Friday night
I turned on the ten-o’clock news upstairs. The table was cleared, dishes stacked, guests gone. Luke was watching Netflix in the family room, which was fine with me. I wanted to be alone. I felt like I’d been sandbagged at dinner. I never had the chance to tell them that when I took the drive to Zach, I didn’t know a thing about Chinese spies. As a result, I hadn’t said much since. Luke wisely left me alone. Happily, there was nothing on the news about the explosion at Zach’s place. Yet.
The sportscaster came on, a fresh-faced woman reporter, and the story cut to a star Bulls forward for a sound bite. It could have been a Bears, Sox, even a Cubs player. Whatever the sport, athletes these days seem to talk in a practiced monotone, as if they’re reading a grocery list. I keep thinking some TV coach has instructed them to tamp down their emotions, to show what good sports they really are. The problem is they’ve taken all the passion out of the story.
I got up, went into my office, and booted up my Mac. I was pretty sure someone had hacked into my computer, and the less they saw the better. I made another copy, deleted the contents of Parks’ flash drive from my hard drive, and dropped the new copy into my purse. Then I went back to bed. I heard Luke’s tread on the stairs and grabbed a book off the nightstand. I pretended to read. He poked his head in, as if trying to ascertain my mood before he came all the way in.
I looked up. “It’s okay. I’m not contagious.”
He came in and sat on the edge of the bed. He was wearing his reading glasses. “You ready to talk?”
“What more is there to say? Everyone already got their two cents in.”
He peered at me over his glasses. “Is it possible you might be playing the victim, just a little?”
“Well, how would you feel if everyone talked to you as if you were a disobedient brat? Including your daughter?”
He didn’t reply for a moment. Then: “Well, you’re right about one thing. This isn’t child’s play. Ellie, do you really understand how much danger you could be in?”
I closed the book. The memory of a figure flashing across the subway platform strafed my brain. “So I’ll give back the drive and everyone forgets what I said tonight.” I snapped my finger. “Problem solved.”
“No. Problem not solved. You’re on somebody’s radar.”
“So is everyone in the world, according to Edward Snowden.”
I sensed him sigh inwardly. I knew I was being bitchy. And he was so patient with me.
“True, but it’s clear someone has taken a special interest in you. Delcroft, the military, NSA…God knows…maybe even the Chinese government. You’ve got to be careful.”
I ran my fingers up and down the spine of the book. “Of course I’m worried. I’ll never forget that Parks smashed into that train.” I looked up. “And now…well…I’m not convinced it was suicide.”
Luke inclined his head, a question on his face.
“In fact, I think someone’s tapped my phone.”
His spine stiffened. “How do you know?”
“Whoever blew up Dolan’s studio knew he had the drive. Dolan and I exchanged a few calls. In fact, he called this morning.” I swallowed. “And there’s more.” I told him about the “workmen” in the cars in front of the house down the street. How one of the cars took off when they saw Susan and me returning from our walk. And how I thought I’d been followed when I went to work out and then to the grocery store.
“Okay.” Luke crossed his arms. “I want you to do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to use your cell, not the house phone, as much as possible from now on.”
“My cell? But I thought—”
“There’s a pretty good security app that’s free. We’re going to download it.”
“Will it keep me from being hacked?”
“It will make it a lot harder. Here, give me your phone.”
I leaned over and fished it out of my bag, and watched as he went to the app store, downloaded something, and installed it. After a minute, he gave it back. “It’s really easy to use. Just follow the directions. Oh, and I disabled your GPS and location tracker, too. Don’t use them.”
“Really?”
He nodded. He wasn’t kidding.
I bit my lip, scanned the app, and pressed a few buttons to see what was there. Then I lay back against the pillows, my anger dissipating. “Thanks. I know you’re trying to help.”
Now he smiled. “And I know you hate to be rescued. But I’m—I don’t want anything to happen to you. I love you.”
I stroked his cheek and played with his beard. “I’m sorry. I overreacted.”
“I know people. I can find out things…”
“About Delcroft? And what they’re working on?”
He nodded.
“Is that really necessary? We already have a general idea.”
“The more we know, the better positioned we’ll be.”
“For what?”
He shrugged. “Who knows?”
“Once a Boy Scout…”
He smiled. “That. And something else.”
“What’s that?”
“As long as I’m around, no one is going to touch a hair on your beautiful head.”
How can you argue with that? I opened my arms. They didn’t remain empty for long.