EIGHT
Cora stretched her neck from side to side and then lifted her glasses to rub her eyes, her sleepless weekend catching up with her. Ren had set her up in a nice, though sterile, office and had given her complete access to their systems. She’d been working for hours and had already found two holes where she’d been able to break in and view secure information. There were simple patches to fix those, so she’d taken care of that, but she had no idea if that was how the hacker had gotten in. He or she had covered their tracks well. So for the last two hours she’d been painstakingly recovering email files and the activity log so they could get some idea of how widespread this was, but she was coming up empty on most fronts.
So much for walking in day one and knocking it out of the park.
A light knock sounded behind her. She slid her glasses back into place and spun her chair around. Hayes Fox’s broad shoulders filled the doorway, his presence taking up all the space in the room though he hadn’t even stepped inside yet. Her breath stalled. Today he was wearing dark jeans and this heather-gray T-shirt that hugged his body, displaying the sheer impact of how well built he was. A body that wouldn’t yield if punched.
A body built in a prison yard.
She tried to look unaffected, not at all intimidated or like she knew too much. She’d managed to avoid seeing him today, but she’d known that would only be a temporary reprieve. The man owned the company. She was going to have to deal with him.
She cleared her throat. “Hi, Mr. Fox.”
“Hayes,” he said in that rumbly voice.
“Right.” She managed a polite smile. “Sorry, that will take some getting used to. At my last job, my boss was all about the formality.”
Hayes stepped inside, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, and set a white box on her desk. “I’m not your boss. But no one calls me Mr. Fox anyway. It sounds like I’m a neighbor of Winnie-the-Pooh.”
She blinked, the words absolutely not lining up with his deadpan delivery or what she’d expected him to say. She couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped. “Right. Down the road from Piglet.”
“Exactly.”
She waited to see some kind of smile from him, some hint that he wasn’t as scary as he seemed. But he wasn’t going to give her anything. He was just going to stand there like he was waiting out some obligatory time period before it was acceptable to leave. Somehow that made her feel better. He wasn’t trying to charm her. He wasn’t trying to win her over. He wasn’t putting on a front. If anything, it seemed like she was making him uncomfortable.
Which only made her want to pick him apart and figure him out. If she was going to be working with him, she needed to know, needed to get that gut read on him.
She eyed the box and then him. “So are you going to make me ask the question?”
His brows arched. “The question?”
She pointed at the package he’d deposited on her desk. “I can try to channel my Brad Pitt impression, but I warn you, it’s not very good.”
He stared at her for a long second and then his lips twitched, a dimple peeking through for the briefest of seconds. Not a smile but a preview that one could exist. “Ah. What’s in the box?”
Lord. Just that hint of amusement had transformed his face from stern intimidation to unbearably handsome, almost boyish. If the guy ever fully smiled, any ovaries in a three-mile radius would probably explode.
“Yes. What’s in the box? What’s in the box?” The second time she said it with the desperate tone from the movie, knowing she sounded ridiculous, but wanting to see what reaction she got out of him.
He rewarded her with a half-tilt of his lips. “That wasn’t bad. But I’m happy to report it’s not a human head. Ren sent me over to tell you that we actually let people take lunch breaks and that you should eat. You can go out or you can have what’s in the box—a chicken-salad sandwich, fruit, and a cookie from the restaurant across the street. We order in for everybody on Mondays.”
“Oh.” Until the mention of food, she hadn’t thought about it, but now her stomach rumbled in protest. “Thanks. I guess I hadn’t realized how long I’d been at this.”
“You and Ren will get along well. He gets so involved in stuff he forgets to eat, too. He paced the house all weekend, trying to figure this out.”
Her brows lifted. “You live together?”
Something flickered in his expression and he glanced away. “It’s not like . . . Yeah, we do.”
She winced inwardly. Obviously she’d pushed some button. She had no idea if it was because he was embarrassed to be staying at someone’s house or if there was more to his and Ren’s relationship than business. Now there was a visual . . .
Focus, rude, nosy girl. “Sorry, that’s none of my business. Curiosity overrides my mouth sometimes.”
