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

by Lindt, Allyson

  “I’m not done,” she said. “It continues. If Reagan is with you, give her my love.”

  A chill that wasn’t a result of the weather ran down Blake’s spine. “So who’s kitten?”

  “Apparently she’s this mysterious love of his life. He mentions her a lot, but this is the first time I’ve found a passage where he speaks to her directly. Another bit of him I didn’t know about.”

  “That’s kind of sweet.” He was both touched and bothered by the idea of love letters from beyond the grave.

  “Hmm...” She chuckled.

  “What?”

  “I hadn’t shared the parts about her with you, because I didn’t think you’d care for the sappiness.”

  “Are you saying I’m not romantic?”

  “Your words, not mine. I didn’t say anything of the sort. Though...” She put the journal away. “What was it you told me that first day? How do you feel about leaving these stuffy suits behind and letting me fuck you until you can’t walk?”

  “That’s not fair. You admitted you fucked me that day for the adrenaline rush. What other kinds of things did Alex write about this mystery woman?”

  “That he never met anyone like her. That he couldn’t believe she noticed him. That every time he looked at her, all he saw was the future.” Her voice cracked. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to drag up painful memories. It sounds like he really loved her.”

  “Yeah, it does.” There was a wistfulness in Reagan’s voice. “Must have been nice.”

  The same thing she said in Nashville, about having someone he trusted. Would she and he ever reach the point where they could have that? Trust? Adoration?

  The car hit an icy patch, and his gut lurched. Instinct kicked in, and he steered with the skid, struggling to right the vehicle without overcorrecting. He didn’t have any control, though. None of the tires gripped.

  The drift from the road down the side of the shoulder seemed to move in slow motion, dragging his heart into his shoes as they slid and stopped with the passenger door against a tree.

  For a second, he didn’t dare breathe, then he let out a long gasp and looked at Reagan. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She was pale but looked intact.

  She’d never screamed. Or made a sound. She kept her cool the entire time. The realization felt oddly clinical.

  He unbuckled his seatbelt, climbed from the car, and helped Reagan do the same.

  “What now?” she asked.

  He tried to check for a nearby tow-truck. His fingers were icy in under a minute, jabbing painfully at the screen of the phone. He snarled and jammed the device back into his pocket. “We’re so far in the middle of nowhere, there are no tow-truck numbers coming up in a search.”

  “That sucks. So we walk to the nearest service station, to get someone to tow us back up to the road, and hope we get picked up before then?”

  Sounded like a plan.

  They should have bought sturdier boots. Heavier jackets. Snow spilled over the tops of his shoes. Their feet would be numb at best, by the time they made it to the next exit.

  They trudged back to the freeway, where the snow was packed down the most. The subzero temperatures made conversation a bad idea. They tucked their heads down, kept close to each other—so they knew they were both still here—and walked.

  His face and legs and ears and everything were frozen by the time they reached an exit, and by his calculations, it had only been half an hour. The warmth of the gas station called to him, and they approached.

  The flash of the TV caught his eye, his own picture staring back at him. “Fuck.” He stalled a few feet back from the entrance.

  She looked between him and the news. “I’ll be back.” Concern and sympathy hung in her voice. “Find someplace warm?”

  “I will.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. The warmth of her lips branded itself on his skin. “I’ll hurry. And I promise to drive safely.”

  He didn’t doubt any of it, but he still hated to let her go alone. He fucking hated every bit of this. Being wanted. How useless it made him. Watching her walk away and having to wait and hope she came back.

  And he hated most of all that he still had that doubt—that nagging feeling that, one of these days, she wouldn’t return.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sawyer was grateful to be back in the war room. The rest of his meetings had gone smoothly, including one establishing contact with a new vendor. It was a nice contrast to the weeks of chaos, but it still felt good to be home.

  The quiet tap of keys filled the room, replacing any need for conversation while he and Lisa worked.

