Page 14 of Deadly Hacker

Then, Rad’s phone lit up in his hand.

It was a text message from Mikhail. A short one, as usual.

Max said, “Duty calls, eh?”

“Yeah. The boss is looking for me. I’ll head out. Tell Grace I said bye and that I fully intend to honor our business agreement,” he replied.

“Do I even want to—no. Don’t tell me. I’m sure I’ll find out eventually.” Max chuckled.

“See you around.”

“See ya, Rad.”

As the young hacker walked out into the now-fading sunlight, he cracked his knuckles. It was time to take care of a much different task.

CHAPTER6

EMMA JEAN

In the backbedroom of a townhouse in east Las Vegas, a rectangle of light punctured the early morning darkness. A cell phone lit up and emitted a low-pitched hum with a faint repetitive melody over it. Emma Jean’s arm snaked out from under a blanket to shut off the alarm. The young woman groaned, stretched, and peeled the sheets back as she slid out of bed. She checked her phone, making sure she’d had no missed calls throughout the night. Satisfied that she had woken up on time with no emergencies to worry about, she happily trudged to her en-suite bathroom and flicked on the light.

Emma Jean rubbed her eyes at her reflection, the overhead light burning a little. She yawned and dragged a brush through her hair. She turned on the shower, breathing in deeply the scent of eucalyptus activated with warm steam. She liked to keep a fresh clipping hanging below the showerhead for a little pop of greenery and floral scent. It refreshed and woke her up even though it was barely five in the morning, after staying up late doing arts and crafts on her living room floor.

The townhouse where Emma Jean lived was a surprisingly accurate reflection of her personality. The bright white stucco was accented with navy-blue shutters and a front door painted by hand in a sunrise-orange color. There were prickly pear and aloe plants in the gently manicured yard, along with a stone birdbath and a bench perched underneath a Rocky Mountain maple tree. A set of wooden wind chimes tinkled softly as they hung from the front porch terracing. The house had a one-car garage that housed Emma Jean’s electric compact car, her beloved bicycle, and tons of gardening and yoga supplies.

The interior of the townhouse was peaceful and airy, with lots of natural light streaming in from the front and behind, depending on the time of day. There were pieces of local pottery and art hanging on the walls. A bookcase in the living room was color-coded to look like a rainbow. The spines revealed a treasure trove of medical, scientific, and theoretical knowledge, alongside photography books and the occasional sweet romance.

The kitchen was well-used and often smelled of vanilla. Emma Jean loved to bake for her friends and coworkers. The second bedroom had been converted into a small yoga studio with some additional equipment she sometimes brought to Flex and Flow. Throughout the house, the floors were nearly the same as the polished wooden floors of the yoga studio, by design. Emma Jean loved the seamless transition from her real home to her second home at the studio. She wanted the calming atmosphere to follow her from one place to the next.

But there was still room for disorder. Glue sticks, glitter, craft scissors, and several shades of colored construction paper were strewn in a small pile in the living room. Emma Jean loved to wind down in the evenings with a puzzle, sketchbook, or collage supplies and a glass of wine. This project was to design some colorful decorations for Little Tykes’ Day that week. She liked to fill the room with as many pleasant stimuli as possible. While adults needed the calm space to free their minds, she found that kids sometimes struggled to stay present if there wasn’t enough going on. She taught a range of ages, which meant finding a way to entertain twelve-year-olds while holding a toddler’s attention. Sometimes, all it took was a bright-hued streamer to keep the little ones interested.

Emma Jean hummed to herself as she rinsed the soap from her skin. Her lithe body was slick with suds and hot water, the smell of eucalyptus putting her in a calm headspace. She turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, checking her phone once again. She had to hurry up and get dressed if she wanted to be ready for her parents’ weekly phone call.

It was still an unearthly hour in Las Vegas; the sun was barely starting to penetrate the dark of night. But Emma Jean’s parents lived all the way across the country in Georgia, where the time zone was three hours ahead. It was barely five-thirty in Vegas, but it was eight-thirty in Georgia. Emma Jean’s parents would be on their way to their respective shifts at the hospital and the local community college. All her life, her parents had been early risers with demanding jobs. As a result, Emma Jean had picked up their habits. Now she, too, was an early riser who poured a lot of time and energy into her job. She admired her parents for still working so hard at their age, but she knew they were both too passionate to give up working until they physically couldn’t do it any longer. By then, Emma Jean hoped to have earned enough money to help ease them into a comfortable, worthy retirement.

She flopped down on the sofa as her phone screen lit up. She happily accepted the video call and grinned into the phone. Her mother’s smiling face popped up; then the image panned to her father behind the wheel. Her mother wore pink scrubs, while her dad was dressed in a pale striped button-up and a tie.

“Hi, darling!”

“Hey, sweetheart!”

“Good morning,” Emma Jean said. “How’s the weather over there?”

“Hot and humid,” they answered in exasperated unison. Their Southern accents gave Emma Jean a sharp pang of homesickness.

Emma Jean chuckled. “Yeah, it’s getting pretty hot here too.”

“It’s the humidity that gets you, though,” said her mom. “I don’t know why I ever style my hair in the morning. All it takes is the walk from the front door to the car and my hair looks like a bird’s nest.”

“Your hair is perfect, Helen,” said Emma Jean’s dad.

“Thank you, Paul. Anyway, I just need to look my best because my favorite doctor will be working my floor today,” Helen said.

“Oh, really? So the study is going well?” Emma Jean asked.

“Yes, it’s wonderful. I’m following the effects of specialized nutritional plans on the recovery duration and difficulty of patients who endure frequent surgeries and other medical procedures. It’s so rewarding to work with a client one-on-one and see them through some of the hardest days of their lives. So far, the results are very promising, so Dr. Brigham wants to observe for herself,” Helen explained cheerily.

“That’s awesome, Mom,” Emma Jean said.

---