Page 59 of The Boss

My hands are trembling so much I have trouble getting the device out of the tiny bag. But I do. I inhale and exhale, calming my racing heart. I pull up my jeans, tuck the little black rectangle in my back pocket and flush the toilet (because I am positive any guard worth his salt is listening to hear an actual toilet flush when a suspected spy goes to the bathroom.)

I grab the plain black laptop bag I was given, pull out my MacBook, and quickly pop the little chip into the USB port. You can barely see it’s there since it’s so tiny, almost flush with theedge of my computer. I shove the laptop back down and wait a beat, then bust out of the bathroom like I’m annoyed.

The cover of irritation explains my flustered state. Hopefully. Now that my plan is in motion, I start to sweat. Vix better know what the hell she’s doing. She’s a hacker, do hackers even know the hardware stuff?

Plus, she’s a Russian, she could’ve sent me an empty piece of plastic just to fuck me over. I don’t think she would, honor among thieves and all that, and, like, girl code, right?

Right.

Fuck!

I sit at the table and pull out my phone first. Not that I can use it to send or receive anything interesting. I turn it on for appearances.

Should I get a coffee?

No. The guards don’t care if I get a coffee. They know I’m here for the internet.

Okay, calm, Luna. Open this thing and you have three minutes.

My phone lights up and—

Ping!

Ping! Ping! Ping!

“Fuck!” I yell. Loudly. The whole coffee shop pauses, suddenly silent, everyone looking at me. “Sorry,” I offer a fake smile, “Too much caffeine.”

Get. It. Together!

I put my phone on silent and then look for a clock somewhere. I can’t use the timer on my phone in case they’re actively watching what apps I’m using.

Right, there’s a clock on the laptop itself. I mean, normally there is.

Here we fucking go.

I open the laptop.

It’s off. I press the power button and try to ignore my leg bouncing violently under the table like I’m having a seizure. I fight the urge to bite my nail or look around. I’m a normal person simply waiting on their MacBook to boot up.

It takes years to start. Decades. Then the little tone sounds and I hold my breath. Will the screen look different? Will some kind of notification pop up? If Quinn’s people are surveilling me, will an alarm go off the second this thing turns on?

Vix didn’t tell me what to expect when I turn it on.

Shit shit shit!

Oh.

Looks normal. Okay. Browser. I go to a new incognito window, just in case. After that I sneak a glance at Mac. He’s not looking at me. The other guy is in line for a coffee, his back to me. Neither of them get a notification on their phones or any kind of message in an ear piece or any of that.

Thank God.

I bring up one of my favorite tools, a property assessor website for the state of Massachusetts. I usually use Florida but they’re all similar. I navigate to the search function I want and type in what I saw on Quinn’s truck, “SQ Holdings.”

I hold my breath and look at my phone. Two minutes.

Mac! He’s taking out his phone.

Fuck! I’m dead.I’m so dead!