  A familiar chime sounded from his phone—the tone indicating Jabberwock had a secured message from one of his people. Sawyer pulled up the note and frowned at the name in his inbox. Hatter.

  Whispers flitted through his veins, tightening in his neck. That account was shut within hours of discovering Blake was a double agent. What was it doing, active?

  I’m in Lakeville, MN. Or rather, your ex-Hatter is.

  Cheshire Cat.

  “What the fuck?” Sawyer stared at the message, tension winding toward a headache. He hadn’t been able to locate Alice and Blake since they left Nashville, and now this arrogant jackass Cat was sending him Blake’s location from a dead email address?

  “What’s wrong?” Lisa asked.

  He showed her the phone. “Do you think this is funny?”

  She crossed the room, squinted at the words, and scowled. “Not even close.”

  “Then you didn’t send it?”

  “Why would I do that? You’re the one with the fucked-up sense of humor.”

  He turned the device back toward him and stared at the note for several seconds. “Do you think it’s true?”

  “That Blake is in Minnesota? Hell if I know.” Lisa settled back into her beanbag but didn’t grab her laptop.

  Sawyer needed to know how the message got to him, but he also couldn’t leave the lead untapped. It wasn’t as though he’d chase it himself, though. “We have a vendor with suppliers out there, don’t we? Put out feelers, see if anyone’s heard anything and if Blake and Alice are still together.”

  “Sure. I’m not doing anything else.”

  He frowned at the sarcasm. “Unless I’m inconveniencing you.”

  “No. This is fine,” she said through clenched teeth.

  He’d dig into her issue later, off the clock. “Good. If it’s him, find out what he’s doing there. He doesn’t have any holdings, and neither of them has ties to the past.” Jabberwock liked a good game of Cat and mouse, but not when he was the mouse. What was Cat trying to accomplish by sending him this?

  “Maybe they’re chasing ghosts.” She shrugged. “Since you’ve re-tasked me, I have the other information you wanted.”

  He’d almost forgotten. She was finding names for him—the people assigned to Blake’s manhunt. “Is it good?”

  The corner of her mouth tugged up, and the joy in her eyes was cruel. “It’s better than good. Lead on the case is Blake’s old boss. He was in charge of operations in Seattle when they grabbed Reagan—the guy who got approval to give her a long leash, at Blake’s prompting. And he made the decision to leave Blake in contact with her, despite knowing their... explicit past.”

  “Send me his info.” Sawyer understood her expression now. Glee tempered his irritation at the out-of-the-blue email that shouldn’t be. And see if you can figure out where Blake and Alice are going next.”

  Lisa raised her brows. “Because I’m psychic? I don’t know why they’re in Minnesota, or if they are even there. How am I supposed to tell you what their next stop is?”

  That was twice in rapid succession. She was probably stressed. The last few weeks had been rough. He’d make things up to her when this mess was straightened out. “If you could, I’d appreciate it.” He softened his tone. “I know you’ll find me everything that’s out there, even if no one else co
uld.”

  “Fine. Then they’re heading to Tampa next.” She bit off the words.

  That was where one of his larger offices was set up. One no one should be able to connect him to. “That’s not any funnier than the message from Cat.”

  “None of this is funny.” She grabbed her phone and stood. “Good luck with your NSA guy. I’m going to make some calls up north.”

  She strolled from the room, jabbing her screen.

  Tampa Bay. She just tossed that out there, didn’t she? Something was gnawing at her, and she wanted to return the favor. If Blake and Alice knew what Sawyer had there, they’d be able to shut him down. Not just that center, but everything. It linked to his legal name. To global holdings.

  So far, despite Alice’s threat to burn it all to the ground, she hadn’t done anything. Had she?

  He forced his attention back to the name Lisa sent him, but his mind kept wandering. She was right; Alice couldn’t be Cat.

