Hacker in Love, page 8
“Yeah, but at least you didn’t say yes to marrying your dumbass lying sack of shit.”
“Pfft,” Kat says. “I’ve had belches that lasted longer than your so-called engagement to that scumbag.” To prove her point, she opens her mouth and lets out a loud, disgusting burp that makes me wince and guffaw in equal measure.
“It’s so jarring when you do that,” I say. “My brain can’t process a sound that hideous coming out of something so pretty.”
“That’s what happens when a girl grows up with four disgusting brothers, babe; she learns to out-belch ‘em all.” Kat giggles with me. “Seriously, though, don’t beat yourself up about saying yes when that asshole proposed to you. He was a master manipulator.”
“The crazy thing is I’ve never even wanted to get married all that much. Yes, I want to fall in love with my soulmate and have a life partner and maybe even a kid one day. But the whole idea of marriage has never appealed to me all that much.”
“Because of your parents’ divorce?”
“Maybe. All I know is I’ve never once dreamed of myself walking down the aisle in a white dress.”
“Oh, I have.”
That’s not news to me, but even so, Kat’s Disney-like expression nonetheless touches my heart. I know Kat comes across at first blush as a wild, fun party girl, but when you get to know her, she turns out to be a diehard romantic who’s awaiting her prince—a girl who genuinely believes in fairytales. Maybe that’s because she grew up observing parents who’ve always been deeply in love. Maybe she’s simply wired differently than me. Either way, I know for a fact Kat’s excited to one day meet the love of her life and become his wife.
“You were in a vulnerable state,” Kat says, probably reacting to the contemplative look on my face. “That fucker knew that about you and took advantage of it.”
She’s right. At the time, I felt totally swept away by what I thought was a fated romance. But also, and I hate to admit this, I think I also felt flattered that a guy that good looking was that into me. Supposedly. In reality, of course, the truth is that I was in bad shape mentally, thanks to the recent death of my grandmother and Maddy’s horrific car accident, and Angus knew that. For me, Angus felt like a fantastical, much-needed escape from my real-life struggles. To him, I was a simple mark.
Our waiter arrives with food. As he hands Kat and me our respective meals, we order another round of drinks and then dig into our food with gusto as he walks away.
“I hope you trust your intuition when it comes to Henny,” Kat says. “He’s such a sweetheart.”
“Oh, I do. Mostly. Nobody can be as perfect as he seemed last night. But I’d never think he’s scamming me. He’s just putting his best foot forward on a first date, like we all do, including me.”
“Josh and Reed absolutely adore him. They also admire him. They call him a fucking genius every chance they get, and from what I’ve personally witnessed of Henn’s amazing computer skills, that label is spot-on.”
I tilt my head. “You’ve personally witnessed Henn’s amazing computer skills? In what context?”
Kat’s face reddens. “Oh. Yeah, this past week. Henn would sometimes be hard at work on his computer while our whole group happened to be there—Josh, Jonas, Sarah, and me—and we’d ask him questions, and every time he explained whatever he was doing, we were all totally blown away.”
Something isn’t sitting right with me. Kat won’t pay attention to my computer screen long enough to learn how to perform a new function on a spreadsheet. And yet, she supposedly sat there and listened to Henn talking about his computer programming skills long enough to be blown away by them? I can’t fathom it. Also, come on. Whatever cybersecurity stuff Henn briefly explained to the group couldn’t possibly have been that impressive to merit that description. Nope. Kat has to be exaggerating—over-stating Henn’s talents—because she’s so invested in her matchmaking working out.
“What, exactly, did Henn explain to you that was so impressive?” I ask. I try to keep a straight face as I say it. Not let on I’m basically calling bullshit on her story.
“Oh. Uh. I don’t remember exactly. But whatever it was, Josh and Jonas seemed really impressed by it.”
