Code Conspiracy

“Stay back.” Nobody had jumped out at them or appeared with guns blazing, but that didn’t seem to be their style. The guy in the alley had had an opportunity to stab Jerrica when she first went out there, but he’d wanted something else.

He pulled the gun from his pocket and followed it into the room, raking his gaze from side to side. Jerrica’s possessions, in place and undisturbed, belied the presence of an intruder.

Tipping back his head, he scanned the loft. From his vantage point, nobody had disturbed Jerrica’s neat space. If it weren’t for that lock and the window open a crack, they’d have no reason to believe anyone had compromised her apartment.

Together, they walked into the guest bedroom downstairs and Gray checked the closet and the bathroom.

Jerrica gasped and his finger tightened on the trigger.

“My laptop’s upstairs.”

Lunging after her, he reached out to grab her but she twisted away from him and stomped up the rest of the stairs. He had no choice but to follow her, his panic causing him to pant.

As Jerrica dove for the laptop on the nightstand, Gray threw open the closet doors. The mostly dark-colored clothes shimmied on their hangers. His hands plowed through the materials, skimming leather and denim and soft cotton, but no intruders crouched in the recesses of the closet.

He took a step back and bumped into the foot of Jerrica’s bed where she was sitting cross-legged, hunched over her computer.

“They didn’t take your laptop? That’s weird.” His eyes darted around the neat, bare room, as impersonal as a jail cell, and he took a deep breath. “Are you sure someone broke in?”

She raised her gaze from the laptop and her green eyes narrowed. “I knew right away. I always secure that lock. They underestimated me if they thought I wouldn’t notice that, the window…or other things.”

“Such as?” Again, his gaze wandered around the spare room.

“I can’t explain it to you—it’s the placement of a book, the angle of a cushion. They didn’t want to leave a mess. Didn’t want me to think they’d been here.” She dug her fingers into her black hair, and pulled it back from her face with one hand. “That’s why they left my laptop.”

“If they didn’t take anything and didn’t want to scare you by tossing your place, then what?”

She flicked her fingers at the computer. “They’re going to track me through this.”

Gray’s heart jumped. “How would they do that? Can they do that?”

“Keystrokes.”

“You lost me, just like you always do with this stuff.” He sank to the bed and an unexpected flash of desire scorched his flesh as he remembered the last time they’d been on this bed, in this room.

Jerrica gave no sign that the memory had crept into her databank. She ducked her head, her straight hair creating a curtain around her face as her fingers flew across the keys.

“The intruders probably loaded a program on my laptop that’s going to send anything I do straight to them—anything I look up, any emails, any programs I run. That’s what I’d do. It’ll be like they’re looking over my shoulder while I work.”

“You think you can find it?”

She peeked at him through the strands of her hair and snorted, causing the black curtain to flutter about her face. “No problem.”

As Jerrica sank farther into the zone, Gray slid from the bed and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to head downstairs and see about securing that window so nobody, including me, can get into your place that way again.”

Jerrica murmured without looking up.

He’d been in this situation with her before and knew better than to disturb her.

Jogging downstairs, he skimmed his hand along the bannister and jumped off the last step. He curled his fingers under the window and shoved it open the rest of the way. He leaned out, looking down into the street from the third-floor drop.

The tree abutting the building offered wily climbers, like him, access to the ledge running along the side of the apartment building. He couldn’t get rid of the tree, but he could do something about the ledge and the window itself.

He pivoted away from the window and into the kitchen. He threw open a few cupboard doors until he found a bottle of olive oil. Too bad Jerrica didn’t have cooking spray, but he didn’t expect to find anything that unnatural in her kitchen.

He unscrewed the lid of the bottle as he walked back to the window and then drizzled the contents along the ledge below. A slick surface wouldn’t allow someone the grip he needed to hang onto the side of the building. He set the empty bottle on the counter and tipped back his head, calling up to the loft.

“Do you have a hammer and some nails?” He had to yell twice before Jerrica emerged from her fog.

“What?”

“Hammer and nails? Where do you keep your tools…if you have any?”

“Toolbox on the floor of the front closet. Why? Never mind. Carry on.”

Crouching before the closet, he clawed through the coats and scarves hanging to the floor and wrapped his fingers around the handle of a metal toolbox. He dragged it out and flipped open the lid.

Jerrica kept the toolbox as neat as everything else in her life—every nut and bolt had its place. He messed them up before selecting several long nails and a hammer, wrapping his fingers around the black rubber encasing the handle.

He returned to the window and nailed it shut. As he tapped the final nail into place, Jerrica appeared behind him, her hands on her slim hips.

He met her gaze in the window’s reflection.

“You just nailed my window shut.”

“That’s right. Nobody can get through it.”

She reached over his arm and traced a nailhead with her fingertip. “Someone could smash it.”

“And crawl through jagged glass? I don’t think so.” He turned to face her and they stood chest to chest, neither of them moving or pulling away. “Besides, I poured oil on the ledge. Nobody is going to be able to hang on it or stand outside the window long enough to be able to break it or cut it.”

Her eyes widened and he got the full effect of those green orbs. “You poured oil on the outside of my building? What is this, 1066 and you’re defending the castle?”

“It wasn’t hot oil. It’s an effective method—as long as it doesn’t rain several days in a row.” He pulled on his earlobe. “Your building manager isn’t going to suddenly power wash the building, is he?”

“Did you actually get a look at my building while you were scaling it? I don’t think it’s been washed in a hundred years. Wait. What kind of oil?” She spun around, her black hair lashing his cheek.

He rested his hand on her shoulder as he pointed to the bottle on the counter. “Olive oil.”

“Are you securing my building or making hummus?”

“Hummus?” He sniffed. “Why would I make hummus? It’s the only oil I could get my hands on. If you were a normal person, you’d have some cooking spray on hand. That would’ve been a lot easier to use.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Cooking spray has chemicals you don’t want anywhere near your food.”

“I’m sure it does.” He raised his hands. “Don’t ruin cooking spray for me like you ruined red meat.”

“Does that mean you gave it up?” Turning her head, she raised one hopeful eyebrow.