High Ground Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Reviews for the First Book in the

  High Ground

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “You’re supposed to protect me,

  not gun me down in my own home.” Intrigue flared in a bright arc, filling him with energy. He stepped closer, fascinated. She’d been watching over him. My own warrior woman prepared to fight to the death protecting me.

  She shrugged, lowering her weapon. “You could have been an assassin.”

  “No way,” he said with absolute certainty. “My system would warn us of the slightest attempt at breaking in.” It surprised him how much he wanted her to believe in his ability. He continued to close the distance between them.

  The gold halo of the lamp shone down on her. He stopped a few feet away, entranced by the picture she made. She wore a thin, white cotton camisole with bits of ribbon and lace along the low décolleté. She’d pulled her legs into the chair, ankles crossed, knees high. The gleaming columns of satin hid her bottom half. She’d brushed out the tortured hair style from earlier, leaving a mass of corkscrew curls tapping her shoulders. The light stroked the shiny strands with a lover’s touch, picking out every shade of brown from tawny gold to russet.

  He gave up on slowing his heart rate. She reminded him of pictures he’d seen of quadroons in the 1800s. The descendants of African slaves and their Caucasian masters, white men prized the earth-bound goddesses as concubines prior to the Civil War. With her high cheekbones, tilted eyes, and full lips, Josh could see why slave traders scoured the states to find girls with Cat’s description. His libido soared with the force of his response to her.

  Reviews for the First Book in the

  Daring Heights Series—CLIMBING HIGH

  “The character development kept me turning the pages. I was fascinated by the climbing visuals the author was able to create using her arsenal of descriptive language, which made me feel like I was right there, on the rock with the climbers. I also loved the chemistry that the author created between the two main characters. I was silently cheering them on to succeed! I’m happy to hear that two more books are coming in this series!”

  ~Rene Thiele

  ~*~

  “Really enjoyed this book—looked forward to taking it to bed with me each night to see what would happen next with Siree and Jake. Madelon’s detailed, descriptive writing pulled me in to feeling like I really knew the characters.”

  ~Donna Thrasher

  ~*~

  “I just wanted to read the first chapter before I went to sleep. I just had to read the next and the next. I finished the book at 2:00 am. You made me cry.”

  ~Lisa Cheeseman

  ~*~

  “I’m a climber, so a lot of the climbing scenes immediately interested me. I’m not much in love with the billionaire hero type, but Smid makes the trope enjoyable. Can’t wait for the next two in the series.”

  ~Natasha

  High Ground

  by

  Madelon Smid

  Daring Heights Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  High Ground

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Madelon Smid

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Diana Carlile

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Crimson Rose Edition, 2015

  Print ISBN 978-1-62830-820-4

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-821-1

  Daring Heights Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  Dedicated with gratitude and admiration to

  Lieutenant Colonel Lisa Smid (retired),

  my technical advisor and loving daughter-in-law,

  who brings the best attitude and action

  to all she takes on.

  With thanks to Preston Lord, INTRICATE NETWORKS Inc., and Wellesley Dashney, Dash Computers, for rescuing me numerous times from

  the challenges of installing a new hard drive

  while writing this book, and for their technical support in many areas of my work.

  Chapter One

  Someone spied on the spy master. The intrusion alert flashed on his computer screen. Joshua Chandler’s fingers raced over the keyboard, feeding in commands. No amateur, he concluded, as he closed in on the threat. The hacker had programmed the signal to automatically jump from country to country. Josh had the speed and know-how to catch him. Adrenaline pumped blood through his body and quickened his breathing. He might be armed with only a computer, but he was fighting off an attack more deadly than any terrorist bombing. He gained on the intruder. Within seconds, he’d obtained the root Internet protocol address and full tracking header. Exhilaration shortened his breath as he concluded the hacker was in the U.S., possibly only minutes away.

  “Got him.” He automatically sent an alert to the FBI, whose files the hacker had almost breached. The communication operators there would use the IP address to get the geolocation from the Internet router closest to the guy’s base. Homeland Security would arrest him. Meanwhile, Josh continued screening for the protocols the hacker had used to gain entry into his secured system. He confirmed no malware burrowed into the files he protected. Homeland Security would be crawling up his butt, if he failed.

  The excitement of the chase dissipated in his bloodstream. He’d just flooded the universe with a tremendous amount of energy. Too many agencies wanted his expertise. They required a designer who could create foolproof software and keep it current. National security depended on impregnable programs. They wanted the best. They wanted Josh. He couldn’t deny the country he loved. But the responsibility of keeping the nation safe was never ending and exhausting.

  He sat back, rubbing the knots in his neck muscles. A quick rotation of his shoulders did nothing to alleviate the pain of inflamed tissue pressing on nerve bundles. He stood, stretching his arms high. The single desk light threw his shadow in a long lean line up the paneled wall. A quick glance at his watch confirmed he’d missed supper and the football game he’d planned to watch. Neither troubled him. He had long since concluded life had no intrinsic meaning. The experience of the moment, his energy popping in and out of existence at a subatomic level, gave life a kind of elevated purposefulness.

