by Marie James
“What’s going on?” Ignacio asks, leaning his ass against the filing cabinet to my left.
He groans when I pull open the video of Whitney’s apartment door.
“This shit again? I thought you had that chick in the bag.”
Ignacio ignores the growl that escapes my throat, rather choosing to focus on the sight of her leaving her apartment. We both watch as a man steps off the elevator less than five seconds after she disappears into the stairwell. Without a care in the world, he kicks her apartment door open. He didn’t even bother to knock.
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, my hands trembling as I pull up more video on another screen.
“Did you see that? Rewind it.” Ignacio is pointing to the screen, but while working on finding her leaving the building, I missed whatever it was he saw. “That.”
He points to the screen, and I pause the video.
“The gun?” It doesn’t surprise me that a man brazen enough to kick a woman’s door in would be armed, but it does rachet up my blood pressure another hundred points.
“The badge. Go back. There.”
Sure as shit, the goon has a badge clipped to his belt.
“Local?” Ignacio asks as I try to zoom in.
“I can’t tell.” The video feed is shit, and even though I could see the tears on Whitney’s face earlier, the contrast of how fast he’s moving and his clothes prevent me from getting a clear picture of the badge.
“That’s a federal badge.” We both jolt at the sound of Flynn’s voice behind us. “I know because I used to have one.”
“FBI?” Ignacio says with dismay in his voice. “Do they normally go around kicking in doors?”
It takes only moments to get Flynn up to speed on what I know.
“What’s she into?” Flynn asks, doing a better job of keeping calm than I am.
“Computer stuff.”
“As in like hacker shit that can land her in a federal prison?” He raises an eyebrow at me as Ignacio takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest as the atmosphere in the room shifts.
“She’s not a criminal,” I insist.
“You’re sure?”
I know he doesn’t miss the way my throat works on a swallow. He takes it for what it is, doubt.
“I’m not sure at all.”
We’ve talked about a lot of stuff, but Whitney hasn’t been forthcoming about her work. I can’t really talk about what I do, so expecting that one-sided information doesn’t seem right.
“Find out,” he says before turning around to leave. “Deacon is going on his honeymoon and we aren’t going to bother him with this, but if it turns out that she’s a criminal, you’re going to have to cut ties. We can’t have that kind of heat on BBS. We’ll lose all the respect we’ve been building.”
I nod in understanding. Flynn has only been with BBS for a year, but it’s clear why he quickly became Deacon’s second-in-command. He’s a no-bullshit kind of guy, and even though my world could be crumbling right now, I have the utmost respect for him.
“Where are you going?” I ask before he clears the threshold.
“I’m going to reach out to a few contacts and see what I can find out.”
Ignacio follows him out.
“She’s too pretty to be a criminal,” Puff assures me, but the cackle that follows makes me think he doesn’t believe his own declaration.
I start with what I have, running facial recognition on an image I pulled of the guy. The ones of him entering the building like he owned the place were much better than the grainy images I got from the hallway. As that’s going, I hack her IP address, something I said I wouldn’t do again after spending an hour reading her forum posts.
Wouldn’t this just be my luck, that the woman of my dreams turns out to be a hacker hunted by the FBI? I can’t really feel contempt for her. I break the law through keystrokes every single day, and I’ve never been one to gaslight someone. Flynn, and especially Deacon, won’t see it the same way.
I have to dig deeper when her hacked system gives me the boot repeatedly, but even after using two of my best programs, I still can’t find anything. She’s destroyed her entire system. The rejections make me sad and proud at the same time. I would’ve done the exact same thing if I were on the verge of getting caught. Covering her tracks now doesn’t keep them from using the information they had that warranted her door getting kicked in.
My fingers tap on the top of my desk as my computer continues to find information that I need. Waiting is the most frustrating part, but it’s always been a part of the deal. Now that Whitney may be in danger, the wait may literally kill me.
Chapter 20
Whitney
The cabbie isn’t impressed with the angry snarling cat in my backpack. I can tell from the look of disgust on his face each time Simon makes his presence known, but at least he doesn’t kick me out of his car. I tip him what I can before climbing out, but truthfully, I never have much cash on me. Most of my purchases are made online or through apps, and as easy as it makes it for people to track someone, it’s how the world goes these days. Cash on delivery is a thing of the past, not that I have much experience with it.
The airport seemed like a good idea, and the hustle and bustle of travelers swarming all around me does help calm my fears, but I’m only here because this is what is expected of me, and airport security systems are harder to crack than most. I make a transaction at the ATM, pulling out my predetermined six-hundred-dollar max and cursing online money-saving gurus for talking me into it. It won’t get me far, but my plans to leave St. Louis without a paper trail won’t happen tonight.
After calming Simon in the bathroom, I make my way to the ticket counter, using my credit card to purchase a one-way ticket to New York.
Then without hesitation, I walk right out of the airport and slide into the back of a waiting cab.
