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Summary
“I know I'm no doohickey whiz,” says Jane, steepling her fingertips in her lap. “But if you're such a crack techno-gal—haven't you ever thought about trying to hack the collar?” She doesn't say, I'd help. She's not sure that she would, ashamed as she is to think it. In another month, maybe, or two—but there's something to be said for insurance.
Or: how an ex-revolutionary teenager gets sent to serve as bodyguard to the Crockercorp heiress, and stuff goes with alacrity to crap.
