Shit. She’d forgotten to tell Diesel about Quincy’s visit. They really needed to get home. Scott King was out there, hunting Michael.

She pulled on her clothes, shaking her head over the ruined bra. But she couldn’t be sorry. That had been the hottest thing ever.

Well, except for the whole orgasm part. That had been . . . exceptional. She tucked the tattered white lace into her purse as she walked through the kitchen.

She found him in his home office, bare-chested and typing madly on a keyboard. She started to admire his muscled chest, but found herself distracted by the hardware that filled the room.

“I thought computers had gotten smaller,” she said as she took in the stacks of . . . she wasn’t quite sure what. It wasn’t actually one big computer, just a lot of smaller computers stacked upon each other. There was a shelf of what looked like stacks of DVD players. They sat next to four computer tower units, stacked in a two-by-two group. There were windows in the room, but they were covered with blackout shades. A whiteboard on the far wall was filled with what looked like gibberish. She wondered if it was code.

She hoped he wasn’t still hacking into the Pentagon, although it looked like he might have more computing power than the “special building with five sides.”

Diesel’s desk held three large monitors and three keyboards. He moved from one to another like a concert pianist, his fingers flying over the keys. One look at those big hands had her shivering.

He could do amazing things with those big hands. And she had the feeling she hadn’t experienced a fraction of what he was capable of doing.

He looked up and saw her studying his setup. “Those are my servers. The four towers are mostly old units I don’t want to part with. I’m kind of a hoarder,” he said with a shrug, then turned back to his monitor.

She squeezed behind his desk, leaning over his shoulder to see what he was doing. His screen was filled with columns of more gibberish. Combinations of letters and numbers that made absolutely no sense at all.

“What is that?”

“Hash,” he said succinctly. “Encrypted passwords.”

“Whose?” she asked cautiously.

“Lady of the River’s. That’s where Scott King works. These are the passwords of every casino employee. Including Scott King.”

“How did you get their passwords?”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “I hacked in. That’s what I do.”

Her lips twitched because he was so damn cute. “Okay. Did you find the password you were looking for?”

“Yep,” he said with satisfaction. “Ritz cracked the password hashes.”

It took her a second, then she snorted. “Your program is called Ritz and it’s a password cracker?”

He grinned. “Yeah. I thought it was hilarious when I programmed it, but I think there was beer involved.”