Don't Turn Around by Michelle Gagnon Read Free Book Online Page B

forty bucks and no questions asked, it was probably the best she could expect.
    At least there was a table set up beside a functioning outlet. Noa took a pillow from the bed and covered the hole in the chair with it, then carefully sat down. Her laptop needed more charging—she got it set up. All the nearby wireless networks were password-protected, but that was child’s play. Within a few minutes she’d accessed the one with the strongest signal and was off and running.
    She started by zeroing in on the warehouse complex where she’d been held. Hacking into the city records department was more complicated than getting on a wireless router, but only slightly. It was laughable how easy it was to dig around most government sites. Corporations tended to be trickier, since they went to the trouble of hiring people like her to test their networks. Most local and state governments simply didn’t have the cash flow to protect themselves.
    The boatyard and warehouses were registered to the same corporation: ANG Import/Export. Which sounded innocuous enough. Noa started to dig through corporate records, trying to find out more about the company.
    Unfortunately, it turned out that ANG Import/Export was owned by another company based in the Bahamas, which in turn was owned by another company that didn’t seem to exist outside of filing for S-Corp status....
    Twelve companies later, Noa sat back, frustrated. So far none of them seemed to exist as anything but a hiding place for more companies. It was like one of those Russian nesting dolls, where you pulled the two halves apart only to find another smaller doll inside, then another inside that one … only she was starting to get the sense that these dolls might go on forever. The clock at the top of her monitor read one a.m. Noa rubbed her eyes. She felt physically exhausted, but oddly not tired. The thin curtains over the windows were barely going to block the morning light, so she’d probably awaken at dawn, anyway. She might as well try to get some rest.
    Noa wished she’d grabbed some toiletries at a drugstore. She had a terrible taste in her mouth, metallic and strange, and she’d love to wash the grime off her face. Luckily she still didn’t feel hungry, because this definitely wasn’t the type of hotel that boasted a vending machine. She’d be lucky to find a half-used bar of soap in the bathroom.
    She used two fingers to peel the bedspread off the bed—even though she was freezing, it didn’t seem like something she’d want any part of her body to come in contact with. Noa scooted between the sheets and stared up at the ceiling. She finally allowed herself to stop and process what had happened to her— Or what might have been done, she thought with a shudder.
    Hesitantly, Noa reached under her sweatshirt and grabbed a corner of the bandage, carefully peeling it away. She ran her fingers over the incision on her chest contemplatively. It was a diagonal slice that started in the center of her rib cage and ran right at a slight downward angle for three inches. The skin surrounding it felt colder than the rest, the scab itself just a narrow line. The weird thing was that it barely hurt anymore. Earlier it had felt like her ribs were cracked and broken, the cut itself sharp and painful. But now the wound barely throbbed. And her foot already felt better, too. She unpeeled the gauze and checked; the cut must not have been as deep as she thought; it was barely even visible. Strange.
    And even though she felt exhausted, Noa couldn’t sleep. It was almost as if she’d forgotten how. Not that that was unusual. She’d suffered bouts of insomnia her entire life—especially at The Center, where sleep made you vulnerable. But after Noa got her own apartment, that had changed. For the first time in her life, she’d slept eight, nine, sometimes even ten hours a night. It was amazing what a difference feeling safe made.
    Now, apparently, that was gone again. Noa lay there