Bound and Determined (22 page)

Surprisingly choked up over hearing her brother’s voice, Kerry hung up. Keeping the resulting tears inside hurt. Her throat constricted. She felt as if a two-ton weight now lay on her chest. Then again, Rafe had her in such a jumble, she’d probably cry at feminine hygiene commercials.

Worry underscored it all. What if Tiffany didn’t know the answer to Rafe’s question? What if nothing helped and Mark ended up in Leavenworth or some other awful federal destination?

“No?” Rafe asked.

“She’s not home.” Kerry sighed. She had to stay focused, positive. Crying wouldn’t help Mark now—even if it would make her feel a whole lot better for ten minutes. “Jason might know.”

Rafe gritted his teeth. Jaw locked, he looked as happy as someone who’d been told the neighbor’s dog had dug up his yard.

“Call him.”

Pretty sure that she’d heard Rafe mutter an unpleasant word that started with an F and rhymed with truck, Kerry winced and called Jason. He answered on the second ring.

“Are you okay, sweetheart? Do you need me?”

Rafe’s frown became an oppressive scowl at Jason’s endearment. Kerry resolved to keep things as simple as possible. Sure, people couldn’t shed blood over the phone, but somehow she sensed that wouldn’t keep Rafe from trying.

“I’m fine. You?”

“Worried about you.”

Nice to know she still had friends. A hint of a smile curved her lips. “I need your help. Is Mark’s mainframe terminal number 4389?”

“His terminal address? No. I’m pretty sure it’s 4119. Why?”

Rafe held out his hand for the phone. “Let me ask him a few questions.”

Kerry hesitated. The tension between Jason and Rafe made no sense. Neither had any reason to be jealous. But Rafe in particular acted as if she were one bone and the guys were both mean junkyard dogs.

Then again, if their growling could in any way help Mark, let them terrorize each other.

“4119?” Rafe repeated. “Yeah. I see that terminal here. Who does 4389 belong to?”

“What have you been doing to her?” Jason accused. “She sounds exhausted.”

Kerry rolled her eyes as the line of Rafe’s jaw tightened even more. “None of your business. I’ll take care of Kerry. You want to help your friend or argue over his sister?”

“You’re a prick,” Jason snarled.

“Feeling’s mutual. At least I’ve been up front about what I want from her. How many years have you been lying to her about being just her friend?”

“Bastard! If you’ve so much as thought about getting her in bed, I’m going to shoot you.”

“Start loading your gun, hot shot.”

Her belly did a vicious flip as she grabbed the phone from Rafe. “Stop it! Both of you! I feel like a piece of meat. We’re here to help Mark.”

“Sorry,” Rafe murmured, managing to look at least somewhat contrite.

“Watch yourself,” Jason advised.

“Let’s worry about Mark. Do you know who terminal 4389 belongs to?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”

Disappointment plummeted Kerry’s stomach to her toes. “That’s not Smikins’s machine?”

“No. He’s 4115. At least I think so. But call Tiff. She’s got a complete list of all the terminal IDs since she’s been filling in until he gets a new assistant.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, sweetheart. You know I’m here for you.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Seriously, be careful with Dawson.”

“I’m fine.”

Before he could say anything else, Kerry hung up. Then she glared at Rafe. “What’s with you?”

His eyes blazed silver sparks as he glared at her, lips thin with anger. “I don’t want him crawling all over you once I’m gone. He’s been lying to you for years about his intentions, and it’s bullshit.”

Unable to stop herself, Kerry rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Let’s talk about Mark. What’s the deal with this terminal 4389? Did you find something?”

His annoyed sigh let her know she hadn’t heard the last about Jason, but he let it go for now. “Maybe. Each instance of
the thefts took place from a terminal that looks like 4119, but there’s something weird here in the file allocation tables at the kernel level. It looks like someone changed the terminal IDs and buried it deep in code. And that’s not something just anyone can amend. To get into those, you have to have the Admin ID and password or be one hell of a hacker.”

Was that even English? “Are you saying that someone took this 4389 and did something to the system to make it look like Mark’s terminal when it wasn’t?”

“Exactly.”

Hope and skepticism churned in her stomach. “Why didn’t the FBI find it?”

