Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts) Read online

  I got to my feet. “I’ll do what I can.” I headed for the door and pulled it open, pausing to turn and say, “And thanks so much for all your help tonight.” It wasn’t hard to miss my sarcasm. I slammed the door behind me even knowing how teenager-temper-tantrum that was.

  It wasn’t until I got home and locked myself in my bathroom that I dared to pull the phone I’d taken off Freyda from its hiding place inside my bra. Thank God for Victoria’s Secret elastic.

  I turned it off before anyone might try and track it. I’d have to hack into it to find out what information it contained, including which secret government brainchild had resurrected Vigilance.

  12

  “What happened to your head?” was the first thing Mia wanted to know. She’d been in her room when I’d come home but had emerged fairly quickly when she heard me.

  I rummaged in my closet, trying to find a T-shirt to lay out for work tomorrow. As often as I could, I picked out my clothes the night before because it saved time and was more sensible than waiting until morning. Of course, “as often as I could” really meant “every night without fail.”

  “What did you do with my X-Files fandom T-shirts?” I asked, digging for the one that said Sure. Fine. Whatever. It fit my mood.

  “What color is it?”

  “Black. Gray. I don’t know.” I rarely paid attention to color, just what the shirts said.

  She pointed. “Darks are on the right.”

  “‘Darks are on the right.’ Whatever,” I grumbled, wondering when I’d find time to reorganize my closet. Though the Trust No One shirt was probably a better choice, I didn’t want to be too obvious about my state of mind.

  “So what happened to your head?” she asked again.

  “My windshield had a piece of rock go through it,” I lied. “Some glass cut me.”

  “Oh my God! While you were driving?”

  “Yeah, but I’m okay, obviously. It was just a scratch. Tell me about school.”

  Mia gave me the rundown on her classes and her teachers, going on at some length about the advanced calculus teacher. “. . . and I tried to show him another way to reach the same value, but he said I still had to do it the other way or I wouldn’t get credit.”

  “You know as well as I do that you have to do it their way, even if you’re ten times smarter than they are,” I said, finally finding my T-shirt. I pulled out a flannel shirt with a tiny black-and-white checked pattern. “Get the grade, then you can do what you want.”

  “I know, but it’s ridiculous. He should’ve been glad to see another solution. My way was much easier and more intuitive than his.”

  I could sympathize. Most of the high school teachers I’d had were uncomfortable with me being smarter than them, especially since I’d barely been into double digits while taking advanced geometry. I’d also made the mistake once of correcting a teacher in front of the class and I’d paid the price. I still remembered him ridiculing me while everyone snickered.

  “Why thank you for that,” he said. “Shall I let them know you get an extra cookie with your milk this afternoon?”

  “Did you make any new friends?” I asked, shoving aside the embarrassing memory.

  “Yeah. There’s a group of girls Jen introduced me to,” she said. “They want to go to the movies tomorrow night. Can I go, too?”

  “So long as you’re back home by ten. Tuesday is a school night. Speaking of which,” I glanced at my watch. “Two minutes until Supernatural.”

  Mia was off the bed like a shot. “That’s long enough to make popcorn. I’m on it.”

  I grinned as I followed her out of the bedroom. It was nice having her there, even if it now took me three times as long to pick out clothes for work.

  I didn’t try to get into Freyda’s phone until I’d left the next day. I didn’t know if I was being watched at home or someone was listening in somehow. So I was up at the crack of dawn, leaving a note for Mia that I’d gone into work early. I also didn’t want Mia to see the damage to my car and have to explain how it happened.

  Except when I went outside, I saw that my car was completely whole again. Both the front and back windshields had been replaced. It would appear the CIA also specialized in twenty-four-hour car repair, not that I was complaining. Likewise, the interior was spotless as well.

  “My tax dollars at work,” I muttered to myself.

