A_Father's Sacrifice Page 6

  Once he was satisfied that Ben’s surgery was successful, Dylan planned to wash his hands of the damned interface, the government and the encroaching danger. Maybe once it was out of his hands, he could be sure his child was truly safe.

  Moving quietly, he got up and glanced at the connecting door that led to his room, the room he’d vacated when Natasha had arrived. He was spending most of his time in the lab, and he liked the idea that Charlene was on one side of Ben and Natasha was on the other.

  Natasha had looked ill by the time she’d gone into her room. Had she just been feeling the reaction to the close call with the helicopter, or had she been hurt worse than he’d realized?

  The sight of her grimy, scratched face, eyes dark with concern for Ben, rose in his mind. He’d already seen how seriously she took her job, but today, she’d earned his admiration and trust, and his undying gratitude. She’d protected his child without thought to her own safety.

  He needed to check on her. To thank her. After slipping on his shoes, he tiptoed over to the door and knocked lightly.

  No answer. He wasn’t surprised. Natasha didn’t seem like the type to waste time or indulge herself when there was work to be done. She’d probably already cleaned up and gone down to the lab. He knocked again.

  Behind him, Ben stirred. Not wanting to wake him, Dylan turned the knob and slipped through the door.

  “Natasha?” he called.

  No sign of her, except her dusty clothes tossed in a corner. Oh well, he’d catch up with her in the lab. As he started toward the hall door, he heard a faint noise behind him.

  The bathroom door opened and she emerged, one hand toweling her wet hair, the other pulling a very short, very damp purple satin robe closed.

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened.

  Her face, her neck, the hollow between her breasts, gleamed with dampness. Every curve of her body was unmistakably outlined by the wet satin. Her concave belly and delicate navel were exposed to Dylan’s hungry view, as was the golden glistening shadow between her legs.

  To his surprise, his body reacted immediately and urgently. Suddenly, he grew hard, his arousal throbbing with a delicious ache against the constricting seam of his jeans. Desire, hot and unfamiliar, streaked through him.

  Twice in less than twenty-four hours he’d reacted sexually to Natasha Rudolph.

  Twice. Yet he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been attracted to a woman. The last time he’d felt anything at all other than the fear that he wouldn’t be able to save Ben’s legs.

  She yanked her robe closed, and let the towel drop to the floor. His jaw ached as the terry cloth slid down her legs—legs that went on forever, smooth and creamy. He raised his gaze, tracing the strong shapely thighs back up until they disappeared under the very short robe.

  His gaze continued upward. Her breasts had tightened. The thin wet fabric revealed each puckered ridge of her nipples.

  His mouth went dry as he imagined the taste of them. “I’m sorry—” he croaked.

  “Did you—” she said at the same time. “Did you need something? Is Ben okay?”

  His gaze flew to her face. “Your face is bleeding,” he whispered hoarsely.

  Her eyes, starred by her pale wet lashes, widened. She shook her head. “Just scratches,” she said tightly, releasing one edge of her robe to touch a scrape on her cheek.

  He moaned deep in his throat.

  She blinked. She’d heard him.

  Get it together, he admonished himself as she clutched the robe together more tightly.

  She moistened her lips. It was a nervous gesture, since her face and mouth were still damp from the shower. The sight of her tongue nearly sent him over the edge.

  He had to get out of there before he embarrassed himself. He clenched his jaw and took a step backward, as if being a foot farther away from her would break the spell of desire she’d cast over him.

  “I wanted to thank you…” Breathless, he stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look. I’ll leave so you can dress.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t have to thank me. I did what anyone would do.”

  “No. Two of my trusted employees were there, and yet the only person who protected Ben without thought to her own safety was you.”

  “I scared him.” Regret pooled in her eyes like tears. “I didn’t mean to—”

  A thin drop of blood trickled from just above her wrist. Without thinking, he stepped close to her and pushed up the sleeve of her robe. Ugly red scratches covered her arms. He ran a finger along her forearm. “Some of these are bad. We should get them bandaged. There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom. In the cabinet.”

  She looked up at him.

  “This is my room,” he said with a shrug.

  She’d suspected it. Although his clothes were gone, there was a stark masculinity about the room. And of course, he’d sleep next door to Ben.

  But he’d put her in his room, and now she was sleeping in his bed, using his shower, standing naked in the same room where he’d stood naked. The vision that accompanied her thoughts was vivid, erotic…and impossible. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the delicious, dangerous daydreams.

  “Let me help you with those scratches—” He stepped closer.

  “I can take care of them,” she murmured.

  “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  A drop of water fell from her lashes to her cheek, and a spear of longing pierced him.

  “Your son is very special,” she said.

  He nodded.

  She lifted her head a fraction of an inch, her pale lashes making her eyes seem wider and greener. He traced his thumb across her wrist.

  She stiffened and pulled her hand away.

  Suddenly jarred out of the mesmerizing haze of desire, he was embarrassed at how natural and necessary it had seemed that he touch her.

  He backed away. “Okay then. I’ll leave you to dress.” He turned on his heel. At the hall door he stopped. “By the way, your equipment is here.”

