Page 20 of Hacked For Love
You have a job to do, I remind myself, and keeptyping.
“All right. The police won't move fast enough for my tastes, but if you leak to them where to find some of this information, our friend Rocco will end up evenbusier.”
I start sending e-mails to the police’s anonymous tip account with as much information on Marcone as I can grab. Transfers to his offshore accounts, incriminating e-mails…and from his hard drive, some nude images of suspiciously young girls. “What about leaking some information to Yoshida aswell?”
“Hmm. Yoshida will be coming after him no matter what we do. He believes that the Don stole from him. Yoshida is more likely to be an immediate problem for Marcone than the police, but if he traces any of this back to us…that’stwoenemies I don’tneed.”
I look up at him, getting annoyed again. “He won't. He'll trace it where I want, just like Marconedid.”
“I would believe that…except that you're not uncatchable.” His tone almost sounds apologetic, but it still stings. “I already proved that,remember?”
Another surge of anger rushes through me, and I shoot a glare his way. “I reached out to you,remember?”
“And by the time you did, I already knew your name, your history, and had a good idea of what you looked like.” Now he just sounds condescending—and worse, he's right, which just pisses me offmore.
His other hand settles on my shoulder. “Marcone is an idiot. He is easily led. But like me, Dr. Yoshida is not an idiot. I cannot afford to underestimatehim.”
That electric energy flows from his hands into me, making me shiver with primal need even as what he's saying pisses me off. I keep typing, finishing spoofing the Don's accounts and “refilling” them with phantommoney.
Finally, I sit back. Done. Right now, the police are getting the Don's dirty laundry, the Don's account is being padded with phantom money, and my crawlers are looking for even more dirt on him. That knowledge helps me calm down enough to deal withDrake.
I get up, turning to challenge him again, but I’m calmer this time. More aware of his effect on me. “No, he's not an idiot. But an anonymous e-mail with the list I just found two minutes ago will help make sure the Don's too busy running from Yoshida to worry aboutus.”
His eyes narrow slightly as he stands his ground. “What have yougot?”
“It looks suspiciously like a list of local mob safe houses. If this gets to Yoshida, that big scumbag Marcone won't have anywhere to hide.” I'm proud to have found it on such shortnotice.
But even though he's towering over me, eyelids at half-mast and a little shake sounding in the bottom of his breath, even though I can feel the heat of his body through our clothes because we're standing so close, he looks neither distracted norimpressed.
If anything, he looks skeptical. “I'll think aboutit.”
“That's it?” Now I'm really getting annoyed. “You'll think aboutit.”
“Yes.” He looks down firmly into my eyes, that faint smile teasing his lips again. “You have set the delays in place as I requested. I won't move hastily on a permanent solution—that is what caused this problem in the firstplace.”
It's true—and again, it stings more for being true. I glare up at him, my mouthworking.
His expression softens as he catches the look in my eyes. “I'm not saying these things to humiliate you, Robin. I'm just saying…we can't behasty.”
“I just want this guy gone,” I mumble, looking down. “I want to make sure he doesn't hurt you because of what I did, damn it. You think I like the idea that Marcone might send more goons before we can even try to convince him to lookelsewhere?”
“If he does, he does. This place is protected. And I’m going to do everything I can to make sure,” he tucks some of my stray hairs behind my ear as he leans over me intimately, “that even if he comes here with a fucking tank, the two of us will be safe fromhim.”
I’m trembling. I should pull away. I holdstill.
“Why are you doing this?” I gasp, finally managing to move back from him alittle.
He blinks at me a few times before leaning on his desk. “You’ve never had someone flirt with you? Not catcalling, not anything creepy, but just flirt withyou?”
I stare at him, at a loss, and finally mutter, “I don’t interact with people much anymore. But…no. On the streets, lone girls avoid men. And after that, I was…busy.”
It sounds like a cop-out, but I don’t want to go into detail—that painful mix of loneliness and fear that battles inside of me whenever I think of men andsex.
I can’t remember being flirted with by anyone who wasn’t either kidding or trying to exploit me. Spider and most of his boys were gay. Nobody who approached me while I was homeless had good intentions. And men on the internet seem to enjoy being as disgusting aspossible.
The incentive to make a connection has never been there for me. The incentive to stay cautiously alone always hasbeen.
But whenhestands near me—when he touches me—I want him to do it more. It scares me. Can I trust myself? This feeling? Him? Is itsafe?
