got his asthma medicine—his Telexo?”
“Nelson’s Pharmacy in Santa Monica,” Henrik answered. “Those guys are awesome. The big pharmacies were all a bunch of assholes.”
“Why?” Caroline asked.
“The big pharmacies wouldn’t stock Telexo. They told Annie they couldn’t get a drug for a single customer. Too much hassle. But Nelson’s rocked. Independently owned and totally legit.” Henrik cocked his head. “Why does it matter?”
“Nolan needs his Telexo, right?”
When Henrik nodded, Caroline continued, “So, if Annie’s living in a new place for any length of time, she’s going to need somewhere to fill Nolan’s prescriptions. Wherever that pharmacy is, Annie is.”
“Smart,” Henrik said, nodding to himself.
“I figure it would be easier for Annie to arrange for her old pharmacy to just forward the prescription to a new pharmacy rather than for her to try to get the drug company to coordinate with a doctor to write that prescription and send it to the new place. So, I just need to figure out where Nelson’s forwarded the prescription.”
Across the gallery space, a new group of patrons entered. A woman in a well-cut suit, escorting a young couple. Perhaps an art dealer or consultant bringing her clients to consider new acquisitions.
“Looks like you have more customers,” Caroline said, withdrawing. She didn’t want to explain to Henrik how she planned to find out from Nelson’s Pharmacy where it had sent Nolan’s prescription. To discover that information, she knew she might need to visit a place she hadn’t visited in years. A place that both terrified and exhilarated her.
She’d almost made it out the door when Henrik called out, his deep voice booming across the gallery.
“Hey, Caroline.”
Caroline froze. She turned to meet the artist’s sky-blue gaze.
“I never cared what the deal was with that kid’s dad.” He held her eyes. “I would have adopted him. In fact, I still would, if they came back.”
With much on her mind, Caroline ducked out into the alley.
Caroline stood at the threshold of the dark study. Nothing had changed since her father’s departure. The same pictures still hung on the walls, the faces frozen in time. Younger. Faded. Long ago. The same plaid blanket draped over the armchair, still smelling faintly of mildew. The same books still stood neatly arranged on the long shelves.
The only thing missing was the computer. Three LCD monitors and a state-of-the-art IBM had once sat upon the metal desk that stretched below the bookshelves on one end of the room. Confiscated by the FBI, neither the monitors nor the computer had ever been replaced. Not by her father, while he’d still lived there. Not by her mother in the years since he’d gone.
In fact, Joanne had not touched the room. It was a memorial to a relationship.
But Caroline hadn’t come to the study to pay homage to her parents’ defunct marriage. She’d come to invoke her father’s presence.
William Auden had always been so distant. So preoccupied and distracted.
Except in the study.
Here, father and daughter had found common ground, thrilling when they cracked another security code. Giggling like schoolchildren playing a prank when they erased the event logs and hid their tracks. Together, they’d found information no one was supposed to see. They’d gone places no one was supposed to go.
Just like Caroline needed to do now.
She wished her father were with her. But he lived far away. With his new family. In his new life. And she needed to deal. Now.
Placing her laptop on the desk, Caroline rubbed her hands to bring blood to her fingertips. If all went as she hoped, she wouldn’t need to do any real hacking. She’d avoid crossing the line she’d drawn for herself . . . though she might get a little chalk on her toes.
Like all hackers, Caroline adhered to a basic rule: always try the most vulnerable avenue of attack first. And like all hackers, she knew that the weakest part of any security system wasn’t a firewall or a password. It was the human inclination to trust. The desire to be helpful was a bug in the human machine that allowed people to be manipulated into giving out information they knew better than to share.
Caroline found the phone number for Nelson’s Pharmacy, and as soon as a technician answered, she set her trap: “I’m calling from Dr. Thompson’s office. We have a new patient. Nolan Wong. We’re writing him for Telexo, and I just wanted to check the dosage to make sure we’ve got it right. Do you mind letting me know what he takes?”
Caroline paused to