by Freya Barker
Radar
I welcome Hillary’s weight draped on me, and the tickle of her hair brushing my face.
My heart is pounding and my cock painfully hard, but I keep my arms wrapped tightly around her soft form while I allow both to subside.
“Am I getting too heavy for you?” she whispers, trying to lift up.
“No. Don’t move, I like you right where you are.”
“Okay.”
She relaxes and snuggles her face in my neck. I sigh when her scent settles around me, the spice of her sex and a hint of coconut from her hair.
“You didn’t…” She slides a hand down to my waistband and I quickly stop her.
“Next time,” I tell her, but she’s already lifting her head again. Languid brown eyes look into mine.
“You sure?”
I lift my mouth to hers in a brief kiss before I lie through my teeth.
“Positive.”
She seems unconvinced and climbs off me, staring hard at my crotch.
“Really?”
“You’re not helping,” I grumble, swinging my legs around and sitting up.
“Any particular reason?”
I should’ve known she’d be direct. Something else that sets her apart from any other woman I’ve been with. No games, not with Hillary.
“Yes,” I answer her as I get to my feet and face her, placing a hand at the base of her neck. “Doesn’t exactly make me proud to admit, and I hope it doesn’t offend you, but quick and easy has been my MO for the most part. It’s not what I’m after with you.”
“No muss, no fuss kinda guy?”
I know she’s teasing when the corner of her mouth twitches and I lean my forehead against hers.
“I was. Now I’m not. I wanna do this right.”
“Okay.”
I kiss her lightly. Her arms snake around my waist, hands fisting in my shirt as she pulls me closer. I kiss her again, this time a little deeper and she rolls her hips against mine.
“All right, you minx,” I scold her, as I pull away and see the sparkle in her eyes. “I should get going before you corrupt me.” She snorts and follows me to the door. “What are you doing Saturday?”
“Going out with friends.”
“Friends?”
The surge of jealousy is unfamiliar to me but seems to amuse Hillary.
“Yes,” she confirms with a grin. “Linda and Maggie, my very lesbian, and very married friends.”
“Good,” I can’t stop myself from saying.
“Thursday?” she suggests, an eyebrow raised.
“I can make that work. This time I’ll take care of dinner.”
“You’re cooking?”
She seems rightfully surprised.
“I didn’t say that. I do a mean takeout, though. My place same time?”
“Sounds good. Anything I can bring?”
I lean down and give her a hard kiss.
“Just you.”
I force myself out the door before I throw my own rules out the window and take her up on her offer. I can wait a couple of days.
“Just to say,” she says behind me when I get to the top of the stairs. “Wouldn’t have thought any less of you if you’d fucked me quick and easy on the couch.”
Fuck me, the woman’s out for my blood.
“You’re evil,” I tell her, without turning my head as I start down; her rich chuckle following me.
Thursday is a fucking century away.
Chapter Eleven
Radar
“Any nibbles?”
Yanis walks into my office and sits down on the other side of my desk.
“Not yet.”
Yesterday Dimi and I set up a couple of fake Facebook accounts, posing as teenage gamers.
We worked on filling the timelines with posts you’d expect to see and joined as many gaming groups as we could get into, taken from the profiles on the list we put together. Then we started interacting with any of the hashtag users each time we spotted one of them posting or commenting in the groups. We’d send them a friend request and tried to engage them in gamer talk.
The fake profiles were Bree’s idea after she discovered at least two other bold, apparently random but lethal attacks in different cities. Both had similar witness accounts: two attackers wearing dark hoodies jumping their victims in the street. The victim in San Luis Obispo was stabbed. He was the owner of a small landscaping company, a family man leaving behind a wife and three children. In Saginaw the victim—this one a seventeen-year-old girl—was doused with acid and managed to crawl under her car when a passerby scared off her assailants. She died from her devastating injuries the next morning.
“What did Underwood have to say?” I ask him.
“He’s up to his eyeballs. He was almost relieved to hear there may be similar cases elsewhere so he can call in the Bureau. There’s a lot of rumbling in the department as a result of the first few dismissals he issued. Can’t find people to pick up extra shifts to cover the holes in the schedule and union lawyers are permanently staking out his office.”
“Not like that wasn’t expected,” I offer.
“True, although I’m starting to wonder if Underwood was prepared for this kind of backlash. Apparently, City Hall is breathing down his neck as well. He’s been putting out fires everywhere.”
“City Hall? Didn’t he have to get council’s approval for us to investigate the department in the first place?”
“He did, in a behind-closed-doors session, but with most of the department in an uproar they’re suddenly worried about votes in the upcoming elections.”
Of course. Bloody politics. One of the reasons I’m glad to be working for a relatively small independent company. No back-office dealings, self-serving manipulations, or ass-kissing in this work environment.
Jake sticks his head in the door, a big grin on his face.
“Found something.”
“The hashtag?” Yanis wants to know as he gets out of his chair.
“Yup. Come have a look.”
I rush to follow the guys into the big office where Jake points triumphantly at his computer screen where a quote is visible.
For we know him who said, “Vengeance is mine; I will repay.” And again, “The Lord will judge his people.” (Hebrews 10:30)
“Vengeance is mine? A Bible verse?”
