Page 10 of Crossing Paths
How do I know everything about you? I’m always watching you, silly.
Where are you?she asked without much hope he’d actually tell her.
Wouldn’t you like to know?
She rolled her eyes. Sometimes he was so cliché she felt like she was in some cheesy horror movie.
I’m enjoying our date, he wrote, making her shudder.I’m pretty old-fashioned, so I insist on paying.
Too late, she wrote, feeling a little satisfaction that she could have the upper hand, even on something as small as this.I already paid for my drink.
Check your account. Large hot chocolate with extra whip, right?
Her fingers trembled as she shut down her laptop and grabbed her phone to check her balance. There, in a pending transaction, was a transfer of $5.61, exactly the cost of her drink.
Shoving all her things back in her bag, she headed for the door, setting her half-full mug in the dirty dish container while trying very hard not to look up at the security camera, just in case he’d hacked into the feed. Her mind whirled, taking in all the ramifications of what had just happened. Devon Leifsen had access to her bank account. He’d known what she’d been drinking. He’d known she’d met Chloe or had even arranged their encounter. She’d always prided herself on being smart, but it seemed as if Leifsen was one step ahead of her in every interaction. She was in over her head.
As she pushed through the door and left the ruined comfort of Chico’s behind her, Norah finally admitted she needed help. She was going to have to tell her sisters.
Four
“What’s wrong with you?”
Norah stared at Dash, not sure exactly what he was referring to. Without more information, she wasn’t able to answer his question, especially in her current overtired condition. With Devon Leifsen invading her computer, her privacy, her favorite coffee shop, and now her bank account, she’d lain awake all night, jumping at every creak of the old house. Even after she’d given up and scurried to Cara’s room to take Charlie’s empty bed, she’d still been unable to sleep. Now her brain was too muzzy to work right, so she just flat out asked, “Can you be more specific?”
He started wrapping her hands and wrists again, and she tried to concentrate on his technique so she could imitate it at their next session. Her sleep-deprived state made this difficult, especially since his efficient yet gentle touch lulled her into a comfortable haze. Normally, she didn’t mind—even preferred—a regular lack of human contact, but she was starting to understanda little more clearly why some people were touchers. The brushes of skin against skin awoke a raw ache inside her that seemed to both worsen and improve with more contact.Odd.
His grumbly voice brought her out of her musings. “Why are you so out of it? Can’t sleep?” When she shook her head, he asked, “Insomnia?”
“No. I usually don’t have trouble sleeping.” A yawn interrupted her answer. “Just last night.”
His hands paused. “What happened last night?”
There was a deep stillness to him that caught her attention, even as sleepy and distracted as she was. Studying him, she was quiet for several beats before she realized he was waiting for her explanation. There was a solidness to him, a security, that made her think she could tell him anything. She didn’t even hesitate before the truth spilled out of her mouth. “A skip keeps hacking into my computer.”
His expression barely moved, just a slight narrowing of his eyes and hardening of his mouth, but Norah suddenly spottedhisinner badger. “Skip?” was all he said, but his voice was so silky in the deadliest way that she felt her eyes widen, and contrarily, she started to smile. Sometime during their eight and one-tenth training sessions, she’d decided she liked Dashiell Porter, and his protectiveness warmed her insides.
“I do research for my family’s bail-recovery business,” she explained.
He gave a bare nod that was just the slightest lift of his chin. His lack of confusion or surprise made her wonder if he already knew. She hadn’t told him what their family businesswas before—except for a brief mention of the possibility of her sisters getting shot or blown up—so she deduced that he’d researched her. She didn’t mind. In fact, she approved. After all, she’d done the same to him before she’d even walked into his gym.
“You do research. That means you don’t have any contact with bail jumpers,” he said, that silky edge still in his voice.
“I don’t—usually.” She had to qualify it in order to be honest. After all, the occasional meetings with skips were why she was here, learning to protect herself and her sisters. “This wasn’t actual face-to-face contact though.”
“This one hacked your computer?” Holding eye contact with her, he finished wrapping her hands without looking, something she found disproportionately impressive.
“Yes,” she said, pushing her hand into the boxing glove he held open for her.
“Why?” He helped her put on the second glove.
“I don’t know.” She’d thought about it a lot, especially while she couldn’t sleep last night, but she hadn’t reached any conclusions. “I did a complete system check, and he didn’t access any of my files. All he does is…chat.”
“Chat?” The way he spat out the innocuous word made it sound almost brutal.
“Yes. He introduced himself. With smiley faces. And waves. Then last night, he deposited $5.61 into my account.”
He was grimly silent for several moments as she waited patiently for his response. “I don’t like this,” he finally said.
