A Father's Sacrifice

Dylan propped a hip on the edge of her desk, way too close for comfort. His eyes blazed.

“Well, Agent Rudolph, you are good. I assume you’re old enough to be an FBI agent. What are you—twenty-five? Twenty-six.”

“I’m twenty-seven, and my name is Natasha.”

“How did you get to be the government’s best hacker-buster?”

She smiled wryly. “So you’re still not sure about me?”

His cheeks turned faintly pink. “It’s not that I question your ability—”

“You just question my ability,” she tossed back at him.

His long black lashes floated down for an instant, giving her his answer.

Normally, she couldn’t care less if some military type or stiff-necked suit doubted her expertise. But the fact that Dylan had reservations about her made her feel as if she had something to prove. She pushed that notion aside. She wasn’t here to impress him, just to do her job and get out as soon as possible.

“Let’s just say I had a lot of incentive,” she said wryly. Incentive. That was an understatement. Mitch Decker had saved her from going to prison for hacking into classified files. No matter that she’d been framed. Prison was prison. She owed a big debt to the U.S. government.

Dylan’s dark brows went up. “Incentive?”

She gnawed on her lower lip. His intensity was mesmerizing and a little frightening. When he looked at her, she felt as if she were the only person in his world. She dropped her gaze to her hands. She wasn’t answering any more questions.

“I need to contact Mitch and give him my equipment list. Until it gets here there’s not much I can do, unless you give me access to your program files.”

Dylan shook his head and stood.

“Look, Dr. Stryker. If I’m going to do my job—”

He broke in. “It’s almost midnight. You should be in bed.”

She tilted her head at him. “As you just pointed out, I’m well over twenty-one, all grown-up. I usually make my own decisions about bed.”

She hadn’t meant it to come out like that. To her dismay, she felt a flush rising from her neck to her cheeks.

The corner of his mouth turned up. He took a step backward and leaned against the door facing.

“Campbell’s working on the programming code right now. You should get a good night’s sleep and get started in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” she snapped, and came to her feet.

Even slouched wearily against the door facing, he commanded attention. His shirt strained over his biceps and lay gently against his well-defined abs.

He exuded strength, competence, and yes—obsession. Not to mention undeniable sexuality. She’d never been in the presence of anyone so physically compelling.

He gave her a quick nod, straightened and turned on his heel. “I assume you can find your way to your room, being so grown-up and all,” he said over his shoulder.

JERRY CAMPBELL yawned loudly and twisted his stringy hair back into its ponytail. He’d stared at screen after screen of computer code until he was cross-eyed. It was almost midnight. Dr. Stryker had told him to go to bed an hour ago. He was about ready to take that advice.

But first—he glanced through the glass walls of the virtual surgery lab, searching the halls and other offices, making sure no one was around. Typing briskly, he opened his e-mail account and composed a message, quickly attached a file and pressed Send. Then he began to shut down the computer.

THE WALLS WERE CLOSING IN. Little Tasha pushed against the car seat that pinned her. But she couldn’t move. She tried not to think about the blood, or why her mama and daddy wouldn’t talk to her.

A big boom shook the car. She shrieked. That one was louder than the first, the one that had smashed the front of the car.

She saw a flash of light, and then another boom rumbled through her. She couldn’t see! Couldn’t breathe!

Daddy!

Natasha sat up, gasping for air.

Her chest heaved as spasms racked her rigid muscles. Her mind crashed back into her body. She’d been dreaming. Again.

Where was she? Not in the car where her parents had died. Not buried under mountains of debris in a burned-out building.

She was inside Dylan Stryker’s secluded estate—in the windowless pitch-dark room. No wonder she’d dreamed of being trapped.

Quiet and safe. Plenty of fresh air. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

She kicked at the tangled sheets. She had to get out of there. She’d go sit under the skylight.

As she stood up, she heard something. It sounded as if it was just outside her door. Silently, she slipped her Glock from under her pillow and slid out of bed, gliding silently along the wall, listening. As she neared the door, she saw the knob slowly turn. The door swung open a few inches, until a pale night-light from the hall sent a long shadow across the floor near the foot of her bed.

Natasha flattened herself against the wall, her eyes glued to the hand on the knob. She braced herself, then grabbed the wrist with her left hand and yanked, aiming her weapon at the intruder’s neck.

“Don’t move,” she hissed, her heart hammering.

A deafening screech split the air. Natasha jerked and almost dropped her gun.

Sirens.

Shaking her head, gripping her gun until her hand ached, she shoved the intruder back through the door and against the wall of the hallway.

A small, feminine grunt reached her ears, almost drowned out by the earsplitting screech.

It was Charlene. Natasha flipped her around to face her, but she didn’t lower her gun. “What were you doing?”

Charlene’s eyes were wide with panic. “The sirens. I knew you wouldn’t know what they were. The first time I heard them I nearly jumped out of my skin.” She laughed nervously.

Natasha stared at the woman for a beat, and frowned. Had the sirens awoken her?

