Hidden (Nicole Jones #1)(38)

My father wasn’t home that day. But I was.

It was too coincidental, me meeting Zeke. He knew I was the hacker, and it was me he was there to see, not my father. He didn’t have the proof yet – they were still trying to follow my tracks – but I didn’t know any of that then.

It wasn’t all lightning and thunderbolts when he walked around the pool, casting his shadow over me as I quickly closed my laptop and shoved it underneath the chaise lounge. I squinted up through the sunlight, covering my eyes with my hand, but I couldn’t make out his features.

‘What can I do for you?’ I asked the shadow.

He flashed a badge. ‘I’m Special Agent Zeke Chapman. I understand your father isn’t home.’

I shifted up onto my elbow to get a better look, but didn’t expect much. They’d all paraded through here, these agents on their babysitting missions, usually washed up and at the end of their careers.

I was surprised to see he was good looking. And young. Maybe only a little older than me. The way he wore his suit jacket told me he worked out. I sat up.

‘I’m Tina Adler,’ I said, holding out my hand.

He hesitated, then took it. His hand was large and calloused, not like that of a man who worked behind a desk all day. I swung my legs over the lounge and offered him a drink. I was wearing a pair of running shorts and a tank top, and as I stood, I toed my laptop even further underneath the lounge.

‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything,’ he said, staring at my feet, and I realized I hadn’t pulled anything over on him. Maybe that’s when he knew for sure, or maybe I just wanted him to be that smart.

I shrugged. ‘Not much.’ I stared into his eyes then, straight on, daring him to challenge me. He blinked a few times, and I realized he was trying not to smile.

‘Do you know where your father is?’ he asked, his voice a little more rough, forcing himself to be all business.

‘I’m not his keeper,’ I said. ‘He might be at his club.’

‘He’s not there.’

‘Well, then, I don’t know where he is. Sorry.’

Zeke turned and looked out over the pool at the beach and the deep blue ocean beyond. ‘Nice place.’

‘It’s OK.’

If my nonchalance threw him, he didn’t show it.

‘Is this what you do with your days, Miss Adler?’ He hadn’t turned back around and was talking to the ocean. ‘Sit by the pool and watch the ocean?’

‘It could be worse,’ I said flippantly, although he had just watered that small seed of guilt that ran through me occasionally. I hadn’t done anything with my life. Nothing legitimate, anyway. I didn’t need a job. I had my father’s money – and the money that was sitting in those accounts in the Caymans in the Caribbean and the Channel Islands across the Atlantic. But every once in a while, I wondered if this was all there was and I thought about a real job – something that didn’t mean I’d be lurking around the Internet, trying to see what I could get into without getting caught.

Irritated that his question had stirred up those feelings, I got up. ‘I’ll walk you out,’ I offered.

He turned back then, his hands pulling his jacket tighter around him, and I saw the wedding ring glint in the sun.

‘How long have you been married?’ I asked as we walked through the French doors.

‘Three years.’ His expression changed slightly, and I wasn’t sure it was a happy marriage.

When I kissed him three days later, I knew for sure.





TWENTY


Mike Burns lives in a small cottage, not unlike mine. It is nicely kept, a pale yellow with blue shutters and bright pink azaleas flanking the front steps. Just as I cut the engine of the moped and set it up on its stand, the door opens.

‘Nicole Jones?’

He is larger than I thought he would be, both in height and weight. He has to be six three or four, maybe three hundred pounds – bigger than Pete, even. A blue bandanna is wrapped around his head, which I suspect is bald because there are no tufts of hair seeping out anywhere. His cheeks are ruddy, as though he has just worked out, or maybe it is just the walk from inside to out. But his eyes are a bright blue, matching the shutters, and his smile is warm.

I nod, holding out my hand. He takes it gently, his smile widening.

‘I’ve seen you at the Kittens.’

I don’t generally go to the Yellow Kittens for drinks, preferring Club Soda, but occasionally Steve and I decide we need a change of scenery. I am surprised that he doesn’t stand out in my memory, since his appearance seems unforgettable. But maybe that is his secret: he has learned to stay under the radar because of his unrecorded business and somehow, physically, he is able to do that as well.

He leads me inside, and I see that it’s not only the outside that’s well kept. The sleek wood floors shine, as though he has just had them done, and the furniture is modern and color coordinated. I wonder if there is a Mrs Burns who’s responsible for this but feel it would be uncouth to ask.

Mike leads me down a hallway, but before we reach the end of it, he turns into a room to our left. I see immediately that this is his office space. Laptops, desktops, tablets and smartphones litter the myriad shelving lined up against every wall. A desk sits in the middle. Three laptops are open and powering up on its surface.