Dirty Little Secrets Page 3

  She gently centered the sleek piece of hardware on the desk. Retail value on that bad boy was a hair over five grand. But the really sick part? Shaking her head, Charlie smoothed her gloved palm over the glossy top. If these were the cast-offs that hadn’t made the cut, she couldn’t imagine the hi-tech gear that asshole had packed for vacation.

  Jammer’s low whistle echoed inside his glass cage. “Damn, girl, who’d you boost? Bill Gates?”

  A tired sigh parted her lips, and she dragged her thumb and index finger over her itchy eyelids. Three minutes in his presence, and her brain cells were literally curling into the fetal position and dying. “Bill Gates lives in Washington State.” Ya stupid tool.

  She fished the power cord from her backpack and plugged the laptop into the wall, propped her thumb against the lip of the screen and then hesitated. But Jammer was right about one thing, even though that fluke was enough to threaten the very fabric of the universe.

  Thomas Ryan and Bill Gates claimed the same level of influence and power in their respective fields. Over the past five years, RyaMed Pharmaceuticals had become as much of a household name as Procter & Gamble. Heck, maybe even more so. With the release of LZR-7 and the success rate that drug had shown in treating certain types of cancers, the world had been flipped on its head, and the reputation of its lead chemist and developer had skyrocketed into superstardom.

  Chewing the inside of her lip, Charlie narrowed her eyes. While it was highly unlikely Jammer would associate this laptop as the same one that belonged to the Thomas Ryan, rolling the dice when it came to a special kid like Ellis wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.

  That poor little boy was already playing the odds. And losing.

  Swiveling her head, she met Jammer’s flap-jawed stare, cleared her throat and waited.

  He didn’t move.

  Unbelievable. The whole reason he’d hacked into the building’s wireless router was so the scouts who came in here could clean their tech before the wheeling and dealing began. “Do you mind?”

  He blinked. “Mind what?”

  Seriously. How did he leave his house every morning without stepping in front of a truck?

  The chirp of the Bluetooth hanging off his ear disrupted their stare down, and he tapped the device before pivoting from the window. “Speak.”

  Thank God. She waited a beat to make sure the single track in his head was fully booked, then lifted the screen and powered up the device.

  The desktop contained at least two dozen icons—no big stunner, considering Ryan’s wide range of sleazy interests—shortcuts to various emails, banking information and a Skype link.

  She trashed most of them without bothering to peek inside. Decrypting the passwords would be a waste of time. The mass populace already knew Ryan was as dirty as a third-generation mafioso, but he was also a brilliant scientist, and had aligned himself with so many powerful allies any proof she might stumble across to destroy his character would be useless.

  Besides, this job wasn’t about digging up a bunch of dirt on the pharmaceutical industry’s latest golden boy. If she wanted to be successful, she needed to move quickly, exactly like she’d done in the past. Grab what she could sell without raising any fuss, regardless of how much she would’ve loved to mow Ryan down in the process.

  After booting up the browsers, she cleaned out the search history, dragged everything to the recycle bin and emptied the trash. Focusing on Ellis had to be her number one priority. On doing whatever was necessary to offer him the chance he deserved. No way in hell was she about to let that innocent kid experience the same torment her brother had been through. Not after the prime opportunity to get Ellis the treatment he needed had fallen into her lap.

  Several file folders lined the right edge of the screen, and she opened each one to click through the documents. Award acceptance speeches, several yawn-worthy lectures. I’m so great, look at me, look at me, blah-blah-blah.

  No thanks. She shuffled the folders to the garbage and deleted the contents. A quick scan of the screen, and she bobbed her chin. Clean and clean.

  Grabbing the top, she hesitated. Then frowned. In the upper right-hand corner, a 3-D graphic of a molecule spun on its axis, the image so faint she’d almost missed it.

  A click of the icon, and she blinked. The chair legs screeched against the concrete floor as she sank to the seat.

