In Deep with the FBI Agent (13 page)

Her hands clung to his wide shoulders, and she leaned up to take his kiss. His erection jutted out from his hips, brushing against her wet belly, enticing her as to what was coming next.

This was the first time, maybe ever, that she wasn't self-conscious during sex, and it was all thanks to the man sharing the shower with her. Instead of worrying about how her body looked, she only concentrated on how it felt. And, oh, man…it felt
gooood
.

His fingers danced a rhythm between her swollen, wet lips, tantalizing, teasing, and drawing out a throbbing kind of pleasure. Oh, wow, had Sam Cooper been this sexy in high school? No. She knew the answer to that question, and back then, she hadn't been ready for this kind of passion, either. It was the kind of bliss she wanted to make last for hours, if not days, except her body couldn't handle it and was quickly coming to a pinnacle of piercing orgasm that had her pleading and digging her fingers into his muscular biceps.

“Sam…”

“It's okay, baby. Let it go. You're making me the happiest man in America right now. Come for me. I love feeling you on my fingers.”

Oh, God. His words…

His fingers moved faster, eliciting a scream and a moment where her eyes were shut to everything except to the pleasure raining down on her and spreading throughout her body. Her breath came in gasps, and her heart raced as fast if she'd run a marathon in her Louboutins.

Sam held her as she came down from her high, neither of them speaking as he cradled her and made her feel worshipped. When she thought she could speak without passing out, she met his gaze.

For a second, she nearly turned away because the intensity on his face disrupted her entire world. He looked at her as if she were his entire reason for breathing, and she didn't feel worthy. She was the same flawed Casey Cooper she'd always been. Sure, she was smart and good at her job, and could rock a short skirt and heels like no one's business, but it didn't mean she was worthy of the kind of adoration Sam had always given her. God, after the pleasure he'd bestowed upon her, it was possible she was wearing a matching expression when looking at him.

“Good?” he asked in a deep murmur.

“Amazing. What can I do for you? Don't get all noble and say this was about my pleasure. I want to touch you now.”

He kissed her nose, then turned the shower off. “I had no intention of ending things here. I'm pretty sure my dick is going to fall off if you don't wrap your hand around it.”

“Sam.” But she was laughing, having never expected that kind of bluntness from him.

“Out we go.” He half lifted, half picked her up and set her on the beige bath mat. She was still in a haze as he wrapped a towel around her shoulders and hugged her from behind. She turned in his arms to kiss him. It was starting to feel as if she'd never get her fill of kisses from Sam.

The kiss started off slow and sedate but quickly evolved into a nine on the Richter scale. Totally earth-shaking. Sam backed her up until her towel-covered bottom was level with the laminate counter.

Cocking a hip, she perched until she was sitting on the counter, her thighs wrapped around Sam's hips. Their mouths stayed connected while the rest of their bodies mimicked the ultimate act of intimacy. He continued to drip water onto her until finally he stepped back and laughed.

“Sorry. Let me grab a towel.”

As she was in the only bath-size towel in the room, he grabbed the hand towel and rubbed it across his light hair, darkened from the water. Then he was back on her, kissing her and kneading her breasts while her hands roamed across his shoulder blades then down to the globes of his ass. When she slid a hand to his front to hold his erection, he pushed back.

“I'm too close,” he said, “and I want to be in you when I come.”

“Then grab a condom,” she invited, earning a wide grin.

Luckily, they were in the bathroom and protection was a drawer away. When he was sheathed, he repositioned himself in her embrace and lined himself up teasingly, achingly close, but didn't penetrate her yet.

She arched her back and scooted her hips, encouraging him in, but he remained frustratingly out of reach. “Sam. Please.” She took a gentle bite of his right arm, which was braced on the counter in line with her head.

“You're bossy here too? God, that turns me on.” He returned the love bite, and she squealed. His palms scooted low on her back and pulled her closer to his body. His hips found hers and his cock connected with her, pushing gently and slowly in.

She sucked back a breath as Sam filled her, loving and hating that he was taking his time and being gentle with her, letting her get used to his invasion. Well, what if she wanted to be plundered?

Her body was primed from the orgasm he'd already given her, and she used it to her advantage, pulling him in and tightening around him.

“Casey,” he bit out, and the muscles in his arms tightened.