  By 7:00 a.m., I was buzzing the doorbell on an apartment building on the west side of downtown. When there was no answer, I buzzed again and the intercom crackled.

  “No one I know would be visiting at this hour,” said a familiar voice.

  “It’s China,” I said back. “Let me in.”

  “I’m still in my pajamas,” he argued.

  “I’ve got something special for you,” I said, hoping that would do the trick. Sure enough, a few seconds later, the door clicked open and I grinned.

  My friend Yash lived on the top floor of the three-story building and I took the stairs, unwilling to wait for the elevator. He was one of the small group of people I gamed with twice a month. I knocked on his door, then let myself in.

  “I’ve only drank half my coffee,” he complained as I entered. He was wearing a matching pants and shirt set of striped pajamas, complete with bedroom slippers. All he needed was a robe and nightcap to complete the look.

  “Good because I could use a cup while you look at this.” I thought of tossing the phone but decided against it after considering his lack of any kind of sport-related skill. I set it on the counter instead.

  “A cell phone? You do know I am already familiar with these devices.” His dry humor made me grin.

  “Yes, I’m aware. But A, this isn’t mine, and B, I need you to hack into it.” I poured myself a cup of coffee from his way-too-complicated machine. I could fix myself an espresso or latte if I could figure the damn thing out. Internal combustion engines? No problem. But a five-hundred-dollar espresso machine stumped me.

  “Intriguing,” Yash said, looking over the phone. “I assume it can be tracked?”

  I nodded. I’d turned it off last night to prevent that very thing. “Yep. You’ll need to have a jammer running before you fire it up.”

  Yash examined it. “Looks like a two-step verification system. ID and PIN.”

  “I thought that might be the case.”

  “You have a fingerprint?”

  “It’s in my car. Just need your good camera.” A fake fingerprint could be made relatively easily, provided you had a really good print available. Take a high-res photo, clean it up in Photoshop, print it on transparency with a laser printer, and you had a template. Brush on a thin layer of glue, let it dry, peel, and stick. Voila: a fake fingerprint. Good enough to fool most phone sensors anyway.

  “It’s in my office,” Yash said, waving vaguely toward the hallway.

  I knew where his office was and headed down the hallway. As usual, his apartment was spotless. Fastidious to a fault, Yash had a cleaning woman come three times a week. He worked as a consultant because, frankly, no one could afford to keep him on staff permanently. Not that he needed to work, having made his fortune writing games for smartphones, but he’d go nuts sitting around with nothing to do. Which was why I’d brought the phone to him. No one knew cell phones and their operating systems better than Yash.

  Yash’s office was as organized as the rest of the house, and the camera I needed was in its place inside its case on a shelf. Taking it outside, I took several close-up shots of the fingerprints on my rearview mirror before returning to the apartment.

  “One of those should work,” I said, setting the camera on the kitchen table. “Any idea when you’ll get a chance to crack it?” It was a polite request so I didn’t sound anxious, but I knew Yash would start immediately. He loved puzzles and challenges.

  “Don’t rush me, you know I hate that,” he groused. I just hid a grin at his crankiness. Yash was all prickly on the outside, but he’d do anything for his friends, of which I was lucky
enough to be counted among those select few.

  “You’d know I’d never rush you, Yash. It’s just important. Shoot me a text when you crack it.”

  He glanced up at me, his eyes peering over the top of his glasses. “How important?”

  “Galactic.” Our code word for urgent, end-of-life-as-we-know-it important.

  His perpetual frown deepened. “What did you get yourself into, China?”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know. I just need whatever info you can find on that phone. Especially anything about something called Vigilance.” It was a shot in the dark, but I had no other leads at the moment to try to figure out who’d hired Wyndemere or who was killing people.

  Yash sighed dramatically. “All right. I’ll get it done.”

  “Thank you.” I gave him a quick peck on the cheek before he could shoo me away.

  “None of that,” he complained. “You’ll give me your germs.”

