Page 80 of Nothing to Fear

“What’s wrong with fresh air? We’re on the top floor. There’s no fire escape for someone to climb up, and no one knows we’re here. We’re safe. Aren’t we?”

In two long strides, he crossed the distance separating them, snatching the oxygen from her lungs. “It’s easy to jump from one balcony to another.”

There were too many factors throwing off her equilibrium, wreaking havoc on her brain waves, while he circumnavigated everything fearlessly.

“The windows stay locked, curtains closed while I’m out.” His tone was caustic.

“I know you’re trying to keep me safe, and I can follow orders. I take them from the chief all the time. But I won’t be ordered about. There’s a difference.” She rubbed her arms, glancing around the small room, not much larger than the quarters on the boat. “I want to eat in the restaurant. Not cooped up in here.”

Eyeing her, he went motionless, growing so rigid that she had to look away from the unearthliness of him.

“Please.” She stared at her feet, suddenly self-conscious about her nudity. “I need it. My life is in pieces. I have no idea what’s going to happen. I had to leave my father, everything familiar behind, with nothing certain. I was confined on the boat, then the ride in the little van, now this room.” Anxiety spiraled inside her, her mind racing. The walls were closing in. “I need a long walk, but I know it’s too risky. Please, let’s eat in the restaurant.”

Heavy silence followed—a gaping hole where the conversation should’ve continued. A shiver ran through her. You could hear a pin drop. She pulled at the skin on the back of her hand, taking comfort in the slight pain from the pinch.

“Dangerous.” His voice was low, harsh.

Her gaze flickered to him. He looked like a terrifying, beautiful god ready to smite a wayward mortal.

“The restaurant’s dangerous?”

“No.” The icy word pierced the air, and she was lost as to what he was talking about. “We’ll eat in the restaurant.” He pulled out the gun tucked against the small of his back. A sci-fi looking 9mm with built-in silencer. “Do you remember how to fire one?”

Her eyes went wide, pulse skipping a beat. “Uh. Remove the safety. Aim. Breathe. Exhale, put my finger on the trigger. Second exhale, fire.”

He thumbed off the safety and chambered a round. The sharp sound made her flinch.

“Keep your eyes open no matter what. Aim for the head or chest. Don’t hesitate.”

She took the gun, disliking the weight of the steel in her hands and the bitter taste filling her mouth. “You might need this out there.”

“I’ll be fine.” He took the hammer from the bag he’d packed, slipped it through a belt loop, and shoved the screwdriver into his pocket, then concealed the tools with a long-sleeved shirt. “I won’t be long.”

She walked toward him, the gun shaking in her hand. At the door, he looked down at her, his eyes fixed on her mouth. She hoped he was going to kiss her, and her lips tingled at the thought.

“Lock it behind me.” He gave her a peck on the forehead and shut the door.

Beating back disappointment, she turned the deadbolt and exhaled the breath she’d been holding.

“Chain,” he said from the other side of the door.

She threw the chain on and set the gun on the nightstand. In four days, her entire world had been pulverized to so many unrecognizable bits, nothing left was tangible.

Finally, everything was hitting her at once. She might go to prison for something she didn’t do. Assassins were hunting her, and her father…

Willow sat on the bed and stared at the new laptop. She needed to get her life back, starting by taking care of her end of the plan.

In the electronic store they’d stopped at, she had bought a pair of high-fidelity earplugs designed for concert goers, but they should filter sound the same. She was so used to the comforting feel of the earbuds while working at the office that she used them at home as well.

She set up the laptop, logged into the hotel Wi-Fi, and downloaded Tor—the onion router. The program allowed her to surf the darknet. In Onionland, as it was also known, people traded in Bitcoin, bought hacking services, and hired contract killers, and she’d even discovered a nasty bioweapon for sale.

Which was precisely how all this trouble started less than a month ago, when she stumbled upon the auction of weaponized smallpox that had led the Gray Box to Aleksander “the Ghost” Novak. In a roundabout way, she was responsible for putting herself dead center in the mole’s crosshairs and for jeopardizing Gideon’s life. She had to do everything in her power to save herself and give him any possible assistance.

Surfing the layers of the dark web, she nosed around in one of her peer-to-peer networks. She wasn’t friends or colleagues with anyone on here—at least she didn’t think so. Everyone hid their identity. She fished through the available files and found the illegal kernel-mode rootkit.

The clandestine software wasn’t malware on its own but had the stealth capability to make the malicious payload bundled with it undetectable. The program was complex, highly sophisticated. It would run as part of the operating system itself on the targeted computer, opening a back door and giving her carte blanche security access.

Willow embedded the program in a link in an email, which wouldn’t be flagged by IT, unlike some attachments, and sent it to every offshore-accounts manager at the bank. She and Gideon would sit with one of those managers in the morning, and as a million-dollar client, she could ensure that they not only opened the email but also clicked the link.