  But now the thought was in Sawyer’s head, it wouldn’t leave. What did he need to put in place, to make sure Tampa was safe, without alerting anyone to the fact that he was worried?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Blake never trained for this. There was no experience in his life that prepared him for what he was going through.

  Top of his class in sniper school, general for a major crime syndicate, double agent deep undercover for seven years, and now he was stuck waiting in hotel rooms while someone else did the work. He wasn’t going to pace today. He’d sit on the bed and watch TV and wait patiently.

  Reagan had gone to the bank to check out Alex’s safe deposit box. As tame an action as a person could take. Unless there was an armed robbery, but that would be as ludicrous as six gunmen holding up a masquerade ball of Nashville’s elite.

  Blake banished the rambling thoughts before they could become irrational. He didn’t need to be that person. There were too many cameras where Reagan was. Too great a risk of him showing up in some facial-recognition database somewhere. It made sense for him to stay here.

  He needed something to do, though. His mind wasn’t built for hiding while other people did the heavy lifting. He looked at the TV. When did the daytime talk-shows start?

  He hated this shit.

  He flipped through channels, registering none of what he saw.

  The room phone rang, the loud bells shattering the unfocused bubble around him. He glared at the device, daring it to make the noise again. It complied.

  He could ignore it. Take the receiver off the hook. What if it was Reagan? She’d call the phone she left him. Burner phone. Untraceable.

  Unless she couldn’t. Fuck. He answered. “Yeah.”

  “How’s lapdog life?” Queen’s familiar voice jarred him worse than the ringing had.

  “Swell. Better than swell. Hell—it’s the best.” He moved around the room, figuring out what needed to be disposed of, what could be left behind, and what came with him.

  It was a short list—he and Reagan lived light. He balanced the phone between his shoulder and his ear, and leveled his gun at the door.

  “You’re an easy guy to track down.” Her tone was conversational. “Sometimes I think you’re the worst thing that ever happened to that girl.”

  The implication that Reagan was in more danger with him than without him gnawed at his joints. “I’m pretty sure her brother was, but you’re welcome to your opinion.”

  “Watch yourself.” A growl leaked into Queen’s voice.

  Note to self—sore spot. “Okay?”

  “In case you’re wondering if someone is about to burst through the door, we’re not.” Her pleasantness returned. “From what I can tell, we don’t need to be there.”

  Instinct wanted him to put down the phone and get out of here. Morbid curiosity and the knowledge Queen wasn’t as off her rocker as her boss kept him on the line. “I don’t believe you, but go on,” he said.

  “The night of the masquerade, do you remember us talking about Cheshire Cat?”

  “I do.” He’d brushed it aside as insignificant—another of Jabberwock’s deceptions—considering Cat didn’t exist.

  “Cat is real.”

  The words clawed up his spine, filling him with a dread he didn’t think a simple phrase could evoke. “Why are you really calling?” He kept his question cool.

  “Because for the duration of this conversation, and depending on how you react, you’re not the enemy. Consider this a professional courtesy.”

  “In other words, there’s something in it for you.”

  “Yup.” Her smirk was audible. “It works like this—Cat tends to have a good bead on where you and Alice are, and a habit of leaking your information whenever the two of you are apart. Cat is a hindrance to you and me, and you’re closer to the source right now.”

  He looked down the sights of his pistol and tensed, ready to pull the trigger the moment the door burst open. “How close?”

  “Is she with you as we speak?”

  “Who?” Cat was a she? It made as much sense as anything. Did Queen mean Reagan? Pieces tried to fit together, and he refused to let them. He was missing something, but that wasn’t it.

  Queen sighed. “I’ll stop being coy and vague. You’re off your game. Jabberwock’s got evidence that supports it. Alice is Cheshire Cat.”

  The statement sank like a stone, weighing down Blake’s gut, despite his internal argument that Queen was full of shit. She never said she thought it was true, but that was part of the game—one of the rules of being Jabberwock’s representative. She didn’t have opinions of her own; she recited his gospel.

