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Marriage Confidential
Debra Regan
Webb Black
A sexy hero vows to love, honour…and stop the hacker!Marriage to Madison Goode—his secret high-school crush—is news to billionaire techno whiz Sam Bellemere! The gorgeous State Department liaison has summoned him to fix a cybersecurity breach at an art museum reception. But why is he guest-listed as her husband?Madison has her reasons…as does a nefarious hacker now threatening her life and career. But once they've gone public, introvert Sam and career-focused Madison must play their roles perfectly, trusting and protecting each other as they race to thwart disaster. Surprisingly, being close is easy. A real relationship might be possible…if a worldwide cyber attack doesn't cost them their lives!


A sexy hero vows to love, honor...and stop the hacker!
Marriage to Madison Goode—his secret high-school crush—is news to billionaire techno whiz Sam Bellemere! The gorgeous State Department liaison has summoned him to fix a cybersecurity breach at an art museum reception. But why is he guest-listed as her husband?
Madison has her reasons...as does a nefarious hacker now threatening her life and career. But once they’ve gone public, introvert Sam and career-focused Madison must play their roles perfectly, trusting and protecting each other as they race to thwart disaster. Surprisingly, being close is easy. A real relationship might be possible...if a worldwide cyber attack doesn’t cost them their lives!
“All right.” He came up beside her and covered one of her chilled hands with his.
“What if we enjoy what is sure to be an outstanding dinner and then head back to my place and handle whatever is coming together as husband and wife?”
She studied his profile, seeing none of the tension or stress in the hard square of his jaw, only resolute determination. “Together?” She was bewildered as much by the offer as she was by the easy way he delivered it.
“Exactly.” He faced her, giving her a heated, toe-curling smile.
If only it would be that easy. “You stepping up publicly as my husband could very well put Gray Box at risk.”
“I’ve factored that in.”
His absolute fearlessness despite the unknowns made her want him more. She hadn’t known it was possible to sink deeper into her infatuation with him.
“You expect me to live with you at your condo?”
Marriage Confidential
Debra Webb
&
Regan Black


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
DEBRA WEBB, born in Alabama, wrote her first story at age nine and her first romance at thirteen. It wasn’t until after she spent three years working for the military behind the Iron Curtain—and a five-year stint with NASA—that she realized her true calling. Since then the USA TODAY bestselling author has penned more than one hundred novels, including her internationally bestselling Colby Agency series.
REGAN BLACK, a USA TODAY bestselling author, writes award-winning, action-packed novels featuring kick-butt heroines and the sexy heroes who fall in love with them. Raised in the Midwest and California, she and her family, along with their adopted greyhound, two arrogant cats and a quirky finch, reside in the South Carolina Lowcountry, where the rich blend of legend, romance and history fuels her imagination.
For my grandmother, ever the diplomat in the family,
for being a boundless source of wisdom, inspiration
and unconditional love.
—Regan
Contents
Cover (#u7a175968-6de4-5650-813e-8e24df10f199)
Back Cover Text (#u791094ae-882b-5807-8c60-2218169de911)
Introduction (#u11e7146f-728a-5bee-b99e-d5d9e96e9e50)
Title Page (#u1925b744-8b9b-5a2c-b90a-6511ea829c42)
About the Author (#ub1ab73e0-5f69-5dbd-8efe-08221b7abb6f)
Dedication (#ua1add320-76ea-5aba-b7dc-59d8b663543c)
Chapter One (#ub29c747f-c963-504a-8043-980c58c29eed)
Chapter Two (#u94c34d4b-f30c-5a36-a4d4-a0d10eb4e5c5)
Chapter Three (#uc7cd2835-ca81-5486-8cff-763f33172b74)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#udceb8fc3-11ca-5216-bf7b-48ebfb027add)
San Francisco
Friday, June 10, 6:45 p.m.
Shoulders back, head high, Madison Goode kept pace with the silent and stoic Special Agent Spalding from the FBI at her side. Her high heels clicked softly on the exquisite black marble tile. The sound was the only acknowledgment of their progress. Every inch of the Artistry of the Far East Museum was elegantly appointed and thoughtfully designed, not just the galleries displaying the invaluable collection. To Madison, who’d been behind the scenes of many of the most elaborate venues here and around the world, it seemed as if the museum founders had been as eager to inspire the staff as they were the visitors. She appreciated such excellent attention to detail.
As she turned her wrist to check her watch, her platinum and diamond wedding set glowed beautifully under the perfect lighting. She’d had it cleaned yesterday for this occasion, a little unnerved by how awkward and vulnerable she felt in the hours it wasn’t on her finger. She took comfort in the familiarity of the jewelry in its rightful place, a calming reminder in what hopefully wouldn’t blow up into a crisis.
The countdown for the evening was running in her head. The dignitaries from China’s foreign ministry would be here within forty-five minutes for a pregala toast and a private viewing of the new exhibit on loan to the United States. She knew from her years of experience as a State Department liaison that they would arrive five minutes earlier than scheduled.
Special Agent Spalding held open the door, encouraging her to enter the museum security office ahead of him. Even here, in the controlled lighting, she noted the aesthetic details that would empower the staff and boost efficiency. Her gaze slid over the monitors and the personnel watching each screen and status panel. No one was panicking and everything seemed to be in order, yet the tension simmering in the air was completely different than on her previous visits during the negotiation of the exhibit. When Spalding requested—demanded—her review of a potential security breach, he’d explained the threat was not as clear and easy to locate as a thief lurking in the building for his chance to strike.
“Technicians monitoring the computer systems found a problem,” Spalding said, his voice startling her after the long minutes of silence.
She followed him over to a small work space at the far end of the room. Although Madison had met with the cyber security managers on her previous visits, she’d only been introduced to the full team once. She smiled at the man and woman—very early twenties at best—wearing museum security uniform shirts with skinny jeans. Clearly uncertain how to proceed, they stood nervously beside their workstations where two FBI agents in subdued suits had assumed their seats and were working feverishly on their computers.
Madison’s stomach twisted, but years of practice and discipline had perfected her ability to hide any outward signs of distress or insecurity. She extended her hand to the woman first and introduced herself. “Madison Goode, State Department. Special Agent Spalding tells me you’ve found some kind of threat?”
“Yes. I’m Carli,” the woman said as she bobbed her head. Her bright red glasses framed blue eyes highlighted by purple mascara. Her pursed lips and scowl gave away her exasperation at being pushed from her station. “We were handling it.”
“Devon,” the man beside her said. He unfolded his arms long enough to shake Madison’s proffered hand and bump up his round, wire-framed glasses. Arms crossed once more, the fingers of one hand drummed against his opposite arm. She recognized how eager he was to get his hands back on his keyboard. “Carli and I saw the chatter about the attack and followed protocol,” he explained.
“These two just took over,” Carli said.
“We could be helping,” the two finished in unison.
Special Agent Spalding cleared his throat and gave a small tilt of his head. At the signal, Madison motioned for the technicians to step aside with her. “You did exactly the right thing,” she assured them. “Thank you both. I’m sure the FBI will only require another few minutes to make an assessment. Can you walk me through it, please?”
“We’ve been gearing up for weeks,” Carli began. “Staff meetings, search parameters—”
“And likely troublemakers,” Devon interjected. “There hadn’t been a whisper of a problem until an hour ago.”
“Then we found the chat room,” Carli continued. “Chatter about how America was selling the country to China one piece of art at a time. We saw blatant threats to the new exhibit. A rallying cry to take a stand.”
“Ugly stuff, really,” Devon added. “We notified our manager, took screenshots and started tracking usernames—”
“And IP addresses,” Carli finished.
