secret?”
“High-class call girls.” Steve said. “In Thailand, Hong Kong, Japan.”
I let out a low whistle. “So that’s why he’s so determined to get into the Japanese market.” I paused, thinking, “His office manager said the documents you copied were Mr. Briggs’s tax returns. She was lying.”
He nodded. “I found company bank transactions from years ago, but they weren’t much help. Not surprising. Briggs is a new player in the game. No doubt the woman is privy to his dirty dealings, making me suspect Briggs keeps what I’m looking for hidden in encrypted computer files.”
“Can’t you get a search warrant and seize his financial records?” I asked.
He shook his head, frowning. “It’s not that easy.”
“Really?” I couldn’t imagine the FBI having to ask for permission to do anything.
“Not since a federal judge handed down a decision against keeping NSLs secret—”
“What’s that?” I asked, curious to find an acronym I didn’t know in this world of OMG, LOL and RAT. Remote Access Tools. A bored programmer’s fave pastime. Watching unsuspecting computer users doing weird things on their webcam, often sexual in nature. Not me. I preferred my fantasies in the flesh.
Like now.
I reveled in all this spy talk. Wishing we were two agents talking shop.
“NSLs are national security letters,” Steve said, “where the Bureau collects private information on a target, like financial and phone records.” He explained the Bureau found its hands tied with the recent crackdown on issuing such letters. “This operation will be put on ice for years if we can’t gather the evidence we need to build a case against him.”
I wiggled my fanny, knowing I had a secret.
“Not if I can help you get it.”
* * *
A dark, moonless night hid us as we sneaked around the back of the old Victorian house, better known as my former place of employment. I got a cheap thrill up my backside when I showed Steve how to slip through the secret door and his groin nudged my butt cheeks. Even through my sturdy jeans I could feel his rock-hard erection.
Dream on.
Hey, a girl has to take what she can get. All through college, I spent my nights reading a handbook on string-searching algorithms instead of sporting a G-string. I never regretted it until now. I knew nothing about hotness, how to figure into that sexual equation of boy-beds-girl and thereby discover my self-worth. I always thought working hard and using your brain were all you needed to succeed in the corporate world.
Look where it got me.
No doubt I was now on the FBI’s watch list, though Steve assured me no charges would be filed against me if I cooperated with the investigation. That part was cool. What sent my sex-o-meter into a nosedive was that after our heart-to-heart, my new BF was all business. No head rubbing, no shoulder touching.
Nothing.
I kept my hands to myself. Had to. I was on a mission to clear my name and if hacking—I mean looking for a security hole in the company’s computer, Steve’s words, not mine—got the job done, then I was up for it.
Lucky for us, the guard was on foot patrol on the other side of the building. Most likely smoking his favorite blend by the smell of it.
Giving us time to get inside.
“Be careful,” I warned Steve, bending low. “We might not be alone.” I was fearful he might trample a plump, happy cat, snoozing near the door, with his heavy black boots. To my surprise, the kitty was nowhere to be seen except for a series of paw prints tracked inside the house. My heart skipped a beat, hoping nothing had happened to her. The tawny feline was the only one I could trust at my old job.
Steve cut through the narrow passage opposite from the phony window where we’d entered. “Where does that lead?” he asked.
“To the main reception area.”
“Then what? I need to get into Briggs’s computer.”
“Not his computer. His office manager’s.” I told him about the companies I’d
“High-class call girls.” Steve said. “In Thailand, Hong Kong, Japan.”
I let out a low whistle. “So that’s why he’s so determined to get into the Japanese market.” I paused, thinking, “His office manager said the documents you copied were Mr. Briggs’s tax returns. She was lying.”
He nodded. “I found company bank transactions from years ago, but they weren’t much help. Not surprising. Briggs is a new player in the game. No doubt the woman is privy to his dirty dealings, making me suspect Briggs keeps what I’m looking for hidden in encrypted computer files.”
“Can’t you get a search warrant and seize his financial records?” I asked.
He shook his head, frowning. “It’s not that easy.”
“Really?” I couldn’t imagine the FBI having to ask for permission to do anything.
“Not since a federal judge handed down a decision against keeping NSLs secret—”
“What’s that?” I asked, curious to find an acronym I didn’t know in this world of OMG, LOL and RAT. Remote Access Tools. A bored programmer’s fave pastime. Watching unsuspecting computer users doing weird things on their webcam, often sexual in nature. Not me. I preferred my fantasies in the flesh.
Like now.
I reveled in all this spy talk. Wishing we were two agents talking shop.
“NSLs are national security letters,” Steve said, “where the Bureau collects private information on a target, like financial and phone records.” He explained the Bureau found its hands tied with the recent crackdown on issuing such letters. “This operation will be put on ice for years if we can’t gather the evidence we need to build a case against him.”
I wiggled my fanny, knowing I had a secret.
“Not if I can help you get it.”
* * *
A dark, moonless night hid us as we sneaked around the back of the old Victorian house, better known as my former place of employment. I got a cheap thrill up my backside when I showed Steve how to slip through the secret door and his groin nudged my butt cheeks. Even through my sturdy jeans I could feel his rock-hard erection.
Dream on.
Hey, a girl has to take what she can get. All through college, I spent my nights reading a handbook on string-searching algorithms instead of sporting a G-string. I never regretted it until now. I knew nothing about hotness, how to figure into that sexual equation of boy-beds-girl and thereby discover my self-worth. I always thought working hard and using your brain were all you needed to succeed in the corporate world.
Look where it got me.
No doubt I was now on the FBI’s watch list, though Steve assured me no charges would be filed against me if I cooperated with the investigation. That part was cool. What sent my sex-o-meter into a nosedive was that after our heart-to-heart, my new BF was all business. No head rubbing, no shoulder touching.
Nothing.
I kept my hands to myself. Had to. I was on a mission to clear my name and if hacking—I mean looking for a security hole in the company’s computer, Steve’s words, not mine—got the job done, then I was up for it.
Lucky for us, the guard was on foot patrol on the other side of the building. Most likely smoking his favorite blend by the smell of it.
Giving us time to get inside.
“Be careful,” I warned Steve, bending low. “We might not be alone.” I was fearful he might trample a plump, happy cat, snoozing near the door, with his heavy black boots. To my surprise, the kitty was nowhere to be seen except for a series of paw prints tracked inside the house. My heart skipped a beat, hoping nothing had happened to her. The tawny feline was the only one I could trust at my old job.
Steve cut through the narrow passage opposite from the phony window where we’d entered. “Where does that lead?” he asked.
“To the main reception area.”
“Then what? I need to get into Briggs’s computer.”
“Not his computer. His office manager’s.” I told him about the companies I’d
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