“More, Sam,” she said, closing her eyes and letting her body enjoy the sensation of being filled to perfection. Together, they found a rhythm, bending and arching into each other, intent on the joy of being together at last. She clung to him, heels digging into his spine as he thrust in and out of her body, both of them crying out their pleasure; her with little utterings from the back of her throat, him with groans.

“Gonna come, Case.”

“Me too,” she cried, as their bodies joined in orgasm and her body fell apart around him.

Suddenly, she was falling literally, as a terrible, loud cracking noise echoed throughout the bathroom. Casey found herself on the floor sitting on the remains of the countertop. Sam was doing his best to hold her, though their bodies had disconnected.

“Oh, shit,” Sam said, looking down at her with wide eyes. “Are you okay?”

“What happened?” Gingerly, she shifted from side to side and all her bits and pieces seemed intact.

“I should've listened to the Realtor. The bathroom does need a remodel.” And then he started to laugh.

“It's not funny.”

He hauled her to her feet and dusted her butt off. “Oh, come on, Casey. It's hilarious. We broke furniture, the sex was that spectacular. I mean, I always knew if I ever got you naked, my head might explode. I never imagined it'd be my countertop.”

Casey glanced at the remains of the should-have-been-replaced-in-1988 counter. They'd been doing their dirty deed on the counter where the woman of the house would sit to put on her makeup. The section that held the sink was relatively intact, but had a jagged pressboard exposed where they'd cracked it off.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Sam asked again at her silence.

“I'm embarrassed,” she muttered. “My weight broke your counter.”

“Casey,” he protested, “a sneeze aimed the wrong way could've broken it.”

She narrowed her eyes in his direction. “How long have you lived here?”

“A year,” he said, and reached for the towel that had been under her when they'd fallen. Gallantly, he handed it to her, and she wrapped it around her torso.

“See. It hasn't broken in a year.”

“I haven't had sex on it before,” he said and leaned slightly toward her. “I was leaning on it with all my weight. If anyone broke the counter, it was me.”

“I'm sorry your counter broke, Sam,” she said. “I hope it's not expensive to replace.”

He shrugged. “Hell, I don't care about the cost. I'm a little bummed about the counter, because I kind of wanted to keep it forever to commemorate the first time we made love here. Now this piece of plastic, which should be framed or bronzed, is going to end up in a landfill.”

At his sad look, she found her sense of humor again and covered her smile with her hand. Her smile morphed into giggle, which then broke into outright laughter. Within seconds, both Sam and Casey were on the floor next to the counter remains holding their sides, tears streaming down their cheeks.

“We…broke…the counter,” Casey managed. “I've never had furniture-breaking sex before.”

“I will never forget our first time,” Sam said, suddenly sitting straight. He reached past Casey and grabbed a scrap of counter about the size of his hand and stood.

“Come on.” Totally naked, he strolled out of the bathroom and downstairs to his desk. Curious, Casey followed with a towel tight around her midriff.

He scrabbled around his desk and found a Sharpie, but she couldn't see what he was writing. Finally, he straightened and handed it to her.

She read,
CC + SC, March 15, 2015
. “A commemorative plaque of our first time together,” he said. “Bet none of your other lovers got you a keepsake.” They broke into laughter again.

“Beware the ides of March, indeed,” Casey said. “But you should get a keepsake too.”

“You hold on to that. Someday, if things go as I hope, it'll be framed and hung in the bathroom of the house we live in.”

The humor of the hour was sucked out of her as fast as a NASCAR car raced around the track. She didn't know how to respond. “Sam…”

“Don't, Casey.” He looked at her seriously. “I know you're going to say it's too soon to make a declaration like that.”

“We've been on two dates,” she said.

“I've known you since I was fourteen. I've wanted you that long too.”

“You've wanted an idealized version of me,” she protested, “not the real me.” But as she said it, she remembered all his notes throughout high school shoved into her locker. There'd been words of encouragement, compliments, and silly jokes. The notes were still in a shoe box in her old room at her mother's apartment. What did that say that she'd kept Sam's notes along with all her other high school keepsakes?

After she'd had to leave college for a semester thanks to her anorexia, she'd recovered at home, commuting to the local community college. Sam's notes had sustained her on some of her rougher days. She'd taken them out and read them repeatedly. Knowing someone out there thought she was beautiful and perfect had helped in ways he could never had guessed when he'd typed her notes. The press of tears coated her eyes, and she blinked them back, looking off to the side.

