Into the Fire(26)

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Anyone breaks in here, you know I’ll beat his ass silly.”

Evan circled the massive workstation and checked the broken latch on the window. It was the second floor, but still. “They haven’t fixed this yet?”

“Could you puh-lease get a hobby?” Joey said.

The windowsill was covered with all order of elaborate Rubik’s Cubes—magic cubes and speed cubes and shape-shifters blown out in all dimensions. Some kids played video games to pass the time; Joey did cubes thirteen rows deep and high that would’ve knotted Evan’s brain into a pretzel.

He almost knocked over a giant Megaminx twist puzzle as he fussed with the faulty window latch. “You need a dog,” he said. “A guard dog.”

“I don’t need a dog. I need more money. Like, an allowance.”

“An allowance? I gave you a trust fund that pays a monthly dividend of—”

“Do you know how expensive hardware is?” She disappeared back into the workstation and collapsed into a rolling gamer chair. Leaning over, she petted a rackmount Brutalis box. “This eight-GPU password-cracking monster was over twenty g’s.”

“I’d rather you spent your money on a safer apartment.”

“If I paid for a safer apartment, I couldn’t afford all this hardware. Which—I seem to recall—you make regular use of. So it’s not really an allowance I’m asking for. It’s more like a raise.”

Evan came into the pod and leaned against the inside curve of the desk. The temperature here in the inner sanctum was at least ten degrees hotter, and the air carried a whiff of burning rubber.

He crossed his arms. “A raise.”

“That’s how I like to think of it, yeah.” Another slurp of Dr Pepper. “Do you have any idea what my mad skills would go for if I turned black hat?”

Evan sank his face into his palm.

Joey grinned at his feigned bemusement. “Didn’t anyone tell you how hard it is to raise assassin children in Los Angeles?”

“I’m not raising you,” Evan said. “And you’re not an assassin.”

“Yeah, ’cuz you wouldn’t let me.”

“You’re grounded.”

She snickered. Then she spun around in her chair. Her hands played across one of a succession of keyboards, Beethoven pounding out a concerto.

In his pocket his RoamZone made a woeful noise. He sighed. Then he tugged it out and looked at it. Red bars had appeared across the screen. She’d locked him out.

In the event of an emergency, he’d given Joey partial access to the back end of his digital operations. Which in her hands had quickly turned into full access. That was the thing with kids. Give ’em an inch.

“Very funny, Joey.”

“I think so.” She really seemed to be enjoying herself now. “Oh, wait. I forgot the best part.” She spun back to the keyboard. More frenzied typing.

A message materialized on his RoamZone: FOR USE OF THIS DEVICE, PLEASE WIRE $250,000 TO ACCOUNT NUMBER—

He lifted his eyes. “You can’t blackmail me for use of my own phone.”

“Pretty sure I just did.” She was all but glowing. He had to admit, it was a pretty charming little routine. Charming and infuriating. “Could be worse,” she said. “I could change your ringtone to something, like, really embarrassing.”

“Unlock my phone. Now.”

She bounced a bit in the chair. “Sure you don’t need a sweater?”

Wearily, Evan took the bait. “Why?”

“’Cuz of all this shade I’m throwing your way?”

“Josephine.”

“Okay, okay.” Back to the keyboard. The red bars and the joke ransom note vanished from the RoamZone. “Happy?”

“No,” he said. “But I’m less unhappy.”

“Now, what brings you here in the middle of the night?” she asked. “Girl trouble?” She finished her drink and tossed it into a trash can filled with three other empty Big Gulps, which went some way toward explaining her caffeinated patter at this hour. “What’s going on with that DA lady? Mia?”

“Nothing.”

“But you guys would be so good together. You get all flirty and nervous around her. It’s cute. I mean, in an old-person way. Why aren’t you guys at least dating?”

“Because if she finds out who I really am, she’d have to prosecute me.”

Joey pulled her mouth to one side. A pensive pause. “That is complicating. But we can find you someone else. You should date some … I dunno, athleisure-wear model.”

Evan forged onward. “I need you to check all emergency-room records in the area.”

“For what?”

Evan explained. Joey listened intently, for once not running her mouth. He was a reasonably skilled hacker, but she was an Olympian. She’d have the hit man tracked down in a fraction of the time it would take him.

When he’d finally finished his account of what had happened at Grant’s office, she was perfectly still with focus, her emerald eyes large. “So you fucked up his arm in a specific way just so you could track the injury?”

“Language. But yes.”

She shook her head slowly. “That’s pretty badass, X.” She swiveled back around, fingers flying across her keyboard. “Bet you’re glad I bought this Brutalis box now,” she said over her shoulder. “Here’s what I’m gonna do. Correction: Here’s what I’m doing. I’m hacking into the two electronic medical-record systems used in these here parts—Epic and Cerner. For research purposes the records can be searched by patient, diagnosis, billing codes, everything else. So we hit the central research databases for both EMRs, check patient visits from the past twenty-four hours.…” Windows flashed open on multiple monitors, overlaid by others before Evan could even register them. “Diagnosis of nursemaid’s elbow in the right arm. Search parameters: men between twenty and forty, ERs within a fifty-mile radius, and … Wa-la!”