ten years working on the FBI’s Computer Crime Task Force. Fresh out of grad school at the green age of twenty-three, he’d worked his way up through the ranks. But even so, it would have been another few years before anything like this would have been handed to him at the federal level, if ever.
He’d lived his job. It had cost him friends. It had cost him his marriage. It was also the one thing in his life he was good at and it was his number one priority. His dedication had paid off, if not personally then professionally.
He’d jumped at the chance to create his own investigation team, even though it was a small team in a small department in a medium-size city. Norfolk, the site of the largest Navy base in the United States, had a huge government presence.
Local businesses and citizens were suffering increasing financial losses due to a spike in the number of computer crimes. These were situations street cops and even detectives weren’t normally trained to handle, so computer-crime labs were being set up in cities all over the country these days, and Norfolk had finally found room in the budget to do likewise.
And thanks to Marty Constantine, Ian had been asked to get the project off the ground. Hopefully it would keep him in one place for a while. Working for the federal government had him chasing felons all over the map. Where trouble went, so went the FBI.
In his new position as team leader he might even see his own bed for more than a few nights a month. With any luck, maybe he’d find someone to share it once in a while. Women weren’t exactly interested in someone who worked long hours, was gone at the drop of a hat and didn’t know when he would be back.
“Hard to say. Could be within the month, or within the week.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Lots of applicants, but only a few stood out. I’m looking for a certain kind of person—expert, flexible, experienced. Since it’s a small team, I need people with some chops.”
“It’s up to you, but this is a pretty high-profile project. Taxpayers’ money and all that. Let’s make sure it works.”
“It’ll work.”
Marty nodded. “Things tied up at the agency yet? No pressure—we appreciate you coming in and getting started here a little sooner than scheduled.”
“No problem, Mart. I have a few things left to finish. Shouldn’t be a big deal.”
“Like what?”
“You remember the LadyBug case?”
“Of course—it was one of the first big feathers in your cap, bringing her in. Sage Matthews. How’s she doing? I still remember the pictures from the news. Man, she was a hot one, huh? Even looked good in handcuffs.”
Ian sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. “She’s at the end of her sentence. Her release hearing is next week, so I’m just finishing up on that. One more trip to court and I’ll send her on her way, fill out some paperwork with the agency, then I’m all yours.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to meeting the new team members when you have them lined up.”
“I have someone coming in any minute now.”
“Who is he?”
“She. Sarah T. Jessup. She’s driving down from New York for the interview. We’ve used her from time to time as a freelance consultant.”
“Otherwise meaning an informant?” Ian could detect the skepticism in Marty’s voice—informants were not exactly the cream of the crop in police circles—but Sarah was operating on a different level.
“A good one. She’s offered us first-rate information over the years with no expectation of compensation or recognition. She has managed to dig out things on the Net that we wouldn’t have found, she can go places we can’t. She’s been…useful.”
“Is she cute?”
Ian sent a disparaging look in Marty’s direction. “This is a job interview for HotWires, Marty, not a dating service. Try to drag yourself up into the twenty-first century. Besides, I have no idea if she’s cute or not—we’ve only communicated online and over the phone.”
“Hey, I’m just thinking good thoughts for you, buddy. The national statistics say the median age for a second marriage is thirty-four. At thirty-three and counting, you are ripe for the plucking, the way I see it.”
Marty grinned, clearly knowing he was pushing Ian’s buttons and appearing to be thoroughly enjoying it. Ian stemmed his gut-level response, keeping his buttons in check.
“Statistics lie. I have no plans to rush into remarrying.”
“Rush? Um, yeah, it’s been a little more than five years since the divorce, bud. You’re a real wild man with the rushing. National stats say that most men remarry within four years—”
“Marty—”
“I’m just saying. Maybe Sarah T. Jessup will be the one to make you a statistically viable member of society again.”
Ian shook his head and took a long drink of water. He had no intention of gracing that comment with a response. Sarah Jessup could look like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, but as far as Ian was concerned it made no difference—work and sex never mixed. All he cared about was how good she was at her job.
He was curious about her, though. Using the online name TigerLily, she had a reputation as a major computer junkie—a hacker in the most positive sense of the term. Not all hackers were criminals. In fact, the major proportion of people who called themselves hackers were upstanding citizens. Criminal hackers took otherwise creative and essential computer skills and used them recklessly to do harm or for their own gain.
Then there were hackers, like Sage and her friend Locke, who called themselves “hacktivists”—hackers who used destructive hacking methods as a form of social protest, attacking the computer systems of multinational corporations and major polluters and the like.
Unfortunately the attacks these groups waged often ended up hurting a wider spectrum of people than the organizations they targeted. Hacktivists were still often criminal hackers, as Ian saw it—you couldn’t start letting politics be an excuse for committing crimes.
Sarah was an example of a legal hacker, someone who was just damned talented with a computer and who had no intention of breaking the law. She had become a self-appointed informant for the feds, tracking down Internet porn rings in her spare time, sending Ian what she found. It was a weird hobby, but the info she’d shared had led to several busts.
Ian knew that Sarah had an incomplete college degree and no formal police training, but those things could be dealt with. She had several part-time jobs, lived in a low-cost apartment in the city. He was willing to bet she probably spent more money on computer equipment than food. But she knew her stuff and stayed on the right side of the law, and that’s what he was looking for. He trusted his gut about people more than he trusted pieces of paper anyway. He just had a feeling about her.
Taking a deep breath, Ian furrowed his brow in irritation as he detected the slightly spicy fragrance Sage had worn earlier today still lingering in the otherwise musty air of his office. His hand clenched tightly around the plastic bottle as he felt the familiar wave of desire
