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“You really like her, don’t you?”
Dixon forked a bite of chicken and didn’t answer.
“Send her a message, then. She should be awake by now, and women like that, especially women as pragmatic as Blair. I don’t think she kisses guys that often.”
So she kisses women?
Lila slapped his shoulder, and Dixon erupted into laughter. He pulled out his palm, though, and began crafting a message.
After dinner, the group reconvened. They pored over the files until nearly midnight, when Tristan and Katia finally finished their sections and excused themselves for bed.
“You should go too,” Lila said to Dixon as she tossed her hood onto the coffee table. “You didn’t even sleep last night.”
Come too. You don’t have to sleep on the couch.
“I gave myself most of the files, and I’m only two-thirds through. Go to bed, Dixon, you’re exhausted.”
I could say the same about you. There’s not a time limit on this, Lila.
“We don’t know that.”
Dixon made her a pot of tea, then finally went to bed.
Light snores soon came through the open door. It contrasted greatly with the noises from the other bedroom.
Tristan and Katia had opted for a bit of fun.
Lila’s gaze fell upon the locker in the back of the room. She could find plenty of Sangre inside to occupy her mind. I didn’t matter if she had a few glasses, did it? After all, she had no plans to keep the baby. She’d tell Helen as much at her appointment.
Lila tapped her fingernails against the armrest, lost in thought, then returned to the files.
Hours later, long after Katia and Tristan had finally settled down for sleep, she stood up and stretched her legs. Wandering into the kitchen, she put the kettle back on for some hot chocolate. The sun would rise soon. She’d gotten used to watching it at the cottage, striding out onto the dock regardless of the weather, the cold breezes playing with her hair.
Toxic’s computer emitted a feeble beep.
Lila turned off the burner and dashed to the computer, watching as her programs decoded each file and placed it in a folder. It quickly filled up with several years’ worth of messages.
Two or three years’ worth, to be exact.
Lila opened the files as her program finished, but all she found was more gibberish.
She plopped into her chair and scrolled deeper through the text. The more she read, the more she saw pockets of understanding. A word in Spanish. A word in French.
Italian, maybe? The algorithm had worked, but writer had not been writing in English. Her programs had used a hundred different dictionaries to make language comparisons while decoding, and a small subset of a few thousand others to cover the rest.
Why in the world hadn’t she been looking for Italian?
“This is why I trust computers,” Lila muttered to herself, opening a translation program. She copied the first file and let it work, but the result didn’t make much sense.
Taking out her palm, she sent a brief message to the oracle. I might have found something. Do you know anyone who speaks Italian?
Lila didn’t wait for a response.
Instead of venturing into Dixon’s room for some much-needed sleep, she took a shower and grabbed her car keys.
She had a doctor’s appointment to get to.
Chapter 15
