She’d always considered the project a kind of hobby, one she’d hoped would one day pay off.
Now it was a mission.
If she had time to build more equipment, or the luxury of hiring another skilled tech, or two…But she didn’t, so speculating proved useless. This was only for her.
In any case, over time she’d developed her own programming language—the better to thwart anyone who attempted to hack into her files—and even if she could hire on, she’d have to teach someone her language and techniques.
Faster, more efficient, to do it herself.
She ran the next test, watched her codes fly by, andthought, No, no, no. It remained too unwieldy, too separate, took too long.
She sat back, her hair twisted up off her neck and secured with a pencil. As she studied the screen, she drank iced green tea for clarity of thinking.
The tea, the two yoga breaks she’d made herself take, the absolute quiet, didn’t appear to help.
When her alarm sounded, and Bert went on alert, she checked her monitor. She hadn’t expected Brooks so early, she thought, as she spotted his cruiser, then glanced at the time.
She’d worked straight through the morning and into the middle of the afternoon.
Six hours, she thought, with no appreciable progress.
Maybe it was beyond her after all.
She started to get up, to unlock the doors for him, then remembered she’d given him keys and the security codes. An uneasy step, she admitted, but the advantage right that moment was she didn’t have to stop to let him in.
Still, there would be someone in the house, in her space. How was she supposed to concentrate on something this complex, this delicate, unless she was alone?
Which tore apart her fantasy of a state-of-the-art computer lab and a team of highly skilled techs. But that was only fantasy, because she always worked alone, until—
“Hey.” Brooks walked in, set a bag on the counter. “How’s it going?”
“Not as well as I’d like. I need to try another sequence, test again.”
“How long have you been at it?”
“It doesn’t matter how long. It’s not done.”
“Okay. I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I put this stuff away. I brought some of my things over, so I’ll deal with that upstairs. If you’re not done when I am, I’ll find something to do.”
“Mmm” was her only response. She tried not to tense up at the sound of the refrigerator, the cupboards opening and closing. When silence returned, she let out a cleansing breath and dived in again.
She forgot he was there. Over the next two hours, she lost herself in the codes and sequences. When the headache and eyestrain finally stopped her, she rose for medication, for fluids.
And remembered him.
She went upstairs. The quiet held so absolute she thought he must be napping, but she didn’t find him in the bedroom. Curious, she opened the closet.
There were his clothes, hanging with hers. Shirts, pants. A suit.
She’d never seen him in a suit. She trailed her fingers over the sleeve as she studied the shoes and boots on the floor of the closet.
They shared a closet, she thought. So much more intimate and vital somehow than sharing a bed. Crossing over, she opened drawers in the bureau. She’d meant to reorganize to give him space, but had forgotten in the work.
He’d seen to it himself. She’d need to alter some of his choices, but that was a small thing.
Closing drawers, she stepped back, took a turn around the room. Should she buy another dresser, a chest of drawers?
Would they need one?