I’d think her sudden backtracking humorous, if it weren’t for the fact that Kat’s now visibly falling apart in front of me. Her nostrils are flaring. Her cheeks blooming. Holy crap, she’s even blinking rapidly. As I well know from playing drinking games with Kat that depend on bluffing and/or flat-out lying, that’s all the stuff Kat does when she’s not telling the complete truth. Kat always fools everyone in every game she plays . . . except for me. Unlike everyone else, I can always spot Kat’s tells. And, holy fuck, I’m spotting them now.
“What are you not telling me?” I ask, all semblance of playfulness gone from my tone. I’m calling her to the carpet with my voice now. Pinning her against the wall in an interrogation room.
“Hmm?” she says meekly.
“You’re not telling me the full truth about something. Spit it out.”
Kat smiles, but it’s her fake smile—the one she flashes at our boss, Rebecca, before turning and rolling her eyes at me. “The only thing I’m not telling you involves Josh, me, and this crazy orgasm machine called a Sybian—and I don’t think you could handle the full truth about that, Banana.”
She’s deflecting. Hoping I’ll take the bait and ask her about this newly offered topic. I admit I’m damned curious, but I can’t allow myself to be distracted by Kat’s usual tricks. Not when I can see deception written all over her gorgeous face. After making a mental note to google “Sybian” in the hotel room later on, I say, “Cut the crap, dude. I can tell there’s something you’re not telling me. Is it something about Henn?”
Kat makes a funny face and exhales. “How do you always know when I’m lying?”
“If I explain your tells to you, then you might fix them. And that wouldn’t be in my interest. Is there some kind of red flag about Henn I’m not seeing? Something you haven’t told me?”
“Oh, God, no. Quite the contrary. Henn is a hero.” When it’s clear I’m waiting for more, Kat looks around and then leans in and whispers, “Okay, fine. But this is highly confidential, okay? You can’t tell a soul. Not even Maddy. Not even Henn.”
My heart rate increases. “I promise.”
“I mean it, Banana. Sarah told Henn and the guys about my Blabbermouth nickname growing up, and they all made me swear I’d keep my big mouth shut about this. I’m only telling you, in confidence, so you’ll feel assured that Henn is as great a guy as he seems.” She pauses, apparently choosing her words carefully. “Sarah recently found out her employer was doing some shady shit, and then she got really scared because she knew they knew she knew. So, Jonas told Josh the situation, and Josh called Henn, and then we all came to Vegas to meet with Henn and figure out a gameplan to protect Sarah. In the end, Henn was able to hack the bastards and get some dirt on them, which we then turned over to the FBI. And now Sarah is safe and sound and happy as a clam with Jonas, and the whole saga is behind her. Thank God.”
“Oh my gosh. Holy shit, Kat.”
“That’s why Henn went to DC this morning—because the FBI wants him to walk them through all the data we turned over to them.”
“Wow.” I sigh with relief from the depths of my soul. “Thank you so much for telling me that. After the fiasco with Angus, I get paranoid whenever it feels like a guy might be hiding something.”
“I’m sure Henn won’t tell you about any of this. We’re all sworn to secrecy, not only with each other, but with the FBI, too. But that won’t mean Henn is hiding something from you, in a traditional sense. I promise he’s everything he appears to be. In fact, like I said, he’s a hero.”
I put my palm onto my beating heart. “I’m swooning.” My phone buzzes and I look down to find a text from the swoon-inducer himself. “Henn’s ears must be ringing,” I say with a chuckle. “He says he’s landed in DC and couldn’t stop thinking about me during the flight.”
“Send him a bikini selfie and he’ll keep thinking about you, all night long.”
“Let’s take one together. I don’t want it to seem like I’m sexting him this early on.”
Kat shakes her head. “Henn doesn’t need a photo of me wearing dental floss, babe. Let him focus his undivided attention on your glorious tits and smile.”
“Excellent point.”
Kat picks up her phone. “Say, ‘Slip ‘n’ Slide!’”
Laughing, I hold up my drink to the camera and she snaps the shot. And when the photo lands on my screen from Kat, I have to admit, it’s a hot one. I forward it to Henn with the following message:
Me: I can’t stop thinking about you, too. In fact, Kat and I were just talking about you while lounging at the pool with cocktails. Cheers!
