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Another yes-nod.
“Can I see what you’re doing?”
Yes.
She perched on the edge of the bed and leaned over to look at the screen, uncomfortably aware of the way his bare forearm brushed against her stomach as he typed but unable to do anything about it if she wanted to see what he was up to.
He had several different programs open, and he was cycling rapidly between them, checking one, clicking something in another. His web browser was open to Judah’s Facebook page, but he was typing what looked like code in a terminal program. Or gibberish. She wouldn’t know the difference.
“This is work?”
Yes.
He raked his hand through his hair. Sean had dark blond hair of the sort that aspired to volume, but he kept it so short it had no hope of attaining its ambition. The closest it could come was a sort of ruffled messiness, which ought to have been unattractive but unfortunately wasn’t.
He really didn’t look anything like he had in high school.
“Caleb asked you to do this?”
No.
“Judah did?” A long shot. As far as she knew, Sean had never spoken to Judah.
No.
“So you’re taking your own initiative here.”
Yes.
But what was he doing? A restless energy loosened her tongue and propelled her to her feet, sending her pacing back and forth
across the carpet.
“You’re a real mystery man, you know that? Unless Caleb told you more than he told me, then you haven’t got any more idea what we’re doing here than I do. All we know is that Judah got some weird messages from a fan, and he asked Jamie Callahan for advice. Jamie sent him to Caleb because he knows we’re trustworthy. We still don’t know what the messages said, where they came from, why they were weird, or why Judah didn’t just have his regular security people handle it. Yet you seem to have a plan.”
She planted her feet and put her hands on her hips. “I want in on it. I don’t like standing around feeling as useful as a clod of dirt.”
This won her a glance and a flash of something that looked remarkably like panic in his eyes before he schooled his expression into sternness.
What could he possibly be panicking about?
You’ll just have to work it out between you, her brother had said, with full confidence that such a thing was possible.
Well, she was trying. Sean was staring at his laptop screen, clicking and typing like a madman.
She screwed up her courage again. “Will you please tell me what I did to make you hate me?”
He looked up, frowning, and shook his head.
“Why not?”
He didn’t say anything, but he kept staring at her, which made her skin tingly.
No. Not tingly. Itchy.
“Sorry, I forgot,” she said. “No open-ended questions. I’ll rephrase. You dislike me, yes?”
No.
