Chapter 1

As Julia bumped down the cratered driveway beside her house, she pressed the transponder and waited for her garage door to heave itself upward.  One of these days she’d replace it, but her struggling restaurant sucked up all her available cash.  Madeline’s had to come first.

When the garage door stopped moving, she slid her Forester into its usual slot beside her neighbor’s Prius.  Jenny rented a room in a house a few doors down with no garage space.  The extra two hundred dollars she paid Julia every month was a godsend.

Exiting the garage, Julia stepped into the moonlight-dappled back yard of her house and stared at her shaggy grass.  Time to mow.  Again.  Hadn’t she just done that last week?  Sighing, she added it to her already-too-long to-do list.

The gas grill she’d bought stood as a ghostly sentinel in the yard, reminding her how optimistic she’d been when she bought this house.  She’d grill on her day off.  Create meals for her friends.  But she hardly used the thing.  She cooked six days a week.  On Mondays, when the restaurant was closed, she wanted to relax.

One of the cheap patio chairs lay on its side, blown over by the wind.  She straightened it as she walked past and trotted up the steps to her back door.

Frowned when she noticed the light on in the kitchen.  She always turned off the lights when she left the house — she prided herself on being as green as possible.  But just as important, turning off the lights saved money on her electric bill.

She glanced at the bright ceiling fixture as she stepped into her kitchen.  When she’d left that morning, her mind had been on her restaurant and the new steak and new vegetarian menu items they were adding this week.  She must have been too distracted to notice she’d forgotten to hit the light switch.

Tossing the brown paper bag holding her dinner onto the tiny kitchen table, she walked through the dining room to the small closet beside the front door.  Hung up her jacket.  Her gaze skimmed the living room as she headed back to the kitchen and her delayed dinner.  She froze.  Drew in a sharp breath.

Someone had been in her house.

Was he still here?

She edged toward the front door, fumbling with the doorknob as her gaze swept the room.  Settled on the magazines she’d left neatly stacked on the end table.

Now the top issue was skewed a little.  Most people wouldn’t notice.  But Julia’s tidiness was too ingrained.  Too much a part of who she was.

The book she’d been reading was tucked into the tiny wooden book holder on her wall.  But the cover faced the wall instead of the room.

Panicking as she wondered if someone was hiding in one of the other rooms, she struggled to unlock the front door.  As she twisted the bolt, Julia cataloged the room.  A plant had been moved slightly from its spot, as well.  Her bookshelves were still orderly, but a gap separated one bookend from its books.

Her heart racing, her hands clammy with sweat, she finally wrenched the door open.  Stumbled onto her front porch, the cool air soothing her hot cheeks.

Fumbling her phone from her pocket, she managed to press 911.  When the dispatcher came on the line, Julia whispered, “I think someone’s been in my house.  Might still be there.”

“If you’re in the house, please go outside,” the dispatcher said calmly.  “The police are on their way.”

“I’m outside,” Julia said, her teeth chattering as she imagined someone in her bedroom, waiting for her.

“Good,” the dispatcher said.  “Move toward the street.  Away from the door.”

Julia swallowed.  Took a deep breath to steady herself.  “I’ve already done that.”  From a distance, a siren wailed, its volume increasing.  Getting closer.

“May I have your name?” the dispatcher said, her voice steady.  The complete opposite of how Julia felt.

But she needed to get a grip.  She drew in a breath.  Huffed it out.  “I’m Julia Stewart.”

By the time the black and white cruiser turned the corner onto her street, Julia was balanced on the curb.  She stepped back onto the grass as the siren cut off abruptly and the car pulled to the curb in front of her.

“You Julia Stewart?” the officer asked as he stepped out of the car.

“Yes,” she answered.  “Thank you for getting here so quickly.”

His face softened a little.  “That’s my job,” he said.  “I’m Officer Daley.  You think someone’s in the house?”

“I’m not sure,” Julia answered.  She mentioned the light in the kitchen, the things out of place in the living room.  “Instead of checking the house myself, I called 911.”

“Smart thing to do,” the officer said.  “I’ll check for you.”

“Thank you.”  Wrapping her arms around herself — it was May, but spring was cool in Seattle — she watched Daley disappear into her house.  Ten minutes later he came back outside.

“I checked.  No one’s inside.”  He studied her for a long moment, and Julia realized he’d dismissed her as a nervous woman.  A scaredy-cat.  “You want to show me why you thought someone might be in the house?”

“Yes,” she said, leading the officer back into the house.

She explained the magazine that wasn’t aligned with the others.  The book turned the wrong way it its holder.  The bookend pulled away from the books.  “And the kitchen light was on.  I always turn it off before I leave.”

Officer Daley’s cool gaze held steady.  “Anyone else live here?  Or have a key to the house?”

“No one,” she said firmly.

“Anyone break in before this?” he asked.

