Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
SAM
The conference room felt like a gladiator arena without spectators, but instead of a sword and a shield, I would utilize my laptop and a Wi-Fi signal.
I’d spent most of the night preparing my digital arsenal, writing custom scripts that would let me slip into Rose’s laptop the moment she connected to the library Wi-Fi.
The beauty of controlling the IT infrastructure was that I could make her think she was safely connected while actually routing all her traffic through my machine first.
Ethical? Absolutely not.
Necessary? My future depended on it.
Rose walked in carrying her laptop bag, looking bright-eyed and ready to volunteer. She wore stretchy black pants, a blue oversized cardigan that made her eyes even more striking than usual, and those navy Hokas she had on before. I looked at my feet. Yep, the same.
She made “practical and comfortable” look sexy.
For a moment—just a moment—I felt a pang of guilt about what I was about to do. Then I remembered her interactions with Beverly, her lying about not knowing her, the contact form stuffed in her bra, and the way she’d looked at me when she said, “Everyone has secrets, Sam.”
Just like that, the guilt evaporated.
“Good morning,” I said, forcing a smile, then gesturing to the chair across the table from me. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” She set her bag down, then noticed the coffee cup on the table in front of her chair. “Is that for me?”
I nodded. “Cafe latte, right?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “How did you know?”
“It was written on the side of your cup yesterday at the Bavarian Bagel Company.”
“Of course, you noticed.” A smile played on her lips. “And thank you.”
Rose settled into her chair and pulled out her laptop.
“So,” she said, opening it up. “What’s this exciting project you mentioned? I can’t wait to get started.” She took a sip of her cafe latte and waited on the edge of her seat.
“An eager beaver—I like it.” I slid a slip of paper across the table.
“First, here’s the Wi-Fi login and password.
The network is back up, but it’s still unstable.
We just need to be patient while I work on the infrastructure.
If all goes well, we’ll be able to use the library computers again tomorrow.
And thanks again for bringing in your laptop. ”
“Of course.” She glanced at the credentials, then entered them.
“As for your task,” I continued, “I’d like you to go through a database called Library Archive 217 and flag any missing dates on the uploaded files or dates that are not formatted correctly.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Rose said, her fingers already moving across the keyboard.
I took a sip of my coffee, then settled back behind my laptop, pulling up my network monitoring program disguised within what looked like a routine systems diagnostic screen.
If Rose saw my screen, it would appear as if I were checking server logs and router configurations. Boring IT maintenance, nothing else.
The alert popped up in my hidden terminal window:
NEW DEVICE CONNECTED
It was her computer.
I felt a surge of adrenaline.
Who are you really, Rose Thompson?
It wouldn’t be long before I found out.
My fingers moved quickly, executing the script I’d prepared. Within seconds, I had access to the file directory on her laptop. My pulse quickened as I started navigating through her folders.
Documents. Applications. Photos. Downloads—
A notification popped up on my screen.
CONNECTION TERMINATED.
I stared at the two words in disbelief.
The access window had vanished.
Not closed—terminated.
It was like someone had slammed a door in my face and then thrown the deadbolt for good measure.
I glanced across the table at Rose, wondering if what had happened was just a coincidence or if she had actually booted me out herself.
She glanced in my direction, her expression pleasant and curious. “Do you need something?”
My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my face neutral. “No, just wanted to make sure you’re all set, since you were quiet over there.”
“I’m quiet because I’m working,” Rose said. “Isn’t that normal?”
“Normal as can be,” I said like an idiot. “Let me know if you have questions.”
“I doubt I will—this is straightforward stuff,” she said with a smile.
We both dropped our heads and returned to our screens.
I took a breath, reassessing. She’d blocked my primary entry point, which meant she was running serious security software or—more concerning—she’d been watching for intrusion attempts. But every system had vulnerabilities. You just had to know where to look.
I switched tactics, going lower level. Instead of trying to access her files directly, I targeted her system logs. This time, I slipped in easily, and the terminal window bloomed with data.
My eyes scanned rapidly through the information flooding my screen from her computer. Registry entries. Recently accessed files. Application data. I pulled up her browser history. Nothing at all. She must wipe it clean every day before she shuts down her computer.
I dug deeper, checking for hidden partitions, anything that suggested a second layer beneath the surface.
Then I found something …
A folder labeled “Archive_BU_Research.”
Did it stand for Boston University research?
My pulse quickened.
I tried to access it, but it was encrypted.
Of course, it was.
I checked the encryption type—military-grade. Breaking that would take weeks, even with dedicated hardware.
Switching directions again, I pulled up her email client, trying to access cached credentials. If I could get in, I could see who she’d been corresponding with, what she was really—
A notification flashed across my screen.
INCOMING FILE TRANSFER.
I froze.
Was Rose actually sending something to me? Had she turned the tables on me and accessed my computer?
A text file suddenly appeared on my desktop:
Nice_Try_Amateur.txt
I clicked on it and read the message:
You’re not as subtle as you think you are.
My blood went cold.
I glanced over at her.
Rose was typing away on her laptop, seemingly absorbed in the task I had assigned her, but there was the faintest curve to her lips. Not quite a smile. More like the satisfied expression of someone who’d just played a very good card.
Did she know it was me trying to access her files, or did she think she had a random intruder from somewhere in the world?
Most people didn’t even know when someone was poking around their system. Rose had shut me down in seconds. She was good. Really good.
I took a breath and changed tactics.
I tried every backdoor I knew—outdated drivers, unpatched services, anything. Nothing. Everything was locked down tight. Tighter than it should be for a casual user’s laptop. This wasn’t standard security. This was professional-grade protection.
Who travels with this level of security?
My screen flickered with a message:
INTRUSION DETECTED.
COUNTER-MEASURES DEPLOYED.
Then, to my horror, my laptop froze.
Not even a spinning wheel of death—it was completely frozen! My cursor wouldn’t move. My keyboard didn’t respond. For thirty agonizing seconds, I had zero control over my machine.
The room felt too small suddenly, the air too thick. My hands were shaking as I tried to figure out what was going on. I pressed them flat against the table, forcing them still. My desperation was showing, and I hated it. This had never happened before. Ever.
Then, just as suddenly, everything came back to life on my laptop, and another notification flashed across my screen.
INCOMING FILE TRANSFER.
I could not believe this was happening again.
What was Rose sending me this time?
A new text file appeared on my desktop:
Stop_It_Now.txt
I clicked on it and read the message:
You don’t know who you’re messing with.
The words hit me like a slap to the face.
I’d spent years thinking I was untouchable, the one who always had the upper hand when someone tried to outsmart me. Five minutes with Rose, and she’d obliterated this gladiator. Russell Crowe would’ve been ashamed of me.
Suddenly, I wasn’t the hunter anymore.
I was the prey.
My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
And worse—much worse—underneath the frustration and humiliation, there was something else. Respect. Maybe even attraction. What kind of masochist gets turned on by someone who just digitally destroyed him?
Apparently, me, that’s who.
I looked up slowly to read her body language.
Rose was sipping her coffee, eyes on her screen, the picture of innocent concentration. But her fingers had stopped typing. Her posture was too still, too controlled, like someone ready to pounce.
She was waiting to see what I’d do next.
Rose’s gaze flicked in my direction.
Our eyes met for half a second—and in that moment, I saw everything. Recognition. Acknowledgment. Challenge. Then she looked back down at her screen as if nothing had happened.
She knew.
Rose absolutely knew it was me.