Ryder's distracting.

In so many more ways than one.

If I were to actually admit that to him though, he'd use it against me. More than he already is.

We've been driving on a two-lane road with the occasional passing car, but for the most part, we've been completely alone on the road. Not many people appear to drive through here. Actually, hardly any people appear to drive through here.

So far though, I can't complain too much. He hasn't been that distracting. Of course, I wasn't expecting the kind of annoying distracting he's currently being.

It's like driving with a toddler.

We made a pit stop at a gas station and Ryder had announced he wanted to get some snacks. Fine by me. Of course, I was expecting the snacks to be eaten. I wasn't expecting to be wearing them.

But apparently, eating snacks like a normal human being is too much work for him. Throwing them at me while I'm driving is obviously so much easier. And so mature. Obviously.

And dumping water all over my lap to make it look like I peed myself is really mature as well.

How old is he? Five?

I swear, if he wasn't attractive, someone would've killed him by now.

That someone being me.

Of course, I've never actually killed anyone, but there's a first time for everything. And he seems to excel at bringing out the worst in me.

I shoot him a glare and notice he's looking at me strangely. Intently.

"What?" I question.

"Tell me about yourself," He says. Though, the way he says it makes it sound like a demand.

I give him a bewildered look before putting my attention back on the road. "Excuse me?"

"Tell me about Nicolette Moore." When he says my name, he spreads his hands out dramatically, like there's some kind of invisible banner only he can see.

I shoot him a look. "What exactly do you want to know? I'm sure you've read my entire life story in the file you have."

"Yeah," He says absently and I can feel his stare burning a hole in the side of my head. "But I want to hear it from you."

I debate not answering. I mean, he does have the information already. Well, besides the whole thing with Volkov. So really, there isn't much to tell.

"Why right now?" I ask him instead.

"Why not?" He questions. "We're driving for God knows how many hours. I'm going to be bringing it up again, so why not now? Humor me."

I blow out a sigh. "I was born in France," I start quietly. "I was raised by my parents until I was eight years old. They died in a car crash shortly after my eighth birthday. Drunk driver hit them."

Ryder's gaze never leaves my face as I talk. He doesn't say anything, but I can tell he's listening intently to what I'm saying.

I shrug as I keep my eyes on the road in front of me, not looking at Ryder. "I don't really remember them all that well," I tell him. "Not anymore at least, but I know they loved me."

"I'm sorry," Ryder whispers quietly.

I shrug again. "I came to peace with it a long time ago." I drum my fingers along the steering wheel. "I was put into an orphanage and a couple weeks later there was a couple from America that wanted to adopt me. They were nice enough. Nothing wrong with them, but I had just lost my parents and wasn't really keen on replacing them.

"I was adopted and went to live with them in America. Until, one day, they decided they didn't want me. They didn't want a kid who wasn't going to open up to them." I continue to drum my fingers along the top of the steering wheel. "Granted they only gave me about a couple weeks before they decided this. So, I was put into the foster system here in the United States."

I grimace at the memories. "That was less than pleasant. Sometimes I was placed with good families. Sometimes I was placed with . . . abusive ones."

I notice Ryder stiffen out of the corner of my eye.

I shrug it off. "They weren't always physically abusive, but emotionally and verbally can be just as bad. Sometimes worse. I don't even know exactly how many foster homes I went through, but I learned pretty quickly how to fend for myself."

I smile to myself. "So long as I had a computer or phone, I was good. My biological father, he was some kind of computer scientist. I learned a lot about computers and electronics from him. He always told me I was a quick study. That I was smarter than everyone else. A genius.

"At the time, I was a little kid. I didn't completely understand what that meant. And as I got older I just figured it was something all parents told their children. It wasn't until I was in high school that I realized he meant it literally."

"Didn't anyone notice?" Ryder questions. "Notice you were smarter than the average child?"

I shake my head. "I was failing school. Not because I didn't understand. Not because I was falling behind every time I got moved to a new home. I was failing because I was bored. I didn't do the homework because I thought it was too easy and a waste of time and I pretty much felt the same about the classwork."

I go to run a hand through my hair and wince at the pain that shoots through my arm.

I blow out a long sigh. "Eventually," I continue. "when I was fourteen, I got placed in another foster home. That was fine. There was nothing wrong with the parents, but I kept to myself anyway. I'd stay in my room and use my computer or read a book. After a few days of being there though, a little boy was brought in."

I feel my jaw tighten as I clench my teeth together. My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I remember the bruises, the cuts, on his skin when he was brought in.

