Exploited (Zero Day #1) Read online

  “I’m on my way to see Charlotte. I hoped you’d come with me. It would be nice to see her together, don’t you think?” She dropped her purse on the floor of the living room and immediately started a close inspection of everything.

  That was another reason I made sure never to invite her over. The nosiness.

  “Why didn’t you call?” I asked. It sounded like an accusation. It was.

  I took the throw pillows from my mother’s hands and put them back on the couch. She was touching too many things. It bothered me.

  “I tried. You didn’t answer.”

  I picked up my phone and saw that she had indeed tried to call me. Four times. I had put the phone on silent last night when I was working on the new SQL coding. Damn it.

  “I planned to go see Charlotte this week.” I tried not to scream as she wiped a finger along the edge of the television, inspecting for dust.

  “How long have you lived here?” Mom asked, ignoring my statement. She was frowning, chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes troubled.

  “Three years. But Mom, you can go on. I’ll see Charlotte later—”

  “Three years?” Her eyes widened incredulously.

  “Yes, three years.” I followed her as she walked into the kitchen, her hand hovering over my laptop keyboard. I quickly reached around her and slammed the lid.

  “It’s time you added a picture or two to the walls, don’t you think? It’s rather dull.” Mom glanced around the room, her mouth pinched in criticism.

  “I’m not really into clutter.” I trailed after my mother as she made her way back into the living room. “Like I said, I’ll see Charlotte next week—”

  “Can I have a glass of water? I’m parched,” Mom interrupted, putting a hand to her throat dramatically.

  I sighed but nodded. “Sure.”

  When I came back with the glass of water I found my mother looking through my mail. “Find anything interesting?” I asked drily, handing her the glass and taking the stack of bills from her hand.

  Mom took a sip, looking at me over the rim of her cup. “Come with me to see Charlotte,” she tried again.

  “I’ll see her in a few days,” I countered.

  She walked from one end of the room to the other and I watched her warily. “You’ve never had me over for dinner.”

  “What?” I asked in confusion, raising my eyebrows.

  “Or coffee. Or even a movie. Why is that? You’ve lived in this house for three years and this is only the fifth time I’ve been here.”

  “We don’t do coffee, Mom. Or movies. Or dinner,” I pointed out, feeling uncomfortable. What had gotten into her today? She seemed agitated. It filled me with a disquiet I couldn’t identify.

  “No. But you used to go to the movies with your dad. Once a month. It was your special thing,” she mused, her smile a little bitter, her eyes a little sad.

  “Mom—”

  “I’d say we could go to lunch or see a movie, but we wouldn’t do that, would we?” she asked, and I didn’t bother to answer. Not when we both knew what the answer would be.

  “Did you hear about the federal investigation against Ryan Law?” she asked suddenly.

  “Yes. I did hear about that.” I cleared my throat, unsettled by the clashing of my two lives in that one simple question..

  “I’m glad. They’re not very nice people.” She wiped her eyes and gave me a smile. “Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

  “I guess,” I said slowly, wondering. Always wondering.

  She pulled something out of her purse and handed it to me. I took the ornate silver frame and looked down at the photograph. “Where did you find this?”

  “I was going through boxes in the attic to take to Goodwill. I’m cleaning out a lot of things and I found your father’s stuff from the office. He used to have that picture on his desk, if you remember.” My mother’s face softened as she gazed at the photograph of Charlotte and me, our arms slung around each other, standing knee deep in a pile of leaves.

  “Yeah, I remember,” I whispered, staring down at the picture. My mom’s mood made sense now. Thinking about Dad had that effect on her. On both of us.

  Mom glanced around the barren room. “I have other pictures if you want them—”

  “No, this is enough,” I cut in, putting the picture down on the coffee table. My chest felt tight. My eyes burned.

  I hated feeling this way.

  Like I was drowning.

  Drowning in memories of a time I could never get back. Drowning in memories that served only to remind me of how much I had lost.

  This was why I avoided spending time with my mother. The feelings she evoked suffocated me.

  Mom finished drinking the rest of her water, the only noise coming from the television. It was uncomfortable. Awkward. The innocent smiles of my sister and me mocked from the coffee table.

  It was in moments like this that I truly missed my father more than usual. His easy smile. His silly jokes. I hadn’t ever felt out of place with him.

  —

  “What are you working on up here?” Dad asked, appearing in the doorway to my room.

  I looked up from my computer. I had been messing with some simple coding, getting totally absorbed in the strings of numbers and letters.

  Dad came into my room and sat down on the bed, looking over my shoulder as I worked. “That looks complicated.”

  I laughed. “It’s just some basic JavaScript. It’s really not a big deal.”

  “That’s pretty incredible, Han. How did you learn to do this stuff?” Dad asked, clearly impressed. And proud. He was always proud of me.

  “I’ve been doing some reading. I think it’s pretty cool.”

  Dad let out a low whistle, grinning widely. “There’s not a day that goes by that I’m not blown away by you, Han. You’re going to be something amazing one day. I can’t wait to see everything you accomplish.” He kissed the top of my head and I felt so happy.