“It’s fine. It’s not classified information or anything. We’ve shared a place since college.” He peered at her screen but still didn’t sit down. “So, any luck?”
Business talk. Okay, she could do that with him. That was a better plan than “shipping” her two new employers in her head or thinking too hard about the fact that this man was an ex-con. She turned toward the computer and tucked her leg beneath her. “Not much, but I can show you what I’ve gotten so far.”
“Okay.” Hayes stepped around the desk and perched on the edge of it to look at her screen. The scent of him drifted her way—fresh laundry and something earthy, like he’d rolled around in the grass.
She ignored that distraction and clicked open a few windows. “So, do you speak computer geek?”
“A little, but dumb it down for me. I’m only an MBA.”
She smirked. The man didn’t smile but there was a dry sense of humor hiding in there. Problem was she didn’t know what else was hiding in there.
That thought had her spine straightening, the ease that had slipped in quickly evaporating. She told him what she’d found, explaining it in layman’s language and showing him a bit of the process she went through. He asked good questions and seemed to listen carefully to her answers. He didn’t speak computers but he was smart as hell. Analytical.
He crossed his arms and eyeballed the screen. “So what’s that part you’ve highlighted?”
“That’s when I think the system was first hacked. All the other admin access times were during working hours. This one is after one in the morning and the sign-in times in the days following are mostly night hours. So if that’s the case, it means our guy got in the system about two weeks ago.”
“Damn. That’s a long time to have a free pass.”
“Eons. And whoever it is, he or she knows enough to cover their steps pretty well. I can’t see if other emails were sent. We’ll have to rely on reports from users to figure that piece out. But I can see whose profiles were opened by the admin in that time period.”
“So this wasn’t just directed at you?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem so, unless the person was trying to dig through files to find me. That would mean they were after me personally and didn’t know who my character was in the game. But I’m guessing this is more big picture than someone just coming after me. I can’t think of anyone who’d be pissed enough at me to do what they did.”
“Have you had any conflicts with anyone recently that stick out? A co-worker, maybe?”
She shook her head. “No. People I worked with would’ve had no way of knowing I’m a member even if someone did want to mess with me. I haven’t shared that with anyone.”
“A former boyfriend or girlfriend, maybe?”
She didn’t blink at the question. She’d gotten used to people wondering if she was a lesbian. Her clothes, her tomboy ways, and her lack of any long-term boyfriends tended to bring up the question—even from her mother. She’d wondered herself for a brief time in high school, considering that maybe that was why she’d always felt different from her female friends, but that hadn’t been her answer. She wasn’t gay. And she didn’t want to be male. And boys had inevitably been the subject of her attraction. She’d just never felt comfortable being über girly. And when she’d tried to force the issue to fit in—subjecting herself to the dreaded makeover by a well-meaning friend—she’d felt like an imposter.
So now her friends probably assumed she was making some feminist statement that she wouldn’t conform to gender expectations. But really, she just wore the things and acted the way that made her feel comfortable in her own skin. It was disastrous to her dating life but necessary for her own mental health. The only time she let herself step out of that was when she was Lenore.
She adjusted her glasses. “No. The last guy I dated had the skills for this kind of thing, but our relationship wasn’t that intense and he didn’t know I played the game. Plus, he wouldn’t put out this much effort on my behalf. He didn’t put out much effort in general.”
In her periphery, Hayes turned toward her, and she could feel his curiosity. She grimaced. “Annnnd . . . that’s TMI, sorry.”
He made a little sound, almost like a laugh trapped in the back of his throat. “It’s fine. But are you sure you can rule him out? What if he somehow figured out you were playing Hayven? Finding out your girlfriend is spending her time playing a kinky game with strangers instead of you could make a guy jealous or make him feel like he’s inadequate. A guy with a twisted temper could think—hey, if she wants some guy to treat her like that, I’ll show her. I’ll send some asshole over to grab her.”
She sighed. “Kevin could be a jerk but not that brand of jerk. He didn’t have feelings for me and wasn’t possessive. I was just a convenient friend to hook up with. And even at his worse, he wouldn’t do something to put me in danger. At the end of the day, he was a decent guy.”