By the time Madison had heard the entire story, she was nearly convinced Carli and Devon were twins with the way they completed each other’s sentences. The FBI agents at the stations continued working as Devon and Carli grew increasingly impatient. “I promise they’ll be out of your space as soon as possible,” Madison said.
Devon snorted and Carli elbowed him with a whispered reminder to be polite. Although Madison hadn’t hit thirty yet, these two suddenly made her feel old as they fidgeted and murmured in tech-speak about the situation.
Catching Spalding’s eye, she walked over. “Any progress?”
“Looks as if a group of American radicals is making a legitimate threat,” Spalding replied. “What my team is unraveling implies a direct, credible threat on the delegation from China. You need to postpone the reception. Possibly delay the exhibit.”
In her head, she raged and screamed, though she kept her expression neutral and her breathing under control. This unprecedented exhibit was scheduled to open to the public tomorrow. Ticket sales had exceeded their projections and officials at the Chinese consulate were openly thrilled. Delaying tonight’s event would undermine significant progress in the diplomatic arena and she wasn’t ready to toss that out the window, yet she couldn’t put lives or the displays at risk. “Can you run the vocabulary and threats against the emails our office received earlier this month?”
“Yes.” He signaled his crews to do as she asked. Spalding was grim, his voice low as he continued, “From all appearances this group is organized and ready to strike.” He went on with an explanation of his on-site security team and standard precautions. FBI and local police both in uniform and undercover had the museum surrounded and the Chinese delegation’s route from the consulate to the museum under surveillance, as well. “When we discussed this last week, we decided those emails came from a hacktivist group based in Asia.”
“The internet brings people together,” she replied. She braced a hand on the edge of the desk and leaned forward. Her sleek ponytail slid over her shoulder as she reviewed each correspondence and she pushed it back as she straightened. “The language is quite similar.” Similar enough that she was almost positive they were being strung along, dancing to someone else’s agenda.
Security wasn’t her assigned area of expertise and yet Madison needed to weigh all threats and consequences to the exhibit and the Chinese delegation. The political fallout of canceling the event or postponing the opening could be a serious problem. Her intuition told her they had trouble, though she disagreed with Spalding that the trouble would strike in the form of an immediate personal attack. “The radicals on the other side of that computer screen are noisemakers,” she said decisively. “They’ve never struck in person. We’re prepared and we’ll continue with the program as scheduled.”
Spalding’s eyes were hard and his voice was barely audible. “If you’re wrong?”
Since accepting her role within the State Department, she’d been walking the tenuous line of relations between China, Vietnam and other interested parties in the South China Sea long enough to trust her gut instinct. “There is trouble, I’ll grant you, but it is not a physical threat tonight. Someone is playing us, saying enough of the right things to make us doubt and potentially cause a rift. I refuse to make a decision based on fear that will undo the progress we’ve made in the past year.”
Spalding glared down at her and only her years of ballet training kept her spine straight, her gaze direct. “Listen, Goode, if you—”
“Sir! Ma’am!”
Madison peered around Spalding to see a member of the museum security staff waving frantically from the various readouts that confirmed priceless objets d’art and artifacts were secure in their displays. “What is it?” Spalding demanded as he crossed the room, Madison on his heels.
Her famous self-control almost snapped when she saw which exhibit caused the concern. The first troubling email her office had intercepted two weeks ago specifically mentioned the cup with dragon handles carved from white jade. The cup signified more than exceptional artistry and craftsmanship. Bringing a prized item from twelfth-century China to this museum in America indicated growing trust between their countries. Priceless, it wasn’t the oldest piece China had shared in this exhibit, but certainly one of the best known. Any impression that it wasn’t secure could destabilize the agreement.
“We read a spike in the display temperature first,” the man at the controls explained, bringing up a graph. “Now the electronic lock is flickering.”
“Flickering? What does that mean?” Spalding asked.
Madison already knew. She’d been through the museum a dozen times already, reviewing every detail of the items selected as well as the security measures necessary to protect the extraordinary exhibit China planned to share as a gesture of good intentions. A flickering electronic lock meant someone either was in the security system right now or had planted a virus to weaken it.
While Spalding sent his team along with museum staff to verify the safety of the cup and secure the galleries, she pulled her phone from her clutch and prepared to make an uncomfortable call. Whether or not the cup or any of the other priceless treasures were stolen tonight, a perceived flaw in the security would raise suspicion. She debated with herself over how to keep the head of the consular staff informed without wrecking the confidence she’d worked so hard to establish.
She turned to the man still monitoring the control panels. “Is it possible to isolate what type of interference is affecting the lock?”
“I can do that.” Carli stepped up when the technician hesitated.
Madison watched the younger woman conduct a swift search of the programming until she found what they were all looking for. Madison wasn’t an expert in computer languages or coding, but she recognized enough groupings on the monitor. The source of the problem in the locking mechanism on the display case was a hacker who’d been pounding at the State Department computer system firewalls in a chaotic effort to make his point about the insecurities plaguing the world. The official position was the hacker was tilting at windmills for the sheer joy of annoying cyber security. Now Madison wondered what they had overlooked. Only a thorough investigation would determine if this stunt was a timely coincidence or if he was in fact part of the outrageous, threatening chatter Carli and Devon had discovered.
“This is a hacker,” Madison stated. She kept her opinions and curses to herself as she opened a menu on her cell phone and located the right name in her contact list. “The reception and gala will go on. I want security increased around the cup please,” she said to Spalding. “Carli, please take a screenshot and do what you can to hold the hacker’s attention,” she added.
“I can help her.” Devon plugged in a wireless keyboard and jumped into the technological fray. “How much do you want us to do?”
“Don’t strike back directly,” Madison said, keeping the phone to her ear. She listened as the line rang and rang, hoping for a miracle. From what they’d been coping with at the office in recent weeks, she suspected the hacker was better than Carli and Devon, even combined. “Make him jump through enough hoops that it keeps him entertained.” Madison wrote her cell phone number on a notepad and left it between them. “Keep me in the loop.”
“You got it,” Carli and Devon said in unison.
As she left the security suite, Madison heard Spalding reorganizing his staff and she hit the redial icon. Again, the one man she needed didn’t answer and her call went to voice mail. Irritation plucked at the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders. She had answered immediately when he needed her last year. Of course, he’d reached out by email that day. Rethinking her approach, she disconnected the call and opened her email application. After entering an admittedly desperate message, she hit Send. All she could do now was wait and hope Carli and Devon would be enough.
She made a last-minute adjustment to the guest list in case her secret-weapon expert did show up, alerting the team assigned to the rear entrance of the museum. Ignoring the raised eyebrows and a low whistle at the name she added, she headed for the main museum entrance. The lead dignitaries from the Chinese consulate would arrive within minutes.
“Hope you’re right about this,” Spalding muttered, his gaze sweeping the area.
“I am,” she replied with more confidence than she felt. There would be time for recriminations and self-doubt later when she was home alone. Plenty of time if this became an assassination attempt, since she’d either be dead or unemployed by morning.
Minutes later the formal greetings were exchanged on the red carpet outside and she gave her full attention to the delegation while Spalding watched everything else. Everyone in this first, exclusive group from China appeared as relaxed as she’d ever seen them as she guided them into the museum entrance hall. The invitations had specified black-tie and she thought the group resembled a stunning kaleidoscope with the colorful silk dresses of the women spiraling about the backdrop of black tuxedos.
Madison treated herself to an inward sigh of relief when the first group was safely inside, smiling and greeting senior staff from the State Department as well as the museum director, Edward Wong. Stepping out of view, she confirmed preparations were on schedule for the champagne toast in front of the prized white jade cup.