  “You can’t fool me—I know you love my germs,” I tossed over my shoulder as I headed out the door.

  I had an unpleasant surprise when I got to Wyndemere: my security badge wouldn’t work.

  “I was just here last night,” I explained to the security guard as he typed my ID code into his computer terminal. “It should work.”

  “It says here that your clearance has been revoked,” he replied, looking at his screen.

  I stared open-mouthed at him. “But . . . that can’t be. I’m still working on a project—”

  “China!”

  We both turned to see Lana hurrying toward us from the elevators. She came past security and took my arm, propelling me toward a corner of the lobby.

  “We have to talk,” she said.

  “I can’t get past security. What’s going on?”

  “It’s Freyda. She was found shot to death late last night.” Lana looked scared, her face pale and her eyes wide with panic. “John didn’t come in today at all and George isn’t answering his cell.”

  My stomach turned over.

  “That’s not all,” she continued. “The software. It’s gone. All of it. The entire project file wiped out.”

  Oh no. “There are backups, I’m sure—”

  “The whole system was hit by a virus. It’s corrupted everything. The backups they’re trying to restore have been useless. Everyone is having meltdowns.”

  I was stunned, momentarily at a loss as to what to say. My gaze was caught by a news van pulling up outside. “Oh no. Look.” I pointed and Lana turned. We watched as three people got out of the van, one obviously the camera-ready reporter.

  “You have to leave,” Lana said. “I haven’t told you the worst part.”

  I turned back to her. “What could possibly be worse?”

  “They think you did it.”

  That phrase, feel the blood drain from my face, came to mind. I never knew that was an actual Thing. Until now.

  “How . . . why . . . how?” I stammered.

  “You were the last one to check in the files. They have security footage of you and Freyda in the parking lot, her getting into your car. Then she was dead this morning.”

  “I didn’t kill her!” But the proof—my bullet-shattered windshields—was long gone.

  “Someone used her credentials to remotely access the project and copy the files. They have a log, but whoever did it rerouted through so many servers, they couldn’t pinpoint the origination. They’re assuming corporate espionage.”

  “And they suspect me?” I was incredulous, stunned, and kind of pissed off, too. The idea that someone would think I did that—

  “You need to go. Now,” she said. “I know it wasn’t you, but everything looks really bad right now. If you want to clear your name, you’re going to need to find the stolen software and the person who stole it.”

  “But . . . but . . . where do I go?” I didn’t have anywhere. I went two places: work and home.

  “Go to my place,” she said, then rattled off an address. Thank God I had a good memory. “The garage code is zero eight one five. I’ll meet you there tonight. Now go, before the police arrive.”

  I hurried to my car, giving the news people a wide berth. As I left the lot, I passed another news truck going in. Wyndemere attacked by a virus was big news, along the lines of Microsoft going down.

  Going straight to Lana’s sounded like a bad idea. Sitting around all day waiting wasn’t in my disposition. I thought of going to Clark’s, but if the police were looking for me, they’d be watching for me at home.

  As I was driving aimlessly, my phone rang. It was Jackson.

  “What the hell is going on? Where are you?”

  So much for a Good morning, how are you? I thought sourly.

  “I’m driving. I just left Wyndemere.”

  “I’m watching the news and they’re saying a Cysnet employee hacked Wyndemere and stole proprietary software. What the fuck is going on, China?”

  I winced at the fury in his voice even as nausea threatened to overwhelm me. Oh my God, this was really happening.

  “I didn’t do it, I swear,” I choked out, horrified to realize I was close to tears. “I was working late last night and then Freyda cornered me in the parking lot and wanted to talk, but then they shot her, right through my windshield—”

  “Wait, what? What did you say?” he interrupted. “Someone shot at you?”

  “Yes. I’m okay, but Freyda’s dead,” I blubbered. I quickly swiped the back of my hand across my wet cheeks.

  “I’m at the house. Come here.”