Hayes’s gaze on her was unnerving—like he was absolutely, one hundred percent listening to every word. The fact that it seemed so strange made her realize how often people, men in particular, only listened with half an ear. “Okay, so a lazy shithead who doesn’t know how to treat a woman but not an evil guy. We’ll scratch him off the list.”
The words were said with a touch of annoyance, like he was offended on her behalf that Kevin had acted like a dick. She had a flash of the much-bigger Hayes grabbing Kevin by the shirt and telling him to not treat a girl like a drive-thru restaurant where he could pick up a quick fix when it was convenient. She ignored the little zip of pleasure that image gave her. “Right.”
“What about in Hayven? Have you had any conflicts within the game? Any scenes gone wrong? Members who gave off a bad vibe?”
Talking openly about herself playing the game was completely out of her comfort zone, but he was being so matter-of-fact that it helped tamp down some of the embarrassment. “No, nothing I can think of.”
He considered her. “Look, I know it’s personal, so I’m not asking for details, but it’s important to look at all possibilities. Ren said that you’re mostly an observer in the game, but have you actively played with anyone?”
Her fingers curled into her thigh as she tried to temper her reaction, but she could already feel her face getting flushed. “Uh . . . I don’t . . .”
He leaned back, his hands loosely gripping the desk. “Okay, don’t answer that yet. How about I tell you what my guess is first? I know this is a weird first-day-of-work conversation. Believe me. But this company owns and runs a kinky game. It’s safe for you to assume that the people who developed that game came from that lifestyle.”
Her throat was dry. “You and Ren.”
He nodded, expression businesslike. “Yes. So nothing you say is going to shock or scandalize me. But I get that it’s personal. So here’s what I think, Cora. I think that you’re in the game because you’re more than a little curious. My guess is that you’ve participated—as a submissive.”
She straightened at that. “Why would you assume that? Because I’m a woman?”
Those green eyes met hers again. “Because you got something out of a relationship where a guy used you for his own needs without giving you much in return. That’s not what submission is. A real dominant would care more about your needs than his own. He would have to earn that surrender from you.”
Goose bumps prickled on her skin. She knew about that version of dominance. She’d never experienced it in person, but Dmitry treated her that way.
“But the fact that you had that type of relationship shows me that there’s some part of you that gets satisfaction from pleasing others and being . . .”
“Used,” she said softly, the realization punching her in the gut. “God, that makes me sound pathetic.”
His expression turned empathetic. “No, not at all. There’s nothing wrong with that impulse. Submission is a beautiful, brave thing. But when it’s undefined and directed at the wrong type of person, you can get taken advantage of. A dominant can get taken advantage of, too.”
“A dominant?” She tilted her head at that. “How?”
His mouth flattened. “Doesn’t matter. But the fact that you sought out Hayven shows me that you know more about yourself than you think, and I don’t want you to feel embarrassed about it. Our game is supposed to be a safe place for those of us who feel left of center when it comes to sex and relationships. And you shouldn’t be ashamed of that.”
She rubbed the spot between her eyes. No use in hiding now. He’d pinned her to the board like a butterfly. “Okay, yes, I play as a sub in the game. It’s been—an experiment. But I haven’t had any major conflicts. The guy who attacked me was really the only one who badgered me. The rest of the guys have been respectful. And I play privately, so I’m not one to stir up drama or make a spectacle.”
The muscles in his arms flexed as he rocked forward a little bit, a wrinkle in his brow. “Any serious relationship in the game?”
She wet her lips. Yes. But she didn’t want to put that in the spotlight. This wasn’t Dmitry’s doing. “No.”
He nodded and his shoulders relaxed a bit. “Okay, well let’s not toss that out as a possibility yet, but what are your other theories?”
She reached out and touched the track pad to wake up her screen, happy to get out from under his scrutiny of her sex life—or lack thereof. Plus, the talking had gotten her a little too warm in the wrong places. She’d never openly discussed her attraction to kink with anyone except Dmitry. Admitting it out loud and knowing with crystal-clear awareness that the ridiculously good-looking man a few feet from her was a dominant was a little too much for her lizard brain. That primal part of her wanted to ignore the fact that this guy could be dangerous, that he’d just gotten out of prison, that she was working with him. All it wanted to see was that he was beautiful and probably knew exactly how to press her filthiest buttons.
