My Soul Loves: Hidden Creek Series #1 Read online

Her nightcap was laid out on the dresser, and her worn Bible and glasses case were on the bedside table. Everything was in its place. That’s how Grandma rolled.

  Cleaning out that room would be terribly sad, and I decided there was really no reason I couldn’t delay the task until I felt ready, whether that be next week or three months from now. I’d face it when I felt strong enough. In the meantime, I’d take the bedroom across the hall and the hall bath for my own.

  The third bedroom, the one to the left at the top of the stairs, was going to be my office. Grandma hadn’t used the room for much, other than storing Christmas decorations and such, and the door had always been closed to save heating and cooling it. I felt no sentimental attachment to that room. In fact, I couldn’t wait to get started transforming it.

  That line of thought made me feel a little twitchy and impatient. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone an entire day without touching a keyboard. I’d worked ahead on my current project so I wouldn’t jeopardize the deadline by taking some time off, but it still felt weird to spend a whole day away from all things technology related. Well, except for my phone. A girl traveling alone has to have a phone.

  I’d made the decision not to bring any of the tools of my trade with me, even though I wasn’t used to being separated from them. My plan was to concentrate solely on the house for a few days. My regular moving truck would get here on Saturday, three days from now, but all my computer equipment was being packed and moved by a trustworthy technology relocation company, and that truck wouldn’t be arriving until Monday.

  Which was okay—if I could handle the twitchiness—because that would give me a chance to get the room ready.

  Yes, I’m aware that it’s unusual to own enough computer equipment to warrant specially skilled movers and a separate truck, but when it comes to making a living, I’m one lucky girl. I have my dream job, plain and simple, and it just happens to require a lot of computer stuff, along with a ton of really cool gadgets. It’s also challenging and rewarding, and I like to think my work makes a difference.

  Ironically, although I’m very proud of what I do, few people know exactly what that is. Even my family has no idea. They think I work for a nice all-American software firm designing websites. If they knew what I really do, and the kind of money I make, their jaws would hit the floor. Because, after all, I’m a college drop-out. There’s no way I could be making more money than sisters Audrey and Ella, who both have their master’s degrees. Only…..I do. Lots more.

  As it turns out, a college degree isn’t the be-all, end-all in the world of computer hacking. Which is a good thing, because sitting still in school and getting the expected straight A’s was just not going to happen for me. Thankfully I discovered my true passion in the eighth grade, and I’ve been perfecting my craft ever since. The fact that I get paid extremely well for doing what I love is a bonus.

  I know hacking sounds like a bad thing to do, but it doesn’t have to be. My job is totally legitimate. I’m one of the good guys—a “white hat” hacker. I admit that when I first started, my hacking was not always on the up-and-up. It also wasn’t malicious. Yes, I liked to see which networks I could hack into, but the challenge for me was the breech itself, not snooping around once I got in. And I never caused any harm.

  I was in my mid-teens and a year into my hobby when I began making online connections with other hackers. Thankfully, I was drawn to like-minded, harmless souls, rather than to ones who had darker motives. It was through those interactions—primarily discussion forums—that I’d realized I could actually use my abilities to do good and to make a living instead of just entertaining myself.

  When I quit college after two years, I started officially working in the “industry.” I’m currently part of a seven-member team that works with government contractors performing cyber-security jobs for the military.

  It’s fulfilling, if sometimes kind of dark. The U.S. Department of Defense is under attack twenty-four seven by too many faceless evil-doers to count. My team is hired to test systems and try to find problem areas before the bad guys do. It’s a very cutthroat environment. We’re competing against dozens of other subcontractors who do the same kind of work, many of whom have way more years of experience.

  However, we’re pretty darn good at what we do, even though we’ve only been together for three years. It was slow going at first, until our name got out there. But we’ve had a lot of success; we’ve built an impressive list of references, and most importantly, we’re gaining a reputation for sniffing out virtual “bad guys” who’ve managed to elude other teams.

  It doesn’t make us all that popular with our peers sometimes, but it sure does bring in work.

  I love my job and hate to think what I’d be doing with my life if I hadn’t chosen a coding class as an elective during my eighth-grade year. Of course, my parents dearly wish I’d chosen to learn Mandarin Chinese instead, or taken a theater class, but what’s done is done, and I’ve been addicted to coding and hacking ever since. I might not be the head of a university business department like Audrey, or run a prestigious non-profit like Ella, but I’m quite happy with the way things have turned out.

  ***

  Contemplating the arrival of my computer equipment made me curious about just how much work it was going to be to get the room ready. I decided now was as good a time as any to see if the walls were as pink as I remembered.

  I hauled one of my suitcases upstairs, since I was going up anyway, leaving it in the hall while I held my breath and slowly opened the door to my future office.

  I winced at first, because unfortunately, the walls were indeed the unattractive shade of pink I remembered. Which meant I’d be picking up paint tomorrow. On the plus side, I was pleasantly surprised to see the room had lovely hardwood floors. I was pretty sure they were original to the house, and they’d be perfect for my workspace. Much better than carpet.

