exclaim at the same time.
I go on. “What do you mean you can’t get into it? Is it the technological equivalent of a nun’s vagina or something? You can get into anything—probably even the nun if you played your cards right!”
He coughs to cover a laugh and flicks his dirty-blond hair out of his eyes. “Sorry, Noelle. It’s encrypted to Neptune and back.”
“Why is it so encrypted?” Bek asks, looking between me and Carlton. “That’s unusual for them.”
“Because they don’t want Drake looking at the information and they know I’d have Carlton slip in and borrow it,” I guess. It’s probably right. “Then tell him because I can’t keep anything from him.”
“Except the fact that his mom is your client.”
“Shut up.”
“Anyway…” Carlton’s eyebrows draw together slightly as he looks at us. “They’ve probably hired someone to do it. I don’t think any of them have the skills themselves, or every file would be locked that way.”
“Ugh. What little shits they are,” I mutter. “Is that it? Can’t you get into it at all?”
“Well… I have to decode the layers of encryptions and untangle the web of IP address routing. It’ll probably take a few days of solid work to peel it all back, but yeah, I can get into it.”
“I have no idea what you just said to me,” I admit, “except for, ‘I can get into it.’ So… You go do your routing and layering of whatnots and shenanigans.”
He gives me a two-finger salute before disappearing out of my office like a ghost.
Bek stares after him, frowning. “He knows an awful lot about hacking.”
“I know. I’m going to have him change his name on a regular basis so the NSA or FBI won’t try to steal him from me.” I grab a stack of information I need to look over and knock the edges against the table to even up the sheets. I look over the bundle and meet her bright-green eyes. “Either that or I’m going to adopt him.”
“I’d go with the name-changing. Cheaper.” She smirks and pushes her fiery hair from her face. “So, Jason. Should I call him?”
“Text him. If he’s busy, he—” I pause. Yes. Oh, yes. Jason. “My God. I’ve got it.”
“Got what? Herpes?”
“No, but you’ll have a literal case of Slapped Cheek Syndrome if you don’t hush for two seconds.” I grab my phone and dial his number.
Honestly, it’s not hard. Just tap his name on my contacts list. I don’t know why she’s procrastinating so much.
“Hello?” he answers.
“Jason!” I say, grinning when Bek’s eyes widen. “I need to ask your opinion on something, but I’d rather do it face-to-face. When are you free?”
“Uh…you want my opinion? Really?”
“Of course.”
“I guess. I’m on a lunch break right now. I can meet you somewhere.”
“How about Mel’s store? I want a cupcake.” Or ten.
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Perfect. See you then.” I hang up and grab my purse, slipping my feet into my shoes at the same time.
“Wait. What the heck are you doing?” Bek stares at me, the deer-in-headlights look still all over her face.
I dig my keys out from my purse. “I’m going to convince Jason to help me, and then I’m going to coyly ask about your date and give him the idea that he should call you.” Mostly because I know I will honestly beat Bek’s ass if this phone call situation goes on and on and on.
“You’re a bitch.”
“I know. And I need you to find out what Katherine Thornton looks like now, then follow her and get caught.”
“Are you insane?” She follows me out the door. “You want me to get caught?”
“Yep.” I run my hand down the banister. “I’m going to pull as much info out of Jason as I can, and while I do, I want you to convince Katherine Thornton to call me whatever way you can.”
“I’m gonna need a raise.”
“Thanks. Love you.” I throw her a grin over my shoulder. “Grecia, I’m out. Unless my nonna is burning down my house, they can leave a message.”
“Got it!” she says, typing at her computer.
I get into my car and make the few-minute journey to Mel’s bookstore and coffee shop. When I pull up outside, Jason’s Audi is parked, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I didn’t want to have to hang around with Mel a great deal, because if her date with Brody really didn’t go well, then, well. Yeah.
I push the door open. Immediately, I find the muscular FBI agent sitting at the counter.