Brief, scripted speeches were exchanged between officials along with gestures of confidence and trust. If the hacker had attempted to rattle a saber on the Chinese side, the group showed no signs of distress. For the first time in over an hour, she believed the evening would run without any visible hitch.
At either side of the doorway to the premier gallery, golden champagne sparkled and bubbled in narrow crystal flutes ready for guests. Seeing that the key players from China and America were all smiles as they gathered together around the white jade cup display, Madison wanted to give a victorious cheer. With the drama and bids for power that filled the news most days, creating these moments of peace and goodwill was the big payoff in a career she loved.
She’d met and spoken with every person scheduled to work in this room, down to the museum security guards posted discreetly at intervals throughout the gallery and museum at large. Before she could fully relax, her phone vibrated against her palm. The incoming text message had her smothering a wince, arriving too late for her to clear the room.
Suddenly the lighting flickered inside the display case of the white jade cup and the lock buzzed and clicked. With everyone so close, there was no chance for the problem to go unnoticed. The hacker had grown bored with Carli and Devon and was obviously exerting his control on the system. Across the room, Madison saw the museum director bring the guards to attention as Spalding issued orders for his team.
Xi Liu, the highest ranking official on station at the Chinese consulate, aimed straight for Madison. They had worked closely with the museum staff in preparing for this exhibit. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
Mr. Wong joined her immediately. An older gentleman and first-generation American born to Chinese parents, he remained fluent in both the language and the behavioral expectations. “This is a standard test,” he explained calmly to Mr. Liu. “My apologies for the incorrect timing. This is a routine we typically employ after closing. The schedule change must have reverted. I assure you all is well and your generous exhibit is secure.” Mr. Wong’s serene expression was tested when the lock whirred and buzzed again. “There are no weaknesses in the system that prevent us from displaying the piece publicly.”
Mr. Liu didn’t appear entirely convinced as he turned to Madison. “You assured me all was in place. What is happening?”
“As you are aware, sir,” she began, “cutting edge technology is often finicky.” Madison felt a bead of sweat slide down her back. Where was the backup she’d called in? “Despite the mistiming of the normal security routine, your exhibit is quite safe.” She extended an arm to indicate the room. “The collection, in fact, the entire museum, is guarded by the finest technology systems as well as by the finest personnel. Your guests and friends remain unconcerned. In fact, they appear quite eager to continue with the festivities.”
Barely appeased, Mr. Liu motioned a man forward and murmured at his ear. To Madison and the director he said, “My man will stand guard with yours.”
“Absolutely,” she agreed. The director nodded with her. “If you would feel more comfortable, we can adjust the access of reception attendees.” It wouldn’t be too difficult to keep traffic out of this room and there had been no trouble at all in any other gallery. She didn’t believe for a moment that theft of the cup or any other object was on the hacker’s mind. Whoever had launched this attack was interested in dealing chaos and fostering mistrust. She sensed the true goal was to create a rift that would set back relations indefinitely.
Although Mr. Liu politely declined the offer to restrict access, Madison understood the nuances in his statement that emphasized his displeasure. She escorted the dignitaries from both countries to the receiving line to greet guests and checked her phone for any new messages.
Still nothing. Carli and Devon would have to find a way to end this game. Madison struggled to stay calm on her return to the security suite. The man might be out of town. If so, she’d excuse this lack of response. However, if she found out he was simply ignoring her calls and emails, she’d find Sam Bellemere and put a hammer through his most precious hard drive.
Chapter Two (#udceb8fc3-11ca-5216-bf7b-48ebfb027add)
Sam Bellemere sank into the plush seat of the limousine and tugged at his bow tie, letting the ends hang loose. He popped the button at the collar of his tuxedo shirt and pushed his hands through his hair. Able to breathe at last, he felt a thousand times better than he had just ten minutes ago surrounded by a ballroom full of wealthy people eager to support the Gray Box youth programs. The June fund-raiser was the one event his business partner, Rush Grayson, refused to let him dodge. The codevelopers’ proprietary encryption technology had led to their founding of the cloud storage service giant, Gray Box. For the former smart-ass teenage hackers, mentoring the next generation of responsible computer geeks was a cause near and dear to both of them.
Knowing how shy Sam was, Rush had willingly assumed the role as the front man of the company, handling most of the public events and meetings. It had become an ideal partnership over the years. Rush’s extroverted nature thrived on time spent in the limelight and Sam happily kept himself behind the scenes. Without Rush and the company, Sam knew he’d be labeled an eccentric hermit—or worse—by now. The label held a certain appeal for Sam, but his friend insisted that kind of notoriety set a bad example for the kids they were trying to help.
“Back to the office, sir?” asked Jake, one of the drivers Gray Box kept on staff.
“Please,” Sam replied. The privacy screen rolled up between them and he withdrew his phone from the inner pocket of his jacket and turned it on. Within a minute, the device buzzed and chimed as if he’d been offline for weeks rather than hours.
He shook his head, skimming the alerts he’d missed while rubbing elbows with San Francisco’s elite. No phone was another rule for social events that Sam wasn’t allowed to argue with. He and Rush both knew if he’d had his phone on, he would have hidden behind the device rather than mingle face-to-face with the guests. Per their agreement, that behavior would have meant Sam was required to attend another event later in the year to make up for the gaffe.
Once a year in the monkey suit, smiling until his face ached, was more than enough time in the spotlight for Sam. Didn’t matter that by the sole measure of net worth he was technically one of the elite he struggled to connect with.
Terminally shy, he felt like a fish out of water in social situations. Anything more than dinner out with his closest friends left him wound tighter than a high wire. After several awkward failures, he’d met with counselors and psychiatrists to help him, without much success. He tried chemistry as well, in the form of medication to erase his anxiety. The unpleasant side effects hadn’t been worth it. He’d since resigned himself to limiting his social exposure and created a recovery plan that involved a double shot of whiskey and an online warfare game as a reward for making the attempt.
Several missed calls were from the same number, one he didn’t recognize. Half a dozen emails with a similar time stamp caught his full attention. With luck, this would be a security crisis at Gray Box that only he could resolve. Then Rush would have to let him keep his phone on during future events.
To Sam’s astonishment, all of the messages were from Madison Goode, an old friend from high school. Well, he’d known her for the two years he was allowed to attend public high school after his stint in juvenile detention. The government hadn’t appreciated the skill or restraint when Sam and Rush hacked into sites just to prove it could be done.
Sam had tutored Madison through a couple of classes, helping her pump up her GPA as well as her comprehension on some required course work. To this day, she sent him an email Christmas card every year. As much as he resisted those conventional traditions, because she respected his preference for digital correspondence, he always sent one back.
He put the voice mail on speaker and listened, then quickly read and reread the emails, each more desperate than the last, which was only two sentences: “Come on, Sam. You owe me.”
Sam shifted to the seat closer to the driver and lowered the privacy screen. “Change of plans. I need to get to the Artistry of the Far East Museum.” He buttoned up his collar and started on his tie. “Fast as you can get there.”
He hit Reply on the last email, letting Madison know he was on the way. Her first email had arrived over two and a half hours ago. Damn. He never would’ve left her hanging intentionally. She was right, he did owe her. Big time. Just before Christmas, she’d helped bring Rush and Lucy, Rush’s new wife, home from France, sparing everyone involved delays and inquiries that were better off as unconfirmed rumors. Next, he tapped the icon and returned one of her three phone calls. She didn’t pick up. He left a voice mail message that he was on the way.
While the driver made quick work of the bottlenecks of Friday night traffic, Sam checked for any breaking news at the museum. He came up empty and was ready to start a different search when the driver hit a detour about a block from the museum. “Looks like some big event,” Jake said. “There’s a red carpet out and everything.”
