Friction. Samantha Hunter

it down, and I don’t understand it—I’m not handling any huge files, and the weather is clear.”

      Sarah nodded. “Want me to take a look?”

      Harold looked at her doubtfully. “You know anything about these things?”

      “A bit. It’s my work. I don’t know what I can do, but I could probably tell you if it’s a problem with your machine or your network—you might have a virus.”

      He looked hesitant. “Oh, I hope not. I keep the virus detection software updated. But I don’t think I should have you working on your vacation—Karen would have a fit.”

      Sarah smiled sweetly, trying not to appear too eager. Maybe if she could look at his machine, she might be able to sneak in a look at her e-mail, her discussion groups…just one little peek.

      “No problem at all. Truth is, I was kind of restless and at loose ends, wandering around when I found you. You’d be doing me a favor if you let me have a look at it.”

      His brow creased in concern. “You’re not enjoying your stay?”

      She hedged, realizing she was on delicate ground. “It’s my first day—you know how it takes some time to adjust to a new place, a new schedule. It’s beautiful here, but I’m just not in vacation mode yet.”

      “I understand. It can be hard to wind down if you’re used to a busy schedule.”

      She looked expectantly at the computer, then stepped forward when he was still hesitant. “It should only take me a few minutes. Why don’t you get something to drink? I…I could use something as well. It’s so hot tonight.”

      Harold, looking relieved that he had a way to both escape his problem and serve his guest, stood up quickly, surrendering his chair.

      Sarah sat down, running her fingers over the keyboard like a caress, a calm focus overcoming her as she tapped keys and studied the lines of text flying over the black background of the DOS box she’d called up.

      Harold set an icy glass of tea by the side of the monitor, and she addressed him without looking up.

      “Do you share this connection with any other computer in the inn or another business?”

      “No, this is the only machine, and we just have one account on the connection. As you know, laptops and other such things are discouraged here. They interrupt the vacation environment.”

      Sarah choked down a scoff. “Yes, well, as far as I can tell, you have someone sucking bandwidth off your connection.”

      “I’m sorry…?”

      “Someone is tapping into your connection. It seems like it would have to be someone physically here, in the building, but it could be a neighbor or someone nearby. Wireless and satellite connections are easy for others to tap into, much like splicing a television cable connection, if you know how to do it.”

      Harold seemed at a loss. “But who would do such a thing? We know all of our neighbors. They wouldn’t—are you sure that’s what it is?”

      His tone turned skeptical, perhaps unconvinced that a woman could make this technical assessment, she thought sourly. She’d run into that problem before, when she’d tried white collar work, where it was more important to her IT colleagues that she was datable than if she was competent. At least her little hacker circles had been a level playing field.

      “I’m sure. It would be hard for me to explain to you why, but it’s there, believe me. I do this kind of thing every day. With some more work, I can probably trace the machine, maybe get the user’s name, but probably not the location.”

      “And you know how to do this?”

      “Like I said, it’s part of my job.”

      “Yes, well, this is all very disturbing. You can’t find who it is? Have they, uh, hacked into our machine?”

      Sarah shook her head. “They’re using your connection, but your machine seems fine. The only way I could find out who they are—maybe—is if I got into their machine and could track down some identifying information.”

      She caught Harold’s startled glance and sat back, grabbing her tea. “But that wouldn’t really be legal, or necessary. However, I can cause them a little inconvenience.” Sarah smiled slyly, catching Harold’s eye. “I can shut them out. They may find a way back in, but for now they’d be locked out, and you would have your connection back and running faster. You can report the breach to your satellite provider tomorrow, and see what they can do to prevent it from happening again.”

      Relief brightened her host’s features. “That sounds wonderful. Would you like a snack with your tea? Karen made pie earlier.”

      “Harold, you are a man after my own heart.”

      She smiled with sheer joy. Hacking and snacking—exactly what she’d needed to feel like herself again, and to have some fun.

      Shutting off the interloper wasn’t exactly easy, but she knew she could get in there and do it, given a few minutes. Grinning, she imagined the hacker’s frustration when his or her connection was cut. Probably a neighborhood teen who’d figured out how to jump on the wireless connection for a free ride. No doubt as bored and restless as she was.

      When she was done, she’d also warn Harold about handing over his computer to a strange user so easily, and run him through the basics of security, both human and technical. If she were a corrupt person, she could get control of their network, or get enough informationto do the small resort some serious damage. Hackers took exactly these kinds of opportunities to do their thing, sometimes right underneath people’s noses.

      Forgetting that, she became so caught up in her work, she barely noticed anything, mumbling to herself and lost in the world of codes and programs, completely forgetting about Harold until she heard him snoring lightly, and looked over to see the older man had fallen asleep in a chair. His thin, gold, wire-frame glasses slid down his nose a little bit, and she felt affection for him, even though she didn’t know him very well.

      Sleeping like that, he reminded her of her grandfather, and the memory brought both a smile and an ache. Pops was gone now, and she missed him horribly. He’d been the only one in her family who hadn’t judged her harshly for her mistakes.

      Sighing, she decided against checking her e-mail or lists—for all she knew, Ian or E.J. had put a sniffer out there to tag her if she showed up, and Ian would dock her vacation pay if he caught her, as he’d threatened before she left. She finished off the fantastic banana cream pie Harold had brought her and shut the screen down.

      Closing up shop, she reassured herself that the problem was solved for the moment. Pulling his jacket from the back of his chair, she covered Harold up and left him a quick note, whispering the words out loud as she wrote them. Harry, Connection fixed. Thanks for the snack. S.J.

      Wandering back up the stairs, she grabbed a bunch of magazines from a stack on a table and grimaced as she glanced at the titles: Country Living, Martha Stewart Living and Sport Fisherman.

      No Cosmo, People or, better yet, techie mags like 2600 or Secure Enterprise. Even Wired would do in a pinch. Ah, well, beggars couldn’t be choosers and it was going to be a long night. She could have gone several more hours online before winding down, and now she had a buzz from her light hacking episode. She grinned, the familiar happiness gripping her whenever she thought about the fact that she was paid to do this kind of work now.

      As she reached the top landing, another door softly shut. Not really paying attention, she kept walking and nearly collided head-on with Logan—a noticeably more tense Logan than she had met that afternoon. He looked like something had really pissed him off.

      She felt another, stronger tug. She liked him looking this way, and she could feel the energy that practically arced through the air like an electrical current. She took in the tight black T-shirt that hugged his firm upper body, and the worn jeans, feeling that surge of interest again.

      “You