Behind the faceplate, tucked carefully inside the wall, is a black burner phone.
My pulse rockets. This is it.
I power it on. To my surprise, it boots up. While it loads, Ireattach the outlet and cover my tracks.
Once it’s fully powered, I open the contacts. There’s only one number saved. I check the messages and find a string of encrypted texts sent once a month like clockwork. The last one was about a week ago. Which means I’ve got a three-week window before Ben notices it’s missing. Plenty of time.
I pocket the phone, reset the alarm, and relock the door behind me.
Back in the car, I sit, staring at the plain little black phone in my hand.
I just know, deep in my gut, that the texts are to and from Lina.
Now, I just have to prove it.
∞∞∞
When I walk into the apartment, I find Nik perched at the dining table, readers sliding down his nose as he paints some intricate design on a scrap of wood. He looks up the moment he hears the door.
“Find anything?”
I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face. Wordless, I pull the burner phone from my pocket and hold it up. He sets his paintbrush down and leans back in his chair, eyebrows climbing.
“Well, I’ll be damned. I really didn’t think he’d have one.”
“Yeah, well, he does.” I waggle my brows. “Which means I win our little bet. And you better believe I’m cashing in.”
Nik’s eyes go dark, lips twitching into a slow, wicked smile. He licks his bottom lip like he’s already imagining what that payment looks like.
“You won fair and square,” he says, voice low. “And youknow I never break a promise.”
Oh, I know.
“But first,” he adds, standing, “were you able to see anything on it?”
“There are messages, but they’re encrypted.” I hand him the phone. “I was hoping you could work your magic.”
Nik’s upbringing gave him a variety of talents. Skills I don’t question too hard. If he can’t break through it, he knows someone who can.
“Let me take a crack at it,” he says, already moving to his desk. “If I can’t, I’ll call my guy.”
Of course he has a guy.
He plugs in a few cables and starts typing, lines of code spilling across the screen. I don’t have a clue what he’s doing, but watching him be nerdy is hot. And with the readers perched on his nose, he looks like a sexy librarian who moonlights as a hacker.
“This is basic,” he mutters, frowning. “Low-tier encryption. Someone didn’t want the NSA poking around, but didn’t go full tinfoil hat. I should be in soon.”
A few tense minutes pass. Then—
“I’m in.”
We both lean in as the messages load. He scrolls slowly through the most recent thread.
March 29
Unknown Number:Hey! Just checking in. Everything’s good here. Nothing new. Same old, same old. I miss you! How are things?
Burner Number:Glad to hear it, kid. I miss you, too! Nothing too exciting to report. I won my pickleball match on Tuesday.