A red carpet event with no news teams nearby? It didn’t make sense. “No problem. I’ll walk from here.” His curiosity piqued, Sam reached for the door handle.
“Do you want me to wait?”
“Not necessary. I can call if I need something.”
Before he’d exited the limo, the familiar tension lanced across his shoulders and turned his mouth dry. At least at this event, without Rush nearby to glare at him, he could use his phone as a shield if necessary. Although he was dressed for it, he didn’t want to brave the red carpet, so he turned away at the last second and looked for a side entrance. The museum was crawling with local uniforms as well as a team that gave Sam the impression the President of the United States might be in attendance. He hoped not. Rush’s last meeting at the Pentagon had become urban legend in certain circles by now.
Sam took comfort again in the lack of news crews. For a split second, he considered the fallout if he walked away and caught a cab home. He waged an internal argument that there wasn’t any kind of favor worth the agony of walking into a world of strangers.
But he couldn’t do that. Madison had used her connections for him, coming through in the midst of a crisis to smooth over what might easily have been an unpleasant international incident for Rush, Lucy and the company. Not to mention she was one of two people from high school—aside from teachers—who consistently kept up with him. The other was Rush.
He was climbing the stairs to the side entrance, still waging that internal debate, when a uniformed museum guard and a man in a dark suit holding a tablet blocked the door. “Sam Bellemere,” he told the man in the suit. As the man brought the guest list onto the tablet, Sam saw names and photos in two columns. “Madison Goode asked me to stop by,” he added, shamelessly dropping her name to speed things up. “Is she here?”
The suit didn’t reply, focused on scrolling through the long list. From Sam’s view, he could see the last page was a different color and to his surprise, he recognized the head shot used on all of the Gray Box publicity.
“Mr. Bellemere.” The suit said the name with reverence and a little shock. As he stuck out his hand, a smile erased the stoic gatekeeper’s expression. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He pumped Sam’s hand and then signaled for the museum guard to open the door. “I’ll walk you back.”
“Thank you.”
“It is a pleasure,” the suit repeated. “I’m Brady Cortland. Has Madison mentioned me? I’ve been on her planning team for this exhibition and reception from the start.”
“Not that I recall,” Sam said. Why did this guy think Madison shared any details about her work? When the man’s face fell, he knew he had to say something. “But I’m terrible with names.”
“No problem,” Brady said. “Everyone who knows anything has heard how your work consumes you. Give me Mandarin any day over a computer language.”
“You and Madison must have worked night and day on this event,” Sam guessed.
“Yes!” Brady’s smile reappeared. “It took most of the office at one point or another. This exhibit was a logistical nightmare,” he said conspiratorially, “but so worth it in the long run.” He paused outside a door marked Security. “I need to get back to my post. Madison will be relieved you’re here. If you can sort out this mess, you’ll be the most popular spouse in the State Department.”
Sam was sure he’d misheard the man, but when he stepped inside the room, the question faded to the back of his mind. Here, surrounded by technology and the low murmurs of voices, he was instantly at home. Monitors showed views of the museum inside and out. Panels of status displays offered rows and blocks of colors and the soft click and clack of keyboards in action created his favorite background music. This tech-filled room was a world he understood.
Madison’s gaze collided with his immediately. As she crossed the room, her face was the epitome of calm with not a single sign of the tension he’d heard on his voice mail and in the unhappy tenor of her emails. She was a vision in a black sleeveless dress that poured over her curves, slits high at each leg allowing her to move with the dancer’s grace he remembered from school.
“You came,” she said. Her lips, painted a deep red, curved into a warm smile. Her soft green eyes, framed with long black eyelashes, drifted over him head to toe and back up again. She’d pulled her blond hair back from her face. “Dressed for the occasion too.” She leaned back and studied him and he wondered what she saw.
“I would’ve been here earlier if my phone hadn’t been turned off.” Her eyebrows arched. “Rush’s orders for social events,” he explained.
He soaked up every detail of her. They hadn’t seen each other in person since their ten-year high-school reunion, another event Rush had forced him to attend. Madison had been the only bright light that evening. He remembered her in a softer dress, her hair in loose waves around her shoulders. Tonight, the sleek dress and hair created the illusion of a blond version of perfect Far Eastern elegance. As if being shy wasn’t bad enough, her lithe dancer’s body left him tongue-tied. He knew it would be polite to offer her a compliment. If only he could trust his mouth to deliver the words in the proper, flattering order. The years of exercises in composure and confidence in social settings were lost in the ether of his brain. He was terrified of saying something wrong in front of so many people. These were her coworkers and he wouldn’t compound her current trouble with some embarrassing blunder.
Apparently understanding his discomfiture, she leaned close and feathered a kiss near his cheek. “Thank you for coming.” When she took his hand, her tight grasp was his only clue to her distress. “Did we pull you away from something important?”
“No. I’d finished my part for the evening.”
Her hand slid over his arm as she guided him to a workstation. “My apologies for being simultaneously vague and persistent,” she began in that perfect, unaccented voice. “I wasn’t comfortable putting the details in an email. As this evening approached, we had the typical threats against the dignitaries from China and the exhibit that opens tonight with this gala reception. I chalked it up to normal background noise until the museum system was breached a few hours ago. Whoever is behind this has disrupted display settings and the electronic locks on the centerpiece of this exhibit. The consensus is if those settings can be reset, he can do more damage at will to any part of the museum.”
“Sounds about right,” Sam said. “Is the primary concern preventing a theft?”
“On that we all disagree. I find the threat of a theft low.” She gave a quick shake of her head. “I can’t rule it out, of course. The head of the Chinese consulate has added his men to the security team. If theft is the goal, a hacker messing with the display through the computer has made their task additionally difficult. I’m more concerned with what’s going on in here.” She circled her finger at the nearest monitor.
Her voice rolled over him as easily as surf kissing sand before it slid back to the ocean. He could listen to her for hours, a strange revelation for a man who preferred working either in near-silence or to the pounding beat of heavy metal music. Bending forward, he reached up to bump his glasses and hit his nose, forgetting he’d worn contacts. Hoping she hadn’t noticed, he examined several screenshots of coding. “You caught this?” he asked, impressed.
She laughed. “No.” She rolled her hand, inviting two younger people into the conversation. “Carli and Devon noticed some increasing negative chatter directly tied to the event this evening. The primary person in the chat room had too many specifics of the agenda tonight for it to be random. The FBI has been running down the source, which left Carli and Devon to try and amuse the hacker until you could get here. Pardon me,” she said. “Carli and Devon, this is Sam Bellemere.”
“O-M-G.” Carli clapped a hand over her mouth. Her blue eyes were huge behind her glasses. “I cannot believe you married Sam Bellemere. You’re the—”
“Mastermind of Gray Box,” Devon said, finishing her sentence. “We’re huge fans,” he gushed.
They both tried to shake his hand simultaneously and Sam laughed it off. Though he’d never be completely comfortable in the spotlight, their overwhelming greeting gave him a pleasant distraction from another mention of marriage. Marrying Madison—or any woman—wasn’t something he considered forgettable.
Reflexively he looked at her hand and caught the wedding set on her left ring finger. It was timeless and elegant, much like the woman wearing it. The classic beauty of the wedding set contrasted with the larger ruby ring on her right hand that accented the sleek lines of her dress. So he hadn’t misheard the suit with the tablet. Madison had listed him as her husband?
“Was Rush your best man?” Carli asked.
“If we could stay on point,” Madison interjected coolly.
Happily, Sam thought. Whatever her reasons for calling him her husband, he trusted she’d tell him later. He wouldn’t embarrass her with questions now, in front of people who clearly respected her. “What do you need?” He reached for the mouse and scrolled through the screenshots Carli and Devon had captured.