I’ll be the first to admit the Bible would not have been at the front of my mind to explore.
“Not just one,” Bree, sitting at her desk, contributes. “There are a lot of references to revenge in the Bible; that exact line appears in two other verses.”
My mind starts spinning. “Which ones?” I bump Jake out of the way and sit down at his computer. “Maybe there are other hashtags.”
“Way ahead of you.” Jake grins over my shoulder. “Romans 12:19, and Deuteronomy 32:35.”
“Here…” Bree hands over a printout a few pages long. “Used the same hashtag format as the original to run both these. We got over thirty hits but were able to whittle the references down to sixteen and cross-referenced those to our original list of names.”
I scan the copies she handed me. Nine, nine more names and dates to add to the shortlist for investigation. This is ballooning into something that sends chills down my spine.
“Are we going to assume each of these is connected to an attack?”
“We’re gonna work from that premise,” Yanis decides. “Same thing we did before to start. I think it’s time for Underwood to call in the big guns.”
Meaning the feds will be crawling all over this in no time. Wouldn’t be the first time we had to hand over a case to the Bureau, but that doesn’t mean it sits well with me. The past twelve or so years have done little to dull my animosity toward them.
Yanis places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. He knows how I feel. Hell, he’s the one who saved me from doing some serious time in federal prison. Not a period in my life I’m particularly proud of. I’d been a hobby hacker, mostly to prove
I could get into anything, but I’d made a bit of a stir in that world when I managed to get into the University of Colorado’s mainframe.
It was not that long after my mom died, and I’d been struggling. I was down, didn’t see my life going anywhere, and let myself get sucked in with a criminal element. Not my smartest move, deciding my hobby could make me a nice income without breaking a sweat.
That’s how the FBI got me; I’d taken on a job breaking into the server of a small pharmaceutical company to steal information on a new drug they were developing. It just so happened PASS was providing security for that company. With Yanis’ intervention, I ended up assisting the FBI in bringing down the group that was brokering that information to competitors and was offered a job with PASS, instead of a lengthy stay in jail.
“But for now, it’s late,” he says, lifting his hand from my shoulder. “Let’s get some rest, get at it again tomorrow when we’re fresh. Good work, guys.”
I open my mouth to object when I remember Hillary is supposed to be over in less than half an hour. As much as I’d like to start digging into this new information, the last thing I want is to stand her up. My tendency to get absorbed in my work was one of the main reasons I failed any earlier attempts at a relationship. Or so I’ve been told. I guess if I’m serious about pursuing anything with her I’ll have to find a better balance.
I walk into my office and Phil lifts her head from the dog bed under my desk.
“Yes, we’re heading home shortly,” I mumble, and start to shut down my laptop.
I shove it, and a couple of files into my backpack and am about to slip the leash on Phil when an alert sounds from one of my desktop computers. A window popped up, displaying a message from a connection we made with one of our fake profiles, with an invitation to join a secret society of gamers.
“Guys!” I call out. “I think we’ve got a bite!”
Plopping down in my seat, I quickly respond while the others file into my office and crowd behind me to see the large computer screen. Fifteen minutes later we wait with bated breath to see if the code sequence I finally wrangled from my new friend, Billy Pope, will get us access to a ‘rad new game.’ His words, not mine.
After what feels like an hour, but is in reality probably no more than a couple of minutes, a window pops up.
Welcome to Lock&Load - Revenge
Hillary
“Where are you?”
That’s how I answer the phone when I see who’s calling.
I’m pissed. I stood at his door, knocking, for five minutes before I called his number and got no answer. Thinking maybe I got the time wrong, I went back home, waited until seven and walked over again. Same result, no one home, and no answer when I tried calling.
It’s now eight forty-five and having worked up a good head of steam, I’m well beyond niceties.
“At the office. Look, I’m sorry, we had a major development and—”
“And you promptly forgot about dinner, and apparently how to use your phone?” I cringe at how much like a nagging wife I sound, when I’m not even sure where I stand. “You know what? Never mind. I’ve gotta go.”
Before he has a chance to say anything else, I hang up, grab my purse and car keys, and head out the door.
I’d been looking forward to tonight and I’m not about to sit home and wallow. I need a friend to vent to. As it turns out, I get three for the price of one.
The moment Rosie opens the door I hear familiar boisterous laughter from inside the house.
“Hey…” she starts with a smile, which fades when she takes a good look at me. “What’s wrong? Come in.”
I don’t even need to explain, she’s already pulling me inside where two smiling faces turn my way.
“Well, I’ll be damned! Rosebud didn’t mention you’d be coming.” Grant Peabody, a good friend of Rosie’s, rises to his full height and opens his arms wide. “You gonna stand there or come give me some sugar? Been too long, girl.”
Grinning widely—what else can you do when that man turns his charm on you—I let him wrap me up in a big hug.
“Good to see you, Grant,” I mumble against his solid chest. I turn my head slightly to Willa, who returns my smile. “Hey. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Pffft, interrupting my foot,” Grant declares, finally letting me go. “Gives us an excuse to start a second pitcher of margaritas.”
