A SOFT TOUCH, gentle but incessant against Mike’s shoulder, brings him to consciousness, his room coming into focus when he bats away her hand and rubs at his eyes. Dawn, peeking through the open window, his angel of rescue leaning over him in jeans and a tight sweater.
“Fuck.” He jerks upright, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. At least I can feel it. His blurry vision finds the bedside clock. “You’re here early.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. You needed more meds. Here.” Jamie holds out a glass of water and a handful of pills, which he takes without argument. “What’s going on with your girl?”
Moving weak legs to the side of the bed, he sits fully up. “I don’t know. As you’re well aware, I just woke up.”
“Don’t you have the ability to check on her somehow? Hack into her phone or cameras?”
He shifts, gesturing for his chair. “Yes and no. Yes, I can, but no, I won’t. I did that last night. Hadn’t ever done it before. We, as hackers, most of us are… well—we don’t get out much. So we have an unwritten rule. No hacking for emotional gratification. You see, if we wanted, we could tap into dressing room cams, personal laptop webcams… take a look into any girl we really wanted to see. Somewhere, whether it be a cell phone or an iSight, we’d get eyes on her. But that’s invasive, an abuse of our knowledge. I’m not saying all of us adopt this morality stance. There are plenty out there who are jacking off each night to their next-door neighbors, watching housewives changing and coeds fucking. But it shouldn’t be done. I’ll screw with corporate America all day long, rearrange someone’s personal and financial details as I see fit. But spying isn’t my thing. I turned on her cams last night to see if she was okay. As it was… I had them on longer than I should have.”
She wrinkles her face in disgust, misinterpreting his comment as something sexual in nature. “So. She’s cool? You think she’s safe from this guy?”
“I think she’s safe.” He moves to the computer and powers it on.
She follows, pushing at his personal space, the hand she puts on the chair arm invasive in its ownership. “If you don’t call her, it will seem odd. Your last conversation you were telling her to get out of there, like you were worried for her life. It’d seem strange to not call her back.”
“Give me some room; I can’t think with you hovering over me.” He closes his eyes and settles back in the chair, the rock of the seat soft and gentle in its movement. “Plus, I returned her money.” The thought mumbles out of his lips, his mind liking the idea more as he turns it over. Maybe she still needs help. Maybe she is upset. He does need to tell her about the money. That will make the bloodthirsty beauty happy. He wonders, for a moment, if she is still sound asleep on his dead body.
He reaches with his bad arm, appreciating the movement in the socket, the wound not as debilitating as his mind had envisioned in the handcuffed hours of contemplation he had endured. He picks up his cell, unplugging it from the wall and settling back against the leather, Jamie’s hand finally leaving the chair, her stroll into the kitchen watched closely as he tries to think. Initiating the call, he wonders what Deanna will say.