“Casey.” Sam reached for her. “I didn't mean to make you cry.” He cuddled her against his still bare chest. “It was just a countertop.”

She giggled and hiccupped against his skin.

“Did you snort on me?” He held her at arm's length and examined his damp chest. “
Ugh
, I take it back. We're done.”

“Sam,” she protested, relieved that the tears were replaced by giggles.

He grabbed her again and carried her backward to the sofa. “I don't have you on a pedestal, Casey. I've always seen you for who you are. I didn't know about your eating disorder, but I did see that you weren't as confident as you had everyone else believe. I think that hint of insecurity is what I loved, because it made you human. If you had really been as perfect as you pretended, you would've been terrifying.”

The sofa hit the backs of her knees, and she collapsed backward, Sam following her down. He braced himself over her and said, “Are you too sore, or can I make love to you again?”

If he had asked her two minutes before, she would have said there was no way she'd be in the mood to have sex shortly after two rocking orgasms, but her body begged to differ.

S
am's brain was filled with fog today, and no wonder. The sex haze had filled it last night, and now it was Monday morning. On a good day, Mondays were a bit slower than the rest of the week, but after spending yesterday afternoon making love to the woman of his dreams, it was no mystery why his head was operating on sluggish.

So Casey's overheard conversation was the best lead they had. Everywhere else they turned was a dead end. Best he could tell, the breaches were a pure case of social engineering.

They'd gone into several of the affected schools to dig deeper into their networks and systems, but found nothing. As usual, employees had crappy passwords, easily guessed by anyone who knew them more than a minute. In most cases, it seemed nothing had been stolen. It was as if whoever was breaking in was part of the network, which supported Sam's social engineering theory. Except it didn't make sense that dozens of schools were now reporting similar security breaches. Three or four could've been explained away, but not this many. As he'd explained to Casey late during pillow talk, social engineering was holding the door open for someone at work, even if you needed a badge or key to get in. It was rude to shut the door in someone's face, and social engineers counted on that fact. Only in the private school case, it was as if fifty separate people were holding virtual doors open at fifty different schools at roughly the same time.

All of the breaches had been done by using the password of an employee. They'd been investigating each employee whose password had been used, but turning up nothing.

No one had a motive. None of them stood to benefit, and all of them claimed innocence. Doing background checks was time consuming, especially with their limited resources. They didn't have the manpower to assign a tail to all of the various school employees around the country.

“Shit,” he muttered and ran his fingers through his hair as he studied IP addresses and source code. “Goddamn Tor Project.” Tor was the bane of his and his department's existence. Tor allowed anyone to mask their IP address, leaving the FBI or other law enforcement no way to track the source.

Basically it was like driving down a highway and then coming to a brick wall. They could see doors in the wall, aka exit nodes, but once the door was shut, it was a dead end. Luckily, no one was perfect and eventually everyone screwed up, allowing Sam and people like him to track down the bad guys. All he had to do was wait for a mistake and hope it came soon.

Why the hell were people so paranoid about the government monitoring Internet traffic that they felt they had to use something like Tor? Didn't they realize how understaffed and over budget government agencies were? As if the FBI had time or resources to monitor every digital conversation and transaction in the country. If you weren't doing or planning to do something illegal, no need to conceal your tracks.

But now he had a reason to call Montgomery Prep and tell them he'd tracked a potential hack to them. Casey hadn't said anything, but he knew she was pissed as hell that her boss was trying to hide the fact that their school was vulnerable. It angered him too, but no one had done anything illegal; otherwise he would've found a way to arrest someone.

He would use a lot of tech jargon and confuse them enough, making it seem that the FBI was so freaking good at their jobs, they could spot Internet intrusions even if the victims didn't ask for help and everything was contained in their intranet. Unfortunately, the school was likely going to have to inform the parent body. When minors were involved and there was the potential that their private data had been compromised, the Federal Educational Rights and Privacy Act held that there was a legal requirement to disclose the security breach.

Casey yawned yet again as her eyes glazed over staring at her monitor. Though she'd driven home from Sam's house reasonably early Sunday night, she hadn't been able to fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning. Her brain couldn't relax enough to shut down. Every time she'd closed her eyes, she saw Sam's naked body looming over her as he entered her again and again.