After a very difficult conversation with a cab driver that didn’t understand English very well, I find myself dropped off in front of a motel that is fit for a damn horror movie. If Jones doesn’t show up to murder me, I’m certain some creepy dude with an obsession over his mother and decades of childhood trauma will.
The nice lady at the counter who hands over the room key with a nice smile after I paid cash for the night doesn’t settle my nerves at all. From the sparkle in her eyes, I have no doubt she’s going to pocket the cash and not log the room as occupied.
The room is surprisingly clean, but the soft scent of Pine Sol floating in the air does nothing to loosen the tension in my shoulders. I know looks can be deceiving, and even though my life is on the line, I’d rather not die with a positive STD test. Refusing to take a shower, I even draw my hands back before touching the towels hanging from the bar in the bathroom, opting instead to use an old t-shirt I packed to move the clunky chair from in front of the window to block the door. I’m stuck in this room even if someone breaks in to hurt me, so my proactiveness doesn’t help much. I’ll hear the scrape of the feet if someone tries to muscle their way in, and as I sit on the bed with regret, I’m left wondering if hearing them coming is worse than a surprise attack.
I look at the watch on my wrist, a cheap digital thing I thankfully remembered before leaving my apartment.
“Seven and a half hours,” I tell Simon who isn’t as concerned about germs and is resting peacefully on the chair in front of the door. He calmed down almost immediately after I pulled him out of the backpack.
My Apple watch was dropped in the stairwell, and I also left behind my computer and laptop. Other than the transactions at the airport, I’m pretty certain I’ve left no other traces, and those crumbs were purposeful. Hopefully by the time Jones discovers that I wasn’t actually on the flight manifest to New York, I’ll have cash in hand and I’ll be in the wind.
I itch to call Sarah, but Jones knew what I discovered within minutes of finding it. I have no doubt he was the one coming off the elevator just as I made my escape. The sh
eer closeness of the timing makes tingles wash over my skin. Rubbing at my arms, I grow even more frightened for my friend. If Jones was able to track my keystrokes, then he knows all about Wren and Sarah. I can only pray that he’s more focused on finding me than wasting energy on going after those two.
Jesus. Have I compromised everything?
Tears burn the backs of my eyes, making my nose sting in the process as I think about everything I have to give up. My best friend. The man who just tonight told me he wants thoughts of happiness, marriage, and a future in my head. Both of them gone. I’d never compromise their safety, and I’m a fool for thinking I could have a normal life. So much for going straight with my computer work. I should’ve stuck with graphic design like my parents think I do. The money wasn’t great, and it was beyond difficult working with people who had no clue what they wanted and were quick to let you know the vision you drew up from their descriptions didn’t match what they needed, but it was honest work.
I thought what I was doing for Stephen Jones was honest work. I’d allowed that man to convince me that I was helping the FBI. I was working a job that I could be proud of, helping my country catch bad guys with the permission of the FBI, but that wasn’t the case. More than likely, it was a test to see if he’d hidden everything well enough to go on living his double life without having to worry about getting caught.
Either that or he’s a misogynistic asshole, so full of himself, that he never thought I’d dig deep enough and he just wanted dirt on the man who was doing the dirty with the same woman he was doing the dirty with.
“Fuck,” I grumble, rubbing my hands over my head before looking down at my watch again.
Six hours and forty-five minutes until the bank opens and I can make my escape from this town.
As I knew it would, time slows to a crawl. Every noise outside, every slam of a car door, and every wash of headlights that filter through the whisper-thin curtain sets me on edge. The music playing too loudly in the room at my back isn’t helping either, but Yanni never had the ability to set my mind at ease.
My eyes droop, but I snap them open each time. I try pacing, but that seems to agitate Simon who is determined to sleep off his earlier trauma. The shower looks clean and inviting, but the thought of using one of the towels makes my skin itch.
Three hours in, I’m fully aware I’d never make it in the wilderness. Just the thought of lying down on the bed makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
The sun breaks over the horizon, but that still leaves a couple of hours before the bank opens its doors.
Simon wakes with a stretch of his back, but then he turns his nose up at the food I offer. The fur ball will sleep on that nasty chair, but is disgruntled about not having his normal food bowl? Figures.
I fashion a leash out of a belt that miraculously made it into my gym bag and attempt to take the cat for a walk. From numerous videos I’ve seen online, I knew what I was facing, but I refuse to give him up too. I’ve already lost every other thing I cared about in my life. I wouldn’t survive if he took off.
“Your cooperation would be greatly appreciated,” I hiss when he stops dead at the threshold and refuses to leave the room. “If you potty in there, we’ll both be in trouble.”
Instead of giving me a break, Simon flops to his side and begins to kick-attack the belt.
“Need some help?”
I don’t even bother turning to look in the direction of the voice. I squeal like I’ve heard gunshots and rush past Simon into the room. He’s hacking and coughing from the rough handling when I slam the door closed and shove the back of the chair under the doorknob.
“Crazy-ass hookers,” I hear the man mutter as he walks past me. A second later the door next door closes, and once again the soft yet grating sound of Yanni’s greatest hits filters through the wall. If I never heard a piano solo for the rest of my life, that would be too soon.
