Page 52 of Claimed By the Boss

A sharp knock on the door pulls me from the monitors. Alek steps in without waiting for permission, which would normally piss me off, but I wave him in.

“Well?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “There’s still no movement. We got one guy talking about shipments coming through Newark, but it’s probably misdirection.”

I exhale slowly, trying not to let the frustration boil over. My fingers curl into fists against the edge of the desk.

“Then we need to stop listening passively,” I mutter. “We’re going on the offensive.”

Alek lifts a brow.

“You thinking physical surveillance? We could set up a few stakeout operations.”

“No,” I say. “That’s exactly what they want. They want our men out in the open so they’re easier targets. They’re jamming us, so we have to find a way to unjam them.”

His brow furrows. “What are you thinking?”

I push off the desk and walk toward the wall safe behind the framed skyline print. My fingers twist the dial until it clicks open, and I retrieve a small, encrypted flash drive.

“Something like this,” I say.

Alek looks skeptical. “That’s our old decryption software. They’re ten steps ahead of that now.”

“I know.” I slide the drive into the palm of my hand, rolling it between my fingers as I think. “We need something new. Something custom. Anti-jamming software that overrides their frequency scramblers and pushes through the static.”

Alek whistles low. “That’s a tall order. You’d need a genius to pull that off in time for it to matter.”

I nod once. “I may know someone.”

His expression shifts instantly. “Do you really want to involve her in this?” he asks, as if he’s reading my mind.

“She doesn’t need to know what it’s for,” I say. “She just needs to design the software. I’ll tell her it’s for a security prototype or some private system upgrade. Something innocuous. She won’t know anything beyond that. It’s just code. She’ll write it, I’ll test it, and we’ll move on.”

“And what happens if she starts asking questions?”

“I’ll handle it.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “You’re playing a dangerous game. You know better than to mix business with pleasure.”

“I think we’re a little beyond that now,” I say flatly.

When I call Lyra into my office the next day, it feels like breaking the surface after being underwater. We haven’t had much time to connect since I got back from Boston. Not that I haven’t wanted to, but we’ve both been busy.

Andrea alerts me that she’s coming in, and I try to steady myself. As much as I want to spend time with her, this project is too important to let our feelings get in the way.

When she walks in, she’s in a cream-colored blouse and black pants, sleek and sharp, with her hair pulled back from her face. She looks professional, and it takes everything in me not to reach across the desk and undo her. But there’s a distance in her eyes I don’t like. I don’t know how long it’s been there, but I know it must have started after my trip.

“Hey,” I say, flashing the kind of smile that used to make her flush. “You get more beautiful every time I see you.”

She smiles, but it’s tight and controlled. “That’s sweet of you to say,” she says, her voice polite.

I gesture to the seat across from my desk. “It’s good to see you. I feel like we’ve barely had any time to be together in the last few weeks.”

She sits, crossing one leg over the other, folding her hands neatly in her lap. I study her for a moment longer than I should. There’s something off. Not just her more guarded expression, but the way her gaze keeps flicking to the door, like she’s ready to bolt.

“Is everything okay?” I can’t help but ask. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

She cocks her head to the side, studying me. “Quiet?”