  I was only a few minutes away from Jackson’s place. “O-okay,” I croaked out, trying not to outright sob. My life was falling apart in the span of a week. It was insane. This shouldn’t be happening to me.

  When I pulled into Jackson’s driveway, Lance had one of the five garage doors open and motioned me to park inside. Duh. Of course. If anyone was looking for me, my boss was sure to be questioned and having my car in his driveway was pretty much a dead giveaway.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Lance said with a smile as he took my keys.

  I handed them over and headed inside, where Jackson was waiting for me.

  I’d had time on my way over to get control of myself so I wasn’t crying anymore. But my eyes were swollen and I was still sniffling.

  He was standing there, wearing black on black again, his cuffs turned back and a Rolex gleaming on his wrist. His shoes were polished to a gleaming shine and his hair was perfect, the wave in front beckoning a woman’s fingers to run through it.

  All of which made me feel like a complete frump. My X-Files T-shirt, long-sleeved flannel on top of that, jeans, ponytail, and glasses were woefully out of place next to him. I felt too young, too dumb, and too awkward.

  Suck it up, China, I told myself. You’re no model and never will be. But you’re smarter than ten of them put together. No, not a nice thought toward other women, but sometimes you had to tell yourself what you had to in order to keep your chin up.

  “Start at the beginning,” he said.

  I took a deep breath, then told him about how Freyda was waiting for me in the lot last night and what she had said.

  “She was so scared,” I said, remembering the fear lining her face. “And then . . . she was dead.” As hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop my eyes from filling again. Embarrassed, I rubbed my eyes underneath my glasses, which was why I jumped when I felt arms around me. I hadn’t seen him coming.

  “Jesus, China,” Jackson said, pulling me into his arms. “Thank God you’re okay.”

  I had no idea why he wanted to hug me, but I wasn’t about to complain. It was the safest I’d felt in two days. Clark’s words and suspicions whispered inside my head, but I’d worked for Jackson for four years—had been infatuated with him for six. I couldn’t just toss away the trust and loyalty I had for him. The USB drive seemed to burn a hole through my pocket and I had no idea if I was actually going to do what Clark wanted me to.

  Jackson held me tight, his
arms wrapping around me, and I could smell his cologne and the scent of his skin. It was heaven. For the hell I’d been through in the past twenty-four hours, this was almost worth it all.

  But I was fooling myself. And it would only be a huge disappointment later when I came crashing down to reality. Jackson didn’t want me. He was being supportive, that was all. I needed to remember that. Guys like him didn’t fall for geeky, awkward girls like me. Jackson Cooper may be a geek, too, but he was a cool, rich geek. Even if he had said he’d thought about sleeping with me, which was just confusing.

  Clearing my throat, I pushed away from him. Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed like Jackson resisted for a split second before letting me go.

  “Um, anyway,” I said, stepping back, “Lana told me this morning that the software was remotely uploaded last night using Freyda’s account, which is impossible, because she was dead. All the files have been deleted and the virus unleashed into their network is wreaking havoc. And apparently, Wyndemere suspects . . . me.” I swallowed. Hard.

  “Lana told me that to clear my name, I needed to find the software and the person who stole it.”

  I’d been looking steadily at about the middle of Jackson’s chest, but now I took a deep breath and raised my eyes to meet his.

  “Please tell me the truth,” I said. “Was it you?”

  Jackson’s gaze was steady on mine. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because I saw,” I said. “On your computer. You were writing code that you had no business writing.”

  “You told me you didn’t see anything.”

  “Yeah, well. I lied.”

  Jackson let out a sigh. “Of course you did.”

  “Tell me,” I repeated. “I deserve to know the truth.”

  “The truth is that I never should have brought you on this project,” he said, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

  I followed in hot pursuit. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, having to walk double time to keep up with his long strides. “It’s not my fault that Wyndemere is involved in something shady and dangerous.”