disturbing, exciting heat of his breath on her ear. Then she put her arm around Ben’s little waist and balanced him on her lap. He immediately dug into her plate of pancakes.
“Hey, sport. Leave Natasha some food. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
“Play with me today, Daddy.”
“I can’t today, sport.”
Natasha heard the pain in Dylan’s voice.
“But I will soon. I promise.” He pressed his lips against Ben’s hair.
Natasha held on to Ben tightly as waves of conflicting emotions poured over her. The smell and feel of Dylan so close to her, the unfamiliar and yet comfortable weight of Ben on her lap, and the hollow realization of how much she’d missed, having lost her parents.
“And you…” He touched her shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze. “Eat.”
Charlene had finished her breakfast and was watching them. When Dylan left the room, she wiped her mouth and folded her napkin.
Without acknowledging Natasha, she came around the table. “Let’s go, cowboy. We need to get all that sticky syrup off you and start your morning therapy.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I know. But remember what your daddy said?”
Ben dropped his spoon with a clatter and crossed his little arms.
“Ben?” Charlene stood over him, her fists propped on her hips.
“He said I gotta be strong.”
“Go on, Ben,” Natasha murmured. “Do what Charlene says.” She didn’t look up but she nevertheless felt the daggers Charlene’s eyes shot at her.
“Where’d Daddy go? I want Daddy.” His voice was about to crack.
“Hey, Ben.” Natasha bent enough to look Ben in the eye. “Can I have a syrup kiss?”
The toddler tried to keep frowning, but then his mouth quirked up. “Okay.” He leaned over and put his syrupy mouth against her cheek.
“Eww,” she said. “Sticky.”
Ben giggled. “Eww, softy.”
Laughter bubbled up from Natasha’s chest. “I didn’t know you were such a flirt, Ben.” She kissed his syrup-smeared cheek. “You’re going to be a lady-killer—just like your dad.”
Charlene sniffed.
“Go with Charlene,” Natasha whispered. “I’ll check on you later, okay?”
Ben leaned close to her ear. “Okay.”
A FTER A QUICK shower, Natasha pulled her damp hair back into a ponytail and headed down to the lab. She spent an hour studying the schematic of Dylan’s system, testing and retesting to be sure her hardware tied in with his seamlessly.
Across the hall, Dylan was working on the interface. About the time she stood to do a couple of stretching exercises, Campbell walked into Dylan’s office, sending an interested look and a smile in her direction.
The contrast between him and Dylan was obvious even through two glass walls. Dylan’s shoulders were bowed with exhaustion. His hair was tousled where he’d run his fingers through it.
Campbell on the other hand looked rested, freshly showered and generally pleased with himself. She had the feeling he spent a lot of time being pleased with himself.
She thought about the other night, when he’d met Dylan and her in the stairwell. He’d looked like hell then. And he hadn’t shown up at all when the suicide truck crashed into the front gate. She made a mental note to ask Dylan about him.
She sat and started to work on her tracking program. NSA had set up a state-of-the-art firewall on Dylan’s system. According to the log, their spam-blocker was stopping 99.37 percent of all ad-ware robot programs.
The first thing Natasha did was set an alert to capture every single attempt to hit Dylan’s system. NSA might be capable of stopping virtually all bots, but she wanted to catch one hundred percent of them. She didn’t want to take the chance that the hacker might disguise a virus as a harmless advertising bot.
She had no doubt that her program would be better than NSA’s. After all, she’d helped to train many of their programmers.
She glanced at the computer’s clock as she massaged the back of her neck. She’d been
“Hey, sport. Leave Natasha some food. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
“Play with me today, Daddy.”
“I can’t today, sport.”
Natasha heard the pain in Dylan’s voice.
“But I will soon. I promise.” He pressed his lips against Ben’s hair.
Natasha held on to Ben tightly as waves of conflicting emotions poured over her. The smell and feel of Dylan so close to her, the unfamiliar and yet comfortable weight of Ben on her lap, and the hollow realization of how much she’d missed, having lost her parents.
“And you…” He touched her shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze. “Eat.”
Charlene had finished her breakfast and was watching them. When Dylan left the room, she wiped her mouth and folded her napkin.
Without acknowledging Natasha, she came around the table. “Let’s go, cowboy. We need to get all that sticky syrup off you and start your morning therapy.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I know. But remember what your daddy said?”
Ben dropped his spoon with a clatter and crossed his little arms.
“Ben?” Charlene stood over him, her fists propped on her hips.
“He said I gotta be strong.”
“Go on, Ben,” Natasha murmured. “Do what Charlene says.” She didn’t look up but she nevertheless felt the daggers Charlene’s eyes shot at her.
“Where’d Daddy go? I want Daddy.” His voice was about to crack.
“Hey, Ben.” Natasha bent enough to look Ben in the eye. “Can I have a syrup kiss?”
The toddler tried to keep frowning, but then his mouth quirked up. “Okay.” He leaned over and put his syrupy mouth against her cheek.
“Eww,” she said. “Sticky.”
Ben giggled. “Eww, softy.”
Laughter bubbled up from Natasha’s chest. “I didn’t know you were such a flirt, Ben.” She kissed his syrup-smeared cheek. “You’re going to be a lady-killer—just like your dad.”
Charlene sniffed.
“Go with Charlene,” Natasha whispered. “I’ll check on you later, okay?”
Ben leaned close to her ear. “Okay.”
A FTER A QUICK shower, Natasha pulled her damp hair back into a ponytail and headed down to the lab. She spent an hour studying the schematic of Dylan’s system, testing and retesting to be sure her hardware tied in with his seamlessly.
Across the hall, Dylan was working on the interface. About the time she stood to do a couple of stretching exercises, Campbell walked into Dylan’s office, sending an interested look and a smile in her direction.
The contrast between him and Dylan was obvious even through two glass walls. Dylan’s shoulders were bowed with exhaustion. His hair was tousled where he’d run his fingers through it.
Campbell on the other hand looked rested, freshly showered and generally pleased with himself. She had the feeling he spent a lot of time being pleased with himself.
She thought about the other night, when he’d met Dylan and her in the stairwell. He’d looked like hell then. And he hadn’t shown up at all when the suicide truck crashed into the front gate. She made a mental note to ask Dylan about him.
She sat and started to work on her tracking program. NSA had set up a state-of-the-art firewall on Dylan’s system. According to the log, their spam-blocker was stopping 99.37 percent of all ad-ware robot programs.
The first thing Natasha did was set an alert to capture every single attempt to hit Dylan’s system. NSA might be capable of stopping virtually all bots, but she wanted to catch one hundred percent of them. She didn’t want to take the chance that the hacker might disguise a virus as a harmless advertising bot.
She had no doubt that her program would be better than NSA’s. After all, she’d helped to train many of their programmers.
She glanced at the computer’s clock as she massaged the back of her neck. She’d been
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