“No.”
“But-”
“I said no.” I sit and start setting up one of the screens for her, but before I can manage, she’s over at one of my keyboards and doing shit I haven’t agreed to at all. Her jean-clad arse gets in my face, fingers working seamlessly to spring all my shit to life without my consent. I’m about to physically move her when I look up and realise she’s managed to actually get into half of it.
I lean back and keep watching instead, damn sure she’s not going to get any further, regardless of her background in apparent ethical hacking. Found that out about her a while ago when I couldn't find any trace of offshore accounts. Either way, I’ve spent years getting this locked down tight. And it’s tight enough for any mediocre attempt at breaking it now. Constant fucking upgrades. All kinds of dodgy shit that I shouldn’t have found on the black market. Backhand deals for goods so I can make sure no one gets into anything I use.
It’s a fucking revelation to watch her try, though, and gives me plenty of time to admire something I’m going to be able to use for a while. Everything’s attractive about her. Especially now I’m seeing intelligence come out of what was already hot enough. Tight waist. Heavy breasts, both of them desperate to get out of that high-necked top she’s chosen to wear today. Might even be interested in tapping into that brain of hers, now I’m witnessing the speed of her attempts to break my systems and codes. It’s all astute. All way past the normal trials of getting shit achieved. And there's something hot as hell about watching her slim fingers working effortlessly on my machines.
And then she actually cracks the last of my defences.
“Right. Now that’s over, can we please get on with you trusting me?” she snips, leaving the room.
My mouth might be open in shock. It isn’t until she comes back in with a chair in her hands that I remember I’m fucking furious about what she’s done.
“Don’t ever touch my shit again without my permission.”
I take a bite of my bacon sandwich, not sure what else I need to say about that. That doesn’t seem to work either because she’s back in my systems and searching for something before I manage to finish it. “Look,” I say, getting fucking pissy again. “We need some boundaries around-”
“There’s really no point in this at the moment. His house is registered here,” she says, bringing up Lewis’ home address on maps and pointing. “But I’m assuming he might not be there? On the run? What do you think?” I’m still too fucking aggravated she’s working my shit to talk. “I suppose we should go there first? Look around?”
I mumble a ‘maybe’ in response and keep eating.
“He’s got to be somewhere after that, but I don’t know where else, so unless you’ve got any great ideas, I suggest we start there first? Might be able to find something that leads us forward?”
I get up and frown, accepting it’s probably a good move. Not in the mood for talking anymore, though. And I’m going to need at least three hours to sort my systems out now I know some uptight princess can get into them as easy as that.
She follows me out a few minutes later. “It’s okay, Noah. It’s a great setup, it pushed me a little, actually, but I’m just really good at doing what I do.”
“Fuck off.” I grab my keys and jacket from the kitchen, still fucking frowning.
“I’ve closed it all down again. You don't need to sulk about it. No one else will be able to-”
“Whatever.” I’m not talking for a while. I need fresh air and her not in my face making me feel like a fool.
I leave with her following me and get in my car, watching as she slides in beside me, and then pull out along the farm track. Stupid little Broderick princess. Can’t even believe I’ve got to admit she did that to me. And now I’ve got to sit in a car with her for fuck knows how long and think about the smug smile she’s wearing?
I flick on the radio, not happy with that thought. “Don’t speak again till we’re there,” I grumble, revving the engine.
~
The rundown area we eventually arrive in by late afternoon isn’t somewhere I know well. I get out and look around, telling her to stay where she is for the time being. She’s as good at listening to that direction as she is at anything else, and I end up having her following me over the road towards the run of terraced houses. I slide my tools out on the way to number seventy-six Burmont Avenue, making it so obvious I’m going in that no one will question it.
A quick piss around with an easy lock and we both walk through the door, me bracing myself for possible impact from Lewis. It doesn’t come. The place is empty, and by the smell of the stale air, it has been for some time. She looks around slowly, taking in the state of the interior. It’s a pretty messed up joint. Nothing matching. No sense of anyone living here comfortably. Old, too. Maybe it was his parent’s place before his. Shit sixties wallpaper. Knackered furniture.
I wander through the rooms and start lifting old paperwork off the tables and surfaces, going through them one by one to see if there’s anything useful.
“What should we be looking for?” she asks.
“Anything.” I shove a pile of the papers at her. “Look through those.”
She nods and starts leafing through each one. “Shouldn’t we have gloves on or something?” she says after a while.
“No point. We need the connection between you two. Be good to have your prints all over this place. Gives your story credence.”
Turns out we don’t need long at all because I end up finding a van rental receipt registered to a farm somewhere. I turn it over and look at the signature line. Sure enough, there’s a Lewis Davis registered on it. “This will do. It’s a start.”
She looks up at me. “What is it?”
