So far they’d been forced to hide two vehicles. First, Jackson’s car, in the safety of Annica’s residential garage. And now this, the two of them coasting down a service path which opened up into a small parking lot at the foot of a cell tower overlooking the Atlantic. They parked at the edge of a cliff, with just a single spray-painted and stickered guardrail separating them from the steep drop to the ocean. Annica cut the engine and turned to him with a smirk.

“Has it been as exciting as you imagined?” Jackson asked.

“Much more,” she said. “And not in a good way.”

“But just think of the story you’ll get out of all this.”

“So there’s still a story? You’ll finally talk to me?”

“Of course,” Jackson said, reaching back and pulling the laptop over the seat. He placed it on his lap and opened the lid, his gaze never leaving hers.

“No wonder this is the first time you’re breaking this story. I can’t imagine any other journalist going through with all this stuff.”

“Neither can I,” he said. “Which is a testament to you.”

“To how crazy I am?”

“No, it’s a testament to good journalism.”

“Good journalism?” She laughed. “Breaking into my editor’s office and stealing his files?”

“Well, you’re definitely investigating and doing some serious muckraking. That’s what it’s all about. Old-school journalism at its best. It’s an art form that’s been forgotten.”

“The reason why journalists aren’t doing this kind of stuff anymore is because it gets them fired. I can’t imagine what they’ll say when they read my first draft.”

“Didn’t they pick this story for you?”

“They did. But they probably had some serious doubts that I could even get ahold of you.”

“You’ve got a hold.”

She looked him up and down and smiled. “I’ve got your car in my garage.”

“That, too.”

“So,”—she pointed to the laptop—“What’s the story with the files? Anything good?”

“I’m going to send it to one of my associates.”

“Who? Stanton?”

Jackson laughed. “I don’t like that you know so much about us.”

“I thought you said you trusted me now.”

He nodded, looking at his screen. “I trust you.”

“Good,” she said. “And I trust you.”

“Good.”

“So why don’t you tell me what’s in those files?”

“It’ll take a minute . . .” He looked up to the cell tower, wondering if he could use it. This little hideaway might actually be a great spot for a data transfer. “In the meantime, why don’t you tell me about what kind of stuff usually goes down at Make-Out Point?”

“Use your imagination.”

“You really want me to do that?” he asked, grinning.

“Don’t act like you haven’t already.”

Jackson looked up at her, a little surprised she’d said it. How could she have known about the little fantasies that had been building up inside his head? How could she have known about his unruly appetites, and his weakness for smart, sexy women?

Tansy . . .

Tansy must have spilled the beans.

“The rumors aren’t true, you know.”

“What rumors?” she asked.

“The ones about me. The stuff Stanton probably said.”

“You know, I don’t need to be told everything. That’s part of my profession, too, being perceptive.”

The rain had stopped. Their windows were rolled down to accept the ocean breeze, the scent of fresh wild flowers along the coast. Everything livened up with the rain. Even Jackson’s mind felt almost relaxed, like his slate—or at least a portion of it—had been wiped clean. It was just so refreshing to be able to trust someone again. And with Annica, he’d struck gold, like he’d met his own hero. She was charming, beautiful, smart, and she wanted to help him.

“What are you looking at, Jackson?”

He was looking out at the cell tower, how its blinking lights ate through the fog in five-second intervals. He knew just how much information it was processing at that very moment, how many conversations it had linked, and how helpful it might be to his efforts tonight.

“We have to transmit this data right now, so that the guys can start analyzing it, get the algorithms on to it. But if someone’s following us, then that means they know what we know. Which also means they know what to look for if we try sending this out using normal methods. But if we use that cell tower . . .”

“Use the cell tower?” She looked as apprehensive about it as she’d sounded.

“I might be able to piggyback off its signal. I doubt anyone will look there.”

“Okay, um . . .” She shrugged it away, and then laughed. “Can I help with anything?”

