Deep Dark by Laura Griffin

jeans as the man got to his feet. She tried to get her nerves under control. She couldn’t focus on lightbulbs right now—she had a job to do.
    â€œNice to meet you, Delaney.”
    â€œIt’s Laney.”
    The police techie was stout and balding and worea short-sleeve button-down that reminded Laney of her high school chem teacher. He even had the armpit stains to match.
    â€œReed here tells me you’d like a look at one of our notebook computers.”
    â€œThe April Abrams case,” Reed said, glancing around. “I got your message that you finished with it?”
    Paul stepped over to a table where clear plastic evidence bags sat in a long row. Inside each bag was a laptop. Beside each was a smaller plastic bag containing a power cord.
    â€œLet’s see.” Paul consulted a clipboard, then walked over and picked up a thin silver laptop. “Here we go.” He handed it to Reed, who looked at Laney.
    â€œYou want to work in here or—”
    â€œWherever,” she said, glancing around at all the empty chairs and tabletops. “Here is fine.”
    She took a chair and pulled the computer from the bag, noting the gray smudges on it.
    â€œNo interesting prints,” Reed said.
    She opened the laptop and took a deep breath. “Password?” She glanced at Paul.
    â€œYou’ll never guess.”
    â€œOne-two-three-four-five.”
    He smiled. “Close. It’s numbers and letters.”
    â€œApril-one-two-three-four-five.”
    â€œYou got it.”
    â€œYou’re kidding,” Reed said.
    â€œIt happens all the time,” Paul told him. “First rule of informational security, have a decent password. Second rule, make it different across platforms.”
    Laney swiftly got into the system. April’s desktop background showed an amateur photograph of a beachat sunset. The pair of feet in the foreground had rainbow-painted toenails.
    â€œWe went through all her email and browsing activity,” Paul said. “Her last available visit to Mix was last November.”
    â€œExactly when was the last visit?” Reed asked.
    â€œI believe the twelfth.”
    Laney’s stomach knotted. That was the week before she had warned April about the security breach. So she had listened.
    Sort of.
    Laney had advised her to pull her profile down, but she’d evidently ignored that.
    Laney perused the desktop. As she clicked open a file folder, she felt the men behind her leaning closer. She hated shoulder surfing.
    â€œDo you mind?” She glanced up at them.
    â€œReed?”
    Everyone turned around at the voice. A slender, thirtyish woman with bottle-blond hair and huge boobs stood in the doorway.
    â€œI need you to take a look at something,” she said.
    Reed glanced at Laney. “You good here?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œI’ll be back in a few minutes.”
    Laney turned back to the screen and made an effort to ignore the remaining spectator. She didn’t like working with an audience.
    Paul was a computer analyst, which was a catchall title that in Laney’s experience could include everything from forensic computer analysis to troubleshooting software problems, depending on the budget of the police department. Laney was pretty sure this department had enough money for a designated investigator, but she didn’t want to make assumptions.
    â€œSo the Delphi Center,” he said, and she got a waft of coffee breath. “I bet that’s a nice place to work.”
    She glanced up at him. He was fairly tan for a computer geek, and she pictured him in wraparound sunglasses on top of a bike. Austin had an abundance of techies who fancied themselves cyclists.
    â€œHow long have you been there?” he asked.
    â€œA while,” she said vaguely.
    Laney tapped open a folder. It seemed to contain a mixture of business and personal files, pretty routine. She opened April’s email and had a quick look