  “I’ll get right to work. I was on my way to the lab.”

  Dylan disappeared through the door.

  Natasha’s hand flew to her mouth. She sucked in a long, shaky breath as she looked down at herself. A sharp, thrilling shiver tightened her thighs. She’d been practically naked, with Dylan Stryker’s blazing eyes on her—on every part of her.

  She wiped her face with both hands.

  Concentrate, she admonished herself. She didn’t have time for an adolescent crush on the handsome doctor. She had to get her new equipment installed and catch a hacker.

  FOURTEEN HOURS LATER Tom’s fist squeezed the phone. He’d listened to enough babbling. He was sick of it. “Shut up! I just want to know one thing. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Good, because it’s going down right now. Are you sure the west door is unlocked?”

  “I checked it myself, an hour or so ago. I almost got caught. I heard somebody on the back stairs.”

  “At three o’clock in the morning? Who?”

  “I didn’t see them.”

  “And they didn’t see or hear you, right?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You’d better hope not. Call me as soon as you can. Remember, we’re not expecting this to cause any real damage. We just want to convince Stryker that his kid’s not safe there. That news helicopter fiasco should make it even easier.”

  He hadn’t missed the significance of the video he’d seen earlier on the local news. The woman who had thrown herself over the child to protect him was his Natasha. He had no doubt. He knew that pale hair, the long shapely body, the efficiency of movement. She hadn’t changed, except that she looked stronger, more substantial, than she had eight years ago when she was a teenage runaway looking for a job.

  “Did you see the news?” his caller asked. “That was her—”

  “I told you to shut up. Concentrate on your job. And let me know everything that happens.”
>
  “I’ll do my best.”

  “No. You’ll do exactly as I tell you! What the hell do you think I have you in there for?”

  He tossed his cell phone down onto the bed and paced. The truck was on its way, its fanatical driver prepared to ram it into Dylan Stryker’s front gate going a hundred miles an hour.

  That was one point in favor of working with a bunch of zealots who were willing, even eager, to die for their cause. They were so malleable—they actually longed for a leader, someone who could convince them to sacrifice their lives for their beliefs.

  And he was the man for the job. He shook his head in wry disbelief. There was nothing he could think of that was worth dying for.

  Killing, however. That was another matter entirely. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill to obtain Dr. Stryker’s interface.

  He’d worked patiently to gain back the headway he’d lost three years ago with the botched kidnapping of Stryker’s wife. He’d lurked in Stryker’s computer for months, reading every e-mail, watching Stryker’s buying habits. His suspicion was true. Stryker’s son had survived. And Stryker was working harder than ever to perfect his technique for the surgical implant of the interface.

  So he’d put his plan into motion, recruiting people, studying Stryker, patiently waiting for an opportunity to infiltrate his defenses.

  Now the government had unwittingly sent in his nemesis to stop him. It couldn’t have been more perfect. Although Natasha presented a challenge, she hadn’t been as good as he was back then, and she wasn’t now.

  Still, he was glad he’d had the foresight to put together a backup plan. Backups were essential. Any good hacker knew that. His plan depended on leverage, and he’d soon have access to the best leverage of all—Stryker’s son.

  He couldn’t get to the boy inside the estate. Penetrating that fortress would mean taking an unnecessary risk. He had to wait until Stryker decided to move the kid. He was surprised the neurosurgeon hadn’t already done that. Obviously, Stryker needed more motivation.

  Tom stretched out on his unmade bed. With the help of his contact on the inside, he’d supply that motivation.

  Stryker would soon be exactly where he wanted him. The surgeon had always been weak when it came to family. He’d give up the interface in a heartbeat to save his little boy.

  Then he could sell it to the highest bidder. Hell, to all the bidders. It was freeware. He chuckled at his joke. Even if it was encrypted, it was no problem. He could break the encryption in no time.

  After all, he was still the best.

  NATASHA COULDN’T SLEEP. She’d finished installing the new equipment on her computer. Then she’d searched Dylan’s encrypted program files. To her relief, she’d found no trace of the hacker there.

  By ten o’clock, she’d been nodding and yawning, so she’d set a simple but effective 128-bit encryption that would work with the existing security to protect the system until morning, then dragged herself upstairs to bed.

  Mintz had let her know that there was a news story on a couple of the local channels—renewing speculation about Dylan’s son. They had video, Mintz told her, showing two figures.

  She turned over and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to find a cool place on the pillow, but the sheets scraped her raw arm, reminding her of the gentleness of Dylan’s touch.

  She’d felt stripped bare in front of him. Her body had thrummed with awareness as she endured his smoky gaze. There was no denying that he was devilishly handsome and sexy, but that wasn’t all that drew her to him.

  It was his fire, his brooding passion. The focused intensity with which he approached everything from his research to his protective care of his son.

  He loved Ben. But Mintz was right. Love was not enough. Her parents had loved her. But they’d died.

  She didn’t want to be a part of separating Ben from his father. She hated that Mintz was right. But he was, and she had to help him convince Dylan that Ben would not be safe until he let him go.

  A deep rumble shook her bed.