“No.”

“Then, can I finally interview you?”

“Yeah.” Jackson grabbed the laptop and opened the door. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Right now?” she asked from inside the car. “Outside?”

“It’s stopped raining.” Jackson took a few steps across the crushed-stone lot, happy to be in the fresh, moist air. Happy to be away from his hotel, and from Baltimore, and from the alleys around Veterans’ Valor. He felt good and alone there, with Annica. “It’s actually a beautiful night,” he said, loving how the rain had cleared away his dour mood. He felt so freed up and easy, and so willing now to finally talk to someone, even about Tripoli, and even to someone who’d just recently been a stranger. If this mood continued, she wouldn’t be a stranger for long.

She hopped out of the car and took the first few steps toward him. The way she walked, the way her hips moved like a lapping tide, it drove him wild.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked.

He laughed, and then said, “You afraid of heights?”

She looked a little confused, maybe scared. Maybe afraid of heights. But she smiled and said, “No.”

“I’ll have to climb up there.” Jackson watched her smile disappear. “You can climb with me, and do the interview up there if you want.”

“That’s not even funny.”

Jackson opened his tool bag and grabbed some gloves and a USB cord.

“You’re seriously going up there?”

“Yeah.”

“Won’t you get electrocuted?”

“It’s actually the radiation I’ll have to look out for.”

She was staring up at it again. “I’m not going anywhere near that fucking thing.”

“Fine,” he said with a grin. “But can you help me suit up?” He placed the bag straps around his shoulders and wore it like a backpack. “Can you slide the laptop in there, and leave that cord dangling over my shoulder through this little hook?”

While Annica zipped the backpack up around the laptop, Jackson worked on his phone, going into the settings panel, and then going beyond that, to a secret command screen that only a few people outside of the phone’s developers even knew about. That was the benefit of having someone like Tansy for a friend—a hacker, but one of the good guys. Mostly.

“Be careful,” Annica said. “With whatever you’re doing up there.”

“Thanks. But don’t worry, it’s really nothing.”

“I just want to make sure you survive for our interview.”

Jackson grinned at her. “I’ll be down in a few minutes. Get your voice recorder all cued up.”

He wanted her to wait in the safety of the car, but she insisted on following him up to the small fenced-off square underneath the cell tower. There she watched, quietly, as he scaled the fence. He glanced back. Her cute little fingers were poking through the holes of the fence. She was leaning against it, her face close, and on it, a look of concern.

“You sure you’ve done this before?” she asked.

“Sure,” Jackson said, staring up at the ninety-foot-tall tower. He shivered a little, though it wasn’t so cold outside anymore. And though he wasn’t afraid of heights, the way the moon’s glare shimmered off the white metal beams, and the feet and hand steps of the ladder all covered in rain . . . It wasn’t exactly as easy a maneuver as he’d made it out to be. But he’d rather keep that a secret. He had scared her enough tonight.

“You’re sure you’ve done this before?”

“All I’m really doing is climbing a ladder.”

“A really tall fucking ladder,” she said.

But there was more to it than that. He’d have to climb up to the top and then somehow, while not falling off, he’d have to find the USB outlet that the workers used when they got up there. That was how he’d access the tower’s signal. With that, he’d run a line from the laptop to his phone, and to the tower.

“I’ll see you back on earth in ten minutes,” he said, trying to laugh.

“Yeah, hopefully on your feet.”

He looked back at her.

“I mean, don’t fall. Please.” She was looking so soft and sweet. He wanted badly to touch her, even just through the fence, his fingers entwining with hers.

“Hey,” he said, returning to the fence. “For good luck?” He’d placed his fist to the fence, where she met his, a silly little fist bump through the metal. A perfectly platonic thing to do. A perfect excuse to at least sort of touch her. But then he started thinking about what he’d like to do if that fence wasn’t there.

But he should really just be thinking about getting up there. And not falling.