So were the street light cameras all around both places.”
“I hacked an air force satellite.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. He knows how to hack a government satellite? What kind of gangster am I dealing with?
He knows I’m shocked. His chuckle is all kinds of pleased. “You still there, lass?”
“Man, I really can’t stand it when you’re smug.”
“Oh, don’t be sore. Admit it: you’re impressed.”
I am, but I will never, ever, not in a billion years admit it. “Was breaking into machines orbiting the earth something they taught you in mob school?”
“Ach, no. I learned to hack long before I was in the mafia.”
I say flatly, “Really.”
“It’s not like it’s difficult. There aren’t any cybersecurity standards for satellites, so anyone with a basic understanding of computer systems and programming languages can get past the pathetic firewalls government defense departments sets up. I can show you, if you like.”
My tone drips sarcasm. “That would be swell.”
“Might come in handy for one of your future gigs.”
I can tell he’s trying not to laugh, the son of a—
“I’d love to keep chatting, but I’d rather get type-2 diabetes.”
“Admit it, lass. You think I’m charming.”
“You’re as charming as a burning orphanage.”
“You can’t stop thinking about what it’ll be like when I finally kiss you.”
“Isn’t there a bullet somewhere you should be jumping in front of?”
“If you really didn’t like me, you would’ve stabbed me in the taxi when you had the chance. Or shot me with that gun you stole from my guest room nightstand that you stashed under your coat.”
The way he notices every detail is truly unnerving. “I should’ve done both. Your only purpose in life is as an organ donor.”
When he breaks out into gales of laughter, I can’t help but smile. But I keep my voice cool when I say, “Apply ice to that burn. Bye now.”
I hang up, frustrated as hell. Then, because I assume he’s watching through a hidden camera, I twirl around in his macho captain’s chair like I don’t have a care in the world.
Then I text Max that I’m still alive and that she and Fin shouldn’t go home until she hears back from me. If the devil man is right and those guys were after me and not him, the apartment isn’t safe.
In a few minutes, I get a thumbs-up text back from Max, though it doesn’t do much to settle my nerves. The way my luck is going, she probably thinks “don’t go home” is code for “we’re out of toilet paper.”
Then, with a dawning sense of horror, I realize that if Killian has this phone number, it’s possible he’s also monitoring my communications. Worse, he could be monitoring Max and Fin’s phones, too…and using them to track our locations.
If the man knows how to hack a satellite to find us, manipulating a cell phone would be a piece of cake.
I send Max another text. Update: all phones compromised. Destroy asap. Safehouse compromise possible. Dark mode until I message on VM with all-clear.
It takes Max only moments to text back. Please tell me you didn’t insult him again.
I text back DARK MODE MEANS NO TALKING! Then I remove the SIM card from the phone and smash it under my heel.
I put the pieces into my pocket. I don’t want to chance leaving anything in his trash that he could somehow use. Knowing him, he’ll probably make a surveillance device out of the crumbs of my tuna fish sandwich.
I spend about an hour wandering through the penthouse and snooping through his drawers, but find nothing personal, nothing of interest. If he has family, he doesn’t own pictures of them. There’s a huge collection of books in the library, but not a single knickknack on the shelves. There’s not a house plant, not a magazine, not a crumpled receipt from a store. There’s not even any dust. It’s like he lives inside a museum.
Eventually, fatigue overwhelms me. I lie on my back on the sofa in the living room, hoping that he’s one of those super anal neat freaks and will see me in one of his cameras and get annoyed that I didn’t take off my shoes.
I don’t mean to, but I promptly fall asleep.
I wake up in Killian’s arms. He’s carrying me toward the elevator.
“Relax, lass,” he murmurs when I bleat in panic. “I’m taking you home.”
I freeze, my eyes widening. “Home? Really?”
“Aye. Really.”
We enter the elevator and the doors slide shut. We begin to descend.