Love and Wargames: A Bad Boy Hacker Romance (16 page)

My search leads to yet another dead end. “There have been three reported stolen in Los Angeles today: two were found shortly after and the other was a false alarm.”

Archer sighs. “I guess we wait for them to slip up—”

“I don’t have time to wait until they
slip up
,” I spit. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it. “And did it ever occur to you that they’re using that card on purpose?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“You’re dealing with two world class assassins and you think you’ve outsmarted them by tracking their dead grandmother’s credit card?” I shake my head. “Think about it, Archer. Who’s chasing who here? They’re leaving breadcrumbs and it isn’t to feed the birds.” I finally reach into my pocket, angry at the persistent vibration against my thigh.

“You think they’re leaving a trail? Why?” he asks.

I open my mouth to speak but fall silent as I see Caleb’s name staring back at me from my phone. “It’s her…” I mutter.

Archer steps closer, cracking a bit more glass beneath his feet. “Who?”

I answer it and tap on the speakerphone. “Caleb, where are you?”

There’s no reply, just the gentle humming of voices in the background and the dull scratch of the phone’s microphone brushing against fabric.

“Caleb?”

“It’s just a butt-dial, mate.”

I shake my head, smiling wide. A little bit of weight slides off my shoulders. Caleb Fawn, you beautiful bitch. “No… she did this on purpose.” I lay the phone down next to my laptop and keep an ear on it. The voices are obviously Lilah and Elijah but I can’t make out what they’re saying.

Archer moves around the counter to peek over my shoulder. “Why?”

“Because she knows me,” I chuckle. With a few fast clicks, I tap into the call and a map of Los Angeles pops up on the screen. Several seconds pass before it zooms in on the west side. “They’re on Santa Monica boulevard — heading towards the pier.”

Archer leans in closer. “
Shit
… I hate Santa Monica.”

“Me, too,” I mutter. “As long as she keeps the call open, I can track them. I’ll bring up the street cameras — should be able to snatch a picture of the license plate. Once I have that, this program will track the car using every security camera in the city in real-time, giving us a handy map of where they’re going and where they’ve been.”

He tilts his head at me. “Who the hell are you?”

I smile. “I’m Boxcar.”

“And where they hell did you learn to do this shit,
Boxcar
?”

I chew on my cheek as memories take hold of me. “Afghanistan.” I spin away from the counter and step towards the back room as Archer follows me inside.

“Hold on,” he says. “
You
were in Afghanistan?”

“Yes.” I turn back to catch the look on his face. Predictably, his jaw drops as his eyes drink in the stunning array of assault weaponry and gadgets. “Civilian, though. I’m not military — but she was.”

Archer leans against the doorway. His face curls into a wicked smile, once again thoroughly impressed with my choice of spouse. “They don’t make birds like that back home.”

“There’s never been a bird quite like Caleb Fawn,” I say, reaching for an M16 attached to the wall. I scan the shelves below it for ammo.

“What’s your plan, mate?” he asks. “You just going to load up, drive on over there, and
what
?”

“Get my wife back.”

“Right… but these are
world class assassins
, as you pointed out. What makes you think a little run and gun isn’t going to make them pop a bullet in her brain before you even get close?”

Adrenaline spikes inside of me but I bring it back down with a deep breath. I don’t have the training to make something like this work without a solid plan. For starters, I’d need a sniper but Fox isn’t here and Archer looks more the brute force type.

I lay the weapon back down on the shelf. “We have the upper hand right now and we have to keep it. The Harts don’t know I’ve tracked them and they probably don’t know about you either.”

“Uh-huh…” Archer hums.

I gesture around the room before walking out. “Grab what you need.”

“Need for what?”

“To catch a Hart.”

“And then what?”

I slide my laptop back into my messenger bag. “Then…” My brain twitches with yet another bad idea but the consequences of this going south aren’t nearly as horrible as the thought of losing Caleb... again. “We’re taking a trip to Hollywood.”

Chapter 15

Caleb

Afghanistan

Two Years Ago

I stare down at the disassembled revolver pieces littered about on my cot. This is the third time I’ve cleaned my weapon this week but I don’t care. Mindless, menial tasks are just about the only thing keeping me sane right now.

What the hell was I thinking in that jeep? Scratch that. I know exactly what I was thinking. I was thinking about how I could barely recall the last time I’d gotten any; about how I can’t stand the men around here but then in walks Boxcar — normal, smart, practically adorable in just about every way and just looking at his green eyes in the dark was enough to melt my damn panties right off.

Fuck, he felt so good.

But we can’t do this. It was a one-time thing. It’ll never happen again.

Shit, I said the same thing after that kiss, didn’t I?

I’ll just have to stay away from him between missions. Shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

“Hey, Caleb.”

Dammit.

I jerk my head up. Boxcar stands at the foot of my cot with his arms crossed. I look away, scanning the empty tent, hoping that someone else will walk in here and interrupt whatever the hell he’s about to do. “Go away, please—”

“Hey…” He holds up his hands. “I come in peace.”

I keep my head down and tighten the third screw on the side plate to keep the cylinder in place. “What do you want, Carson?”

“To talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

“Just... hear me out,” he says. “Please?”

I pause, inhaling a lungful of thick, humid, desert air. Still, I keep my head down and half of my focus stays on my weapon. “Fine.”

“I know you’ve been avoiding me since the other night—”

“I’m not avoiding you. I’m your bodyguard,” I argue.

“Caleb, you haven’t looked me in the eye in a week. Either you’ve got quite the crick in your neck or you really like my shoes — but I’m guessing it’s neither.”

I sigh and raise my head to look at him. He instantly smiles and my muscles turn to jelly. “There. I looked at you. Can I have a moment to myself now?”

