As an FBI agent, she understood, but no amount of rational thinking stilled her knee-jerk response to the vaultlike rooms. This was why she’d scrimped and saved until she could afford a top-floor condo in Washington, D.C., where all her walls were glass, and the sun streamed in every day.
She couldn’t get Ben’s sweet little face out of her mind. It horrified her to think he’d lived his whole life locked inside these walls.
“Is there a problem, Agent Rudolph?” Mintz’s voice was edged with ice.
She quoted her mantra for dealing with panic. Quiet and safe. Plenty of fresh air. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
“No, sir. I realize safety is your primary concern. It’s just that Ben is—” She swallowed. “He’s a growing boy. He needs sunshine and—” she faltered when Mintz glowered at her “—fresh air.”
“Ben’s needs are not your purview.”
She lifted her chin. “So far, apparently nothing is my purview. You’ve vetoed every suggestion I’ve made. I must say, your trust in me is underwhelming.”
“Not just you,” he muttered, his face grim. “Anyone.” He faced her. “Understand this, Agent Rudolph. As far as the public knows, Ben died in the car crash that killed his mother. Dylan has gone to superhuman lengths to keep the boy here with him.”
She searched his face. “You don’t approve.”
The lines in his face deepened. “I built this place to withstand an explosion the magnitude of Oklahoma City. But nobody can guard against human ingenuity. All it’ll take is one person breaching the walls, or hacking into the computers. NSA wants Dylan and his interface safe. They’ve offered to place him and Ben in a secure government location.”
“And you want that, too.” No matter how protected the estate was, the child could still be in danger. Still, now that she’d met Ben, she understood why his father refused to let him out of his sight. After only a few minutes, his innocent, angelic face had already made a dent in her heart.
“What I want is not relevant. Ben is Dylan’s son. He would give up everything for him, even his own life.”
“I get the feeling you’d do the same for either of them.”
Mintz averted his gaze as he dug in his pocket and handed her a small digital device. He cleared his throat. “Your fingerprints are already in the security system. This is your pass code generator. You’ll want to keep it on your person at all times. The code changes every forty-five seconds. Your print on the keypad plus the entry of this code will unlock any door on the estate. There will not be any security issues, understood?”
Natasha stiffened. “Understood, sir.” She took the device.
“I’ll be back in an hour to take you down to the lab.”
“I can find my way—” she started, but he’d turned on his heel and left. The door closed silently behind him.
She sat down on the bed and closed her eyes, thankful to be alone for a few moments. Her neck and shoulders ached from maintaining her composure. Now, as she flexed them, her entire body began to tremble.
Underground laboratory. Windowless rooms. No wonder Decker had worried about her ability to handle this assignment. She felt the weight of the house and the closeness of the impenetrable walls. Her lungs sucked in air greedily.
After twenty-two years, she’d thought she’d conquered her worst personal demon, until Bobby Lee Hutchins had buried her alive.
Horror slithered along her nerve endings as she recalled the endless dark. She’d been certain her life was over.
But her partner Storm hadn’t given up. He’d stayed there while the workers cleared away boards and drywall and dirt. He’d kept calling out to her even though she didn’t have enough breath to answer him.
When they got her to the hospital she had four cracked ribs, a collapsed lung and a broken leg, none of which bothered her as much as the hours of terror she’d spent buried under the debris.
She’d experienced the worst. This job should be a piece of cake. All she had to do was keep her cool for a few days until they caught the hacker.
She took a deep breath of artificially cooled air and reminded herself that she wasn’t buried. She was on the top level—aboveground. The air smelled fresh and the room was large and clean. There was no reason to feel claustrophobic.
She closed her eyes, but it didn’t help. Her demon was back. The walls were closing in.
THE HACKER grinned as his fingers flew over the keyboard. Just a few more keystrokes and he’d have his first look at Dr. Dylan Stryker’s neural interface operating software.
He’d been working toward this moment for three years, since the botched kidnapping of Stryker’s wife and son. He’d learned a lot from the extremists who had run the neurosurgeon’s wife and baby son off the road.
Idiots. Their blind devotion to their cause came in handy, but only if they had a leader to guide them. He was in control this time. There would be no mistakes.
There was nothing more satisfying than to beat the government at their own game. He’d waited a long time for another chance to prove his superiority.
Eight years ago, he’d not only cracked the FBI’s domestic terrorist database, he’d framed a young hacker for the breach. He’d needed to get rid of her—she’d been too good.
By planting subtle but identifiable clues inside the FBI’s computer program, he’d led lead investigators to the computer lab at the college she attended. Once they’d identified the computer, it was simple to trace her ID and find the evidence he’d so carefully planted.
His brilliant frame-up had made him famous in the hacking world. And now he was back. The National Security Agency had designed Stryker’s firewall, and it was impressive. But so were his skills.
Alert to any sign of detection, he typed a few lines of code, nudging the protective barrier around the software that could make the fabled computer-enhanced supersoldier a reality.
A sense of omnipotence streaked through him. His fingertips tingled and a visceral exhilaration sizzled in his groin. Nobody except another hacker could understand the feeling.
All he needed was a few seconds to gain entrance to the ultrasecure area where Stryker’s files and programs on the neural interface were stored.
He was typing the last bit of code when his cell phone rang.
He jumped. “Son of a—” He jabbed the talk button. “What? I’m in the middle of something.”
“The computer expert is here.”
Excitement spread through him like electricity. At last, a challenge. “When?”
“An hour or so ago. She’s an FBI agent—Natasha something.”
“Natasha?” His fingers went numb with shock. “Are you sure?” He stood, propelling the computer chair backward. “What does she look like?”
“Tall. Long blond hair. Do you know her?”
Natasha. “Of course not.” Sweat prickled his neck and armpits. He glanced at his computer screen. “Is she online?”
“No. She’s in her room.”
“Did she have a laptop?”
“Nope. Mintz won’t allow wireless in here.”
“I want to know the instant she puts her fingers on the keyboard.”
“I’ll try. You know how hard it is to call out. How much longer until—”
“Don’t start with me. I’ve got to