Then again, does it matter if she was surprised by my appearance?
Does it matter that she still has the same shiny black hair and expressive hazel eyes and that cute upturned nose with a small spray of freckles across it?
Does it matter that her body—what I could see of it, at least—was just how I remember, with slender limbs and gentle curves and a petiteness that belies the size of her personality?
No. It doesn’t.
I head into the bedroom and over to the dresser, then take out a pair of briefs and a T-shirt and pull them on. Just as I’m reaching for my sweats, my normal hanging around the house attire, I stop.
The same thought that occurred to me earlier returns, this time with a sharp punch to my gut.
What if one of the men who attacked her comes back?
She wouldn’t even know he was a threat. She could be headed home after leaving the hospital and he could be right there, lying in wait. Lurking outside her house? apartment? condo? just waiting for the perfect opportunity to finish the job.
Wheredoesshe live? I wonder. In the city? In one of the suburbs? Or does she live further away, and made the trip back to New York specifically to see me?
And what of the attackers? Two of them, according to the police report I read while waiting to see Sofia. Two men, both wearing dark clothing and full-face masks, who dragged her into an alley just a block from my building and brutally attacked her.
Fuck.
My fist lands on the top of the dresser with a heavy thud.
Now that the image is in my head, I can’t get rid of it.
Two masked men, hitting Sofia, grabbing at her, slamming her roughly onto the ground. Maybe kicking her. Pulling at her clothes. I know they didn’t rape her, based on the medical records I hacked into the hospital servers to access. But did they try?
Sofia’s beautiful. She was when she was seventeen, and she still is now. Those assholes could have touched her, threatened to violate her…
Fuck.
Pain shoots through my jaw.
Anger bubbles up.
Like I said to Sofia in the hospital, I would never, ever wish her harm.
But someone hurt her.
Not someone. Someones. And they’re still out there.
Orarethey? Could the police have identified them from a nearby security camera, and maybe the assholes are in custody?
Bypassing the sweatpants, I head over to my bed and scoop up my laptop from where I left it. I take it over to the desk by the window and flip the laptop open, then sit down and start typing.
My fingers fly over the keys as I hack back into the police servers. It’s absolutely illegal, what I’m doing, but I don’t feel a hint of guilt about it. This kind of hacking is known as gray-hat hacking—not legal, but not done with the intent to harm.
I don’t hack into databases like this for Fox & Falcon business, not because I couldn’t, but because I don’t want to risk the company being tied to any illegal activity. But on my own, working on my personal laptop with layers of security and routed through a series of VPNs? That, I won’t hesitate to do.
After a few minutes of searching, I discover that the men who attacked Sofia are still out there. And aside from some vague eyewitness statements that basically all say the same thing—two men of average height, wearing masks, with no identifying details—it doesn’t appear that the police have any leads.
Well, shit.
That’s not good.
Since I’m already on my laptop, I give in to the curiosity I’ve successfully ignored all the times I’ve wondered about Sofia before. In the past, when I’ve thought about what Sofia might be doing, I’ve sternly reminded myself that it’s not my business anymore. That there’s no good to be found by dredging up the past.
But tonight, after everything that happened, I want to know.
