LITMIR.BIZ

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to say. Could be within the month, or within the week.”

      “What’s the problem?”

      “Lots of applicants, but only a few stood out. I’m looking for a certain kind of person—expert, flexible, experienced. Since it’s a small team, I need people with some chops.”

      “It’s up to you, but this is a pretty high-profile project. Taxpayers’ money and all that. Let’s make sure it works.”

      “It’ll work.”

      Marty nodded. “Things tied up at the agency yet? No pressure—we appreciate you coming in and getting started here a little sooner than scheduled.”

      “No problem, Mart. I have a few things left to finish. Shouldn’t be a big deal.”

      “Like what?”

      “You remember the LadyBug case?”

      “Of course—it was one of the first big feathers in your cap, bringing her in. Sage Matthews. How’s she doing? I still remember the pictures from the news. Man, she was a hot one, huh? Even looked good in handcuffs.”

      Ian sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. “She’s at the end of her sentence. Her release hearing is next week, so I’m just finishing up on that. One more trip to court and I’ll send her on her way, fill out some paperwork with the agency, then I’m all yours.”

      “Good. I’m looking forward to meeting the new team members when you have them lined up.”

      “I have someone coming in any minute now.”

      “Who is he?”

      “She. Sarah T. Jessup. She’s driving down from New York for the interview. We’ve used her from time to time as a freelance consultant.”

      “Otherwise meaning an informant?” Ian could detect the skepticism in Marty’s voice—informants were not exactly the cream of the crop in police circles—but Sarah was operating on a different level.

      “A good one. She’s offered us first-rate information over the years with no expectation of compensation or recognition. She has managed to dig out things on the Net that we wouldn’t have found, she can go places we can’t. She’s been…useful.”

      “Is she cute?”

      Ian sent a disparaging look in Marty’s direction. “This is a job interview for HotWires, Marty, not a dating service. Try to drag yourself up into the twenty-first century. Besides, I have no idea if she’s cute or not—we’ve only communicated online and over the phone.”

      “Hey, I’m just thinking good thoughts for you, buddy. The national statistics say the median age for a second marriage is thirty-four. At thirty-three and counting, you are ripe for the plucking, the way I see it.”

      Marty grinned, clearly knowing he was pushing Ian’s buttons and appearing to be thoroughly enjoying it. Ian stemmed his gut-level response, keeping his buttons in check.

      “Statistics lie. I have no plans to rush into remarrying.”

      “Rush? Um, yeah, it’s been a little more than five years since the divorce, bud. You’re a real wild man with the rushing. National stats say that most men remarry within four years—”

      “Marty—”

      “I’m just saying. Maybe Sarah T. Jessup will be the one to make you a statistically viable member of society again.”

      Ian shook his head and took a long drink of water. He had no intention of gracing that comment with a response. Sarah Jessup could look like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, but as far as Ian was concerned it made no difference—work and sex never mixed. All he cared about was how good she was at her job.

      He was curious about her, though. Using the online name TigerLily, she had a reputation as a major computer junkie—a hacker in the most positive sense of the term. Not all hackers were criminals. In fact, the major proportion of people who called themselves hackers were upstanding citizens. Criminal hackers took otherwise creative and essential computer skills and used them recklessly to do harm or for their own gain.

      Then there were hackers, like Sage and her friend Locke, who called themselves “hacktivists”—hackers who used destructive hacking methods as a form of social protest, attacking the computer systems of multinational corporations and major polluters and the like.

      Unfortunately the attacks these groups waged often ended up hurting a wider spectrum of people than the organizations they targeted. Hacktivists were still often criminal hackers, as Ian saw it—you couldn’t start letting politics be an excuse for committing crimes.

      Sarah was an example of a legal hacker, someone who was just damned talented with a computer and who had no intention of breaking the law. She had become a self-appointed informant for the feds, tracking down Internet porn rings in her spare time, sending Ian what she found. It was a weird hobby, but the info she’d shared had led to several busts.

      Ian knew that Sarah had an incomplete college degree and no formal police training, but those things could be dealt with. She had several part-time jobs, lived in a low-cost apartment in the city. He was willing to bet she probably spent more money on computer equipment than food. But she knew her stuff and stayed on the right side of the law, and that’s what he was looking for. He trusted his gut about people more than he trusted pieces of paper anyway. He just had a feeling about her.

      Taking a deep breath, Ian furrowed his brow in irritation as he detected the slightly spicy fragrance Sage had worn earlier today still lingering in the otherwise musty air of his office. His hand clenched tightly around the plastic bottle as he felt the familiar wave of desire hit, followed by the dulling sense of frustration.

      Sage was a criminal hacker, someone off-limits to him even if only for the next few days. She was the last connection to his old life, and when this gig was over he would cut her loose and forget about her.

      Yeah, right. Even though he’d carefully guarded against it, Sage had become more than just another case. He replayed the moment her hand moved over the skin of his arm and felt a flash of heat—he could still feel it, her soft skin on his. Her long fingers touching him just for that short moment. Her nails, ragged and bitten to the quick, were painted with red polish, and he found that was amazingly sexy, because it was on her. That she would wear such a bold color on her short nails was also indicative of Sage—she just didn’t accept limitations. Not easily anyway. And she tempted him every chance she got.

      He was tempted, no doubt about that. What red-blooded man could have Sage in front of him for years, issuing invitations left and right, and not at least think about it? But red-blooded as he might be, Ian’s sense of self-discipline was fierce.

      It also helped that he knew the come-ons and flirting were just her way of punishing him, of exacting some small bit of revenge for how he’d invaded her life. She didn’t really want him, she just wanted to get back at him. He was just doing his job and he reminded himself of that every time he let himself think how good she smelled.

      There was just something about her that he’d known from the start was going to be trouble. One look into those stubborn green eyes when they’d first met, and a part of him knew she could cause trouble for him as no other woman had. Her wildly curly red hair cinched it. She was like a flame, dancing around him, always just out of reach.

      He just had to hold strong. And he had.

      Five more days.

      It was his duty to keep tight tabs on her, and he had, but maybe he’d put in a little more time than usual. He told himself it was because she couldn’t be trusted, because he couldn’t drop the ball for one minute with her. He knew the type. They were like drug addicts with computers and were bound to cave sooner or later. But she never did, at least as far as he knew. Still, he watched. Carefully. And he would to the very end.

      Marty took another bite from the apple in his hand, the crisp crack of the fruit snapping loudly in the

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