Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
J
I sit, stiff as a board, on Finn Cross’s lap. He’s so tall—even when seated—that my feet dangle at least two feet off the ground.
His arms enclose me on either side, and as he works the keyboard and mouse, his chest brushes my back and shoulder. I’m stuck to him, like another layer of skin.
Much paler, much sweatier skin.
But still…
I inhale deeply to calm my nerves, but one deep drag brings the scent of Finn’s cologne to my nose. For someone covered in bruises and bandages, he smells amazing.
My watch blares out a warning. I slap my hand over it to hide the bright yellow tide that’s filling the screen. Thankfully, Finn isn’t paying any attention to me. He’s focused on fighting his way back into the system.
“Can you keep it down?” he growls. “I can’t hear myself think.”
I’d love to.
But he’s so hot. And firm.
And masculine.
I’ve never been this close to a guy before. Much less one as stunning as Finn. He’s like an expertly crafted sculpture come to life. Perfectly made, every angle of his jaw chiseled, every inch of his skin smooth and flawless.
Counting backward from ten doesn’t work. Unfortunately.
So I break out the big guns.
Inhale.
“Be still,” I hear my Gran’s voice.
Exhale.
“And know.”
I picture her in her rocking chair, gathering me to her chest as we look out over the farm.
Repeating the words along with intentional, rhythmic breathing calms me. My watch goes quiet. By the time I’ve gotten a better control of my misbehaving heartbeat, Finn has won the battle.
“You’re back in.” I applaud him.
He tilts his head to the side, his sharp chin cutting through the moonlight. The smug look of confidence in his eyes is matched by the slight upturn of his lips.
I can’t help but smile back.
His eyes flicker to my mouth. And like a ghost passing through the night, the smile putters out, and he goes back to being the serious, expressionless Finn everyone knows.
Turning stiffly to the computer, he grunts. “I’m in, but I still can’t get a read on their location.”
I peer ahead, focusing on the program he tweaked. I’d prefer people not mess with my algos, but I can admit that Finn made my work better. Stronger. More impenetrable.
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” I muse as he clacks away on the keyboard. “If you heard your mom’s voice, why don’t you just call her and ask why she’s there?”
His hands stall for the briefest moment. “It could be a mistake.”
“Or maybe it wasn’t.”
He starts typing again, ignoring me.
Tap-tap-tap.
“Maybe your mom has a good reason for taking them,” I suggest.
Finn scowls at the computer.
I twist slightly on his lap. “If you’re so sure it’s not your mom, then you must have other suspects. Your dad?”
Finn takes my chin in his hands and forces my head to face the computer. “Be quiet and watch that decryption.”
Tap-tap-tap.
My breath escapes in an annoyed huff. I’m getting real tired of his broody silent act.
It’s like talking to a gorgeous, stubborn wall.
And while I have no problem talking to walls—I’ve done plenty of brick conversing in this lonely hospital room—I’ve finally met a human who talks the same programming language that I do.
And all he wants to do is ignore me.
I get that Finn’s family members have been kidnapped, and he thinks his mom might have done it, but does he have to be such a buzz kill?
“Fine.” I frown at the computer, but I’m still shifting my weight around on his lap. “What exactly am I watching for?”
“Stop moving,” Finn grinds out.
I continue wiggling backward. “I want to, but you’re just so… hard.”
The tapping goes silent.
“You’re the one sitting on my double stuffed memory foam cushion, you know. And I’m sitting on someone who doesn’t skip leg day. It’s an unfair—gah!”
Without warning, Finn bands his arms around my waist and flings me off him like I’m a used tissue. I spin out of the chair and to my feet with an uncoordinated twirl, barely managing to find my balance.
“You stay over there,” he commands, pointing at me without looking away from the computer. “And zip it.”
I flip him the bird.
It’s useless because he’s too focused on what he’s doing.
The prick.
My watch chirps.
Yeah, yeah. Finn Cross isn’t good for my heart or my blood pressure. I don’t need my watch to tell me something I already know.
Annoyed, I stomp to the other end of the table, far away from Finn. There’s not much to see on the monitor as the program runs in the background. Then suddenly, the monitor shifts to a new terminal.
My eyes widen. “Finn, the decryption.”
He wheels over to the third monitor, two deep wrinkles between his eyebrows.
“Were you trying to get control of their computer?” I ask, noticing the commands available to him. “Because I don’t think this will do it.”
Finn types something on the keyboard.
The cursor moves along with him, filling in a message.
Mom, it’s me. Finn. Where are you?
My gaze darts between Finn and the computer. “I thought you didn’t believe the kidnapping had anything to do with your mom?”
“I hope I’m right,” he says quietly. So quietly that I might have misunderstood.
The cursor blinks once.
Twice.
Finn’s eyes fill with hope. Is he hoping his mom responds to the message or that she doesn’t?
At that moment, the cursor starts moving on its own.
The kidnappers are responding.
I sprint closer to the desk as if my nearness will allow me to receive the message faster.
The cursor blinks again:
Finn becomes the sculpture I always thought him to be because he doesn’t move at all. He stares at the screen, his long arms dangling at his sides and his bottom lip stiffening.
I can’t imagine what he’s thinking right now, what he’s going through. The hope that he was talking to someone other than his mother must be shrinking by the second.
A vein throbbing in the center of his forehead, Finn types furiously back.
The cursor blinks for at least twenty seconds. I count each and every one. I’d be on the edge of my seat if Finn hadn’t booted me out of the chair.
My gaze lands on Finn. He’s staring at the computer screen, eyes averted, nostrils flaring.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” I rasp.
His lips press into a thin, firm line.
Then he types:
The cursor blinks again.
I hold my breath until they start typing.
Finn pulls his fingers into fists.
Just then, the terminal blinks green. The kidnappers are hosting a two-way stream, basically opening the door to us.
My speakers are still connected to the system, so I’m able to hear the warm, feminine voice as it pours through the air.
“Finn? It’s me. It’s Mom.”
Finn swallows hard, refusing to approach the computer.
“Finn, can you hear me?”
Finn launches out of his chair and starts pacing.
“I don’t think she’s AI, Finn,” I mumble. “Trust me.”
Finn’s eyes flash to mine, pure darkness and lashing storms.
After observing him from afar, I made a few calculations about who he is. But I think I missed a critical piece of the puzzle: Finn is quiet, but he’s not emotionless. The brokenness is there, right on the surface. His is the face of one suffering betrayal.
“Finn, I can explain,” his mother says. Her voice sounds muffled. My speakers are high quality, so it’s the connection that’s poor. She’s either deep underground or somewhere far, far away from the US.
“Please.”
Finn stops pacing abruptly. His expression is blank, but those eyes…
My watch buzzes. I look down and see the spike in my heart rate.
“I have only one question, Mom,” Finn growls in a low voice that sends goosebumps climbing over my skin. “What did you do with the girls?”