Exploited (Zero Day #1)

by A. Meredith Walters

  “Hey back,” I replied. I let myself into my apartment. It was a little after seven. I had stayed late poring over channel lists on Internet Relay Chat. Tracing ISP addresses only to find them hijacked and unusable.

  I had run a hundred circles getting absolutely nowhere.

  But that didn’t matter. Not right now.

  Tigger ran toward me, meowing loudly, obviously ready for dinner.

  “Is that Tigger?” Hannah asked. I could hear the sound of banging on the other end.

  “Not unless another feline has invaded my home while I was at work. Though knowing what a dick Tigger is, that wouldn’t be hard to believe.” I dropped my keys on the kitchen table and filled the cat’s bowl with food.

  “You’re so hard on the poor little guy. What did he ever do to you?” She chuckled.

  I stroked the cat’s back and, predictably, he hissed at me before stuffing his face into his bowl to eat.

  “He’s okay. We have a relationship built on mutual distaste.”

  “So why do you have him if you don’t even like him?” she asked.

  It was an innocent question. One I didn’t want to answer.

  “What are you doing? You’re making a lot of noise over there. Are you home?” I asked, my throat uncomfortably tight at the thought of exactly why I had Tigger.

  “I’m making dinner. Or trying to. I’m not exactly known for my cooking.” Something dropped, making a loud clang. Hannah let loose a string of colorful curses that would have made even a sailor blush.

  “That didn’t sound good,” I teased, wondering about her. About this woman making dinner on the other end of the phone. This woman who, just by talking, made me forget what a shit day I’d had.

  “I dropped a jar of sauce on my toe. It fucking hurt,” she grumbled, and I laughed.

  “Are you laughing at my injury?” Hannah asked with mock indignation.

  “Never,” I swore, taking a bottle of beer from the fridge and popping the cap. “So whatcha making?”

  More curses tickled my ear and I found myself smiling widely.

  “Spaghetti. Nothing fancy. Though at the moment it seems most of it is going to end up on my clothes.”

  I could have made a pervy comment about taking off her clothes or being able to help clean her up, but I didn’t. The tried-and-true methods of flirtation I was used to fell silent on my lips. Hannah wouldn’t hear them.

  She deserved better than the tried-and-true.

  Tigger finished his dinner and meowed again, letting me know that he wanted more. I filled the bowl one more time, scratching the top of his head, and was rewarded with a lack of aggression. Maybe we were getting somewhere.

  “Tell me more about Tigger. I want to know how this crazy cohabitation began,” she pressed. I finished my beer and dropped the empty bottle in the recycling. I thought about having another one but didn’t. Except on a few notable occasions, I tried not to overindulge. It only led to trouble.

  Just ask Madison.

  “He was my brother’s cat,” I told her, walking back into the living room and sitting down on the couch. I stretched out my legs to make myself comfortable.

  “Oh, I didn’t know you have a brother. So why didn’t he want him? Did Tigger pee in his shoes? Was he bringing home too many random felines at night?” Hannah joked, and I found myself laughing. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed when it came to anything regarding my brother. Even his semi-evil cat.

  I took a deep breath and went for it. “My brother passed away last year. No one else would take the fucker, so now he’s here. Though he lets me know on a regular basis that he’s less than pleased with the arrangement.” There was no evasion. No changing the subject. It felt strange being open about Dillon. I hadn’t really talked about him to anyone since he died. My parents wouldn’t speak of him unless it was in relation to their grief and disappointment in me.

  “Let him know he’s lucky to have you,” she quipped lightly. And it was just the right tone. Just the right thing to say.

  “He won’t listen to me, unfortunately.” The cat in question sauntered into the room, jumping up on the couch and sitting on the pillow.

  “I’m sorry about your brother,” she said after a beat.

  “Me too,” I replied quietly.

  “I lost my dad.” I wasn’t expecting her truths.

  I appreciated her giving them to me.

  “I’m sorry.” It was the only thing to say. Inadequate.

  We had both experienced loss. It was strange having that sort of connection with someone.

  “I feel angry when I think about him being gone. My sister almost died as well.” Hannah let out a noisy breath. “She might as well have. She suffered a traumatic brain injury. Now she has seizures. She’s a paraplegic. She will never be able to live on her own.”

  I could feel her sadness and I wished we weren’t talking on the phone. I wanted to be there. With her. Hearing her story. Giving her mine.

  “I didn’t mean to take over your grief. I’m sorry. I only wanted you to know that you’re not alone. That I understand. And that cat is damned lucky to have you.” She chuckled. Easy after the weight of her confession.

  “Tell me about your sister. What’s she like?”

  “I don’t really talk about Charlotte,” Hannah said quietly.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s in my nature to dig. Tell me to fuck off. I’d understand.” I felt like a jerk. A nosy jerk.

  “No. It’s okay,” she responded quickly. “Charlotte was…Well, she was annoying.”

  I laughed. “Dillon was too.”

  “It must be a younger sibling thing. She used to take my favorite earrings and hide them in her room. She’d squirrel away my scarves, headbands, you name it. And when I found her stash, she’d cry and make me feel bad for even confronting her about it. She could play the guilt card like no one else. Still can, actually.” Hannah spoke slowly, as if not sure she should be sharing.

