Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Because he’s fucking me again, slow and deep, and all I want to do right now is languish in the feel of him inside my body, knowing he’s touched places inside of me no one ever has.
CHAPTER 20
Griffin
The first beta test for Bebe’s Hijacker is going down this afternoon, and the excitement between us is palpable. The science and brain work behind it is far too advanced for me to comprehend, but from what I understand, the USB device she had me plug into Bogachev’s TV has a receptor board that will accept commands from her unique, encrypted signal. Theoretically, from that tiny receptor, she can take control of Bogachev’s Wi-Fi and slip into his network that way.
The problem is in getting her signal to the USB device from hundreds of miles away here in Pittsburgh. As such, she had to do some complex coding that will sort of hopscotch along various Wi-Fi connections, all the way to New York. While Bebe was busy this week with said coding, my FBI colleagues were busy working with the justice department to get access warrants to the Wi-Fi portals between Pittsburgh and New York. The last bit of paperwork was finalized this morning, so we’re testing this baby out.
It’s a small test first. Something that should not be difficult at all for Bebe to crack. Kynan’s going to the Fairmont Hotel in downtown Pittsburgh this afternoon, and he’ll plug an identical USB stick into their TV system. This is all being done with the hotel’s consent and with help from their own IT folks, but for the most part, they’re allowing us to see if we can hack into their network this way.
Bebe and I headed east, taking a leisurely trip to the small town of Johnstown, Pennsylvania roughly sixty miles away. We’re currently biding time in a great little restaurant called Press Bistro, enjoying a late lunch of grilled paninis and shooting the shit.
It’s one of my favorite things to do with Bebe.
Not eating paninis, but just talking about anything and everything. Over the last several days, we’ve occupied ourselves plenty between the sheets, but we’ve spent more time just talking.
I’ve been staying at her apartment inside the Jameson building for almost seven days. That’s almost a hundred and sixty-eight hours together, not taking into account the time spent sleeping. But I count it because even in sleep, we communicate. It’s in the way Bebe moves effortlessly into my embrace just before we shut our eyes, a strong indication of trust and bonding. She spent years alone without anyone to hold her, and I’m still amazed at the ease with which she gives herself over to me.
It’s communication.
In those moments, when she lets me hold her all night, it’s as if she says, “Griff… you’re my person. I’m depending on you to keep me secure through the night. I know you won’t let me down.”
She’d be right about that too.
Bebe studies her phone. “Kynan says everything’s in place. Are you about ready to go?”
I look down at my empty plate with my used napkin tossed on top. I had finished eating a good twenty minutes ago, but we’ve been biding our time, waiting for Kynan’s go ahead.
“Yeah… ready,” I say, scoping the room to locate our waitress. She’s at a nearby table, and we make eye contact. Lifting my chin, I mouth for her to bring our check. I get a cheery smile in return.
I settle back into the booth to wait, watching Bebe with a smile. She has her laptop on the table, diligently pounding out whatever smarty-pants shit is in her brain. She amazes me.
Her brow furrows in concentration, her tongue peeking out the side of her mouth. It’s fucking adorable.
Eyes lifting, she gives me a lopsided grin. “Stop staring.”
“Nothing else to do,” I point out. “Plus… I like the view.”
She shakes her head and laughs, tapping on her keyboard. “I’m sorry I’m ignoring you. Just sending out a quick email to Dozer on an idea I had for another project.”
“Does your brain ever stop coming up with new ideas?” The awe in my voice is evident because she blushes.
“Not really,” she admits, shutting her laptop and giving me her full attention. “Weird?”
“Sexy,” I reply with a wink.
“Yeah, right,” she scoffs, then reaches for her water to take a sip. The waitress comes to the table and I snag the bill, reaching for my wallet. She waits while I pull out my wallet, nabbing a twenty and a ten to hand to her. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you,” she exclaims.
When the waitress meanders off, Bebe says, “Hey… did I tell you Saint decided not to go after Mercier?”
She hadn’t, and I purposely have not asked. I’m well aware Bebe’s work on that case probably ran afoul of some laws—both international and domestic—and I don’t want to know a damn thing about it. I cannot be put in a position where I have to keep my duty to my country and my loyalty to Bebe, which she now definitely has, separate.