Page 10 of The Hacker
As he hefted his gym bag and headed up the street, he found himself surprised by the vivid colors of the turning leaves in contrast to the still-emerald grass along the curb strip. It felt strange not to have to battle for space on the clean, well-kept sidewalks. He spent all his time among the hard, gray surfaces of Manhattan: steel, cement, and glass. He’d forgotten that other places could be softer, slower, and quieter.
He drew in a deep breath of the sunny autumn air and considered whether his partners were correct in saying that he needed to get out more. His daily forays to the lap pool on the top of their office building didn’t count, since he took the elevator to a glass enclosure within a skyscraper.
Maybe hewasusing his job to keep himself from feeling the absence in his world, but it was what he needed to do right now. His mother shouldn’t be dead. She deserved to live a long life enjoying all the luxuries he could give her since he had become successful. Familiar pain jabbed at his chest.
So he turned back to work, as always, wrapping his fingers around the cell phone in the pocket of his blue hoodie. He’d loaded so much monitoring software onto it that even the phone’s vastly expanded memory was strained.
He lengthened his stride as he recollected that Dawn was waiting at the gym for him. He wanted to see if his memory of her silky, dark hair, slashing cheekbones, and dark, watchful eyes was accurate. Although maybe her avoidance of him at the parties had made her seem more interesting than she really was. An unusual buoyancy bubbled in his chest at the prospect of actually talking with her at last.
He crossed an intersection to see a large, redbrick building dominating the entire block. It looked exactly like what it once had been: a college gymnasium built in the late 1940s, with a double row of tall windows and a convex metal roof. The entrance had been updated with several plate-glass windows on either side of big glass-and-steel double doors. The neon sign over the entrance said WORKITOUTin bold turquoise letters that glowed even in the daylight.
A cell phone antenna perched on the apex of the roof. It was surprising because the gym wasn’t that much taller than other nearby structures. Maybe the antenna was just a signal booster.
As he approached, a flock of women in yoga pants spilled out the doors, some chatting, some staring at their phones, some looking harried. He held the door as a couple of stragglers sauntered out. One looked him up and down as though she were considering bidding on him at a livestock auction before she said, “Nice manners and good-looking too. You must be taken.” She kept walking.
He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he stepped into the gym’s double-height lobby. Maybe the occasional interaction with random strangers wasn’t so bad after all.
His pleasure was overlaid by another wave of sadness. His mother had insisted that he hold the door for women, children, the elderly, and the infirm. When he asked with teenage sarcasm if there was anyone heshouldn’thold it for, she’d just given him one of her looks. From then on, whenever he held a door open for anyone, he’d looked at her and she’d smiled.
As soon as he turned toward the blond-wood reception desk, he saw Dawn, and his melancholy blew away like wisps of smoke.
Because Dawn was more than his memory of her.
Her olive skin had the sheen of satin, while her dark eyes were luminous and less wary than he remembered. Maybe because she was on her home turf at the gym. The slight smile of greeting curving her lips was professional, but the lips were soft and full, a delicious contrast to the strong cheekbones and jawline. A high ponytail rippled like a dark waterfall when she nodded to him. She pushed away from the desk with her hip and walked toward him, every movement betraying a coiled energy tamped down under tight control. He had a strong desire to make it explode.
He hoped Dawn remembered that he had signed up using one of his online aliases—Lee Wellmont—so his identity would not be easy to track down if his unauthorized meddling was discovered.
“Hey, Lel ... Lee. Glad to see you’re smiling,” she said. “That means you’re looking forward to a hard workout.”
“Or maybe it means I’m extremely pleased to see you.” He poured on the Georgia drawl.
Discomfort flickered in her dark eyes. So she didn’t want to flirt at her job. Or maybe she didn’t want to flirt in front of the huge man who had risen from the desk to join them, his baseball mitt of a hand thrust out.
“Welcome to our newest member,” the man said. “I’m Ramón, the owner of this place, and I’m pleased to have you here.”
He’d bet that Ramón had been a boxer ... or a linebacker. The man’s nose had been broken more than once and his neck was as thick as a telephone pole. His smile, though, held nothing but kindness and affability.
“The pleasure is mine,” Leland said, relieved not to find Ramón’s handshake crushing. “I’ve heard great things about both Dawn and your gym.”
Ramón’s smile turned into a beam. “That makes me real happy, Lee. Who’d you hear it from?”
“Dawn’s friend Alice Thurber. We went to high school together.”
“Alice is good people. Any friend of hers is a friend of mine,” Ramón said.
Dawn cleared her throat. “Talking isn’t going to build you any muscle. Let’s get to work.”
“I hope Alice warned you that Dawn believes in a challenge, both for herself and her clients,” Ramón said, a note of pride in his voice.
“I’m counting on it,” Leland said. “I spend all day in front of a computer, so I need someone to whip me into shape.”
“I’ll give you a quick tour before we get started,” Dawn said, pivoting on her heel and heading toward the smallest of three doors that led off the lobby. He followed, enjoying the swing of her hair and the sway of her surprisingly lush butt under the black leggings she wore with a tight turquoise shirt. The shirt matched the general color scheme and had “Work It Out” embroidered on the back.
He followed her down a hallway past the men’s and women’s locker rooms to a door marked CONSULTROOM. Dawn knocked and opened the door into a small space that held a desk and two bright blue chairs, gesturing for him to go in.
“This is where we talk with clients about private issues like medical problems or past-due bills. It used to be a supply closet.” She gave him a wry grimace and hesitated for a moment before saying, “Maybe you shouldn’t tell people you work with computers. You’re supposed to be just an average Joe.” She threw him a quick glance. “Not that anyone is going to believe that once they talk to you. Well, except Ramón. He assumes everyone is honest until proven otherwise.”
“I didn’t say I worked with computers. I said I sat in front of a computer. You just have inside knowledge.”
