She slants me a look of censure but explains, “Encrypted programs protect what they know. But people still make decisions outside the program—who tags what, who syncs what, who reuses a login because it’s easy. Those choices leave fingerprints. Tiny, mundane things that aren’t supposed to mean anything add up. I pulled those threads.”
I get what she means immediately. “Virtual breadcrumbs.”
Her eyes brighten. “Wow. Yeah. Finally, someone who speaks English.”
My lips curl up.
But I force myself not to smile fully.
She continues, “It takes more than one person to completely scrub someone from existence. It takes a whole lot more to scrubtwopeople from existence. And when those people are linked to a band as high profile as The Kings, you definitely need an army to keep your victims hidden.”
“You followed an automated sync to the wrong mirror.” I lean over her desk again, parsing through the data.
“One old backup someone forgot to scrub. A weak link—completely by chance, I’ll admit. But it was bound to happen. Like I said, one person can totally erase their tracks. If it’s two or more people, they leave footprints.”
“So once the decryption completes, we’ll know who took them?”
“Sort of.”
“What do you mean ‘sort of’?”
“You know”—she frowns—“it wasn’t as easy as it sounded. You could have taken more than a second to bask in my brilliance.”
I scowl. My family’s lives are at stake and she’s treating this like it’s a game.
J sighs heavily and loads a map on the third monitor. “Once I got hold of the single thread in the haystack, I traced the patterns: interactions that seemed irrelevant to the system, rideshares, delivery confirmations, a calendar invite forwarded three times. Then I mapped how those external events mirrored entries inside the encrypted container. I stitched them together until the silhouettes resolved into names.”
“Like linking chords together to make a song.”
“Nothing so romantic.” She shrugs. “But it’s efficient. Also, less noisy than crashing a server and getting the attention of people who were paid to keep out hackers.”
She speaks with confidence, her eyes determined. She might have a delicate face and a slim build, but she’s a force to be reckoned with.
Is she Jinx or not?
So many signs are pointing to the affirmative.
Still, something itches my brain. This is too easy. What are the odds that I got Jinx’s location without having to blaze through layers of firewalls and error messages? One little program, and I’m in. Coordinates in hand. Easy as pie.
And why would Jinx allow me into her hospital room, into her bed?
Maybe I did find Jinx. Now what? Being in front of Jinx brings its own set of problems. Like why is she still hiding her identity? What does she want from me?
Based on her track record, I’m going to be offered a deal at the cost of something I won’t want to lose.
Trade a secret for a secret, Finn.
J leans back, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Why are you scowling? I’m seconds away from finding your family. Most people would, I don’t know, at least smile in this situation.”
I stare without comment.
She blows out a breath and her bangs fly up. “This is why you shouldn’t meet your heroes. They really don’t live up to the hype.”
“Will we have visuals when it goes live?”
“That’s kind of a tall order,” J says. “I was able to decrypt a communication line, but the program isn’t connected to any cameras. You won’t be able to see anything.”
“Let me.” I try to brush her aside so I can take over the keyboard.
