Page 116 of Parting Shot

“Okay, wait.” My brain hurt, and I put my head down on my folded arms and closed my eyes. “When you said your program monitors all devices that come into your building at Sutter, is that only the ones that have the program uploaded?”

“No.”

“Meaning that devices on the premises, with or without the program, can be scanned.”

“You’re very quick, Detective.”

I growled.

“But, in answer to your question, yes, everything. All devices.”

“So, cell phones too?”

“The program checks all devices for any crumb connected to Sutter. So, say, while you’re in my building, you even text a word about Sutter, the program is alerted, and your device is scanned.”

“How?”

“Wi-Fi.”

“It just accesses the device without you knowing?”

“That’s correct.”

“So, my phone, because I have your number in there—when I’m at Sutter, the program will basically hack me to see what information I have about your company?”

“No.”

“But you just said that all devices⁠—”

“All phones belonging to law enforcement personnel are off-limits to the program, Detective.”

“I have sensitive information on my––”

“Are you listening to me? We don’t scan any devices belonging to anyone in––”

“And this program just knows that, does it?”

“Don’t sound so snide,” he cautioned me. “And yes, of course it knows.”

“How?”

“I’m sorry, Detective; I’ll need to put you in contact with the people in my tech department if you need a full explanation of all the ins and outs of a program I did not, in fact, create.”

“You know that’s bad, right?” I groaned, feeling the splintering headache starting to make me nauseous. “God, I think I actually have a concussion this time.”

“What can I do?” he asked sharply.

“Nothing.”

He took a breath, and I felt his hand in my hair. “I have to do something.”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing and talk to me.”

I could tell from his expression, the furrowed brows, how his lips pressed together, that he was going to panic if he couldn’t take care of me.

“So how does the program work?” I asked, changing the subject.

“I don’t⁠—”