"He'd been beaten by his parents. Child services was finally able to get him away from them and his parents were put in jail. He was only six years old and scared as hell. He lashed out at anyone and everyone who came near him-and who could blame him? He was like a terrified animal that gets backed into a corner. Nothing left to do but fight."

I loosen my grip on the steering wheel when my fingers start to lose feeling. "His name was Cameron and for whatever reason, he decided to latch on to me. Don't ask me why cause I haven't the slightest clue. I minded my own business. Kept to myself. I was in my room reading one day and he stood in the doorway, watching me. He didn't do anything except stare. And then finally he walked up to me."

I smile. "I remember putting the book down and staring at him. He stared back, said absolutely nothing and then crawled in my lap and handed me the book again." I shrug. "So, I picked up the book and began reading aloud. He kept coming back. Day after day. He never said anything and he only showed up when he saw me reading. Eventually, he started talking to me and then started coming by whenever."

"And then what happened?" Ryder asks when I don't continue.

"Then, a couple came by who wanted to adopt him. I had grown attached to him and well . . . I was sad, but I wasn't going to get in the way of him getting a family. So, I stayed in my room, out of sight whenever the couple came by to visit him. They had a six-year-old son already themselves, but they wanted to give a home an orphaned child."

I smile again. "Cameron got along very well with their son and he'd always come running back to me at the end of their visit and tell me everything he'd learned about them. Tell me that he liked them. What I didn't know at the time, was that the couple only wanted to adopt Cameron if he wanted them to. Not really a problem, but it almost became one for him."

"Why?"

"Because when they asked him if it was okay if they adopted him, he said no."

I can hear the surprise in Ryder's tone. "Why would he say no?"

I shake my head. "I didn't know. I didn't even know they had asked him. And I didn't know the reasoning behind his answer until later. But," I continue. "I was later told that he told them he didn't want to go anywhere without . . . me."

I keep my gaze on the road even though I can feel Ryder's once again burning a hole in the side of my head.

"They didn't even know who I was," I tell him. "As I said, I had stayed out of the way. And the day they asked him, I was in my room on my computer, thinking that today was probably going to be the last day I ever saw him. And then he comes walking into the room, pulls himself up onto my bed and crawls into my lap."

I start drumming my fingers again. "I didn't even notice they had followed him. I didn't notice I had two complete strangers standing in my doorway until a few minutes later. But they had seen me. Seen my interactions with Cameron in just a few minutes. Seen how comfortable he was with me and suddenly . . . he had a family and so did I."

I shake my head slightly. "I don't think I would have ever been adopted if it wasn't for Cameron. And after living with them for a while, it was my mom who realized that I was smarter than anyone had thought. I ended up taking a test and tested out of high school my sophomore year and jumped straight into college."

I can see Ryder nod out of the corner of my eyes when I don't continue on.

"And how did you get mixed up with the gang?" He asks me.

I grimace even though I knew the question was coming. "Shortly before testing out of high school, I got mixed up the wrong crowd. Some teenagers who were in the gang. I started hanging around with them, maybe because I was trying to prove something to people, maybe because I just wanted to fit in, I don't really know the reason. But they took a special interest in me when they saw what I could do with a computer."

I bite my lip before continuing. "Suddenly I was their best hacker. I was someone important in the gang. Someone everyone else looked up to or feared. And I liked that. At some point during all this, my family started having some financial troubles and I justified my staying in the gang to help them out, moneywise. But really, I was enjoying all of it. The attention. The fear. The nonexistent power. One day though, things went really bad.

"I was home. I had a couple of gang members over. People who I thought were my friends. And I was doing something on the computer. I don't even remember what it was. It was illegal and gang-related for sure, but I can't remember what it was. I did so much for them."

My hands tighten around the steering wheel again. "My dad came home early. I didn't see it as a big deal. He'd seen me doing things on the computer before, but he didn't understand any of it. He never understood what I was doing. Unfortunately, one of the other gang members couldn't keep their mouth shut about it and it spread throughout the gang. Got back to Volkov, and the gang leader.

"Suddenly, everything I did for them didn't matter. They wanted my father dead for what he'd seen. Wanted my whole family dead for something he'd seen. Something he didn't even understand. They told me it would only make me stronger. Make me better. That they were doing me a favor."

I loosen my death grip on the steering wheel. "So, I set things up for my family to go into the witness protection program. I had to doctor up some files and make the threat very credible, not that it wasn't already."