“Because of where the real thief buried the code. The bank’s mainframe system is built on AS400 hardware with a UNIX platform and—”

“Don’t do your Spock routine again. Please.”

Rafe took a deep breath and started again. “UNIX is like a Windows operating system for mainframes. Make sense?” At her nod, he went on. “Like any computer, you put software on it. But the software can’t work unless it’s installed on a computer that already has an operating system in place. The software on the bank’s system is clean. No bugs, viruses, or anomalies. This is where the FBI probably looked because most people would have created some way at the software level to frame Mark. Not this guy.”

“Maybe this guy did it someplace else because it would be less obvious.”

“I’m sure. Since the software wasn’t tampered with, then you’d look to the next level: the operating platform. None of the UNIX code looks as if it’s been screwed with either. So you go down a level again, to the very bones of the system. But getting the corrupt code way down where it looks like he put it . . . That takes someone with a lot of knowledge. Or someone with the System Admin’s I-am-mainframe-god password. But even using the System Admin password would leave a trail. At the very least, anyone looking at the records would see them log in and out. But the System Admin password wasn’t used anywhere near the time frame of the first theft. Or the third. It just doesn’t add up.”

“So this person is a hacker?”

“On the inside. That’s my guess. Review for me again our short list of suspects. Is Smikins hacker material?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure what his computer proficiency is. He doesn’t seem that smart, but that may just be because I loathe the little toad.”

Rafe nodded. “We’ll keep him as a maybe. Your sister-in-law?”

Kerry scoffed. “Tiff hardly knows how to work an ATM without someone talking her through it.”

“Which could be an act.”

“Of Oscar proportions?”

“I’m not ruling her out yet. If she’s guilty, then last thing in the world she wants to do is let anyone know she’s smart enough to pull this off.” Rafe drilled her with a hard stare. “And your little wannabe fuck buddy? Didn’t you say he knew a thing or two about computers and code?”

“Oh, stop. Even if Jason wanted to sleep with me, which I’m not convinced he does, saying that he’s guilty of framing his best friend seems totally off the wall. I just don’t see it.”

“Yeah, and if he’s guilty, he’s banking on that.”

M
orning came, and with it, reality. Monday. Her bargain with Rafe ended tonight. And surprise, surprise, the thought of him leaving had the same effect on her stomach as receiving notification of an IRS audit—pure, deep dread.

As soft gray light filtered through the sheers of the Love Shack’s bedroom, Kerry snuggled her back against the warm furnace of Rafe’s chest. He spooned her, one hand on her belly as he breathed deeply and evenly against her neck.

A lingering shiver of pleasure vibrated through her body when she remembered the previous night. After their predinner sex and, of course, the freezer-burned, preservative-laden meal itself, they’d had postargument sex—hot and wild on the little kitchen table. They had agreed in the most pleasant way possible to disagree about Jason. Exhausted by then, Kerry had retired to bed and fallen asleep . . . only to feel Rafe’s tongue on her nipple and his lips wending their way up her throat a short while later. “Can you, just one more time?” His whisper had sounded so much like a plea, Kerry relented. Okay, reveled. They came as midnight did.

Now contentment and safety—the two things she’d always
wanted most in life—she had right at this moment. Was it too greedy of her to wish she could keep it longer? Of course she no longer slept with one eye open, wondering if her current foster parents would show their true colors as thugs or perverts while she was at her most vulnerable. Being alone was better, yes. Just not what she ultimately wanted out of life.

She sighed and forced her mind to the present. Today was not only Monday, but the day she and Rafe had decided to go to Standard National armed with the information they’d found in the bank’s own system. Kerry admitted she had never been a regular churchgoer, but now seemed like a good time to start praying. Mark deserved every bit of positive energy she could drum up, and divine energy seemed like the very best.

“I can almost hear the thoughts whirling in that pretty head of yours,” Rafe murmured, voice smoky with sleep.

Kerry smiled. How was it possible she knew so much about him after a weekend? Why did that make her feel all melty inside, like a warm batch of chocolate chip cookies?

“Guilty.” She covered his warm hand on her belly with her own.

“Nickel for your thoughts.”

“A nickel?”

“I’d give you a penny, but inflation and all.” He laughed.