  No way. Her spine hit the back. There was just no stinkin’ way.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she found Jammer standing behind his desk, moustache flapping like a pissed off Yosemite Sam. She spun back to the laptop, hunched over the keyboard as she scrolled through the document.

  It looked like a diagram for some sort of chemical formula, but whatever crazy mojo those symbols and numbers created, their meaning flew over her head higher than the upper echelons of a New York City skyscraper.

  Dammit. She bit her bottom lip, sat back and shook her head. Goddamn it, now what? She hadn’t counted on being slapped in the face with this mess, but if the recipe was for Ryan’s next big miracle cure that could only mean the son of a bitch was prepping to launch another drug onto the market.

  Another drug he’d line his pockets with just like he had with LZR-7.

  Her jaw firmed, fingers balled in a tight fist. During the first go-round, he’d paid off whatever officials he had to in order to maintain the proprietary rights. Ryan had surrounded himself with so many high level bureaucrats the Feds hadn’t been able to touch him. And once word of his newly invented cash cow had hit the streets, insurance companies had congregated like lemmings to jump on the bandwagon, rubbing their hands together and setting the price at seven hundred dollars for one frickin’ pill.

  She shook her fist, bumped her thumb against her lips, and then worried the nail with her teeth. That bastard and his smug buddies had gotten rich off the misery of others. They’d charged whatever they’d wanted and then laughed all the way to the bank while innocent kids like Ellis lay dying in the hospital.

  Well, not again. Dropping her fist, she drummed her fingers along the table. Regardless of the drug’s properties, whatever illness this formula treated, she wasn’t about to sit idly by while Ryan and his pals rigged the system in their favor, playing Wheel of Fortune with the world’s population.

  Her days on the streets had ended a long time ago. She wasn’t a scared little girl anymore, worrying when or if she’d get her next meal. And she sure as shit wasn’t about to tuck tail and run the second things got tough.

  She’d made that mistake once before. She wasn’t doing it again.

  Leaning to the side, she worked her flash drive from the tight stretch of her front jeans pocket, thumbed the top off the stick and plugged the trigger into the USB port. The F drive opened with a bing, and she quickly lowered the volume, darting another glance over her shoulder. Turning his back to her, Jammer propped his hands on his hips and continued his conversation.

  Good. She inched up from the chair, peeking over the top of the cubicle to scan the empty floor, and then rolled her eyes at her ridiculous paranoia. What, now she was suddenly starring in Mission: Impossible? She slowly lowered back to the seat.

  She needed to get a hold of herself. Figure out her next move without jumping to a bunch of stupid conclusions. There was only one thing she knew for sure.

  Whether or not this laptop contained the only copy of the formula, she needed to ditch it. Like, right now and without any witnesses. If word got out she’d gained access to this kind of information, her name would fill the lead spot at the top of Ryan’s hit list.

  No way in hell she wanted that kind of attention, and leaving any loose ends would only point straight back to—

  Her shoulders dropped a solid inch, and she exhaled so hard, her breath dried the back of her throat. For God’s sake, how could she have been so dense?

  Somebody already knew.

  Of course they did. Alarm tingled along her nerve endings, eyes darting b
ack and forth across the screen. Why else had she been fighting the buggy feeling of being watched?

  Springing forward in the chair, she closed the document and copied the file onto her portable drive. A slight tremor shook her hand as she deleted the program, emptied the trash and unplugged the stick from the port.

  The thing that didn’t jibe was how they’d found out she had Ryan’s laptop in her possession in the first place. Up until a few hours ago, she hadn’t even known the dumb thing existed. And after picking the lock on Ryan’s bedroom closet, she’d been careful, had left the empty case in the exact same spot so it wouldn’t appear as if anything were missing.

