The Hatter and The Hare (Hacking Wonderland, #2)

by Lindt, Allyson

  SAWYER WOULD RATHER be back home, in the war room, sifting through this nonsense with Lisa. Or seeking out Alice and puzzling through what was going on in her head. Lisa had a point; he might be a touch obsessed. Not that he saw that as a bad thing.

  But the books had to be balanced, and accounts seen after, and a fresh wave of something loyalty- and fear-inducing, to go with his name. The affair with Cheshire Cat was costing him. He always figured he’d be the last person to be pissed off at a fictional character, but here it was.

  An alert email pinged his phone, jarring him from his work. When he let Blake and Alice walk, then scrubbed them, he’d set up alerts on their legal names. It was for his own curiosity, to know if anyone saw past the work he’d done.

  This alert was for Blake Allen—a common name, so Sawyer saw hundreds a week. This one had a picture with it, though. As well as a warrant and a national all-points bulletin.

  Sawyer left his hotel room, walked the couple of feet to the one next door, and knocked.

  The moment Lisa answered, he brushed past her. “We want to see this,” he said as he snagged the remote from its spot near the TV and flipped to a news channel.

  “What is this?”

  He held up a finger to silence her. “If this is as big as I think, you’ll see. Give it a few minutes.”

  Less than five minutes later, the anchor said, “Federal law enforcement raided a hotel in Nashville, based on information that a known cyber terrorist, thought dead, was staying there. Blake Allen—”

  “Holy shit.” Lisa sat on the edge of her bed. “We took them off the books. Faked their deaths. How did this happen?”

  Their deaths had to be faked because people remembered a lot longer than federal databases did. Erasing someone from a computer didn’t clear them from their colleagues’ heads. But Sawyer wanted to know what resurrected Blake and Alice. “Perhaps someone who worked with him caught wind he was still out there.”

  The TV droned in the background. “...suspect was gone when law enforcement arrived...”

  Lisa studied him. “Is caught wind your code for I tipped them off?”

  “God no. Having the Feds poking around will be incredibly disruptive. Alice just came out of hiding, and if she vanishes again, I have to reset the chessboard.”

  “That’s not the most convincing argument. Do you realize that?” Lisa’s gaze drifted back to the screen every few seconds.

  Spoilsport. “Fine. How’s this? If they’re looking for him, they’re going to want to discover how he vanished. That leads back to us. Not a headache we need on good days. Right now? It could be devastating.” His irritation grew as he spoke. He shouldn’t have to explain himself.

  “Point made. If it wasn’t you, who was it?”

  “Alice.” The other day when Lisa gave the answer off the cuff. Today, Sawyer understood where her assumption came from.

  Lisa rolled her eyes. “She called law enforcement on herself?”

  “But she didn’t. They were gone with the cops showed up.”

  “Coincidence. It’s ten in the morning; they went out to breakfast. Next you’re going to tell me she hired those shitty excuses for thieves last night.” Boredom leaked into Lisa’s voice, and she turned off the news.

  The more they talked this through, the more pieces fell into place. “The guys who never shot at anyone? They didn’t have to know who she was, if they were hired to hit the party and remind me I wasn’t untouchable.”

  “She was terrified when it was over.” Lisa’s argument blended with her ho-hum. “There’s no way you missed her shaking like a leaf.”

  He’d noticed. “She watched six men executed in quick succession. She’s not a killer, and if she hired them... double the nausea that she got them killed. Are you trying to talk me out of this?”

  “I’m asking you to see the holes in your logic. I said she was Cat as a joke. This is a conspiracy theory that defies even your reputation.”

  Which was why it was the perfect cover or distraction, or whatever one wanted to call it. “She’s got it in her. Don’t underestimate the woman.”

  “Not for a second.” Lisa gave a short laugh and shook her head. “Someone who knows exactly when to whimper or fuck up when a gun is pointed at her, to get the response she needs? She knows how to play your strings and Blake’s.”

