Mission Read online

  Mission Impossible to Love

  Jacki Delecki

  Contents

  About the Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  A Note to my Readers

  Mission Impossible to Forget

  Also By Jacki Delecki

  About the Author

  About the Book

  She’s in over her brilliant head…

  * * *

  Elizabeth “Izzy” Benson has the brains to rival some of the best IT minds out there. Unfortunately her genius is going to get her killed—or worse, tortured. The Artificial Intelligence drone she’s developed is drawing all the wrong kind of interest, and the one man she thought she could trust is the one man selling her out. Now on the run, she’ll have to roll the dice on a stranger—a very angry Marine—who makes it obvious he doesn’t believe her or want her around.

  * * *

  He’s not buying her innocent act…

  * * *

  Sten Jenkins was a Marine on a mission. That is until Miss High IQ ruined his plan. Now, instead of going undercover as a “Black Hat,” a criminal hacker, to the biggest hacker convention in Las Vegas, Sten has to babysit Izzy while she tries to draw out those who are selling her IT work on the dark web. But it all sounds a little too convenient to Sten when he realizes Izzy’s boyfriend is a global tech wizard, known to have dealings with North Korea.

  * * *

  Now Sten and Izzy will have to decide who’s playing whom and who’s being played in this high stakes game of international security roulette.

  To my readers—thank you for your overwhelming support and enthusiasm for the Impossible Mission Series. I’m grateful for each and every one of you.

  * * *

  XOXO

  1

  Izzy Benson snorted, spewing hot coffee onto her computer screen and covering her BFF’s beaming video image. “Sex, with Reeves?”

  Emily was seriously messing with her. Despite dragging herself in her pajamas/sweats the five blocks to the corner coffee shop, Izzy was barely awake. She really needed to restock her coffee supplies. Emily used the three-hour time difference from New York to Seattle against her, well aware that Izzy wasn’t a morning person.

  She scanned the coffee house, busy despite the fricking early hour, before leaning closer to the screen. “No, I’m not having sex with your brother.” As if! She wiped her screen with the napkin from under her coffee cup. “My God, Reeves is like my brother too. Why would you ever think such a ridiculous thing?”

  “Because he’s a really good guy. And if you did hook up, he’d realize how much better you’d be for him than…”

  Izzy couldn’t get a good read on what was going down with her friend who worried about everything and everyone she cared about. It’d be just like Emily to think that having Reeves as her boyfriend would keep Izzy safe.

  “Reeves is a good guy. And if I had an older brother, I’d want him to be like Reeves.” Izzy only had two older perfect P-I-T-A prom queen sisters. “He’s been great, giving me the job at Dean’s software company. It was a perfect transition from my work on drones at Avantus.” Hoping to avoid the reasons why she needed to leave Avantus, Izzy didn’t feel bad diverting Emily to her favorite topic. “You know, I’ve never understood what you have against Lily. She’s sweet.”

  “You’re kidding? That woman…” Her friend’s face contorted as she got closer to her phone screen. “You’d make a much better girlfriend. You’re loyal, funny, beautiful, and you’re both computer geeks.”

  “My next boyfriend isn’t going to know a thing about pen tests or SQL injections.” Izzy realized the minute she uttered the words that she had said absolutely the worst thing.

  “I still don’t understand why you didn’t get a restraining order against the bastard.”

  Izzy hated lying, but it was for Emily’s own good. “It was just easier to leave New York. And I was ready to move on.” She’d never endanger Emily or her family who had treated her like one of their own. “I know you’re worried about me, but, honestly, I’m good and I love the new work I’m doing. In fact, I’ve got to run…big meeting with the boss this morning.”

  “Just be careful. You’ve got the bling thing on your backpack?”

  Izzy showed Emily the glittery keychain with a piercing 115-decibel alarm her friend had given her. “Happy?”

  “You need to be careful. Remember, Charles can jump on his jet to Seattle.”

  Izzy fought the thump in her heart before it took off in full pounding mode. Yeah, she thought about it every day, every single day of the last thirty-three days since she’d fled New York.

  “Stop worrying. I’m in an office filled with men who look like they stepped out of NetherRealm’s Injustice 2.” Izzy flashed on the testosterone-overloaded Sten Jenkins who played video games with a young Pakistani boy, teasing and laughing with the traumatized boy. The alpha Marine had gone out of his way to introduce himself to her, the geeky girl who spent a few days at his family’s security company which provided coverage for tech billionaire Richard Dean.

  “You know I don’t get that gaming reference. But I know my brother works with hot guys.”

  “Hot? Only if you like big necks and big arms.” Izzy flashed on Sten’s bulging biceps when he threw the young boy over his shoulder to make him laugh.

  “I like everything big.” Emily’s dimple crinkled through the screen.

  No way was Izzy going to think about Sten Jenkins’s junk. But now the image was seared into her brain. Darn Emily.