“No.”  Julia swallowed.  Daley didn’t believe someone had been in her house.  “That’s why I live in Ballard.  It’s a safe neighborhood.”

“Anything missing?” he asked.

Julia shook her head.  “Not that I noticed.  But I didn’t take the time to look carefully.  As soon as I realized someone had been here, I ran outside and called 911.  I didn’t look for missing stuff.”

“Smart,” he said immediately.  “You want to check the rest of the house?  See if anything else was disturbed?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Julia said.  Daley followed as she hurried toward the small third bedroom she used as an office.  She stood in the doorway, her gaze scanning the room.

“Someone moved those.”  She nodded toward the papers gathered into an untidy pile next to her mouse pad.  “They were neat when I left this morning.”

Her gaze swept the rest of the room.  One file cabinet drawer wasn’t completely latched.  There was a tiny space between the drawer and the cabinet.  “Someone looked through my files.  That drawer was completely closed when I left the house this morning.”

Daley’s gaze lingered on the tiny, barely visible gap in the drawer for a long moment, then he turned to study her.  “Anything missing in here?”

“I’d have to go through all my files to know.”

He took a deep breath.  Studied her for a moment, then stared at the desk.  “Not a lot of evidence of an intruder,” he finally said.  He nodded at her closed laptop.  “Someone breaks into a house?  First thing they grab is a computer.  Small and easy to carry.  But yours is still there.”  He jerked his head toward the living room.  “So’s the television.”

“I know how I left my house this morning.”  Julia wrapped her arms around her waist and dug her fingers into her sides.  This police officer was dismissing her concerns because nothing had been taken.  “Some of my things are out of place now.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” the police officer said.  “Nothing’s missing.  There’s no damage.  Just things you said were out of place.”  He shrugged.  “Not sure what more I can do.”

His slight emphasis on you said told Julia he didn’t believe anyone had been in her house.  But she knew she was right.

She also knew he’d dig in his heels if she challenged him.  “I’d feel more comfortable if you’d call the evidence techs so they can check for fingerprints,” she said, making sure her voice was polite.  Even.  Non-confrontational.  “Can you do that?”

He sighed.  Fingered his radio.  She kept her gaze on him, trying to look respectful.  Finally he plucked his radio from his shirt and said, “I’ll give them a call.  See if anyone’s free.”

They had been, and the techs arrived fifteen minutes later.  They took prints from the areas that had been disturbed, plus both the doorknobs.  Then they took Julia’s prints.  “To rule your prints out,” the younger woman said.

As soon as the techs were out of the house, Daley headed for the front door.  “Someone will call you if we get a hit on the prints,” he said, his tone of voice making it clear he was certain the only prints would belong to her.

“Thank you, Officer,” she’d said, trying to sound grateful rather than angry.

He hadn’t listened when she’d explained that she was a chef.  That everything in a restaurant kitchen had to be in the right place.  If you needed something while you were cooking, you couldn’t waste time searching for it.  There was a reason the knives were arranged on the magnetic wall strips in a specific order.  There was a reason the pots and pans were kept in specific places.

There was a reason for the way everything was done in her kitchen, and the habit had spilled over to the way she arranged her house.  Which was why she’d known immediately she’d had an intruder.

She stood in the door, watching Daley sitting in his car, scribbling in a notebook.  After five minutes, he started his car and pulled away from the curb without looking back.  Based on his reactions, she assumed he’d written her off as a nut case and would put no further effort into the investigation.

Maybe the intruder had left fingerprints.

Rolling her shoulders, she headed into the kitchen and grabbed the bag holding that evening’s pasta special, baked ziti.  She dumped it on a plate and shoved it into her microwave.  She’d lost her appetite, but knew she needed to eat.

Five minutes later, she shoveled in the pasta as she sorted through her mail.  Nothing but bills.  She glanced toward her office, and her fingers tightened around her fork.  Daley had been right about one thing, at least.  Why hadn’t the intruder taken her computer?  It was small.  Easy to carry.  Valuable.

A chill crept up her spine as she wondered why it was still on her desk.  Before she went to bed tonight, she’d take a good look at that computer.  Make sure her intruder hadn’t been able to access it.

As Julia lay in bed a couple hours later, she stared at the ceiling, wide awake.  She’d found nothing amiss on her computer, other than a general feeling of wrong.  She saw no evidence that anyone had been on her computer.  Nothing missing or altered.  But she knew someone had been in her house while she was at work.

Nothing had been missing.  And the only valuable thing in her house, besides her television, was her computer.  It held all her business records, all the restaurant’s financial information, all her personal financial information.

She used a password generator along with a fingerprint ID, and every time she logged in, she got a new, completely random password.

She wasn’t computer savvy — she only knew what she needed to know.  But she knew someone who was.

