Page 8 of Fully Loaded

Brock cleared his throat. Heat crawled up his neck. God, did he sound pathetic? He rubbed his earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah, well. She swore me to secrecy and I knew she needed help.” He closed his eyes. Yup, it didn’t get more hung-up sounding than that.

“If you run into any trouble, give Rhett a call.”

“The FBI agent?” The question was moot. He’d met Rhett a few times, most recently after Dani’s kidnapping. Brock had been in no state to make friends at that point, but Rhett had seemed like a straight shooter and had helped Milo on more than one occasion.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy. If there’s anything he can do from his end, I’m sure he will. I’ll text you his number.”

“All right, thanks.”

“No problem. Keep me posted. For now, I won’t tell Serena, but she’ll be pissed when she finds out.”

Brock almost snickered. Serena would probably tear him a new asshole for keeping this from her, but it was the best option. At least Milo was in the loop—if things turned south, they’d have someone to call.

As he boarded his flight, he thought about calling Dani to give her a heads-up he was on his way. He grimaced. Nah, he didn’t need a head start on a fight. By the time he got to the villa it’d be after 3:00 a.m. and she’d be asleep.

Asleep half-naked. He used to love tumbling into the sheets and snuggling up to her warm, luscious ass. He groaned and adjusted his pants before buckling his seatbelt. Getting cozy with Dani wasn’t going to happen. Even if he put it out there, she’d shoot it down faster than a Korean missile.

Nope. Sex with Dani was out of the question.

Dani stared at the whishing fan on the ceiling. Each rotation flicked a shadow over the box of moonlight shining through the window. Every bone in her body ached with exhaustion, yet she couldn’t sleep. She’d put the fan on in hopes the sound would drown out all the noises her imagination conjured.

Bioterrorism.

Good god. Of all the things she’d been involved with in her life, this topped the charts. Stealing diamonds and cash from criminals paled in comparison against being an international terrorist. Maybe Serena was right—maybe it was time for her to get out and make an honest living. If she survived long enough to make it back to California, she just might do that.

She flipped the covers back and turned the lamp on. The flash drive was burning a hole in her yoga pants. That’s what was keeping her awake—the urge to discover its contents. She pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d been given direct orders not to open the files or copy them. Lord, if she’d known when she wandered into Ubrigg’s office pretending to be a member of the press that she was making herself an accomplice in an act of bioterrorism, she would have been shaking. Actually, she wouldn’t have accepted the job in the first place.

But, two days ago, she’d sauntered into his building with a fake badge, snuck down the hall when the receptionist disappeared, and loitered at the coffee station until Ubrigg left for his 10:00 a.m. meeting right on schedule. She’d slipped into his office, used the password Sven had provided, and copied all twelve files from the folder SUB99.

And all that had circled around her half-functioning brain that morning was the thought that it had been the easiest two hundred and fifty grand she’d ever made. Man had she been wrong.

She stood and made her way to the kitchen, keeping the lights off. The moonlight filtering in through the picture window in the open-concept living room was enough. If she made the space too bright, she’d never get to sleep. She switched on the dim undermount cabinet lights, grabbed a ceramic mug from the cabinet, and turned the kettle on. She prepared a cup of tea and added some raw honey from the pantry before wandering to the window overlooking Lake Geneva.

Her gaze drifted from the water’s shimmering ripples to the office off the living room. The manager had left a note giving her permission to use the computer. It would take only minutes to peel open the files and figure out what the hell she was involved in.

She closed her eyes and pivoted back to the window. No.

If she were smart, she’d call the authorities and turn herself in. But doing so would land her ass in a European prison. She thought back to the international cases she’d heard about in the news. Sometimes innocent people were jailed for years. Her best bet was to get the hell out of Switzerland. Maybe if she mailed the device to police headquarters she could?—

A shadow flickered in the reflection of the glass. The hairs on the back of her neck jolted to life and her body turned to stone. Her fingers choked the mug’s smooth handle.

She was paranoid. Overtired.

Thinking she heard the gentle whisper of leather on hardwood, she whipped around. Tea splashed over the edge of the mug, burning her knuckles.

She drank in one erratic breath after another as she scanned the living room’s shadows. Nothing. She turned in a semicircle and drifted toward the kitchen. Was she losing it? Paranoid, definitely, but had she gone insane too?

A black-covered arm and white latex glove swept in front of her face. She let out a scream and yanked her feet from the floor to run. The arm jerked back, and something slithered around her throat. Her head snapped back and a gurgle of air and saliva popped through her lips. Paralyzing pain seared her throat. Her knees buckled under the force of her attacker’s pull, but the wall of his stomach stopped her from hitting the floor. Panic burned through her, leaving ice in its wake. Hot breath puffed against her ear, but the words didn’t penetrate the fog closing in around her.

She fisted her hands around the rope at her neck, desperately squeezing her fingers between the abrasive material and her jugular. She sucked in air wildly, but only a scant amount reached her lungs.

“Give me the fucking data!” His words beat against her eardrum. He twisted the rope, making her fingers numb.

Her cheeks warmed and the veins in her neck and temples threatened to burst. Her body jerked, desperate for oxygen.

“You’ve got one chance,” he barked. Spit hit the skin near her ear and she cringed. He loosened the rope and all the blood that had been trapped above her shoulders rushed back to her heart. She dropped her hands on the back of the couch for support and greedily gulped in air.

“Go,” he commanded.