  “So you agree with me.” He didn’t try to hide his smugness.

  “I don’t. If you’re trying to convince me Alice is Cheshire Cat, you’re as mad as a hatter.” She gestured to the door. “Can I get back to work now?”

  Sawyer clenched his jaw and bit back an angry retort. No reason to prove her right. It took more focus than he expected, to talk himself back from mounting rage.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As he and Reagan strolled away from the hotel, Blake forced himself to keep an even gait. They walked into the wind, to have an excuse to keep their heads down. The chill bit into his face, mocking him for the decision.

  They needed to get someplace safe and assess the situation, but it was a Catch 22. Without knowing what the situation was, he had no idea where was safe, and he didn’t dare call Ephraim, and put his friend in danger, until Blake had an idea what was going on.

  He wrapped an arm around Reagan’s waist, to pull her close. It would give the impression they were a couple walking the downtown streets.

  She leaned into him without protest. “Where are we going?” Her question barely reached his ears over the November gusts.

  “Not a clue. Closest bus stop, to start. We’ll take a bus out of town, to the farthest stop that looks like it’s got commerce.” Because wandering a random suburban neighborhood without a destination was low on his list of things he wanted to do today. If a helpful member of a neighborhood-watch group decided Blake and Reagan looked suspicious, he didn’t see any scenario where things ended well for them.

  Conversation faded. He counted off each block, as they crossed the streets between. Four, then five. At this rate, they were going to walk out of town before they found a ride.

  They turned the corner as an outbound bus pulled up to a bench about ten feet away. Reagan quickened her pace to match his, and a moment later they sat in the back. People occupied the seats around them, which meant talking would have to wait. That was fine; he didn’t have enough information to say much.

  When the vehicle rolled forward, a blast of humid, warm air hit him on the face. It smelled like feet and cigarette butts. He didn’t care, as long as nobody was threatening them.

  Reagan leaned her head on his shoulder, and he intertwined his fingers with hers. He didn’t believe for a second it was anything other than for show.

  They didn’t talk, their ride taking them farther from the city center with each stop.

  Reagan’s body went rigid against his, and his senses kicked up another level. She knelt on her seat, and kissed along the edge of his ear. “Guy in front of me is watching news on his iPad,” she whispered.

  Blake clenched her hand more tightly but kept a lazy smile in place. “Anything interesting?”

  She cupped his cheek, turning his head as if to kiss him, and pointed him in the direction of the screen. His heart plummeted into his shoes when he saw his own face staring back at him, courtesy of an old government ID. He couldn’t make out the scrolling text beneath, but the larger headline banner read Suspect wanted for questioning by the NSA.

  Fuck. He pulled the cord, to indicate they wanted to get off at the next stop, and before the bus finished rolling up to the bench, he tugged Reagan toward the rear exit.

  They were only about ten miles out from where they started. They needed to put more distance between them and his former employer. She tucked herself next to his side as they stuck close to buildings and kept out of the flow of foot traffic.

  “Were you able to see what else they were saying?” he asked.

  “I caught some of the ticker news. They raided the hotel where they thought you were staying, and you were
gone, so they’re looking for you.”

  Shit. “Why are they looking for me now?” Jabberwock was supposed to take care of erasing them. Did Blake step on his toes in some way last night, to provoke this? Was it part of the game?

  She shook her head.

  “Is your name or picture up there?” He hadn’t seen her, but he wasn’t watching for long.

  “Not that I could tell, but I only watched long enough to see you.”

  She may not be on their radar. If Jabberwock wanted her, this was a good way to get Blake out of the picture. Blake wasn’t certain that was what happened, but odds seemed good. He steered them toward a convenience store. “I need you to buy me a pack of smokes.”

  “Because... stress relief?”

  “Because I need to keep my head down, and stay away from places with cameras or TV’s, if my face is plastered everywhere. If I’m lingering outside of every building we walk up to, I’m going to look like a creepy fucker, just standing outside hiding my face, unless I’m doing something.”