  So what did that mean? The hair at her nape stood on end as she powered down the laptop and yanked the plug from the outlet. Someone had been waiting for her to snatch this specific piece? Okay, like who, for instance? One of Ryan’s goons? A lackey hired by his competitors or possibly someone working for the insurance company? She wrapped up the cord and carefully stacked the items in the crook of her left arm. And if they were savvy enough to know she’d jacked Ryan’s personal computer—not to mention, the valuable information it contained—why not just bust her on the way over here? Why wait?

  The questions swirled in her head until her skin crawled and she teetered on the verge of full-blown panic. She had to stop. This guessing game was getting her nowhere. She was too damn tired to think straight, and needed approximately eight solid hours huddled under the covers followed by a carb-coma supply of Krispy Kremes before she could even try to tackle the answers.

  Shouldering her backpack, she stood and approached Jammer’s window. Regardless, she wasn’t about to be stupid. Not anymore. As of this moment, she was in lockdown mode. Time to cover her tracks, cut all ties to Ryan and play it cool.

  Someone was toying with her, and until she could figure out who and what they wanted, her best bet would be to lay low for a few days. See if anyone came knocking. Which meant her first priority was to walk out of here with enough cash to keep Ellis in meds for a week.

  “Hey.” She rapped her knuckle against Jammer’s window and set the pieces side-by-side on the counter. As a rule, he generally only offered a weak percentage of actual retail value for whatever merchandise she brought in, but these items were Optimus Prime, barely used and fully geeked. If she was able to keep her inner bitch in check, she just might be able to bump the figure a little higher.

  He turned to face her and she blanched at the angry scowl riding the ingrained dirt creasing his forehead.

  Or-r-r maybe not. Shit.

  “Just tell him to get it here while he can still walk.” He tapped his Bluetooth and strode toward the counter, and Charlie held her breath until the ripe stank that enveloped him like Chernobyl fallout rolled past the window and dissipated.

  One of his brows rose as he eyed the goods. The ropey tendons that doubled as his biceps flexed and veins popped as he crossed his arms. “I’ll give you six-fifty for the load.”

  What? That wouldn’t even buy Ellis a single dose.

  “The laptop alone is worth four times that much, Jammer.” Charlie fisted her hands. She wasn’t about to stand here and let him pull a fast one. “You know it and so do I.”

  “Don’t want it.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I got a dozen in-box Toshibas in the back. Franco brought ʼem in last week. Besides, I can’t move that rich gear. It’s too obvious.”

  Dammit. She scrubbed her hand over her face. Raked her bangs back from where they’d caught in her lashes. The last thing she needed was to leave with that laptop in her bag. Keeping it with her was too damn risky. “Give me fourteen-fifty for it. That’s twenty-one for everything. And spare me the hardball because we both know you’ll make at least twice that much once everything sells.”

  Coupled with the twenty-three hundred she had squirreled away at home, that would cover Ellis for six days, and give her just enough breathing room, she could figure out what came next.

  Jammer squinted, running his thumb and index finger down the wiry hair trailing past his chin. “Tell you what, Charlie. How about the two of us figure out another way to make up the difference?”

  Oh, God. Her knees snapped in place, braced for impact, every cell in her body prepping to jump ship over whatever nasty ideas had crawled into his head.

  “You could work it off.” Eyebrows wagging, he folded his arms on the edge of the counter and leaned in. “Join me and a few of the guys for some off-the-clock fun.”

  Her eyelids slammed shut even as her stomach seized in preparation to hurl a splat zone in front of her feet. She fought her body’s impulse to wiggle and hop around in a grossed-out spasm attack. No. Just…on every possible level, no.

  She blinked and tipped her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass.”

  A tense moment hung between them before he pushed up from the counter and nodded, bottom lip jutting past the two fuzzy caterpillars framing his mouth. “Your loss.” He rounded his desk, keys jingling as he yanked the thick set from a retractable holder clipped to his jeans. “I figured a fat chick like you would jump at the chance for a little recreational sex.”