She cleared her throat, trying to reel her thoughts back in. He’s an ex-con, woman. He might’ve raped someone. Check yourself. “Honestly, I get the feeling it’s bigger than some quibble between players. I’m trying to figure out if there’s a pattern.” She peered his way. “How familiar are you with the current players in the game?” Another thought struck her. “Wait, do you play?”
Lines appeared around his mouth. “I don’t. But I’m familiar with the popular players and some of the dynamics. Ren and I both do a lot of oversight in the game. But obviously, I can’t know everyone.”
He knew the popular players, which meant he probably knew Lenore. Cora sent up a prayer that he didn’t pursue who her character was in the game. It was one thing for him to know she played. It was another to have him know exactly how and with whom. She’d also be mortified for him to know how much she’d altered her appearance.
“Well, here’s the list of profiles that were opened by the hacker. There doesn’t seem to be an obvious pattern beyond the fact that these are consistent players, the ones who log in more than once a week. There are men and women, dominants and submissives. Some are local, some aren’t.” She swallowed as her eyes skimmed over Lenore’s and Dmitry’s names. Both of their accounts had been accessed. “It’s going to take a while to figure out how these people are connected to each other—or if they’re connected at all. Does anything jump out to you?”
He pushed up from the desk and moved closer to her screen. But when he bent to look, he reached out to brace a hand on her chair and his palm landed against her arm instead. She jolted at the contact and her chair rolled backward, the wheels loud against the wood floors.
The reaction was completely outside of normal and his frown let her know that he’d noticed. “You okay?”
She gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah, sorry. Too much coffee this morning. I’m jumpy.”
His eyes met hers, that evaluating look again, and he frowned. “You’re scared of me.”
Her lips parted to protest but she clamped them back, not knowing what to say.
He nodded. “Right. So you know.”
“I— Yes. Sorry.”
He rose to his full height, his posture going stiff and formal. “It’s fine, Cora. It’s not hard information to come by, and it’s not a secret. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You . . .” His gaze flicked away. “You made me forget for a second how women must feel around me these days. I’m sorry. I should’ve never crowded you.”
“You didn’t. I mean—” She let out a frustrated breath. “I wasn’t uncomfortable. It’s just . . .”
I don’t know what to think. This man scrambled all of her signals. She got a flavor of danger from him, but it felt . . . sexual. Not violent. She’d been around enough criminals at the police station to recognize that niggling feeling that something wasn’t right with someone, that intent to harm in their eyes. That’s not what this felt like. But he’d gone to jail for rape. And was a dominant. The violence and sex intertwined there. And she didn’t know how to pick them apart to determine if this man was a true threat or not.
He stepped around her desk. “You don’t have to explain. You can email me the list and talk about what you find with Ren. I can get my information through him.”
His tone was businesslike but there was no missing the resignation in his voice, the acceptance. He expected people to be scared of him.
Something about that made the question tumble out of her. “Should I be scared of you? Did you do it?”
He’d been striding for the door and he stilled. He didn’t look back. “You’re just going to ask me outright if I’m guilty?”
She cringed. “Well, I’ve never been known for my tact.”
Plus, she knew her mother used that method with suspects. Be so blunt that they don’t have time to mask their reaction or response.
He turned, arms crossed, expression tired. “Does it really matter what I say?”
She sat up straighter. “It does.”
“I didn’t do it.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, so without a change of expression that she almost questioned whether she’d heard the words or not. “Okay.”
“See? That doesn’t change your mind at all, does it?”
“I—” She frowned, paused. “I don’t know.”
He gave a quick nod, like he’d expected nothing less. “I appreciate the honesty. I’ll leave you to it, Cora. Copy me in on updates.”
She should let him leave. She could avoid him now without effort because he’d be avoiding her, but she couldn’t help thinking about what Andre had said, couldn’t help sensing this . . . vulnerability in Hayes. What if the guy really had been wrongly convicted? What would that do to a person? Going to prison and knowing you’re innocent . . .
“Hayes, wait.”