“I’m thinking about Mark.”
Mostly
. “I’m hoping today we’re able to prove he deserves to be free. Then, although you still have every right to be furious with me for kidnapping you, it will all have been worth it to me. I hope to you, too, since you’d be so instrumental in freeing an innocent man.”

Behind her, Rafe tensed. “For your sake, and your brother’s, I hope it’s that easy. But I speak from experience when I say that dealing with the Feds can sometimes be like talking to mud. They both listen about the same. What we have now is something suspicious, but nothing conclusive. Until we have hard proof . . . I don’t know. Don’t get your hopes up too high yet.”

Nodding, Kerry swallowed her apprehension. Rafe was right. She knew it. She just didn’t want to hear it.

“Maybe we’ll find hard proof at the bank. Or maybe what we’ve found will trigger someone’s memory.”

“I’ll cross my fingers that happens.”

“Thanks.” Kerry snuggled against him again, and encountered a very healthy morning erection. She cast a surprised glance over her shoulder.

“Would you settle for me crossing my fingers a bit later?” he asked, then brought their joined hands over her breast. He guided her finger over her nipple, watching with hungry, heavy-lidded eyes as she brushed it, back and forth, with the tip.

Okay, she’d touched herself here before, but not with a man, a lover, watching. A twinge of innate modesty poked at her, but the arousal leaping in her body squashed it. The peak of her breast hardened so quickly, light speed would seem a snail’s pace. Down south . . . she was moist, yes. What woman wouldn’t be continually ready with a lover as attentive and fabulous as Rafe? But his great prowess and stamina overwhelmed her novice tissues.

“It’s not happening now, buster. Not without a shower and some breakfast first.”

He trailed his fingers down to her vagina. “Feeling tender, babe?”

“After the deflowering in the bed, the boogie in the shower, your birthday present, the little stunt on the kitchen table and ringing in the new day, ya think?”

“I get the message. I’d say I was sorry, but for that I’d have to be a saint.”

Kerry scoffed. “As if.”

“My point exactly.”

“Even if you don’t qualify for sainthood, it wasn’t all you. I think you would have eased up if I said I was too sore.”

“But you knew that would have been no fun.” One of his fingers toyed with her navel.

“True, but this morning, we must pay for our frolicking with a bit of waiting.”

Rafe nodded. “Fair enough. Wanna guess what I want for lunch?”

She gave him a rueful shake of her head. “Talk about a one-track mind.”

“That is not true. I’m the evolved species of man. I have two tracks: computers
and
sex.”

She laughed. “Impressive.”

“Not necessarily in that order, mind you. And since one
track far exceeds the other at this moment”—he pressed the length of his cock against the cheeks of her backside—“and you’re out of commission, would you do me a little favor?”

Arching a brow at him, she said, “Men are so predictable. A blow job, right?”

“I wouldn’t turn it down if you’re offering.” He grinned. “But I had something else in mind . . .”

R
afe and Kerry arrived at Standard National’s doorstep at eleven. He did his best to focus on the upcoming visit . . . but everything about the morning was surprising the hell out of him.

First, the fact Kerry had brought her car—and he used that word loosely—to the Love Shack and stashed it in the garage even before his abduction—just in case. The black limo he barely remembered from the airport was parked next to her car. Had he known transportation lay within reach, he would have tried twice as hard to get away, even if her 1991 blue Honda looked more suited to a stunt car show than the highway.

If he’d succeeded in escaping, though, he would have missed out on the greatest weekend in memory.

Second, the fact she had consented to his little favor. Even knowing what she wore under that baggy shirt made him sweat, to say nothing of the secretive smile curving her mouth each time she’d looked his way on the drive over.

Finally, the bank itself. Small and regional, he’d known that about Standard National. Catering mostly to the remaining small-town and suburban interests in Hillsborough County and surrounding areas, as well as small business owners, it wasn’t a huge multibranch operation. He hadn’t expected one, really. But he’d imagined something more than the size of a fast-food joint with three tellers, two loan officers, and a few others with unknown titles.

Beside him, Kerry bit her lip and looked around. “I don’t see Smikins at the moment.” She took a few steps, peered around a wall to a desk in the corner under a flickering fluorescent light. “But there’s Tiff.”