“I need to know the white jade cup and the museum as a whole are secure and will stay secure. This exhibit is a huge honor for the US and a big show of trust from China. Any perceived trouble could undo months of negotiations.” She waved over another man. “If you’d coordinate with Special Agent Spalding, I need to circulate with the guests for a few minutes.”
“Sure.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. Within a few keystrokes, he was into the museum system and feeling his way around. He’d much rather be here than out there with her among a crowd of strangers.
While Spalding brought him up to speed, Sam felt Carli and Devon watching every keystroke as he looked for how the hacker had wormed this code into the display controls.
The code caught his full attention and everything around him faded into the background. He was always happier working with computer code than trying to unravel the mysteries of people. People had secrets and hidden agendas such as pretend marriage. Computer code, no matter how convoluted or infectious, always retained a sense of logic, if only to the coder. He couldn’t imagine how Madison managed all the protocols and people day in and day out. He’d go crazy under that kind of pressure.
As he worked, he kept up a running litany for Spalding. “The chances of finding his location with the tools here are low.” Sam wasn’t ready to risk a connection and upload his personal tool kit to a compromised system. “For tonight,” he continued, “I can isolate the issues and prevent him from causing more havoc.”
“Can you keep him out?”
“That requires a major upgrade for the museum. They’re well-protected from the things they know about. This...” His voice trailed off until he ran into another annoying speed bump. “Well, this kid is good.”
“How do you know it’s a kid?” Spalding asked.
“Just an educated guess based on the language, creative approach and execution. He gained access through a gap in the contact page.”
Devon and Carli added their opinions and voices to the discussion, speculating on who was behind the attack and where they were hiding. Though Sam wasn’t willing to give away the online security programs he used at Gray Box, he was happy to weave in a few improvements and lock out the hacker for tonight. “Display controls and locks are back in my control,” a man said from across the room.
“The group from China will be delighted to hear it,” Spalding said with obvious relief. “Almost as much as the museum director.”
Sam imagined Madison would be pleased, as well. “The hard work isn’t done,” he warned. “This stopgap will buy the museum forty-eight hours at best. If he wants back in, he’ll find a way.”
“The exhibit runs through the end of the year,” Madison said from over his shoulder.
Sam swiveled in the seat and met her serene gaze. “I didn’t hear you come in.” He checked his watch, surprised he’d been working on this for nearly an hour.
She gave him a small smile. “Can you create a solution that will last?”
“Yes, but not from here.” He stood up from the workstation. “I’ll work on it more tomorrow. For tonight, everything should run flawlessly.”
“Wonderful.” Her eyes were filled with gratitude. “Thank you, on behalf of all of us.”
“We’ll need to coordinate with your efforts moving forward,” Spalding said. “My team needs to know what you’re implementing.”
Startled at the man’s audacity, Sam laughed. “I’ll keep you in the loop, but you’re not coming anywhere near my lab at Gray Box.”
“This is an ongoing FBI case,” Spalding countered, planting his hands on his hips.
“All right, it’s yours. What a relief I’m not needed here anymore.” Sam stepped away from the workstation and shoved his hands into his pockets before he gave in to the urge to pop Spalding on the chin. At one time, he’d been a scrawny nerd. After high school, when his days were his to manage, he started putting in almost as many hours at the gym as he did at the keyboard.
“Gentlemen,” Madison chided. “I’m sure we can come to terms at a more appropriate time in the morning.”
Sam wanted to snarl at the insinuation that he’d cave on this point. “FBI, Department of Defense, or whoever, can sign a contract if they want a consultant. I don’t work for free.”
He and Rush had seen a need and gone after it, cornering the market of online information security. They’d both developed and sold ideas for millions, so founding Gray Box hadn’t been strictly a money-motivated endeavor. Although no one seemed to believe it, they had an altruistic side, professionally and personally.
Hackers once themselves, they’d been disowned by that community when they launched Gray Box. He couldn’t recall a week since the company went public without an attempt on the servers. Every hacker in the world wanted the instant reputation and recognition that would come from breaking into Gray Box. The legitimate businesses they supported now still held a reserve of distrust, despite their zero-breach record. Sam reminded himself public image wasn’t his problem. He left that to Rush and Rush left the lion’s share of the day-to-day technology to him.
“If you’re set,” Sam said to Madison, “I’ll be on my way.” He shook hands with Carli and Devon and signed a business card for each of them. With a final nod to Spalding, he let Madison walk him out of the security suite.
“You haven’t heard the last of Spalding,” she murmured. “He takes his role in this seriously.”
“As he should,” Sam said, matching her low tone. “I’ll cooperate with him, but I’m not handing over proprietary technology or software.” Again he reached to push his glasses up so he could rub his eyes and remembered in the nick of time he was wearing his contacts. “By noon tomorrow, I’ll have better location intel for the FBI to work with as well as a comprehensive protective program for the museum. At a fair price.”
“Remarkable.” She stopped, placing a hand on his arm again. “I have one more favor to ask.”
He arched his eyebrows, waiting.
She glanced up and down the hallway before meeting his gaze. “Spend a few minutes at the reception with me. News of my, um, husband’s arrival has made people curious.”
He kept her waiting, but she didn’t flinch. “Okay, on one condition.”
“Only one?”
He reconsidered his position. “One condition and I reserve the right to add conditions based on your answers.”
She held her ground and his gaze. “I reserve the right to refuse on a per item basis. Name your primary condition.”
He felt the smile curl his lips, saw her lovely mouth curve in reply. “Tell me where and why we married.”
“Not here.” Her smile faded. “You deserve a full explanation and you’ll get it, I promise. As soon as I navigate the minefield this evening has become. I don’t have any right to impose further, but I could use a buffer in there.”
He suddenly wanted to step up and be that buffer. For her. “I’m no asset in social settings, Madison.”
“No one’s expecting you to be a social butterfly. You only have to be yourself and pretend to be proud of me.”
He didn’t care for her phrasing. Before he could debate the terms further, she leaned her body close to his and gave him a winning smile. “Later,” she murmured, tapping his lips with her finger. “Let’s go. There’s only an hour left.” She linked her hand with his and turned, giving him a start when they came face-to-face with one of the guests.
Her moves made sense now. She’d known they were being watched while he’d been mesmerized by her soft green eyes. The intimacy had only been for show. Thank goodness.
If her smile was any indication, he’d managed the first introduction flawlessly. They were soon surrounded by others eager to meet Madison’s elusive husband. Beside her, working the room wasn’t difficult. She never left him to fend for himself and listening to her answer the same repeated questions, he learned she’d kept details of her married life private. It made the hour easier to bear.
The only thing that came naturally to him was demonstrating pride in his fake wife. She had a flare for diplomacy—no surprise, considering her career. He admired her ability to say the right things or politely evade questions she didn’t want to answer.
When they entered the gallery where the prized white jade cup glowed under soft lights surrounded by guards, he was the only person close enough to catch her relieved sigh. She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Sam. You saved me tonight.”
He couldn’t recall ever hearing similar words aimed at him. “We should dance,” he replied, noticing other couples dancing on the terrace where live music was under way.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, resisting.
This was a new role. Not the one she’d created for him with the marriage ruse, but being the eager and willing dance partner. He tipped his head to the open doors, urging her to come along. “It’s a gorgeous night and it’s our public debut as a couple.”
“It’s not necessary,” she murmured as they lingered on the fringes of the dance floor.
“Afraid I’ll step on your toes?” He managed to keep the growing list of questions to himself, though he couldn’t wait to hear how she’d passed her security clearances with a fake husband. “Come on,” he cajoled. “We deserve a little fun.” Besides, he had more he wanted to say. Nothing as eloquent as the cheesy lines he’d just delivered—something far more relevant to his real reason for being here.
