Page 43 of Avenging Jessie
Someone had ordered pepperoni pizza. The smell made her stomach growl. It turned sour when she spotted her target. Hastings’ silhouette was instantly recognizable even in the dim light. Shoulders squared, gait confident, he moved between the server banks without hesitation. Never a glance over his shoulder. He knew exactly where he was going, and Jessie followed at the outer edge of the shadows, each step syncing with his.
She kept her weapon low, her grip steady. This wasn’t just a server room—it was a vault. Whatever was happening down here wasn’t meant to see daylight.
By now, Spence had to know she’d ditched him and the plan. She pictured him back in the car, jaw tight, eyes cold—either cursing her under his breath or already suiting up to come in after her.
She couldn’t decide which would be worse.
If he stayed outside, he might contain the fallout. Keep them from getting burned. If he came in, they’d be two targets in a building full of unknowns.
But if she knew anything about Spencer Stirling, it was that he hated being left in the dark. And when it came to protecting the mission—and her—he wasn’t the type to sit this one out.
She closed the gap by a few paces, close enough now to hear individual words in the murmured conversation up ahead.
If he came in after her, it would be for one of two reasons—either to make sure she didn’t screw this up, or to haul her ass out when things went sideways.
She wasn’t sure which she hated more.
Because if it was the first, it meant he didn’t trust her.
And if it was the second… it meant he cared enough to take the risk.
Neither sat comfortably in her chest.
Hastings rounded the last row of server racks and stepped into an open area at the far end of the basement. Jessie ghosted up to the corner and angled herself just enough to see without exposing her position.
A cluster of mismatched desks sat under industrial lights, wires snaking across the concrete floor like trip hazards. Five kids—no, young men and women barely in their twenties—were hunched over glowing monitors, each station a Frankenstein mashup of high-end rigs and assorted parts. Empty soda cans, energy drink bottles, half-eaten pizza slices, and bags of chips littered the surfaces.
The air was thicker here, warmer, the constant whir of fans joined by the rapid-fire clatter of keyboards. Monitors flashed with scrolling code, maps, login screens, and security dashboards. One kid wore a gaming headset plastered with stickers; another had duct tape holding his chair arm in place.
Jessie’s gaze snapped to headset’s screen where a bold header in English read: FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION – INTERNAL ACCESS PORTAL.
“I’m in,” he yelled, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Full admin privileges.”
The others broke into cheers and fist bumps.
“What do you want me to do, boss?” the kid asked Hastings. “Scrape every agent profile or wipe the Feds’ whole database of terrorists?”
Jessie’s pulse kicked hard. Wiping the Bureau’s data could cripple hundreds of ongoing investigations. But scraping it? That would give them intel on every single agent—names, addresses, assignments.
Hastings barely glanced at the kid. “Do what you want with the Bureau.” He leaned on the back of another chair, eyes on a different monitor. “But the first one of you to breach Langley’s mainframe gets a ten-grand bonus.”
Jessie froze, every muscle locking tight.
Brewer wanted global chaos.
Hastings wanted the CIA.
She gripped her Glock tighter. She could step out right now, plant one in Hastings’s leg, and end this before his little hacker club burrowed into Langley.
Her breathing slowed, her training pressing down hard on the adrenaline urging her forward.
Five hackers. One Hastings. None of them looked dangerous in a physical sense—soft bodies, caffeine jitters, posture wrecked by too many hours at a desk—but there was nothing harmless about the firepower at their fingertips. A single keystroke could open back doors, wipe files, and expose every federal agent to the world.
And even if she stopped this party, she’d bet good money that all of the hackers’ codes and programs were stored on the cloud somewhere. If even one of them escaped—and the odds were high that several would—they could still carry out Hastings’ plan.
She’d faced worse odds. Hell, she’d survived worse odds. But that had been before everything Brewer had done to her, before her trust in herself had been chipped down to splinters.
And then there was Spence.
