Free Secrets of the Dead by Kylie Brant

most insulting. “I know sixty-seven different ways to call you a jackass.” She slapped the now wrinkled sheet of paper against his bare chest, tempted to pin it there with her knife. “None of them do you justice.”
    “What’s this?” He smoothed it out, squinting at it in the shadows.
    “The reason I came in here. That, and my overpowering and yes—thanks for the clarification—unrequited state of lust.” She turned on her cell so he could read by the light provided by the screen.
    Mr. Gallagher,
    I apologize for my assistant’s over-enthusiasm this afternoon. He has been properly disciplined. I hope you will still consider listening to my business proposition. I will be available to discuss it over lunch tomorrow, 11:30 in the dining room of the Latifma Hotel on Fourth and Prospect.
    Your humble servant.
    His reaction was swift. “Shit. I mean…” He shot her a look. “This…” He shook the paper, “…is good news. At least it can be if Raiker has time to check out the location for the meet. The rest…” He went silent and a part of Eve was gratified by the pained expression on his face. “Ah…I’m going to blame that on a brain muddled by sleep fog.”
    As apologies went, his didn’t go far enough. Still stinging from his earlier remarks, her tone was caustic. “Uh-huh.” Another woman might find him sort of harmlessly adorable, with his hair all mussed and one cheek still bearing a crease from his pillow. Ten minutes ago, she might have thought the same.
    Of course that was before the man had, in the space of a second held her immobilized with a gun to her temple. Had outraged her with his awkward refusal of a sexual encounter she hadn’t even offered. The second act felt more insulting than the first.
    Eve eyed him warily. His shoulders were much too broad to be considered harmless. And his torso was roped with muscle his clothes did a good job of hiding from the world. And she…she was spending way too much time contemplating a half nude man who had, intentionally or not, just disparaged her. Jackass.
    “A little odd, isn’t it, that it isn’t signed?”
    He shrugged. “We’ll get a name soon enough.” He was silent for a moment, studying the message. “Your humble servant. That sounds Asian, doesn’t it? Chinese? Japanese?”
    “Or someone attempting to sound that way.” Linguistically speaking, there was little of value in the message. If the author was bi-lingual, he or she had a good grasp of English. Declan reached for his cell, which was setting on a small nightstand next to the bed. “What are you doing?”
    “Texting Raiker the details of the meet. Hopefully by tomorrow he can get us a scouting report of…” He consulted the message again. “…the Latifma Hotel on Fourth and Prospect.”
    Concern shoved aside her irritation with him. “I’m still a bit leery of using cell phones to communicate, even if they did come from Raiker’s labs. Nothing is untraceable.”
    “These are.” He was already bent over his phone typing a message.
    “That’s impossible. The technology doesn’t exist.” This much she was sure of.
    “He has an innovation lab that works on select contracts for…those in charge of the military. Believe me, every new bit of technology that lands in civilian hands, the military has had for at least a decade.”
    The Pentagon he meant. There was no Scottish Gaelic word for it so he was careful enough to avoid speaking the word aloud. She was fascinated in spite of herself. Moving over to sit beside him on the edge of the bed, she asked, “But how do they work?”
    Finally he raised his head to look at her. “I’m not going to bore you with talk of cryptographic algorithm options and transmission security functions. Suffice it to say, any messages that are sent or received are encrypted for secure transmission and decrypted for the receiver. Anything deleted from the phone is not recoverable, except back at the lab where the scientists can do