At two a.m., she'd nearly given up to go back to Sam's house to sleep. After the amazing sex, he'd made them dinner and they'd eaten it naked on his sofa. He'd kept purposely spilling food on her, forcing him to have to lick it off. Eventually, they'd given up on dinner and dined on each other.

She hadn't spent the night, because she felt like she needed space to process everything that had happened that day. When the sex was literally mind-blowing, she needed space to get her mind back. He'd walked her outside to her car and kissed her, pretending to be all sad puppy that she wasn't spending the night.

She'd laughed as she'd driven away, but she wasn't laughing at two a.m. when she couldn't sleep. She wasn't laughing now at three in the afternoon when her brain was foggy and her eyes kept wanting to close. And the little fraction of her brain that was actually working couldn't seem to concentrate on her job. Instead, it kept thinking about Sam.

Outside her office, people chatted as they walked, and she sat up, alert. Was that Sam's voice she heard? Then she slumped back down on her desk chair. Sam was at his own office. It was simply that she had him so much on the brain, she was imagining his voice and hearing things.

She shot a quick email to Annie, who had a view of the hallway.

Casey: Did Sam just walk by, or am I imagining things?

Annie: If you mean hot FBI agent? Then yes.

Casey shot out of her seat and made it to the hallway in time to see Sam's backside disappear into Nancy's office. Shit. Shit on a stick. What was he doing here? He'd
promised
. Breathing suddenly became a tricky task, and she stumbled back into her office past a curious Annie.

Casey: How did Nancy look? Mad? Angry?

Annie: I didn't see her face
.

Dammit, what was she paying the girl for? She conveniently ignored the fact that Montgomery Prep paid Annie's salary, not her. Casey fiddled with her computer mouse and then gave up trying to do any work. She kept telling herself it was going to be fine. She trusted Sam not to do anything that would jeopardize her job, but it didn't make the waiting any less agonizing.

Thirty-eight minutes later, Annie emailed.

Sam just walked past
.

One minute later, Sam texted.
“Come out to the parking lot.”

She was on her feet and out the door, nearly breaking her ankle on her painful but gorgeous heels. It took her a minute to find him, but he was waiting by her car, which, luckily, was in the far end of the parking lot, hidden from the school. Sometimes sleeping poorly and getting to work late paid off. He indicated that they should both get inside.

“I don't have my keys,” she said, panting. “I ran my butt off the second you texted, and didn't stop to get my purse.”

Sam shrugged, and even in her nervous state, she noticed that his blue dress shirt brought out the handsome coloring of his tan skin and light brown, blondish hair. “Fine. We can talk here, but first…” He stepped closer and hauled her into his body to plant a kiss on her lips. She responded instinctually, melting into him and returning the kiss before she remembered why he was at the school and pushed away.

“No,” she said. “No kissing until I know why you're here and why you didn't tell me.”

“I didn't tell you for two reasons. One, I'm investigating a crime. I can't tell my girlfriend details.”

She relaxed slightly at that logic.

“And two. I wanted to give you plausible deniability. If your boss asks if you knew I was coming, you can say no and give no tells or have to lie.”

She breathed out fully for the first time in nearly an hour. “How did Nancy react? Am I getting fired?”

He put on a mock hurt expression. “Give me some credit, Casey. I would never have come here if I thought there was a chance I'd hurt you.” She relaxed her stance slightly at his words and stepped next to him to lean against her car as he was doing. “I told her the FBI was investigating similar cases and that a Tor exit port was tracked here.”

“A what?”

“Exactly your boss's reaction. I gave her enough technical mumbo jumbo that she now thinks the FBI is capable of super computer feats. It was enough to throw her off your scent. Since she doesn't know about the conversation you overheard, she doesn't suspect you gave those names.”

Casey closed her eyes and tipped her head back to soak up some warm spring sun. “Thank you.”

“It was interesting how hard they fought me on admitting any sort of security breach, but eventually, they caved. However, I wouldn't recommend it getting out that we're dating. Nancy doesn't suspect that you told me anything, but it would be hard to deny if she sees we're connected.”

She opened her eyes and gave him a sidelong glance. “Are we dating?” she asked coyly, able to flirt now that her job wasn't in immediate jeopardy.