Blowing out a breath, she turned onto her side, already half-asleep.  She’d call Zoe in the morning.  Ask her friend to take a look at the computer.  Figure out if there was actually something wrong with it, or if Julia was merely paranoid.

* * *

The next morning, Julia called Zoe and explained what had happened.  Zoe’s response was immediate.

“Turn off the computer, unplug it and put a piece of duct tape over the camera.  Then bring it to my office.  I’ll take a look at it and make sure nothing’s wrong with it.”

“God, Zo, thank you,” Julia said.  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.  After I stop for a vente of your favorite coffee.”

“Put that tape over the camera now, before you come in,” Zoe said.  “I’ll see you soon.”

Forty minutes later, Julia stood in an elevator in a gleaming downtown Seattle skyscraper.  Her computer bag was slung crosswise over her chest and she carried a cardboard tray with three coffees.  When the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, she hurried to Melbourne Solutions and pushed her way into the office.

“Thanks, Julia,” said Janet, Zoe’s assistant as Julia handed her a coffee.  “She’s waiting for you.  Go on in.  But don’t say anything until she gives you the okay.  Not a word.”

Julia nodded and headed around Janet’s desk for Zoe’s office door.  She nudged it open, and Zoe looked up from her computer.  Smiled and waved her in.

Her friend’s halo of red, curly hair gleamed in the light from the wide window behind her.  Julia knew Zoe arranged her desk that way so her visitors would be facing the sun.  The bright light would make it harder for them to see Zoe, giving her an advantage.

Zoe gestured to Julia’s computer bag, then pointed at her desk.  Nodding, Julia set the coffee on the desk and pushed Zoe’s toward her.  Her friend grabbed it, inhaling deeply before taking a gulp.  Tilted her head back and mouthed, “Ahhhh.”

As soon as Julia set her computer on Zoe’s desk, her friend got to work.  She plugged a cord into a USB port on Julia’s computer, then hooked it up to a massive desktop computer sitting on the desk beside Zoe’s laptop.

Then Zoe opened Julia’s computer.  Nodded approval of the taped-over camera, then tapped the keys until she reached a menu.  Clicked an icon.  Nodded.  Clicked another one, then turned to Julia.

“I disabled the microphone and camera,” Zoe said.  “The tape is a backup in case someone is able to control your computer remotely.  I’m going to run some diagnostics to see if anything has been added to your computer.  We’ll talk after I’m done.”

Zoe’s fingers flew across the keyboard and lines of code scrolled over the screen.  Unable to understand what they were about, Julia finally pulled out her phone and texted the head chef at her restaurant.  Delia should be at the restaurant already, and Julia wanted her to know she’d be late.

Delia texted a couple of questions, and they went back and forth several times.  Then, satisfied that Delia had everything under control, Julia sat back and let her head rest on the back of the chair.  She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, and her eyelids felt as if they had weights attached to them.

Zoe’s muttered, “Bastard,” yanked her out of her near-sleep.  Julia sat up and watched Zoe’s fingers fly across the keyboard of Julia’s computer.  She typed furiously for several minutes, then leaned back in her chair.  “Gotcha,” she said, her voice filed with satisfaction.

After another fifteen minutes, Zoe swiveled to face her.  “Thank God you came in here this morning,” she said.

“Why?  What did you find?” Julia asked.

“You have good instincts,” her friend said.  “And they were spot-on.  Someone loaded a keystroke logger on your laptop, then took control of your camera and microphone.  So basically anything you did on your computer would be directed to the computer of the person who did this.”

“What the hell?”  Julia leaned toward Zoe.  “Who would do that?  And why?”

Zoe shrugged one shoulder.  “Maybe they wanted access to your bank account.  Or to your business plans.  Maybe they just wanted to keep tabs on you and what you’re doing.  There are all kinds of reasons why someone would install this crap on your computer.  And unless you know who did it, it can be hard to figure out why.”  She leaned toward Julia.  “If you want to leave it, I can dig around a little more.  See what I can figure out.”

“It’s my main computer,” Julia said.  “And it has all my business accounts on it.  The restaurant’s books.  Basically, everything I need to run Madeline.”

“Good reason to leave it, then,” Zoe said.  “Because it’ll take a little time to dig into this.  Figure out where it came from.”

“Can you really do that?”

Zoe shrugged.  “Depends.  If the IP address is a single-family house, we have him nailed.  If it’s in a high rise, it’s more difficult.  More complicated.  And if whoever did this has some skills, he’s probably using a VPN to mask his ID.  But I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Zo,” Julia said, chilled despite the warm office.  “I really appreciate that.”

Zoe finally smiled.  “That’s what friends are for, Jules.  How about I bring it to Madeline’s tonight.  We can talk about what I found over a glass of wine.”

“Sounds perfect,” Julia said, reaching out to hug her friend.

But all the way to her restaurant, the words spooled through her head.  Someone bugged my computer.

Why?