  “Reeves won’t let me meet the men he works with. Says they’re all players.”

  “That sounds about right.” Izzy had no doubt that women threw themselves at the arrogant Game of Thrones look-alikes.

  “Now that you’re in Seattle, I’m coming out.”

  That was an absolutely perfectly horrible terrible idea, Izzy thought, mimicking her favorite children’s book. “I thought you had a performance before you left on tour?”

  “I could take a red-eye and get back here before I leave.”

  “Let’s plan it when you get back. You wouldn’t want to get sick before your big tour.”

  Emily’s dark brows furrowed. Another point her gifted musician friend worried about—getting sick before a performance.

  “I’ll be more settled in Seattle and can take some time off, then we can do the whole tourist thing.”

  “And hopefully, by the time I’m back from this three-month tour, your hair color will grow in. I don’t understand why you had to dye it that awful black if you didn’t believe Charles would follow you to Seattle.”

  In her desperation to escape Charles and wanting to blend into Seattle, the home of goth, Izzy had dyed her hair, bought used clothes, and applied fake tats. It wasn’t a long-term solution since Charles Worthy, a tech wizard, would eventually track her to Seattle. A month had passed, and she was starting to believe Charles didn’t care about her whereabouts, unaware that she knew of his evil plans.

  “I’m going to be late if I don’t get my butt in gear.”

  “Okay, okay. Talk to you tomorrow.” Emi
ly blew a kiss before signing off.

  Izzy had less than an hour to get across town to the downtown office. She needed to shower and get ready for her big meeting. She was cutting it close. She might have to Uber it instead of her usual Link light rail trip. She threw back the last of the coffee. So she was a caffeine addict, kill her—not the best idea to have implanted in her brain. Almost as bad as Sten Jenkins’s junk.

  She rolled her neck and shoulders. She needed to focus…on the big meeting with Richard Dean. The man’s reputation as a computer pioneer was legendary, as were his contacts in the industry. Why would he want to talk with a new employee? She reassured herself it couldn’t possibly have anything to do with her personal mess.

  Lifting her backpack, she scanned the small coffee shop. The corner shop had good, cheap brew and hadn’t been discovered yet by hipster Seattle. The large table was taken over every morning by Somali men who mostly worked as rideshare or taxi drivers.

  If these cheerful men transplanted from across the globe with a different language and different culture could adapt, she too could adjust to a new city and a new job. After believing she had the perfect life, the perfect job, and the perfect soul mate, it was time to grow a pair. No more one-woman pity parties. She was going to fight back—at least that was the caffeinated pep talk she gave herself every morning.

  Indulging in one last whiff of the deep comforting aromas, she headed toward the door. If she had more time, she’d have taken a refill for the road.

  Before leaving the safety of the shop, she checked the street filled with Priuses for anything that might have changed in the hour since she had walked to the shop.

  Nothing new or unusual. Anxiety was prickling under her skin. Probably Emily’s warnings about Charles had ramped up the paranoia. It was only a matter of time before Charles would find her.

  As she stepped into November darkness, leaving the false security of the bright lights and the noisy conversations of the coffee shop, fear crashed through Izzy’s spine. She kept her head down, willing herself not to break into a run for the five blocks to her rental house. She reassured herself it was just the caffeine buzz of two double shots that had her heart racing.

  She turned onto her street, inspecting the row of parked cars, making sure there were no new vehicles—particularly ominous white vans. Sure, she watched too many thrillers, and her brain was being sidetracked by the idea that someone was waiting to throw her into a van.

  She had two more blocks to reach her well-secured house. Definitely going to take an Uber. No crowded light rail today. She regretted telling Reeves to stop driving her to and from work after her first week in Seattle. He lived on the other side of town, and she hadn’t wanted him to keep going out of his way. She’d thought she’d controlled her fears.

  Izzy glanced behind her to make sure no one was following her, but she couldn’t stop the jittery sensation in her gut. Using controlled breathing techniques from yoga, she took a breath—in through her mouth, out her nose—focusing on the rhythm to slow her staccato heart and mind. What had set her off? She’d begun to believe she was safe.

  Racing footsteps thundered behind her. She twisted to see a massive man with a black ski mask pulled over his face coming from behind her neighbor’s high fence. He was on her before she could run.

  He grabbed her backpack, trying to rip it off.

  Izzy tightened her hold on the straps. No way would she let anyone steal her laptop. He lifted her off her feet and swung her around, trying to disengage her from the pack.

  Now facing him, she lifted her knee to hit him in the groin. Dodging her, he laughed as he slammed his fist into her face. Izzy fell backward. She made a futile effort to regain her balance before crashing into the ground.