  I walked slowly around the room, and pretty soon I had a big smile on my face. Other than needing new paint, the room was perfect. It even had an unusually large window looking out over the backyard. That window, and the room’s location at the back of the house, made for a bright, cheerful, private space. I loved it.

  I mentally placed my equipment throughout the room. My two big server and switch racks would fit nicely along one end wall, and the special table that held various routers, modems, and my large collection of cutting-edge gadgets would go great on the opposite wall.

  There would be a good amount of cable tunnel needed to keep my abundance of cables and cords up off the floor, but the movers were removing what I’d had in my condo and bringing it here, so that wouldn’t be a problem.

  The last big piece, a modular table long enough to fit three huge monitors, would be perfect along the windowed wall. I could place the monitors in a way that would give me a nice view out the window, making it even more of a pleasure to work in this space.

  I could hardly wait to get started.

  I backed up to the doorway and folded my arms, squinting as I looked around the room and tried to decide whether to go with a gray or blue color scheme. The trim was currently a natural, light oak color, but it would look lovely painted white, contrasting with the new wall color—whatever that ended up being. The white would give the room a more modern look, which seemed appropriate considering it was going to be filled with the latest and greatest technology, some of which couldn’t even be bought on the open market yet. That was one of the perks of working government jobs.

  I crossed over to the window and ran my hand over the trim there. It was rather ornate, in that “older house” kind of style. Lots of grooves and fancy corner pieces. I loved it, even though it would be a bit of a challenge to paint.

  As I stood at the window, my attention was caught by movement outside, down in the yard. Or rather, the next-door neighbor’s yard. I leaned toward the glass for a better view, curious about who lived in that house now. I knew Maisie Whitacker had sold it when she moved to
a retirement home a year ago, and when I wracked my brain, I remembered Grandma saying a young couple had moved in.

  She must have found them acceptable—if they’d caused her any hassle, Grandma definitely would have told me all about them.

  The husband was outside now, and I had a rear view of him. He was standing with his hands on his hips, watching something. He wore jeans and a blue T-shirt, and his walnut brown hair was cut short, but not too short. He looked tall, although it was hard to tell for sure from where I was. I wished I could see his face. I had a feeling he was a very good-looking guy.

  Pretty soon I spotted the “something” he was watching. A little black wiener dog was picking its way across the lawn, and as I watched, it stopped abruptly and squatted. Not that it had to squat much—its stomach was already only inches from the grass.

  While the dog relieved itself, it turned its head away from the man, like it was trying to maintain a little dignity while it peed. When the necessary task was accomplished, the dog bounded back over to the man, jumping eagerly around his feet. I didn’t mean to, but when the guy bent to give it a pat, I couldn’t help but notice he was put together extremely well. I mean, extremely well. Wide shoulders. Trim waist. Long legs. And….a very nice behind.

  “Wooooooow.” I actually said the word out loud, long and drawn out. I knew I should probably look away, but I was mesmerized. The little dog raced down to the end of the yard, and the man’s hands returned to his hips as he waited patiently for it to return.

  I wasn’t normally so taken aback by a fine male form, especially when I couldn’t even see the guy’s face. But there was something about that tall, powerful-looking man and his silly little dog that I found profoundly attractive. And I’ve never even been much of a dog person.

  I watched a little bit longer, hoping he’d turn around. He didn’t, and I decided I was being a creepy neighbor, ogling him the way I was. I turned away from the window and went back downstairs, then out the front door to begin unloading my car.

  Nothing like a good unpacking spree to take my mind off my hot, married, neighbor.

  Whose wife, I had to say, was one lucky gal.

  Chapter 3

  By the next afternoon, I was ready to start painting the office. I’d taken time that morning to carry out all the items stored in the room, then I’d given the rest of the house a quick cleaning before going to the local hardware store for paint and supplies. The house mostly just needed a good dusting and vacuuming, but while I was at it I scrubbed the tub and toilet in the bathroom I’d be using upstairs and washed the kitchen windows. I figured I should get all that done before I started painting, because once I started a project, I didn’t like to be interrupted.

  After a quick lunch of soup and crackers, I laid a drop cloth out on the office floor and pried the lid from the first can of paint, smiling when I saw the slate blue color. It was perfect. I hoped to get the first coat on that day, then do the second coat and the white trim tomorrow.

  While I rolled new paint over the pink walls, I tried to figure out how I could make the room secure. I’d have to make it a priority, as the contractors who employed my team for the military work had really strict security rules to follow. Their deals with the government required a lot of safeguards, and they were really stringent about enforcement. Which was understandable, because they were the ones on the chopping block if we cut corners and got burned.

  Protecting our equipment from outside threats was a contractual thing. All of my teammates had to do the same. Threats could mean anything from terrorists to professional sabotage to home invaders. The latter was the biggest risk by far. Burglars existed even in Hidden Creek, and if they broke into my house and stumbled onto my treasure trove of technology, they could take it and sell it. If that happened with the hard drives intact, it would be disastrous.