  Dad got me in a way that Mom didn’t. I knew she wished I was more like Charlotte. Into shopping and sports instead of spending my time behind a computer screen.

  Dad accepted me and encouraged whatever I wanted to do.

  “Whatever, Dad. It’s just a hobby,” I protested modestly.

  “Don’t do that, Hannah,” he scolded.

  “Don’t do what?” I frowned.

  “Make light of your talents. If you’re good at something, own it. Celebrate it. Don’t hide it away.” He smiled again. “Now show me what exactly you’re doing.”

  —

  My dad had made up for what lacked between my mother and me. Having his love mattered more than what I was missing from her.

  Memories of Dad were bittersweet. I loved them. I hated how they hurt. Even after all this time it felt like I was being ripped open.

  When I lost my father, I lost the one person who accepted me and loved me in equal measure. I lost someone I felt close to.

  I hadn’t felt that sort of connection since. Except with Charlotte. And that was all mixed up with grief and pain. I had forgotten what it felt like to be cared about and not to have it hurt.

  I had tried with Rose. Our quasi friendship had resembled intimacy, but it had ultimately proven toxic for both of us. I had attempted to get close to a boy or two in college, but it had all been so empty.

  I spent most days believing I was okay with the isolation. That I required it to exist.

  Then my mother came along with a picture of my sister and me, reminding me of exactly what I was missing.

  My mother fidgeted with the strap of her purse, pulling it up higher onto her shoulder.

  “We don’t do coffee or lunch, but maybe you could come by the house sometime,” she suggested tentatively.

  I knew she meant well. She always did.

  But that ship had sailed.

  There had been a time when perhaps we could have been closer. But the person I had become over the years couldn’t afford transparency with anyone.


  Mom couldn’t know me. So it was easier to keep her at arm’s length.

  “You should probably get going if you’re going to see Charlotte. Let her know I’ll be by soon.” I patted my mother on the arm and she pulled me in for a hug. A stiff embrace that had us both pulling away almost instantly.

  “Okay. We’ll talk soon,” she said, making no further overtures for us to spend time together.

  It was a relief.

  It was heartbreaking.

  I walked her to the door and waved as she made her way to her car.

  And when I was alone again, I hated the silence that I always relished. I hated the solitude I usually craved.

  I picked up my phone, wishing I had someone to call. Someone to unload to.

  But I had no one.

  No friends.

  I had built my life that way on purpose, but for the first time it felt…lonely.

  Without realizing what I was doing, I dialed a number and held the ringing phone to my ear.

  “Agent Kohler.”

  I froze. I thought about hanging up but knew that Mason would only call back.

  Why had I called him?

  Feeling low, I had reached out without a second thought.

  What was I thinking?

  Was I thinking at all?

  “Hi, Mason.”

  “Hannah, hi.” I could hear his smile through the phone. It lifted my heavy, heavy heart.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” I could hear the tapping of a keyboard. The shuffling of papers.

  “I’m at the office. Thought I’d come in and get some work done while the place was quiet.”

  “Oh, well, I don’t want to bug you—” Calling him had been a mistake. I’d see him later. I shouldn’t be so needy. That wasn’t how I was supposed to play this.

  “You’re not bothering me. Not in the slightest. Are you okay? You sound a little down.” He was observant. Too observant. It should bother me.

  It didn’t.

  I liked that he picked up on my mood without my having to say anything.

  “My mother came by. She brought a framed picture of Charlotte and me that used to sit on my dad’s desk at work.” I spoke quickly, as if scared the words would dry up and get lost.

  “Oh. Well that’s nice, isn’t it?” He stopped shuffling papers and typing on his computer. I had his attention.

  All of it.

  It was a heady feeling.

  “I miss my dad,” I whispered, wiping away stray wetness from my eyes. He pulled the emotion from me carefully. Without even realizing what he was doing.

  “I know you do,” he whispered back. No “I’m sorry.” No insincere condolences. Just “I know.” It was enough.

  “I thought it would have stopped hurting so much by now,” I found myself saying.

  “I don’t think it ever stops hurting that much,” he said.

  “I wish you were wrong.”

  “The only thing that helps is time. And being with people who make you feel better.”

  “Can I see you? Now?” I found myself asking. Why was I doing this? Why was I ripping myself open for him to see?

  Why did it feel so right?

  “Of course, Hannah. I’ll be there in ten.”

  “Thank you,” I said before he hung up.

  “Always.”

  I put my hand over my heart. Hating the way it beat louder and harder for him.

  But enjoying it too.

  —

  “I’m glad you called me.” Mason leaned down and kissed me. A sweet pressing of lips that had me questioning my sanity.

  I smiled. It was all I could do. I was all out of coy, flirty responses. I couldn’t play the part of seductive siren today.

  I was feeling raw.

  Exposed.

  And I had called the one person I couldn’t be honest with.

  What in the hell was wrong with me?

  I blamed my mother.

  Damn her.

  “But you’re busy. You have work to do.” I tried to backtrack. To salvage the mess I had made.

  It was too late.

  Mason was here.

  And I wanted him to be.

  Keep your distance. Don’t let him close. Don’t forget why he’s in your life.

  Shut up!

