Hacking Mr. CEO (Billionaire Heists #3) - Anna Hackett
“Oh, you think you can keep me out? Not today.” My fingers danced over my keyboard. It glowed, each keystroke near soundless. I’d paid a small fortune for the keyboard and laptop.
They were my babies.
I’d already mapped the target system. Their cybersecurity was good, but not great. I knew I had tripped some alarm, so they were aware I was poking around.
“But no one can stop the Rogue Angel.” With a smile, I stared at the glowing screen, analyzing the code. I tapped in a command.
Woot. I was in.
I wiggled my butt in my chair. Time to finish this.
I zoomed through the system, found the file I needed, and made a copy.
Time to go.
I left my signature image behind—glowing, blue angel wings made of computer code.
Smiling, I sat back and flexed my hands. Then I polished my nails on my shirt, and blew on them. I was a hacker, so I kept my nails short and neat, but I loved painting them. They were currently bright, eye-searing yellow.
Next, I opened up a new window and made a call.
My boss appeared on-screen.
I took a second to appreciate the view—Killian Hawke deserved a second or two of appreciation.
The man always made me think of a sharp blade, honed to precision. He was lean, had a hawkish face, black hair, black eyes. Those eyes were sharp and missed nothing. He wore a black suit even though it was Sunday—I’d never seen him in anything else. Even across the computer screen, he radiated a predatory danger that made my hindbrain sit very, very still.
“Done,” I said. “Check your inbox.”
The head of Sentinel Security glanced to his left, then nodded.
“Well done, Remi. Impressive, as always.”
Damn, the man had the sexiest voice. Like warm, melted chocolate with a dash of spice. It totally didn’t go with the sleek, dangerous persona.
“Our client will be very happy,” Killian said.
“Happy that I hacked them?”
“Happy they know their vulnerabilities, and how Sentinel Security can help plug them.”
And pay Killian a bazillion dollars for his trouble.
Sentinel did all kinds of security. I knew Killian had a private army of ex-military badasses, but he also specialized in cybersecurity. I’d been working for Sentinel for several years. Companies hired me to test their systems and improve their security. It was a sweet deal. I used my special skills, and got a paycheck at the end of each month.
“I’ll email you your next job, Remi.” The faintest tilt of Killian’s lips. “Or should I say, Rogue Angel?”
I grinned. “You aren’t supposed to know my secret persona.”
“I’m in security, remember?”
I ended the chat, closed my laptop, then glanced at my watch. The kids would be home from school soon, and my stomach rumbled. Mmm, I could do with some of Mama’s cookies.
I strode across my loft space. It wasn’t big, but it was mine. It had an industrial vibe, with my bed in one corner, shrouded by gauzy curtains. A tiny kitchenette that I barely used sat in another corner, a doorway led into my compact bathroom, and an open-plan living area where my desk took prime position against the far wall.
My gaze snagged on a picture above the desk.
I got a little shiver every time I saw it. It was of an angel warrior, coming in to land on the battlefield. I had a thing for angels. His huge, white wings were outspread, sword in hand, boots about to touch the ground. His body was mostly in shadow, but that didn’t hide the power of his musculature, or the hint of a rugged face.
Wrinkling my nose, I sighed. I wished they made men like that in real life.
I headed down the stairs, my boots thunking on the metal treads.
Noise assaulted me. There was some tool whirring close by, and I also got a hit of grease, gas, and exhaust.
My loft was above my foster brother’s auto shop. At the bottom of the stairs, I swiveled and saw three cars in various states of repair—one parked with the hood open, one hooked up to some machine, and another one up on the hoist, with a mechanic underneath.
I recognized Steve’s lean body, and baggy, grimy jeans. He was busy, and the guy that worked for him was away on vacation, so I guess that was why he was working on a Sunday. I headed out the open front doors.
Brr. It was a cold, gloomy day in Brooklyn. I wrapped my arms around myself. I should’ve grabbed my jacket, but thankfully I wasn’t going far.