Page 8 of Accidental Murder
She strolled toward him, wondering if he ever slept. His tired eyes hinted at late-night research sessions. Halfway across the room, her cell phone beeped. She skimmed the text from Ashley reminding her she was giving Kayla a makeover for the blind date, and she groaned.
A half hour elapsed before she crawled from behind the computer spanning the width of the GLU command center. She tugged down the hem of her polo shirt, dusted off her jeans, and reoriented herself to the keyboard. She typed in a code.
When banks of monitors sprang to life, she sang, “Ta-da!”
Jacob, Hoffman, and the perfunctory B were crowded around her. Hoffman responded with a whistle. B said nothing and continued to chew on an unlit cigar.
Jacob threw an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Way to go.”
Kayla pushed him away. “Memory’s the problem, fellas, not the motherboard. You need more RAM. You need brain juice for the computer,capiche?” She took in their blank faces andsighed. These guys could play videogames and write appsad infinitum, but they would never learn how to fix a computer. Each had an overactive, superior brain. Why slog through a slower process? Which was why they paid her the big bucks.
After collecting her paycheck, she strolled to the parking lot. Jacob accompanied her. Near the Jeep, a crisp breeze blew her off balance.
Jacob steadied her. “If you weren’t as skinny as a supermodel, the wind wouldn’t stand a chance.” He cocked his head. “Speaking of which, am I ever going to meet your sister?”
“She’s taken.”
“Never met a woman who said no to me.”
“I can think of one.” Kayla would never forget when Jacob had bumped into her and Sara at a café at Union Square. Jacob, always on the prowl, made a move on Sara. Snarkily, she responded he was too old. He’d laughed, but the rejection had stung.
“Hey, did you see my new Porsche?” Jacob pointed to the sleek silver beauty.
Kayla would love to own a classic sports car, like a 1960 MG Magnette or Aston Martin DB4. She had savings and could afford one, but she wouldn’t blow through her reserves for a joy ride. “You have too much disposable income.”
“What income? A generous benefactor gifted us the cars.” Jacob pulled a cigarette from a pack of Marlboros. He thumped one end on the back of his hand and shoved it into his mouth without lighting up. “So who’re you dating nowadays?”
“No one.” Kayla knew if she bared her soul to him she might end up reading about it on social media. She climbed into the Jeep and switched it on, closed the door, and rolled down the window. “I like my freedom.”
“Freedom’s overrated.”
“I can go skiing any time I want, can you?” During college, Kayla, Jacob, and friends would ski at Lake Tahoe. “Got my Rossignols waxed, do you?” she quipped. The agony of missing a season to focus on his inventions had to be eating at him.
“You’re a laugh riot.”
“It pays to be an independent contractor.”
Jacob gripped the rim of the window. “Before I forget, my home computer is acting weird.”
“Weird as in . . . ”
“My screensaver freezes, and the darn thing won’t shut down sometimes.”
“Been stockpiling movie trailers again?”
“You know it.”
“What a dork.” Kayla grinned. “Leave your computer on tonight. I’ll connect through remote access.” She waved good-bye and drove off.
Exiting the parking lot, she glanced in her rearview mirror. Baker had joined Jacob and was gesticulating in her direction. He did not look happy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Every Tuesday afternoon,Kayla donated time at Jewels of the World Academy, a school for challenged children. It was her way of giving back. Her brother Kenny had been impaired with severe ADHD. Late afternoon sunlight seeped through colorful gauze drapes and warmed Kayla’s face as she sat facing a computer alongside Veronica, a curly-haired six-year-old diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome.
“I click.” Veronica sat hunch-shouldered and slack-mouthed while maneuvering the mouse. Early in their interactions Kayla determined Veronica focused better whenever she gripped the mouse. “Tell me. Which country?” The girl pounded Kayla’s arm. “Command me. Go, go, go.”
Kayla’s shoulders sagged as her last memory of Kenny played in her mind. “Go, go, go,” he said to their mother as they exited the car, leaving Kayla, sixteen, to park it. She was on her way back to them when she saw a Corvette race into the crosswalk. It hit them and sped away. Though she knew the color of the vehicle, she hadn’t been able to read the license plate. There were no other witnesses. The police failed to bring anyone to justice.