“After what we did last night, I sure as hell hope so.”

She smiled, and now she leaned into him to give him a quick, hard kiss before pulling back. “I don't want to get caught in the parking lot. This school already had two people caught out here.”

“Call you later,” Sam said, giving her hand a squeeze before heading back to the front toward his own car. Casey gave him a few minutes before going back into her office. She avoided Nancy for the rest of the day and hid out in her office.

Four days later, Sam and his team had gone through the legal hurdles to bring in two minors for questioning. Sam watched one seventeen-year-old boy's sweat drip down his forehead and onto his chin, where it clung futilely before dropping to the table below.

“Jesus,” he muttered from the safety behind his one-way mirror where he could watch and listen to the proceedings. “Poor kid.”

“The poor kid may be a hacker, but his attorney bills at twelve hundred dollars an hour, which his parents are happily paying to make sure their darling won't end up in prison. Or worse, not get into college,” said Ted, Sam's supervisory special agent.

“We're not getting anywhere,” Sam said, pressing his forehead against the glass. “I want to talk to him.”

“We discussed this, Sam. You're too close. They may know you from old yearbooks or something.”

“So?” He turned to his boss. “If anything, that should help. I know these kids. I'm from their world, and maybe they'll open up to me.”

Together they watched in annoyed silence as Jack asked another question, which the kid was directed not to answer by his attorney.

“Shit. Get in there, Sam. Give it a try.”

Sam nodded and entered the interrogation room with an easy smile slapped on his face. “Hey, guys. Sorry to interrupt. Agent Suarez is needed outside for a minute.” He waited until Jack was out the door and then turned back to the kid. “Can I get you anything? Water? Diet Coke?”

The kid glanced at his lawyer, then back at Sam, but said nothing.

“Me? I'm grabbing a soda. I'll get you one.” He strolled out the door as if he had all the time in the world and came back with two sodas, purposely bringing nothing for the lawyer. This was between him and Noah Lawrence, one of the two boys Casey had overheard in the school parking lot. The other kid was being interviewed in a different room, but Sam had judged Noah the weaker link of the two. Sam sat in the chair, leaning back, and taking a long drag from his can of soda.

“Jack should be back soon,” Sam said, glancing behind him at the door, as if Jack alone were in charge of the questioning, and he was simply a seat filler. The silence hung heavy in the room for a few more minutes, and then he smiled at the kid. “Are Tuesdays still Tater Tot Tuesdays?”

Noah blinked at him. “Huh?”

“I graduated from Montgomery Prep. Class of 2005.” Another sip of his drink. “Sorry, did I not mention that before?”

“No.” Noah leaned forward slightly and wrapped a palm around his can of soda.

“Yep. Went there from ninth grade through graduation. How about you? Did you start in high school or are you one of the lifers?” he asked, naming the nickname for kids who started the school in kindergarten and went all the way through to graduation.

“Uh…” Noah glanced at his lawyer, who was checking his phone. “Lifer.”

“And what about the Tater Tots?”

“No. Some moms went to war against any foods with trans fats. We lost Tater Tot Tuesday, but we got
bulgogi
instead.”

Sam nearly choked on his soda. He'd meant the conversation opener to be light and generate a rapport, but now he was the one feeling out of his element.
Bulgogi
? For real? He reestablished his calm demeanor and said, “Those were good times. Does Mr. Martino still stand with his clipboard in the parking lot at dismissal to yell at everyone?”

“Yeah.” Noah found his first smile since he'd been dragged into his new nightmare.

“We used to joke that when he died, they should make a bronze statue of him standing in his spot, clipboard in hand.” That earned another faint smile from the kid. “Play any sports?” Sam asked.

“No.”

“Me neither. I hung out in the computer lab all the time. What about you? Which clubs?”

“Uh, I'm in the computer coding club,” Noah said, which got the attention of his lawyer.

“Don't answer that,” he said sharply.

Sam gave a get-a-load-of-this-guy eye roll at Noah. “We didn't have an official computer club when I was a student. Instead, we hung around and talked about shit like which companies had the tightest security.”

“We didn't do anything,” Noah burst out.

Sam raised a brow, but said nothing.

“I mean, Sean said if we tried to log in using the teacher passwords, no one would know or care. We went into the school system, but all we did was add a fake student named Bob Underhill.”