"Standardprotocol."
"AmIa prisoner?"
"You'rea guest who isn't allowed to leave."
"Thatdefines a prisoner,Einstein."Shemarches over to the wall of monitors, her fingers twitching toward the keyboard. "So, theTrackerhides here.Iexpected more skulls and less fiber optics."
"Theskulls belong downstairs."
Stridingpast her,Idump her bag of hard drives onto the metal workbench.Theclatter echoes off the soundproofed walls.
"Hey!"Shelunges for the bag. "Carefulwith those!That'smy life in there."
Icatch her wrist before she can touch the drives.Mygrip holds loose but inescapable.Pullingher in just an inch brings the scent of ozone and cold winter air clinging to her dark hair straight into my lungs.
"This,"Isay, pointing to the canvas bag, "is contraband.UntilIvet every byte of data on these drives, you don't touch them."
"Youcan't do that."Herchest heaves, brushing against my heavy jacket. "Mybrother's intel and theCostapatrol routes sit on those drives.IfIstop tracking their financial leverage,Kevindies."
"Ifyou plug a corrupted drive into my network, we all die."
Releasingher wrist,Istep back to regain some distance.Herproximity scrambles my ability to think in binary.Instinctroars to claim and protect, while logic demandsIverify and sanitize the threat.
Takeoff the hoodie,"Iorder.
Sheblinks. "Excuseme?"
"Thehoodie.You'reoverheating."
"I'mfine."
"Sweatis gathering at your temples.Takeit off,Kaila.Ineed to see that you're not wired."
Herteeth sink into her lower lip.Anervous habit.Ifile that away.Biteslip when cornered.
Theheavy cotton of the oversized hoodie rustles as she pulls it over her head.Shruggingthe thick material off, she lets it drop to the floor.Underneath, a thin tank top clings to her curves like a second skin.
Fuck.
Drynesscoats my tongue.Everyline of her tiny, fierce body radiates tension.
"Happy?" she snaps, holding her arms out. "Searchingfor a wire, or are you just perving?"
"IfIwanted to perv,Iwouldn't need an excuse."Turningaway,Imove to the main console.Ineed to sit down.Lookingat code proves safer than staring at those curves. "Sit."
Ipoint to the only chair in the room—mine.
Adeep frown creases her brow. "Whereare you going to sit?"
"I'mstanding."Tappinga sequence into the keyboard wakes the main array.Thescreens flare to life, cascading waterfalls of code scrolling too fast for a normal human to read.
Kailadefies normal.
Asharp gasp escapes her throat as she drifts toward the screens like a moth to a flame. "You'rerunning a polymorphic encryption on a rolling key.That'smilitary grade."
"Better.It'smine."
"Lookat line forty-two."Shepoints at the screen, leaning over the desk. "Alogic loop.IftheCostasuse a brute-force packet injection, they stall your firewall for three seconds.Thatgives them enough time to plant a listener."