By eight-thirty, I have a taxi ordered. At ten until nine, I’m waiting around the corner from the main branch of my bank, eyeing the front entrance like I’m on a stakeout. Maybe grabbing cash out of the ATM and booking a flight was premature. I don’t think it would take much to discover what bank I use, and if Jones was in my apartment last night, he could have easily gone through my things, including the stack of mail on the counter I’ve been ignoring for the last two weeks.
He could be around right now. He could be lying in wait to scoop me up off the street the second I aim for the entrance.
I’ve seen enough crime shows to know what to look for. At least I think I do, and at nine-thirty after not seeing anything suspicious, I make my way to the front of the bank and slip inside with the intention of draining everything I have in savings as well as emptying my safe deposit box.
As I stand in line waiting to speak to the teller, I realize that if I ever have to do this again, I’m going to need a go-bag like commandos have for such emergencies.
Chapter 21
Wren
“Here,” Flynn says, placing a cup of coffee next to my elbow. “Find anything else?”
He disappeared hours ago, and I haven’t seen him since.
“All sorts of shit. What did you find?”
I don’t want to show my hand before he shows his, but the pieces are beginning to fall into place, revealing horrific things but at the same time most of the bad stuff isn’t about Whitney rather what she discovered that sent her running.
“Whitney Nelson isn’t on the FBI’s warrant list. She’s not in any of their databases. They aren’t investigating her for anything.”
“That’s a relief.”
“My contact said that’s good news, but they have agents in the field that haven’t turned in field notes this week, so that may change.”
“Is Stephen Jones one of the agents in the field?”
“Don’t know,” he answers. “What are you getting at?”
“I had to do some serious digging because before Whitney left her apartment, she wiped her entire system. For most that would lead them straight into a dead end, but I’m better than most.”
“Are you going to keep patting yourself on the back, or are you going to get to the point?”
I frown, hating that I’m wasting time.
“We’ve been chatting on this app, that’s how I’ve been able to track her. She uses her app on her phone, the same phone she uses to check her email. She dumped her cell phone in the stairwell according to Ignacio who went to scope out her place, but I’m able to access nearly everything she did on it. Her cache has been cleared, but most people would be surprised with the amount of information stored in those things.”
“Still waiting,” Flynn grumbles.
I slide the cup of coffee in his direction because it seems like he needs it more than me.
“I accessed her email.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Stephen Jones, the guy breaking into her apartment is an FBI agent.” Flynn freezes. “He hired Whitney to dig up some dirt on William Theold.”
“The Assistant Director of FBI Human Resources?”
“The very same.” I turn back to my computer and hit a couple keys, bringing up a load of personal dirt on Theold.
“It’s not uncommon for outside resources to be used to obtain information,” Flynn acknowledges out loud.
“True,” I agree. “But William Theold is living two lives, with two women and two separate families.”
“How does that information lead Jones to kicking in her door?”
“Seems Jones and Theold have the same taste in women. At first, I thought Whitney discovered the connection between the two men and Jones went to confront her.”
“It’s not her fault the woman was seeing two different men.”
“True, but digging deeper, I found that Whitney also discovered Jones is nothing short of a crime boss using the FBI as cover to make backroom deals and run an illegal empire.”
“That’ll do it.”
&n
bsp; “He was there to kill her, Flynn.” His eyes grow dark, and I’m at least grateful he’s no longer holding back because he thinks she’s a criminal. “She discovered the things he was trying his best to keep secret, and he went after her. She’s a loose end and possibly the very person that can bring him down completely. He won’t stop until she’s no longer a threat.”
“Is that all?”
“Isn’t it enough?” I roar, ready to push him against the wall, uncaring that he has thirty pounds of muscle and years of combat training on me.
“Calm down, Wren. Is there more ammunition against him?”
I take a calming breath, but it’ll be days until my pulse evens out. Honestly, it won’t go back to normal until I have Whitney safe in my arms.
“I have years of records. The idiot kept everything digital, but my guess is he’s so narcissistic he never thought he’d get caught. He covered his tracks decently, but he’s no match for me.”
Flynn nods, understanding that I’m not bragging about my skills this time. It’s simply the truth.
“Did you find any other players connected to the FBI?”
“Not yet.”
“I can’t move forward with my contacts until I know who’s involved.”
“I know,” I answer, turning to my computer and opening several more windows. “I’m working on it.”
“Keep me updated.”
Just as he’s about to walk out of the room, a ping echoes around the room. I abandon my latest search to track Whitney.
“What are you doing?”
“I just got a hit on her bank.” My fingers fly, pulling up the information I need. “She’s at the bank on Delmar.”
“We don’t have anyone even close to that area,” he says with a sigh. “She’ll be gone before we can get to her. We can call and have security hold her.”
“So Jones can show up with his FBI badge and take her away? I won’t risk it. I can track her from here.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“You should probably leave the room so you have plausible deniability.”
He must sense I’m not joking because a few seconds later, my office door snaps shut with him on the other side.
