Code Name - Hacker (Jameson Force Security 4)

Staying at Dozer’s, however, was not an option as a Russian mobster and cybercriminal wants me dead. Although there are no indications Bogachev thinks I’m still alive, no one wants to take any chances. Thus, Dozer dropped Brutus off with two days’ worth of food and treats, as well as poop bags and sincere apologies we’d have to pick up his shit when we walked him.

Well… when Griffin walked him. He gallantly offered to do it, also preferring to keep me safe behind Jameson doors.

“Who’s the goodest little pupper ever?” Griff exclaims in a baby voice to Brutus, who bounces around his ankles over the attention. “Who went poopy and pee-pee like a good little boy?”

I stare at Griff, blinking over his antics. He sheepishly grins at me.

“What?” he asks.

Shaking my head, I turn back to emptying the dishwasher. “There are many attractive things about you. Your build. Your brawn. Your long hair and tatts. You’re a total badass on your Harley. But you talking to that little dog like that pretty much ensures you’re not going to get laid tonight.”

Griff snorts as he unclips the leash from Brutus’ collar. The little dog runs over to the couch, then makes quite the athletic leap onto the cushions. He spins around three times, plops down, and puts his head on his paws before shutting his eyes.

“Laugh all you want,” he says with a somber nod. “But that dog practically pees and poops on command if you talk to him that way. Dozer trained him well.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Knowing Dozer, he probably read a dozen research articles on house training dogs, developed his own protocol, conducted experiments, and solidified the ‘baby talk’ method.”

“He should patent it,” Griff remarks as he stands on the other side of the small kitchen counter that separates the kitchen and living area. While the apartments Kynan had built on the fourth floor are luxuriously appointed with crown molding, hardwood floors, and high-end fixtures, they are small and efficiently spaced.

I continue to unload the dishwasher, intent on stacking it with our breakfast dishes. Griff treated me to homemade French toast after we woke up this morning, so the least I can do is clean.

“I want to get Aaron a dog,” I say as I place our coffee cups in the top rack. “I think kids should have animals, and well… it just seems he should have a dog.”

“I had dogs growing up. The type that could go hiking over the farm and roughhouse with me. I wouldn’t recommend a dog like Brutus for Aaron. Maybe a Golden Retriever or something.”

I put the last of the silverware in the basket, then close up the dishwasher. Wiping my hands on a hand towel, I admit, “I just want his childhood to be the best, you know? I have so much to make up for.”

Griff bends over the counter, resting his forearms on the granite and clasping his hands. His eyes hold mine with warm empathy. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

I move directly opposite him. “Sure.”

“Why did you do it? Why get messed up with Bogachev?”

His tone holds no recrimination. He appears genuinely curious, as if he’s trying to place the last few pieces of a puzzle.

“It was easy money,” I reply with a slight shrug. “It was as simple as that. I was a struggling student with a baby and a disabled mother with diabetes. And at first, it was just enough money to keep food on the table and pay my tuition. But then the jobs got more complex and the money got better. I was hacking corporations, so I never felt like I was hurting people. It was a terrible illusion I’d let myself believe, and I just got deeper and deeper.”

“You were too good at what you did,” he guesses. “They weren’t going to let you out.”

Because, yes. That’s the other element as to why I got in so deep. “Bogachev noticed me… my work. By the time I realized just how dangerous he was, I was in far too deep to get out by merely declining to work for him. I was so stupid.”

“You were so young, Bebe,” Griff says, the compassion in his voice settling over me like a warm blanket. It took me a long time not to immediately discount such empathy.

I shrug again, nabbing the hand towel to wipe off nonexistent crumbs from the counter.

“And brave,” Griff continues. His words startle me, and I snap my eyes up to lock with his.

“Brave?”

“I read your file,” he says without apology. “Kynan filled me in on some of it. Bogachev forced you to steal nuclear codes, and you couldn’t put your country at risk. You got yourself caught, so the codes would stay safe.”

“And Aaron.” I give him a weak smile. “I kept my mouth shut and went to prison to keep Aaron safe.”