Page 23 of The Five Year Lie

“Like frequent-flier miles?” Drew asks.

“Exactly like that,” Trevor agrees. “They use the points to get camera equipment of their own. They can put it wherever—like public parks and bus stops. Anywhere crime happens.”

“Uh-huh. I get it. Better than donuts.” Fewer calories, plus a side order of invasion of privacy.

“Yeah, and when the department signs on to the partnership program, they also get a map of all the cameras in their jurisdiction. Helps them access private footage.”

Drew’s neck tingles, even as he keeps his tone nonchalant. “A map. How does that work?”

“Every camera has a serial number,” Trevor says through cookie crumbs. “If the police own the cameras, they can see ’em anytime, yeah? But the private ones they can’t see on demand.”

“Unless they get a warrant,” Drew supplies.

“Yeah, but that’s not the only way. The police can request the footage from anyone’s doorbell camera. There’s a function in the app for that. It’s quicker than a warrant. Most civilians just hand over the footage with one tap.”

Drew nudges the cookies toward Trevor. “So how does the cop know who to ask?”

“That’s why the partner program matters. If a police force is signed up with us, they see a real-time map of every camera in the neighborhood.”

“Handy,” Drew says quickly. “And that’s not a privacy concern?”

“People can opt out,” Trevor says with a shrug. “But most of them don’t bother.”

Drew takes a sip of his coffee because he can’t think of anything nice to say.

“Thanks for the cookies. I should probably get back to it.” Trevor takes one more cookie for the road.

But Drew snaps his fingers, as if an idea has just come to him. “Hey, can I ask you a question? I’m working on a new feature for the app, and I can’t remember how the control stack links up to the client record. Can you remind me?”

“Sure, dude.” He makes a loose gesture for Drew to follow him.

Drew is right on his heels as Trevor reaches his desk and nudges the mouse to wake up his screen.

Chime Co. terminals lock after a three-minute hiatus, so the log-in screen appears on Trevor’s monitor. Drew watches very carefully as Trevor inputs his password.

He watches far less carefully as Trevor explains the bit of code he’d asked about. And then he goes back to his own desk and gets busy with the work he’s being paid to do.

Friday afternoon drags on, and Drew has to bargain with himself not to stare at Ariel, even though she’s right in his field of vision. And even though she’s worn low-cut tops to work every single day this week.

He knows her fashion choices aren’t for his benefit. They’re a blatantfuck youto her father.

Drew appreciates her sense of humor almost as much as he appreciates the view.

When five o’clock finally comes, Zain stands up from his desk chair and stretches. “Want food?” he asks. “Thinking of running out to the deli before it closes. Then I’m going to put in a couple more hours.”

“No thanks,” Drew says, trying not to feel disappointed. With Zain hanging around, the night won’t end the same as last week—when Drew found an excuse to treat Ariel to dinner, before spending the best three or four hours of his year making her laugh.

Then he kissed her good night, and that kiss lasted half an hour.

Terrible idea, though. What had he been thinking?

Zain walks out, and Drew writes another line of code. His goal is to be an average employee in every way. Average productivity. Average hours spent at his desk. Average khaki pants. When he moves on from this job, nobody will be able to remember much about him.Drew? Nice guy. Kinda average.

That’s the plan, anyway. It’s the best one he’s got.

Ariel passes by his desk in a swish of lemon shampoo and attitude. She doesn’t even glance at him as she turns the corner in front of his desk, heading for the door on tanned legs that he shouldn’t be noticing.

At the last second, though, a Post-it note flutters from her hand and onto his desk. If he weren’t so damn aware of her, he might have missed it.