  In my condo, I’d gone a little overboard on the whole security thing. My office had been modified to the point that it was basically a panic room. It had a steel security door that was impenetrable, according to the company who manufactured it, and even steel panels in the walls.

  I’d also had security cameras placed in every room on the first level of the house, allowing me to see any activity happening outside of the office from a big monitor hanging above my desk.

  I’d made those investments because I thought that was where I was going to live long-term. Now that I was in Hidden Creek, I wasn’t sure how to go about securing a second-floor bedroom in a fifty-year-old house. If a panic room had been extravagant in DC, it was way over the top here.

  At a minimum, I had to get a steel security door that could only be entered with a remote entry code, which would change daily. I wasn’t sure what to do about the window. I could put up bars, but that would be advertising the fact that there was something valuable in the room—especially since window bars weren’t a common thing in Hidden Creek.

  Maybe being on the second story was enough, and I could leave the window alone.

  I finished rolling paint on one wall and moved to the next, deep in thought. I realized the door could prove problematic in a small town. How was I going to go about finding someone I could trust to do the job? Someone who wouldn’t ask too many questions about why I needed it, or blab about it to other town residents.

  Having to be so secretive was definitely the biggest downside to my line of work. When people asked, I told them I worked from home with websites and such. Just like I’d told my parents. Naturally they assumed I meant I designed the sites, and I didn’t correct their assumptions. It might not be the whole truth, but it wasn’t an untruth either. Because I really did spend a lot of time on websites. It’s just that I was trying to hack them instead of designing them.

  I stopped painting long enough to find my phone and send a text to Ian, who was the founder of the team I worked with. I was pretty sure he’d be able to give me some good advice on the window and door, but since he was ticked at me for moving away from DC, I’d probably have to deal with a certain amount of snark before I got that advice. His attitude was frustrating, but since I’d kind of dropped the news on him out of the blue, and only a week ago, I understood.

  Like my family, Ian thrived in the city. It was simply beyond his understanding why I would willingly move to a tiny little town in Tennessee. He said it made me seem backward and unsophisticated. I’d assured him I was fine with being both.

  More than that, I was glad for the physical distance it put between him and me. Having our future interactions by way of a video connection, rather than in person, was definitely preferable as far as I was concerned.

  Not that it had always been like that. Ian and I had known each other since I was in high school, having met in one of the online hacking forums I frequented. Although we hadn’t met in real life until after I decided to join his team, we’d quickly become good friends. He was my go-to whenever I got stumped on one of my amateur hacking adventures, and vice versa. So, when he encouraged me to ditch school and start working with him and some other people he was getting together to do legitimate jobs for legitimate money, I hadn’t hesitated for long.

  I also hadn’t regretted the decision. The team and I were a great fit.

  Unfortunately, about a year after I joined the team, Ian had started wanting more than just a professional relationship with me. That’s when things had gotten a little dicey. I’d never been interested in him in that way, but after he hounded me for months, I relented. I figured if I appeased him and actually gave it a try, he’d be more accepting when I said it wasn’t working for me.

  We hung out for a couple weeks, going on a few dates and getting together at my house for dinner every few days. Ian was really into it, and I tried to give him a fair shot, but the whole thing had just been incredibly awkward for me. I admired his intelligence and enjoyed having him as a colleague, but I simply wasn’t attracted to him in any other way.

  He hadn’t taken my rejection well, at all, even though I’d tried to be really
nice about it. He became a man with a grudge, and he’d started picking at me on a professional level, giving me projects he knew would require me to work twelve-hour days, and sometimes trying to embarrass me in front of the others on the team.

  At one point, I was so sick of his juvenile antics I threatened to quit. I hated to leave my other teammates, but Ian was making my day-to-day work life miserable. I figured with my experience and the fact that I already had a much-in-demand, top-secret security clearance, I could join another team pretty easily.

  I’d been gratified when three of the other guys on the team had realized what was happening and stood up for me. They’d informed Ian he had to get over it, or he was the one who’d be leaving. That was pretty incredible, because Ian was the top dog and always had been. But the others knew if they let him get away with his pettiness, our work as a whole was going to suffer. People would end up taking sides, and then the whole team would implode.

  After that meeting, Ian knew he had to move beyond his hurt feelings or risk losing everything he’d worked so hard for. He made a huge effort to get things back on track, and since I’m not a grudge-holder myself, I made a huge effort of my own. Gradually, we’d gotten to the point where we worked well together again. We were even friendly most of the time.

  It helped that a few months after things had returned to normal Ian had started dating the new girl on the team. I’d been afraid of a repeat performance, but this time things had gone much better and they’d been together for a year and a half now. They seemed to be the real deal.

  Ian and I would never be as close as we’d been in the past, but our relationship was good enough to ask him for help with my security door—even though I knew it would give him another opportunity to give me grief about moving. Hopefully he knew someone who’d be willing to come all the way to Hidden Creek to install it. It would be expensive, obviously, but that seemed safer than trying to find a local person when my contacts were so limited.