A Father's Sacrifice Read Online Free PDF Page B

she tossed back at him.
    His long black lashes floated down for an instant, giving her his answer.
    Normally, she couldn’t care less if some military type or stiff-necked suit doubted her expertise. But the fact that Dylan had reservations about her made her feel as if she had something to prove. She pushed that notion aside. She wasn’t here to impress him, just to do her job and get out as soon as possible.
    “Let’s just say I had a lot of incentive,” she said wryly. Incentive. That was an understatement. Mitch Decker had saved her from going to prison for hacking into classified files. No matter that she’d been framed. Prison was prison. She owed a big debt to the U.S. government.
    Dylan’s dark brows went up. “Incentive?”
    She gnawed on her lower lip. His intensity was mesmerizing and a little frightening. When he looked at her, she felt as if she were the only person in his world. She dropped her gaze to her hands. She wasn’t answering any more questions.
    “I need to contact Mitch and give him my equipment list. Until it gets here there’s not much I can do, unless you give me access to your program files.”
    Dylan shook his head and stood.
    “Look, Dr. Stryker. If I’m going to do my job—”
    He broke in. “It’s almost midnight. You should be in bed.”
    She tilted her head at him. “As you just pointed out, I’m well over twenty-one, all grown-up. I usually make my own decisions about bed.”
    She hadn’t meant it to come out like that. To her dismay, she felt a flush rising from her neck to her cheeks.
    The corner of his mouth turned up. He took a step backward and leaned against the door facing.
    “Campbell’s working on the programming code right now. You should get a good night’s sleep and get started in the morning.”
    “Yes, sir,” she snapped, and came to her feet.
    Even slouched wearily against the door facing, he commanded attention. His shirt strained over his biceps and lay gently against his well-defined abs.
    He exuded strength, competence, and yes—obsession. Not to mention undeniable sexuality. She’d never been in the presence of anyone so physically compelling.
    He gave her a quick nod, straightened and turned on his heel. “I assume you can find your way to your room, being so grown-up and all,” he said over his shoulder.
     
    J ERRY C AMPBELL yawned loudly and twisted his stringy hair back into its ponytail. He’d stared at screen after screen of computer code until he was cross-eyed. It was almost midnight. Dr. Stryker had told him to go to bed an hour ago. He was about ready to take that advice.
    But first—he glanced through the glass walls of the virtual surgery lab, searching the halls and other offices, making sure no one was around. Typing briskly, he opened his e-mail account and composed a message, quickly attached a file and pressed Send. Then he began to shut down the computer.
     
    T HE WALLS WERE CLOSING IN . Little Tasha pushed against the car seat that pinned her. But she couldn’t move. She tried not to think about the blood, or why her mama and daddy wouldn’t talk to her.

    A big boom shook the car. She shrieked. That one was louder than the first, the one that had smashed the front of the car.
    She saw a flash of light, and then another boom rumbled through her. She couldn’t see! Couldn’t breathe!
    Daddy!
    Natasha sat up, gasping for air.
    Her chest heaved as spasms racked her rigid muscles. Her mind crashed back into her body. She’d been dreaming. Again.
    Where was she? Not in the car where her parents had died. Not buried under mountains of debris in a burned-out building.
    She was inside Dylan Stryker’s secluded estate—in the windowless pitch-dark room. No wonder she’d dreamed of being trapped.
    Quiet and safe. Plenty of fresh air. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
    She kicked at the tangled sheets. She had to get out of there. She’d go sit under the skylight.
    As she stood up, she heard something. It sounded as if it was just