  Leaning over, he tapped his security codes into the computer dedicated to government files. His spyware had protected the highly classified material this time, but the intrusion served as a warning. He must design at a level higher than human imagining or ability to date. He set his hand on the desk, rested his weight on it while he lifted his personal touch pad, and checked his emails.

  Jake and Sam left messages raz
zing him about the football score. Seemed his team lost. With a rueful smile, he swiped it off. This little emergency stole the time he’d planned for swimming laps and setting up a dinner date for the weekend. He couldn’t see either happening now. He needed all his time. Writing new software at the level he proposed would require every bit of him.

  He massaged his lower back as he left his office to take in the scene outside the banks of glass fronting his loft. Tonight, a portrait of D.C. wearing her evening sparkle was on exhibition. In the rainy streets, the worker bees rushed home; the party goers stepped out. Across the Potomac, floodlights embraced the capital building and war memorials. Rotating his shoulders, he blew out a long breath. Automatically, he tapped a command into his touchpad. Instantly, pot lights threw golden circles on the high ceiling. Water whispered along a polished cement trough in front of the fireplace. Gas flames flickered, steadied to a tranquil glow, reflected on the moving water. Japanese screens slid across the huge windows with a shushing sound. The panels overlapped to close in the entire wall.

  Josh appreciated the customized ambience from behind the island counter, while he prepared a salad of fresh vegetables harvested from his roof garden, tended and delivered by one of his tenants. He paid her to keep him stocked up. He grilled a tuna steak, while mixing a light dressing. Okay, he was a bit of a health nut, but with the long hours he sat cutting into his exercise time, organic food kept his metabolism working at maximum capacity. The drain of mental energy pressed down on him. He’d been working too hard for too long. The tempting aroma of grilled fish and the promise of a half hour in his hot tub kept him on his feet till the food was ready.

  The government paid staggering sums for his software. He owed them his best. Hiring a technician he could trust would help, but he valued his solitude. Introducing others might mess with the positive energy he needed to work well. Years spent in crowded foster homes and noisy college residences taught him the value of personal space. Even the ashram he’d studied at in Delhi filled its meditation rooms with people who exuded negative energy, while seeking the positive.

  He carried his plate to a comfortable chair facing the fire, eating alone again. He’d let work steal too much of his life. He firmly believed a woman created just for him existed, waited for him to find her. But if he didn’t look, they might never connect. Fantasizing about her before he went to sleep wasn’t going to make it happen. A picture of long golden legs ending in grass-stained trainers flashed into his mind, taking him back a year ago last spring to a grassy park in Vancouver. The gang had run a marathon together and he’d had a hard time taking his eyes off Siree’s bodyguard. Janice Tyburn, a mixed-race beauty, model tall and trained to kill. His approach had been all wrong. He still cringed when he remembered the way he’d doused the instant chemistry between them with a few poorly chosen words. Her finely-shaped brows had arched above leaf-green eyes that looked at him with contempt.

  When Siree and Jake married, the threat to them imprisoned, Janice had moved on. He didn’t even know if that was her real name. She’d been working undercover. He wondered what country she was in, and who she protected now. He wondered if her mouth was as luscious as he imagined, and if her skin felt as silky. He shook his head dislodging the thoughts. He had bigger troubles than a woman who’d turned him down.

  This latest attempt to hack into the FBI concerned him. Many tried. Anyone with the skills would want to test them against their government. His software stood between them and the CIA, Homeland Security, the Pentagon, and numerous other agencies. Just as the mountain challenged a climber, a hacker went after information behind the strongest firewalls. His vigilance and software prevented a breach. His brow knitted.

  If I hadn’t been in the site, if I hadn’t been faster than him, could he have done it? I’ll never know, because I stopped him. I couldn’t take a chance he’d get in. He chewed crisp greens and swallowed moist tuna, while he imagined various scenarios and planned for them.

  A half hour later, he climbed into his hot tub and continued factoring possibilities, while water bubbled and hissed around him. Concluding his systems would thwart any transgressor, he rose from the hot tub and dried himself. Limber and at peace, he lowered his long body to his bed and slowed down his brain.

  He slept, and while he slept, computers around the world booted up, backed up, changed codes and passwords, and deleted files—all at his programmed command, safeguarding his country’s secrets.

  ****

  Three quarters of the way through his early morning meditation in his rooftop garden, his intercom buzzed. He brought up the lobby monitor with the app on his smart phone. Suits, just as he’d anticipated—pressed and polished, ear buds and dark glasses. Why did they insist on wearing shades inside at six in the morning? Unruffled by their presence, he let them wait while he finished.