  “Stop it. Grab your coat. We’re getting out of here.” Mason’s eyes sparkled when he looked at me.

  God, why did that feel so good?

  I did as I was told and followed him out to his car.

  I could question everything later.

  Right now I didn’t want to second-guess myself.

  “Where are we going?” I asked once we were in the car.

  “What do you think about going ice-skating?” he asked, and I laughed.

  It felt good.

  The laughing.

  “Ice-skating? Seriously?”

  Mason smirked. “Why? I’ve always wanted to give it a try. Could be entertaining to watch me fall on my ass. Have you ever been?”

  I sobered slightly. “Yeah, I used to go when I was little. My dad would take Charlotte and me. I was pretty good, but I haven’t been since I was thirteen.”

  Mason reached out and took my hand, giving it a squeeze. “Well, maybe it’s time to try again.”

  His words seemed to hold so much meaning. He had no idea how much.

  “Maybe,” I conceded, squeezing back.

  We drove all the way to the sports complex as Mason told me stories about Perry, his hapless partner. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed so much.

  “And I had to tell him that the self-tanner he was using had turned his skin orange. I couldn’t figure out how he hadn’t noticed when he looked in the mirror.” He chuckled, turning in to the parking lot.

  “I wish I could see this guy. The fake tan and bad aftershave have me intrigued,” I said, snickering.

  “Everyone has that one coworker who drives them crazy. Unfortunately for me, it’s my partner.” He parked the car and we got out. Mason took my hand, lacing our fingers together.

  The earlier sadness had lifted. Now I couldn’t stop smiling.

  That’s a problem.

  Not right now. Not when I needed to feel good about something.

  “Yeah, I have one of those. Mine’s like a puppy that won’t leave you alone and you feel bad if you kick him across the room,” I said, walking through the door that Mason held open for me.

  “Oh, really? Tell me more about this puppy.” Mason raised an eyebrow and I made a face.

  “His name is Kyle. He’s young. Just out of college. And he always wants me to teach him how to do silly computer hacks—”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck! What was I saying?

  Mason made it so easy to forget the lies. Forget the stories.

  To forget to hide.

  “Computer hacks? Should you be admitting that sort of thing to an FBI agent?” he teased, bumping me with his elbow.

  I felt like I was going to pass out.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  For Mason it was a joke. Something he could laugh about.

  He had no idea…

  This was a reminder of how I couldn’t drop the act. Not for one single second.

  “Nothing crazy, just how to send stupid gifs to people. Things like that. Kyle likes to mess around with our coworkers,” I remarked dismissively.

  We got in line. Mason put his arm around my shoulder, holding me close. “Tell Kyle to watch out. He could get in trouble for things like that.”

  Mason chuckled, not taking the conversation seriously. But I felt like I had been dunked in ice water. The chill went straight to my heart.

  “Yeah, that’s what I keep telling him,” I said lightly, trying not to hyperventilate. We approached the counter and got our skates.

  “So this Kyle wants to spend time with you. It sounds like he has a crush.”

  I snorted. “I doubt it. I know for a fact the extent of his romantic interests involves anonymo
us Internet chat rooms.”

  “Don’t underestimate your charms, Hannah Whelan. Any man with a pulse would be into you,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss me.

  Thankfully all talk of Kyle was over.

  We changed into our skates, putting our shoes and coats in a locker before hobbling across the floor to the rink. Mason gripped my arm tightly. “Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. I can barely stand upright on the damn carpet,” he complained.

  “Should I get you one of the penguins so you can keep your balance?” I ribbed, indicating the row of plastic penguins in bright red hats for the young children to use so they wouldn’t fall.

  Mason gave me a withering look. “I’m sure I can keep up.”

  We took a step onto the ice and Mason immediately started flailing. He held on to my arm so tightly that I began to lose feeling in my fingers.

  “Just take it slow—”

  “Whoa!” Mason yelped, his legs coming out from underneath him. He fell onto the ice with a thud, taking me with him. I hit the ice hard, probably bruising a few bones in the process. We lay in a tangled heap as people skated around us.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mason apologized, running his hands along my arms, my face, looking for injury.

  Our eyes met and we both started laughing. And we couldn’t stop. We were grinning madly, not caring that our asses were numb.

  Mason leaned over, his hand cupping the back of my head, pulling me toward him. He kissed me firmly. With intent. Possessive but oh so tender.

  “Should we try this again?” he asked, sounding a little breathless. Was that from me?

  “Just hang on,” I replied, just as breathless.

  I got to my feet, a lot more confident in my abilities than Mason was. He clung to me and I didn’t care that his fingers hurt as they dug in.

  “Slowly pick your feet up like you’re walking—”

  Mason fell again, once more taking me with him.

  “This is just sad,” he moaned as I cracked up again.

  “Mister, I think you need this.” A little boy, no older than eight or so, stood beside us, holding on to one of the plastic penguins.

  I glanced at Mason, wondering if his pride was hurt. Wondering how he’d react to publicly humiliating himself. Some men would get angry. Some would storm off.

  Not Mason Kohler.

  He slowly got to his very unstable feet and smiled. “Thank you. I really appreciate that,” he said.