Heart-Shaped Hack(57)

He spoke the truth because the morning after he’d told her his real name, Kate had reached for her phone while they were still in bed, laughing and telling Ian that he shouldn’t have told her because now she could find out anything she ever wanted to know about him.

“You won’t find me. I’ve erased Ian Bradshaw from every search engine, every online database and public record,” he’d said. “I literally do not exist on the Internet.”

She’d googled him anyway, and while she found plenty of men named Ian Bradshaw, none of them were him. After ten minutes of searching and coming up empty-handed, she’d admitted defeat.

Next she’d googled Ian Merrick. There was only one hit, and it was for his website. “Any other names?” she’d asked.

“No. You know everything about me, Kate. There is no more to discover.”

But now as she watched him zip up the duffel, she wondered if there was anything he’d omitted because he thought the details would be too alarming for her to handle. “Let me drop you off.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind, and it will make it easier if you decide to take a cab home again. Which you definitely should if you’re tired.”

“I’ll take a cab home if I’m tired or it’s late. I’m not dragging you out of bed in the cold and dark.” He smiled, grabbed the duffel, and said, “All right. I’m ready.”



The private airstrip was a fifteen-minute drive away. Ian pulled into a gravel parking lot surrounded by a chain-link fence. A small plane Kate estimated would hold six to eight passengers sat on the tarmac.

“It’s a charter?” Kate asked.

“Yes,” Ian said. “Contrary to popular belief, the FBI—and the people who work with them—aren’t hustled into first class on private jets. If time allowed, they’d have put me on a commercial flight and I’d be sitting in coach. But a local charter works well in a pinch.”

Ian reached into the backseat for his bag and they got out of the car. “Things are going to get very hectic once I arrive. I’ll send you a text when I’m on my way back.” He cupped her face and pulled her in close for a kiss. “I love you. Stay warm.”

“I love you too.” She got back in the car and waited until he’d walked up the short flight of steps and disappeared into the plane. Then she put his car in gear and drove home, hoping he wouldn’t be gone too long.



It had been a little over twenty-nine hours when he texted her. It was almost midnight, and Kate had just turned off the light and rolled onto her side when her phone pinged.

Ian: Boarding the plane. Caught a shower and a short nap earlier and will take a cab from the airport. Don’t wait up. It will be close to 3 a.m. before I’m home. Love you.

Kate: I’ll expect nothing less than a good spooning when you arrive.

Ian: Wish I could give you a good something else but will probably fall asleep the minute I crawl into bed. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.

Kate: Love you. Safe travels.

He pulled the covers back and slid in behind Kate a few hours later, wrapping his arms around her and whispering, “Katie, I’m home.”

She mumbled a reply and thought she’d dreamt the whole thing until she woke up the next morning with his chest pressed up against her back and his arm across her breasts.

He didn’t stir when she gently extricated herself to get ready for work and quietly left the apartment. He sent her a text at noon to tell her he was awake, and Kate went home, picking up lunch on the way. By the time she walked into her apartment, he’d showered and was drinking coffee on the couch. He stood and held open his arms, and Kate went to him, sighing as he enveloped her in a hug.

“My hacker is back.” She kissed him, and he pulled her down onto the couch. “How did it go?”

“It got a little intense there for a while—I won’t bore you with the technical stuff—but we were successful in blocking the attack. We saved a lot of consumers the giant headache of having their financial information compromised.”

“You love it, don’t you?”

“It’s not the same kind of cybercrime my dad fell victim to, but it still feels good every time I stop it from happening.”

“I think it’s wonderful.” She smiled and kissed him. “Ready for lunch?”

“Thai?” he asked with a wide, hopeful smile.

“Thai.”



While they were eating, Kate said, “Can I talk to you about something?”

He looked a little worried. “Sure.”

“It’s nothing bad,” she said. “I just have a favor to ask. Do you remember the little boy named Georgie? We bought that Curious George hat for him at Christmastime?”

“Yes, of course.”

“When he came in with his mom and sisters to pick up their box of food last week, I could tell that Samantha was really upset about something. I pulled her aside, and after a little prodding she admitted how bad her financial situation has become. Georgie had been sick and needed two rounds of an expensive antibiotic, and the girls had outgrown their shoes. The budget billing on her gas and electric bill had increased by eighty dollars, and she told me she was trying to decide which bill she could put off. I felt horrible for her, but she said not to worry, that she’d figure something out. After she left I tried to come up with a way to help her, but I’m not equipped to provide for a family of four on an ongoing basis, and I don’t want to create a potentially problematic situation down the road. I told myself when I started the food pantry that getting personally involved was a slippery slope.”