Just then, Ben’s door opened. Dylan came out, his hair tousled and his trousers wrinkled. He was shirtless and barefoot. He clutched his polo shirt in one hand and his loafers in the other. His sleepy eyes were too bright, burning with azure fire.

“Charlene, get in there with Ben. Natasha, go back to your room.” He dropped his shoes to the floor and slipped into them.

Charlene scooted around Natasha, past Dylan and through the door to Ben’s room.

“What’s happening?” Natasha yelled over the siren’s screech.

Dylan glared at her. He opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. She darted back inside her room for her gear. She grabbed her hiking boots, a black pullover and her leather fanny pack.

As she stepped back into the hall, the sirens finally decreased in volume and faded.

Dylan hadn’t bothered to wait for her. He’d already reached the end of the hall.

She stuffed her weapon into the fanny pack along with her badge and the pass code generator, then hopped on one foot at a time as she pulled on her boots. She caught up to him when he paused to put on his shirt.

His bare, shadowed shoulders rippled and gleamed in the low light as he tugged the polo shirt over his head.

It was impossible to ignore the yearning that had taken root inside her when he’d appeared without his shirt—the yearning to touch his hot, smooth skin.

She didn’t like the way he affected her. It was distracting—and dangerous.

“What are those sirens?” she asked.

He vaulted down the stairs. She was right behind him. “Security breach.”

“Breach? Where?”

“This way. The west side.” Dylan opened the exit door at the foot of the stairs. Campbell burst into the stairwell from the lab.

“What are you doing still down here?” Dylan frowned at his bioengineer. Campbell looked as though he’d been in a tussle. His long hair was tangled and loose around his face. He pushed it back with hands that shook.

“I was shutting down the computers when the sirens went off. Scared the crap out of me.”

“It’s after four. I thought you were going to bed hours ago.”

Dylan held the exit door for Campbell and Natasha. As she passed him, she met his gaze with a narrow, questioning look. Was she also wondering why Campbell looked as though he’d just crawled through a fence?

“I lost track of time,” Campbell said. “Where’s the breach?”

“Spotlights,” Natasha said, pointing west. She took off toward them at a jog.

Dylan made sure the exit door was closed securely, and then he caught up with her. Campbell followed more slowly.

Abruptly, the sirens stopped, leaving his ears ringing.

Natasha’s long blond hair swung around her shoulders as she settled into a graceful loping stride. Her buttocks and legs were slender, but powerful. Dylan hung back, watching her for a moment before he sped up enough to match her pace.

“Have you talked to Mintz?” she tossed over her shoulder.

“Not yet. The sirens go off whenever any significant weight is put on the fence. Usually they only last a few seconds.”

“How’d you know where it was?” She matched her speech pattern to her pace.

Dylan ran alongside her, impressed that she wasn’t huffing. She was in damned good shape.

“The sirens have a different repeat for each area.”

“Run through them for me.”

Dylan recited the litany. “And the front gate is a solid whine. It’s the most vulnerable, since it’s closest to the main house. I’ll have Alfred give you a sheet listing them all.”

“That’s okay. I’ve got them. Thanks.” She glanced behind her. “Campbell works 24-7?”

Dylan took a quick look back. “He’s almost as anxious as I am to get the interface perfected.”

“I doubt that.”

“He’s talented and loyal.”

“Yeah? If you say so. Not in very good condition, though.” Dylan smiled, hearing Campbell’s labored breathing behind them. “Sitting in front of a computer all day will do that.”

She sent him a sidelong glance, and then suddenly put out her arm and stopped him. “Hold it.”

“What?” They were about fifty feet away from the fence.

“Campbell, stop,” she tossed back over her shoulder as she unzipped her fanny pack and drew her weapon.

“Natasha, there’s no reason to—”

She gestured with her head. “Just wait here.”

Dylan blew out an exasperated sigh. He saw Alfred on the other side of the fence, talking with two of his security guards and two men he didn’t recognize.

“What’s going on?” Campbell huffed.

“She said to wait.”

Natasha approached the fence on the balls of her feet, her weapon ready. Dylan couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was graceful, strong and confident. Her pale hair shone like the moon in the darkness of predawn.

“Damn, she is so hot,” Campbell whispered. “Who’d have thought an FBI agent could look like that?”

Who indeed? Dylan nodded to himself. Hot wasn’t the word he’d use. Cool was more like it. Cool and beautiful, but with a deep undercurrent he couldn’t identify. A steel core lurked behind that beautiful skin. A barrier or a firewall? he wondered.

Still, he couldn’t deny the heat that surged through him as he watched her run. His reaction to her surprised him. He hadn’t felt anything close to a sexual urge in a long, long time.

She turned and gestured for them to come forward.

Dylan stalked up beside her and bent his head near her ear. Her hair teased his nose. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had a breach, you know.”

She stiffened and her chin went up a fraction. “Of course not. I apologize, sir.”

“Don’t. You were only doing your job.”

“Not according to your chief of security. He thinks I should stick to the computers.”

“Alfred is very territorial.”

