Chapter Eighteen
As Mercy strode into the security office, she was grateful that Puma had asked her a second time to help with the programs. Sitting in front of the computer screen brought her a sense of peace.
However, it didn't quite work as usual this time.
She still reeled from last night. Jag's unexpected touch lingered on her skin, his taste remained on her lips, and desire still settled into her core.
Overhearing voices outside the open window, she stood to take a peek. Jag and Atlas were discussing the new drone.
Jag swiped off his hat and smacked it against his denim thigh.
Why did she feel excited when he was near? Why couldn’t she let go?
She sat back down at the computer and tried to stay focused on the information on the screen. She typed in a code, but realized she’d almost triggered an internal system error.
She couldn’t think.
She heard the thudding of their boots coming toward the office, and she plunged herself back into fixing the mistake she’d made.
Jag strode in, followed by Atlas. She didn’t take her gaze off the computer screen but greeted them with a half-hearted wave. She refused to look at Jag because he’d know she was still reeling from last night.
Atlas tipped his hat in greeting. “Hope you’re doing well, ma’am.”
“I am. How are you?”
“Still alive, so I must be doing something right,” he said, swiping off his hat and holding it against his broad chest.
“It’s a lovely morning,” she said, her gaze settling on Jag because she couldn’t resist the need. “Are you men looking for something?”
“We played with the drone a bit. I have some questions,” Jag said to her.
“Fire away.” She turned her full attention to him, grateful for the excuse.
As she leaned back in the chair, she pressed her palm against the center of her chest, feeling the fast beating of her heart thudding against her sternum. He seated himself on the corner of the desk.
Although he’d been out on the property doing chores, he still looked clean and unruffled.
“How do we prevent someone from hacking into the photos that we take with the drone?”
She fought back the need to growl at him in annoyance. His scent, a mixture of leather and man, made her nipples press against the fabric of her shirt. She had to give herself a break. A man like Jag had a charm that women loved. They swooned over him and would be willing to drop their panties to their ankles with one look from him. Unfortunately, she would have dropped hers too had she been wearing a pair last night. He wore a black T-shirt that hugged every powerful muscle of his shoulders and stomach. His faded jeans fit against his strong thighs. Her fingers ached to run through his salt and pepper hair like she had last night while they kissed like two wild teens. The mere idea of losing herself in him made her cheeks warm and her inner thighs itch.
“Drones can be dangerous,” she said. “You need a sharp firewall to keep hackers out.”
Atlas nodded. “You’re a computer whiz, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “It’s what I enjoy doing,” she said.
“So, drones are easy to hack?”
“Hacking a drone isn’t necessarily easy, but their stored data is vulnerable to a smart hacker.”
“How is data stolen from a drone?” Jag asked.
“The signals of a drone are usually unencrypted, so decoding information can be pretty simple with a packet sniffer.”
“Look, I’m not too ashamed to admit I know as much about computers as I do women, which, that tells you, isn’t much. How is it possible someone can infiltrate a drone?” Atlas said.
“There are many ways hackers can technically hijack drones, which poses a significant risk since those operations often leave drones open to attacks. Hackers can “GPS spoof” a drone, meaning they can trick it into going to any location, which could mean straight into the hands of a hacker.” She looked at each of them, unsure if they were interested or if she had lost their attention with all the technical jargon. “I won’t bore you to death with any more details, but precautions need to be taken. I made sure I installed the best security system.”
Atlas whistled through his teeth. “Nothing sexier than a smart woman.” Then he looked at Jag. “I mean that respectfully.”
Mercy studied Jag’s expression. Lines bracketed his mouth. “I can tell you that she's intelligent. One of the smartest women I know.”
That was a huge compliment. Mercy smiled.
“Maybe Puma needs to hire you on the security team,” Atlas said. “I’m on board with it.”
“Too bad I’m the cook. Speaking of, I'd better start back toward the house to make sure dinner isn’t burning.” She stood and slid between Jag and the wall.
“I’ll walk you back,” he volunteered.
Once they were outside, she said, “I suppose this is when you're going to tell me off for sharing my thoughts on drones and security, even though you did ask.”
He was following. “I asked because I knew you’d have an answer. I don’t want you to pretend to be someone you're not. There’s nothing wrong with being a cook, but I know it doesn’t excite you as much as security does. I think Atlas is on to something. He’s right, though, you’d fit in here.”
She cocked a brow. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Never better.” There seemed to be a new pep in his step.
“I might have to consider my options because something tells me SMH will dissolve.”
“Maybe it’s time. I know you and your partners take on some heavy surveillance jobs, but you are starving for more. I think you’re craving a little danger.”
“I think you’re right. I don’t mind working behind the scenes, but there’s just something I enjoy about being around the action. I don’t know what that means or looks like, but I need to investigate it.”
“Your eyes light up, and your voice has all the feels when you talk about the change.”
“I’ll try to put that enthusiasm in the roast I’m making tonight.” She wagged her brows.
He strolled to the back door and opened it for her. As she passed, he said, “I’m intrigued by your knowledge.”
“Thanks for walking with me. She chose not to get into a heavy conversation.
His smile lit his gaze. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
She watched him walk away, and her insides danced.
Alone, she reached inside her boot and took out the burner phone. McKinley should have sent her the photos by now. She clicked on her email and found a message from him. Engrossed in the email, she didn’t realize Jess had joined her.
“What sort of cook leaves a roast in the oven while they wander off?”
Mercy jerked in alarm. The phone slipped from her hands, hitting the floor and breaking.
“Fuck!” Mercy said, staring down at the now unusable phone—her only connection with the outside world.
“Excuse me.” Jess splayed her palm against her bosom. “That’s a disgusting word.”
“Please forgive my rudeness.” The burner was destroyed. How would Mercy see the footage that McKinley had sent her?
“You’re a vulgar girl,” Jess said in a huff. “And your cooking skills are terrible.”
“I’m vulgar?” Mercy might need to be civil but Jess was pushing the limits.
“Living with one man. Gallivanting around with another. That’s not a ladylike way.”
“Really? And treating people unkindly is?” Mercy scooped up the broken phone. There was no way of fixing it. She started to toss it in the trash but thought better of it.
“Excuse me?” Jess huffed.
Mercy faced the woman. “I’d assume you dislike me, but we don’t know each other, so that’s not the case. What I think the problem is, you wanted the cook’s position, didn’t you?”
Jess’s mouth thinned. “I’d do a much better job.”
“Why don’t you take that up with Puma and give me space to do my job.”
The woman’s mouth fell open. She swiveled and squeaked off in her rubber shoes.
Mercy dumped the useless phone into a plastic bag and buried it in the trash can.
Then she remembered the roast!
She hurried to take it out of the oven and nearly cried. The top was black. She had half the mind to quit and hand over the duties to Jess, who wanted to do them.
Yet, she wasn’t a quitter.
She decided to cut off the burnt top and chunk up the meat for BBQ.
As far as the phone and watching the video, she’d have to come up with a Plan B.