  “Dillon used to try and tag along with my friends and me. He would try and play basketball with us at the park and he’d always beat us, which was really humiliating, I might add.” I chuckled, remembering. “And when I told him to get lost, he’d tell my mother and I would be forced to spend time with him.” I glanced at the framed photograph on my mantel. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty, though, isn’t it? Because now I’d give anything to have him following after me with his shit-eating grin.”

  It hurt. A lot. Talking about Dillon always did. But it also felt…good. Something inside my chest loosened and I knew it was because I had been able to share my memories with someone who would understand.

  “Charlotte was an amazing gymnast. She would compete in competitions. Win most of them. I never told her how much I enjoyed watching her because I didn’t want her to get a massive ego. Maybe I should tell her that now. Or is it too late?” Hannah asked, sounding sad.

  Tigger crawled onto my lap, startling me. He never demonstrated any sort of affection. Tentatively I began to stroke his back. He started to purr.

  “It’s not too late for you, Hannah. You should tell Charlotte all the things you never did before. Trust me on that one,” I told her quietly. The cat bumped my hand with his head, almost as if needing the comfort as much as I did.

  Neither of us said anything for a while. I could hear the sound of her breathing. Soft. Constant.

  “Tell me more about Dillon.”

  I smiled. This was painful. Amazing. “As I said, he was annoying like most younger brothers. But as he got older, he became pretty incredible. He was a teacher. He taught fifth-grade English. I used to give him so much crap about spending his life with his head in a book. He was going to get married. Even though I never liked Reagan, she made him happy.”

  “What happened?” Hannah asked. My heart squeezed.

  “Cancer. A brain tumor, actually. By the time they discovered it, it was too late. Three months later he died.” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat.


  We were quiet again. The silence gave more comfort than words ever could.

  “It’s hard, isn’t it? Being the one left to pick up the pieces,” she said after a beat.

  “Yeah. It is. I’m not sure I know how to. Or…” I couldn’t finish. I felt guilty for even thinking it.

  “Or if you even want to,” she finished for me, and my heart squeezed again. But for very different reasons.

  “Yeah,” I admitted.

  “I throw myself into work because it’s easier. Because it gives me focus. I feel like I’m making a difference,” Hannah went on. Tigger began to dig his nails into my legs. I lifted him off my lap and placed him beside me on the couch. He wasn’t very happy about that.

  “Tell me more about your job.” I rubbed at the spot where Tigger had maimed me. I was pretty sure he had drawn blood. Damn cat. I glared at him. And here I’d thought he was starting to like me.

  “Not much to tell,” she answered dismissively with a slight chuckle.

  “You said you feel like you’re making a difference. How are you making a difference? Come on, give it to me,” I coaxed. Hannah was quiet. Had I done something wrong? Asked the wrong thing? Was it lame to ask a woman about her job? I had no idea.

  Hannah had me feeling off balance. She gave me just enough to draw me in. And at this point I’d have gladly jumped off a cliff to find what she was hiding at the bottom.

  It was crazy.

  It was irrational.

  Agent Kohler wasn’t used to irrational.

  But maybe Mason Kohler could use a little insanity in his life.

  “I work hard. I earn a paycheck. I help my mother pay for my sister’s care. I’m making a difference to her. In what little way I can,” she answered finally, sounding far away. Somewhere else.

  There was a note in her tone that I couldn’t quite place. A hesitance that gave me pause.

  “You’re a good sister,” I said, feeling strange. A buzzing went off in my ears. A tickle of warning.

  “No I’m not. If I was a good sister, Char wouldn’t be where she is,” Hannah argued.

  The buzzing faded. I understood that feeling all too well. Feeling as if I should have done something. Anything.

  “Survivor’s guilt is debilitating,” I told her.

  “I don’t know if it’s guilt or anger. They’re too mixed up. I can’t see one for the other.” Her confession was hushed. I could tell it took a lot out of her to say the words. She didn’t want to admit her failings. Her weaknesses.

  Why was she giving them to me?

  I felt honored.

  I would take care of her truths.

  Whatever she chose to give me.

  “You can feel guilty. You can feel angry. I’ve learned that there’s no one emotion that covers everything. It’s okay to be a little bit of them all.”

  Hannah let out a breath and I wished for the hundredth time that there wasn’t a phone between us.

  “Thank you, Mason. Sometimes you need to hear that.”

  It was easy to give each other the comfort we hadn’t realized we were looking for.

  There was something about sharing grief and pain with someone who understood the suffering.

  It made you feel less alone.

  I found myself craving what she so easily offered: understanding.

  Chapter 11

  Hannah

  I was having an unusual Saturday.

  Unusual in that I was lying on the couch, a bag of popcorn in my lap, watching cheesy Lifetime movies until I wanted to gouge my eyes out.

  It was sort of perfect.

  Mason and I had plans for later. Of course we did. Things were going according to plan.

  The plan…

  I sighed, not liking the strange pull in my chest. The knot in my stomach. What in the hell was wrong with me?

  It’s Mason.

  Maybe.