With a little spin, he turned her into his arms and they joined the flow of dancing couples.
“Impressive.” She gave him an open, friendly smile that suited her better than the cool reserve she’d shown all evening.
“My mom was a stickler for all the traditional manners.” If he focused on her, he didn’t mind the other people milling about, watching them.
Madison peered up at him through her lashes. “Was that before or after juvie?”
“Both, actually,” he admitted. Why conversation had always been easy with her was a perpetual mystery to him. She’d always been out of his league and yet she’d never been rude about what she needed when he tutored her. The sobering thought brought him back to the reason she’d called on him to help.
He bent his head close to hers and whispered in her ear. “There’s more to the problem you had tonight, isn’t there?”
Her hand smoothed a small circle across his shoulder. “Yes.” The serene mask she kept between the world and her emotions fell back into place.
“I’d like to talk about it in more detail.”
“As soon as I’m home I’ll call you and fill you in.”
“No.” Based on who she was, the people around them and the disjointed threats from the hacker and online chat rooms, he didn’t trust her phone or email right now. Knowing how she’d reached out to him, he had a few concerns about the security of his phone and email. “In person is better. Smarter,” he added.
Her body tensed under his hands. “Sam, stop. You’ve done enough for me. I can handle it with the FBI’s help from here.”
“I’m serious, Madison.” He guided her through a turn and brought her closer to his body. “You know the history of this situation. You know the protocols and risks in your world better than I do.”
When concern flared in her eyes, he knew she was following his line of thinking. If she’d used his name from the beginning of her marriage charade, he had reason to worry that his condo might be compromised. It wasn’t simply his fondness for spy novels fueling the paranoia. He and Rush had survived several corporate espionage attempts, from local to global threats. As he’d watched Madison work the room, he realized several people in the Chinese delegation recognized him and were reassessing her because of it. He sensed serious trouble brewing and he needed her insight to get ahead of it.
“How long have people believed I’m your husband?”
Chapter Three (#udceb8fc3-11ca-5216-bf7b-48ebfb027add)
Madison knew precisely what he was asking and she was ashamed for not thinking of it earlier. Her desperate action had put him at risk. She blamed her oversight on being near him, close enough to touch. Holding his hand, having that strong, warm palm pressed against hers, brought her persistent fantasy to life with vivid detail. Despite the crazy twists and turns of the evening, despite knowing there were likely more problems ahead, this past hour with him had been nothing short of a dream come true.
And now she was waking up with a jolt. “Only the security clearance team is aware the wedding set is only for show.” The rings had been enough of a buffer for her, until tonight.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” he stated, executing another perfect turn in the dance.
Of course it didn’t. Sam Bellemere, master of logistics and computer code, was searching for the bug—the flaw—in her story. “I have no reason to believe your home has been compromised.” She pushed the words through the tight smile she kept plastered on her face.
“A good start.”
“I never once used your full name in any conversation or correspondence until tonight.”
She felt more than heard his disbelieving snort. Did he have to push this here and now? She was worn out, had been working toward this evening for the better part of a year. She had a bottle of her favorite wine chilled and waiting at her apartment for her private celebration. “I will tell you the whole story. In person.”
“I know.” His hands flexed, underscoring the inevitability of those two words.
Was that a threat or a promise? Her body had an opinion, but that was nothing new. She’d worked her tail off through high school and college until finally realizing her goal of becoming a liaison with the State Department. The joy had dulled quickly when she ran up against the preconceived notions of men and women from different countries and cultures. It wasn’t a shock, she knew her research, yet facing it head-on day in and day out had challenged her resolve. The illusion of having a husband smoothed out those rough edges and gave her the respect and distance she needed to excel in her position. Even the team who handled her security clearance had been on board with the idea, since there wouldn’t be any issues with questionable romantic relationships.
At the office, with the people who knew her best, she’d found having a particular man in mind made the lie easier. Even if she didn’t share the details of the whirlwind wedding and happy marriage, it gave her story credibility. No need to fabricate height, hair and eye color, or how her husband smiled at her over a shared joke. All she had to do was picture the man dancing with her now.
Sam Bellemere, reclusive, wealthy and brilliant, was the embodiment of her ideal husband and she had no intention of admitting such a thing. At six feet, he was the perfect height for her. His brown hair and brown eyes might sound bland, yet thinking about the flecks of gold in his irises she’d noticed when he tutored her, recalling his exasperation and amusement with her struggle to learn what he mastered so easily, always made her smile. It was those sweet memories that convinced her coworkers she’d found her soul mate.
If only it could be true.
It was impossible to ignore how he’d bulked up as he matured, filling out through the shoulders and everywhere else since high school. He was light on his feet, his muscles firm under his tuxedo. She’d read in an interview that he kept fit by boxing at a gym across town. It was obviously working.
She reeled in her attraction before it became obvious. Her crush on him had begun that first week of his tutoring. No matter where she went, who she met or dated, or how many birthdays she celebrated, he was the standard by which she measured all men. She knew being stuck on a high-school crush was ridiculous. She worried there was something wrong with her emotionally. Every attempt to break through those persistent feelings had failed.
“Madison?”
Tonight was a dream twisted within a nightmare of potential embarrassment. She’d never meant for them to play the happily married couple in public. Her body heated with every sway and step she took near him, believing the impossible. If she were brutally honest, she’d admit her entire system had gone on full alert when he stepped into the security office. Without an ice bath, she didn’t stand a chance of cooling down any time soon.
“Madison?” He spun her out and back to him once more.
“Hmm?”
“What’s on your mind?”
She jerked herself back into work mode. “The hacker.” It wasn’t really a lie. She’d mastered the art of compartmentalizing and showing interest in one thing while her mind raced off in another direction.
She really should credit that skill to Sam, as well. In high school, he’d never done more than shake her hand the first day the teacher introduced them. Her fantasies had been outrageously different. Looking back, she knew the only reason Sam’s tutoring had been effective was that she’d been determined to prove she wasn’t the typical dumb blonde. She wanted to earn his respect as a student and win his attention as a person. It hadn’t worked, although she passed the classes she needed to keep her career goals on track. By the time they went their separate ways at graduation, she’d settled into the reality of being his friend, knowing she’d lost the chance to be his girlfriend.
“Madison?”
“Yes.”
“The music’s over.”
Feeling the gaze of others on them, she stepped back and grinned up at him, playing the role of enamored spouse to perfection. Indulging herself, she brushed nonexistent lint from the lapel of his tuxedo so she could feel the solid muscle of his chest under his clothing. The images that flooded her mind nearly undermined her reserve and self-control.
“I need to stay until the guests are gone. Would you like me to call a car for you?”
His palm trailed down her arm until his hand engulfed hers. “Now that I’m here, I’m reluctant to leave without you.”
She knew he didn’t intend for those words to twine around her heart and yet she couldn’t stop the response. “When did you start enjoying social outings?”
“It’s a recent development.” His voice, low and rough, sent a shiver of desire over her skin. With another man she’d chalk up the comment as innuendo, but that wasn’t how Sam was wired.
Pulling herself together, she returned to her responsibilities of giving each guest a proper farewell and seeing everyone out of the museum as she gave more vague answers about their relationship.
Mr. Liu found her mingling with his wife and the other members of his party near the gallery and he signaled for a tray of champagne. “One last toast,” he said, holding his glass high. “May the gods of happiness, wealth and longevity smile upon you both, this day and always.”
They all drank to her marriage and Mr. Liu urged Madison and Sam toward the white jade cup on display while those who had arrived with him headed for the car waiting out front. “I had concerns, Mrs. Goode, as you know. Please also know I appreciate how efficiently you handled them.” He slid a look at Sam.
