Chapter 19
The Ass Hat Trying to Creep Through My Back Door
Max
It’s two in the morning when my work phone shrieks to life, ripping me out of the deepest sleep I’ve had since landing in Canada.
Possibly ever.
For half a second, I’m convinced I’m dreaming. That alarm only goes off when something is seriously wrong. Something must be going on with the servers at work and the alarm is telling me that ignoring it isn’t an option.
Especially when I’m the only one who has proper access to fix it.
My eyes snap open as I scramble across the bed, pulse pounding. Eli is awake beside me just as fast, his body going rigid, every line of him suddenly on.
“What the hell—” he asks, pushing upright. “Should I be grabbing a fire extinguisher…or a weapon?”
But I do love how this man snaps into protective mode so easily.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, panicking. “I didn’t realize I had my phone in here with me.”
“That thing sounds like the world’s ending,” he says, rubbing a hand down his face, eyes still heavy with sleep.
“I know, I know—I just need to—” I fumble blindly, finally spotting my phone on the nightstand. The screen is lit up in angry red.
FULL SYSTEM ALERT.
Not a glitch. Not a test.
Adrenaline hits me so hard I’m wide awake. I jump up fast, blankets twisting around my legs as I swipe the screen.
“You can’t leave it until morning? Hand it off to someone, I don’t know, in the same country?”
“Oh no,” I breathe. “No, no, no.”
“What?” Eli asks. “You can’t leave it until morning or you can’t hand it off to anyone.”
“No one can handle this but me” I say, swinging my legs out of bed. “It’s my servers at work and someone’s trying to get in.”
“Max, it’s two in the morning,” he says carefully, like maybe I’ve lost my mind.
“That’s when they try most. When they assume we’re not paying attention.” I snap. “I’ve gotta handle this.”
I don’t wait for a response. I grab my phone and bolt for one of Eli’s other guest rooms I turned into a temporary workspace the second I arrived. My laptop is already open on the desk, charger plugged in, waiting for the next emergency.
Eli follows. Watching me drop into the chair and wake the screen.
The dashboard loads and my stomach drops.
“Oh, absolutely not! Who the hell is out here trying to touch my servers like this? Who is this ass hat trying to creep in through my back door!”
Eli coughs. “Excuse me?”
I don’t respond.
I’m locked in. Backtrace. Firewall logs. Live traffic. I zero in on the intrusion and pursue it with the precision earned from years of nights exactly like this. My former hacker days.
Yes. I'm a pretty decent hacker. Nothing extreme enough to land me in a super-max prison or earn me a Netflix documentary. I played in the minors—learned the game—but ultimately, I never went pro. I decided long ago to use my skills for good.
Timantha’s been prepping the company for a sale and keeping everything under lock and key is crucial right now. The user data. The algorithm. All the tech I’ve built. If someone gets their hands on any of it before the deal closes, the valuation tanks.
Not on my watch.
I’d reinforced the system months ago, long before anyone else understood how valuable it was.
“Almost got you,” I whisper as the trace narrows. “You little shit.”
Eli lets out a huff. “How colorful you are at two in the morning.”
Then—black.
“The fuck?”
The screen goes dead.
“What happened?” Eli asks.
“The trail vanished,” I respond but I’m not really talking to Eli. I’m thinking out loud.
“What does that mean?”
“He’s gone.”
I stare at the monitor, stunned. I never lose a trace. Ever.
Eli leans against the doorframe behind me, arms crossed and watching the tension roll through me.
“You think you can come back to bed now?” He asks and he sounds genuinely concerned for my rest.
“In a minute,” I say, realizing I woke up next to him instead of the guest room we designated for me while I’m here.
I grab my phone and fire off a message to our cybersecurity manager, detailing everything while it’s still fresh. Logs. Time stamps. Behavior patterns. I tell him I want a full report first thing in the morning.
When I finally glance at the clock, frustration hits hard.
2:47 a.m.
I let out a sharp, frustrated breath.
Behind me, Eli exhales quietly. “Does this happen a lot?”
“More than it should,” I mutter, my fingers flying as I pull up the secondary safeguards. A yawn catches me off guard.
“I don’t like that,” he says softly. “I don’t like how easily your work can just rip you away from your peace like that.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “These days, I’m not sure if my work pulls me from my peace or just blocks it with brute force.”
“I’d say the latter,” he says, his voice steady. “Because you never really turn off.”
Hearing him say it—the simple, blunt observation—makes it impossible to ignore the truth glowing back at me from the screen.
I never turn off.
Not at two in the morning. Not in another country.
Not even when someone is standing only a few feet away, quietly asking me to slow down long enough to breathe.