her an option to toss his vague pencil-written application if he turned out to be a real flake. In the end, she liked his easygoing nature, and his eagerness charmed her, so she hired him on the spot.
But standing in one of the trendiest locales on the Chicago loop, she found her ego rearing its ugly head—a clear case of double standards she fully condoned. Duping him was fair game, but the other way around was nothing less than insulting.
“If you lied about living here, Seth, I’m gonna kick your punk ass all the way to Gary, Indiana.”
Once inside the elevator, she punched the button for the penthouse suite. Overhead, a chandelier tinkled as the elevator rose and a high-pitched violin played classical music ad nauseam over the speakers. The overdose of pretentiousness made her edgy. She felt out of place like a decked-out hooker at High Mass, especially when she caught her own reflection in the shiny elevator doors. Even pricy light fixtures did nothing for her appearance.
One side of her face—the already scarred side—had a raised welt at her cheekbone, the size of a fifty-cent piece. The dim lighting didn’t help. If the little ferret misrepresented his home address, she’d make a fool of herself knocking on the door of the Grand Poobah of the posh suites. Mr. Moneybags in 602 might use the boys in blue to give her the bum’s rush from his doorstep. And she didn’t need another beef with the cops.
But when the elevator door opened at the top floor, a sound caught her attention. On massive imported rugs costing some serious coin, she walked toward the noise while gaping at the high ceiling with its elaborate crown molding. Deep rich cherry-wood doors were gilded by gold hardware, and exquisite artwork was displayed under subtle lighting.
Only four suites occupied the floor. And music came from the one down the hall, suite 602. It was a song she recognized—and one she had a hard time picturing the Grand Poobah gyrating to the driving beat. “The Only Song” by Sherwood blasted through the door. The base rhythm rocked the walls. Someone played it loud and proud, and it penetrated through the sound-dampening acoustics of the top-notch construction.
Jess fought a grin. “Harper? If I’m about to make an ass of myself, at least I’m doing it to damn fine tunes.”
When the music died down, ready to shift songs, Jess took a deep breath and punched the doorbell. For good measure she whacked the fine cherry wood with the heel of her fist. From inside she heard the song end and nothing new replace it. She cocked her head and pursed her lips, waiting for someone to open up.
For an added element of mystery, she pressed a thumb to the peephole. Her version of an icebreaker. In no time the door cracked open and Seth peeked over a gold chain.
“Jess, what are you doing here?” He undid the chain and threw the door open, his face in shock when he got a good look at her. “Are you okay? Did the police do that?”
He grimaced and pointed. His eyes took in the fresh damage to her face.
“Don’t be melodramatic, Harper.” She stepped inside and resisted the urge to gawk at his digs. “Cops use rubber hoses. The bruises don’t show as much. Remember that.”
After taking a good look around, she whistled in complete admiration of more than just the panoramic view of Lake Michigan. The kid lived in a regular Taj Mahal, Chi-town style. A damned museum. The best of the best. Exquisite oil paintings and top-of-the-line furnishings were no doubt picked by the hand of the finest interior decorator money could buy. And someone was a big game hunter. Exotic animals in all shapes and sizes adorned the luxury suite, forever frozen with their fierce eyes and barred teeth. Stephen King would have appreciated the eerie cross between
“Way to go, Harper.” She nodded her approval. “How did you score this place?”
The kid jammed his hands into his jean pockets and barely looked at her, giving her an open invitation to yank his chain again.
“And better yet, it doesn’t look like anyone objects to your ear bleedin’ noise decibels. In my hood, the cops would come knockin’ for sure.”
Seth shrugged. “No one else lives on this floor. The other suites are empty.”
Jess narrowed her eyes and studied him. The kid looked like a visitor here, wholly out of place and alone. And he definitely tipped the scales on the forgotten side.
“That’s ’cause not many people have the jack to live here,” she said.
Her voice echoed into the penthouse suite, a hollow, empty sound. And she got a sense that he lived alone. She wasn’t sure how she knew this, but the feeling hit her strong. CDs and DVDs were strewn across a fancy rug near a mile-long velvet divan in the formal parlor dead ahead. Baker’s laptop lay on a sheet of plastic on the rug. But other than that incidental clutter marring the picture perfect decor straight out of
“It’s not what you think. I just know…” He avoided her eyes again. “…certain people.”
“Okay, now you’re sounding like someone off
Jess hooked her fingers in air quotes and grinned, but when his only reply was another lame shrug, she let him off the hook.
“If you don’t wanna discuss it, that’s cool. But just remember, you’re talkin’ to a very stubborn woman. If I wanna know somethin’, all I gotta do is exercise my keen investigative skills.”
She winked and turned her back on him to snoop for real this time. But in a huge beveled mirror in the ostentatious foyer, she caught his reaction. Tall and lanky, Seth’s cheeks blushed with embarrassment. Tousled wavy dark hair curled at his neck, making him look like he’d just crawled out of bed. And she would have killed for his large brown eyes framed by thick lashes, a picture of innocence she could never pull off. The kid was dressed in faded jeans torn at the knee and a black Jerry Springer T-shirt.
Yep, Seth Harper was a real charmer—and one snappy dresser.
But a part of her suspected she shouldn’t envy him. Appearances weren’t always what they seemed. He had an inherent sadness behind those incredible eyes. And that was something she knew about. The kid was a kindred spirit with an ancient soul. Cutting him slack, she changed the subject to relax the poor guy.
“I see you’re working on Baker’s laptop. Does that mean you got through his ID and password?”
He brushed by her, pumped with a sudden rush of adrenaline. He flopped to the carpet sitting cross-legged with the computer propped on his lap. He was wearing thin gloves, no doubt to keep fingerprints off the computer keyboard while trying to unlock Baker’s secrets.
“Yeah, sort of,” he said.
“Let’s hear the ‘yeah’ part first. I’m not in the mood to deal with ‘sort of.’”
“Well, to get past all the security on the laptop, I took out his hard drive and hooked it up to another computer as a second drive, using my own operating system, not his. That bypassed the need to hack into his passwords.”
“Wow. That seems simple.” She grinned. “Does that mean you got the key to his magic kingdom?”
Seth scrunched his face. “Not exactly. Once I got into his hard drive, there were plenty of files to access, but every last one of them was encrypted, of the 256-bit encryption variety. He’s a pretty cagey bastard. Definitely paranoid.”
“256 sounds like a lot of bits.” She pretended to understand his geek speak. “You have any luck hacking into his business?”
“I’m working on it.” He frowned and shrugged. “But can you please refrain from using the word hack in my presence? When cats cough up a hair ball, they hack. What I’m doing takes a little more finesse.”
“Well, excuse me, Mr. Sensitive.” Jess narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll try and remember your skill level is a stroke above a cat with a fur ball.”
“Apology accepted, I guess.” He gave her a sideways grimace. “Normally, getting into a computer is no big deal, not with some of the software I’ve got. But the guy sure knows how to lay down barriers.”
Standing over him, Jess absentmindedly checked out the CDs strewn along the carpet. She had originally thought they were music CDs, but after a closer look, she noticed the shiny disks were marked with black scrawl. Nothing legible, only a cryptic numbering system to identify the bootlegged software, all except for one. But she knew enough about what a crimeware program did to wonder how the hell Seth got his hands on the stuff.
“I thought only identity thieves used crimeware.” She reached down to pick up one of the CDs. “How did you get your hands on this sort of program?”
Seth barely looked up, pretending to focus on his keystrokes.