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” he said.

  “Blake.”

  “Nope. We’re done. I’ll see you when you get here, since I assume you’re close.” He clicked the receiver, to make sure the line disconnected, then left the phone off the hook.

  That wasn’t the biggest mindfuck he’d seen come out of Jabberwock’s camp, but it was pretty fucking good. And ten million times more likely a way to screw with him than Reagan being Cat. Dragging out a twisted game was Jabberwock’s fetish, not hers.

  The moment she got back, they needed to move.

  Seventeen minutes later, Reagan called, “It’s me,” through the door before unlocking it and pushing it open. She held a plastic box, and a smile tugged at her lips.

  “Keys.” He barked the word.

  Her glee vanished, and she complied without question, falling into step beside him. They left the hotel in the background and drove. He didn’t ask for directions or tell her they were headed east, because of time limits. That was the only thing that held him back.

  “How serious is it?” she asked when they hit the freeway.

  His every sense was on alert. “Got a call from Queen. In the room.” He darted his gaze between the rear window and the road. Within ten minutes, they’d be in a remote enough location he could tell if anyone was following them.

  “Tell me what I need to do, when I need to do it.”

  He spared her a grateful glance. Focus was paramount. Which meant concentrating on the road rather than on the nagging reminder Reagan pitted him against Hare once before. Seattle was a different circumstance, but she was also a different person.

  What the fuck was wrong with him, that he was letting this get under his skin? This was the real reason Queen told him anything—to cast a wall of distrust between Blake and Reagan. He wouldn’t fall for it and he wouldn’t draw any parallels to the fact that, twice now, someone discovered him while she was gone.

  The heavy air in the car lifted, the longer they drove. When they stopped for gas, two hundred miles from their original destination, they traded cars with a guy who thought the battered Subaru was epic and retro.

  They arrived in Green Bay an hour and a half later. He didn’t like settling down here, but they needed a direction.

  “What happened?” Reagan asked when they were settled in a room.

  He should give her the detail
s, laugh them off with her, and move on. But no reason to burden her if it wasn’t true. “Like I said, I got a call. I figure she was screwing with my head, but...”

  “I know. Can’t take any chances.” She set down the plastic box. She hadn’t let go of it for more than a few seconds since she returned from the bank.

  He nodded at her prize. “Should I ask what you found?”

  A flicker of her earlier joy returned, hesitation lying underneath, and she unlatched the lid. “It’s a bunch of old stuff of Alex’s.” She held up a stack of photos, then set it aside at the edge of the box, to grab a G.I. Joe doll and a Barbie covered with ink designs. “This is Allie. He popped her head off and smooshed it when I was little, and I was so furious at him.” Her voice cracked.

  She clenched her jaw. “I worked so hard to give her all these tattoos, and he broke her.”

  “She has a head now.” Blake tried to add a lilt to his voice.

  “I noticed.” Reagan wiggled it off, and something rattled. She shook the head opening over her palm, and a micro SD card dropped into her hand.

  Well, wasn’t that convenient? “What’s on it?” An edge crept into his voice without his permission.

  “I grabbed the box, I glanced inside, and I brought it back to the hotel. Then we ran. I’ve had as much of a chance to look at this as you have.” She studied him for a minute. “Are you all right?”

  “Stressed.”

  “Understandable.”

  The harder he tried to shove his doubts aside, the louder they raged in his head. He hated this. “Did you have any problems at the bank?”

  “Nope. In and out. I had the key and the ID I needed. No big deal.”

  “Why did we go to the party in Nashville?” he asked.

  She frowned. “I told you.”

  “No. You gave me a vague excuse about Alex sending you there, just like in Minnesota.” Back down. He struggled to listen to the voice of reason, but it wasn’t working. The more he nudged, the more holes he found in her story—all the pieces that hadn’t quite fit since he found her again.