Page 67 of Untamed Sinner

“There are traces,” the man continues. “Fragments mostly. But nothing that gives me a clean identification. Either she’s managed to live almost completely outside the system or somebody made sure the system forgot her.”

The last of my post-orgasm haze disappears. I know something about disappearing. Doing it this thoroughly takes more than skill. It takes money.

But the real question is why was she hidden? And who did it—someone trying to protect her or someone wanting to erase her?

“I’m sending you the full search,” the guy continues. “Parameters, rejected matches, partials, everything. Maybe you’ll see something I didn’t.”

Hendricks’s fingers move absently against my hip. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. I found a memory card hidden in the notebook.”

Hendricks and I look at each other. “Hidden where?” he asks.

“Inside the back cover. There’s a pocket cut into the binding. You wouldn’t know it was there unless you were looking for it.”

“Did you open it?”

“Made an image first, then opened the copy. No malware. The original is untouched.”

Of course Hendricks has people who make forensic copies of memory cards before opening them. Why is competence so fucking hot? I rub myself against him.

He grips my ass, holding me in place, but his cock is already hardening. “What’s on it?”

I smirk at the little bit of gravel in his voice, and he squeezes my ass in warning.

“That’s the interesting part,” the contact says, oblivious. “Photos. Documents. A few encrypted files I haven’t cracked yet. I’m uploading the accessible material to your secure server now.”

Hendricks sits up, taking me with him. “How long on the encrypted files?”

“Give me a few hours.”

“You have one.”

A sigh comes through the speaker. “Nice talking to you too.”

Hendricks ends the call.

A second later, his phone chimes, and a notification flashes on his screen: FILES RECEIVED.

He smacks my ass. “Get dressed.”

I get off his lap, watching him grab a pair of sweatpants out of a dresser. He pulls them up, right over his hard cock.

Apparently, saving lives requires pants. Tragic. I pout as I reach for his T-shirt.

54

HENDRICKS

Ilead Mandy down the reinforced stairwell, my hand at the small of her back. She's wearing my T-shirt again—and nothing else.

My cock pulses at the thought of her bare under the shirt. Apparently, being buried in her for hours wasn’t enough.

Focus, Hendricks.

At the bottom, I stop in front of her to punch in the eight-digit code and press my thumb to the biometric scanner. The vault door releases with a pneumatic hiss.

"Jesus." Mandy puts her hand on my back and tries to look over my shoulder. "You've been holding out on me."