rest of his elegant features can’t soften.
Taken from various angles, the pictures of his face are accompanied by dozens of pictures of the rest of him. Striding through an airport, crossing a busy intersection, waiting on a subway platform, always standing a head taller than anyone else. Always looking at the people around him like a king surveys his subjects. Always alone, regal, dressed in beautifully tailored suits.
I can’t help but glance down at myself, clothed in a black T-shirt and cargo pants.
Harry leans closer to the monitor, squinting at it. “These are all taken from surveillance cameras. Look at the angles. They’re all from above.”
“If that’s true,” says Chan slowly, “he’s hacked into the entire infrastructure. Transportation grids, law enforcement grids, traffic cams…you name it.”
“He’s already proven he’s in the power grid,” points out Miranda.
“If he had that much access, he’d have caused a lot more problems than what we’re dealing with here,” I counter.
Tabby asks quietly, “How do you know he hasn’t?” She glances at me over her shoulder. Her normally bright green eyes are troubled and dark.
“What do you mean?”
She looks at Harry. “How many terrorist acts go unclaimed?”
“Almost all of them,” he replies, watching her closely. “Only fourteen percent of the more than forty-five thousand terrorist acts that have occurred since ’ninety-eight have credible claims of responsibility.”
“What are you saying?” As my heart starts to beat faster, I move closer to her. “That S?ren’s not only an extortionist, he’s a terrorist? You have proof of that? What do you know?”
Her prolonged silence infuriates me. My patience, worn to a shred, finally snaps.
I growl, “Tabby, whatever problem you have with me, you better spill your fucking guts before Harry decides you’re withholding evidence, because I will not stand here with my dick in my hand while you get hauled away to prison and interrogated by the FBI! Am I making myself clear?”
Faint color rises to her cheeks.
Ryan says, “Lady, start talking, because if he squares off against the feds, so do I, and that is one shit storm you definitely don’t wanna get in the middle of.”
“I’m going to pretend both of you idiots didn’t just threaten me,” says Harry between gritted teeth. “But if it happens again, you’re all going to prison. Miss West, you’re walking a very fine line here. Talk.”
She looks at the three of us, then at Chan, then at Miranda. Finally, she heaves a breath that sounds exhausted and flops into a nearby chair. She rests her elbows on her knees and puts her head in her hands. When she speaks, her voice is hollow.