Burned Hearts (Burned 3)

I felt compelled to help out. “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that your father really was with the society three decades ago. How could we prove it?”

“Not via the Internet, that’s for damn sure.”

I hadn’t even been able to discern when Dane’s parents had passed, let alone from what cause. I’d finally asked, when Dane and I had gotten a bit closer. A plane crash on their way back to Philly from a night at the Met in New York.

Contemplating this, I asked, “Your parents were the only ones on that plane, right?”

He eyed me curiously. “Yes. It was my father’s Learjet.”

“Weather or mechanical problems?”

“Ari.” His emerald irises deepened in color. “You’re going to your own dark place now.”

“And you’re not already there? As usual?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. I’d hit the nail on the head.

“You said yourself that the crash that night, their deaths, was ironic,” I noted, “since they’d gone to see Todd Sweeney.”

“Sweeney Todd,” he corrected.

“Anyway, he murdered people. And when you told me that, there was something in your voice. Remember, I even asked if you thought there’d been foul play?”

“Actually, you didn’t ask. You hinted.” The man had a mind like a steel trap. “And I told you absolutely not.”

“But were you just saying that to appease me? Do you really believe it?”

A bit irritably, he conceded, “Yes, it was mechanical failure that brought the plane down. Yes, there were some questionable engine parts that were investigated. In the end, they were deemed faulty, but not tampered with.”

“Faulty doesn’t guarantee they weren’t tampered with.”

“No, it does not.”

We stared once more, as though gazing deep enough into each other’s eyes might somehow solve this mystery. As if we searched hard enough into the other’s soul we’d suddenly have all the answers.

That was never going to happen, of course, because neither of us knew any sort of truths when it came to the society—or the deaths of Dane’s parents.

Finally, he asked, “Is there any way to tell what files were moved onto the thumb drive, since the program is still installed?”

I shook my head but went back to the computer nonetheless. I double-clicked on the shield and it launched, triggering the need for a password.

That prompted me to ask, “Would Ethan even know your initial password—the one to get into the laptop?”

“It’s always been bagan.”

“The same as the Wi-Fi in the house, which he knows.”

Yet when it came to Ethan’s password for the thumb drive I couldn’t even begin to guess as to what it might be. I hit the hint button.

NOS popped up.

I asked Dane what it meant.

He came around to stand behind me once more and gazed at the screen.

“Damn it,” he growled.

“What? You know what the password might be for the thumb drive?”