He called Romero next, inquiring about PaulVer. No surprise that the kid knew of and admired the notorious hacker. Romero validated PaulVer’s expertise, saying that if anyone could break into the Romanian mafia, it was the Romanian hacker known as PaulVer Rize.
The final phone call was to Trace, the conversation terse and to the point as always. He checked in with Trace several times a year, but he never asked for anything. So his request had taken his friend by surprise.
“I need a favor.”
“Are you in danger?”
“No more than usual. I need you and Danni to go to the lakehouse.”
“Are we in danger?”
“No. But this is important. I’ll explain everything when I arrive in two days.”
“I’m not agreeing to this.”
“Yes, you are. This is connected to Thurney Bridge, but bigger. I haven’t asked anything of you in eight years. I’m asking for a week of your time. Danni’s time, actually. I need her to teach someone how to dance.”
“Who?”
“A woman.”
“Is she your woman?”
“In every way.”
“Well, fuck. Now you have my attention.”
“Don’t be a dick. Just be there.”
“We’ll be there.”
“It’s officially Christmas morning.” Lydia twisted her fingers in his hair, playing with the messy spikes. “Merry Christmas.”
“You need to sleep. We have a lot of planning to do today.”
“I’m all hyped up on adrenaline.”
“And candy.”
“And sex.”
He gripped her waist and tucked her in close. “I can fuck you into a coma.”
She groaned against his chest. “Definitely need a rain check on that.”
His thoughts flitted to the plan with the hacker, sparking a question he was meaning to ask. “Any theories on why he uses Easter eggs as his calling card?”
“Easter is a big holiday in Romania, and they love their hand-painted eggs. They empty the eggs and paint the shells, creating these fragile little artistic masterpieces. It could also have something to do with the Easter eggs used in computing and video games. You know, the hidden messages and secret responses that programmers love to sneak in? It’s like this guy wants to leave a mysterious trail, hoping someone will take the time to find him.”
“We’ll find him. The question is, will he help us? I assume he’s motivated by money? How did you plan on paying him?”
“Is it that obvious that I’m broke?”
“I’ve been watching you for a long time. I assumed your money was running out.”
“Oh, it ran out. That’s why we came back to Ireland. We decided to sell this house and use the money to keep going until we finish.”
“Don’t sell it. I’m funding this venture going forward.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t, and I’m doing it.” He ran his hand through her hair, thinking through the logistics. “How much does a hacker like PaulVer charge for one of these heists?”
“PaulVer doesn’t charge anything. He’s already filthy rich. If the job interests him, he’ll do it pro bono. And trust me, the job will interest him. There’s nothing these black-hat hackers love more than sticking it to the man, especially if the man is a greedy, corrupt, self-serving politician.”
They talked a little longer about the hacker. Then they drifted into stories about their tattoos, explaining how each one came about and the meaning behind them.
As she fell asleep in his arms, he felt untroubled, clearheaded, and happier than he ever remembered being. She rejuvenated his soul, elevated his spirit, and gave him a new reason to fight. It might be cold and dark in this tiny room, but there was beauty in it, inspiration, and a promising future.
She was all those things, and he was so damn glad he’d taken the risk.
Cole woke Christmas morning with a hard-on. Nothing unusual about that. What had changed, however, was the soft, warm body rubbing up against it.
Lydia stretched with a lazy, drawn-out hum in her throat. Her colorfully inked arms reached overhead, her sweet ass shimmying and shaking as she extended her body to its full length.
She did all this in the cage of his arms. Then, in one fluid motion, she turned so that she was astride him, wearing nothing but a beaming smile.
“Good morning.” He smiled back, spellbound by her beauty.
“Nothing says good morning like morning wood.” She rocked her hips, teasing her pussy along his rigid length.
Her hair, wildly tangled and gloriously red, tumbled down her chest, inviting him to twine it around his fingers and pull her down for a kiss.
With a nudge of her jaw, she flicked her tongue along the seam of his lips, urging him to play.
He pinched her nipple hard and chased the gasp inside her mouth. Then he chased her hot little tongue. They kissed slowly, languidly, in a greeting of sighs with no expectation beyond the pleasure of closeness.
Leaning up, she took her lower lip between her teeth and dipped her chin to her chest. “Other than my brother, who doesn’t count, I’ve never woken beside a man.” She snapped her head up, eyes wide. Then she scrambled out of bed in a sudden burst of energy. “Where is he?”
“Who? Mike?”
“Yeah. He should’ve called.” She yanked the curtain aside, spilling light into the room, and searched the worn carpet. “Where’s my phone?”
He followed her out of bed and dragged on his jeans, the quickening of his pulse feeding off hers.
“Here.” He spotted it on the floor beside the nightstand, where he must’ve knocked it off last night.
He tossed it to her, waiting as she unlocked the screen.
“No missed calls. Dammit, Mike.” She dialed and held the phone to her ear while sliding on her silk robe. “Voicemail.” Her brows knitted together as she left a message. “Come home. You’re worrying me.” She disconnected and dropped her arms to her sides. “He should’ve returned by now.”
“You said he was getting laid.” He yanked on his shirt, keeping his voice calm despite the shiver in his veins.
“I know, but it’s Christmas.” She turned and faced the window, her hair falling in rampant waves of red down her back.
Gray, watery light washed the sky, illuminating thin patches of ice on the house behind hers.
“I’ll go look for him.” He pulled on his boots and strode out of the bedroom. “Do you know where he went?”
“No, but he wouldn’t have gone far.” She followed him into the kitchen. “Somewhere on foot. He doesn’t have a car or money for transportation.”
He found his jacket and beanie on the floor and pulled them on. The gun sat securely in the coat pocket. He left it there, not wanting to alarm her.
“It’s not a good idea for you to walk out of this house in the daylight.” She stepped toward the window that faced the street and eased back the curtain. “If Vincent’s men are watching…” She gasped, squinting at something outside. “What…is…? Oh, my God, that’s blood.”