  Her chuckle was bitter. “The odd lump under your hoodie isn’t doing you any favors.”

  “Cigarettes?”

  “What kind?”

  “Something light.” He wasn’t going to smoke them; he gave up that habit years ago.

  She broke away from him, to head inside, and he took the opportunity to get a better idea of their surroundings. There was a diner on one corner, an auto shop down the street, and several businesses in between. When he looked in the other direction, he couldn’t fight his relieved smile. A motel, complete with a sign whose cracks and chips he saw from here, and all of the single-story units with outside entrances.

  Reagan returned, carrying a plastic bag. She handed him a box of Camel lights and held up the sack. “I figured, since we skipped breakfast...”

  Inside were a few packages of nuts and a couple bottles of water. Smart woman. He nodded toward the motel. “Get us a room? We’ll watch the news and see how bad this is, and figure out where to go next.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Six hours later, sequestered in their room, Blake had watched the news shift from him being wanted for questioning, to the NSA having evidence he’d been in the hotel room they raided, to him being implicated in a shooting last night that left six people dead. His prints were the only ones identifiable on weapons found at the scene of the crime.

  “I’m curious,” he said, more to fill the air and distract himself, than because he wanted the answer. He sat on the edge of the bed, on the comforter. Part of him was afraid to pull the blanket back and reveal whatever lay underneath. The room was clean, but a layer of grime clung to everything anyway.

  Reagan looked up from where she sat at the desk. “About what?”

  “Jabberwock was supposed to erase us, correct? There were faked deaths. I know because I read about them. But erasing would also mean removing us from all law-enforcement databases.”

  “I assume. Or rather, that’s what a rational person would do in a case like that.” She had a point.

  “If that’s the case, what are they matching my fingerprints to?”

  “Physical copies, instead of digital?” She turned her attention back to her phone.

  Not likely, unless they dug through old records at Fort Knox or something, and there was no reason to do that unless they already suspected him. Something that shouldn’t happen if they thought he was dead. He sifted the riddle through his head, but it didn’t matter which angle he examined it from; he got the same answer each time. He wasn’t as erased as he was supposed to be.

  “Where does Alex say we’re going next?” he asked. They needed a direction, and if Jabberwock was working this hard to take Blake out of the picture, they needed to head that way fast.

  “It’s a bit vague”—she swiped at her screen—“but the way I interpret it, Minnesota.”

  They’d need warmer clothes for that. “The way you interpret it?”

  “He mentions street names and small suburbs. The problem is a lot of them are names like Springfield, where there’s one in almost every state. This note says SD, Lakeville, WF, 270, and based on his previous notes, that means a safety deposit box at the Wells Fargo in Lakeville Minnesota, on 270th Street.”

  “Makes a hell of a lot more sense than most things I’ve heard today.” Blake was great with any place that took them away from prying eyes.

  “Got it.” Reagan grinned and set her phone aside.

  “Got what?”

  “Kid about twenty-five miles from here, willing to sell his beater car for cash.”

  “Suspect is considered armed and dangerous, and should not be approached. If you have any leads about this man, please contact the hotline immediately.”

  Blake glared at the TV. His ID photo stared back at him blankly. Working for Jabberwock and the NSA meant keeping his identity a secret was the key to staying alive. This was the first time since he left that he felt exposed without that guaranteed anonymity. “Great. When can you pick it up?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Blake followed the worn path in the motel-room carpet as he paced. At least he wasn’t the first person to take this route. Reagan was gone too long. Okay, it was only a couple hours, but all she had to do was take a cab to the guy selling the car, exchange money for keys, and come back here.

  Even with a test drive and traffic building toward rush-hour levels, she should be done by now.

  Whoever was bringing this head down on him was doing a pretty thorough job of fucking him hard and fast and completely. He could see one way out that was more surefire than any other—walk away. Leave the country. Forget Jabberwock and Reagan and everything else attached to his life.

