A Friend in the Dark - Gregory Ashe Page 0,74

city and see those wonders for himself. Or maybe he simply wanted Rufus to shut up about needing to borrow five bucks for a new book and bought the biggest and cheapest thing there to keep the punk occupied.

Whatever the reason had been, Rufus loved the book. He’d show it to Sam when all of this shit was behind them.

Not taking his eyes off his phone, Rufus gave Sam an elbow nudge. “Hey, wake up.”

Sam bolted up. “Huh? What?”

Rufus glanced sideways and made a come-hither motion. “Down here, killer.”

Wiping his eyes, Sam shook himself like a dog. “What? God, what time is it?”

“A little after six.”

“Sleep,” Sam said, dropping back onto the mattress and putting his arm over his eyes.

“No sleep.” Rufus nudged him again.

“What do you want?”

“Sex, pancakes… oh! I’ve always wanted a pair of red Chucks. Hey, do you think the pickup item was something wild, like the location of Atlantis?”

A long groan came back as an answer. “No redheads before ten.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Rufus continued, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow. “About Jake’s phone.”

“What about his phone?”

“Heckler has it. And short of a miracle, I doubt we’re going to get it from her. But looking for whatever the pickup was or is or—it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

Wiping his eyes, Sam said, “Ok. So…. Nope, I’m too tired for this. What are you saying? We try something else?”

“I’m saying, we’re spinning our wheels for nothing, trying to find the pickup without the key information most likely in Jake’s phone. So let’s focus on the phone.” Rufus held up his own and tapped it a few times against Sam’s chest. “There are ways to access phones remotely. Clouds and shit, right?”

“Yeah. Right. Like a backup, or something.” Sam sat up. “So how do we get to it?”

Rufus mimicked Sam’s motion. “I saw Jake on a website a few months ago—CallSpy, I think it was. I broke in while he was at home, and he said he was backing up data so if my skinny ass decided to steal his phone, all his info was safe.”

“Well,” Sam said, scrubbing his face and staring out over the apartment. “Shit. What are you waiting for?”

“For you to tell me I’m brilliant.”

“This is why I said no redheads before ten.” Sam pecked him on the cheek, climbed over him, and headed down the ladder. “Get your brilliant skinny ass to work, please.”

“Make me coffee!” Rufus called after him. He blew out a quiet breath once he was alone in the loft. Sam hadn’t said a word about last night. Maybe he never would. God, Rufus could only hope.

He looked down at his phone and tapped CallSpy into the internet browser. He scrolled down to Forgot Password on the homepage and followed the prompts for breaking into—that was, recovering—Jake’s account. In the kitchen below, he heard Sam padding around, the sound of his movement soon mixing with the trickle of running water. A minute later, the smell of coffee floated up to the loft. After Rufus had supplied Jake’s personal e-mail, a security question loaded.

What was the name of your first pet?

Jesus Christ. Spot? Skippy? Shitty pet names popular with children ran through Rufus’s mind, but there were too many to consider. Definitely too many to try at random before getting locked out indefinitely.

Rufus got out of bed, quickly dressed, and climbed down the ladder. “What was the name of Jake’s first pet?” he asked, joining Sam at the counter.

Sam passed Rufus a mug of coffee. “He didn’t have any pets, I don’t think. Try ‘none.’”

Rufus took the beverage in one hand and typed with the other. “Hmm… no. Try again.”

For a long moment, Sam was silent. Then he shrugged. “He didn’t have a pet. At least, not that I knew about. Oh, shit. Hold on.” Digging through the pile of clothing on the floor, Sam produced his phone, tapping the screen. “What about this?” Turning the phone, he displayed a photo album from Jake’s Facebook page. The picture was of Jake standing next to an enormous hog. Overhead, a banner said: Earlena - Georgia State Champion - 2015.

“Earlena?” Rufus said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “All right.” He typed it in, then gave Sam a leveled look. “You’ve got one more shot, handsome. Screw it up and we aren’t having morning sex.”

Sprawling on the couch, Sam scratched an armpit. “Handsome?”

“Did I stutter?”

“Why are you always salty? No, don’t answer that. My future sex life depends