Chapter Twenty-Six
Toby listened as the students moved silently about his great room, breaking down the tables and packing up the lab, and pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over Rose’s name again, until he closed it down and tossed it aside. Illness twisted his gut. How had Katy known about Rose’s crew and when they’d be leaving? He itched to call her and find out.
He stared blankly at the archival room from his office chair, waiting for the crew to be gone. He wanted his house to himself so he could shout or hit something. Rose hadn’t returned any of his messages or calls. He didn’t want to make a scene in front of her students, so he hadn’t driven down to the camper site, either. God, he hoped her fragile trust wasn’t broken completely! But the crew was packing up the bins and tables into one of the vans now if the slamming of vehicle doors meant anything. Were they leaving tomorrow? He wouldn’t have one more day with her to get to the bottom of this mess and make it right? Was she finished working? Or was she running away because of him?
He should have blocked Katy’s number. But she’d never texted back. He’d thought it was all done and over.
His chest ached. He pounded it, reliving the shock that had spread across Rose’s face, so sated and relaxed moments before from their loving. The pain had felt like a kick from a horse. He dragged back his phone to see Katy’s text for the hundredth time, pushed to his feet, paced to his door, hiding inside like a damned prisoner in his own home, until he spied Kelsey carrying out the last box through the crack, heard Meg drop something onto the coffee table with a jingle, and the front door closed.
Silence echoed now. He marched down the hall, peering into the great room. Everything was as it had been before Rose’s crew had arrived. Nothing was out of place. It was if no one else had been here. He strode to the front door, seeing the taillights of the van distorted through the glass panes pull away from the house, and set the lock. Turned the deadbolt. He punched Katy’s number and let the phone ring. She answered on the first ring.
“Hey, sexy,” she said in a playful, sultry voice. What was she, a phone sex operator when on break from college? “I wondered when you’d give me a call.”
“Why?” he demanded, no greeting, no preamble to the purpose of his contact. “I texted you almost three weeks ago to delete my number. I never gave you my number in the first place. You helped yourself to my phone and put it there. Why would I have called?”
Silence descended. Had she hung up on him? No, he heard her clear her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m confused. You’ve been texting me, all hot and bothered. You even called me. I thought we had a thing going.”
“What orbit is your planet on, lady? I don’t know who called you, but it wasn’t me. I told you I didn’t want you having my number. I don’t give it out. And while we’re at it, how in the hell do you know about the work crew here?”
“Because you told me! And why have you been blowing up my phone?” she retorted.
“Blowing up your phone?” he growled. “Dammit. I haven’t sent you a damn thing. I started datin’ a girl this summer. And your little text just popped up at the wrong time. Guess what? She saw all of it.”
“Well, I’m sorry you’re a two-timing asshole, but you called me three nights ago…except I will admit, you sounded different. That’s when you told me your archaeology crew was leaving soon.”
“Damn straight I sounded different because if you were talking to someone three nights ago, it sure as hell wasn’t me. Three nights ago, I was hanging out with my girl and her kid with a houseful of people. And that work crew out here is confidential. I own and run a ranch, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have said a word about what that crew was doing on my property. To anyone.”
In fact, now that he thought about it, whoever had told her that had to have been someone who knew about Rose’s dig. The only ones who knew anything about it were his brothers, Shirley, Stella—who knew better than to blab about such things, and Rose’s crew. And how would any of them have known Katy?
A silent impasse stretched for a minute between them. Then she cleared her throat again. “Here, I’m texting you screen shots of the messages you sent me.”
A moment later, his phone buzzed, then buzzed again, again as the texts came through. He looked down and opened his message app, opening the picture. His eyes widened. Confusion furrowed his brow. What in the hell? There were several messages back and forth, every single one of them from his number. Impossible, wasn’t it? The messages from his number had been sent mostly during the afternoons and evening—so he hadn’t sent these in his sleep or something weird like that.
“These are your messages, cowboy. Read them and weep.”
Hell yes, he felt like weeping. Had someone hacked his number? Was such a thing possible? Who would have done it? How? When? Why?
He hung up the call, his thumbs flying over the keyboard.
Toby:I didn’t send these messages. I stand by my first request that you delete my number. You swear you’re not making anything up?
Katy Kisses:I’m not making up anything. If you’re serious, do you think someone hacked your phone?
Toby nodded to himself. She’d just said the same thing as he’d thought.
Toby:Sorry for all this confusion. I’m sure you’re real nice. But I never messaged you, and I never called you. Don’t answer any more messages that come from my number because if my number’s been hacked, yours might have been, too.
He exited his messages and began searching his phone settings. He checked every permission he’d given to every website or app—when an app caught his eye. What was it? He’d downloaded relatively few apps in addition to the ones that had come standard on his phone. He hated things dinging at him all day. He didn’t recognize this icon or the name. Pulling open a search window, he tapped the keyboard to look up the name.
Alarm infused his blood. “What in the hell?” He scanned search result after search result. Malicious app. In-app spoofing. He scrolled through headlines from one tech security website to the next.
Shit. Was his whole phone compromised? How had this app gotten on his phone? Someone had to have put it there. When could they have done that? Should he go to the police? How would they ever track down the person who’d done this? It would be like searching a haystack for a speck of dust.
He held his thumb on the app icon until the X showed up and deleted it. When had he left his phone unattended… He’d left it on the counter that one night, while the crew ate fajitas. When Howie had intimidated Rose and left while he and Rose were in his office. Rose had said Howie was a techie who’d created apps for his dissertation. The crew had joked that if Howie were in charge of the field school, all he’d do was mess around on his phone. Howie would know all about devices and apps and malware and everything else.
Howie. Somehow, the guilt could be firmly placed on him. And it would be damned impossible to prove.
“That petulant little bastard.”