“That would be an understatement—sir.”

Dylan smiled. He took in her profile—her small determined chin, her willowy neck, the slight upward tilt of her nose.

“Dylan.”

It was Alfred. Dylan stepped up to the fence. “What happened? Did you catch him?”

With a brisk nod Alfred passed a business card through the wire.

Dylan read the information on the card with disgust, then stuck it in his pocket. “A reporter, naturally. Get him out of here.”

Alfred motioned to the two official-looking strangers. “These are the two FBI agents assigned to help us with physical security.” Alfred’s voice was carefully bland. He wasn’t happy about the help.

Dylan turned to Natasha. “You know these guys?”

She nodded stiffly. “One of them.”

“Introduce me.”

She stepped forward just as the men approached.

The dark-haired man walked up to the fence. “Ray Storm.” He touched the brim of his baseball cap.

“Special Agent Storm,” Dylan said. “Thanks for being here.” Storm had the chiseled features and distinct coloring of a Native American.

The second man stepped up. He was taller and bulkier than Storm with the kind of pretty-boy face that had probably gotten him in a lot of trouble in high school.

“This is Special Agent Daniel Gambrini,” Storm said.

“Dr. Stryker,” Gambrini acknowledged him.

Dylan nodded. “Thanks.”

Storm stepped to one side and motioned to Natasha.

Dylan watched them while Alfred described the damage to the fence. Thank God it was minimal.

“Hey, Nat, you doing okay?” Storm said.

Natasha nodded and said something Dylan didn’t catch. Then Storm motioned Gambrini over and introduced him to Natasha.

As the agents headed back toward Alfred, Dylan turned his back on the fence. “Another damned reporter,” he said to Campbell, who had hung back out of the way. “Get back to the house. You need to get some sleep.”

Campbell nodded eagerly and headed toward the house.

“Natasha, you can grab another couple of hours, too.”

She didn’t move or comment.

He walked past her. “You want to walk with me?”

She glanced at Alfred, who’d just been handed a camera by one of the security guards, then at her fellow agents. She still held her Glock in both hands and stood perfectly balanced, ready for anything. She obviously took every aspect of her job very seriously.

Dylan realized that made her extremely attractive to him.

Dawn was breaking, and the world had turned that colorless gray that made it hard to distinguish light from shadow. Yet her hair still blazed pale gold.

“You didn’t know the second agent?”

She shook her head. “He just transferred in. Took the place of an agent who recently resigned to work in a detective agency with his wife.”

“But you know Agent Storm?”

She sent him a sidelong glance. “Storm? Best undercover man in the Bureau. You can depend on him.” She glanced over her shoulder. “What’s going to happen to that reporter?”

“Alfred will threaten him with prosecution and he’ll back off. Like I said, this happens occasionally.”

She put her weapon away and looked across the lawn toward the house. “A whole lot of money went into designing this place to be totally hidden. How often is occasionally?”

“Every few months or so. It’s impossible to remain totally hidden. This time of the year it’s worse. Next week is the third anniversary of my wife’s death.” The words still felt raw in his throat.

“And your son’s, as far as the media knows. Right?”

Dylan heard the edge in her voice. She sounded like Alfred. He frowned. “It was the only way I could keep him safe.” Not willing to listen to any recriminations, he headed back toward the house. Natasha fell into step beside him.

“Why not let NSA set you up in a secure facility?”

Dylan rounded on her. “What do you know about the NSA’s idea of a secure facility?”

“A little, but—”

“They were kind enough to give me a tour of one that’s based—well, nearby. Its first level is fifty feet underground.”

Natasha’s eyes widened.

“My lab would have been on the third level down. The day-care center and the living quarters were on the fourth level. NSA offered me two choices. Ben could stay there with me, or he could be placed with strangers under a fake name until I finished their damn project.” The idea still sent nausea clawing up from his gut.

“I can’t bear to let him out of my sight. He wouldn’t understand. He’d think I’d abandoned him.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “And I couldn’t bury him under fifty feet of rock and dirt, either.”

“No—of course not.” Her voice sounded strangled. “So you offered them a third choice.” She cut her eyes at him then back to the ground in front of them.

What was the matter with her? Dylan’s defenses rose immediately. Did she disapprove of his choice? Ben was his son—and he was protecting him in the best way he knew how. “That’s right. If they wanted their precious supersoldier, they’d give me what I wanted.”

“So they set up this fortress for you, and now you believe Ben is safe.” She pressed her lips together in a thin line and wrapped her arms around her middle.

Dylan stared at her. Whatever was hidden under her cool exterior, it was exposed now. She looked haunted. He could understand her being upset about Ben being confined to this place. He hated it, too. But her reaction was out of proportion.

“We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it was safe. Protecting my child is my first priority.”

She didn’t look at him. Instead she turned her head and looked at the house. An almost unnoticeable shudder rippled through her.

“Ben is happy here,” he said defensively. “He has the run of the entire house. He has his own camouflaged, secure play area with a wading pool and sandboxes and specially 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.”