  Oh, God! Her eyes flew open. An explosion? Her heart leaped into her throat and blinding fear threatened to paralyze her.

  The sirens were close. Too close. And no repeat. She remembered Dylan’s list of signals.

  Someone had breached the front gate.

  Chapter Four

  The siren’s screech distorted in Natasha’s ears as she groped under her pillow for her weapon. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest and shock reverberated through her.

  The front gate. A direct attack.

  She thrust her feet into her boots and pulled on a sweater. She buckled on her fanny pack and crossed the room, flattening her back against the wall next to the door.

  When she eased the door open, the siren’s screech intensified, hurting her ears. She darted a quick look into the hall, but saw no one, so she angled around the door, leading with her gun.

  A noise to her right made her whirl, her weapon trained. It was Charlene’s door. The girl’s pale face and wide eyes shone in the dim hall light. She eyed Natasha’s gun with undisguised terror.

  Natasha sidled toward her, glancing behind her every few seconds. “What’s happened? Do you know?” she asked.

  Charlene clawed at her neck above the dainty blue nightgown. “Something triggered the alarm at the gate.” She sent a worried look toward the atrium. “But I’ve never heard sirens go on this long.”

  “I’m going to check it out. Get back inside,” she commanded, putting her mouth close to Charlene’s ear. “Ben’s going to be scared.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” she yelled. “Ben is my charge and Dr. Stryker is my boss. You’re trying to get into his good graces by undermining me. Well it won’t work. He’s—”

  “Get Ben’s braces on him,” Natasha snapped.

  Charlene blinked.

  “If we need to move him, I want him ready.”

  Charlene bristled. Natasha held her gaze. Finally Charlene nodded and stepped inside her room and closed the door.

  Natasha moved quickly toward the atrium. As she approached the doorway, a different blare filled her ears and the door in front of her swung shut. She lunged for it as the latch clicked into place.

  “No!” Her heart jumped into her throat as she wrenched the doorknob. Mintz had told her about the lockdown sequence, designed to protect the living quarters in case of a breach of the estate’s walls.

  Panic constricted her throat. She was trapped. She struggled to breathe. She had to get out—now!

  Frantically, berating herself for her weakness, she rattled the knob, then stared down at it.

  Think! The fingerprint pad was right beside the knob. Where was her pass code device? She unzipped her fanny pack and dug inside.

  A hand touched her bare shoulder. A hot strong hand. She tensed. Her right hand tightened around her weapon even as her senses told her whose hand it was.

  Dylan.

  “I’ve got it.” He pressed his thumb onto the pad and then keyed in the pass code. The lock clicked.

  Her breath whooshed out in relief as she pushed the door open.

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Ben’s in his room?”

  “I told Charlene to put his braces on and wait.”

  Dylan sent her an approving glance. “Good. She’s been with him most of his life. He feels safe with her.”

  They slipped through the door and Dylan pushed it closed. The atrium was empty, but Natasha saw men in dark clothing moving about outside.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  He shook his head and rubbed his stubbled cheek. “I can’t reach Alfred. After the excitement this afternoon and the news story tonight, it’s probably another reporter trying to force his way past the guardhouses. I don’t know what the explosion was. Usually one of the night guards would have turned off the sirens by now.”

  She wished the guard would hurry up. The noise was grating on her nerves and hurting her ears. Her neck and shoulders ached with tension
, and her head was beginning to pound.

  Clenching her jaw, she pushed through the two sets of glass doors that formed a small foyer just beyond the atrium. Dylan followed right behind her.

  Hector was standing with Robby, another guard she’d met when she’d arrived. They held their weapons at the ready, and stared up the long drive toward the front gate.

  Robby turned at their approach. “Dr. Stryker, someone hit the gate. You can see the smoke above the trees. Mintz told us to stay here and guard the front entry to the house.”

  “You don’t know who’s responsible?” Dylan asked.

  “No, sir. We haven’t heard anything since Mintz went out there.”

  Natasha jogged several steps up the driveway until she spotted the obelisk silhouette of the massive gates. Above them, rising up to obscure the stars, was a growing mushroom of thick black smoke.

  She broke into a run.

  “Natasha!”

  Dylan sprinted up beside her and grabbed her arm. She was forced either to slow down or lose her balance.

  “Whoa. What are you doing?” His fingers tightened, burning her flesh.

  “My job.” She panted in rhythm with her steps. She tried to twist out of his grasp. “You should get back inside until we know what happened.”

  “Me? What about you?”

  Irritation flared inside her as she rounded on him. “I’m an FBI agent. You’re unarmed.”

  Dylan’s sharp gaze glided over her from head to toe and his mouth turned up. She sent him a disgusted look. She was aware of how she looked, dressed in a black cotton sweater over pink cropped pajama bottoms with lacy hems, wearing hiking boots and a leather fanny pack, and carrying a Glock.

  Light flared against the black smoke as something caught fire. Dylan headed toward the gates.

  This time Natasha stopped him. “Dylan, wait. Whatever happened out there is aimed at you and your son. Ben is probably terrified and wanting his father—especially after his scare this afternoon.” She gestured back toward the house. “Why don’t you go be with him? We can take care of this.”