Henn: HOLY FUCK!!! YOU’RE HOTTER THAN THE VEGAS SUN!
Henn attaches a string of emojis, including “heart eyes” and flames.
Me: Glad you like it.
Henn: Like it? No. I’m gob-pummeled by it. I’m at the airport and had to face a wall for a minute so nobody would bump into my flagpole that’s suddenly sticking out at full mast.
Me: LOL. Photo, please. Of your face. Actually, of your flagpole, too. In your pants, though.
Henn: Seriously?
Me: It didn’t happen if there’s no photo.
Henn: Okay. But don’t show the pants one to Kat, okay? Or anyone else.
Me: I promise. Same deal on my bikini shot.
Henn: Deal.
A poorly lit selfie of Henn’s face lands on my screen. There are people milling around behind him at a baggage carousel. He looks tired from his long flight. But, damn, his expression makes me laugh. Clearly, he’s intending to show me the face he made when my photo landed on his screen, and it’s absolutely hilarious and adorable.
Two seconds later, a photo of Henn’s pants hits my screen. The crotch area. Where a discernible bulge is poking behind the fabric.
Me: SMOKING HAWT! Send me a smile now, please.
Another photo hits my screen. And there it is. The sweet, warm smile that made my heart go pitter pat throughout dinner.
Me: You’ve got such a lovely smile.
Henn: It’s easy to smile when I think about you.
Me: You make me smile, too. I’m doing it right now, in fact.
Henn: Same. I’d give ANYTHING to be there with you to see you in that bathing suit in person. Hell, I’d give anything to see you in person in a potato sack.
Me: I can’t wait to see you in Seattle.
Henn: Same. I’m already counting the days, even though I don’t know how many it’ll be. I’ve got to run to a meeting now. Have a blast with Kat and send me lots of pics of your shenanigans this week.
Me: Will do. I hope whatever job you’re doing in DC goes well. Bye for now, Peter the Great. XO
Henn: Bye for now, Hannah the Beautiful. The Smoking Hot. The Funny and Smart. Thanks again for the amazing photo. I’ll stare at it all week to keep me company on lonely nights. XX
When I look up from my phone, Kat is smirking wickedly at me. “There’s no way in hell you’re going to wait to have sex with that man when he comes to Seattle,” she says. “I predict you’ll pounce on him the minute he walks through your front door.”
I put my phone down on a side table and scoff. “Nope. I’ve made my decision, and I’m going to stick to it. In fact, I’m going to ask Henn to book a hotel room, rather than inviting him to stay with me. I’ll also ask my sister to be there at my apartment when Henn arrives to pick me up for our first date. See? I’m determined.”
Kat downright belly laughs. “All it’s going to take is one goodnight kiss and you’ll be inviting him to ride your Slip ‘n’ Slide again.”
“You want to bet a buck?” Kat and I often bet a dollar on silly things to keep our work life fun and interesting. So much so, we have this one crumpled dollar bill that’s been traded back and forth between us at least a hundred times.
Kat says, “I’ll bet you a hundred bucks you’ll sleep with Henn the first night he’s in Seattle.”
“A hundred bucks?” I’m shocked. Kat and I have never bet more than a dollar on anything. “That’s way too rich for my blood, sister.”
“Fifty, then,” Kat amends. “Why not, if you’re so sure of your plan to take things slow?”
I squint sharply, making her laugh. “Okay, fine, it’s a bet.” I shake her hand. “Sucker. This is totally within my control, remember?”
Kat snorts and releases my hand. “So you think. But I’m the one who can see you, remember? You can’t see yourself. And, girl, it’s obvious you’re bewitched and besotted by this boy.” Kat and I use those two words quite a bit, thanks to our mutual love of Pride & Prejudice. But we normally use them to describe our respective sandwiches or some new eyeliner we’ve discovered. She’s never once used the words to describe me in relation to a guy.
“It’s that obvious?” I ask.