“It is my honor, Mr. Liu,” she replied. “We want you to be at ease, confident that we value the treasures you’ve shared here as much as China does.”
Mr. Liu met her gaze with direct, pointed interest. “I find it intriguing, Mrs. Goode, that you’ve kept a treasure of your own so well hidden.” He bowed slightly at Sam, maintaining eye contact. “Mr. Bellemere, it was an honor and good fortune to meet you personally this evening. Your company is of great interest to me.”
It shouldn’t have shocked her that Sam was known to leaders in China. He and Rush had established a global influence within the market of data security.
Assuming someone from the consulate hadn’t tried to plant listening devices in her apartment previously, they would be desperate to do so now that she was known to be married to Sam. Mr. Liu wasn’t even bothering with subtlety. If someone managed to bug her apartment, they’d soon learn she wasn’t really married to Sam. Madison was calculating the fallout, the timing and how to handle it as the men chatted about computer advancements.
With no more than a glance, Sam understood what she needed and helped her guide Mr. Liu toward the car and those waiting for him.
“My son has a great interest in the computer sciences,” Mr. Liu said, deftly shifting to an indirect tack. “He lacks follow-through and motivation, despite the best efforts of his family and educators. I’ve often thought it might motivate him to see what is possible.”
“How old is your son?” Sam asked.
“Nearly eighteen,” Mr. Liu replied. “He will begin at Stanford in the fall.”
“A very good school,” Sam said.
Mr. Liu ignored Madison’s attempts to lead him down the front steps. Resigned, she watched for an opening to rescue Sam from the conversation, but Sam seemed content. She let her mind wander over the evening, considering it a success. Regardless of the invisible, contained antics of the hacker, no one had suffered a misstep or misspoken word. Except her, by calling in her fake husband to save the evening.
She owed him more than an explanation, she thought, as Mr. Liu finally joined those waiting for him in the long black limousine. With a wave, she stepped back inside, startled to find herself alone with the museum director. Had Sam decided he didn’t need the full details of their fabricated marriage after all? For some inexplicable reason the idea made her sad as she and Mr. Wong chatted during the final walk-through of the museum.
When they reached the back hallway, she heard raised voices in the security office. Through the open door she saw Sam and Agent Spalding locked in a heated discussion.
“It’s not something I handle so casually,” Sam was saying. “You’ll have to go through the appropriate channels.”
“I am leading the only official investigation,” Spalding fired back. “It’s better for everyone if you cooperate up front.”
“We don’t even have an ID,” Sam retorted. “Bring over a legit ID and a warrant and someone can probably tell you if he has a Gray Box. Until then you’re shooting in the dark.”
“Is the overnight team in place?” Madison asked Spalding, striding forward and inserting her voice into the verbal fray.
“Yes,” Spalding answered, glaring over her head at Sam as if she weren’t there. “The team will stay on full alert outside and in.”
“Wonderful,” she replied. “Then it’s time for the rest of us to go home.”
“You can go once I’m confident your husband will keep me in the loop.”
She silenced Sam’s reply with a raised finger. “He gave you his word earlier. You watched him lend us his phenomenal expertise with zero advance notice this evening. What else do you need to hear, Special Agent Spalding?”
Spalding planted his hands on his hips. “Mr. Bellemere keeps secrets for a living.”
“No,” Sam interjected. “My company offers people and businesses secure cloud storage solutions. That is entirely different.”
“This is neither the time nor the place,” Madison emphasized, “to get into a philosophical discussion about online privacy. I am grateful to the FBI for helping this event run safely and smoothly tonight. Whatever the hacker’s goal, I’m sure we’ll all work together to root him out before he causes serious trouble.”
Obviously not even close to appeased, Spalding stood down for the moment. When she’d gathered her red silk shawl and her briefcase, the three of them along with the museum director walked together in a tense silence to the rear entrance of the museum. Satisfied with the alarms, Spalding offered Sam and Madison a ride. Sam refused for both of them.
“We’re covered.” He pointed to a limo waiting under a streetlamp on the far side of the parking lot. “My driver’s waiting.”
Spalding muttered something Madison didn’t hear because she was nudging Sam toward the car. They had more important issues to discuss. At half past midnight, she hoped he’d let the discussion wait until morning.
The driver opened the rear door for them, giving her a small nod as she slid into the plush leather seat, followed closely by Sam. Maybe he left events with women all the time. Her heart sank a little at the thought.
When the driver was settled behind the wheel, she leaned forward to give him her address.
“Mr. Bellemere already provided the destination, ma’am,” he replied.
“Thank you.” She sat back and caught the grim expression on Sam’s face. “What’s wrong?”
He ignored her. “Jake, have you left the car alone at all tonight?”
“No, sir,” the driver said. “I gassed up after I dropped you off. When I received your message, I stuck close. Didn’t park until about an hour ago and no one has been near the car.”
“Thank you.” Sam turned the full force of his attention to her, irritation snapping in his eyes. “You can start explaining right here, right now.”
“What do you mean?”
Sam’s dark eyebrows arched as if her confusion baffled him. “Do I have to spell it out? The car is clean. It hasn’t been left alone for anyone to tamper with.”
“Tamper?” He was deliberately trying to scare her and he was succeeding.
“How often do they sweep your office for listening devices?”
She folded her arms and stared out the window. “Often enough,” she said, refusing to take the bait.
“Why do they sweep for those devices?”
“Okay, point made. Stop being a jerk.” She was too tired for any more diplomacy tonight. “I’m glad your limo isn’t bugged. I’m sure your house isn’t either.”
“If we’re lucky we’ll catch them in the act when we arrive.”
“You’re being unreasonable. Wait. We?”
“It’ll raise too many questions if the first time I show up to one of your events we don’t go home together.”
“You’re overreacting.” Her molars might crack from the strain. Thoroughly exhausted, she refused to give his paranoia more fuel.
“Jake, are we being followed?”
“Always a tough call on a Friday night in traffic.”
Sam grunted. “Do what you can to find out.”
“Sam, I’m tired,” Madison said. “I want the peace and quiet of my apartment.”
“You promised me answers about this whole marriage business.”
“Isn’t the morning soon enough?”
“No. I’d like to hear the whole story tonight.”
“Hang on.” She scooted closer to him and lowered her voice. “You still don’t sleep?”
He pushed a button on the console in the ceiling and the privacy screen rose between them and the driver.
Suddenly the space was far too intimate and way too reminiscent of her silly teenage-girl prom night fantasy. The illusion she’d harbored of Sam walking into the dance and taking notice of her as a girl rather than a friend. In her illusion, he’d crossed the room and kissed her right there in front of everyone. Even back then she’d known it was an impossible dream. Sam was too shy for such a public display, but she’d dreamed it anyway, night after night. Now she was a woman and she had a better understanding of what to wish for and with whom.
“Madison.” His hand was gentle and warm against her bare shoulder. “Just tell me the story.”
“We’ve been married almost two years. July Fourth is our anniversary.”
“How patriotic of us,” he quipped.
She tilted her head. “It came down to available time off for me, time between projects for you.” She managed to play it cool until the driver suddenly took a hard right. The force dumped her into Sam’s strong embrace.
“What the—”
She tried to be grateful as he righted her before she could snuggle deeper into his embrace. “He’s checking for a tail,” Sam explained.
“Does this happen often?”
“Rush only hires the best. You’d be surprised how many people try to hassle us.”
So maybe his paranoia had stronger roots than the trouble she’d dumped on him tonight. Maybe, with a little time, he’d understand her rash actions.
“Which is my real question,” Sam pressed. “Why did you choose me?”
