Page 5 of Deadly Hacker

The handsome hacker shut down his programs, closed up his laptop, and cleaned up the scene for whoever came along next. Then he slipped out of the police station just as smoothly as he’d infiltrated it, got in his car, and went back to the strip club to finish the morning’s chore.

After closing the deal, he would have his pick of gorgeous dancers to unwind with for the remainder of the evening.

CHAPTER2

EMMA JEAN

The sun smiled downbetween fluffy white clouds over an artsy neighborhood of downtown Las Vegas on Tuesday morning. The streets were flooded with vehicles and pedestrians—early-bird tourists wandering around before the summer heat would hit its peak at midday and Vegas locals on their daily commute. At the crosswalk of an intersection sat a line of cars, the drivers all drawn to the young woman pedaling across the lines.

Emma Jean Porter was eye-catching. Her mane of soft golden curls trailed out behind her in the breeze as she crossed the busy road on her white bicycle, complete with a cutesy brown woven basket at the front and a larger pannier affixed to the back. There was a pair of knock-off wireless pods in her ears playing through a list of her favorite music to start the day. Upbeat tunes reverberated in her ears as she smiled into the wind. The sun shone on the apples of her high cheekbones and her full lips. Her greenish-blue eyes were safely sheltered behind a pair of vintage aviator sunglasses picked up from a consignment store.

Her bicycle glided across the road and up onto the sidewalk. Emma Jean hummed softly along with her playlist as she pedaled up a slight hill to her place of employment. Morning light radiated across the reflective silver tile roofing of the Sunrise Business Complex, making it stand out like a beacon against the blue sky. As always, Emma Jean’s heart skipped a beat when the building came into view. Not nerves, but anticipation.

Emma Jean loved her job as a yoga instructor at the gymnasium on the top floor of the building, and she looked forward to every session with enthusiasm. She considered herself lucky; she was one of the few privileged enough to follow her passion and turn it into paying work. Truthfully, she knew she would be doing yoga in some format whether for a job or otherwise, but it was certainly helpful to get paid for it. After all, she had risked quite a lot to get here.

She had moved all the way out to Nevada from her small, rural hometown in Georgia when she was only eighteen years old so she could enroll in the University of Nevada’s health and yoga instruction certification program. Despite suffering bouts of loneliness and homesickness, Emma Jean had powered through the certification program, graduating at the top of her class with a small group of friends gained along the way.

Straight out of university, she had been hired on as a temporary fill-in instructor at the Sunrise Business Complex while the original yoga teacher was on maternity leave. But when that instructor had decided to take the stay-at-home-mom path, Emma Jean had been ushered in as the main instructor at only twenty-one.

Now, a year later and a year older, she thought of the gym as her second home. Of course, it certainly helped that her first home was only four blocks away, making her commute a breezy bicycle ride each morning. Most of her coworkers drove to work and often lectured Emma Jean on the potential danger of riding her bike around town. But she relished the opportunity for a little pre-workday exercise to clear her head and get her blood pumping.

Emma Jean pedaled up to the building, passing through the peaceful landscaping of the complex grounds. It was beautifully maintained with plenty of parking for staff and customers and a Zen water feature surrounded by outdoor seating. Most days, Emma Jean came down here for her lunch hour to soak up the sunshine and breathe some fresh air, usually accompanied by one of her friendly coworkers.

She locked up her bicycle by the front entrance and grabbed her bag from the rear storage, swinging it over her shoulder. She walked into the complex and was greeted immediately by the doorman. She gave him a wink and a wave as she strode across the lobby to the elevator.

The first and second floors of the building were taken up by a local bank called Saguaro Financial. Carved mahogany chairs were arranged in the customer waiting area. Tellers sorted papers and typed at their computers across the room.

Emma Jean took out her earbuds as she greeted one after another staff member. She hopped into the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor. She watched the glowing red number change from first to second to third. Floor number three contained a food court with multiple small restaurants to choose from, as well as restrooms kept in pristine condition.

Emma Jean’s favorite spot was a locally run cafe with organic smoothies and coffee drinks, which she often bought in between classes for an energy boost.

But the very top floor was her true domain. Stepping into the gym felt like walking into another (albeit very fancy) room of her house. The gym was large and well-outfitted with state-of-the-art machinery and equipment. There was space enough for several suites in which her coworkers taught classes and ran therapeutic practices. There were floor-to-ceiling windows boasting a stunning view of the Vegas cityscape, a refreshment stand, a sauna, and even an indoor heated pool.

Most importantly of all to Emma Jean was the yoga suite, called Flex and Flow Studio. She pushed the door open and breathed in the soft scent of an oil diffuser, the hints of lavender and peppermint hanging faintly in the air from yesterday. The morning sun streamed in through the wide windows, illuminating the polished wooden floors. There were a few comfy, oversized bean bag chairs in one corner along with a coffee table artfully strewn with wellness magazines. Hand-painted local art hung on the walls next to informational posters about pressure points, chakras, and the benefits of yoga for health. There was a white-noise machine as well as a stereo system. Emma Jean had added a little of her own flavor with a ukulele hanging on the wall and some singing bowls on a shelf.

She grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge, took a few big gulps, and started warming up before the usual Tuesday-morning work meeting. She had time to meditate and stretch for a few minutes, then she headed across the gym to the small conference room. She walked in to find her fellow staff members already gathered. They were gossiping and sharing anecdotes from the weekend. Emma Jean’s heart swelled to see those smiling faces. Her closest coworker friend, Miguel, waved her over.

“I saved you a seat,” he said, laughing, as though they would ever run out of seating anyway. The gym had only a handful of staff members, and many of them were too amped up to sit for long. They stood up, walked around, and stretched while chatting.

“So, how was your Father’s Day?” asked Miguel.

“Good. I got to talk to Dad on the phone. He’s not really a flowers-and-chocolates kind of guy, so I ordered him a pizza. He got a kick out of that. He kept asking, ‘How’d you do that from all the way out in Nevada?’ I don’t think he completely understands how the Internet works.” Emma Jean giggled. “What about you?”

“Well, you know Ihadto hit the bars. Father’s Day? Come on. I can’t resist all those lonely older guys drinking alone because their punk kid didn’t send them a card or whatever,” Miguel said.

Emma Jean batted at his arm playfully. “So, basically you take advantage of their emotional vulnerability just to sleep with a hot older man?” she clarified.

Miguel shrugged. “It’s not like I’m using them! I just consider it my personal mission to, you know, brighten up their day a little bit. Besides, I don’t sleep withallof them. Just the hottest, loneliest ones. I distract them from their woes. It’s practically a public service.”

“You’re a saint,” she said with a laugh.

“And that’s why I work here—helping people recover from injuries and train for marathons totally cancels out my other sins,” he joked.

As Emma Jean was about to reply, the conference room door swung open and the staff team leader power-walked in. She was barely five-foot-eight, but with the presence of a much larger person. She was ripped, her arms and legs powerful enough to snap a limb like a twig. Stacy was a type-A ball of energy, a power lifter and bodybuilder who could go toe to toe with just about any musclebound man who walked into the gym. Those who dared underestimate her quickly learned their lesson. Stacy was a fair leader, but her bandwidth for bullshit was limited.

“Good morning, team!” she greeted in her booming voice. She clapped her hands together as the gym team parroted ‘good morning’ back at her. Stacy was dressed in her usual athleisure uniform with her name sewn over her heart.

“Yeah, that’s what I like to hear! Some enthusiasm on this early Tuesday morning!” She grinned. “I hope you all had a great weekend and now you’re ready to get those juices flowing and that blood pumping!”

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