“Oh, honey.” At this angle, I can see Kat closing her eyes behind her sunglasses. “The good news is you’re a winner either way. If you win the bet, you’ll get a cool fifty bucks and the chance to say I told you so. And if you lose, it’ll be because you’ve realized banging Henn sounds more delicious to you than pocketing fifty bucks and getting to tell me to stuff it—and that realization, my friend, will only make the sex even hotter.” Kat snickers. “You’re welcome.”
8
HENN
I climb out of the Uber with my computers and duffel bag. I’ve got about an hour before my meeting at FBI headquarters a few blocks away—fuck my life—so I figure I’ll use my downtime productively. I head into the coffee place I selected as my destination while standing on a curb at Dulles, and thankfully, it’s pretty empty at this time of day.
I place an order at the counter for a quintuple-shot Americano and take a seat at a small table in a corner with my back against the wall. There’s nobody at any of the tables nearest to me, exactly the way I like it. Also, the two surveillance cameras—both of them mounted across the room close to the ceiling—are positioned in such a way that they won’t be able to capture my laptop screen or the movements of my fingers on my keyboard. Perfect.
It’s not that I think anyone is actually watching me or tracking my physical person. Or even that anyone will go back and peruse the surveillance footage of me. But this is standard practice for me when I’m working in public because I always assume there’s someone actively looking for me at all times. Or rather, for the anonymous hacker known as Bluebird—the unidentified person who’s slithered into their devices and fucked them over six ways from Sunday. If not that, then I assume there’s some random, two-bit hacker nearby who’s trying to pilfer banking info or passwords from anyone naive enough to log into public wi-fi.
My surroundings secured, I pull out one of my three laptops and place it onto my small table, along with my coffee cup and an encrypted mobile hotspot. Before getting myself connected, however, I can’t resist once again peeking at that eye-popping bikini shot of Hannah. Holy fuck. She’s a goddess. Not only physically, but in every way. I’ve never felt this kind of insane spark with anyone. Not on a first date. Not on a fiftieth. Now that I’ve experienced it, I’m determined to fan the flame until it grows into a raging forest fire. Hence, the phishing link I sent to Hannah earlier today. I’m dying to see if Hannah or Kat clicked my link. But first, I’m going to force myself to do some work.
I get myself connected and log into the encrypted server I use for communications with my regular, vetted clients. I’ve got several new messages, including requests from attorneys who represent victims of sexual abuse. As usual, they’re asking me to hack a target and scour his devices for proof he’s a rapist or pedophile. There’s also a message from a divorce-attorney friend of mine who represents high-net-worth clients. As usual, she wants me to track down the hidden assets of her client’s soon-to-be-ex. There are plenty of private investigators who do this type of work, but nobody does it quite like me. When Bluebird’s on the case, no stone goes unturned, because it’s the douchebag himself who leads me to all relevant stones.
After replying to all various requests, I check on the status of a few irons in the fire. Make some adjustments to code and send a few phishing links. And when that work is done, I give myself permission to finally check my personal computer to see if Hannah and/or Kat has clicked the survey link I sent this morning.
Bingo. Well, that was easy.
I sent the link to Kat, as well as to Hannah, as a back-up measure—just in case my actual target was too savvy to fall for the oldest phishing trick in the book. I love Kat dearly and respect her intellect immensely, but she’s a total shit show when it comes to tech stuff, so I knew she’d click my link without a second thought. Once I had Kat, I figured I could easily get into Hannah’s devices, since both women work for the same PR firm and remotely sign onto the same server. As it’s turned out, though, Kat wasn’t a necessary bridge into Hannah’s devices.
Okay, I’m in Hannah’s phone and ready to poke around. Obviously, I’ll steer clear of her personal and confidential information, stuff like her texts and emails and anything related to her finances and medical care. My overarching goal here isn’t tricking or fooling Hannah into liking me. It’s not presenting myself as someone I’m not—someone Hannah would like better than the actual me. I’m simply gathering intel on Hannah’s niche preferences—stuff that will help me plan a week’s worth of perfect dates that will sweep her off her feet. What sane person—or superhero, in my case—wouldn’t want to do that after meeting the woman of his dreams?