  Our talk the other night had been eye-opening. I hadn’t expected him to hand over so much of himself so easily.

  I was digging in. Planting myself. It would take an act of war to remove me.

  He had no idea how far I’d penetrated.

  And slowly he was giving me exactly what I wanted.

  His trust.

  Which would ultimately lead to access.

  That’s what I wanted.

  Right?

  I thought of my sister and the commitment I had made to keep her safe and happy.

  That was all that mattered.

  I couldn’t let myself be swayed by anything else.

  Yet…

  I had revealed a little bit during that late-night phone call. I had told him about Charlotte, though I had found myself lying about insignificant details in order to keep him from knowing too much.

  Charlotte had never been a gymnast. She had been into other sports. Particularly basketball. Just like his brother. Maybe I could have used that to further our connection, but I hadn’t wanted to.

  Why had I felt the need to alter such random, trivial information about my sister?

  Because I could.

  Because it kept that degree of separation between the truth and the fiction that I was finding so integral in dealing with Mason.

  I needed the lies to remind me of the truth.

  Yet as I had listened to him talk about a brother I already knew about, I had felt compelled to give him some of my pain. Pain that for years had belonged only to me.

  I wasn’t used to sharing.

  It was a strange sensation.

  Giving part of yourself to someone else.

  It worried me that I wasn’t more terrified of the idea.

  So here I was, trying to relax while I forced myself not to think of the things I should be doing. Plans I should be making. Lies I should be living.

  Instead I was giving myself a day where none of that existed. Before I had to see him and it all started again. The careful deliberation. The excitement I felt when he looked at me and the intense denial that I felt anything.

  It was exhausting.

  I deserved this moment of quiet. I couldn’t remember the last time I had allowed myself to indulge in a day like this. A day that didn’t involve me hunched over a computer until my brain wanted to pack up and die.

  When I had gotten up that morning, I had poured myself a cup of coffee and fired up the laptop, prepared to spend the day doing what I always did. But then I stopped. I turned off the computer. I walked away. And I hadn’t looked at it since.

  When I had started my online life, it had been daring. Exciting. I had a purpose. A mission. A clear idea of what I was doing and why.

  The thrill was still present at times. The exploits were daring and dangerous, and I was still the master of my own contrived universe.

  But…

  I stuffed my mouth with popcorn and tried to focus on the movie I had been aimlessly watching.

  I loved being Freedom Overdrive. It consumed me. Motivated me. It had given me an outlet when I had been lost and floundering.

  Yet I couldn’t help wondering what sort of person Hannah Whelan was without the shadowy alter ego.

  What sort of person could she be?

  Did I dare to find out?

  What would happen if I liked what I found? The idea scared me. I didn’t want to think about it too closely. Not with my current crowded headspace.

  For now, though, I could enjoy this taste of what normal felt like.

  I stretched out my legs and smiled to myself. It was almost perfect.

  Almost…

  A knock on my door had me sitting up in surprise. I didn’t get visitors. I didn’t have people in my life who dropped by randomly.

  It must be a mistake. Or an encyclopedia salesman. Did they have those anymore?

  I ignored it, waiting for whoever it was to go away.

  “Hannah Marie Whelan, I know you’re in there. I can see your car in the driveway.”

  My stomach dropped.

  It was my mother.

  I
slowly got up and made my way to the front door, wondering why she was here. I hadn’t seen her in over a month. We had never had the sort of relationship that allowed for spontaneous lunches and random girl talk.

  When I was growing up, I had wanted more from her. I had made an effort. So had she. But the distance that existed between us was a strange thing. It was as though we were strangers who just happened to be in the same family. It had always been there. The wall. Even as a small child I had gravitated toward my father over my mother.

  We had never experienced the mother/daughter bond that came so naturally to her and Charlotte. I had even been envious of it. Once. When I was a different girl with a different life. When I wasn’t a woman who had shut herself off from attachments.

  Charlotte had always been my only exception.

  After losing Dad, Mom tried harder. With Charlotte hospitalized, we were all each other had. She attempted to cling to this idea of how she thought we should be. She tried calling me. Tried to show an interest in my life.

  Yet it didn’t change the truth of who we were to each other.

  So here we were, years later, living on the edges of each other’s lives for the sake of a relationship we had never had. For the sake of a girl we both loved.

  For Charlotte we tried as much as we were able. Even if deep down we had given up on each other a long time ago.

  To feel an emotional alienation from a parent was depressing. Particularly when it wasn’t intentional. Maybe that’s what made it worse.

  So hearing her voice on the other side of the door was jarring. She had been to my house only a handful of times since I had moved in three years ago. She lived on the other side of town in the same house I had grown up in.

  If I needed to see her, I went there. She didn’t enter my space. It was an unspoken understanding.

  Unless the visit was prearranged.

  Surprise visits didn’t sit well with me.

  Ever.

  They weren’t conducive to my secretive second life.

  “Mom. What are you doing here?” I asked, blocking the entryway into my house. She pushed past me anyway.

  Her face was flushed and her hair was sticking out in all directions, as if she had just stood for a period of time in a wind tunnel. She exuded a frantic energy that put me immediately on edge.