Page 8 of Reckless Devotion

Walker blinks, tilting his head a fraction. Something piercing ransacks his gaze, leaving me with the unsettling sensation that I’m being X-rayed. “I thought you said I would get to blow your house down? This sounds like your house is on fire and you want me to huff and puff it out for you.”

He’s got a point.

I roll my eyes dismissively, leaning back in my chair. “I was going for dramatic effect. Ever heard of a punchline, Walker?”

“Heard of one?” He raises his brows. “I’mlivingone right now.”

“Ha-ha. Now, do you actually want to hear why you’re going to help me?”

“I’m all ears,” he deadpans, for all intent looking impressively bored.

I throw a quick prayer to every version of God that I can remember and lay down the one solitary chip I have to gamble in exchange for my entire life. “I can help you find the people who sold your technology to Russian rebels.”

He lets out a short, quiet bark of laughter and my stomach plummets to the floor. Not only the floor, but fifty feet below to the rat-infested sewage network that New York City stands on.

“That’s it?” he questions with an unreadablesomethingon his face.

“What do you mean,that’s it?” Fear hones my words into sharp arrows, firing across the table. “From what I gather, you have a dozen private investigators on the case who have come up with precisely nothing.”

“You’re not going to blackmail me?” He sits forward, netting me in a woodsy scent that redirects neurons the wrong way down a one-way street inside my brain.

His question shocks me out of my act for a moment. “Why would I blackmail you?”

“Isn’t that what your kind do? Blackmail and other criminal skullduggery?” He huffs a sharp breath through his nose in what is almost another laugh, now looking openly perplexed.

“My kind?” I spit, my back shooting ramrod straight and my fists curling.How very fucking typical from the privileged white male.

The male in question pauses, a flicker of comprehension dawning on chiseled features. “You think I’m talking aboutrace?” He stands, a true emotion encapsulated in his expressionfor the first time since he walked in, anger drawn in deep lines over every tight limb. “Honey, your skin could be blue and I would still only care about the fact you hacked intomycompany and leaked confidential information. I was referring to the fact you are a criminal.”

My mouth goes dry, realizing that my only hope is slipping through my fingers like fine sand. That hope picks up his suit jacket and starts to put it back on.

“Wait, I can help you find them.” I stand too, panic sending a fizz of adrenaline down to my toes.

“I don’t need your help. I’ll find them myself,” he says curtly, rebuttoning the jacket and turning away from me. I clutch at the edge of the table so hard my fingernails bend and smart with pain. His hand is on the door handle. It’s halfway down. The door hinge squeaks gently as it opens.

Think, Pepper.Think!

“Two factor authentication!” I project a garbled yell at his wide back, tripping over myself to get the words out quickly enough.

He stops, glancing over his shoulder at me.

“The email account that set up the sale, they used two factor authentication.” I lift my hands, to do what with I don’t know.

“The number linked to that email address was a burner phone,” he says coldly, but he doesn’t move.

A flicker of hope ignites in my chest, urging me on. “Yes, but they didn’t use that phone number as the second identification method to log in.” I raise my hands further, in a pacifying motion as if I’m a conductor and he’s a string quartet I’m trying to direct back into that damn chair. “They used a limited time code from a cell phone app.”

He doesn’t speak for a beat. And then another. A tingle sings down my spine as we remain deadlocked in each other’s gaze. “It makes no difference. The phone was a burner.”

I swallow rapidly, nodding. “Itdoes! Because the phone the app was downloaded onto was adifferentphone to the number linked to the email account and there is an address registered onthatphone service.”

Walker blinks, his focus zipping lightning fast around my face like a pinball in a machine, searching for something. His hand falls from the door handle and I almost moan with relief as the door begins to creep shut again, but I’m still not out of the woods.

“And what’s stopping me from walking out of here and using that information without helping you?”

My heart thunders in my chest. “You missed it,” I say quickly. “If you missed that, what else might you miss that I wouldn’t? Think what you want about me, but I’m good at this.”

A muscle striation flickers in the five o’clock shadow gracing his square jaw. I expect him to protest out of ego, perhaps demand I take it back, but he simply grunts and then turns away, flinging open the door again.