Shot in the Dark (Blackbridge Security 2)

“Impossible,” he mutters, but at least this is a way to bring up something I’ve always wondered.

“Why did you choose that handle for Orc’s Realm?”

“I like it.”

Simple enough, but he probably doesn’t understand the ramifications of using the same username as one of the greatest hackers of our time.

“You know it’s the name for one of the greatest hackers of all time?”

“The greatest,” he clarifies. “Think he’ll be mad?”

“I think he has better things to do than search online for people using his name.”

“But he’d only have to set up a search program once to keep filtering through online data that tags any use.”

“Very true,” I agree. “I get the feeling you know a little more about computers than you initially let on.”

“I never said I didn’t know computers.”

“Yet you played Orc’s Realm like a guy who never touched a keyboard before.”

He laughs, causing cold chills to run down my arms. On a whim, I add him to my TalkToMe app and he accepts immediately.

“I explained that I online game, and Orc’s Realm is completely different. It just took some getting used to. Plus, YouTube is full of videos.”

A cat meme pops up on my phone screen in the app, but he doesn’t mention it. I chuckle at the image of the fat cat and send him back another already saved in my phone.

“Are we going to collect this chest tonight, or not?”

We play online for several more hours, and not once does he try to pressure me into meeting him again.

When I finally log off, I’m both relieved and disappointed.Chapter 7Wren

Today is the day.

I woke up feeling that in my bones this morning.

I’ve been asking Whitney to meet me for coffee each day for the last two weeks. She always says no, and I leave the subject alone for the rest of our interactions, but I can tell she’s starting to crumble.

The TalkToMe app was her suggestion when I asked for her phone number, and it’s been amazing. We don’t use actual words very often, instead showing each other our moods and senses of humor through videos, memes, and websites we find online.

I’m in my own head, floating on a freaking cloud as I climb on the elevator to head to work. Puff Daddy is being oddly quiet this morning, which I’m grateful for. There’s a very strict no animals allowed policy in this building. Of course Adrian knew I had Puff, but it’s no surprise that a hundred dollars a month kept his mouth shut. If upper management treated their people better, then they wouldn’t be so easily swayed to break the rules for renters. But Adrian is gone and I haven’t gotten the best read on the new girl at the desk. Best I can tell she’s more involved with herself than what’s going on around her. This helps me, but I know my luck will run out eventually.

I don’t even lift my head when the elevator stops before hitting the ground floor. Avoiding eye contact is a must around here. The last thing I want is some old lady knocking on my door asking to borrow sugar or something.

“Nice tits!”

My eyes dart to the carrier in my hand, but in my line of sight are a pair of legs in grey, marbled spandex. I know those legs. Well, I know those leggings.

“Oh shit,” I hiss when my eyes run up the length of Whitney’s body. She isn’t smiling, not finding the catcall the least bit funny.

“Did you ju—”

“No! God no! I’d never!” I point to the bag in my hand, but the dark mesh keeps her from seeing in. “Him! He said it!”

She glares at the bag before looking back up at me. I’d call the look on her face cynical, and now my pet is going to ruin any chance with this girl.

In an attempt to try and save face, I unzip the bag. Thankfully, Puff is being cooperative this morning and sticks his head out of the bag, but since I can never determine his mood or what’s going to come out of his mouth, I’m well aware this could go to shit very quickly.

Why am I even on this elevator right now? I know this is the time she heads to the gym. Is my subconscious trying to help me out?

“So this—”

“Nice tits!”

“Yep,” she says, a wide grin transforming her perfect face from the previous scowl. “Isn’t he the cutest thing?”

“He’s offensive,” I mumble.

“They only say things they learn from their owners and things they repeatedly hear.”

She turns her head, a challenging look on her face.

“He’s a rescue.” Jesus, if we ever meet for real, I’m going to have to apologize for the lies.

“Well his previous owners were amazing then. I love a filthy-talking bird.”

As if on cue—“Hey, pretty lady! Wanna fuck?”

“Jesus,” I grumble. “I’m so sorry.”