LITMIR.BIZ

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built toys.”

      He wasn’t sure why he felt he had to justify himself to her. He just knew that when she looked at him, her green eyes dug deep inside him to a place he hadn’t explored in a long time. A place that hurt.

      She nodded jerkily.

      “Look, Agent Rudolph. I love my son. I’m protecting him. Did you see how quickly and easily that intruder was caught? I’ve got the best security money can buy.”

      She turned those green eyes on him. “Then why are you still worried about his safety?”

      He felt as though she’d head-butted him.

      Anger flared in his chest, and a worm of guilt gnawed at his gut. He jammed his hands into his back pockets to keep from clenching his fists. Careful to speak calmly, he gave her the truth.

      “Because despite all this, I know there can never be a place safe enough. There is evil in the world, murderers and fanatics who will do anything, even harm an innocent child, to get what they want.”

      She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Then explain something to me. If you’re so concerned about Ben’s safety, why don’t you just stop? Tell the NSA to shove their neural interface.”

      Shock cut through him like lightning. “You think I’m doing this for them? For the government?” A harsh laugh scratched his throat. His chest tightened as he tried to wipe away the vision that never left his mind. The sight of that hulking twisted metal at the bottom of the ravine. The sick certainty that it was his fault.

      As Natasha watched Dylan’s face in the soft light of dawn, the truth hit her like a bucket of icy water.

      Ben’s awkward braces. His nerve damage. The fervor that burned in his father’s eyes.

      She’d been so preoccupied with overcoming her own fears and her concern for the child that she’d missed the obvious.

      “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “The interface. You’re doing it for Ben.”

      Dylan’s face registered sadness and desperation. “He’s in a growth spurt right now.” His voice was tortured. “His body is sucking energy into growing bone. Even with intense physical therapy, the neurological damage is progressing faster than his body can fight it. He’s losing muscle, and with loss of muscle goes the loss of nerve tissue.” He scrubbed a hand across his face, and started walking again.

      “We’re so close to success. Campbell is working on the final debugging. He’s already finished the prototype implant. It’s ninety-nine percent done. But in order for it to work it needs viable nerve and muscle to stimulate. I only have a few weeks before the damage to Ben’s body is too great.”

      “A few weeks?”

      He nodded. “I need to implant the interface and tie the microfibers into Ben’s nervous system before the nerves that control his legs all die.”

      Natasha matched her pace to his. “So it’s Ben who’s running out of time,” she said, sadness gripping her heart in its heavy fist.

      He nodded. “There aren’t enough hours in a day. I could complete it tomorrow, or it could take a year. I’ve got to believe it will happen tomorrow. If I could, I’d let NSA move the prototype, but it’s much too fragile.”

      “Who’ll be operating on Ben?”

      Dylan’s brows raised. “Me, of course.”

      She was surprised. “You? Don’t you think you’re too emotionally involved?”

      “It doesn’t matter if I am or not. There are only three neurosurgeons in the world who have the expertise to handle this intricate microscopic surgery.”

      “Only three?”

      He nodded grimly. “Two besides me.”

      “Who are they?”

      “There’s no way you’d know them. One is Mohan Patel, at the University of Mumbai in India. The other is Frederick Werner. He’s at Johns Hopkins. I studied under him.”

      “Why couldn’t one of them do the operation?”

      “Because Ben is my son.” His expression darkened. “I don’t need someone else to do the surgery. I’ve been preparing for this for three years. Besides, it’s all moot if I can’t complete the nerve mapping in time.”

      “And the code? It’s still buggy?”

      “There’s at least one more error we can’t find.” He sighed. “Campbell and I have looked at it too long. We need a fresh eye. And now we’ve got a hacker trying to steal the code almost certainly to sell to some foreign government. That’s why I asked NSA to send me the best.”

      They reached the entrance to the back stairs. Dylan pressed his thumb against the pad and keyed in the current pass code. He held the heavy security door open for her.

      As she walked past him, he caught her arm. His hot touch branded her through the sleeve of her sweater. She looked up and met his haunted gaze.

      “Help me debug the computer program. Build a firewall no hacker can get past. Give me the time I need to finish. If anything happens to the program or the prototype, my son will lose his last chance.” His voice cracked. “Do you understand what that means?”

      She nodded, thinking of the wire braces propped beside Ben’s little bed.

      “I doubt you do. In another few weeks, Ben won’t even be able to use the braces.” Dylan’s voice cracked.

      Shock and denial pierced her chest. “What do you mean? He seems to handle the braces just fine.”

      “Once the nerve damage progresses by another ten percent, he won’t be able to move his legs at all. The braces will be useless, and my son will be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.”

      Her heart squeezed painfully. “But I thought the interface—”

      His anguished gaze answered her. Must have viable muscle and nerve. Not even Stryker’s genius could stop the damage from becoming permanent.

      She had a fleeting vision of that vital, healthy little boy stuck in a wheelchair, the cold metal sucking the life out of him. Trapped as surely as if he were buried alive.

      Nausea swirled through her and a trickle of sweat slid down the back of her neck.

      Dylan gripped her arm. “Can you do it?” His eyes glittered in the dim night. “Can you hold the hacker at bay until I finish the prototype? It’s Ben’s only chance to be normal.”

      Chapter Three

      The next morning at breakfast, Charlene grudgingly asked Natasha if she’d like to walk outside with her and Ben. “He’s had a rough morning already, so we’re skipping the morning therapy session.”

      Charlene’s demeanor hardly fit her friendly words. Natasha figured Mintz had ordered her to show Natasha Ben’s playground. But the computer equipment wouldn’t arrive until around noon, and she wasn’t about to give up the chance to see what passed for outside, or to find out more about Charlene. “I’d love to.”

      Natasha changed into a sleeveless white top and jeans, and wove her hair into a French braid. She started to leave her weapon in her room, but changed her mind. She was on duty. She buckled on the fanny pack and stored the Glock inside it.

      When she met Ben and Charlene in the atrium, Ben was whiny.

      “You said he’d had a rough morning?”

      Charlene leaned close to Natasha. “Dr. Stryker examined him. That’s always painful for Ben.”

      “Painful?” Natasha frowned.

      Charlene nodded as she took Ben’s hand. “Come on, cowboy, let’s go outside.”

      Outside consisted

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