“Not yet.” He clears his throat. “I still have something to say.”

“Then say it.” I keep my eyes steady on him, desperately trying not to swoon. Somehow, he’s grown more attractive since that night.

“Okay…” He shifts over to Fox’s cot and sits down across from me, giving me his complete attention. “I think — and it’s possible you might, too — that the two of us kind of got off on the wrong foot…” His hands jerk nervously. “And I don’t mean that in a puny way. I wasn’t referencing the two of us getting off—”

I deepen my glare.
“Boxcar.”

“Right—” He shakes his head. “Obviously, I like you, Caleb. I think you’re beautiful and strong but there’s so much more to you than that. I would like the chance to go back in time and get to know you as if the night in the jeep never happened — as amazing and strange as it was.”

“Strange?” I raise a brow.

“Well, I don’t know about
you
but beautiful women don’t often mount me in public places.”

I fight my chuckle. “Okay. Strange it was.”

“What say
you
, Caleb Fawn?” he asks. “Can we start over? As friends?”

Those damn green eyes. “Fine,” I say.

He points down at my revolver. “Where did you even get that?” he asks. “Doesn’t exactly look government issue.”

“It…” I hesitate, choking on every lie before the truth slips out. “It was my father’s.”

“They let you bring it out here with you?”

“No, it—” I pause and my eyes linger on his for a moment more. “He found it out here and his C.O. gave it to me when I arrived.”

Boxcar’s brow rises with interest. “Your dad’s out here, too?”

“Not anymore,” I answer. “His convoy was hit by a pipe bomb just before I enlisted.”

He blinks and opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out. “Damn…” he finally whispers.

“His C.O. told me my dad never fired it; said he was saving it for a
special occasion,
whatever that means. Apparently, he always kept it on him except for the
one time
he forgot it in his footlocker…” Boxcar eyes twinge with sympathy. “It’s been my good luck charm ever since.”

“Can I hold it?”

“No.”

He raises his hands again and chuckles. “Okay.”

His smile tickles my toes but I shake it off, hardening my shell. “What else do you want to know?”

“Where are you from?” he asks.

I hesitate for a moment, feeling a bit of self-consciousness ease in. I wasn’t expecting to dive into even more of my history so quickly but I guess I shouldn’t feel so weird about sharing intimate details with someone I’ve already been intimate with. “Oklahoma.”

Boxcar pauses. “Whereabouts?”

“I was born in Tulsa. Grew up in Oklahoma City.” I watch his face, noting the dots connecting in his brain to form a new picture of me. “You?”

“Tennessee,” he replies. “Born and raised in Memphis.”

“Really?” I look over at him. “Do you like Elvis?”

“No one from Memphis likes Elvis,” he chuckles. “Fox told me you like movies.”

“Did he?”

“He did.”

“What else did you get out of him?”

Boxcar chews his lip. “Not a lot but I get the feeling he doesn’t know much to tell.”

“That’s probably true.”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

I chuckle. “That’s a pretty loaded question.”

“Try and narrow it down to one,” he smiles and shifts slightly on the cot but maintains a cool confidence in his eyes that I haven’t noticed before. “Off the top of your head — first one you think of.”

“
The Shining
,” I say quickly.

He tilts his head. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It’s awesome. It’s scary and funny, often at the same time.” Excitement surges through me. It’s rare for me to find anyone out here that wants to talk movies. “I’ve always had an odd thing for Jack Nicholson, too. Even when he’s threatening to bash Wendy’s brains in he never quite loses his adorableness.”

“You’re a little messed up, Caleb Fawn,” he jokes, grinning.

“Does that change your opinion of me?”

“Nah.”

“Well, what about you? What’s your favorite movie?”

“
The Lion King
.”

I pause. “Your favorite movie is
The Lion King
?”

“Hell yes,” he nods with zeal.

“Why?”

“You try watching that opening sequence and not shedding at least one tear!” We laugh. “It’s got everything. It’s heartbreaking, it’s hilarious, it’s got an artsy love scene set to a cheesy Elton John song — it’s perfect.”

“Okay.” I wet my lips, forcing my smile to calm down. “I’ll accept that answer.”

“Also... I always liked the idea of becoming something bigger than yourself,” he continues. “You might be a weak kid now but someday you’ll be a king, you know?”

I nod softly. “I guess I can relate to that.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, yeah. I’m from
Oklahoma
.” He laughs. “Where I’m from, every girl dreams that someday they’ll get out of this dump, move to New York or Hollywood, become some big star, and everyone who ever wronged them would end up shining their shoes.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah,” I say, forcing a lazy shrug. I gesture around. “Obviously, not every dream comes true.”

He gazes back at me, pausing to let the words sink in. “I guess I can relate to that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t dream of getting trapped out in the Afghani desert, dying of heat exposure?” I quip.

“I can’t say I did,” he laughs, “but I guess it hasn’t been all bad, right?”

I give a short smile, feeling a sharp, pleasurable twinge in my core. “I guess not.”

His eyes fall to my lips but he quickly looks away and stands up off the cot. “Well, I won’t bother you anymore,” he says. “I just wanted to clear the air and all that…”

“Boxcar.”

“What?”

I shift my boots to the floor and stand up, ignoring every ounce of regret screaming inside of me, and I lay my lips on his cheek. I feel him tremble as I kiss him and when I pull back, his eyes are twice as wide as before. He blinks quickly to hide it.

“I just wanted to do that,” I tell him.

“Cool,” he says, smiling and shrugging his shoulders. “Hey, I’m gonna go grab some dinner. You want to join—”

“Don’t push it.”

He spins around, grinning wide. “It was worth a shot.”