James, Julie - Love Irresistibly

Cab fare to “Sperm-Burpers Anonymous” meeting.

And so on.

It was safe to say that Brooke had moved beyond pissed at that point. “Pissed” was how she felt the time someone let their dog poop on the sidewalk in front of her building and she stepped in it while climbing into a cab wearing three-inch heels. But breaking into company records and writing homophobic slurs against her boss? That was whole different ball game.

She set the spreadsheet off to the side. “Do we know who did this?”

“No, although we at least know how he did it,” Keith said. “As soon as I saw this, I talked to the managers about all recent terminations, anyone who might have expressed anger at Ian or Sterling in general. There was nothing in particular that jumped out at anyone. But what occurred to us is that only Ian or his secretary should have had access to his online expense files.”

“I can’t believe Liz would’ve had anything to do with this,” Brooke said. Ian’s assistant had been with him for years.

“Not intentionally, no. But as it turns out, she never changed her password from the default one we’d assigned to all employees back when we updated everyone’s computers to the new software. She’s still been using ‘Sterling 1-2-3’ all this time.”

Brooke sighed. Note to self: send out memo telling all employees to change their passwords immediately. “Then this could’ve been anyone.”

“Essentially, yes,” Keith said. “I’ve been working with the folks at Citibank, and they provided me with a list of the date and times that Ian’s entries were altered, as well as the IP address for the computer from which the changes had been made. Based on a Google IP search, I’ve been able to determine that the asshole in question did this from a computer in the Chicago area.”

“That covers about eighty percent of all Sterling employees and ex-employees.”

“Unfortunately, yes. And since that’s the extent of what I can do, I contacted the FBI.” Keith rolled his eyes in frustration. “The agent I spoke to said that because there was no actual loss of funds, and because this guy didn’t technically hack into the bank’s system—he used the default password and someone else’s username—the matter would be viewed as ‘low priority.’ When I pressed him on how low of a priority, he said he’d have to get back to me. Frankly, I’d be surprised if I ever hear from him again.”

And if that were the case, the jerk who’d done this would get away scot-free, still employed by Sterling. Luckily, however, Brooke knew someone who had the means to make sure that didn’t happen.

Someone who just so happened to owe her a favor.

“Thank you, Keith,” she said. “I can take things from here.”

* * *

A FEW MINUTES later, she knocked on the door to Ian’s office.

“Got a second?” she asked when he looked up from his desk.

Ian waved her inside. “Sure. Come on in.” When Brooke shut the door behind her, he studied her serious expression. “Oh, shit. Don’t tell me we’ve got another murderer.”

Brooke smiled slightly at the joke. At least now they could laugh about that. But this new situation . . . not so much. She took a seat in front of his desk and came right out with it. “Someone broke into the Citibank purchasing card database and altered a few of your entries. Specifically, they changed the descriptions for the expenses you incurred during your last trip to L.A.”

Ian looked at her in confusion. “The descriptions? Why would anyone do that?”

“To be malicious. We don’t know yet if it’s a current or former employee. We have determined, however, that this person took advantage of the fact that Liz was still using the default password.” She slid the spreadsheet Keith had given her across Ian’s desk. “I thought you should see this.”

Ian took the document from her, clearly still not following, and began to skim. After a few moments, his mouth pulled tight. He finished reading, and then set the spreadsheet down. “‘Sperm-burper.’ I haven’t heard that one since high school.”

“We have the IP address of the person who did this, but Keith was only able to narrow the person’s location to Chicago. The FBI is calling this a ‘low-priority’ matter, but I have a contact who might be able to help us out.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve been called a few bad words, Brooke. Do what you can, but I’m not asking you to make a federal case out of this. Yes, pun intended.”

“It’s possibly a current employee who did this, Ian. I’m not comfortable having some person working for Sterling who’s malicious enough to hack into the CEO’s personal account just to write these kinds of things. Regardless of whether the FBI makes an arrest, I want whoever did this out of here.” Brooke paused, following his lead and making her tone lighter. “Besides, this is what you pay me the big bucks for, remember?”

Ian rubbed his jaw. “If I recall correctly, I pay you the big bucks because the last time you were up for a raise you gave me a sixteen-page report with charts and graphs of all the salaries for comparable GC positions.”

Well, yes. Although in her defense, Ian had cheekily asked her to “prove” what she was worth. So she’d done just that—charts and graphs included. “So you’re okay with my moving ahead with this?”

“You have my blessing to track this prick down, if you can, and give him the full Brooke Parker treatment.”

That settled, she got up and headed for the door. Just as she was walking out of the office, Ian spoke.

“One last thing, Brooke.” He held her gaze and nodded in appreciation. “Thank you.”

AT THE DIRKSEN Federal Building, inside one of the courtrooms, Judge Reinhardt read through the charges in the nine-count indictment the grand jury had returned last week in the case of United States v. Alec Sanderson, et al. To the right of the center podium, in front of the lawyers’ table, were five high-powered criminal defense attorneys with sober expressions. Behind them, the five accused sat stoically as the judge laid out the charges against them. Cameras flashed repeatedly from the gallery, which was filled to capacity with reporters, spectators, and a few family members.