  But he was starting to get an idea of why Reagan was so driven. Jabberwock’s people were destroying their lives. Obliterating Blake’s freedom, because Jabberwock liked games.

  If Blake stayed to pursue this, though, he put Reagan at risk. She wasn’t a wanted felon.

  A key rattled in the lock, knocking his thoughts offline. He reached for his gun and leveled it at the door. He thumbed off the safety and looked down the sights.

  “It’s me.” Reagan’s voice carried through the insulated plywood.

  He breathed out as he lowered his weapon, and she stepped into the room.

  She eyed his hands. “I’ll try to remember to announce myself sooner next time.”

  “I appreciate that.” He holstered the sidearm. “How’d it go?”

  She held up the keys. “Ready for a road trip?”

  “Toss me the keys.” He held out his hand.

  She frowned and tucked them into her pocket. “No. You need to be the passenger, so you can stay better hidden from the cameras.”

  “You and I aren’t staying together. We’re going our separate ways,” he said. That was the main flaw he saw with pursuing Jabberwock. Blake didn’t think he could keep Reagan safe.

  “Bullshit. Do you remember less than a week ago, when I tried to tell you the same thing? Nope. Nuh-uh. You’re stuck with me, or you can get your own ride.”

  “Fine. I’ll locate my own transportation.” He brushed past her.

  She grabbed his arm and spun him back to face her. “Don’t—” Her voice cracked, and she hissed. “Don’t walk out like that.” She spoke in a more even tone. “If I were Queen, would you pulling this I can’t protect you, so I can’t stay with you bullshit?”

  “I wouldn’t have trusted her in the first place. She had my back, but only as far as it benefited her. This isn’t just about keeping you safe. You don’t have an APB on you, so you can go wherever you want, without fear of being caught. If you stay with me, you lose that freedom”

  She studied him for a moment. “Do you trust me?”

  “You’re the one who was struggling with trust.” He should have said yes. Why didn’t he?

  “It’s true you’re the one with your face plastered on every news channel and feed.” She leaned against the door, blocking i
t. “The way I see it, if you were trying to fuck me over at this point, you’d leave. Or report me as your associate, but that would make you as mad as the man hunting us. So yes, I trust you. For now.” She winked. The expression didn’t mask the seriousness that lay under her teasing.

  “Me too,” he said.

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  He was grateful she didn’t ask him to clarify what he meant by me too. He wasn’t sure he could. As they headed into the parking lot, he realized they were walking toward a Subaru that had to be at least thirty years old. “How do we know that thing won’t fall apart on us?”

  “We don’t.” She slid into the driver’s side. “But it only has to get us out of town and to a place where we can buy another one.”

  He hoped she had more of that optimism. Something told him it kept her going, and now would be an unfortunate time for it to give out. He dropped into the passenger seat, keeping his hood low over his face. It gnawed at him that he couldn’t do this as well on his own. With her anonymity, she could go places he couldn’t. But if she was willing to put her faith in him, he could return the favor.

  They drove for about an hour before they crossed into Kentucky. The more distance they put between them and the raid on the hotel, the easier Blake could breathe. Because of the time of year, the sun would set in an hour or two, making it easier to hide their faces from traffic cameras, and then he’d take his turn driving. At least then he’d feel like he was contributing.

  “Since we’re moving into trusting-each-other territory, can I ask you something?” Blake said. “And don’t tell me you just did.”

  She smirked. “Take the fun out of it. Sure. Fire away. But know I may not answer.”

  “You said Alex’s code led you to a few things already. What kind of things?”

  “Nothing that’s significant on its own. For instance, there’s a deed to the house I was born in—apparently he purchased it before he died.”

  As opposed to after? Blake bit back the sarcastic retort. It might be funny in his head, but it wouldn’t help the mood. “He was nostalgic, then?”