(I’m cheating today, my head hurts and I’m dealing with Refinancing paperwort. This is actually my non-winning entry in a contest)

Hacking Immortality
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

Death wasn’t easy, but couldn’t it be a little cheaper? Hettie Andrews stared at the deposit figure shown on the bank statement she’d hacked into. That’s a whole lot of zeros.

After a moment’s delay, her fingers flew over the keyboard as she looked for anything else within the last several months that might indicate Viktor Ginda was responsible for more than just the attempted hit a week ago.

The self-styled Ukrainian playboy led a life far beyond the income he earned as an occasional bodyguard. His love of gold, diamonds and platinum blondes is what had drawn Hettie’s attention in the first place. She sneered at the number of times Mr. Ginda paid for the company of his silicon-enhanced dates.

It figures, the guy’s dick probably rotted off before he hopped to the US. All swagger and talk and nothing to back it up. Hettie saved a copy of the data, then closed her connection to the online banking site. He doesn’t even have the brains to think of a decent password.

Still nothing she could easily tie to any of the other execution-style murders, let alone the attack that took Sean from her just six months ago. The attack that changed her life forever and ended his.

Her back popped at the movement after hours of inactivity when she impatiently shoved free of the desk and stood. Pacing the dimly lit room, dodging the few pieces of chrome and steel furniture, she tried to make sense of the pieces of information she had.

She wrapped her arms around herself, still not used to how cold she felt even in the thick sweatshirt, pants and fuzzy socks. It was quiet this late at night. Most of her close neighbors had gone to bed long ago and even the teenager down the block’s attempts at playing drums with zero sense of rhythm had ceased a few hours ago. She always did her best work at night – it just became more necessity than choice six months ago.

More lonely as well.

She fought the huge lump in her throat at the memory of all the late nights spent with Sean, hacking into networks, trying to solve crimes and remove threats. How much she missed the mornings she woke in his strong arms, secure in her love and her ignorance of the fact they had a price on their heads already haunted her daily.

No tears. She’d spent weeks crying until she didn’t think she could cry another tear. Now was the time for duty and bringing killers to justice.

So why were these other hackers being killed? They weren’t much of a threat, really. Just loud-mouthed script-kiddies who had little real talent. They had to have stumbled on something or someone but damned if she could figure out what. Weeks of digging through their files and posts failed to show a clear link. She was missing something either incredibly subtle or painfully obvious. At this rate, her handler would pull her off the case, despite her personal vow to find her fiancé’s killers. There were other cases that needed her skills.

“But where did Sean’s code come from?” Her voice broke the silence.

The snippet had all the hallmarks of Sean’s style but she’d never seen it before she’d found it while trailing several of the dead hacker’s activities. It had to be new or it wouldn’t have used the technique it did.

Maybe it was time to pay a visit to Mr. Ginda in person? He’ll probably pee his pants to see me again.” Her lips curled in a vindictive grin at the thought of appearing to Viktor like a ghost from the grave.

She suddenly realized she was hungry. Very hungry. No wonder she couldn’t focus very well. Thankfully the all night Chinese place just down the block was happy to deliver to her. In fact the delivery boys vied over who would bring her order – she tipped exceptionally well and they always left well rewarded.

She phoned to order her usual — wonton soup and fried rice. Nothing too stinky – she couldn’t stand anything too stinky these days. While she waited for her delivery, she tapped a manicured nail against a pearly white fang and smiled, imagining just what Viktor Ginda’s reaction would be when the victim of his last hit showed up in his bedroom – definitely walking and talking, and no more dead than she was before he shot her multiple times.