Honey Moon by Arlene Webb Page A

to justification he was onto something that’d definitely get him killed. Thank Christ he’d made sure the woman, whose hot and sweet and beautiful image had damn well better flash in front of his eyes before the bullets hit, was safely out of the game.
     

Chapter Six
     
     
     
    Jenna had tumbled not head but heart first into the game of whistleblower. Like playing Russian roulette with a full clip, the cost of failure was clear. Arranging for a misfire was the only chance. Without a single error, they had to get onboard, figure it out and alert the world as to what was happening before the LC pulled the trigger.
    It’d been rather easy but quite costly to find someone with Net skills to far surpass hers. She now sat at her com-desk and hesitated, worried and facing the wide, green purchase button staring back at her.
    Because of Sam, she had the funds to empty twenty thousand into this site that ‘worked diligently to save whales from illegal poaching. These so-called environmentalists didn’t offer specifics on how the rescue would happen within hours of receiving payment, nor did they claim satisfaction guaranteed.
    There’d be no refund, and it was on her if she screwed-up when entering the encrypted coding to spell out what she really wanted. The info would be attached to the monies she sent, and her message—hopefully after being read and understood by some criminal—would be irreversibly transposed into the name and stats on which whale owed a continued peaceful existence to her donation. Something she’d never have, not after she tapped that green button.
    Come on, get on with it. It, the rescue, must be a hoax to cover up the illegal activity she really was paying for. Only the sickest of sociopaths hunted sea creatures with superior intellect and active social lives, most often even authorities didn’t react if said hunter was found floating face down in the northern Pacific.
    She’d read between the lines to understand her request to look for any unusual activity during the building of the shuttles—such as supplies purchased that didn’t make sense for manned flights and to provide her with schematics of the pods that’d hold the honeymooners—would be processed by some genius who’d activate a program to overwrite her words so nothing remained visible to Big Brother other than the solicitation and her agreement to donate . Just do it. Think green and move onward.
    She bit her lower lip, tapped the purchase button and sat back with Sam Dexter’s deep green eyes on her mind. While she waited for the name of her whale, which she presumed would be long enough to print out in a page before the bulk of the info was deleted from the hard drive and cyberspace, the clock and her libido ticked onward.
    Hot, hard body. Even if she managed to get an idea of what could go wrong once they were on the shuttle, she—overconfident fool that she was—had to get onto the damn thing first.
    Cocky smile. It was stupid to put all the eggs, so to speak, into one basket by hoping these nature-loving rebels would figure that she also needed fake identification, meaning she had to make contact with yet another unsavory site. If only she, the clueless idiot going with instinct instead of logic, could make the right choice about whom to trust.
    Brilliant mind. Her name and Sam’s on that list as winners and the forged IDs imprinted into their wrist phones were next on her to-do list—and that had to cost more than twenty grand to accomplish.
    Strong, competent hands. Calloused finger pads of an expert writer and lover. She flexed her dominant scrolling hand, danced her own worn fingers on the screen and was glad she’d already scrolled about yesterday, narrowing down options. She just had to make a few more decisions after getting an answer from her whale-loving friends. So, no reason to cease the distracting images of a certain good-looking guy that kept popping into her head, doing nothing other than making her