  Scrambling to get up, she pushed the alarm on the bling thing. The loud, shrill eardrum-splitting noise startled her attacker. He froze and looked around, giving Izzy time to jump and position herself to use her newly learned self-defense moves from YouTube while she kept her finger on the alarm button.

  Her neighbor opened her front door, holding her barking German Shepherd with one hand. The guy gave Izzy a menacing glare that raised the tiny hairs on her neck before he ran away.

  Izzy released the button and sprinted to her house. She wasn’t going to wait for him to come back. Her heart was pounding like a kettle drum in the Fourth of July parade.

  As she unlocked the door, she kept turning around to make sure the creep or his friends weren’t coming for her. She immediately twisted the double bolt on the door before resetting the alarm she’d installed herself. She bent over to catch her breath. When bowed over, she saw the blood on her boot and the wood floors.

  She rushed to the bathroom. The asshat had broken the skin on her cheekbone, which was now bleeding all over the sink. She took a washcloth and ran it under the cold water before applying pressure to the cut. Holy fudge. That burned but nothing like the pain building behind her eye. She felt along all the bones of her eye socket to check if any were broken. Nope. But touching them hurt.

  She needed ibuprofen and ice, in that order. She couldn’t put makeup over a bleeding cut. Her assailant must have had a ring on when he punched her.

  How was she going to explain this at work? Reeves was going to have a million questions. And what if Richard Dean asked her? She’d say it was a random mugging. And it possibly was a random mugging. But statistically speaking, and she was a girl who calculated the numbers, it was most likely one of Charles’s minions.

  Random mugging was her story, and she was sticking with it. She never knew how adept she could be at lying. Survival did that to a girl.

  She hated to do it, but she texted Reeves for a ride. After the assault, she didn’t want to get into a car with a complete stranger. If Charles had found her, it would be easy with his skills to break into Uber and hack her ride.

  Reality sucked. She needed a new pep talk.

  2

  “What the hell is she doing?”

  Sten Jenkins watched from his truck as Izzy, the IT chick, waited on the large wraparound porch of the ramshackle house in an out-of-the-way neighborhood. Surely Reeves paid her enough to afford a real house? This one looked like the owners didn’t do any background checks. Izzy checked each passerby before venturing to move away from her front door. He didn’t need spec ops training to recognize her nervousness—the rigid set of her shoulders, her hands fisted at her side, and the way her head swiveled, covering the approaches. Goth Girl was expecting trouble.

  She scanned the street once before her gaze focused on his truck. She retreated under the door jamb and pulled a Taser from her oversized coat pocket. A Taser—a bit of overkill, even for the barely gentrified Hillman City in South Seattle.

  Sten was in no mood for mysteries this morning. In his new role at Cyber Command, he had a big meeting with Dean to discuss the cyber threats against his company which provided the major components of security software for military drones.

  And in case that wasn’t enough, Sten had to tell Lars about his transfer, before his twin heard the scuttlebutt, that he was leaving MARSOC—Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command. As young boys, they’d planned to be spec ops Marines to honor their fallen Marine father. And they had fulfilled that pledge. Both MARSOC. Until now.

  Now Sten was stepping away from active duty to work for CC as they monitored all military branches of cyber warfare. Sten would always be MARSOC, but Lars wouldn’t see it that way. Knowing his twin, the news wouldn’t go over well—a blood bath in the coming.

  Sten slowly slid out of the seat of his rig, keeping his voice even and his motions small. Not easy for a six-foot, two-hundred-pound dude. “Hey, Izzy, I’m Sten Jenkins.”

  “I know who you are.”

  Not the usual response he got from women.

  He had no time for this. It was barely 8:00 a.m., and he was already in a standoff with a woman he didn’t know. Not for his lack of trying. When Izzy Benson joined their IT team to
take down a rogue DEA agent, he’d introduced himself. She’d nodded, never looking up from her computer as her pale hands flew over the keyboard with code whizzing across her screen.

  Intrigued by her indifference to the Jenkins’ charm, Sten wanted to figure out who this Izzy Benson was, a woman with mad computer skills and an air of fragility.

  Was she overwhelmed by the testosterone at Jenkins Security? The Jenkins brothers, all military spec operators, could be a bit much. The working conditions weren’t exactly PC for language, and outright scuffles between the brothers broke out regularly.

  Leaning back on his rig, he crossed his feet. “Reeves didn’t text you?”

  “No.”

  She didn’t budge, but at least she put the Taser in her pocket. There was something vulnerable and forlorn in the fierce way she held her position on the porch.

  “Reeves was supposed to text you that he was running late and I’d swing by.” Sten was about to tell her that he lived nearby except her eyes were narrowed on him like he was a serial killer stalker—not the good guy offering a ride to work.

  “Reeves had no right to share my address with you.”

  “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. You can give Reeves shit when you see him.” Sten gazed at his watch. “We should head out. I’m meeting with Dean in thirty minutes.”