I smile bitterly. "And I'm sure you know the rest. I left the witness protection because someone leaked that I, Nicolette Moore, was the best hacker the gang had. That I had done numerous unspeakable things. Naturally, I would have been arrested. But, I evaded arrest-got caught by Volkov at one point-and here we are now."

Ryder says nothing to this. "How exactly, does Volkov fit into this mess?"

I grimace. "Well, I wasn't the only hacker the gang had. And us hackers, we were considered very important. Our safety and survival-especially during times when they were involved in some kind of gang war-was of the utmost importance. So . . ." I trail off.

"So . . . ?" Ryder prompts.

I blow out a sigh. "Each hacker was assigned a protector . . . and Volkov was mine."

Ryder swears. His swears getting increasingly louder and more colorful the longer he continues.

"Volkov was assigned to hunt me down because when I left, I took an . . . insurance policy to make sure they wouldn't be focused on my family more than me. I needed him to follow me around. Not my family." I open my mouth to continue, but Ryder holds his hand up to stop me.

"Right now," He says. "I'm sorry I asked. And I find I don't want to know more at this particular moment. So, before I completely lose it, I'm changing the subject."

I just nod in response.

"Who exactly is this friend of yours we're going to be dropping in on?" He asks me.

"Quinn Delaney."

He just stares at me for a long moment. "You say that as if that completely explains who this person is."

"Well . . . Quinn's a friend."

Ryder groans and puts his head back, his hands covering his face as if that somehow makes things better.

"I do not want to go meet another one of your little criminal friends," He says, hands still over his face.

I briefly glance over at him before turning my gaze back to the road. "Quinn is not a criminal. I promise." He just groans again. "And you don't even know whether or not John's a criminal. You didn't stick around to find out."

I can feel Ryder's gaze burning a hole into the side of my head yet again. "I have it on very good authority that he is a criminal. Also, did you honestly expect me to believe that he wasn't a criminal? After you said your name, he turned a gun on me. Not you, me."

"John's host skills are lacking."

Ryder gives me a flat look. "How do you even know him?" Ryder suddenly holds up his hand and shakes his head. "No. Don't tell me. It's better if I don't know."

"I completely agree," I mutter under my breath, but unfortunately, Ryder hears me and narrows his eyes in my direction.

"And you know, I could almost be okay with all this if it wasn't for the fact that he pulled his gun before I had even pulled mine. So, it's not as if he was trying to protect you."

"John doesn't like law enforcement."

"He tried to kill me."

"John really doesn't like law enforcement."

Ryder groans again. "You keep putting me in very compromising positions."

"Sorry," I reply, but I'm not really all that sorry.

"I'm serious," He says firmly. "You should not be taking me along to meet your criminal friends. I'm an FBI agent. It's my job to catch these kinds of people. It's bad enough I'm not bringing you in but taking me along and introducing me to more criminals is putting me in a very compromising position."

"I know," I reply seriously. "And I promise, Quinn is not a criminal. Quinn is completely normal." I pause as I think it over. "Mostly." This emits another groan from Ryders.

I don't intend to introduce Ryder to any more of my criminal contacts and I only say contacts cause not all of them are what anyone would consider friends. As Ryder's already pointed out, he is an FBI agent and he's very much into upholding the law. Constantly parading criminals in front of him is risking his job. He's supposed to be bringing them in, not turning a blind eye because of me.

Ryder groans yet again and his fingers go up to his head, massaging his forehead. "You're giving me a migraine."

"Payback for every time you've given me one," I reply without thinking.

"You're being dramatic."

"Oh? Then what exactly are you being?"

"Distracting."

I scoff. "You're not distracting me at all . . ." I trail off suddenly when he makes another move. "Ryder," I start again.

"Hmm?" He questions lazily.

"Your hand is on my thigh."

He looks down at his hand on my thigh. "Ah, so it is."

"It goes any higher and I'm going to break it."

"That almost sounds like a challenge."

"It's not."

His hand moves up to the nape of next. "My hand's moved higher, what are you going to do about it?" His fingers dance lightly over the back of my neck, trailing down to my shoulder and then back up again.

I shudder and he smiles widely, leaning across the center console toward me. "Am I distracting you?" He whispers softly, his breath fanning across my ear and cheek.

"No," I reply, almost shouting for joy when my voice doesn't break or come out breathlessly.

His smile gets wider. "I don't believe you."

"Believe it."

"I don't. Want to know why?"

"Why?" I question, humoring him.

"Because, matchstick," He leans in closer to whisper in my ear. "you're driving on the wrong side of the road."

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