She brought her mind back to the issue, tried to deliver the facts in a linear, logical order. “I’m aware other cultures view single women differently, even when they’re in the US,” she said. “I hadn’t worried much about it, but it soon became obvious I needed a polite excuse to rebuff advances. Wearing a wedding band is a common tactic, although it doesn’t always stop the most persistent people.” She rubbed the platinum setting on her finger with her thumb.
“What do you mean?”
She glanced up, catching a flash of anger in his brown gaze. “Possessive of a wife you just met?”
His short bark of laughter was cool, breaking the tension. “Apparently.” He motioned for her to continue. “Creating a mythical husband is understandable.”
“I based the myth on you.” She moved her hand up and down. “Your looks, skills, all of it. Easier than creating a husband from scratch.” She hoped he believed her. “I promise I never used your full name. I can’t recall using your first name very often and never with anyone outside of my office.”
“Why was I the foundation for your imaginary husband?”
She swallowed, too mortified to give him the truth. The car swerved again and this time Sam fell her way. His big palm landed with a delicious pressure on her thigh and she marveled that the silk didn’t just evaporate under the heat.
He drew back quickly, the question lurking in his eyes.
“Because you were a friend I trusted.” Because using him gave her fake husband more than an image and career, it gave him a personality. “As for tonight, the most expedient way to get you on the guest list was to own the lie and make it real. No one would question the clearance for my husband.”
“Ah. Got it.”
He didn’t, not completely. If she was lucky, he’d never know the whole story of her ongoing infatuation with him. “Besides, you did owe me a favor.”
“I’d say we flew right by even and you owe me now.”
He was right and she felt terrible for it. “We don’t have to keep up the ruse.” She could manage things from here. “You saved the day blocking that hacker. Now you can go do your thing and I’ll do mine. We don’t have to play happy couple anymore.”
“You’re wrong about that.” He drummed his fingertips on his knee.
She frowned at him. “Pardon me?” She knew the schedule and while there were several events where a date would be nice, his presence wasn’t required. “I can go back to attending functions alone. It’s not a big deal.” After the past few hours she knew having Sam around would be the real problem because she let his presence distract her.
“I disagree. Now that I’ve been identified, there will be repercussions. Liu already assumes a relationship to me through you.”
“He’s lamenting the idea that his son is a loser who will shame the family,” she said. “The topic tends to come up at every opportunity.”
Sam gave her a look she remembered, the one that was part query and part disappointment in her answer. “Is the kid a loser?”
She preferred discussing a stranger to confessing her personal sins. “He’s young, arrogant and entitled. That may or may not improve while he’s in college.”
Sam sighed, apparently satisfied. “The museum will need to stay on alert. They should also take stronger measures to shut out more hacks.” He opened his mouth to say more, but the intercom beeped.
“Trouble,” Jake reported.
“You know what to do,” Sam replied. “Don’t worry,” he said to Madison.
“What trouble?” Madison twisted in her seat. The street behind them was crowded with headlights. “What does he know to do?”
Sam shrugged and she wanted to slap that smug expression off his face. “He drives a specific route we can tap into later for potential identification.”
“Can he do that and then take me home?” she pleaded. “I have a meeting first thing in the morning.” She wanted to get out of these heels and into her pajamas before she wrote up her report on the evening.
“On a Saturday?”
“Really?” She leaned back. “That’s rich, the perennial workaholic criticizing my schedule.”
“What happened to your famous, unflappable composure?” He patted her knee. “You pulled off a marriage charade along with mostly false assurances that an irreplaceable treasure from China is secure without batting an eye. Sitting back while my driver evades a tail shouldn’t be a big deal.”
She couldn’t tell what he expected of her. At this hour she didn’t care. “Take me home. I’ll be safe in my building.”
“Fake or not, tonight you’re safer with your husband,” he said, catching her as the driver’s next turn pitched her into him again.
She couldn’t control her runaway imagination. In a flash she could clearly see life as Sam’s wife. It would be bliss to come home after a long day and talk with him over a pepperoni pizza and a couple of beers. Never once in her fantasy had she seen a face other than his when she thought of a husband.
Preposterous. Impossible. Wishful thinking at its finest. The car bounced a little as the driver entered a parking garage with too much speed.
“Now we’re clear,” Sam said a moment before Jake confirmed the status. The limousine came to a halt and Sam pushed open the door, extending a hand to help her.
Resigned to the strange turn of events, she placed her hand in his. “Where are we?”
“My place.”
She glanced around at what appeared to be an average concrete parking garage without the typical foul odors. Only five parking spaces were occupied, all of them with luxury vehicles. She recognized a sporty Porsche crossover in smoke gray and the sexy lines of a deep blue Lamborghini. She couldn’t name the other three without taking a closer look. Wherever they were, the neighbors were apparently as wealthy as Sam.
Her feet ached from the high heels as he led her toward an elevator in the corner. “Sam, I really should go.” If she slept without removing the heavy makeup on her face, she’d wake up looking like something from a bad horror movie. That would be mortifying and a certain end to their friendship, just in case lying about the marriage hadn’t done that already. “I need—”
The elevator doors parted automatically at their approach and she glanced around for the motion sensor, forgetting her protest.
“Intrigued?” His lips twitched in a smirk. “What do you need, Madison?” he asked, pulling out his phone.
You. Thankfully, she bit back that absurd, knee-jerk response. “My apartment,” she managed. “I’m sure your place is...” The elevator opened to a penthouse and the sparkling nighttime view of San Francisco stole her breath. “Oh, Sam.” She couldn’t stop herself from walking in, admiring everything in sight.
“You like it?”
It wasn’t anything she imagined his home might be. Not the casual mess that always surrounded his work space at school. Of course it wouldn’t be like that. He was a man now, a lauded expert at the top of his industry. The position obviously paid well. The furniture had a lived-in feel, modern, clean lines without feeling too stark or glossy or new. Nothing in her fantasies had prepared her for this, for seeing him in this kind of space. She could happily snuggle into the corner of that big couch next to Sam and forget there was a world out there that needed them.
Exasperated with herself, she wondered if anything would smother the torch she’d carried for him all this time. He’d never given her the first signal that he thought of her in a romantic way. Unlike his business partner, Rush, there was never a whisper of Sam having any romantic ties. Maybe that was why her heart was so stubbornly locked on to him.
She forced her gaze away from the stunning view and faced him. “I need to go home.” Staying here would be unbearable. He’d already commented on her lack of composure. “I need my space and my things.”
“Let me guess?” He started typing into his phone. “Toothbrush and toothpaste. Do you still prefer that striped brand you used when we were kids?”
“Pardon me?” How did he know what brand of toothpaste she’d used in high school?
“My bathroom is surely lacking.” He held out the phone to her. “Put in whatever you need and it will be here within the hour.”
“No.” It was closing in on one in the morning. She jerked her hands behind her back and clutched the handle of her briefcase. “No, thank you. Take me home, please.”
His gaze narrowed and his brown eyes were calculating something as he studied her from head to toe. His thumbs flew over the surface of his phone and then he pocketed the device.
Before she could react to that, he’d slipped a hand around her elbow. “Take off your shoes.”
“Take me home.”
His jaw clenched, but his touch remained gentle. “I didn’t blow your secret out of the water tonight, did I?”
“No.” She tried to smile. “I appreciate that more than I can say.”
“Thank me by listening for a minute. Your feet need a break from the shoes.”
“You can’t know that.” How did he know that?
“Take them off,” he said. “And follow me.”
She gave in, stifling a whimper when the cool hardwood floors soothed the soles of her feet. He guided her toward the kitchen, pausing to pull out two bottles of water. He opened both and handed her one. Without a word, he continued on toward an office.

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