Page 5 of Tamed Enemy
Best says, “I personally guarantee they’ll approach their work with utmost confidentiality.”
I sigh. “Let’s do it. For Kate and for me.”
“I’ll select a primary agent for each of you.” There’s more, about shifts and back-up and occasional days off. I acknowledge the details, but I’m mostly trying to imagine Kate’s reaction.
No. She doesn’t get to react. I’ll do anything—everything—to keep her safe.
“I’ll be in touch as we get each system online,” Best says.
“Invoice me,” I say, ending the call.
I completely trust Best to be fair in all his charges, but I’ll be writing checks for millions of dollars. But none of that compares to the greater cost I’m about to face: Kate’s raging temper, once I tell her about the changes I’ve made to keep her safe.
Kate’s behavior is predictable on Monday morning. She snarls at Drew Cameron when he introduces himself as her primary agent. Clearly experienced in this job, he lets her get to the elevator first, and he doesn’t stop her from pounding the call button. But he extends one arm, as unyielding as a railroad crossing gate, to keep her from entering the car before he’s had a chance to peer into the corners.
“I’ve been riding lifts without help since I was three years old,” she snaps. When his face doesn’t betray a flicker of emotion, she swears at him in Irish. He remains impassive, and by the time we reach the garage, Kate’s arms are crossed over her chest, her eyes shooting daggers at the back of Cameron's neck.
Breagha, of course, is enchanted by all the extra attention. Her eyes go wide when she registers the Sig Sauer tucked into Cameron's shoulder holster. She smiles sweetly when he clearsus to enter the armored black limo parked just a few feet away from the elevator in the garage. She thanks Cameron effusively before he closes the door, and then she turns to make sure her grandmother is comfortable on the wide upholstered seat across from Kate and me.
Kate and Breagha are as different as two women can be. Breagha emerged from the ordeal of their childhood kidnapping meek and mild and sweet, so compliant she often seems like she’s still a young girl. Kate was transformed into a wild animal, biting first in every possible situation, striking before she can be struck.
My wife is a savage—as evidenced by the way she executed Pyotr Tarasov.
But in the early morning hours after she got her revenge, my feral wife allowed me to tie her up. I got to tease her, to deny her three orgasms, and then I made her come so hard she blacked out. I held her after that, when she was completely defenseless, impossibly vulnerable. And when she finally stirred and said three words I never thought I’d hear—I love you—the icy bars around my own heart started to thaw.
We’re meant for each other, Kate and me. She’s fire and I’m ice. She’s unbridled fury and I’m the granite model of control.
So once we return to the Georgetown mansion, I don’t make any excuses as she stomps past Cameron. I don’t follow her to our bedroom, and I don’t remind her this is the only way I know to keep her safe.
Instead, I see that Breagha and Granny are safely conducted across the street to their carriage house. And then I head to my office to discover what disasters have spawned in the forty-eight hours I’ve left Lone Wolf Enterprises unattended.
I’ve made my billions because I love to work. The challenge of subduing computer code calls to me. I thrive on beating back my clients’ crises.
But today I have another reason to dive into Lone Wolf. A month ago, I worked a disastrous con, doing my best to steal millions of dollars from Pyotr Tarasov. I ran the game through Diamond Freeport, spectacularly burning business bridges I’ve relied on for years.
In the end, I just managed to rebuild my position at the freeport. But the entire misguided venture left me with a massive tax bill at the Internal Revenue Service. I still don’t know the precise dollar amount, but it might be enough to bankrupt me.
So this morning’s work is especially valuable. I need my coffers as full as humanly possible before the bill comes due.
I find the usual backlog of messages—clients who want to launch new projects, others who want to expand operations, some who want to increase security on specific aspects of their multi-million-dollar platforms. But there’s one bank in particular—Cayman Rochester—that wants to hire me for the first time. They’ve just suffered a massive security breach at the hands of a disgruntled former employee, and thousands of their account records have been made public.
I’m reviewing the data when my phone rings with Caspar James Rochester’s fourth call of the morning—and it isn’t even noon.
“Wolf,” I answer.
“Thank God. I thought I’d have to leave another message. Hans Wagner recommended you very highly, Mr. Wolf. But do you know how many of my customer accounts have been exposed since midnight?”
“Those aren’t the ones I’m worried about.”
“Excuse me? I am the president of a Cayman Islands bank. Surely you understand what that means.”
“I understand that your clients expect the utmost in privacy. But my job isn’t to worry about the data you’ve alreadyleaked. My job is to figure out what will leak next—either from the employee you terminated without taking appropriate precautions or from one of their co-workers—if you don’t shore things up down the line.”
“Shore things up? What does that mean?”
“That means you pay my retainer and provide me with login credentials. I test your system and identify weak points. We set priorities, and we move on from there.”
“And what, exactly, is your retainer?”