  He insisted they flash their badges in front of his security monitor. FBI. He unlocked the doors and sent his private elevator down to ground level with a few typed directions. Keying in another code, he accessed a circular staircase that led to the half of his loft containing his home gym and sauna. He began his free weights routine while he waited for them.

  They weren’t laid-back today. He surmised Homeland Security sent them with a report on the bust. Their closed expressions and rigid body language alerted Josh. He wiped the sweat from his face and neck, selected a ten-pound barbell, and settled into his series of alternate hammer curls, while he waited for them to speak. They remained standing, their shades on.

  “Did you arrest the hacker? Find out his prime target?” Josh abandoned social niceties for expediency.

  “Your trace led us to the home of Jonathon Maddox, a software designer with a game company. He eluded us. But a woman living in the house died.”

  “How?” Josh lowered the barbell as his arm muscle quivered.

  “The guy cleared out before we got there. The woman pulled out a phone. A trigger-happy rookie thought she was drawing on us and shot and killed her.”

  Shaken from his usual composure, Josh dropped the barbells onto the rack, weighing his own complicity in her death. He’d tracked the hacker and sent the address to them, instigating the arrest. And now an innocent woman lay dead. “Do you know who she was?”

  “Look, Chandler, there’s no way to wrap this up tidy. She was the guy’s wife. We have no evidence he’s even the guy you tagged. No computer equipment, no witness, no fingerprints. Everything in the place was wiped clean. We think she stayed behind to protect him, while he ran for it.”

  “Somehow he knew we were hitting him.” Suit two spoke up.

  Josh’s snort of derision raised red flags on the agents’ cheeks. “I’d say the fact he ran proves he’s the guy. He has eyes, ears, or both on your agency, probably half the agencies in the country. If he could get partway into one of my blocks, don’t you think he has the hacking skills to do surveillance on your actions?” He shook his head in disbelief at their what…naïveté? Arrogance more like. Be free of judgment, be open-minded. The less enlightened part of his brain struggled with the concept. I’m tired of cleaning up after these guys.

  “We made mistakes, acknowledged,” suit one flared up. “He’s out there and has a new reason to go after you. Revenge is a strong motivator.” He moved toward the door. Suit two fell in behind him. Suit one stopped and swiveled so abruptly suit two walked into him. They steadied each other, a second wash of heat staining their faces. Suit one offered in an officious tone, “This is a cautionary heads-up. Probably nothing will come of it, but if you are threatened in any way, the agency will assign protection. Let us know immediately.”

  Josh contained his irritation until the door closed. Protection? Like I want two stick-up-your-butt agents taking space around here. He retrieved the barbells and stretched out on his incline board to complete another set of curls. A woman dead, a woman who loved her man enough to watch his back. What a cluster of chaos.

  A fine example of the messy path I’m taking
in the wrong direction. He’d started out fresh-faced and keen. While working for his Canadian friend Jake Ingles, Josh started tinkering with security designs and had written a foolproof program. Jake refused to claim Josh’s copyright for his company JDI, Inc. “Take it to the feds,” he’d advised Josh.

  They’d met at a keg party first year Harvard—Jacob, Joshua, and Samuel. Soon dubbed the three wise men because of their Old Testament names, their intellectual prowess and technological skills caused them to become best friends. Jake built a business based on designing software to teach specific skill sets to a company’s employees. Josh followed his fascination for building security software and contracted his services to the American government. Sam, living in Seattle, turned his passion for designing computer games into a first-class Internet tracking system. He could find anything. He worked closely with police departments across the United States.

  Josh wondered for a brief moment if he should pull Sam in on finding Maddox. He shook his head and stalked toward the shower. Sam would tell Jake, and his wife Siree, and he’d have a bunch of concerned friends, and no way to allay their fears. Homeland sent the agents to caution him to cover their own butts. They had professionals to track Maddox and would be after him now. Josh was no slouch at following and subverting a digital trail. He’d leave Sam alone.

  Deeply immersed in the ones and zeroes scrolling endlessly down his screen, he searched his FBI security software for any breeches he might have missed while tracking the hacker. Maddox, Josh confirmed, hadn’t located and used his source code to gain access to another program before Josh’s system warned him of the intrusion. Now, he searched for a blip, something out of the norm he would recognize as contrary to his specialized code. Suddenly, the numbers scrolling by began forming into large letters. Words appeared line by line—YOUR ASS IS MINE.

  While his brain read and registered the threat, the greater threat to his software took precedence. Maddox was back, invading in a new way. It meant he could read part of Josh’s code. Catastrophic! With time, Maddox could infiltrate the agencies Josh protected. Certain he dealt with a cyber-terrorist, Josh engaged with the enemy, firing every weapon in his arsenal in a heavy barrage of digital artillery. The letters faded away, the virtual presence retreated.