  Her brow twitched. Anger fizzed and popped as if she’d dotted nitroglycerin on her tongue. That monumental prick. The guy wasn’t just a bottom feeder. His personality was more along the lines of a sewer rat.

  She narrowed her gaze as he slipped a key into the safe and twisted the lock. But it wasn’t the way he’d called her fat that pissed her off. She knew what she was. How according to some unachievable standard, her waistband was four inches too wide for her five and a half feet. That her curves had curves and she could stand to shed a few pounds. Okay, fifty. As a kid, she’d sported enough backhanded bruises compliments of dear old stepdad to make damn sure that description had been forever stamped on her brain.

  It was the manipulative way Jammer had tossed that particular insult in her face that made her want to blow out the window with an Uzi and rip his ugly ponytail right off his head. Did he really think pointing out the obvious would make her change her mind? That he’d weaken her defenses by going for the jugular and, instead of rejecting his offer, she’d beg him for another chance?

  Oh-h-h, the dirt bag had just bought himself a whole boatload of trouble.

  Time for her and Jammer to get a few things straight.

  He counted several worn bills onto his desk, relocked the safe, and carried the money to the window. “Six-fifty. Take it or leave it.”

  A smirk twisted his moustache as he slid the cash under the bars. The second his hand passed through, Charlie stepped forward, seized his wrist and yanked.

  “Fuck, what are you doing?” He hissed and jerked his arm as she spun her back to the window, grabbed his pinky and ring fingers and cranked them backward over his hand. A strangled yelp squeaked from his throat.

  “You’re in deep shit now, Charlie.” He struggled against her, twisting his wrist. The money slithered out from the metal tray and pin-wheeled to the floor. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll back off before I do something we’ll both regret.”

  Uh-huh. She’d get right on that.

  Sliding her hand up his forearm, she braced her foot against the wall and eased him forward another inch. His yowl echoed off the glass as she jammed her thumb into the ulnar nerve running inside his elbow, right where his funny bone poked at the skin.

  “That’s a cool spot, isn’t it?” She smiled, turning her head as his knees gave, the opposite edge of the counter digging into his ribs. A little added pressure, and he tipped his face toward the ceiling, his other fist repeatedly slamming the laminated top like the rapid pop of a firecracker.

  “Did you know there are over one hundred pressure points in the human body?” She pressed deeper and Jammer stomped his foot, face beet red and chest heaving. “Some cause numbness, others pain. A few have even been known to kill, if a person can hit the mark just right.”

  Ano
ther hard wrench of his fingers, and he swore a blue streak. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple into his scraggly beard.

  “And you wanna know what’s really awesome?” She grinned, batting her lashes. “I happen to know where every single one of them is located. So before you get any smart ideas about where this is headed, let me tell you exactly how this is gonna play out.”

  “Jesus, anything.” He panted and shook his head. “Just don’t—”

  “Do this?” She wiggled her thumb and he screamed, high and piercing like the piece of shit hyena he was.

  A low chuckle shook her shoulders. God, he was pathetic. “I’m going to take my money and this pretty new laptop and walk out of here, and the next time I come in, you’re going to act like a decent human being. You got that? No more staring, no more inappropriate comments, and definitely no more bullshit. We do business, Jammer. That’s where our association starts and ends.”

  “Fine, fine.” He nodded. “No more bullshit, Charlie, I swear.”

  “Good. I’m glad we had this little chat.” She released his arm and he snaked it back under the bars, rubbed his shoulder and stared at her like she’d sprouted a set of horns.

  Another husky murmur tickled her throat as she scooped the bills off the floor, slid the laptop from the counter and eased it into her backpack. The only thing more frustrating than taking it with her was the idea of leaving it behind, losing out on the five grand it was worth.

  She jerked the zipper closed and slung the strap over her shoulder. She’d just have to chance the trip home. Watch her back and keep the laptop hidden in her apartment until she could find the right buyer. Stuffing the cash in her pocket, she tipped two fingers at Jammer and headed for the door.