Cade stood to the left of the podium, unfazed by the spectacle. Having been down this road before, he knew exactly the kind of defensive game these crooked politicians played. They hired the city’s most expensive lawyers and PR firms, who would cry foul and righteously protest their client’s innocence—Justice will prevail! We will have our day in court!—and then they would wake up one morning, have a nice dose of reality for breakfast, and start trying to flip on each other in exchange for a reduced sentence.

Along with Senator Sanderson, Cade had filed corruption charges against Charles Torino, the hospital CEO who’d offered Sanderson a bribe at Sogna; as well as a real estate developer who’d paid Sanderson multiple bribes in exchange for his assistance in moving forward several major real estate projects; a lobbyist who had paid off Sanderson in exchange for allocating state funds to certain projects; and the financial consultant who’d set up the shell company though which Sanderson’s bribes were funneled. Not unexpectedly, the indictment of the senator and four successful businessmen had been the top story in the Chicago media for the last week, and Cade’s office had been flooded with calls from the press. Everyone wanted to know what kind of evidence the U.S. Attorney’s Office had up its sleeves.

And in about two minutes, they were going to find out.

“How do the defendants plead?” the judge asked when she’d finished reading the charges.

One by one, the defense attorneys stepped up to the podium and responded “not guilty” on behalf of their clients. Sanderson’s lawyer then immediately asked the judge for extra time to review the discovery materials before a trial date was set.

“We have no objection, Your Honor,” Cade said. “Particularly in light of the fact that the U.S. Attorney’s Office has over fifty-five thousand documents and roughly one thousand recorded phone conversations that establish our case.”

And that would be the sound bite every one of those reporters would take out of this arraignment.

Because Cade knew how to play this game, too.

A low murmur rippled through the crowd at this revelation. Clearly unsettled by the news of the impending avalanche of evidence Cade soon would be dropping on them, the defense attorneys all fell silent for a moment. One of them, Torino’s lawyer, literally broke out in a sweat.

Then four of them hightailed their high-powered asses up to the podium to request that their clients’ cases be severed from the senator’s.

And so it begins, Cade thought as the judge set a date for the lawyers to present their arguments for separate trials. It was only their first court appearance, and the four codefendants were already distancing themselves from Senator Sanderson. Given the substantial evidence, it was only a question of if, not when, their lawyers called him to discuss a possible plea.

After the hearing, he left the courtroom feeling satisfied that his case was off to a good start. He checked his watch. Three o’clock. Time for a coffee run. At the elevators, he nearly pushed the up button, thinking he’d make a pit stop at the office to see if Rylann, one of the other AUSAs in the special prosecutions group, wanted to join him—and then remembered that she was in trial this week.

Cade headed downstairs solo and cut through the lobby, past the metal detectors and the security guards. Once outside, he’d gone about a block when his cell phone rang. He pulled the phone out of the inside pocket of his suit coat and checked the caller ID.

Brooke Parker.

A slow smile spread across his face.

A jackhammer pounded away on the opposite side of the street, so Cade stepped into a Mrs. Fields cookie shop to get away from the noise.

He answered the phone. “Ms. Parker. What a pleasant surprise.”

A throaty feminine voice. “I knew it was a corruption case.”

Cade grinned. They hadn’t spoken for two weeks, yet of course that would be her opening line. “So you’re calling to brag that you were right. Imagine that.”

“Actually, I’m calling about that favor you owe me.”

Interesting. “I still don’t recall ever agreeing to that.”

“Give it a moment,” she said. “I’m sure it will come back to you.”

There was a long pause, until Brooke spoke again. “Hello? Are you there?”

“Sorry. I was giving it a moment. Nope, still no recollection.”

She sighed. “I woefully underestimated how painful this conversation was going to be.”

Cade laughed, realizing he really had missed bugging the hell out of her like this. He could picture her, sitting at her desk with her hair pulled back, all long legs and high heels and sexy I-mean-business skirt.

It was not an altogether unpleasant image.

“What kind of favor?” he asked.

“The kind I’d rather not discuss over the phone, since it’s a sensitive matter. Perhaps if you’re free, we can meet this evening at Bar Nessuno on Grand? Say, six thirty?”

Admittedly, he was curious. For more than one reason. “Did you just ask me out on a date, Ms. Parker?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because I—”

“Still no. I need something, and you’re the one guy who can give it to me.” She cut him off before he could even say the words. “Yes, thank you, I’m aware of how that sounded. I’m hanging up now, Mr. Morgan. Six thirty. Bar Nessuno.”

With a smile, Cade hung up the phone, thinking that she’d sounded a little frazzled when he’d brought up the subject of their having a date.

Good.

* * *

CADE STEPPED OFF the elevator at the twenty-first floor of the Dirksen Federal Building, Starbucks cup in one hand, bag of Mrs. Fields Nibblers in the other. As he rounded the corner that led to the reception area of the U.S. Attorney’s Office, a tall man with light brown hair bumped into him, seemingly in a rush.

“Oh, shoot. My bad,” the guy blurted out.

Cade righted the coffee without spilling it—his shoulder might be shit, but having quick football reflexes still came in handy from time to time—then looked over and saw that the person who’d bumped into him wasn’t a man, but a teenaged kid.

The boy’s blue eyes widened, then he swallowed. “Um, sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Obviously.”