I notice the spread on the coffee table: nachos, salsa, guacamole, and a pitcher with the remains of the slushy cocktail.
“Rosie was getting cabin fever,” Willa explains. “I brought food and some support, and Grant here showed up with the contents of his liquor cabinet.”
“Where’s Tessa?” I ask, looking around the room.
“Willa got her down,” Rosie explains, sinking down on the couch with a sigh. “Finally.”
“Sit, girl, you look like you need a drink. I’ll hook you up.”
I sit down in one of the La-Z-Boy chairs as he grabs the pitcher and heads for the kitchen. When I turn my eyes to Willa and Rosie, I find both of them staring at me.
“What?”
“Spill,” Rosie prompts me. “There’s a reason you’re here and not on that dinner date you said you had.”
“Ooo, new beau?” Willa sits up straight.
Yesterday I’d talked to Rosie and mentioned I had plans tonight. What I didn’t tell her was with whom, since she seemed way too pleased when she caught Radar at my place and me in the shower when I looked after Tessa. That morning, after Radar left, she tried to milk me for details but there weren’t any to share, and I firmly disavowed her of any romantic notions she might have about us.
Heck, I’m still not sure it’s wise to pursue anything with the man since our lives are entwined in more than one way. Things would get decidedly uncomfortable if things went sour with everyone looking on. Turns out that was a good call or venting in present company would not have been an option.
“Guy from work,” I lie. “A pharmaceutical rep. He stood me up and didn’t have the decency to call to let me know.”
“Oh, girl…” Grant walks in with an oversized margarita. “It’s clear the man didn’t have two brain cells to rub together, or he’d never have passed up on a chance to bask in your presence. His loss, darlin’. Good thing I poured you a double. You need to catch up.”
“Grant, honey, I’m driving,” I protest, but still accept the large glass when he hands it over.
“We Ubered it here,” Willa volunteers. “The boys are hung up at the office and Dimas said he’d swing by to pick us up on his way home. He can drop you off too.”
At least that part of it was true. I have to admit, it makes me feel a little better, but the fact both his teammates were able to call home, but he didn’t give me the same courtesy is telling. Disappointment battles out the anger I felt earlier. I promised myself a long time ago, I wouldn’t invest time and energy in someone who wasn’t willing to do the same.
Better I find out now than when my heart is too involved.
“Jake’d be happy to drive you too,” Rosie offers.
“Perfect.” Grant claps his hands and takes a seat. “That’s taken care of then.”
“So was this your first date?”
I turn to Willa and force a smile. “Technically, yes, so I haven’t really lost anything,” I lie.
“I’ll drink to that!” Grant announces, lifting his glass.
“Hey, where is your husband?” I ask him.
“Left for a conference in LA this morning.”
“And you didn’t want to go?”
“Oh, hell no.” He jerks his head with a look of disgust on his face. “Hanging out with a bunch of dusty old farts all weekend? I’m sure I can think of better things to do.”
“I’m going dancing with some friends Saturday night. We’re checking out that new place on Main. Hot Spurs? You should come.”
“Oowee! I love me some cowboys. I’m game.” He grins widely. “Serves Richard right for
leaving me to fend for myself.”
“I wanna come,” Rosie whines, a dramatic pout on her face.
“Then come.”
“I have a child, Grant,” she snips at him. “Not like I can drop everything and go, like some people I know. Jake already said he’d be working most of the weekend so I can’t count on him.”
“You should go,” Willa urges her. “I can look after Tessa. Dimas told me the same thing and I am allergic to anything country. Besides, I love that baby.”
I’ve been here fifteen minutes, already I feel a bunch better and now I’m actually looking forward to Saturday night.
Chapter Twelve
Radar
I check my phone again with the same result.
I fucked up and I know it.
Since our brief phone call Thursday night, after realizing I stood her up, Hillary hasn’t responded to my calls or messages. Of course I’ve been holed up in the office most of the time since then, pretending to be a disgruntled teenager pissed at every adult in his life. That seemed to be what got the tongues wagging in the chat room my alternate persona landed in.
It took twelve hours to convince whoever the moderator of the group was to deem me fit and grant me entrance to the actual game. Most of yesterday Dimas and I spent taking turns getting familiar with Lock&Load - Revenge. The graphics were rudimentary at best, comparable to a cross between the first editions of Grand Theft Auto and Quake. The game is rife with random violence. The more violent the act, the more points rewarded. Sickening at first, but after just hours of playing, even Dimas and I became desensitized to the gruesome displays. Something Yanis pointed out might well be by design.
We discovered parallels between the virtual and the real-life attacks. In both cases, the attacks were carried out by a team of two. One serving mostly as lookout while the other assaulted the victim. The weapon of choice was often one of convenience. Anything the perps could get their hands on.
I’m just explaining that in the game, if the attack is successful, the primary character is granted access to the next level, while the lookout is assigned a target of their own. Then begins a period of recon, following and stalking the target, discovering their habits and movements, and deciding on a time when they are at their most vulnerable. Then a proposed scene has to be submitted and when approved, the green light is given for the attack.
