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That was when it hit him that they were on a bed. Together.
With three small adjustments, he could be inside her.
He didn’t notice what she was doing until it was too late. “Don’t,” he barked, grabbing for her wrist, but she had already clicked the link.
It was immediately obvious that it was some kind of malware. Even though the site they were redirected tolookednormal, and therewerefiles—things his father had foolishly sent this “Staal”—the domain name wasn’t normal, and it clearly wasn’t just a file-sharing site.
As if the bad code had wired into his thoughts, the webcam’s light flickered on and Rafe could hear some sort of background file begin running. Pain made him look down. Donni’s sharp nails were digging into his wrist.
A notification window immediately popped up.
HELLO WHORE. I HOPE YOU’RE ENJOYING YOURSELF.
BECAUSE YOU’RE ABOUT TO FUCKING DIE.
Rafe slammed the laptop shut just as another window was popping up.
Donni looked at him, her face ashen. “W-what was that?” she whispered. “Whowas that?”
“Janus Staal, I imagine,” Rafe said grimly. “It looks like my father compromised his laptop. That’s how the killer was able to get those emails I sent you. By remote access.”
He squeezed her hand.
“My father was hacked.”
???????
She spent the night in his arms, too afraid to go to bed alone. Why was it that the only nights she had free from bad dreams where the ones she spent with him?
It’s different now, she thought.He’s different.
Everything is different.
It was like her drive through the hills, made barren through progress. Time had worn away their wilder edges, leaving something dulled and empty behind.
Maybe it was their shared misery that made them fit together now.
She and Rafe didn’t talk much on the ride to the station. But he put his hand on her leg and she let him keep it there, just as she’d let him hold her in his arms last night.
Donni, he’d whispered.Little raven. Do you know what I’d do to hold you forever like this?
Rafe parked the car in front of the station, taking his hand off her leg to grip the gearshift.
Yes, she thought, slinging her purse over her arm.I do. Because I’ve done the same.
A woman at reception greeted them. There was a potted plant beside the desk—a ficus, Donni thought it might be, though it was covered in dust and was obviously fake.
“They’re ready for you now,” the woman said, looking up at them with a smile that needed to be rehearsed. “Please, follow me.”
The interview room looked like a conference room, except the chairs were less comfortable and there was a large whiteboard that looked as if it had been recently and hastily cleaned.
I wonder if this is where they try to solve the murders, Donni wondered, staring at the reddish smears. She hugged her purse to her chest and went over her thoughts, trying to figure out if she would look guilty in their eyes. She had slept very badly, despite the lack of dreams. Every small noise jarred her awake, and she found her heart beating a desperate tattoo in her throat.
(Do you know what I’d do?)
She kept thinking of that pop-up, the blinking eye of the webcam.
It made her sick, the idea of someone poring through her personal correspondence. Looking through years and years of emails, including the ones she’d tried to destroy. A violation of that nature was nearly physical; it made her skin clammy and her hands shake.
